Koyuki Sanada vs Senji Takijima - Prisoner of War (for Unlife)

Rules: Follows general ruleset for submission wrestling.

Methods for Victory: Opponent should be too tired or too occupied to resist the neck being locked with a collar and chain. The victor's time limit for the loser's usage is until morning strikes.



AGAINST



Senji bit down on the last inch of tape, completing the reinforcement of his bruised knuckles. This was his next fight, the one after the exchange against Sophia. He'd taken into the expanse of this week to recover from that endeavor. And now, his next "assignment" consisted of a match type he had never heard of before. Prisoner of War. That name made him momentarily ask himself in the recess of his mind:

"What the hell are YOU doing?"

But, it was an 'order', so to speak; not like he could easily interrupt their plans of who he was to be paired up against. On the topic of who he was to be facing: Koyuki Sanada. The name rolled off the tongue quite nicely. The roaring guitars of his theme song interrupted his own thoughts, as the young man ushered himself out of the preparation area. He walked out to similar fanfare as last time, not that he really minded those who were unsure of what do think of him. Senji was not new to fighting, but he was new here in this atmosphere. It was a far different environment, and the potential gave him some of sort of elation. His palm found the edge of the arena, folding over and leaning through the ropes to get through. And the middle he saw something rather strange. A damn collar. His expression momentarily turned crestfallen.

Well, no point in complaining now. Just....think of the paycheck. Do not worry about the activity that was just a bit out of his comfort zone. Rubbing his throat again, he stepped into one corner to await his opponent's arrival. On his attire, it seemed to be that he had went for the usual. A jacket with nothing underneath. If it got hot or in the way, then he could simply take it off without having to fiddle with straps or some other nonsense. Takijima eyes then turned towards his partner's entrance to await her inevitable arrival...

Adjacent to the topic at hand, Koyuki Sanada hated pets. She didn't see the point of having one in the urban nightmare of modern Japan but, if she were honest with herself, her disdain had more to do with shackling another living being for one's own gratification, raising and nurturing a creature for the entirety of its natural lifespan within some kind of pre-determined prison. Keeping it in some kind of infantized, pampered state until the day it died. She understood if the creature served a function: herding dogs, guard hounds, sheep for wool, and so on and so forth, but raising a creature for its own sake? It was unthinkable for her, and the idea that it was so normalized was unsettling.

Similarly, there was nothing appealing about being forced to take a grown man back to her place of residence as a pet, nor were the implications that she had to fuck him exactly something she was looking forward to. Who gained from this? There was no audience for the latter half to pander to. Was the imagined fuckery part of the appeal? It was baffling. When she won, she was going to leave him in her trunk for a full day and- Oh bummer, that wasn't an option. She wasn't going to risk him defecating into her car. See? Keeping a pet was hard. They ate, they shat, they mewled for attention, and people looked at you funny when you threatened to dunk their head into a bucket for a good splash of discipline.

She should have rejected this fight... But she had heard things about her opponent.

A tale of Russians and revenge and a battle to the death in the cold frigid wastes of the old union lands. Something about Rasputin born again too or whatever, the story that came down the grapeline was one marred by disbelief and obvious fiction, but it piqued her interest and was easily the best match pick out of her current options. No way was she doing a trampoline match with some wrestler or some weird pillow catfight against some soft slut obsessed with smothering people between a bedframe and her tits.

And so here she was: dressed to kill.

Spoiler:

Didn't even change out for this one. Koyuki Sanada walked out to the drums of her theme song, paid the crowd no mind, and deftly slipped through the ropes into the ring. Her eyes briefly found her opponent's. Not bad looking, respectable body, but whatever expression was on her face when she thought that gave way to a frown when she saw the collar. What an odious concept for a fight.

"Ref!" she called out in Japanese, beckoning to the referee with a finger. She didn't bother entering her corner. "Could you hurry this up? Let's get going."

