Tasha Jackson vs Makoto Aihara - The Owner's Test

Tasha had some things to pay back, and more importantly, she had some points to prove. Points that related to the simple, undeniable facts of which one of the fighters had the size advantage, the weight advantage, and the skill advantage in the ring tonight, and points that related to paying revenge.

Granted, theoretically she also had the point of following Anesthesia's orders of a brutal match to prove too, but that point had pretty much far escaped Tasha's mind for the moment...

Besides, most likely the twisted bitch was liking what she was seeing anyway.

Tasha was liking it too, now. Seeing Makoto's back hitting perfectly the apron's edge, delivering all the obvious, immense pain that its mission had been, damn, that really felt good. It was finally something that brought pain, anger and despair on that stony face of this other little bitch.

Now that Makoto was clearly out for a moment, it was a good time for Tasha to get back into the ring. Jumping back up and sliding between the ropes, the Southern Twister headed to take a few sips of her sweet tea before returning to take a better look at the Japanese girl again.

Oh, and to say a few words too.

"So, who's the bitch now? Ya seriously think ya got a chance against me, huh? I'll destroy you and your weak ass, if ya try to get back here again! Come on, just run away to your mama, you weak little bitch!"

Anesthesia was, in fact, liking what she saw from the backstage. Liking it quite a bit, in fact, in ways that hardly needed expounding. Seeing Makoto in distress was always a pleasing experience on its lonesome, but having it be at the hands of such a dominating female was an added treat. It was like watching a flower blossom for the first time, seeing Tasha’s fire rise as the match fell into her hands.

Maybe she would have to see that fire closer, sample its heat for herself. That would be a lovely little time. For now, however, she was content to watch with a wine glass in one hand, while her other went about more delicate matters.

Makoto, on the other hand was in a decidedly different frame of mind at the situation. Being on the ground, writhing about in agony, tended to paint your perspective in a more negative way than usual, and yes, it was resulting in a bit of a sour mood. Getting slammed into the ring apron tended to have that effect on her personality.

But she was getting up. Grabbing onto the apron, she started to pull her way up to her feet, planting one foot on the floor, than the next. Struggling. Surviving. All while her opponent was...drinking tea?

She’d been wondering what was up with the bottle, but she’d honestly forgotten about it in the fracas. Now she knew what the point was - Tasha was taking a sip of it. Having a little break. Not taking her seriously, not in the least.

”I am going to end you.” She seethed as she came in under the ropes, crawling back into the ring. Not the best look, no, but it was going to change soon enough. All she needed was the right opportunity.

Sweet tea was always refreshing, Tasha's favorite drink in fact, but it's taste was even more refreshing when it filled her mouth after an enjoyable event.

This was one of those times. Finally getting to pay Makoto back some of the cheap moves - cheap on Tasha's scale - that she had used, and seeing the smaller girl's agony was really making the taste extra sweet. She knew that some might have considered her little rehydrational break to be arrogant in nature, but really, to the Alabaman it was all about recharging.

Very vital recharging, as Tasha was well aware that this all was only halfway through. At best. She had now gotten the first good blows delivered, but more were definitely needed to crush Makoto for good.

The Japanese girl's words seemed to be an excellent indicator of just that. She was obviously still far from devastated and beaten, and full of determination instead.

Something that Tasha needed to fix.

The Southern Twister knew that Makoto's re-entrance to the ring was on opportunity far too precious to be wasted, and even the delicious taste of her sweet tea could not get her to miss it. Thus, as soon as she saw Makoto crawling under the ropes, Tasha was immediately charging at her.

And what exactly was she going to do? Jump up at last second, and deliver a double leg drop on the Japanese girl. Well, that was the plan, at least...

There was a small, real part of Makoto that could hardly believe those words had just come out of her mouth. A year ago, they wouldn’t have sounded right at all - she wouldn’t have had the venom to give them real weight, wouldn’t have been able to make them into more than a wimpy, vapid threat, like a puppy dog learning how to growl.

Now? Now, it had some force to it.

