PhDoom vs. Big Barda - Comic Book Women

Honestly, what was with this woman?

It wasn't the getup that made Doom so weird, or even her whole Marvel theme. For all the guff she gave the bitter brawler, Barda didn't hate Marvel all that much, she just thought they got a little silly from time to time. She'd had similar conversations with her own fellow comic book geeks plenty of time. None of them involved a wrestling ring or a hammer, but...

No, it was Doom's whole demeanor, her whole attitude. It was simply...weird. She seemed to revel in the audience's hate. It wasn't odd for a heel - and she was obviously a heel - to get this sort of reaction, but most of the time Barda just saw them ignore the audience. Doom seemed to soak it up, even taking a break from beating on Barda just to rile them up a bit. Not that she was complaining, though. It gave her some time for the pain in her back to abate, raising up enough strength to start making the long, arduous journey back to her two feet.

The journey was interrupted, however, when she felt something cold and sticky pour down over her head. Doom dumped soda over her.

The disrespect. The rudeness. The audacity of it. For a moment, a fierce moment, Barda's better nature completely left her, and she shot her arm up between Doom's leg in pure reflex, hammering her right down the middle with a rising forearm. "You bitch!"

The jeers and the hatred of the crowd at her back made the hairs on Doom's neck stand on end. She reveled in their hate, soaked in every bit of their loathing and disdain. This was what she was here for, she knew. Not just to get a reaction, but to whip these leering perverts into a full-on rage.

Once Doom had emptied the contents of the drink onto Barda's head, she cast the cup aside, and spent a moment trying to decide what sort of pain she'd be inflicting on her opponent, next. Which turned out to be a moot point, actually.

Barda's arm had shot upward with such force and speed that Doom couldn't react in time. Really, if Doom had been observing the blow from any vantage point other than "victim," she would have found the strike rather admirable. Completely in the classic "Ric Flair" mold. However, as it was, Doom could only let out a long, loud moan of pain, as she felt her knees begin to buckle, in pain.

Doom took a few brief steps away from Barda, involuntarily. Keeping on her feet, and keeping a death-grip on her hammer, the brawler watched intently for Barda's next move and tried to recover as best she could. Doom had been surprised that she'd managed to get such a dirty response out of someone who had seemed so by-the-books and straight-laced about her wrestling. Now, Doom was actually pushing through the pain on sheer eagerness to see what the brawny cosplayer was going to attempt, next.

Barda hated herself the moment it made contact. The ref wouldn't get at her about it, it was a fair move. The crowd approved, too, going wild and only caring the Doom was finally getting what she deserved. It didn't make much difference to anyone...but her, of course. She knew better. And the fact that she enjoyed it just made it all the worse.

But Doom was staggering, as vulnerable as she was going to get with that hammer in her hand, and Barda knew that if she let up, the annoying little punk would just make her regret it in the worst ways. She had to press her advantage. So, no regrets - she'd admonish herself after she was done fighting the nutjob with the deadly blunt weapon.

It hurt just to stand after the beating she'd been taking, but she managed anyway, rising back up on shaky feet and staggering forward. She ran - or did something that looked vaguely like running - towards Doom and swung her arm, trying to fall past and hit her in the head with a clothesline, looking to take her head clean off her shoulders.

Doom reveled in the confused reactions of the audience, and in Barda's own seeming conflict, over what was happening. She'd managed to push the cosplayer out of her comfort zone, it seemed, and the satisfaction of that was nearly peerless. Not quite enough to drown out the debilitating ache between Doom's legs, at the moment, but certainly worth the brawler's focus.

Doom flashed a sick grin towards Barda, as she watched the cosplayer push herself up to her feet. Ideally, Doom would have tried to push the girl straight back down to the mat, but that wasn't exactly going to be an option, at the moment. Instead, Doom could only wait it out, try to catch her breath, and hope that she wouldn't lose her footing at this point.

“Yes … Yes …” Doom taunted, as she watched Barda rise. “Let the hate flow through you ...” Doom watched Barda rise to her feet. If there was a time that Doom would admit feeling a bit intimidated, that time would likely be now. The larger woman had struggled to her feet, in spite of the pain and damage Doom had inflicted upon her, and would likely be seeking some measure of revenge, now. Doom lifted the hammer protectively, hoping to use it as a sort of parry, against whatever might come next.

When Barda's clothesline came barreling in, Doom had no chance of evading it. Still in too much pain from the low blow, still trying too hard to simply keep her feet beneath her, Doom had no chance of escaping the viscous strike. All she could do was hold the sledgehammer crosswise before her body, and hope that the unyielding weapon would help her inflict as much damage to Barda as Barda intended to inflict on her.

Doom was giving her a look, and it was driving Barda nuts. It wasn't a look of disgust or apathy,that would have been expected. It was a look of approval, and the words - riffed from Star Wars as they were - confirmed it. The thought made her stomach churn.

"Shut up, just shut-" She slammed into the hammer as Doom brought it up, recoiling from the strike and starting to get genuinely frustrated. All the sudden, she wanted Doom unconscious and no longer rubbing things in her face - the less time she had to deal with it, the better. She was clutching onto that hammer for dear life and with good reason. A bunch of wood and a hammerhead were the only things between her and Barda running over her.

Barda staggered back, rubbing her arm at the pain for a moment, before surging forward once again. The head on approach was the only real option she had, being too big and slow to really evade the hammer or even run away. She had to come head on or not come at all, but that didn't mean she couldn't mix it up just a little - she held her arms out wide, like she was trying to wrap Doom up in a bearhug, then made a grab for hammer and tried to tug it away.