Yes. His past. The event he wanted to lock away then throw away in the key but it still seemed to follow him, though he did not know of others' knowledge of it. That notion was helped along by the fact he would refuse to talk about it under normal circumstances. Anything resembling the truth came as a tirade towards his older sibling during his recovery from his various injuries. Upon reaching the conclusion, the brother only expressed slight disbelief with the addition of calling upon God before he assured Senji that he'd do the same thing. That did not exactly make him feel perfect, per se.

On another note, what also picked at his nerves was the notion of having to own another human being for the rest of the duration of the night. He rather liked dogs, especially adorable puppies, but what the hell? At the showing of a Japanese speaker, his ears perked up. Ah, she wanted him them to get this match moving along. Formal introductions were a negative, probably. He took this opportunity to scan her from head to toe, noting the suit. Rather strange choice but he couldn't really talk. The fondled a hand along his knuckles in anticipation, feeling the bones shift under his thumb and the sting of bruising underneath the somewhat protective bandages shoot up to his mind.

The frown wasn't leaving his face however. Well, no point in complaining now. Whatever happened, happened. The atmosphere of a desire-filled crowd washed over his bones same as a few other times previously. Then....


CLANG!

The match began at the strike of metal. No time for regrets now, this was the only path. Aside from running, that is. A cold breathe exhaled from his mouth following the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Senji's gaze kept his focus on Koyuki Sanada as he was a shorter distance away from the woman due to her not taking her corner. Onto analyzing her potential capabilities! There was muscle definition under that outfit, that Senji could infer. Someone so arrogant either could back it up or got their ass kicked. He went with the former because too much underestimation would probably get him stretched, punched into the throat, or choked out. The actual style remained a mystery to him as he put his dominant hand by his face to guard it while extending the right hand outward to function as the offense.

For his gameplan, he could choose two approaches. Conservative and sap his stamina later or do something flashy to bring her into his comfort zone - the ground. A similar method to his earlier match with Sophia sounded good to try again. Time to take action! Senji approached the woman, attempting to bait her into throw a punch. If she went for the face, the left forearm would move to intercept the fist. However, if a body shot would be taken in full by his core, Takijima pushed through the pain of it.

The difference between the two possibilities is that the predicted body strike from Koyuki would slow down the pace of his takedown. Not by much, but it'd be noticable. For the actual move itself, Senji ducked low and went to coil his arms around both her legs. His head had briefly nestled into her clothed side. After that, he straightened his legs and went to lift her above the ground. At the apex of the double leg takedown, Senji leaned forward and brought Koyuki down with him. She'd find herself on her back now, if the move succeeded, while Senji neutrally leered over the woman. After using his left hand to steady himself against Koyuki's body, he reared his right fist back, beginning a repeating endeavor for the classic ground n' pound focused on her head. At least, that's how it'd go if nothing interfered with his plans.

Senji's strategy was sound. Whether he knew or not, Koyuki was a creature of pure offense; she loathed retreat, she struggled on the backfoot, and she believed the only suitable defense was a marching charge forward. Whether he baited her or not, she was going to come in hot. The only snag in the plan was assuming that she was going for something orthodox. And on any other day, his intuition might have been right. But today, Koyuki Sanada was in the foulest of moods, and she wasn't exactly a sunflower beaming into the wind on a good day.

So the bell rang and the sequence of events played out as it did: Senji came in slow and methodical, hands raised to guard and intercept. Koyuki shrugged out of her heels without breaking stride, punting them to the side of the ring, and then shrugged out of her too-expensive black jacket, folding it over her forearm and making a motion to toss it-

But unlike the shoes, she did not throw it out.

In a single blindingly swift motion, her arm went from its feigned throw to a violent flash of black fabric as she swept the jacket over Senji's head. If successful, she would pivot around him until she faced his back, tugging viciously at the jacket all the way, constricting Senji's in a nightmarish tangle of overpriced Nylon while she pressed a foot into his back and kicked and kicked and kicked.

A nasty combination of surprise, asphyxiation, and spinal damage. Frankly, she wasn't even sure it was legal.

