Tasha Jackson vs Makoto Aihara - The Owner's Test

Oh, the joys of the world of wrestling and its refs. It was hard to believe, but Tasha had experienced more righteous justice being served at the Tuscaloosa County courthouse. There the bad guys and gals actually got sentences. Sometimes even severe enough to preven repeat offenses.

But sentences in wrestling? Disapproving look was a great example. In severity, it was somewhere between shaking a finger and silence. And in frequency, definitely one of the more common ones.

Was all that news to Tasha though? Definitely not. Not anymore. She was a good girl. She had always been. She had always striven to fight fair, and she had seen countless opponents who had clearly striven for the opposite. She had learnt to live with it. She had had to. Back when she had gotten into wrestling, she had been oh-so-naive. She had trusted the refs. She had counted on them to do their job. And that was probably why back in the days her time as a jobber had turned out to become such a lengthy one.

But by tonight, many lessons had been learned. Tasha knew the business. She knew the shenanigans. But did that mean she had lost her good-girl spirit and honest attitude? Definitely not! She just knew she had to fight harder, be a tougher contestant, to overcome any unfair advantage her opponents might have been achieving with her own capabilities. It was part of the business.

Besides, Makoto was rolling away, all the way to the ropes. Her stomp had obviously done its job. Punishment delivered.

Obviously, it did not mean that Tasha should not have kept on delivering just that. Thus, as soon as she saw Makoto beginning to get up, the Southern Twister charged towards her, jumped, and tried to nail her midsection with a mean dropkick!

Oh, Makoto did not like that look in Tasha’s eye. Not because she was afraid of this woman, mind you - in truth, she reminded Makoto a lot Aisha/Sista A/Harlem Nightmare/Whatever Dumb Name She Went By Today’, and it didn’t just have to do with her skin color. They both had that aggressive, smash-mouth kind of wrestling style. In your face. Blunt.

Makoto could deal with that. She’d been dealing with that sort of thing all her life. Nothing new.

But no, what was really starting to grind her gears was that look of indignation in Tasha’s eyes. Like she thought she was better. Above her. That completely unearned look of self satisfaction. That Makoto refused to put up with, and that was why she would be grinding Tasha into the mat. As soon as she got back up, anyway.

That might take a moment, unfortunately, because this bruiser of a woman was already on her, coming Makoto’s way with surprising alacrity. No doubt looking to kick her straight out of the ring and send her tumbling to the floor. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Makoto had a little surprise for her.

As soon as Tasha leaped up and turned her body into a human missile, Makoto dropped down and fell to her back, hoping to avoid it. But that wasn’t all she did - she also grabbed hold of the middle rope and pulled it down along with her.

The hopeful result? Tasha would find herself with a lot of empty air to fly through, resulting in a rather nasty fall.

Aerobatics? No, they were really not Tasha's specialty. Sure, one could have argued that if you called yourself the Southern Twister, you should have really been controlling the airspace. But the way Tasha saw it was a bit different. The effect of twisters didn't emerge from the way they occupied the airspace. No, their effect was produced by grinding to the ground, and sending other things flying.

Or people, for that matter. Oh yeah, that was much more fun. Putting pricks to their places, punishing ruthless heels, tossing them up and down like staves of an old barn or branches of an oak tree were much more of aerobatical interest to her.

But there are always exceptions to rules. And if Makoto had just granted herself one, so was Tasha going to.

To her own rules that was. Obviously, targeting Makoto with both of her heels was nothing that would have been actually forbidden in any way. She was fully entitled to aerobatics of her own now.

Besides, the biting bitch deserved it.

Up line to the target, that was the plan. After the hit, a spin down would be in order.

Only problem was that the target turned out to be moving. And towards a direction that you did not want to fly to.

As a consequence, Tasha's manouver turned into a tailslide. Makoto's plan achieved its goal, and the Alabaman lunged straight through the ropes. Slamming her side against the apron, sliding towards the edge, the Southern Twister made a last-second attempt at grabbing any rope that she could. The top one was out of reach, the middle one wasn't where it was supposed to be. But the bottom rope, yeah, that she managed to barely grab.

Was it a good thing though? Maybe not. Hanging from it was the only thing keeping her from falling off, and her hand was pretty much right above Makoto's head.

Hopefully the Japanese girl wasn't hungry any longer.

Watching Tasha going through the ropes was quite a sight to see, like something out of those silly cartoons she used to enjoy. Makoto might have even laughed at it, if she’d been in that sort of mood.