Doom could tell from the look of frustration on her face, and the protestation in her voice, that she was beginning to get under Barda's skin. Coaxing the well-built cosplayer into fighting rough and dirty wasn't a very sound tactical move (yes, Doom- make the muscular woman want to hit you even harder), but it was damned satisfying to watch the girl struggle with the internal conflict. In Doom's mind, at least, Barda was the sort of scantily-clad crowd-pleaser that she'd come to AFW to take joy in demolishing. And here, she was testing the waters on doing so psychologically, as well as physically.

Barda's arms outstretched, she seemed to be coming at Doom for a bearhug. In her time watching AFW, one thing she'd noticed (aside from how quickly bartenders would cut one off, when they start throwing popcorn at a television) was how popular that move was. Doom planted her feet in readiness, and was actually caught by surprise when it turned out that Barda's move was a feint.

However, Doom's response to either move would be the same. Thrusting forward with the hammer, the head of it aimed squarely at the brawny cosplayer's face. This might have given Barda an advantage in her attempts to reach for the thing, but Doom was banking on a combination of forward leverage and Barda's own momentum to carry the strike home.

The trick worked. Sort of.

Barda was able to grab hold of the hammer, but not without paying a hefty price, as Doom whacked her in the face with the business end. She managed to push back against the strike and take some of the force away, and that was probably the only thing that kept her face from being caved in. It still hurt like mad, made her entire head throb in agony, brought the clouds up and gave her hazy vision. She was going down again, whether she liked it or not - her brain could only take so much.

But she didn't back off. She staggered, sure, but she staggered forward, not away, trying to fall towards Doom and take her down with her sheer weight, let gravity do the fighting for her. If Doom was going to chop down a tree, she'd have to deal with the risk of being under it when it fell.

Doom couldn't help but let out a sadistic laugh, when she watched the hammer collide with Barda's face. It was something like out of a Stooges short ... if Doom was the sort to allow herself to take in such cultural detritus, of course. More importantly, though, the strike brought her yet another step closer to felling her larger opponent, and that alone was worth it. Doom glared at Barda, trying to read her reaction; she hoped it didn't just hurt, physically, but that the moment of ridiculous slapstick would leave the bodybuilding nerd a bit more humble, to boot.

That the blow didn't make Barda back off was a bit surprising, though. Not wanting to let go of the hammer (not just now, but ever- Doom had been wondering how she might be able to take this thing home with her, tonight), Doom staggered backwards, trying to keep out from under Barda as the larger woman toppled forward. Which, of course, was not going to work out terribly well, for the punk.

Finally, Doom stumbled on the mat, as Barda's momentum threw her off balance. Still clinging to the contested hammer, Doom spilled backwards, colliding with the barricade that separated the audience from the action, her shoulders and the back of her head stinging in pain as they struck the dividing wall. She tried to mitigate the damage that the falling Barda would do by putting her knees up, but between her lack of balance and the speed of the fall, there was only so much she'd be able to do.

Trapped between Barda and the barricade, Doom took a moment to try and regroup, and hope that the dull throbbing in her head and back would let up, by the time Barda recovered enough to make her next move.

Barda glared back at Doom with a look of pure acid, a burning glare even through the pain. Winning the match was becoming less and less of a priority to her - no, losing was fine with her. Her record could take the hit, no big deal, a two-match losing streak wouldn't be the end of the world. As long as she ended the day causing Barda as much pain as she could, she would be reasonably satisfied.

It was awkward to say the least, with the way they came down against the barricade, Doom getting her knees up and pushing up as best she could. But Barda had no intention of going anywhere - she let out a feral growl and pressed forward, leaning on Doom and giving her everything she could from her rapidly draining well of stamina. Options were low, she was just going to have to make do, she couldn't afford to pull away and give Doom any more breathing room.

Barda let her leg go slack as she released the hammer and tried to grab Doom by the head, wrenching her neck and pulling her in tight. "In case it's not immediately apparent, I really, really do not like you."

Doom felt Barda's body slamming into her knees, and let out a loud cry of pain and frustration, in response. Still, however, she managed to hang onto that hammer. Barda had seemed to come back to life, in their last couple of exchanges, and Doom found herself loving it. For all of Barda's size and crowd-pleasing costumed buffoonery, Doom felt like she was dragging out a much more vindictive side of the cosplayer, which in and of itself was incredibly satisfying.

Feeling her own legs pressing hard against her lean body, Doom tried to retreat into herself, waiting out the brawnier girl's rage. The entire time, she clung tightly to her hammer, trying to place it like a barricade between herself and her opponent. She could hear Barda's fierce growl bearing down on her, felt the squeeze of the other woman's mass compacting her against the barricade. But still, Doom held her ground. It was relatively easy to hold a passive stance, and let her opponent rail against her. Granted, it was a bit less easy, to withstand the force Barda was bringing to bear, in the meantime.

Doom hardly noticed when her opponent released the hammer, but couldn't help but take note when she was yanked up by her own head. Having retreated completely into a posture meant to defend against Barda's oncoming mass, Doom hadn't even thought to counter for such a move. Doom grunted in pain, as sharp pains shot through her neck and the base of her skull, in reaction to Barda's yanking hold. However, the taunts from her opponent were enough to bring Doom back into the match, for a moment, and brought a sneer to the brawler's lips.

“Doom ...” she said, grunting, as she tried to find her center of balance, “shall find ways to cope!” With that, Doom took the hammer, and tried to plant it once again into Barda's toned abs. She knew that she would have less leverage for her strike than usual, this time, but the opening was right there. And more than anything, Doom wanted to see how her opponent, seemingly in the throes of rage, would react to an attack like that.