And she very much didn't care.

Well, his takedown did not quite exactly go to plan. Failure was a natural part of martial arts though, and Koyuki seemed to be favored in terms of avoiding that aspect for now. He noticed the trick too late to react and do anything meaningful. , His guard was raised, and still, he found his vision covered by her jacket. A sound of movement alerted him to her getting behind him and a nasty pull snapped his head slightly backward whilst it put pressure on his throat.

He pressed a shoe to the ground to further steady himself, growling in pain as he felt something smash damn near on his spine. Only one word met his vocabulary to describe the sensation….

Strong.

Senji all but screamed, quickly desiring to escape this precarious matter as his body was jostled by her rapid striking. Senji next went to crouch down and get the jacket off his head by way of pulling it off. If that were to happen, he brought his arm backward in order to try to sweep her kicking foot away from his back by swinging towards the left. He followed his momentum in order to turn around. Despite his fast actions for the attempt, that ache near the spine was very clearly irritating him. His leg even stumbled before it caught him underneath its heel. Not that Koyuki cared too much about that. Luckily, that body of his had been purposefully exercised to take hits more so than deal them out in the case of a tougher opponent. After all, being turned into a wet noodle never sounded like a good deal to him and there was only so much time he had to train. With an effort, he went to reset his posture. He approached her faster now, opposing the methodical approach he showed before!

For the offensive, regardless if she had tossed the jacket aside or not, Senji thrust his right fist forward to sink his knuckles into her jaw. As the final two moves, the first came in the form of his fist sinking low and hurtling up towards her chin. Clearly grimacing all the while due to the several kicks from moments before, Senji went to swing his right arm around the back of Sanada’s neck and hook its fingers with his left hand. This would, in turn, allow Senji to drop the woman flat on her back by way of a hip throw variation. As a final action, Senji tried to finally unwrap his arm from around her head and stand up….moving to back away and catch his bearings. A "spinal tap" of all things was something that he DID NOT expect most fighters to do; this allotted him a penalty for his flaw.

Koyuki dug her jacket into his neck like a makeshift garrote, crisscrossing the sleeves to apply skull-crushing pressure around his wrapped head. Sadly, unlike an actual garrote or even a good ol' plastic bag with a nifty cable tie, her overpriced nylon jacket wasn't built for strangulation. Hell, it wasn't even built for decent comfort. Couldn't even throw a punch without risking a tear, but the point was that she would have to hold this for minutes before he suffocated, and that was such a shitty anti-climatic way to end the match. Thankfully, she had legs and she knew how to use them.

Painfully. Against his spine.

His muffled screamy response to her repeated impact against his spine was, well, she didn't really have an opinion on it. The resistance was appreciated but an empty gesture if all he was going to do was make funny noises under the coat. So it was a pleasant surprise when he started to tug away at the jacket around his head, pulling it above his head so he at least could breathe and see and-

His arm lashed out, catching her 5th or 6th stomp midswing, and she stumbled backwards, bouncing on one foot as she took one, two steps away to regain her footing. He, too, stumbled as he got up, and Koyuki threw one last low kick his way as he righted himself. A narrow miss, one that allowed him to charge right into her personal space mid-swing, pulled back his arm, and plowed into her chin with an uppercut from hell! Her head jerked back. More stumbling, more ground lost, but she knew one thing now-

He could hit. He could hit, and that was enough.

Senji went for the hip throw, but Koyuki's head snapped back into place, her expression armed with a scowl. With her jacket still in hand, she whipped it out at his encroaching arm, wrapping around it and tugged, pulling him in as she stepped forward with an elbow to the face with her other arm, squarely pinpointed to smash against Senji's nose.

It was not enough. And in a funhouse mirror sort of way, Senji was now acutely aware she could hit a unclear margin harder than he could. He put a foot against the floor, eyebrows narrowing and the face contorting in further irritation by the strike to the nose. Thankfully, it hadn't broken in one shot. But the trauma caused managed to cause blood to spray out in a limited amount. Aside from that, it hurt like a bitch.

