SD III: The Dasher Challenge

Preceded by: SD III: Laura Leiner promo
Followed by: SD III: Gozu Matsuya Vs. Ivan Komorov




VS.




Match Type: Standard match
Winning Condition: Pinfall, Submission or Knockout
Special Conditions: none

A growing buzz started emanating from the audience thanks to their foreknowledge of the fight card that night. Stirring cheers that erupted in full force once the rhythmic theme of the renowned Puroresu champion himself started blasting through the speakers. Dasher Inoba's exalted reputation and extensive grappling pedigree having placed him amongst Japanese wrestling royalty and already an ardent fan favorite. The burly Japanese native appearing at the top of the ramp and clad in a pitch black robe with a white sash around it's waist and the Japanese caricatures for "Muscle" on it's broad back.

Despite the overwhelming applause and generally favorable reaction, Dasher would keep his head tilted down with all the humourlessness and professionalism of a champion prize fighter as he strode imposingly down the ramp. Flashing cameras lighting up the arena and capturing one of the highlighted appearances of the PPV while being accompanied by several teenage attendants dutifully clearing the way for him and widening the gap in the top and middle ropes as he climbed inside.

Dasher took a casual stride around the ring and examined the crowd giving him a standing ovation, black and white streamers now flying all around the ring and celebrating his entrance into the Tension federation. Those same streamers now decorating the ring and draping over the ropes as Dasher was given a mic from ringside after completing his leisurely stroll and coming dead center of the ring. The pulsating enthusiasm of his debut dying down after several minutes along with his booming theme music, Dasher than calmly raising the mic upward to address the crowd with particular attention directed towards the hard camera in the audience as she spoke in his booming Japanese voice.

"I offer...my sincerest gratitude for that warm welcome. But make no mistake...my time here will not be spent for anyone's enjoyment. It will be spent...educating. Educating everyone on why this league is a farce that taints the purity of wrestling tradition and does the women in this league a grave disevice. And that is by allowing these poor, deluded women to have them face subpar athletes and having them believe that could ever stand a chance against a TRUE...warrior. A TRUE...competitor. A TRUE...wrestler." Dasher aggressively pointed outward with every repeated word, before turning his attention back towards the top of the ramp. "And so, in my generosity, I have decided to show these women the error of their ways, and issue an open challenge to any lady back there who thinks they can compete against a REAL MAN. And for whoever steps up to the inaugural DASHER CHALLENGE...allow me to show you, how wrong you are."

Carmen was starting to regret coming to Showdown.

As a wrestler, she received free tickets to all the shows, even when she wasn’t doing any matches. A sweet, small little perk, and she typically would’ve have been happy to come and see what was up with the competition. But, as she stood in line with Army, waiting for their turn to pay for overpriced bottles of Coke and hotdogs. That actual reality of the situation began to weigh down on her.

She looked around her, seeing the various people waiting for the next match to start, rushing to and from bathroom breaks. Some new wrestler was about to make his grand introduction to Tension, but it wasn’t anyone she knew or cared about. Maybe that was the problem - even though she was a wrestler, she still felt apart from the whole scene in too many ways, as if she’d never truly integrated. She’d won a title, was considered one of the top stars, and yet she hadn’t had a high profile match since she lost the belt. Rumors were starting to spread, talks of her moving away from the scene, and it wasn't

”Hey,” Army gave her a quick poke in the side, then moved up a few steps in the line. ”Can you maybe try to look a little less depressed?” Despite the ribbing, he put on a good-natured smile. ”Most people are happy when they get to watch a show for free. They might even smile. Remember how to do that?”

”Vaguely.” She sighed up and moved along with him. Tempting as it was to be annoyed by him, she couldn’t deny the fact that she’d been a bit of a wet blanket ever since she lost the title and her hair along with it, spilled out on Soledad's floor. The same Soledad that would be defending Carmen's former title later on, and oh, was she looking forward to that.

