Amy Poford vs. Armando 'Army' Rodriguez - Lover's Spat

Army wasn't looking Amy's way when she got flung into the corner, but he didn't have to in order to know that she was getting back up. She was like a little piece of rubber. Tough, sturdy, and she just kept bouncing back. His ribs, not so much. They weren't broken, but it felt like she was working on a crack, there, and it would only get worse from there on out.

He moved back into his boxing stance and tried to play it off, not wanting to give her anything to take advantage of if he could avoid it. She was still moving a bit weird, trying to shake off the effects, but he knew that wouldn't last forever and she'd be blitzing him before too long. He needed to lock her down while things were in his favor. That meant putting her down on the floor on the floor in the most definitive way possible.

Army moved in and reached out for her, trying to get a hold of Amy's wrist while she was moving away from the turnbuckle. "Off you go!" He gave her a hard jerk as he turned around and sent her running towards the ropes, trying to set her up for a Big Boot to the chest when she came back.

Here it was, her first ever Irish Whip! When she'd seen the move performed on television, she was confused. Wrestlers willingly let their opponents find their feet, and then let them go free? And it looked like the thrown wrestler always worked toward their own demise- running back first into the ropes, for example, and picking up momentum using the rope's tension rather than doing their best to stop running.

Once she was actually thrown, though, a lot of what she'd seen made sense. Oh okay, so she wanted to turn her back to the rope; otherwise, those coils would slap her right in the chest, then fling her backwards into the mat. And, alright, I'm moving a lot faster than I'd expected, Amy thought. She watched Army, who had taken a wide stance in preparation for something, with widening eyes. Dodging isn't going to be easy.

She didn't know what nasty attack Army had in mind for her, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him to land it. While on the approach, Amy leaped high, brought her legs in, and then shot them out in rapid succession, translating all that momentum into a speedy dropkick to Army's chest... or wherever. Amy wasn't picky.

Army brought his leg up for the Big Boot, prepared for impact, and wound up hitting exactly nothing at all instead on landing a solid blow on Amy's chest. The reason for that was simple: she wasn't there, anymore. She was up, flying, and heading rigth at his chest with a dropkick. And by the time he realized what she was doing, there wasn't any time to block it or even brace. He barely had enough time blurt out: "Oh, shit!"

Amy's boots cracked him hard in the chest, felt like a small bomb going off inside his chest.and it was his turn to reel back from the pain, now. She'd managed to get some good momentum in that blow, and the result was impressive. More impressive than he expected from her. Not a good sign for his domination of the match, if it meant what he thought it meant. A definite plus for entertainment, though.

Army stumbled back to the ropes and bounced off, but he just managed to grab hold of the ropes and avoid a very embarrasing face flop. As it was, he fell to a knee and started to pick himself, not sure if he could get back up before she did. But it was worth a shot.

Amy slapped the mat when her body hit it and rolled quickly back to her feet. All that running had done her some good. She was still a little hot under the collar, but, for the most part, her head was clear, and most of the steam that rose from her body now came from bloodlust rather than the regular kind.

Thus refocused, Amy was able to appreciate Army's reaction to its fullest. That facial expression, that utter shock, that panicked shout... It was enough to plaster her grin back onto her face.

Amy saw that Army was struggling back to his feet on the ropes and found the whole situation eerily familiar. Her instinct told her to go for a flying knee to his face, and something told her that she'd probably score blood if she managed to pull it off. But a second voice told her that the knee was too predictable, and to try something new. So when she charged and jumped toward Army's rising form, it wasn't with a knee in front, but rather a fist cocked behind, ready to launch itself down into Army's face once it was in range.

To the average person, the scene might have looked a little silly. Hell, if Army had looked in on this scene a year ago, he would have thought the same thing. Here was this big, strapping, bull of a man getting slapped around by a girl who barely came up to his neck. Silly, right?

Well, fuck the average person, and fuck him from a year ago. Army had learned firsthand how even the tiniest fist could do major damage to a guy if it was thrown in the right. Amy's dropkick was a good example, and the punch she launched in in his face was another one.