It had all happened in a short span of time, just a few seconds, but they’d been a glorious few seconds to behold. The suddenness of it all, the way Tasha was clearly surprised, the stupid look in her eye as she went flying and gravity took over the situation. It was all satisfying, knowing that this little idiot was finally getting a real understanding of just who she’d gotten into the ring with. All that hubris was coming back to bite her in her fat butt.

She’d go sailing out, hit the apron on the way, and there’d be this nice splat to end it all as Tasha came crashing down on the mat.

Only, no, that wasn’t quite what happened. Instead, she managed to grab hold of the ropes, dangling there like she was hanging over a cliff. The crowd - Makoto’s crowd - seemed relieved, too, as if they’d just seen their new heroine dodge a bullet, avoiding the nasty spill. A bit disappointing, yes, but it was okay. Makoto knew how to rectify the situation. In a satisfying fashion, no less.

She spun around, shot her leg out under the bottom rope, and attempted to kick Tasha square in the middle of her smug face. In particular, she wanted her heel to land right to the bitch’s nose. Really make it sting.

It usually made sense to try staying inside the ring at any cost, right? Well, not always, truthfully there were many occasions that Tasha could actually recall, when getting out of the ring for a while had sounded like a terrific idea. But that was not the case when one wanted to appear dominant, remain in control of the situation, or keep on punishing her opponent.

Or when one's body was rocketing like a missile towards the hard floor off the apron's edge.

So, what Tasha had just done made kinda sense. It had not turned a bad situation into a good one, but it had turned a disastrous situation into a bad one. A major improvement.

But the situation was still bad. And Tasha looked like a helpless ragdoll, hanging from her last lifeline. She had to get out of it. She had to pull herself back to the ring, immediately.

And she had to accept the fact that her efforts were no match to Makoto's acrobacy, which earned a stiff kick right to her face.

Granted, that action was easier to accept than the biting before, but it sealed Tasha's fate nonetheless. Her only hand grabbing on the rope promptly shifted to cover her face, and the result was the Southern Twister falling down off the apron. Reeling on the ground in pain, covering her face, and hoping for no blood running already for the second time in this match.

Down Tasha went, after taking a nasty kick in the face, courtesy of Makoto’s foot. She’d never been much of a striker, preferring to use throws and counters and keep with her chosen style.But after delivering a hit like that, she had to concede...she could see some of the appeal. It was a good feeling, that impact, especially after years of having the reverse done on her. After the beating Margaux gave her…

That memory brought a flash of fire into Makoto’s veins, an anger that wasn’t going to die anytime soon. She was still looking for revenge after that woman assaulted her, beat her, tortured her, but she was out of reach for the moment. Until she had the chance to settle the score, women like Tasha would have to do. All this rage had to go someplace, after all.

Right now, Tasha made a savory target. Before, just a month ago, Makoto would’ve retreated to the ring and waited for her to recover on the outside, trying to be the honorable idiot she always was. Now the error of her ways was all too clear, and she was up to try a new path.

She grabbed the ropes and pulled her way out of the ring, landing on the floor with a light drop. She stood over Tasha for a moment, enjoying the sight of her getting what she deserved. Good stuff. But not perfect. Not yet.

Makoto raised her foot up and brought it down hard on Tasha’s chest for a hard stomp. And then another. And then another.
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This just wasn't right. This wasn't at all how things should have been. This was absurd, and not in a good way.

Makoto was tiny. Ok, not tiny, but still small. Tasha must have had a healthy weight advantage here, and obviously some height advantage too. The Japanese girl was obviously not too muscular either. Clearly a featherweight, and likely weak compared to Tasha as well.

And honestly, it wasn't just the physical attributes. Her appearance was rather harmless as well. While Tasha could have definitely seen her in the ring, sure, it would have been hard for the Alabaman to imagine her being anything else but a babyface.

And despite all that, it was Tasha who was reeling on the floor outside the ring. Her own strong body had been outclassed by Makoto's lithe form, and the Japanese girl's behavior had been as if she was the epitome of evil.

Or just a nasty bitch. And proudly so...

But was it all Tasha's fault? Had she just fallen victim to understimati-...

"GAHH!" Tasha got stomped.

Seriously, Makoto had come out of the ring to stomp her? Why would she do that?!? There was no need to-...

"GAAAHHH!" Another stomp.

It may have been Anesthesia's request for Tasha to be hard on Makoto, but really, by now it was apparent that her plea had been woefully unnecessary. As long as Makoto kept on acting like this, Tasha wanted nothing more than to punish the little prick to the best of her capabilities.

And the stomps just kept on coming. The situation was far from ideal, but Makoto's positioning still meant that her legs were not far from Tasha's body. And that brought the Alabaman an idea. She decided to try grabbing both of Makoto's legs simultaneously, pushing her just slightly up in the air, and then trying to let her fall towards the apron.