She put on a little smirk and shrugged, doing the best to clear her mind. ”Sorry, sorry, I know. I just-”

Her focus was shifted when she heard an audience clapping widely, and she could look up and see why on a nearby TV screen. The bottom of the screen read ‘Dasher Inoba’ and the man himself was making his way to the ring to great fanfare. Carmen and Army watched on as the man grabbed a microphone and proceeded to introduce himself…and go a bit beyond that.

When he was done and his challenge was issued, Army just chucked. ”Fuck, and they tell me I’m full of myself. Who do you think is gonna-”

By the time Army looked back down, Carmen was already walking off.

---

It took a couple of minutes for her to make it to the back and get everything setup, but there were some advantages she still enjoyed from the push and sway of her championship status. She was a big name, and the prospect of putting her out in an impromptu match against an incoming asset was something that management jumped at. They would’ve preferred it happen with some build for them to properly advertise, but a match with not enough hype was better than nothing. Twitter would help them get enough buzz to make it worth their while.

The crowd rose to their feet as Carmen’s theme, Vengo, played out over the loudspeakers. This was an unexpected treat, after all - many had been hoping Carmen would get a match at Showdown, worrying that the former champ was getting a bit low key now that she’d lost her shine. If there were any worrying about her dropping off, this was the sort of thing that would put an end to it.

She wasn’t exactly dressed to compete - not in typical wrestling attire. The clothes she wore were similar to her 24/7 attire, black track pants, red t-shirt, matching sneakers. Most importantly, though, she wore a fierce, focused look, staring daggers at Dasher as she neared the ring. She intended on telling the wrestling veteran exactly what she thought of his opinions on the women’s locker room in Tension.

With her fists.

Carmen rolled into the ring, walked right up to Dasher, and gingerly took the microphone, lifting it up to her mouth whether he was still holding on or not. As the two faced off, it was easy to compare their sizes - Dasher was the more robustly built one between them, but Carmen wasn’t too far behind, and all her fans knew she was capable of holding her own against bigger opponents. Bigger and more experienced opponents, well, they’d have to see.

Regardless, if Dasher’s advantages bothered Carmen, she didn’t show it. You could guess that by the four words she spoke.

”I accept your challenge.”

After issuing his direct challenge towards approximately half of the Tension locker room, Dasher would begin to steadily pace around his corner while occasionally hopping in place to keep his adrenaline pumping and keep himself light on his feet. The gruff and burly puroresu champion half expecting his open challenge to go unanswered and end up depriving the audience of the opportunity to make his rather chauvinistic statement on the grandest stage Tension could afford him. And although demonstrating that none of the women backstage had the courage to take him up on his offer would, by extension, prove his point...Dasher knew that nothing proved your point better than outright dominating your opponent.

...

After several minutes of waiting, the arena sprung to life under the rhythmic though wholly foreign sounding music of the hairless latina striding purposefully down the ramp. Dasher met Carmen's glaring eyes with his own eagle-eyed stare, centered squarely on the unlucky soul he intended to make an example of this night. Years upon years of experience with grappling at the highest levels of competition meant that Dasher wouldn't waver and remained steadfast as Carmen entered the ring and bravely took the mic from his hands to officially accept his challenge.

Dasher scoffed under his breath before retreating to his corner and be handed a second mic, the burly champion briefly stroking his massive chin as he examined Carmen from bald head to toe.

"Hmph...Not introducing yourself to your superiors...I've come to expect such ignorance and disrespect from a league this disreputable. I am vaguely aware of your failed title reign, Rodriquez. These people in the audience may know more of you besides that, but I...do not. And there is good reason. You are, quite simply... not WORTH knowing, in my eyes. Until that is...you can prove your mettle. Right now, in this very ring. Or I will simply break you, and prop you up as the prime reason why men are the superior grapplers. Either way...by the end of the night...I, Dasher Inoba!!!...will be making that name of yours FAMOUS!!!" After his grim proclamation, Dasher would retreat to his corner where he would disrobe and hand off his mic. The handy ring crew having cleared up all the streamers by this point, Dasher himself eventually approaching the middle of the ring in his black wrestling trunks while exuding an iron will and stalwart professionalism.

