First Impressions

"Three, Four, Five, and Six," Michelle muttered out loud as she finished her squat reps. It wasn't a record weight lift for her, but there was a lot on her mind. She knew it was hard to make it as a wrestler in this league, and she was working extra hard for what was eventually going to be her debut match. She had to be ready for whatever whenever.

The gym was quiet this late at night. She had seen a few other people walk by but no one distracted her from her routine. She was wearing a pink sports bra on top and black form fitting shorts. She felt bigger than most of the other women wrestlers. It was something she wasn't use to. But this was Japan, and the women were smaller. Not all of them, but most. It gave her confidence.

She took a sip from her water bottle as she wiped sweat off her forehead, looking in the mirror. Damn she looked good. She'd never say that out loud.

The last person in the gym, other than Michelle had just finished staring at her from behind, when he bumped headfirst into something. When he turned around, with an annoyed look on his face, that look quickly turned to surprise and a bit of fear. The Anarchist was grinning his usual jackal grin, though not at the person he had bumped into, before grabbing the unfortunate starer by the head and tossing him towards the exit and continuing on.

He was wearing jogging pants and a muscle shirt, when he was making firm steps towards Michelle. He had apparently been looking for her. Or at least expecting her. Or maybe it really was a meeting of chance, which provided him with an opportunity to pick his usual fights.

If Michelle hadn't turned around yet, she probably would when a magazine was tossed her way. It slided over the floor towards her, showing a younger, not-yet-so-muscular Michelle, posing. "Well, looks like it's my lucky day. I get to meet the woman giving countless lonely men something to... think about." He still had his usual grin on the lips and would be walking into her field of vision, if she hadn't turned around to him, by now.

Michelle turned around to see the magazine as it landed in front of her. It was one of her when she was in her late teens posing for the swimsuit edition of a popular sports magazine. She was in a dark blue bikini on the beaches of St. Martin in the Caribbean. She looked at the man approaching and forced a smile. Her first contact in this league.

"You have an advantage on me, I don't believe I know you but you know me." She dried off her hand on her towel and offered it out to the man. "I'm Michelle." She offered a smile. The man was not the first person she had met in Japan, but he was the first with the nerves to talk to her on a semi-normal level. Other guys were too intimidated by her.

Anarc's brow twitched, likely because this was not the reaction he had expected. He had hoped for emberassment or at least that she would be slightly concerned, but instead she was openminded and friendly. This was usually the moment where he filed people in the "sheep"-register of his head.

Now that he was in eyesight and full light, the tattooed anarchist A on the shaved side of his head was almost glowing in its red. "You can call me the Anarchist. Everyone does." She really did have a fair amount of muscles. His eyes ran her down. On one side, calculating how exhausted she was and how this would affect her strength and on the other side, simply letting his eyes joyride on Michelle's curves.

He shook her hand, with a surprisingly harmless, firm grip. He smiled back. Or rather: he grinned. He was not wearing his sunglasses in the gym and his eyes had an almost alarming glimmer in them. "I suppose I should bid you welcome to the league. A lot of things work differently, here in Japan, but I am sure you will adjust." His unusual friendly and polite tone would have alarmed anyone who knew the Anarchist, but in this case, it seemed like Michelle would remain clueless until it was too late.

Michelle may not have seen the intrigue behind his eyes but she knew when someone was checking her out.  She let him enjoy it for a moment and then snapped her fingers and pointed to her eyes.  "Up here," she said with a grin.  Michelle looked up the man up and down back.  His alarming haircut and tattoo made him look menacing, as did his physique.  She was new to wrestling in Japan, but not this type of man.  

His appearance did not match his personality.  It was just like 90% of all wrestlers.  It was about putting on a show for the crowd, and plain old John and Jane were boring, even if most wrestlers were just that.  She was fortunate enough to never need an alternate identity.  She was just herself.  "And thank you, I'm excited and I admit a little nervous."  Not apprehensive, but nervous.

He took an extra second, before looking back up to her eyes, if only just to let her know, that he wasn't emberassed about getting caught. He did indeed continue to play the 90% John and went on: "Well, there may be reason to be nervous. There are rumors that most of the wrestling in the states is fake. Personally, I didn't notice it in the brief, unofficial time I spent there, fighting, but I honestly don't know." His eyes didn't stay on hers for long and now focused on her arms. "You certainly look like you can fight for real, but if I'm honest, I am curious how much of the real deal you are bringing with you."

This was it. Anyone who had seen the Anarchist do his work, saw the invisible bear trap he was casually opening up and would soon invite her to take a look at. "Well, since we are already in a gym and dressed for sport, how would you like a little spar match? You know, just to see what you're capable of." He took an obligatory look around, as if he didn't already know, that they were alone. "Seems we're the only ones left here too, so no need to worry about attracting too much of a crowd."

