Watch Your Mouth: Zoey Jae Oh vs. Crista Zhang

Match Rules: No Holds Barred
Victory Conditions: The first wrestler to make her opponent verbally submit wins the match.
Victory Stipulations: The loser must serve as the prisoner of the winner until released.

Crista:

Greater experience. Greater knowledge. New outfit, one that she actually liked, too. The stipulations may have been the same, but Crista Zhang would ensure that the results were different.

With a graceful sway of her hips, the brunette glided onto the ramp alongside the sound of her [theme] from the arena speakers, forgoing most fanfare beyond providing upturned lips to the crowd (and a small pose, nearly like a ballerina, at the stairs, just to ensure that the crowd was reminded that, yes, she was the one with the legs). Soon, she stood in the ring, giving the front row a scrutinizing scan before she turned her eyes to the now-distant stage to await her opponent, Zoey. No hooded figures, this time.

Crista had no disdain of losing, so long as she lost fairly. And not repeatedly. And, she would never want to win with an undeserved advantage herself, either. With some members of the AFW roster having already proven that they did not care so much for such chivalry, Crista was taking no chances this week. Presented with yet another match promising spoils for the victor (this time, the loser was to serve as a "prisoner of war"), Crista had obsessed over every detail of preparation...more than usual. She had studied what little she could study about Zoey, she had trained with as many new faces as possible (two at a time, on one occasion), and now that she stood within the ring, feeling all the more striking and "wrestler-like" with an actual outfit rather than her training clothes, she would not fail to watch her own back for another instance of...interference. If- if Zoey got the best of her, it would be because she was the better wrestler.

But Crista did plan to be the better wrestler, nonetheless. Something about losing twice in a row had always annoyed her.

That was part of the reason why, when she had been informed about the incentives, she had gently urged the match organizers (or perhaps she had gently demanded) to provide her with some rules that might even the odds should she have a repeat experience with Zoey as with Anesthesia. They had obliged. Crista would have to get Zoey to announce her submission, not merely tap out, if she wanted to win...but the two of them could apply any hold, using any part of the ring, that they wanted, for the sake of creativity.

Her mouth quirked into a smile, before she took to hooking one foot after the other on the rope behind her to stretch her legs. As seriously as she may have been taking the match, it did sound fun, and if not for a desire to have fun, Crista would have never auditioned to become a wrestler.

Heavens, let Zoey be a reasonably honorable and enjoyable opponent.

Zoey Jae Oh:

All right. Now they were talking.

Past couple matches hadn’t gone exactly to plan. The opponents she was going up against were borderline insane. First a kung fu nun-which how the fuck did they find one of those- and a three-hundred pound grizzly bear disguised as a Russian woman. She was getting ambushed left and right and, by all accounts, had held up pretty well in spite of them, until the last minute. What she needed now was a fair fight. One on one. No tricks. No games. No Holds Barred. That’s what she said, and management gave it to her.

But a POW match? That was the icing on the cake. A gesture of good faith, from what she could tell, for being so obviously cheated out of these matches. There was a big risk there, obviously, but it just seemed to get Zoey psyched.

Despite the less than stellar track record, her earnings were more than enough to find a suitable pad downtown. She’d done some shopping, stocked the cabinets, put some furniture in, and paid the movers. Now all that was left was to arrange it. All that was left. There were so many positions, so many options, so much space to cover. She’d set the couch down in one place only to not like how the sun shone on her face, then set the chair down one place only to not like how close to the wall she was, or set cabinets one place only to not like how she had to reach over the appliances...such a hassle. It made her groan just thinking about it.

That all went away with this stipulation. Not only did she get a full-time mover, but someone to pay for the pizza, stand in for the punching bag, and, sure, break in the bed. Essentials first, though. Punching bags didn’t quite give you the feedback a trained wrestler did. Now, a trained wrestler that’s tied up? Damn good feedback.

Yeah, this was going to be sweet.

