Blaise Cameron vs. Makoto Takeda: Time to Say Goodbye...

"Blaise! Blaise! Blaise!"

Mako took a moment - a brief flash - to breath as she sat on the floor, legs spread out with Blaise's curling body in between them, and that was the first time she heard it. The chanting. The way the crowd was just rallying behind this loser, no matter how much he got annihilated. And she knew it was only going to get louder.

She spit off to the side and got back to her feet, though she didn't stay on them for long. As much fun as pummeling Blaise was, there was the small matter of him being conscious that she had to worry about - after all, he could only say the magic words if he was awake. Time to slow the pace down.

She sat down on Blaise's back, reached forward to grab his face from behind and dig her nails into that flesh, and reared back, trying to put him into a vicious camel clutch. "Scream, bitch!"

Everything about Blaise seems counter to his typical self, up to and including paying no attention to the audience. But now, facedown on the mat and given a moment to try to breathe, he has little else to focus on.

What he hears gets a blink. He pushes himself up a little on his arms and turns his head, gazing blearily out at them. Now? Now is when he finally gets to hear his name chanted? On what's most likely his final match? Dammit.

"Hnf!"

Before he has the clarity to mount a counter-attack and take advantage of the lull, he finds a girl's weight added to his back. She doesn't grab him by the chin - she takes him by the face, and digs those bitch claws in. Her demands are met in short order with a sharp cry; not only for those nails indenting his flesh, but for the arch in his spine! He first grabs for her wrists, trying to yank her hands away from his face!

The referee circled in, getting close as Mako wracked up the pressure and pulled Blaise to the breaking point, as if she expected the submission any minute. It was still early in the match, even she realized that, but it seemed like the little doofus hadn't come with his game face on. Maybe she could take the fight out of him early?

Didn't happen. Blaise was still fighting, trying to get out of the hold. He got a solid hold on her wrists and started to pull them away from his face - for what purpose, Mako didn't know and didn't intend to find out.

The guy wasn't the strongest male in Tension, but she wasn't exactly a tank herself, so she couldn't overpower him as her arms were pulled away. But she could work with all the tools at her disposal, and she could stick to her successful strategy: nonstop aggression. As soon as her arms were far enough away from his face, Mako jerked down and slammed her forehead against the back of his skull, trying to force  his face into the canvas. It wouldn't be all that pleasant on her end, but she was fine with the damage so long as Blaise got the worst of it.

As soon as Mako's nails are pulled away, Blaise can feel the stinging sensation of some girlie claw-marks. She's left a definite impression on him. "Nnhh.." But before he can lower himself down to fully relax his spine, a hard, blunt force impacts the back of his skull.

The aching sensation bursts like a firework, and his face immediately smacks against the mat. Her wrists are certainly free of restraint, his forearms relocated to covering the back of his head.

She's relentless. Monstrous. With every passing moment, he can detect more and more the sheer amount of ire and contempt she has for him, and she's not going to stop until he's gone. Maybe not even then. He has to fight back. Even if everything about this match has so far been proving Amy right, he has to fight. If not to prove Amy and Suzumi wrong about him, then for himself.

But it might have to start with baby steps.

The teen twist to twist his hips, hoping to roll her off.

As Mako reeled from the effects of her own attack, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, it occurred to her that, maybe, headbutting him the back of his skull wasn't the brightest idea she'd ever had. It hurt him, too, but she could smell the faint scent of iron filling up her nostrilks - a little bleeding. Small annoyance, but she still had the superior position, and she had two freed fists that could do a lot of damage.

Mako brought her fists together, formed an axe handle, then raised it above her head, ready to drill it into the back of his neck. She'd just started to bring it down when Blaise had a sudden spasm beneath her, throwing her off and sending her tumbling into the ropes. Didn't hurt much, but the sudden switch was disorienting, and she needed a moment to get back to her feet. She grabbed hold of the middle rope and started to pull up, rising fast.

Blaise's head is swimmy, but he's got instinct to go on. When he feels Mako's weight relieved from his back, he rolls over to search for her. And what he finds is a welcome sight; a lapse, just a moment of a pause, in her otherwise torrential onslaught. He didn't have time enough to think about it. He just needed to go for it.

He pushes himself up, racing against her at a disadvantage. The roar of the crowd lifts when it becomes clear he's about to fight back, and he's riding it, letting it energize him. And just before he fully straightens his back, he rockets a wild uppercut towards where he hopes her jaw has remained.

Mako was cocky, but even she didn't think she'd be getting through this match unscathed. Blaise had beaten Stone, after all, so he wasn't some limpdick pushover. Still, the guy was no bruiser. He had some skill, but power? Lacking. She could take a few of his best hits and keep on coming.

That was what she assumed, until she actually experienced one of his punches, firsthand. It had suprising force, enough to make her body shoot upright before she fell against the ropes. Her eyes filled with stars, her legs got wobbly - far from done, but the she alacrity of the blow and the way it came fuck out of nowhere were what really wound up taking her for a loop.

Boy, he hated punching people like that. It just felt wrong. Like it wasn't wrestling, but rather out-and-out fighting. And that's not what Blaise got in the ring to do. He doesn't hate anyone. He doesn't intend to genuinely hurt people. But he wasn't given much choice with Makoto. She'd backed him into a wall, and going so rough on someone might make him feel a little sick afterwards, but what else could she do?

Moreover, she chose this. She was enjoying stomping him.

Blaise grabs for one of her wrists, while the other reaches for the back of her neck. Once caught, he'll march her to the turnbuckle she'd been squashing him into moments before, only to begin slamming her forehead against the top rung.

"Is this what you were hoping for!?"

When Blaise grabbed ahold of her wrist, Mako expected him to send her off with an Irish Whip  or something like that. She could counter whatever he had planned from there, maybe hit him with the Lou Thesz and wail away on his skull while he was down.

That wasn't what he went for, though. No, the little fucker apparently had a mean streak, and she'd revved it up into full gear, a fact she painfullly learned when Blaise slammed her face against the turnbuckle. Mako let out a short cry before she fell to one knee, grabbing the rope just to keep herself upright.

As Mako drops, Blaise lets her go - for a moment. His hand soon finds its way into her hair, fingers tangling in her brunette locks to maintain control, but he isn't sure what to do with her. Were this any other situation, any other scenario, he'd have a dozen or more ideas. But here, he needs to keep control and try to do as much damage as possible. He has to be vicious. That's his only shot.

Her head is yanked unceremoniously aside, guided between the middle and bottom ropes. He attempts to set her collar across the rope and press his knee into her shoulder to begin grinding her down. Though her hair will be released, it's to grab ahold of that middle rope and pull, leveraging as much force as he can muster on her.

It's a cheap move. He knows it. He doesn't particularly like doing it, but what it comes down to is that he's fighting for his life! No one else may believe in him, and the audience would probably be satisfied either way, but he can't take any chances! "You asked for this!," shouts the teen as he grinds down. "How does it taste?!"