Makie Akamatsu vs Blaise Cameron

'Match is still on. Get with it.'

Blaise tries to breathe slowly, to normalize himself.

'Stop thinking about pinning her. She's a jerk.'

He blinks up at the overhead lights.

'This is why your trainer keeps fussing at you.'

'Oh, shut up, brain.'

'No you shut up.'

He blinks again, coming to focus.

'Settle down, I got this.'

The teen rolls over onto all fours, spotting Makie in much the same position. It's a nice view of her rear, but 'Stop that, stupid,' he shakes his head quickly and lifts back to his feet. He needs a reality check, and arguing with himself isn't going to cut it.

In the beginning of the match, he made a joke about beating her. A lame joke, he could admit. But a joke that seemed to set her off - she took it super seriously? She thought he was a pervert for saying he'd pin her? Either way, the match started on a bad, unpleasant note, and didn't relent. Whether she'd misheard him or had thin skin, herself, it didn't make much difference. She'd been a jerk consistently, and in a way that he couldn't play with. It was all so unnecessary. She just seemed... mean, culminating right up into her accusing him of having thin skin for being irritated.

Him! Thin skin! It's bad enough that she has no idea what he's endured to be where he is today, but this is a guy who can have fun in a match with some of the sourest of grapes the world of wrestling has to offer! But to just blame him for being raw when she's the cause of it? Oh, she deserves to get her ass kicked tonight.

'There we go. Now finish this.'

Conflicting feelings dealt with, Blaise stalks forward and moves around to impede her crawling path. He leans down, attempting to grab her by the hair and draw her head in between his thighs, his arms going to loop around her bare stomach with the intent to hoist her into piledriving position.

Having a killer instinct remains to be seen, and is, in fact, the main point of contention with his trainer. But Blaise would've been pleased to have at least given the illusion. Would a piledriver put her down for the match? He'd hope so, at least - really hope so. So maybe he is making some small improvements?

The audience won't be finding out in this particular moment!

Makie proves to have enough wits about her and stamina to resist to fire a quick shot into the teen's midsection. "Unf!" His hands had only made it to her bare ribs before taking the shot, now quickly looping his middle protectively and granting her the freedom she desperately wanted.

Blaise is recovering from the punch quickly - if anything could be said of him, it's his resilience. But he's trying to push through the pain and force his body to cooperate, desperate to keep control. But while the hit wouldn't be what fells him, it's enough to keep him from reacting in time to stop the kick. He foot connects to his jaw, forcing his spine to straighten in an instant. The teen staggers back in a daze, his back hitting the ropes briefly before they spring him forward again at an unbalanced stumble.

Blaise's stumble didn't afford him much in the way of defense. So when Makie grabs him and twists, the best he can do is wrap his arms around her midsection. It's the beginnings of resistance, but that's as far as it goes. She drops with him, and-

...The impact is brutal. Blaise rebounds off of her shoulder to his knees, his eyes open but not seeing anything. He hovers like that for a couple seconds before dropping onto his side on the mat. He lies there, his head throbbing, his mind a wash. He manages to breathe a weak groan; he's in terrible shape after that one. He'd taken a lot of abuse from her throughout the match, and it's definitely taken its toll.

Blaise is rolled over onto his back, and soon feels a pressure against his toned midsection. His bare thigh is hooked, leg drawn into the air. He's being pinned. He's aware of it. Her breasts are pushing into his abs, the sixpacked muscles rhythmically pushing against her curves with every inhale.

The referee strikes the mat a second time. "TWO..."

Blaise wants this match. He's not satisfied. This experience hasn't been a good one. He knows he'll reflect on it and find something, something to take away from the experience, but losing this match to her would leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Everything she does is painted against the backdrop of that initial insult and everything to follow. It's gotten to him. He doesn't irritate easily, but this... he didn't deserve that damn attitude.

The referee's hand drives down.

"Nn'gah!" Blaise kicks his leg free of her grip, the motion popping his shoulder off the mat just before the ref's hand makes contact. He's not out. Not out yet. He's going to fight this to the end.