The desired result? Makoto's pretty face hitting the apron's edge.

God, this felt good. Makoto had always thought it was weird when she saw little kids stepping on ants or frying them under a magnifying glass. She’d always snubbed women like Aisha when they went overboard in a match, acting like they got off on the pure violence of it all. It was cruel, it was mean, it was vile, it was wrong. She was the paragon of sportsmanship, an Olympian, and she’d never stoop to such a level.

Until now. Until Tasha. And god, was she so glad that she’d picked this time to let those qualms go, because hammering this little bitch into the ground was satisfying in ways that she’d never imagined.

”Yeah!” She couldn’t keep in a triumphant yell as the first hammer came crashing down on Tasha, digging in deep, making her squirm like the insect she was. ”Stay down, stay down!” It was so easy to get swept up in the emotion, to let it all take hold and run with it. The referee didn’t matter. The crowd, looking on with confusion and shocked faces, didn’t matter. She was having fun, she was enjoying herself, she was more alive than she’d been in years and she didn’t want to stop. Ever.

”Scream louder you stupid!” Stomp. ”Little!” Stomp. ”Bit-”

The final part of her declaration was cut off when Tasha showed some surprising sparks of life. The woman grabbed her legs, in what Makoto assumed was just a desperate way to stop the stomps. She was about to knock her down with a punch in the face, when the true intent became immediately clear.

Makoto squawked as she was lifted high into the air, then brought down hard on the ring apron. She managed to get arms up in time to protect her face, but that only dampened the impact, didn’t take away from it entirely. It was still a rough impact, one that left her dazed, and all she could do was flop back to the floor while stars danced across her vision.

”...bitch…”

Who exactly was this Japanese girl? Had they met before? In some other universe maybe? A universe, where Tasha had generally been legitimately mean and evil towards other people? Where she had actually earned such hate, and grudge that this girl seemed to be holding against her?

No. Tasha was positive that she had never met this girl before.

Based on her actions, and her words full of hate as she kept stomping on the downed Alabaman, that theory might have made total sense though. Tasha was at a serious loss of explaining where all that hate was coming from...

But it wasn't like she really had the time to. Or the energy, or the capability to ponder such a question, as her body was getting brutally beaten by the Japanese girl's foot.

Which just made it all the more satisfying to witness the sweet sight of her face impacting the apron. Only hint of sour came from the successful last-second protection provided by her arms, but the way her body flopped onto the floor from the apron confirmed the sufficient degree of damage dealt.

By that move, that was. The amount of damage Tasha wanted to deal overall on Makoto by now was substantially greater.

Huffing and puffing from all the punishment she had received, the Southern Twister slowly got up to her all fours. She did want to receive a moment to recover, but what she wanted even more was revenge. And now that Makoto was down, she couldn't let the opportunity to slip.

An opportunity to pay her back. Pay her back back. As Tasha got up, she pulled Makoto up too behind her. Followed by a quick punch to the guts, that was more than likely to set the girl perfectly up to be hoisted up on her shoulders. And provided that everything worked as they should, it was then time to slam Makoto's back against the apron with a Powerbomb.

Fuzzy. Everything in Makoto’s world was fuzzy. Her brain was fuzzy, her vision was fuzzy, even her hear was fuzzy, all muffled and muted. Fuzzy, fuzzy, fuzzy.

She supposed she was lucky. After all, she’d just hit the ‘hardest part of the ring’, as the announcer’s loved to say at nearly every opportunity. She was woozy, yes, but that would pass after a few moments. She’d taken harder hits. All her teeth were still intact, it didn’t seem like she’d taken any internal damage, and...and…

”Crap.”

That ‘crap’ came about when she looked up and saw her opponent coming hard her way, with a look that wouldn’t have been out of place on her own face. It seemed that, if there’d been any empathy between them, it was now well and truly squandered. No more pity. No more silly, whispered words. The fight was on in earnest.

Good.

Makoto hissed as she was yanked up, hauled by the stronger woman, and a punch to her stomach ended any protests before she could make them in earnest. That was nothing compared to what came next, though, as she quickly found herself hoisted up on Tasha’s broad shoulders, with a quick glance over the shoulder telling her what would come next. ”Nonono-”

Makoto hit the ring apron with a sickening crack, crying out into the night air as the pain tore through her spine. Spent and hurting, she tumbled to the floor and rolled about, breaking into wild spasms. [color=Blue]”You stupid-”[color] She groaned through her teeth. ”Damn it!”