Aisha vs. Abattoir - Two Days Notice

The more they circled, the more Abattoir felt herself instinctively learning, and the more she learned, the more she began to realize that Styx's little practical joke had put her further into the deep end than she'd initially thought.

She matched pace with the other girl but as she studied, it became evident that Aisha was studying her too, and that was a thought that jived hard with her preconceptions. Perhaps it'd be better to go in fast. Abattoir switched to a southpaw stance and was about to start moving in and trying to cut the ring off when suddenly there was a tense flash of motion and Aisha leapt at her, winding up a shot with the nightstick. Her movement aborted itself before it could even start and, reflexively, her legs popped into a little hop backwards. It was probably a little further than she'd need to go in order to dodge whatever was coming, but Aisha's natural range had the baton on top of it. Best to overcompensate a bit.

It'd been a feint, though. Probably one designed to help read her. Abattoir paused for a split second, then smirked a little under the mask.

"Right. Now I know you don't need all that."

Well, the jig was up. She was in a fucking fight now. The nak muay caught a steel chair with one boot, popping it up into the air, and unfolded it...then set it down and immediately rushed in, trying to catch a wristlock on the baton-wielding hand and immobilize it.

It was kind of like a feint, but with a chair and a whole lot more movement.

When Abattoir took the bait and moved back from the feint, Aisha started to sweep in, lashing out with a quick hook for the kill. Alas, her target had moved too far out of range, and she caught nothing but stale air. Smart. She was still close enough to hear what the crazy bitch was saying out of that fakakta mask on her face, though.

"Bitch, it's called 'style'." Aisha spat off to the side and let Abattoir's words roll off her. "Stop hatin' and get some."

Just as requested, Abattoir went into action - sort of. Her movement with the chair were weird, off-kilter, and Aisha didn't know what to make of them at first. Then she found herself in a wristlock, and it all became clear. "Tricky, fucking-"

Abattoir had her weapon locked down, but Aisha still had three working limbs to smash with and a head if she was feeling particularly nasty. She didn't pull away, but instead reached out and pulled her opponent close, going into a tight clinch.

"Fuck-" She shot her knee towards Abattoir's gut. "-off!" And another follow right after that.

She had wrist control, and considering the baton wasn't exactly bladed or anything, this was a very advantageous position to be in -particularly seconds later, when Aisha latched on with her free arm and started grappling. The sheer courage it took to clinch with somebody like Abattoir aside, this limited the nak muay's ability to throw the big, winging elbows she liked.

A knee crashed into her ribs, and Abattoir hissed through her teeth. Nothing like the science of eight limbs.

She considered throwing a knee strike of her own, since it was kind of her wheelhouse, but trying that while also holding onto the baton would probably get her suplexed - and it was that thought that precipitated her next move. When Aisha went for her second knee strike, Abattoir took it in the ribs (trying not to wince at the impact), then pivoted with her waist away from the other girl's arms and tried to drop her weight. If everything came together, she'd be pulling off a drop toehold onto the open chair!

The more they fought, the more AIsha learned about the walking enigma that was Abattoir. For instance, she was damn tough, more than you would guess just to look at her. A knee strike like the one she delivered would've folded most women in half, but this one  knew how to take a good one and keep going. Aisha thought the second one would've done the trick, but it didn't. Abattoir was still standing after it connected, and even though she did go down a moment later, it was for all the wrong reasons.

Aisha realized what was happened as she fell forward, but it was a little too late to stop the process. Gravity and momentum were having their way, and the end result had her speeding towards an opened chair. The best she could do was get her hand up to block the impact. She succeeded, managed to take away some of the force, and that was probably the only thing that kept her from getting knocked clean out.

A sick crack rang out through the arena as her face hit the metal, and the diva went into a painful fit. She rolled away once, twice, then flopped over to her back and kicked her legs furiously. She'd dropped the police baton as some point, but she didn't much care - her hands were too busy rubbing her head, as the headache of the century raged across her skull.

"Fuck!" She started to try and sit up, but it was a slow process. She really needed a minute to get her bearings straight, but...

Abattoir wheezed for a second as she separated, not even taking the time to enjoy the sound of Aisha getting an up-close introduction to the chair. Whew. She'd taken thousands of knees to the body (an occupational hazard of muay thai), but even so, the two just now had left her a bit dazed. No more of that. No matter how tough somebody was, if they started taking hard body shots their stamina would go fast.

No time to worry about that, though - Aisha was down and it was time to capitalize. Abattoir stormed forward (taking a second, as she passed the fallen baton, to kick it to the other side of the ring) and seized a length of thick chain. Its links jangled and clinked together as she dragged it behind her, and the second Aisha sat up, she pounced.

Crouching behind the seated girl, Abattoir attempted to wrap the chain around her neck and drag her upright. It was practically a resthold by hardcore standards, but the discomfort and pain would be well worth the effort.

