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

The crowd's booing was reaching an insane pitch, getting to the point where it felt like the stadium itself was rattling. There were screams. Yells. Curses in languages she didn't even recognize. They were like a swarm of angry bees, buzzing all around her, pissed as all hell but without a single fucking thing they could do about it. Mako was dismantling their little hero, piece by piece, and she was making them pay for the pleasure.

She loved it.

"Ah, does that hurt? Did I knock something out of whack? Here," Instead of just hitting him again, she brought the top of the chair down on top of the area he was nursing with his hand, then leaned on it to make the cold, unforgiving metal dig into his skin. "Let me see if I can straighten it out. Apply a little presure."

That whack hurt. He hadn't been hit with a chair since he left America. He wouldn't have expected Mako, scrawny thing she is, to swing with such force, either. Maybe it's the compounding damage he's taken talking, but screw it. That requires too much braining.

"Aaagh!"

The chair grinds down into his spine, and the teen flails his arms back in an attempt to swat it away. "Off!," he manages to shout over the audience. But the rest comes out in indecipherable cries of pain. He knows if he could just twist to the side, he could dislodge it completely! But the pain wracking his his midsection and the persistent pressure against his back makes every little turn meet with spikes of pain.

Mako loved the sight of Blaise writhing beneath her as she ground the chair into his spine, savoring every little gutteral noise he made. She'd be watching this match for weeks to come, just to relive the experience. Hell, others would be watching, too. If there was ever a time to cement the Valkyries' position in Tension, this was it.

And she'd actually been worried about losing? Pfft.

"You know," She finally let up on the chair, giving Blaise a second to breath. Only a second. "Aside from the part where you broke my fucking bike..." She gave Blaise a hard stomp in the back to punctuate the last word. "I've really enjoyed this, Blaise. Think I'll try this with Amy afterwards, you know? That way, you two can be out of a job together. Poetic."

Mako took the chair in one hand and reached down with the other, getting a tight grip before she started to drag him towards the steel steps. She didn't have the power to make him move without help, but she tugged hard enough to make her point clear: if he didn't come along with her and help the effort, she'd tear his hair clean off his scalp.

Makoto's taunting earns a weakened groan from Blaise. He doesn't know what to say or do about it. She has him right where she wants him, and it sucks knowing that. And then things get worse when she stomps against his tenderized back. "Anh!"

The teen twists around finally, letting the pain spike for the sake of protecting his back from further punishment - not that his front is doing any better. And then Makoto mentions Amy; mentions pulling the same crap with her, ruining her budding career.

Amy wrecked him before the match. She said some harsh things, and completely yanked her support. She turned on him. She broke him down when he needed her to build him up. For as right as she seems to've been - he really isn't good enough to take her, is he? - he's furious at her for it. So what does he have to say about Amy as Mako grabs his hair?

"You leave her alone, you jerk!"

He doesn't know who that Amy was in the locker room, who seemed fixated on crushing him. He knows the Amy he danced with. The Amy who visited him when he was feeling down. The Amy who had him autograph her shirt. The Amy he'd gotten into sheep-stamp shenanigans with. And he doesn't want anything to happen to that girl.

If emotional fervor and spirit translated into physical ability, maybe Blaise wouldn't be stumbling after Makoto now, towed by the hair. He grabs for her wrist with one hand, the other wildly swatting and scoring zero productive hits on her torso. "Touch'er and I'll kill you!"

In hindsight, that'll probably feel a little harsh. But he's barely holding together at this point.

As 'I Quit' matches went, the festivities hadn't gone on all that long, but Mako thought she'd packed a lot of punishment into a short time. Chair shots. Bites. Heavy blows. She'd wrenched, taken him apart, broke him down. He shouldn't have been able to put up that much fight anymore.

So how the fuck was he?

His punches didn't have enough power to really hurt her, but they were a sign that Balise still had some fight left and that he wouldn't be saying the magic words anytime soon. Completely unacceptable.

"Gonna kill me?" She gripped his hair even tighter and yanked it up, getting it in a good position, just high enough that she could shoot her leg up and ram her knee in his face. "You really think that's happening? You really think you're in control, here, you little shit?"