As she made her way down the halls and to the gorilla position, Zoey took a passing glance at her opponent on one of the monitors. Looked strong, but you kinda had too to be in this league. Didn’t mean you could fight. All she really knew about her opponent was what she read on the pamphlet. Crista Zhang: Ex-volleyball player. Nice. Easy money.

She gave her fingerless gloves an unconscious tug before the ramp lit up. She ran down full speed, sliding into the ring and popping up to her feet with the biggest smile on her face. Jumping up and down two of the turnbuckles, she gestured for a mic from one of the stagehands, who threw it to her before she jumped down. Her gaze focused on the crowds, and not once to her adversary.

“Guess who’s back?!” A modest uproar. People playing along and getting into it. Nothing sentimental. “Yeah! That’s right! I know! I know! You can’t keep this girl down for long! After all, I’m the Tae-Kwon-Do QUEEN of AFW. And don’t you all forget it! ‘Cause this bitch sure as hell won’t after I beat her so bad she’ll be wishing she stayed bumping beach balls for a living! Buckle up, boys and girls! This is going to be a ride you won't wanna miss!”

With the stage set, Zoey threw the mic back and turned to her opponent, giving her hand an idle wave in a half-hearted greeting.

“Whats up, Volley? Question. You good with dishes? Vacuuming? How ‘bout toilets? Really need you to know toilets.”

The few seconds before it took her music to die, Crista trotted to the turnbuckle and leaned against it, continuing her casual stretching (she had done most of it backstage...for the last half hour). The lights on the stage filled her dark eyes to signal Zoey's arrival, but if Crista had blinked, she might have missed her.

The ex-volleyball player's eyebrows raised as Zoey ran, full tilt, and dove into the ring. Her scouting hadn't informed her of a great deal about Zoey, since there wasn't much to find. She, too, was a newcomer. Crista knew of her limited success thus far, her style favoring martial arts, and her height and weight, but beyond that, she didn't have a whole picture of the woman she would be fighting. She was quickly learning, as the woman zoomed from one turnbuckle to the other and palmed for a mic, that she was dealing with someone with quite a lot of-

Energy?

And, if her work with the mic was any indication, someone with quite a lot of mouth too. A queen, if she was to be believed. For all of Crista's own confidence, she wasn't the type to start spouting that sort of thing to the-

It hardly dawned on her, since Zoey hadn't looked at her once since arriving, but had she just called her a bitch? Someone who didn't even know her?

Though Crista nearly called for a mic herself, she was sure that the soured expression on her features and the impatient tapping of her foot made her message loud and clear. Crista wasn't easily insulted, since quite a few less-than-gracious losers in the volleyball circuit had provided her with the whole gamut of insults in a variety of different languages, from German to Chinese to Portuguese to English, but typically those women had just been beaten so badly that their insults came from frustration. She couldn't imagine why Zoey felt so inclined to demote her to a bitch so quickly when the two of them had never once interacted, but...Crista was losing hope for her being the honorable opponent she wanted.

Her toned arms folded over her chest as Crista regarded Zoey...who continued to sound as if she had already won. ...Toilets? Really?

Crista closed the distance between them, and loomed before Zoey with her best imposing air. She wished she had more than a couple of inches on the Tae-Kwon-Do practitioner, but it, and her chest nearly pressing against the top of Zoey's, would have to do to send her message. "Shì shí shèng yú xióng biàn," Crista warned, forgoing English to provide Zoey a hopefully incomprehensible version of the old proverb "actions speak louder than words" in her native Chinese tongue. "That's three questions, and I can recommend you a maid."

A small smile played at her lips. "I see why they made this a verbal submission match." With her resolve to win steeled by the woman's boldness, she added, "I'm not cleaning any toilet of yours."

Didn’t like that look she was getting. Granted, Zoey didn’t expect her opponent to exactly be all grins and smiles after her little introduction.