Of course, all the talk in the world meant nothing if she couldn’t make good on it, and for that, she needed to get back inside the ring. She was on the cusp of doing that, too, but it turned out that Tasha was quicker on the draw this time.

She could hear the woman storming her way, but by the time she looked up and saw her leaping, it was far too late to do anything but take the move. Tasha came down and came down hard on the small of Makoto’s back, arching her spine at the impact. Hissing, cursing, spitting, she rolled with gritted teeth and squinting eyes, as the pain ran its course through her bones.

Tasha's latest actions may had not been all-that-well planned, but of you asked the Alabaman, planning was way overrated anyway. At least when one was faced with such a small and weak opponent as Makoto it was. Just charge forward and do whatever you come up to crush the crawling little bug with, it'll work.

Bingo. It did.

Frankly, Makoto never really stood a chance to protect herself from the leg drop. She had just no time to reach any safe place before taking a direct hit from the Southern Twister. Exactly as Tasha was determined to make this all pan out. Determination was obviously much more effective than planning in this case...

"Ya may wanna end whoever ya want, but ya won't have time to do that before I grind ya to dust!" the Alabaman proclaimed, as she was positioning her body on top of the Japanese girl, prepared to pull her head between her mighty thighs for a good scissor hold...

But then, no. As attractive as the prospect of crushing Makoto's head was, the bitch had already bit her once. She wasn't going to let her do so twice.

Besides, she was supposed to be brutal tonight. Those were the orders. And right now Tasha had no problem following them.

Getting up, Tasha pulled Makoto's hair to bring the girl up to her knees with her. Then, she tucked the judoka's head between her thighs, but only for a moment. "Ya know, I might have been more sparing with ya, if ya hadn't been such a bitch earlier!" the Southern rookie stated while bowing down, picking Makoto's body up, with the full intention of executing a ruthless Piledriver on the smaller judoka.

Makoto and wasn’t sure what was worse at this point - Tasha’s moves or all the silly taunting she was having to endure. The woman was strong, there was no getting around that, having the sort of power that she’d only seen in wrestlers like Dixie Clemets. But she also had Dixie’s annoying accent, or something damn close to it. That irritating drawl, loud and obnoxious. She’d had little patience for it back when she was in Rumble Roses, and now it made her want to pull her hair out.

Stupid Americans, coming to Japan and ruining the sport. Stupid gimmicks. Stupid everything.

That hate continued to boil as she was hefted up, Tasha opting to get her standing instead of doing more work on the mat. Makoto was able to stand on wobbly feet, shaking about, not sure what to do next, until her head was stuffed between her opponent’s thick legs. Her intentions became obvious a second later, as she reached down to hoist Makoto up, holding her upside down.

A piledriver. She was going for a piledriver. Crap.

Makoto knew she had to to shut that down right away. She’d never taken that particular move before, but she’d seen it done enough time and to bigger, hardier women than herself. It would not end well. So that meant she had to get drastic.

When Makoto was lifted up, she waited for Tasha to begin the move, lifting her up for the final plunge. Only then did her legs shoot up and wrap against the bruiser’s head, clamping tight. Jerking down as hard as she could, she tried to use Tasha’s momentum against her, looking to make her flip forward and spike her head into the canvas.

Considering how little Makoto had actually said over the course of the match so far, Tasha was surprisingly strongly of the opinion that the Japanese girl had a way too loud mouth. Taking into account the amount of Tasha's words so far in this bout was only making that opinion even more absurd... But those aspects didn't change the fact that Tasha wanted to shut her opponent up for good.

For good in this case meant the duration that it would take to report her victory to Anesthesia, who could take care of Makoto after that.

And hopefully she would, because Tasha had no interest in staying in either woman's company.

Her only interest now was the Piledriver. The leg drop had softened up Makoto nicely, made her obviously suffering in pain, powerless, and unlikely to resist any move Tasha would come up with next.

Really, as she picked the Japanese girl effortlessly up in the place, the Southern Twister was already savoring how the Piledriver would look like. She wished she could have been in the audience, seeing it for herself. She would look so strong. So adamant. So dominant. It would definitely be a sight to see for everyone in the arena...

