Gemma Faraday "Air Raid Siren" vs Kira Malcolm "Wild Card"

Kira growled in equal parts pain and anger, "You... little fucko! You're the one wearing goggles, you hipster little shitlord!" Any further attempts at casting aspersions came out as a howl of pain as Gemma did everything she could to twist Kira in the hold. With a final, defiant lurch, accompanied by a roar of pain as her fighting only helped Gemma put even MORE pressure on her spine, she clasped her hand around the ropes and waiting for Gemma to release the hold, nursing her stinging back, muttering obscenities to herself.

Gemma couldn't help but giggle, slightly, at Kira's raging. “Did you just call me a 'shitlord,' cupcake?” she exclaimed, with a laugh. “Really? That's where we are, now?” Gemma seemed to be sitting pretty, at the moment, practically beaming as she wrenched Kira in the hold. The young Brit knew that her tenure in AFW hadn't exactly been distinguished, but being able to pull off a strong showing against such an aggressive opponent as Kira felt damned good.

All the same, Gemma immediately released the bow and arrow hold, as soon as she saw Kira grasping the ropes. Rolling backwards, Gemma got back on her feet. For the moment, she was slightly conflicted. On the one hand, the air raid siren wanted to be sporting, give Kira a chance to get back to her feet, play this by the rules. On the other hand, Gemma's muscles still stung with the ache of everything Kira had put her through, in this match. She knew she couldn't let up too much, or risk being getting dominated, yet again.

Hands on her knees, leaning forward, Gemma waited for Kira to get back to her feet. Gemma wanted to take the shot, but she wasn't yet willing to abandon sportsmanship entirely, to get it. “Not so cocky now, are we, ducky?” Gemma said, in a tauntingly playful tone. The young woman's entire, lithe body bouncing slightly, Gemma's back leg was tensed, ready, waiting for Kira to get back to her feet. The moment she got her opening, Gemma would put her full force into a roundhouse kick, hoping to put the wild card down, yet again. Gemma's anticipation was clear as day, as she soaked in the cheers of anticipation. What Gemma didn't realize, however, was that her eagerness and her showboating was, quite likely, announcing her next move much too far in advance. All the same, Gemma kept an eye on her opponent, waiting for her opportunity.

Kira grunted in pain, immediately clutching her back when she was freed from the hold. Gemma had put her through the ringer with that one, but anger and adrenalin helped her, as always, fight through the pain. She was not going anywhere fast, clutching the ropes as she slowly rose. She slammed her fist into the mat. "I am going to ram those dumb goggles down your dumb throat!" She was not having any more of Gemma's trash talk. With an uneasy wobble, she forced herself to her feet and turned to charge at the Siren.

Gemma's kick may as well have been coming from miles away, and even then the Wild Card barely managed to dodge it, halting her own momentum just in time for the kick to catch nothing but the air an inch in front of Kira's face. The Wild Card's face curled in a vicious snarl as she saw her opening. She moved in, hooking her arms around Gemma and trying to launch her back in a suplex.

Gemma worried for a moment, about how excited she was to be putting the boot directly to Kira's face. There was a line between “keeping it competitive,” and “being a total sociopath,” and Gemma wasn't quite clear yet on where that line was drawn. Still, for all of the “Wild Card's” condescending looks, insults, threats and general snobbery, feeling her face across Gemma's boot was going to feel damned good …

Unfortunately, it turned out Gemma's enthusiasm was a bit premature. Unexpectedly, it seemed the young Brit's target turned out to be about an inch short of where she needed it, and her kick met nothing but air. Gemma's put everything she had into that kick, and the wild swing threw the poor girl entirely off balance. Unable to halt her momentum until her foot had hit the mat, Gemma wound up with her back to her foe, strumbling to get planted steady on her feet again and completely exposed to whatever would come next.

“No!” Gemma shouted, startled, as she felt Kira's muscular arms wrap around her slender midsection. She felt her insides sink, a bit, as she was suddenly yanked up into the suplex, sent through the air over Kira' and came down hard on the mat. The impact came hard on the back of Gemma's head, and her shoulders, planting the Brit solid against the mat. “Not again ...” she whimpered, her shoulders flat against the mat while her legs hung limply over her body, folded like a matchbook. Gemma's first instinct was to try and roll her way free … but between the lingering dizziness, the pain and the embarrassment of botching her kick so badly that -this- happened to her, Gemma was going to need a second.

Kira fed off the suplex, off Gemma's pain. The thrill of pounding Gemma into the mat and seeing her fold up so pathetically fueled her with a grim adrenaline, helping her to fight through the pain of that last submission hold.

She released Gemma; the throbbing in her back a little too strong to maintain the bridge. Rolling to her knees, she snarled down at her foe, her head overflowing with ideas of how to properly punish this girl. As she eyed the ring post, a devlish smile crossed her face. Now was the time. This would be perfect. She moved to climb it and, turning back to face Gemma, she leaped; aiming a flying knee drop to her opponent, the Wild Card's finisher, Snowfall.

Weakly, without any measure of grace, Gemma's limbs flailed, as Kira released her hold on the girl. Gemma was at least grateful that Kira wasn't able to keep her pinned down, after the suplex. For everything else she'd endured in the match, Gemma simply wasn't certain she was going to be able to kick out of a pinfall attempt, at the moment. Biting her lip, Gemma tried to get her wits about her. The young Brit was all too aware of how much the veteran had been owning her, tonight, and if she couldn't rally soon, her foe was going to make short work of her. As the lithe young Brit fumbled around the ring, trying to get her bearings in spite of how punch drunk she felt, what she didn't realize was that her momentary freedom might be a bit of a moot point ...

"Ugh," she mutttered, "what the bleeding hell?" Blow after blow to the skull had left Gemma's entire body feeling unresponsive and useless. Gemma was laid out flat across the mat, hands on her aching neck, face red and chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Before long, however, she realized that she had no idea where Kira was, at the moment. A clear look of panic spread across the young Brit's face, as her head swung side-to-side, peering out from her sweat-damped blonde locks to try and catch a glimpse of her foe, to figure out what was going to happen, next.

Unfortunately for her, the young steampunker was completely unprepared for the Wild Card's next attack, the devastating knee-strike from the top rope, crashing into her full force. Humiliatingly, Gemma had been lying on her back, utterly unprepared to defend herself, presenting an easy target for her opponent.

"Aaauuugghhhh!" Gemma cried out, as Kira's knee drove the air from her body. "Nggghhhh... Ahhgn ..." Gemma stuttered, helplessly, Kira's strike leaving her struggling to remain conscious. Gemma was able to muster a few weak kicks, brief signs of life, before finally falling still. Battered, lifeless, the young Brit lay flat across the mat, arms and legs spread eagle, completely dead to the world after taking the the Wild Card's brutal finishing maneuver. The slow and light rise and fall of Gemma's chest was the only sign of life left, in the young woman, as she lay vulnerable to whatever her opponent wanted to do, from here.