Progress Report (for CyanDimitrick)

"Simple is good. I like simple. I can do simple." She reached down and took him by the hand, giving him a good yank up. "Now if I can just get to the point where I can do a decent submission, I might have a full deck of cards." She thumbed towards the corner. "That and going airborne, but one step at a time."

She gave him a little slap in the back of his head as he got up. "And yeah, me and the chicks, like with 90% of the girls in the company. Don't act surprised."

Yanked up and hair effectively mussed with the slap, Drake retaliates with a light elbowing towards her midsection. "Murder on a guy like me, y'know. A swarm of attractive girls, and, like you said, maybe ten percent of'em straight. I don't even do the hentai matches," he muses. Though he doesn't seem authentically bothered by it. "You wanted to work on splashes or somethin'?" Those eyes flit to the turnbuckle, then back to her. "I love splashes. I barely ever get to use'em, but I love'em."

"You get to roll around with the 10% and watch the other 90% roll around with each other. For free." She stepped back, looking over the apron as she tried to picture herself jumping through the air. It was hard to make the mental picture not look laughably stupid. "So I can't say I'm feeling too much pity for you. Surprised you're not going steady with someone, though. Nice guy like you, handsome, athletic, good job. Should have them lining up."

Carmen walked over to the turnbuckle, grabbing both sides of the corner and pulling back. "I don't know, man. I mean, seen some people doing it. Looks easy enough. But wouldn't that hurt you almost as much as the guy you're landing on?"

"I don't think I've found that 10% yet," Domino muses as he watches her depart. "And you'd think that! At least by the numbers alone! But nope. Some guys can't catch a break in certain areas."

He doesn't seem particularly down about it, however. That peppy smile continued to brighten his features as he strolls after her, right up until he's standing behind her. And from there, he lightly prods her back. "Get up there. You're gonna at least try one. And lose the shirt. You wrestle in a sportsbra, right? If you're gonna splash, you should get used to the impact without a shirt buffering your stomach."

True to his advisement, Drake takes ahold of his collar and tugs his shirt over his head. It's then tossed aside, hanging over the top rope. The teen rolls his shoulders back, limbering his body up, before unceremoniously thudding down onto the mat. He sprawls his body out, arms dropping above his head, legs splayed, his toned chest and abdominals rising and falling visibly with each breath. Though after a few of the breaths, he tightens his midsection in preparation. "Land right across me. Good thing about splashes? After most of'em, you're already in pinning position. Or it's just a quick twist around to be laying on your prey."

Carmen hesitated to pull her shirt off at first, out of pure reflex, before she remembered that she wore less even during her boxing matches, and she was just being a prude. Off the shirt went, revealing the sports bra underneath and her modest breasts.

She made her way over to the turnbuckle and climbed up...or tried to. After she made it to the second rung, she slipped down and had to started all over again. The second time she made it all the way up to the top, nearly falling off once, but managing to hold it. She stood up. Turned around. Watched her balance. And...

Damn, he looked far away.

It looked so easy on TV, but now that she was up there, she couldn't see where all that confidence came from. He was so far away. What if he moved? How was she supposed to know if an opponent was really out of it or just playing around? Why would anyone in their right mind do this for an attack?

She bit her lip, hesitating as she wobbled. "Are you sure about this? I'm not really sure I can guage, like, how much to jump here, and if I just overshoot, I mean-"

Drake just smiles up at the girl who's probably about to hurt him terribly.

"If you overshoot me, you're gonna have a bad time, mm'kay? If your target moves or brings their knees up, you're also gonna have a bad time. If you trip and fall? Bad time. But if you land? It'll ache, but the other guy's gonna be in so much worse condition. That's why a splash is one of my finishers. And why the audience loves'em so much - it's so risky, and with a potential for huge payoff!"

He raises a hand and gestures down over his body.

"The first time's always the hardest! Bite the bullet'n bellyflop already!," is the mirthful invitation. He then drops his hand back down and re-tenses his abs, bracing himself.

She took a breath. A deep breath. Laurentian Abyss deep.

"Okay." She started to bounce, working up her nerves. "Just a heads up, if you pull a Lucy on me, I am going to stab you with the nearest sharp object I can find."

It was just jumping. Just. Jumping. And landing. On her stomach. On top of a human. All she had to do was pretend he wasn't there, like it was a swimming pool. A swimming pool made of wood. Damn it.

"Fuck it." She jumped off the turnbuckle and came flying down at him, arms and legs spread wide.

The sight of her psyching herself up was enough to alarm Drake. She's actually gonna do it. He begins taking a few deep breaths, himself. Oh, the thought crosses his mind to roll out of the way and be smarmy about it. But that'd be wrong on so darn many levels. Besides, he encouraged her to do this. That makes him responsible. He's gonna just lay there and take it.

With a vividly tensed six-pack waiting for her. Teeth grit, eyes widen... and down she comes.

The impact is hard enough to cause the ring to jolt, and Drake's body curls under her for a moment. "UNG!" Before he drops back down flat on his back. His right arm flops back to the mat, the left dropping the other direction to rest along her waist. "Ghh..." He's trying to vocalize, but that might take a second. His head drops to the side, resting his cheek to the mat as he simply breathes under her, stomach pressing against hers with each breath.

Carmen regretted doing it at about the halfway point. Too late, but it was the thought that counted.

She hit and she hit hard, all 166 lbs slamming into Drake and driving her wind out as their taut stomachs collided. She flopped off him after a moment and rolled to her back, staring up at the ceiling as she hissed through her teeth, and...okay, it wasn't all that bad. The shock of it disturbed her more than anything, but if she were in a match, she could probably move over and do a pin, even if she'd be walking funny for a while after it. Which reminded her of the test subject.

"Drake!" She rolled back to her knees, looking down on him. Drake was a pro, sure, but most of the girl's in the league were a lot lighter than her, that might have been a bit more than he was used to. She shook his shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

A wheezing laugh is the first response, the teen jostled about. But he's soon batting at her. "I'm good. I'm.. ergh, I'm good." His right arm flops across his midsection. Oh, he's obviously sore after that hit. But he continues to explain, voice a little strained, "I've taken lots of splashes in my career. From guys bigger'n you. Don't worry.. m'not fragile. Just.. there's no real way to defend against it, unless you bring those knees up or just.. aren't there for when the person lands."

The batting hand redirects to prod his index finger towards her abs. "You okay?," he redirects. "Was it... good for you?" Drake quirks an eyebrow up at her with a playfully teasing smile.