Turned out, Tasha was absolutely right. It was a sight to see. But it was also something she would have definitely not wanted to see for herself.

Tasha wasn't quite sure what happened. Part of that was due to the surprise factor of the situation, part of it was due to the bump her head took when it smashed against the canvas. But something had happened during the Piledriver... Something that caused instead of Makoto being crushed against the mat by Tasha's magnificent move, to make the Alabaman to fall forward herself, and her own head hitting the mat with all her weight.

For a woman who was about to demolish her opponent with a Piledriver, the way Tasha was now lying spreadeagle on the mat was definitely a sight to see. For some, at least...

That worked? That worked.

Makoto - and the referee and the audience, if the gasps were anything to go by - was quite surprised she managed to pull that little maneuver off, saving her from the jaws of defeat by the slimmest of margins. It was pretty much a last ditch effort - either it worked and reversed the situation, or it didn’t work and she got her skull spiked on the canvas, the sort of move she couldn’t afford taking from the bigger woman. She gambled, and it paid off.

The crowd looked on, confused, as the the two of them were laid out after the move, almost unable to tell who’d gotten the worst of that exchange. It wasn’t the easiest thing for Makoto to suss out, either, but she knew an opportunity when she saw one. Tasha would recover soon enough, and then she’d be right back on her, slapping her around the ring. She was in no mood to let this slip by. That was something the Old Makoto would’ve done.

This Makoto, however, could get the job done.

Hissing all the way, she sat up and rolled over, then crawl over to sit on Tasha’s waist, pinning her to the floor. She wasn’t looking to go for the win, here, though - that wouldn’t have worked now, anyway. Not until she piled on some more damage.

Makoto grabbed Tasha’s hair with one hand, lifted her head up, and began to unload with punches, battering her right in the face. She wasn’t a natural striker, didn’t have the best blows, but you didn’t have to be a boxer to do serious damage to an open face. All it took was determination and hate, two things she had ample amounts of.

Tasha had no idea what had just happened, but whatever it was, it was bad. Her head was aching...no, not aching but burning from pain, and the stars she was seeing meant that getting back up wasn't going to be scheduled any time soon. That sneaky little brat had managed to pull some trick off, and the Southern Twister could only hope that the trick had not been enough to save her from the effects of the Piledriver.

Unfortunately for the Alabaman, it was the smaller Japanese who managed to move first. And she did not have any doubts about her target.

Tasha opened her eyes as she felt Makoto positioning her on her waist. OK, so the brat was on top now... Not a problem, she was light, it would be easy to throw her off... She just needed a couple more seconds to- "AAAGH!"

Makoto grabbing a fistful of her hair elicited a pained moan from the Southern Twister, but that was the last thing coming out of Tasha's mouth. Even if the brutal punches that followed would have each been enough to achieve a cry of pain, the battering was badly taking a toll on Tasha's head. She hadn't really fully recovered from the impact of her head hitting the mat, and being a hapless victim of Makoto's punches was quickly sending her lights out.

There was a time when Makoto would’ve hated doing something like this, would’ve even hated to see it. She would’ve written it off as cheap and mean-spirited, not the sort of thing that respectable female wrestlers should’ve been doing, something that belonged in the octagon or even a fight pit. They should’ve held themselves to a standard, put themselves above street brawling. This was wrestling.

There was a time where Makoto had been an idiot.

Now she was swung and swung and kept at it, hammering away at her opponent’s face, smacking her left and right, reveling in the thrill of it. ”What’s wrong, huh?” She threw another fierce strike. ”What happened to your attitude?”

The referee was just starting to move in to check on Tasha, maybe even to pull Makoto off, when she brought the beating to an abrupt stop. Gripping Tasha by the hair with both hands, she pulled her head up and looked down, studying it close, seething, her breathing coming out in hot, heavy bursts. ”Had enough?”

A part of her - a loud part - really wanted her to answer ‘no’.