PhDoom vs. Big Barda - Comic Book Women

The great thing about a hardcore match - maybe the only 'great thing' - was that it gave you some freedom. Barda and Doom had the whole stadium to move, so at least she didn't have to worry about being outclassed between the ropes by an opponent with greater experience. But that freedom came with a price, and she was reaping it right now. Doom was making her work for each and every inch.

Before she had the chance to start turning things around, Doom was on her and seizing the day once again - she was a spindly little thing, but the brawler could summon more than her fair share of power when she wanted to. Tossing Barda into the ring was no mean feat, but she managed to pull it off, sending the bigger wrestler rolling on in like trash on Sunday morning. The break in the action was starting to help her get some sense back, and she used it to roll away a little and start getting back to her feet.

She grabbed the turnbuckle tight and started to pull herself up, shaking her head as she looked back at Doom. "You're awful quiet all of the sudden." She grumbled, rubbing the sore spot on her head and trying hard to forget how close her skull was to being caved in. "Nothing else to say? Any more names to call me?"

The instant she'd slid Barda back into the ring, Doom was pulling herself onto the apron. The brawler was impressed with how quickly Barda had gotten back to her feet, already recovering from the stunning collisions the cosplayer had suffered against various steps, barricades, hammers, etc. Still, beginning to get her wind back in spite of the biting pain running rampant through her spine and shoulderblades, Doom couldn't help but give a sick grin as she grasped the ropes, pulling herself up onto the ring apron. Barda had been laying it on thick, tonight, and it seemed her opponent still had more to give. If she were the sort to worry about such things, Doom might have worried about how gratifying it was, to know that. Immediately, the educated brawler began to plan her next attack, on the brawny cosplayer.

"Missing some sort of intelligent dialogue, then?" Doom asked, with a sneer. "I can see that, when the only thing one reads is Geoff Johns ..." Pulling her feet back onto the ring apron, Doom was immediately hit by the heat and brightness of the arena lights. The jeers of the audience were beginning to fill her ears, yet again. Still, Doom knew that she couldn't allow herself to let up on her opponent, now. Doom knew how much work it had taken to break down her foe, and there was no way she was going to let all of that go to waste, now. With her feet planted on the ring apron, Doom prepared to continue her assault, pushing down the pain in her back and the lights blinding her and the screams of the obnoxious fans crying out, in her ears.

Doom planted her boots against the ring apron firmly, readying herself for another attack briefly, before she launched forward. Running towards Barda's corner, Doom threw her full weight into attempting to deliver a blow aimed square at Barda's upper back. Running with her off hand grasping the center rope for balance, Doom's boots falling hard, her full weight against the outside ring apron, she gave her everything into a run at her opponent with absolute, reckless abandon. Moving fast towards the corner, Doom aimed to plant a clothesline, elbow-first, square at the base of Barda's neck, wanting the cosplayer to feel every ounce of Doom's anger and pain and hate, all packed into that blow.

As much as Barda hated to admit - seriously hated to admit it - she enjoyed talking with Doom in a weird sort of way. Aside from Adrian and Rebecca, she hadn't really met too many people since she came to Japan, and American comics weren't too popular on the island. It was nice to talk with someone about her favorite subject, without the aide of a computer screen. Even if that someone was trying desperately to bash her brains out.

"Could be worse." She started to pull herself up, using the ropes for some last ditch support. "I mean, Geoff's not perfect, but at least he never wrote Sins Past. Gwen Stacy and Norman Osborn, who's idea was-"

Before Barda could give her scathing critique of J. Michael Straczyniski'sinfaous Amazing Spider-Man storyline, she was laid low with a heavy blow from Barda, one that had a considerable amount of force. The blow cracked her in the neck and she went down, flat on her chest with a loud grunt, the toll of the fight starting to really wear on her. Her first match hadn't even come close to this - it was reaching a point beyond grueling.

Doom took great pride in putting Barda down, again. The cosplayer had presented a tall order, and it was taking Doom a rather wide-ranging set of attacks to wear the woman down. Best of all, however, was the reaction of the crowd as she was doing so. Jeering, annoyed with Doom's attitude and her less-than-sportsmanlike tactics, every bit of their hate kept her going, in spite of the aching pain still running through her spine.

Without warning, Doom broke into an honest grin. She'd never admit it to anyone, should someone be foolish enough to ask, but she was beginning to quite enjoy herself. “Must admit,” Doom said, after her blow to Barda's skull laid the woman low, “that was rather disgusting. And the way the artist drew him to look like Tommy Lee Jones? Doom didn't need to see Agent K's sex-face, there ...” Doom knew she couldn't indulge in idle chatter for too terribly long, however; the match was still on, after all, and there was still a few things on Doom's malicious to-do list.

Taking a firm grip on the top rope, Doom shifted her weight back, a bit, pulling at the ropes, readying herself. This kind of move was a bit risky, not often the sort of thing the brawler would indulge herself in, but it seemed the most logical next step. And, if Doom was going to enjoy herself, tonight, she might as well experiment. Bending down at the knees, Doom yanked on the rope with her full strength and kicked upward, launching herself over the top rope. As she completed her arc, bouncing back into the confines of the ring, she kept her bent knees pointing downward, hoping to bring them crashing down on Barda's exposed back.

