Josey Wales vs. Odessa Brock

Josey's intensity faltered as she was pushing. A solid punch to the stomach was enough to halt her pushing, since it seemed like it was solid enough to stop a glacier. After a second's reprieve, the Outlaw pushed again, harder and with greater effort. Despite the tremendous strength that Odessa and gravity itself were able to exert downwards, Josey had gotten the dark-skinned beauty off of her. The woman opted to give up the ghost, and a few frantic rolls were able to purchase some distance and the concomitant safety that brought.

The cowgirl stood up. Her usually pale skin was red. Many people would chalk that up as embarrassment, or exertion, but those who knew Josey recognized what it was. Her flaring nostrils and balled fists gave away the true emotion that she was feeling, the greatest and most terrible of all the feelings she was capable of: an indefatigable, blind rage. The Outlaw did not heed the advice and rules of gods nor men. She was a power unto herself, and the boundless fury she tapped into threatened to boil over.

For a second, Josey stood, an obelisk to a dark being. Like the crack of a whip, Josey exploded forward, directly at the woman who had just besmirched her. There was no plan in Josey's head, nor could there be. The red mist had possessed her through and through, and Josey was not going to rest until her malevolent passions were sated. Upon reaching the critical threshold, Josey slowed to plant her feet. Her balled fist would fly forward, aiming to loose those pretty white teeth of Odessa's.

Odessa knew she could not take Josey lightly. She could not be caught with her back turned, and she could not taunt the girl into a furor and then assume she had a chance to stand back and gloat without repercussions. This girl was a raging bull. Odessa had to be constantly on, constantly alert. She would have much preferred a match which was enjoyable for them both, locking in intricate, painful holds, punctuating those submissions exchanges with slugfests that left both of their heads ringing, and maybe adding in quite a bit more stripping than had insofar been included in this duel.

Odessa got up onto her feet a second before Josey, but the mad rush which the cowgirl suddenly launched into had her surprised even on such a level of high alert. Josey came in, fist swinging forward, before Odessa could even move to react. The Briton slid back, head dipping away, arms coming up; and she very nearly managed to dodge that punch.

Not quite, though. It grazed along her cheek, rubbing a long streak of chocolate skin raw as Odessa spun around in a half-circle, spittle flying as she took a couple of steps to regain her balance. Her face throbbed. She brought her hands up, ready to defend herself against what came next. And as soon as Josey got close and forgot to watch for the counter, she would strike back. And maybe just end this thing.

Josey was moving forward. She was always moving forward. The blow only grazed Odessa's cheek, but even a tangential blow was enough to make spittle fly from Odessa's lips. The cowgirl's incredible desire to tear this woman's head off was not sated. This just whetted her appetite for violence. Josey cursed quietly, and pulled her arms back, waiting for a quick and painful reprise from Odessa. She did not wait for even half a second to see what Odessa would do. For too long, had she been reactive.

Now it was time to go on the offense, and be proactive. Odessa had her hands up, clearly trying to weather the storm that Josey was about to summon. What Josey hated more than anything was that even now, she was being underestimated by this woman. It seemed crazy to her that her opponent had still not recognized her power, and the terrible rage that she was ready to bring to bear against her.

So Josey moved forward. She took a half step forward, and then launched into a terrible flurry. Blow rained in after blow, and Josey's fatigue faded into nothing. Her blonde hair flew left and right as jerked from side to side. No one was going to confuse her for a technical boxer, or a technical anything. The blows were coming in with the rough brutality of a contender in a cockfight. There was little thought process involved, besides the urge to harm.

Odessa did not enjoy being on the defensive, after so thoroughly humiliating the blonde woman, sitting on her face while she pounded on her midsection with both fists. But she couldn't afford to be reckless, not when her opponent was swinging at her with everything she had, throwing wild punches packed with knockout potential at Odessa's head from every angle. Odessa wanted to retaliate, but she had to be strategic. She had no glass chin. She had suffered through worse slugfests than this. If she had to take a few blows, it was necessary in order to find that one opening where she could really dig her knuckles into Josey.

The cowgirl came at her, swinging again and again, blow after blow, not even taking a moment to breathe, to aim. Odessa brought her arms up, letting those fists slam into her forearms, her wrists, bruising her badly. But one or two blows snuck by, so unpredictable was the onslaught. The fists smashed into Odessa's temple, snapping her head to one side, then her cheek, sending spittle flying as her head snapped in the opposite direction. She could taste some blood in her mouth, and she was feeling dizzy, her head throbbing. She grunted and groaned with every hit, whether it landed on her arms or her face.

And Josey wasn't stopping. Odessa, it seemed, would have to stop her. Letting another blow smash into the back of her hand, eliciting a pained hiss from the Briton, Odessa would take a step into her foe and start throwing punches of her own: a quick left jab at her cheek, and then an uppercut, aimed at her chin, trying to back her up and force a break that Odessa so desperately needed!

Sweat flew from her body. Her pretty face had grown bright red with exertion, and there was little hope of Josey stopping any time soon. The muscles of her arms bulged as round as the old Spanish cannonballs that once flew over her native Texas, but the furor she brought to bear was far from the atavistic hope for any sort of freedom. Save one freedom, of course, the freedom most important to the violent and cruel Josey: the freedom of the tyrant, to wound and to main and to destroy with impunity. Her fists flew in from the right and from the left, and from the depths below where her black rage burned.