Michelle crossed her arms at the mention of wrestling in her country being fake. A lot of it was, yes, but her time in it was for real. Real hits, real pain, real deal. He continued to inspect her, probably seeing if she could fight or was just eye candy. "Some of the matches can be staged, yes, but most of them aren't. You can't fake some of the things we did." She then flexed her arms, showing off her biceps. "Or this."

The challenge, though, caught Michelle off guard. She wasn't sure what to think of it at first. Sure it was all in good sport, but she had just worked out and was tired, sore, and exhausted. But a challenge was a challenge. The blonde was eager to get started one day, and a spar would be a perfect way to see just how ready she was. This way there weren't any cameras or fans to judge her if she performed poorly, not that she would.

"Sure, I'm up for that." There wasn't any backing down now. She looked down at her sweaty gear and realized this was an opportunity for something else as well. "This is all...well I have my wrestling gear in the back. Do you have yours? We could suit up as if its a real match, make it interesting." Michelle stretched a little bit, feeling tension in her shoulders and back.

(( If this is going a bit too quickly, let me know

Anarchist played the nice guy a little longer. "Hah, guess I can't argue with that. And you certainly didn't fake the weights." Michelle did indeed take the bait. Not that he really needed it, it was just far more satisfying if they first unwittingly consented to what he was about to do to his opponents. When she offered to fight in their full wrestling get-up, the thought of what her get-up would probably look like crossed his mind and he grinned.

"Why not? I have mine just outside, as well. I will be back in a bit." And with that, he turned around and walked back to changing room for men. He had his outfit actually quite ready, especially since it didn't take up that much space. However, he waited, patiently, until he was sure that Michelle was back in the gym and waiting near a mat or the likes for him.

When he left the dressing room, he was wearing his leather pants and vest, though not his sunglasses and it had a reason. He walked towards Michelle, though kept a certain distance to her and stayed close to a lightswitch. "Now that's a disgusting color scheme, if I've ever seen one: patriotic." His voice was now sounding far different to before. Taunting and menacing. "But at least you're not wearing much of it." He laughed for about two seconds and then suddenly, hit the switch and the entire gym was overtaken by darkness, only illuminated by the weak moon light, shining through the windows. "Just dark enough, wouldn't you say?" His voice came from the shadows, from where only his voice and rapidly increasing footsteps gave away his position.

And this was when he was rushing out of the thicker darkness of the room and into the moonlight. A nearly mad grin on his face, as he was charging at his opponent and trying quickly and powerfully tackle her to the ground. It was his usual strategy. His initial burst of energy in a fight was his greatest strength. Attack. Get your opponent in a hold as soon as possible and tire them out until they can barely fight anymore.

If his bullcharge was sucessful, he would try to force her onto her belly and lock her into an Fujiwara armbar. Though, if she still had any fight left in her, it probably wouldn't be that easy.

Michelle retreated to the woman's locker room and took a few moments to dry off and lightly wash up.  It wasn't a real match, but she didn't want to look disgusting for it anyhow.  She put on her star spangled outfit, let her hair down and made her way back out to the practice ring.  Her back and legs were really sore so she resumed stretching them.  She wished she hadn't worked so hard earlier, but at least it wasn't going to be a real match.

When she was stretching, the man returned and was acting in character.  The personality seemed odd, strange even considering how he had been speaking earlier.  All was part of the persona she imagined just like they had discussed.  She got confused, then, when he then suddenly turned off the lights.  She wasn't sure what to think of that.  Wrestling in the dark?

When she heard him charging her though, she slipped to the side to avoid the oncoming blow.  The spar was on, and he wasn't fooling around anymore.  She then planted her feet into the ground and reached out to try and grapple the man blindly in the dark where he sounded like he had been, hoping to overpower and restrain him to prevent any further evasion in the dark.

The Anarchist was laughing. Genuinely laughing. Michelle might have heard many acts before, but it sounded so genuine, it was downright frightening. "Why so defensive?" The darkness taunted her. He knew she was already and on top of it, he didn't believe there was a woman with the arm strength to match him in the world, anyway, so he didn't try to free himself, when her arms found his.

If Michelle didn't know about Anarc's "burst" style, which was likely, she probably thought he was one of the far better wrestlers of the league. Within the first minute or minutes of a fight, he seemed to utterly overclock his body. His arms quickly wrapped around hers to try and achieve a favourable position, he was now trying to force her down and onto her back. Though he made sure that her arms would remain spread and not end up in front of her. After all: this was not where he intended to just end the fight.