It was just that some people had to learn their place in the hierarchy sometimes. She should treat it as a warning if anything. The real talent tonight was in the house tonight. If Crista didn’t want to end up her servant...well, there wasn’t anything she could really do about that. Still, she’d at least look good before she dropped to the canvas like a sack of bricks. Heck, maybe if she did a good enough job as her prisoner, she might feel inclined to teach her a few things as a fellow up-and-comer.

She worried a bit when her opponent said something in what sounded like Chinese. Kinda made all the trash talk pointless if none of it registered. That was until she heard the correction in English. Zoey’s eyes merely drooped slightly in response.

Oh yippee. A wise girl. That’s what she needed right now. Someone thinking she was always one step ahead of her. Fine. No problem. She was gonna smack the sense out her in two seconds anyway-

Huh. This chick was actually kind of built. It hadn’t really dawned on the young Korean since she hadn't spared the woman the courtesy of a second glance. Now that she was up in her face, though, the definition was pretty hard to deny. Toned arms, broad shoulders, better legs, and, admittedly, fuller assets. This was one person that wasn’t going to go down easy. That much was clear right away. Even without the bold stance and hardened resolve.

Then again, she was an athlete. An older athlete. Guess Zoey shouldn’t have been surprised that she was being talked down to. There was a difference, however, between having muscles and knowing how to use them. A lesson the Taekwondo master was more than happy to provide, amongst others. Like one in respect.

Lesson one: Shut the fuck up and say ‘yes’.

“All right. You wanna play rough? How about some give and take?” She raised her hand, extending a finger and pressing it into the woman’s shoulder. “I’ll clean your clock…” Then turned back that finger back to herself. “...then you’ll clean whatever damn thing I tell you to. Got me?”

Hmm.

The banter, if Zoey's chittering could be called such, didn't irritate Crista as much as the more slender woman pushing a finger into her shoulder. She made sure not to react in any way. What could have compelled this woman to be such a blowhard? Did she act like this around everyone? If so, the people in her life must have given her the same look of aversion that Crista was giving her now, But then, Crista wondered if she was just special in receiving this sort of treatment. Maybe this was what she got for being the new big girl in town...between this encounter and the mess with the faux doctor and her accomplice.

If that was the case, Crista realized she needed to make a statement to one of these women at some point. But she hadn't lost all patience yet.

"I don't 'got you,'" she informed, her good humor fading. She did, but she didn't have any interest in providing Zoey with the satisfaction of hearing that her plans for their match may have had any sort of grounding in reality. Much moreso than before her last match with a master-and-servant-esque stipulation, Crista really did not want to end up the one having to be the servant. The only thing she wanted to serve Zoey was a few crushing holds and mouth-first slams to the mat. For that matter, maybe she would shove her head in a toilet, too.

...Alright, she might have been a little riled up. It had been a charged couple of weeks. A heavy sigh calmed her, and she tried to regain her humor. Might as well laugh as get annoyed."But, I would be happy to clean out your mouth. With soap, maybe. It seems to have a diarrhea problem." A touch of pride hit her with that return, whether it should have or not, and Crista regarded her with a challenge in her eyes.

It was nice, saying what she wanted, without someone chastising her "sportsmanship."

Apparently sensing the tension, the ref slowly slipped into view beside the two of them, her voice almost a whisper. "Uh, ladies, are you ready to go?" "Yes." Crista did not look at the woman in stripes, wondering if Zoey would be ready to go before the bell had a chance to ring. Her last experience had thoroughly informed her that she should take nothing for granted at this place of competition, least of all the women's interest in keeping a fight clean.

Nice one.

As a professional shit talker, Zoey could truly appreciate a well-crafted piece of prose. Ms. Volleyball, while a bit slow on the uptake, was clearly no stranger to the great game of name-calling. Bitch had guts, for sure. That deserved some props. Visually, Zoey didn’t make that clear, only giving a raised eyebrow and a slight nod after her opponent’s remark. Wasn’t the best she heard, bit too long and not enough bite, but it was damn good on its own.

