Koyuki Vs. Rebecca - Kimono Catfight Match

Apartment Catfight Match

Rules: Anything goes
Attire: Kimonos
Victory Condition: Verbal Submission

Spoiler:

Koyuki's first question after getting the fight offer was straight and to the point:

"What the fuck do you mean a catfight?"

She got her answer, gave herself a moment to consider its implications, flipped the executive off, and moved to walk out of the room. What followed was the biggest pile of slimy, white-collar bullshit she had to suffer through as the woman (with her too-expensive blouse and her too unblemished skin) told her that her that her misgivings were valid and she was right to distrust the label of the match, that the limited rules of the match might seem intimidating and too much for the average insecure female, that her opponent was bigger and stronger than her and she was right to hesitant in taking such a step up in competition, that they ultimately understood why she would fight in her own weight class, and keep towards the easy predictability of beating up weaker girls.

And Koyuki was already at the door, hand gripping the handle, when she thought, "You playing me. I know you playing me. You know I know you playing me. But..."

Well, she was a sucker for beating down the bigger woman, to make an opponent with all the advantages understand that genetic luck meant nothing against true superiority. So...

Here she was

Spoiler:

Dressed in her best Kimono, kneeling on one of the cushions in a room filled with tatami so nice she almost felt bad that she was going to destroy it, and waiting for an opponent in a match she both did and didn't want to fight. The AFW thing was supposed to be a side hobby, a pastime she pursued to keep her blood up and her skills sharp. It was never meant to be more than an occasional thing. Yet, she felt herself drawn more and more towards it. What should have been a single match every now and then have become far more frequent. She didn't fancy herself a show woman, but the allure of beating someone up to the crowd of a thousand, well, it had its appeal.

And so down the rabbit hole she went. From the traditional brawl to this utter clusterfucky farce. Kimonos? Apartments? Fighting like housewives on a bad serial drama? This was half a joke and then some.

And yet... hey, some part of her was looking forward to it. And wasn't that the real joke.

So Koyuki waited and waited and waited. Her opponent was probably American. No one was self-important enough to keep their opponent waiting so bloody long.

"And this part is supposed to go like...this? Crap! That's not right at all." Rebecca had worn some crazy outfits before, and had been in some weird fights before, but never had so odd a series of words every crossed her before as the ones describing the match she was currently prepping for. "Kimono Catfight... who the actual hell are they getting to come up with stuff. That dude (because it either a dude or the horniest woman this company had) was clearly loving their job. Finally it got so bad her husband (who always seemed to be knowledgeable about how to do things like this) came over and they finally got it looking right. It was a simple thing, crimson silk with blue highlights that hugged her slim but fit form.

With that drama out of the way Rebecca made her way quickly down the hall to where she was supposed to meet her opponent. She slid open the door (she at least knew that much) and immediately saw her opponent, kneeling in the Japanese style with a look on her face that spoke of forced calm. This woman was striking, a build like her own, but slimmer and somehow harder, like a sword, compared to Rebecca's mace. Buy it was the eyes that caught her attention in the brief moment they were open, deep and cold like a Siberia lake. "Sorry for the delay, it's my first time wearing this and it took me a while to figure it out." She said in a voice that due to her anxiousness that contained more of her French accent than usual, after which shewould move to a pillow opposite this woman and get on her knees like to mirror her opponent's posture.

On the spectrum of nationalities she despised (all of them), the French sat somewhere beneath the British and the Americans in terms of pure offensiveness, but above the Russians and Germans and Starbucks hipsters. But with each word that came out of the big woman's mouth, she inched closer and closer towards the vitriol Koyuki reserved for American swine.

She apologized for her lateness, which denoted that she had no sense of time, no respect for basic punctuality, and giving a reason meant she didn't even have the sense to own her lateness. One already wasted enough time with tardiness; walk in, take your place, and shut the fuck up. Excuses were for your own ears.

Especially when the excuse was that you couldn't even wear a fuckin' Kimono. By every god above, was this woman an oversized infant? She didn't need an extensive education to stuff sushi in her mouth or slurp down a bowl of ramen, did she? For a moment, Koyuki was wondering whether the other woman was mocking her but dismissed it. This woman was a lost cause as a human being. Fuck's sake.