Blaise isn't performing at his best - not even close. Not even a fraction. But that threat on Amy has kindled the embers of his spirits, if just enough to keep up the fight. His knuckles are grazing Mako's ribs, but he's just not making a solid connection; just not enough force. And suddenly, he finds his scalp on fire and his face lifted. And then, a boney knee slams into it.

"Pffhh!"

The teen drops to a knee, possibly losing a few hairs in the process. A trickle of blood begins to trail from the corner of his lips. "You... won't... hurt'er...," he hisses between breaths, groggy and unfocused after the hit.

Mako took a moment wipe her knee off, letting her beat drop down to a calm fury. She was still pissed at Blaise for messing up her ride, but there was only so long she could run red hot. And if Blaise was being this stubborn, she'd have to get a bit more creative with the damage she was doing.

"And how're you stopping me?" She stalked after Blaise with a slow strut."Can barely stand up. Fuck, pretty soon, you won't even work here."

Mako reached over and grabbed Blaise by the wrist with both of her hands, getting a solid grip before she swung around and tried to hurl him into the barricade, let him get close to his loyal fans."It's over, Blaise. You're just too stupid to realize it."

While knelt, Blaise runs the back of his fist against his lips to clear up the blood. Of course, the cameras have already caught it, and the audience is going wild. They may be pulling for Blaise to win, but the most of them came to see unadulterated brutality - it doesn't matter on who. Mako's strut is both cocky and menacing, and the crowd is eating it up in anticipation.

"You're... wrong...," he mutters, likely unheard by Mako. And despite his words, he can't mount an effective resistance. She drags the heavier male to unsteady feet, swings him around, and sends him into a stumbling run! He collides against the steel barrier chest-first and drapes over it, winded, breathless, and feeling like he just slammed headlong into a speeding truck.

The one thing he has over people is a persistence that borderlines reckless. And though it doesn't take a genius to realize Makoto is in great shape whereas even moving hurts him, he knows no one believes in him, and everything in him wants to fold, he can't bring himself to give in and surrender. Not while he can do something, anything to keep going.

He receives a series of light little pats from optimistic fans and fans of opportunity. They're getting to touch a wrestler! Squee! "Gh.." His head lifts slowly, and he rotates to lean back against the railing. And despite the extreme abuse his body has endured so rapidly in this match, he tries to pry himself loose and close in with her at the gait of a shambling, but determined zombie. "It... ain't over..." His left hand will make a grab for her shoulder while the right swings in a wide vertical arch in hopes of blasting her over the head.

Like pretty much every single opponent she'd ever faced, Blaise was bigger than Mako, had the advantage of weight and height on his size. Didn't mean shit. Didn't stop her from kicking his ass. Didn't keep her from swinging around and sending him chest-first into the barricade. She got her back into it, really pulled him hard for the move, and she loved the results.

Mako moved after Blaise as he turned around, ready to plant her boot squarely in his chest, when she was greeted by something she didn't expect. A punch. A single, defiant punch.

Mako staggered back from the punch, shaking her head to ward off the dizziness. The crowd was rallying behind him, on their feet, but her response was the polar opposite: she looked back at Blaise with sheer hatred and charged back towards him.

"Yes!" Right hook to the face. "It!" Left hook to the jaw. "Is!" She finished it off with a boot to the stomach, trying to knock the fucker back against the rail. One way or the other, he'd learn his place.

The feeling of Mako's head connecting with his knuckles is almost energizing. Zomie-Blaise shambles forward, drawing his fist back to throw another, hoping the pressure alone will be enough to force her back and tip the scales. But Mako has a way of disappointing him, and this time, it comes in the form of some small, but snappy fists.

Each impact whips the teen's head aside and fuzzes his vision. His arms weakly hang at his sides after the second impact, and the boot hammers into his midsection to force him back against the guardrail again. A *CLANG* of impacted metal rings out in the arena, the unyielding surface forcing Blaise's back to arch over the edge before his feet slip from beneath him. He falls to a seated position, slouched and covering his midsection.