He'd gone to claim too much of the match's dominance and it cost him.

And just like that, the momentum regarding his advantage had been halted like a car speeding bumper-first into a tree. Now she had his arm wrapped up like a Christmas present. He was too close to focus on ripping himself out so he elected to leave it be for now. Getting hit again while doing so did not strike as a great occasion.

What to do about Koyuki now, then? Senji, with the sole remaining arm, chose to go for a safer option. He went to pepper her stomach with only three hits. Although, there was a noticeable, even if it was short, delay between each punch provided they hit due to Senji needing to recover from his nose nearly being in need of ice and splint. On the other hand, going for her head was more lethal but if she dodged then he'd be in more of a precarious situation.

If one looked at the current state of the match from the zoomed out vantage point of, say, about 400 feet in the air, it wouldn't be completely inaccurate to say they looked like a spider trying to wrap up a bug; Koyuki trying to ensnare Senji in a silken cocoon of her own clothing, Senji struggling with all his might to escape his predicament in the ring that was her web. Yet, as long as she hadn't proverbially bit down into him, injected her venom, and began the organ liquefication process, he had a fighting chance - and to Koyuki's grim satisfaction, he was ever-ready to fight.

He struck her thrice on the torso. Hard, labored blows that came one after another, a pregnant pause between each one that spoke to his exertion. This close and with her coat all but handcuffing them together, Koyuki had no realistic means of avoiding the blows, but the delayed blows gave her all the time in the world to clench her stomach, weathering them one by one with nary a grunt. He hit hard, she gave him that. It wasn't anything she was surprised by, but he hit hard. Hard enough for her to get something out of this. The little cockroach flailing and catching the spider with a stray leg. Cute.

But now it was her turn. The coat that chained them ran both ways, and Koyuki's free arm whipped out, feigning a punch to the sternum that instead darted up to his face. To his eyes. The fist gave way to a two-fingered eyepoke, seeking to rake him across the most vulnerable part of his face. Regardless of how it turned out, her hand would glide down his face, scoring a trail of scratched flesh, make a fist again, and struck him straight-on in the throat.

If she were to be Goliath, then she'd be rather arrogant to underestimate her "David".

Senji's eyes caught it. His free hand went to block the incoming strike to his sternum. Then in a blink, he found two fingers ready to strike him square in the eyes. Dirty fighting, that's what he concluded. She'd do anything she needed to win, and Senji sought out a better way of fighting....one that didn't involve exploiting unfair weaknesses. An idealistic approach that would be tested. He reeled his head back in a vain try to escape and ended up being poked in the eyes, snapping them shut at the inherent tears that came out. They weren't gouged, he at least avoided blindness. Senji would recover, he would heal.

At the strike to the throat, Senji coughed and choked up a mixture of blood and spittle as he stumbled back but snagged on the jacket. Thus, it brought him to a halt. But, Senji was not particularly dumb, usually landing on above acceptable in terms of overall intelligence. As with Sophia, there was a fair amount of critical thinking which went into wrestling. There was a way out of this, and he just caught it. Senji relaxed the entrapped arm while still moving backward. Then without having to exert himself, his arm simply slid out of the caught jacket.

Senji spun around to the right quickly as to get away from her and discard the rest of his outerwear which left him topless. You can imagine how the crowd reacted to the top coming off. Anyway, back to more important matters! Senji kept his left limb, for defense, raised while coughing out his frustrations at the hard as hell strike to his windpipe. This was accented by him steadily backing away until he was about arm's length from the edge of the ring to give his vision time to clear.

Takijima had a plan of approach following his hopeful escape. She wasn't cooperating in regards to takedowns, so he'd either need to stay standing or wait for an opening. This gave him the impression that she was not good at the ground game, so he chose to not bother for now. His thoughts continued listing off his gameplan....

["She'll fight me off if I try for any throws or a takedown. So I---must resist her uncouth moves standing."]