She didn't hide her displeasure. Her face, already blank as a fresh piece of paper, very noticeably darkened with the big woman's introduction. Then she had the gall to just sit down in front of her like she didn't just completely fuck up in every way possible.

"Make your move." Koyuki said in heavily accented English. "You've wasted enough time."

She hoped this woman at least fought as well as her body looked. If not, this would have been a complete bag of nothing.

"Wasted? I beg your pardon? I already apologized for the lateness so there is no reason at all to take that tone with me." She instantly flared up, her temper going from 0 to inferno real fast. Who the hell did this woman think she was acting like a stuck up bitch when all that caused her lateness was a simple misunderstanding. She reached forward and grabbed the front of her opponent's Kimono. "If you have a problem with me just say it or I'll just beat it out of you." The camera's that were hiding discretely in the corners of the room catching every moment of Rebecca's rage

And there was that western entitlement.

"I demand to speak to your manager!" the woman might as well had said. "This is unacceptable!" she could have just hollered. Her outburst was no different than a housewife at a department store, taking out the anger of an unfulfilled life nursing children on customer service officers. Koyuki felt her opinion go lower and lower and lower. Could this woman even fight? Or was she an unskilled size bully, taking advantage of the disproportionate amount of small girls in AFW to score easy victories?

Either way, not impressed.

Koyuki wiped her face with one kimono sleeved face, as if the woman's rebuttal was a saliva-drenching one. She made eye contact with her, stood up very slowly, dusted her sleeves off, and said:

"I have problem with you." Koyuki said in that same heavily accented Japanese accent. "For many reasons, most of all because you cannot follow basic instructions: make your move."

Koyuki stared down at her intently, waiting for the woman to take some initiative and do something. The yakuza just wanted a baseline of violence to work with given her inexperience in the fight. If not, she might very well take the table dividing them and smash it into the woman's face.

Now that was sorely tempting,

The stare down lasted only a short time as both women glared at each other, the air between them becoming tense and hard. That is until koyuki said to make her move. At that moment it all broke loose and Rebecca's dangerously short temper broke and she launched herself right over the table, looking to grab the woman by her throat if she could and drive her head into the floor. Right now there was no finesse, no art to her attack. She right now was a big wildcat looking to maul this woman for the slights on her honor. If she managed to bring her down she would keep on hand on Koyuki's throat and the otherworldly grab that black hair and use it to drive that head repeatedly into the floor.

Maybe there was some part of Koyuki that expected the french woman to come for a more refined introductory attack. Were the french not pretentious and cowardly, the bastard children of cheese and surrender? She was more than ready for whatever the french redhead had planned for her. A slap? Sure. A punch? She would take it head-on and know the woman's measure. Grapple? Wrestle? It was valuable information, told her where her opponent's strengths lay. Simply put, Koyuki had no intention of defending against her opponent's first attack.

That was, all bravado aside, not the best idea.

The french woman's first move was a choke, one that dragged her head down and to the tatami-splayed ground with an audible, dull thud. Koyuki was oddly silent. She didn't betray a single hint of pain. But inside her mind was only one single, dominating thought:

Ow.

Followed by:

Ow.

Ow.

Ow.

and Ow.

As the french woman slammed the back of her head down and down and down again on the tatami mat, the chokehold transitioned to a head grab somewhere between ow 1 and ow 2. She didn't get to ow 6. Koyuki kicked off against her assailant, trying to send her careening over the table, as she righted herself, lifted up the table by one of its table legs, and swung it into her opponent's head!

Anger can do some strange things to a person. On the one hand it can cloud judgment and hurt those around you. On the other hand if the person is someone swinging a table at your head it can give you the strength to stop that. That is what happened here, with a thud of wood on soft flesh, Rebecca manged to catch the table before it hit her head. The audacity of it, a chair is one thing, but this was trying to kill her. If she had not been enraged, she definitely would have been afraid of her. As it was the move only reinforced her desire to beat the shit out if her and leave her broke in the floor.

"You wanna play that way? Fine then thats how we play. " She would attempt to rip the table out of Koyuki's hands and then swing it around to hit her with it. Whether it worked or not Rebecca would follow it up with a blow to the gut and start working her opponent out of her Kimono (both because it was humiliating and because she didn't actually want to hurt the outfit...it was too pretty)