Georgia Flynn debut - vs. Abattoir

Standard rules, one fall.

The crossroads at which Abattoir had found herself had left her unsettled.

This was...not particularly new, but it had never been so consistent. She'd spent entire nights pacing the floor of her hovel, hours on hours either beating her head against the wall or floating inside her deprivation tank trying to induce some kind of guiding vision, and had met nothing but silence the whole way. Ominous. Didn't bode well for her decision to pitch in with Styx's little anarchist faction. Well, there was no going back now; she was just another attack dog in the pack, and would remain so for the foreseeable future.

Maybe there was a way to reconcile all of it together. Maybe she could keep fulfilling her purpose, even in the face of all the destruction that'd be coming. Chaos sharpened people's edges, didn't it?

This was almost certainly a comfortable self-delusion, but Abattoir was not particularly well-grounded, and so her thoughts were elsewhere - borderline obsessive, even - as she strode down to ringside for her match. Her eyes were unfocused, distant, above the black mask, and with her hood pulled low over them she looked more like a distracted cybergoth raver than an AFW competitor. Still, by the time she slid into the ring, the nak muay had begun to transition into her usual cold 'all-business' mentality, and once her coat had been tossed over the top rope, the overall change in her demeanor was remarkable. No more pacing. She waited in the red corner, stock-still. Focused. No time for self-doubt now.

Her opponent was somebody new, apparently. Good. Untested. That meant potential. Abattoir was pleased with the matchmaking decisions, although her enthusiasm had been a bit tempered when the AFW brass had informed her that the standard match she'd been booked in was 'an encouragement' to make her style a little less...dangerous. Several settlements had been made after the Christmas Extravaganza, owing to fans being splattered with blood, struck by errant glass, and accidentally thwacked with the backswings of kendo sticks. Thus: exile, to the Siberia of regular prime-time wrestling, with rules and everything.

Which was fine. The rush of combat was the rush of combat, no matter what kind of gimmicks you added or took away from it.

Finally, after years spent playing and training in the ring, competing in matches both with and against her mother and father, as well as every wrestler to make it through their modest sized promotion, Georgia was going to get a shot at the big time!

As her theme started to play, she took a deep breath and stepped through the curtain, having to stop and gasp as she came out onto the entrance ramp and got her first full look at the crowd. A packed house, as usual at the Friction Arena, filled with both newcomers, and tourists and fans from over the world as well as thousands of Tokyo natives, regulars who came every week and damn near owned their seats, there to see their favorites in battle.

That moment, they were there to see her too.

It was almost overwhelming, especially for just a young second generation wrestler from California. Her largest crowd before this has been maybe 1000 people, now she was standing in front of practically a living sea of thousands upon thousands of fans, all wanting to see what she could do.

She was nervous. She was scared.

She could do this!

Quickly taking a deep breath and crossing herself, the partly Irish girl, clad in her lucky shamrock green attire, took a running start, charging down the ramp and sliding under the ropes into the ring, getting onto her feet and hopping onto the middle ropes, raising both hands up with a double Peace sign as her instrumental Rush song continued playing for a few more moments before fading out, leaving a clapping crowd eager to see the match get started.

Before the bell rang, Georgia turned and offered her opponent a chance to shake hands, a simple, easy gesture.

"Hey, I'm Georgia! You ready to have some fun?"

Abattoir didn't judge based on appearances. Anybody, no matter how they dressed or behaved, could turn out to be a hell of a competitor. All she knew about her cheerful-looking opponent was that she was new to the organization - which didn't mean she was inexperienced at wrestling at all, just that she hadn't stumbled over the right set of circumstances until now.

As she stepped up to meet Georgia, the nak muay extended a hand in turn and grasped her opponent's. "I'm Abattoir." Her gaze was steady and unblinking over the mask, thankfully devoid of the arrogance some people might have in facing down a rookie. "I was sent back to test the worthy."

No more niceties. It was time to go. They separated back to their corners, and a moment later the bell rang to start the match off. Abattoir brought her elbows up in her usual stance and circled slowly, watching Georgia's movements. It was too early to make any kind of call as to what she might be up against - the only way to find out was to test the waters. She approached with caution, keeping an eye on her opponent as they circled, then threw out a quick feint, popping one leg up as if to throw a straight push kick. A jab with the leg, essentially.