Now, at the same time, Crista could really use some help getting the fucking picture.

She was giving her the benefit of the doubt from the start, but Zoey’s goodwill was seriously running out. Sure, her performance thus far hadn’t been exactly something to brag about, but even an idiot could see all of her matches had been flukes. That was all. Flukes. A ninja nun and a three-hundred pound Russian. Those would give anyone a hard time. But a volleyball player? A frickin’ volleyball player couldn’t think she actually had a chance, right?

Nuh uh. Had to give her attitude. Had to give her lip. Had to keep talking back ‘cause she didn’t know her place in this league. It felt like the Chinese woman was the only person in the entire arena who didn’t realize the reality of the situation. This wasn’t her squash match anymore. It was Crista’s now, but clearly, nobody informed the fitness freak of that. Too bad for her.

Guess she just had to learn the hard way.

The referee finally got around to doing her job and asked the fighters- well, fighter and tonight’s entertainment- if they were ready to go. One answer locked in. What was Zoey’s? “...ring the fucking bell already.”

A strong hint of annoyance lingered in those words. This bitch was going down.

The bell rang out and Zoey wasted no time getting to it. She had furniture to move. Jumping back only a couple feet, she brought her leg up and swung it as hard as she could in a roundhouse kick towards the woman’s torso. Maybe a couple cracked ribs would teach her to lie down like a good doggy.

Crista's diarrhea line and Zoey's nod, likely only noticeable to Crista herself given its subtlety, apparently signaled the end of the conversation. For that, Crista was thankful. Any more and she would need to start holding her nose for tolerance. That Zoey's words were diarrhea may have been a figurative insult, but the disgust those words brought to the German-Chinese national was very real.

With silence passing between them, save for their answers to the ref, Crista again reminded herself to have patience. Winning this match would be all the retort she needed to the most cruel and bloated words Zoey or any other opponent could fire her way. And Zoey had only called her a bitch fit for cleaning toilets thus far.

Only. Crista's features soured again.

No time to dwell on it. The bell rang, and Crista brought up her hands and turned her shoulders to take a fighting stance.

Her opponent took initiative. First impression, Zoey was nimble. She moved fluidly away, and Crista could see her body swivel for what had to be a kick.

No amount of blocking could have stopped the roundhouse, which clearly had some menace behind it, and Crista didn't think to move away until after Zoey's foot slipped past her outstrectched hand and smacked against her side. She grunted and forced herself not to buckle at the point of impact.

The tensed muscles took some of the brunt, but they told Crista they didn't appreciate it by coming alight with tenderness.

And if Crista worried about that tenderness, she would get kicked again. So she shuffled a step to the right and threw a mirrored roundhouse at Zoey's side in return.

All right! Where was all that smart ass shit now, huh?

Her kick landed with a satisfying smack on her opponent’s side. Zoey brought the leg back and planted firmly on the canvas, a wide smirk growing on her face. Bet that one stung. Hope she was ready for more, ‘cause there was plenty more where that came from until she considered themselves square. Think she could just come in here and act all wise with her. Ms. Volleyball was definitely starting to get the picture now.

“Yeah! Like that?”

Bitch was playing the tough girl act. Didn’t want to make it clear to everyone just how bad that kick had actually hurt her. Love to see her keep that up once she hit her with a second one. Zoey was just about to wind up for another kick…

...until Crista hit her right back with a roundhouse kick of her own. The difference in speed and power were clear right away. The contours of her thighs, the fluid motion as she pivoted her hips, the audible whiff in the air. All of it spelled danger and, before she knew it, Zoey found the woman’s leg buried in her side. Didn’t stop there either. Her feet actually left the ground as the impact forced her body horizontal and sent her crashing to the ground headfirst. About as soon as she hit the ground, the Taekwondo girl scrambled right back up to her feet.