Barda couldn't hear what Doom was saying over the crowd's deafening roar, but, somehow, she felt it didn't really matter. She laughed, anyway, but it was cut short when she looked up and saw that Doom wasn't where she was a moment ago, nowhere to be found.

That was a bad thing. She found out just how bad a moment later.

Barda wasn't sure exactly what Doom did, since it was impossible to really see with her chest flat on the ground. But whatever she did, it hurt. She screamed with what little breath she had as pain shot up and down her spine, working its way out to her legs and making them spasm. She flopped about for a moment, then laid down, still and lifeless. Awake. Alive. But just barely

She laid her head down, resting on the mat, her body pulsing with every breath. "I'm done..." She shook her head as best as she could. "I'm. Done."

The roar of the crowd seemed to reach a crescendo, as Doom completed her arc, flying over the top rope to crash against Barda's back. Doom rolled off of her well-built opponent's back, onto her bum, struggling a bit to keep her balance after the high-flying move. How could some of these other girls she'd seen in the ring do that, so often? It mattered not, Doom told herself. Leaning back, Doom raised her arm to the crowd's cheer, before extending her middle finger or all to see. It was a vulgar gesture, but Doom couldn't let her unexpected foray into high-spots allow anyone to suspect she was considering become a crowd pleaser. That simply wouldn't do.

Doom looked out over her opponent, the larger woman spasming just briefly, before falling still. Part of Doom could hardly believe it; Barda was massive, powerful, built like the comic book women she'd been emulating in the ring. And somehow, through a ridiculous amount of gruelingly hard work, it seemed Doom had laid her low.

Wait, Doom told herself, of course she had! She was Doom, after all. Not that the sudden surge of confidence did much to settle the brawler's nerves, however. Quickly, reached over to roll Barda onto her back, hooked a leg with her arm, and pressed down for the pinfall.

“One!” the ref girl called out, her hand striking the mat, beads of sweat running down Doom's forehead and into her eyes.

Barda sighed as Doom came in for the pin. It felt good to relax, finally. It had been a long match. Not more than a few minutes, sure, but it felt like a whole day. Her body ached in places she didn't even know it could ache. She'd lost count of the injuries and the blows they'd exchanged. And on top of it all, she was just dead tired.

"2...!"

And the crazy thing was, as weird as it sounded in her head, it was actually fun. She...had fun? The match was energetic. Crazy. She had a fun little conversation. She got to put on for the crowd. She didn't win, sure, but she could think of far worse things to do with her time.

She enjoyed it. She hated enjoying it. But she enjoyed it.

"3...!"

She closed her eyes as the bell rang, sighing, nice and deep, before she looked up at Doom. "Um...do you maybe...uh, say, want to catch a Con? Sometime?"

Desperately, Doom buried her weight hard into Barda, as she hooked the leg tight and listened to the ref's count. The bitter brawler had put every ounce of herself into this match, tonight, and she was far too committed to let herself slack off, now. The roar of the crowd screamed in her ear, as she heard the ref's palm striking the count out, on the mat.

The count of three caused Doom to snap back to attention, however. Part of Doom was shocked to hear the ring bell signaling the end of the match, the ring announcer calling her name as the winner. Doom rolled forward, into an upright position. Doom's torso heaved as she fought to bring air back into her body, her every muscle glistening with sweat and showing every bit of the effort she'd just gone through, for this pin. What really got to her, however, was the roar of the crowd. Their displeasure came through in a wave, their frustration with Doom's victory washing over her body. Exhausted as she was, Doom couldn't help but let a sneer spread across her face, as the voices of the jeering crowd fought against her theme, playing over the loudspeakers.

Then, Doom heard Barda speak. Head bowed, slightly, Doom took in the cosplayer's words, and chuckled. She'd just given her all in this match, trying to prove her superiority in AFW, and here was this girl, asking her … if Doom wanted to hang out sometime. Doom fell backwards, her shoulderblades resting against Barda's toned abs, breathing deeply as she tried to gather her strength, and decide what to do next.

Still hearing the crowd jeer her, however, seemed to keep Doom in focus. Strangely, Doom was actually … rather happy, at the moment. Besides, in this godforsaken country, it hadn't exactly been easy to discuss “real” comics, with someone. Doom raised both arms to the sky, straight above her, flipping off the jeering audience with absolute relish. Letting her head lull backward, low enough that she could be certain that only Barda would hear her, Doom muttered, “Doom would be agreeable to that, perhaps … It would not be unwelcome, at any rate. Send Doom an e-mail, maybe.”

Having had a chance to catch her breath, then, Doom kipped up to her feet, flashing a fierce sneer to the crowd. She raised her arms in victory once again, taunting the crowd one last time before rolling out of the ring. “Yes!” the young woman shouted to the audience, as she made her way up the ramp, “give your impotent rage to Doom, as she fells your heroes! Rage impotently before the superiority of PHDoom, you plebian scum! Bwa-ha-ha!” Turning back to the ring, once more, Doom gave a nod to Barda, before spinning on her heel, and disappearing into the gorilla area, letting the chorus of angry fans play her out.