Josey did not tire. She did not even give the appearance of tiring. The cowgirl was dimly aware that not all of the blows were hitting her opponent's head, but that did not stop the onslaught. Hard, they came. Fast, they came. Indefatigably, mercilessly, inevitably they came like raindrops in a flood. The cowgirl did not relent, nor could she have even with great effort. She swore to the dark gods of brawl that the walls would fall, just like the walls of Jericho.

The dark-skinned beauty proved that she was not just a force to be acted upon. She was going to be proactive in this fight. It hardly mattered to Josey's emotions, but the sheer nerve sensation she felt when the first blow hit was enough to shake her from her terrible wrath. The first jab landed square, and Josey's terrible assault abated for a second. The second blow was an uppercut, slicing through the air to her chin unhampered.

The Outlaw's head rocked backwards. She faltered a few steps backwards before ultimately being saved by the ropes. It felt as if all of her progress had been undone in one fell swoop, and Josey was determined to get it all back in one go as well. She leaped forward and up into the air, extending both of her legs to kick her opponent as hard as she possibly could.

Josey's assault was the very definition of reckless, as she barreled forward into Odessa's full guard with total abandon, swinging her arms wildly, each and every punch a haymaker thrown as hard as the cowgirl could possibly manage. Under normal circumstances, such an offensive would feel to Odessa like Christmas morning, a big present wrapped up with a pretty little pink bow. She could exploit all the openings presented to her, dismantle Josey piece by piece, make the woman pay for her audacity in blood, sweat, and tears.

But Josey, like the bulls she probably had grown familiar with back in Texas or wherever it was she had grown up, was seeing red, and no counterattack, no block seemed to be slowing her down in the slightest as those punches continued to pile on with consistently brutal force, bashing Odessa in the face, making her taste blood. But finally, finally, she got in the counter which changed things up. She battered Josey back into the ropes, and, finally, took a deep breath.

Then she took a step forward. And that was when the kick hit. Josey had lost no energy at all from that barrage, or so it seemed. The kick hit Odessa's chest full force, making the Briton cry out in pain as she was sent hurtling backwards, tumbling head over heels across the canvas!

Josey was a big fan of poker. It was a high stakes game when she was involved, and the chips were always down. A big part of the game was bluffing, and the cowgirl understood that all too well. Right now, she was bluffing, and bluffing for all she was worth. She had to pretend that she was not dead tired, had to act like she was not hurt, had to fake like she had a whole lot left in the tank. The impact of her boots on the dark-skinned woman's skin sent ripples throughout her legs. Her bluff worked.

Now it was time to win the whole pot. Josey did her best to bounce back up as quickly as she could. Her bones were tired, and demanded rest. Josey could not sate that. There was an older part of her, a deeper part of her that demanded the holy retribution to the churning angry gods that ruled over the harsh Texas plain. She ignored her fatigue and pain, great and terrible as it was, and pushed herself up and continued moving.

The blonde woman was now charging towards Odessa. Her opponent was now on the ground, and that is where she would actually like that to be. Josey jumped into the air and brought her elbow forward. She was not bluffing anymore. The Outlaw had the high hand, and she was going to play it as aggressively as she possibly could.

The kick itself jolted Odessa hard enough to stun her, and the tumble she took from there did not exactly help her. She went careening across the canvas, bumping and scraping against it, leaving her whole body sore by the time she came to a halt, seemingly minutes later, in a jumbled heap of chocolate-colored limbs and sleek black and white attire. For a second, she just had to lay there, still, her head throbbing, every limb now seeming to be pierced by a dozen little needles of pain.

But one by one, those needles dropped away, and the pain became more generalized, her whole body throbbing and glowing hot, with only her chest still smarting in that same intense way. Slowly, Odessa untangled herself, picking herself up, getting onto all fours with a loud groan as her body spasmed once, quivering before letting her regain control.

And then Josey came at her again. Odessa had been fast to recover, but not fast enough, and that elbow smashed into her back, eliciting a yelp as the Briton was flattened into the canvas again, face hitting the mat hard as Josey came down on top of her!

There were very few things that dictated where Josey would go neck. For a long time, she had been a drifter, a wanderer, a vagrant. The only thing she had to guide her was her id, and her rage. The Outlaw was led downwards, upon her opponent. The black rage in her heart guided her to the earth and further down to the depths below. Only, Odessa was between her and hell, for the time being. Once she landed, she paused for a second. Her elbow was smarting with pain, and her body was tired.

But she rose. Her blonde hair was practically stuck to her body due to the sweat. Her foe was on the mat before her, and Josey was going to keep going until she was literally riding her. She took a step forward, and then bent down to pick her opponent up.

She grabbed her, right under the breasts. The Outlaw attempted to pick Odessa right up from the mat. From there, she would attempt to lift her further still. Josey was going for a German suplex. There were probably easier ways to do this, but Josey was not about the easy life.

Odessa knew that, as soon as she had an opening, she needed to act, act fast, act decisively to prevent Josey from taking the advantage like this again.

Because this? This situation right now was endlessly troublesome for the ebony wrestler. Her cowgirl foe threw her down onto the canvas, and then drilled that elbow into her back for good measure, making Odessa convulse, her body arching painfully around that bone as it slammed into her spine. Spiderwebs of pain flashed through her body as she collapsed back onto the mat on her face, breathing heavily, letting out a hoarse hiss.

And Josey still wasn't done, as she grabbed the stunned Odessa around her midsection, her ample chest pushing up visibly a bit, and lifted. Odessa's legs kicked a bit, but she could not do anything to stop it as Josey lifted her up...and pulled her over, suplexing her, slamming Odessa's head and shoulders into the canvas hard enough to elicit a shriek from the Briton as she hit, everything going numb for a moment as she slumped over!