Aisha had to give credit where credit was due: Abattoir was getting her pissed off in record time. Only about one minute, couldn’t have been more than two, and the Dancing Sistah's blood was already beginning to boil. Usually, a match had to reach the five-minute mark before she got well and truly ticked, but this bitch had a natural talent for it. Good on her. Aisha was looking forward to making her regret it.

Rage was a good anesthetic, and it helped Aisha power back up. She could hear something coming close - sounded like chains rattling - and she knew that didn’t bode well, but by the time she realized where Abattoir was, there was a length of chain squeezing her throat. Made counterattacking a bit difficult.

”Fffffff…” Her curse was caught in her throat as Abattoir choked away at her, tightening the metal noose without an ounce of remorse. Panic immediately set in, and Aisha started to thrash around the floor, twisting and turning and shaking and sputtering while her hands pulled away at the chain, desperate for even one gasp. Her wild eyes caught sight of some brass knuckles nearby, and she instinctively spared one hand to reach out for them, looking for any chance of escape she could scrounge up.

Abattoir turned away as she heaved on the chain. They were back to back now - it was like an assassin garroting some poor security guard in a movie - and the movement helped out with her main goal of dragging Aisha to the ropes. It also meant she was looking the other way for the whole trip (which was admittedly a little longer than she would've liked; moving somebody who didn't want to be moved, particularly when they were thrashing as much as Aisha was, was a difficult task), giving the diva just enough room and inattention that she could snatch up the brass knuckles on the way...

Regardless, once they got to the ropes, she scooped Aisha up in a fireman's carry type hold and began trying to bundle her over the top rope with one hand, gripping the chain with the other. There was an immediate gasp from the crowd, who were fairly used to people hitting each other with things, but hadn't really expected Abattoir to try literally hanging her opponent. Apparently if you took the rules away, she developed quite the, uh, finishing instinct.

Aisha’s desperate struggles paid off, and she was able to grab the brass knuckles. Fitting them around her fingers was a little tricky - they were designed for someone with bigger hands than hers, so even if she did get a solid shot in, there was a strong chance she’d hurt her own fist. Oh, and there was the little problem of not getting sufficient air into her lungs, and the haziness that natural came along with it, too.

As it turned out, though, not being able to breath was the least of her problems. She was a bit confused when Abattoir started trying to hoist her up, but everything became clear when she away the way the chain was still gripped muy thai maven’s fingers. The bitch was going to fucking hang her, and judging by the way many in the audience were starting to raise up and look on with serious concern, they were picking up on it, too.

Needless to say, Aisha was not about to let that happen. It would be an awkward move from the fireman’s carry position, but she brought her fist back, gripped the brass knuckles tight, and started to furiously batter away at Abattoir’s back, not caring which part of it she hit so long as she struck something and made her stop.

All things considered, had she gotten her way and launched Aisha over the top rope, things would have probably been over fairly quickly.

As it was, though, Abattoir was still in the middle of trying to force her opponent over when a sharp pain burst to life at the top of her spine - an unexpected amount of force for a single punch. Another, and then another, dropped her up against the ropes (letting the pressure off Aisha's neck, fortunately for her) and then the fourth shot hit her in the back of the head and the world exploded into a burst of white.

Abattoir turned and dropped the diva, stumbling to a knee, then clutched at her head for much, much longer than was tactically advisable in something like this. Visions of sigils and hellfire splashed across her retinas as the dull ache of the punches spread across her head and shoulders. The chain remained around Aisha for the moment, but with no pressure being applied, she was safe.

The crowd cheered with every punch she landed, but Aisha wasn’t sure whether that was because they were glad she escaped, they wanted to see Abattoir suffer, or they just liked the brutality. She couldn’t have conceivably cared less, either. She could breathe again, and as soon as Abattoir dropped her and the pressure abated, that was what she spent the next ten or so seconds doing.

Aisha rapidly sucked in as much air as her lungs could take, coughing and hacking along the way while she massaged her tortured neck. She caught a glimpse of the big screen, saw her throat on camera, and she could tell the chain’s red marks were going to be sticking out for a while. No more photoshoots for the next few weeks.

That almost pissed her off more than nearly having her neck snapped, and all of the sudden she needed to hurt Abattoir. Not in a moment. Not even in a second. She didn’t want to waste the time it would take to walk over to her. She craved immediate retribution, and thanks to the little hanging stunt, she had the means.

Aisha unwrapped the chain from around her neck and ripped one end tight with both her hands, glaring at Abattoir with pure hate the entire time. ”You like it hard, bitch?” Aisha hissed through her clenched teeth. She stood up with wobbly feet, straightened up, then jerked down and used the chain like a bullwhip, lashing it hard across the nak muay’s back. ”Me too!”