He'd still been stunned from the drop kick by the time she delivered it, so when she came screeching in, there was almost zero time to prepare. It clocked him hard in the face and knocked him back against the ropes, and this time he fell to both knees, with his palms flat on the floor.

He shook his head, groaned as he stared down at the canvas, but even through all of that Army managed to smirk. "Starting to have some real fun myself, now."

The superman punch just seemed to fit so well with Army, and not just because she needed to get a little air to effectively deliver a straight to his face. It was an attack that she'd used when they'd first met, and the move that she'd used to score her first knockdown against him. It was special, it had history, and that made the move one of her favorites. She bet that hearing that would make Army happy too when she told him. Later, of course.

Amy's grin evolved into a genuinely joyful laughter at Army's words. Then she bit her lip. "Shit, Army, I think I might really like you. Like, a lot." Just in case there was any doubt about her sincerity, Amy stepped forward, brought her right leg up high, then brought it crashing down to the top of Army's skull in an axe kick.

There was a surreal moment there, just for a second. It wasn't like Amy had said anything surprising. Of course she liked him. He seriously doubted she would sleep - repeatedly - with a guy she hated, or even a guy she just 'kinda' liked. But to hear her verbalize it, say it out loud? Not what he'd expected. And the way she said the words, it almost seemed like she was bordering on another 'L' word, one that he hadn't ever thought to apply in a relationship before.

Maybe he was thinking too hard. In fact, he was sure he was. Fortunately, he didn't have much time to really wrack his brain with the contemplation, before she brought her heel crashing down on the back of his head.

This time he went down all the way and faceplanted on the mat, spreadeageled as the crowd roared all around them. At least, he was pretty sure that booming noise was the crowd. It could have been related to the head trauma, too. Army managed to get his hand up to rub the back of his skull, but aside from that, there was no movement.

"Ugh." He rolled his head from side to side, face sliding along the canvas. "Good one."

Amy did the math. 200 pounds of dead weight, 115 pounds of woman. It wouldn’t be impossible to schlep him away from the ropes for a pin attempt, but it wouldn’t be easy, either. Plus, the drag would probably pull his pants down, and that wasn’t something that she wanted Army to feel like he had to get even with her for. No, she'd be better off keeping it simple.

“Ehh… five out of ten.” Amy used Army’s legs to turn him so that he was parallel to the ropes, then rolled him toward her so that he was lying on his back. “You’re still talking, so it can’t have been that great.” Amy hooked a leg and pressed down on his shoulders with her body. Intimately, she intoned. “Pins aren’t our usual thing, so I’m cool with keeping the baseball ownerless after this.” Then she playfully flicked his shoulder with her free hand. “Still counts as a win for me, though.”

Army couldn't be sure - partly because he was having trouble thinking straight with his head throbbing like this - but he was certain this was the first time anyone had ever attempted to drag him anywhere. Amy was doing a good job of it, too, especially considering the weight difference. All she did was get him into position for the pin, but even so, it had to look weird as hell from the audience.

"1...!" The crowd counted along with the referee as Amy went for the first pinfall of the match, and he would've been chanting along with them if he'd been in the audience. She'd managed a great turnaround, and he was impressed by it...but that didn't mean he was done.

"2...!" Army's arm jerked up right after the second count, breaking the pin, as the audience brokes into a wave of cheers and disappointed sighs.

"Sorry, not that easy." He grunted and started to roll away from her, trying to get back up to his feet.

Amy rolled away, too. When she got to her feet, Army was up as well, and she bared her teeth at him in an aggressive smile. "That's okay. Let's keep going then." Something had felt off about pinning Army. Amy wasn't really interested in ending a match while he still had fight left in him, and she was reasonably certain that he felt the same way about her.

Army had inarguably gotten the worse of this initial skirmish, and Amy's eyes took it all in. The vulnerabilities on his body lit up like Christmas lights; those ribs looked particularly inviting. Of course, that didn't change the fact though that a single solid hit from Army's fists could lay her out if she wasn't careful... not that he'd ever managed to before. Amy lifted a single finger, then drew it carefully in a deliberate and taunting X shape over her right eye; the crowd ate it up, which only widened Amy's smile. Then she stuck out her tongue and put up her fists, legs tensed and bouncing.