It was misdirection, of course; as soon as it'd been up long enough to register in Georgia's mind, the leg was back down and Abattoir shot in low, trying to grab a waistlock. This'd be a good way to figure out early on what kind of opponent she was facing.

Oh good, she shook back, well that was nice of...


Ok, that got weird fast.

Still, the bell had rung, so matches time!

They circled each other, Georgia hopping back and forth trying to make it confusing what she would do.

Then Abattoir tried a kick, Georgia quickly reaching out to try and grab her leg, only for the masked girl to fake her out, sneaking around behind her with a waist lock, causing her to yelp as she grabbed at Abattoirs hand, struggling for a bit, though if she could break Abattoir's grip around her waist, she would try to grab her wrist and spin around the girl to put her in a wristlock!

First blood was drawn, albeit not in quite as literal a sense as usual for an Abattoir match.

The nak muay interlaced her fingers, keeping the waistlock on, and dropped her weight to match Georgia's movements. Her intent was to juke to one side and then use that momentum as leverage to get her opponent down to the mat, but as soon as she started trying, she could feel one hand being pried away. The girl was strong - good trait to have in a grappler. Before she could reassert her grip, Abattoir had lost the waistlock and Georgia had ahold of her wrist, keeping it immobilized.

Trying to pull back or twist the other way would only lead to pain. Having spent the past few months diligently working on her wrestling skills (when she wasn't busy doing Abattoir Things), the nak muay felt the usual defense spring unbidden to mind, like a reflex. She took a step back, ignoring the tensing spike of pain in her shoulder, and dove forward into a front roll to unwind her arm, then popped up and tried to twist around behind Georgia in a hammerlock.

If it didn't work, she was going to look reeeeaaaal silly.

Yay! Success!

Oh no! Lack of success!

Such were all the thoughts that Georgia had time to think, only having her wrist lock locked in for a brief couple of seconds before Abattoir, in an impressive counter, rolled forward, tossed Georgia off of her and then locked her in a hammerlock of her own.

Sitting on the mat, already finding herself in a bad position already within the first minute of the match, Georgia kicked the mat, trying to get her legs back under her so she could scramble some kind of way up to her feet or fight back.

Okay. Hammerlock was in. And now...uh....

Lamely, Abattoir's mind had finally caught up to the realization that she didn't know where to go from here, apart from cranking on the arm. Okay...maybe just hold onto that for now. The idea of throwing an elbow at the back of Georgia's head was tempting, but it was a bit early in the feeling-out process to go full speed ahead.

As her opponent began to steadily work her way up to her feet, Abattoir gripped her shoulder and wrist, keeping the pressure on. Maybe she could do a counter to the counter that was coming - or, if nothing else, she'd learn a hammerlock escape. Hooray? Well, it was good to improve herself.

It took time, but Georgia managed to get up to her feet, still caught in the hammerlock. It was...odd actually. Maybe her opponent didn't have a good understanding of traditional holds? Good, she could teach her something then.

Needing an escape, Georgia leaned down and turned with her captured shoulder, unwinding it and, while still in Abattoir's grip, still gave Georgia enough space and distance to throw a couple hard punches to Abattior's gut!

Abattoir watched with interest as Georgia pulled off a standing switch, unhooking the hammerlock. Huh. So that was how that worked.

Still, that was more than enough room for her opponent to juke away and swing a hook towards her midsection. There was pretty much nothing she could do about the first one except brace and take it. The impact was...not that bad, all things considered (she'd taken gutshots from both of her stable mates, after all); Georgia seemed like more of a wrestler than a brawler. Abattoir tensed up and took the punch, locking eyes with Georgia over the mask - it was the kind of look that said you really wanna throw hands with me, young blood? - and then she moved.

By the time the second punch was incoming, she was bursting forward - into it rather than away from it. Her left arm pulled, trying to close the distance between the two of them, and her right arm shot up to loop around behind the other girl's head in sort of a half-plum clinch.

The second shot landed too, but it hadn't had nearly as far to travel since Abattoir was basically smothering it in the crib. She drew back, gripped the clinch tightly, and, as Georgia recovered from the swing, threw a knee strike at her gut, aimed right under the ribcage.

Abattoir moved like a blur, suddenly pulling into Georgia's second punch, which, admittedly, since punching was Georgia's weakest point, did little to know damage to her, leading to her getting caught in the crib.

"Ooof!"

She groaned, the hard shot to her stomach driving the wind out of her, bending her over slightly, scrambling as she tried to shove the masked girl away.