It was a testament to Carmen’s will, patience, and reserves that she didn’t slap Dasher right in his face about halfway through his rant.

She stood there, stoic and silent, as he spoke enough crap for ten men. Honestly, it wasn’t anything she’d never heard before, though it had been a long time since one of her family members had dared to give her the ‘women have no place in the ring’ speech. Winning medals and going on hotstreaks had a way of silencing doubters, she found.

And here came Dasher, with a rotten dose of nostalgia. If she hadn’t been in the mood to lay him out before, she definitely was, now.

The crowd broke into an indistinguishable murmur as Carmen moved back to her corner and the referee got ready to kick things off. She got in a few quick stretches while Dasher disrobed, running a quick battle plan through her head - while Dasher knew little of her, she knew even less of him. She was certain she’d watched a few of his matches earlier in her career, when her own style was coalescing, but she couldn’t remember enough specifics to be useful now. Though she could work on the cliff notes already: he was old, but not old enough for his age to really slow him down. Strong. A veteran and a skilled one, if all his talk was anywhere near the truth. The sort of opponent that would’ve torn her apart when she first entered the league.

But she was different now. Better. Smarter. If there was ever a time she could put all that to test, this was it.

When the bell rang, Carmen fought her instinct to cross the ring quick and start pummeling Dasher in his oversized face. Instead, she made her way across the ring with her arms raised and knees bent, edging her way towards the boisterous braggart with slow steps. Looking for a lockup.

As per his one of specific requests in his borderline gargantuan contract with Tension, the AFW referee would perform a quick pat down on himself and Carmen to check for any foreign objects. A patdown that would take less than a second for Dasher considering that black boots and black wrestling trunks were all that he was wearing. Dasher remained to be a hard stickler for the more traditional aspects of wrestling, even when he was resigning himself to unfairly bring the full weight of his experience down upon a helpless woman. In a way, he almost pitied Carmen...

The stir of excitement in the audience amped up once both competitors began approaching the middle of the ring, Dasher gazing with a hardened and almost unblinking stare straight towards the encroaching latina. He examined her stance and her attire to wisely assume that Carmen was some manner of seasoned striker. An easy assumption considering her boxing posture, the muscle mass on her arms, her taped fists, and the way she so fiercely clenched them during his bloviating speech. Dasher scoffed from the very notion of him taking any serious damage from those girly punches of hers.

As the bell rang, and the match was officially underway, Dasher would raise both his arms high and in front of him while extending his meaty fingers outward. A broad, imposing, and bear-like grappling stance that had the posture of a seasoned veteran who had grappled with the best Japanese wrestlers of his generation. Teasingly swatting at any errand hands of Carmens that came in his direction to keep her distance, Dasher would than abruptly take two swift steps forward and and attempt to sidestep around Carmen and bear down on her from behind with a clenching waistlock. The burly grappler attempting to hoist Carmen off her face and simply lay her feet to slam her face down on the canvas for his trademark mat grappling with the grip still applied, if all goes uninterrupted.

Legs wide. Base solid. Eyes forward. Arms loose.

Carmen ran every lesson she’d been taught about wrestling through her head as she closed in on Dasher, taking pains to follow them to the letter at every moment. She would always be a boxer at heart, but there was wrestling blood mixed in her veins, now, and it told her to be wary of barging in on the man before her. Striking was good, but an experience grappler could make it a problem every time.

Besides, she had a point to prove. She would bash Dasher’s face in. Just not right away.

He was a tentative sort of fighter, she noticed, as the two found themselves circling and reaching and grasping. In a strange way, he actually reminded Carmen of her father, with the patient, thoughtful way he moved around the ring, the way he almost seemed to control the ring. Even the chauvenism, though her father was never quite that bad with it.