“Alright. Alright.” She shook her head a bit, ponytail fluttering from one side to the other. ”You got some legs on you. That’s cool.” She relaxed and got back into her fighting stance, wincing a bit from the pain in her side. “Doesn't mean you’re getting another one of those.”

Couldn’t let that one stand. If she wanted to keep the crowd, Zoey had to follow up with something and quick. Making a big step forward, the young Korean-American would suddenly pivot on her back foot, sending a spinning back kick straight towards her solar plexus.

Wherever that was. Basically the stomach, right?

She caught the loudmouth just right with the sweeping impact of her leg. Months of work on the weighted bags, repaying her in the ring. She kept her balance, pivoted, caught Zoey with the top of her foot, got her power from her thighs and hips. Easy to do in practice, not as much when the arena lights were blaring and a mouthy opponent was throwing her own kicks in Crista's direction. It felt good.

That Zoey toppled from the impact made it that much better. Oh, she enjoyed it. Maybe too much, since the rush from seeing Zoey hit the mat made her forget her technique long enough that she started to spin on her pivot foot before dropping the other back to the mat. With Zoey on the ground, however briefly, she supposed it didn't matter. By the time she took a step back, they both stood facing one another once again as if nothing had happened, Crista wearing a confident smile though she had to stretch and straighten the aching kink in her side from Zoey's blow. Zoey kept talking, of course. Unperturbed, Crista only tilted her head. "We'll see."

Feeling fully engaged in the moment after the intensity of her kick and experiencing the first shot of her own pain, she bounced energetically on her bare feet, waiting and giving Zoey a chance to take the incentive again (she had to resist beckoning for her with a wave of her hand...the temptation was strong). This time, she was ready when Zoey obliged her.

The step forward had Crista leaning warily on her back heel. But she figured out what was coming. Fresh-faced though she may have been, Crista didn't have to be a genius to figure out why Zoey would spin and show her back.

She hopped backwards with nearly the same agility she had once used to traverse the course, uneven sands of volleyball courts when she had been a few muscles lighter, leaving Zoey's foot to find air. Smoothly shifting back into closer quarters, she again matched Zoey's motions in an unspoken, violent game of "anything you can do" by planting her foot and spinning around to send the opposite heel towards her sprightly competition.

It was the smile more than anything that pissed her off.

She could deal with the fact that Crista didn’t seem too bothered by her kick. She could deal with the fact that she’d hit her with the exact same move and doubled her over like it was nothing. She could even deal with the fact that she was getting all big-headed about it afterward, like one was going to mean anything. That was all fair play in her book. No big deal. She’d get her lumps in eventually.

But when Zoey saw that shit-eating grin on the woman’s face, all bets were off. Ms. Volleyball was eating a fucking boot. Right now.

Except she missed.

Her kick hit nothing but dead air as her opponent simply backed away from it. As built as she was, she had a surprising amount of speed to accompany all of it. But whatever, she could make up for that. Zoey had already put her foot back down and turned to throw a jab straight ahead....until Crista threw the same kick back at her again, nailing her square in the chest. It wasn’t entirely clear whether she was doing this to be a bitch or she legitimately had plenty of martial experience. Whatever the answer was, it didn’t change the fact that it pissed Zoey the hell off.

It was like fighting a mirror, except the mirror fought back. And hit like a fucking mack truck. The kick sent her a good couple feet backward, toppling over and sliding on her ass before hitting the back of her head against the canvas. She reeled and clutched her chest tightly, gasping a bit as her lungs attempted to recover from the impact. Her ribcage was going to be feeling like hell after this match was over. Hope Crista knew how to apply ice packs, cause shit.

As much as she wanted to, she didn’t get up straight away. The kick came in too quick, hit too strong, and left her out of breath and feeling like her chest had just been caved in. A few rough coughs in Crista’s direction was the only resistance she could offer. Things weren’t off to the best start right now.