When Dasher made his move, he came in a way that was true to his namesake - Carmen had no idea if he’d earned that title or if it was just a coincidence, but either way, it fit. There weren’t terribly many people who could get to Carmen’s flank like that, fewer still his size, but the seasoned vet pulled it off. Up she went and down she came, flopping hard on her chest with him vying for position on top. Wrestling boilerplate.

She could work with that, though. Carmen swung her body about and swung her legs to a sitting position, attempting to establish a base and push up back to her feet from there. It wouldn’t get her out of the hold, but it was a start.

Dasher groaned out loud as he heaved Carmen off her feet and planted face down onto the waiting canvas, the burly grappler heavily weighing himself down on top of her in what was meant to be the first motion of many before he planned to have Carmen pleading for mercy from one of his expert submissions or simply rendered unconscious from one of his many ring-shaking suplexes. Dasher's plans being summarily...well, dashed...once the fidgeting latina's squirming movements had her already seated and lifting herself back to her feet just as swiftly as he had slammed her down.

"Hmph..." Dasher scoffed in irritation but remained nevertheless latched onto Carmen with his muscled grip never wavering even once she was standing once more. Stubborn as he was chauvinistic, Dasher buckled down with his plans and with another heaving groan would haul Carmen back up and face plant her once again onto the canvas. But, in an odd and perplexing twist...Dasher would gradually ease up on the waistlock while steadily rising off of the latina once she was on her hands and knees.

Dasher innocently extended his arms to the side as he stood back up in what appeared to be a show of leniency towards Carmen. Dasher apparently granting her the professional courtesy of allowing her to rise back up and collect herself...only for the burly grappler to emphatically slap and smack the back of Carmen's bald head repeatedly with his meaty palms as he backed away from her with a smarmy grin. A blatant sign of disrespect between grapplers, and one that sent a clear message of how little he thinks of Carmen and her so-called "skills."

Strong arms, solid and unwavering. A steady grip, without a hint of hesitation or regret. There was a calm, collected way to Dasher’s movements, one that Carmen found herself respecting despite his crass, chauvinist coating. Even as she lifted up and started to nullify the hold, she could feel that she’d dodged a bullet. Being so close to him, she was readily aware of all the muscles he’d been preparing, no doubt readying himself to whip her around like a ragdoll.

It was a relief when he let off her, though, giving up some space. Definitely a good sign - as rude and boorish as he’d come off before, at least he could keep things respectable between the ropes.

And then he went and slapped her in the back of the head. So much for that.

”Hey, hey!” Carmen flushed and batted away his slaps, more irritated than anything. Her first inclination was to pop up and bash him in the face, but she stopped herself in mid-motion - that was exactly what he wanted her to do. Get under your opponent's skin, make her angry, make her stupid.

It wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t let it.

Carmen shook it off and rose to her feet, simmering under the surface, but keeping calm up top. She took a deep breath, then moved into her stance again and started circling him. This time, though, she lowered thing a bit and reached for his legs, trying to fake him out and bit to see how fast he could react.

Supreme confidence in his own speed, strength and endurance, as well as his own concrete skepticism towards whether or not Carmen could even throw an effective punch, were the primary reasons Dasher saw no danger in so brazenly poking the hispanic bear before him. Chipping away at your opponents confidence...making them feel inadequate and frustrated by blatantly toying with them...Dasher always felt that simple but effective mind games were a lost art of modern wrestling.

And considering that this poor woman honestly felt that she stood a chance, Dasher opted to remind Carmen of just how little a threat she actually posed to him. The burly grappler expecting Carmen to foolishly allow her emotions to take control and have her come in swinging wildly to demonstrate her lack of discipline. But the latina striker remained level-headed and started circling the ring in tandem with him once more. Dasher grunted and remained convinced only of her opponent's stubbornness when she didn't take the bait, reflexively recoiling one leg once it appeared Carmen would make for a grabbing attempt.

No more games.

Dasher sucked his teeth from the fake out before making good on his namesake and dashing forward. Letting out a burly yell to coincide with the burly clothesline to her chest he was intending to mow Carmen over with.

"OORIYAH!!!"