The Kyoto Welcoming Committee

Makoto was about to go for another kick, when she saw the look in Johnny’s eyes. Wild. Dangerous. Raw. It was the sort of killer glare that you just didn’t see in Tension men, ever. Half of them were soft pretty boys, the other half were softer pussies. Probably none of them had ever even been in a real fight in their entire lives.

But this one was different. Mako had to admit, she was curious to find out just how much different.

”Look at you, look at you.” Mako snorted and shoved his face away, before stepping back and motioning for Stone to do the same. Her lieutenant gave her a quick, unsure look, but she knew better than to make much of a fuss with these sorts of things.

Mako smirked and peeled off her jacket, revealing the camo tank top underneath, and tied it around her waist, making sure it was nice and tight. ”You’re looking a little mad there, Johnny Boy. You want to do something with that anger? Want to try something big?”

A fight wasn’t exactly what she’d planned for this, but screw it. Things could change.

Through angry eyes, Johnny looked up. If looks could kill, what he was shooting in her direction constituted a crime against humanity. The baby blues were like the eyes of a jungle cat. A hurt, cornered jungle cat. He's never been more dangerous then when backed into a corner and if Mako's gut picked up something feral, she wasn't too far off.  As she reared back for another body kick, his eyes closed. "M-make it count."

To his surprise, the kick never arrived, replaced with a pair of fingers on his chin, gripping him like a stern parent before pushing his face away with distaste, mockingly.

His eyes popped open slowly, like an alligator's, very reptilian in focus and implacability. It took him a second, but he began to process what she was doing.

She decided to give him a fighting chance.

As Makoto took a step back, shedding the black motorcycle jacket like it was a second skin, Flash did something similar in the seconds that followed him coming to a standing position.

After getting to his feet, the crazy Cajun slowly removed his jacket, one shoulder at a time, almost sensually, before tossing it haphazardly over the roof of his dilapidated and rusty van. His voice lost some of his haphazard Cajun bounce, now sounding like a hiss. Like he'd walked over a grave. His bare chest and back should have put everyone in the parking lot on notice. This isn't your average wrestler.

"I really jus' wanted to park. Not that it matters now."

If Makato was cut from granite, Flash was carved from leather. His muscular frame was crisscrossed by a roadmap of scars and old blemishes, with much of the scar tissue being intersected with more scar tissue. Remnants of abrasions, old lacerations, and even a few burns were present on the exposed tissue of his upper body. He looked like Frankenstein's monster. The fit torso beautiful in it's hideousness. Truly rusted and weathered. An oddity in flesh. An abomination. A tragedy of what the human body could endure. His monument to masochism. Flash's eyes fluctuate over to Stone. Then Devine.

"Your pets ain't going to jump in?"

He said, tilting his head in the direction of her buddies as he tucks his chin and grips his taped fists, knees arching a bit, as his elbows move to cover his upper body, a Tyson-esque peekaboo guard.

As Johnny took his jacket off, the sight of his war torn body elicited three different reactions from the Valkyries.

Stone wasn’t fazed by it at all. A little surprised, perhaps, but she’d seen worse - far, far, far worse - in her time as a soldier. A tour of duty tended to give people perspective when it came to these sorts of things, and her threshold was particularly high.

Devine felt the urge to throw up, and she very well might have if it wasn’t for the camera she was holding. She managed to get over it after a moment, but even so, she was doing a good job of focusing on Johnny’s body as little as possible considering what she was there to do.

Mako was actually kind of turned on.

It wasn’t a pronounced as Johnny’s, partly because her tanktop covered up some of the nastier souveniers her body had accumulated over the years. But despite that, you could tell from the faint scars on her arms and shoulder that she had wracked up the sort of injuries a girl her age and size had no business enduring. Hardly an accident. Mako didn’t just like violence, she loved it. It was her religion. And seeing a hint of that same devotion in someone else was rare.

But she managed to keep it to a smirk, not letting the depth of her feelings show. She was here for business. Had to remember that.

”Don’t worry, blondie. Just you and me.” Not wanting to waste another second, she got up her guard and started moving in the second she finished her sentence. She ducked low and sidestepped in, before swinging her leg about to hit Johnny with a sharp shin kick to the knees.

There was soft gasp as Flash acknowledged the smirk. He had to admit, he is going to do his best to FUCK her up, (how dare she fucking do any of this shit to him?!) but she wasn't without look or charm. Her body was tight, 1-2% percent body fat at most. She had a pretty face, despite the smirk he'd only seen on undertakers or dogs feasting on cartoon. He could pick up on something. Kinship, maybe? Familiarity? Not enough to prevent the pair of them from being badly and brutally hurt. In fact, if it is familiarity...you can guarantee violence.


When Makato ducked down and sidestepped, Flash realized the speed advantage was hers. Always was. Hell, she can hit hard. Her lithe body, muscles compact like a coiled spring shows that's she's built for hard, bruising attacks. He was going to have to take this. A smarter man would have shot down and tried to grab her leg, but he didn't have the speed for that. He was going to have to take the impact. It's okay. Taking beatings is what he does. He can take it. He's a rock. He's a tank. If Makato requires a dog to kick, he’ll be that dog. The thing about dogs is if you kick them enough times, they’ll eventually turn around and bite the shit out of you.



Her leg cracked into his shin audibly, sounding like a car backfiring as he sucked air through his teeth, his body giving just a bit as her heel cracks into his shin, he crumpled, bringing the leg up just a bit.

Instinctively, his arm shoots back, with a defensive straight right hand aimed between her chin and her tits. If he can, he'd punch her right in the upper sternum, or even the throat. If the speed difference is too much, well, he just left himself open, and he's leaning on one leg. Shouldn't be pretty.

Okay, five seconds in. Not long in the real world, but damn in the middle of a hard fight. What had Mako learned so far about ‘Johnny Flash’ - other than his poor taste in ring names and cars.

He was no twinkletoes, not too light on his feet. Mako was quick, quicker than most, but she got far more of the kick than she’d expected when she launched. Not too good with the reflexes, this one.

That might’ve been good news, except for the fact that he seemed to make up for it by being tough. The blow would’ve had a lot of guys and gals howling in pain, but not Johnny Flash. He recoiled, sure, but there was only a slight delay before he was retaliating.

He came at her with a punch, a straight to be specific, and he might have hit her in the throat if she hadn’t bobbed back at the right time and took it on the chin, instead. Mako stumbled back, rubbed her chin, and made a noise that was half-grunt, half-laugh.

”Heh.”

With that, she launched herself forward and leaped, raising her leg as she flew to come at Johnny Flash with a flying knee bomb, targeting his chest with all her weight behind the move. One of her favorite ways to close the distance.

Johnny tried to avoid it (HA!) but he resigned himself to tucking his chin, closing his eyes and taking the hit. It was useless. He may as well have been wearing cement shoes. Makoto is like a damn fighter jet, coming in fast as all hell, striking where she needs to, and avoiding blowback. The knee bomb landed perfectly, like his chest was Dresden, Hiroshima, or Nagasaki.

"Hnnnhk!"

Her patella drilled into his sternum and the gasp of air that left his mouth was the sound of something rustling in him and fading away like the death rattle of a dying animal. The follow up wheeze was even more concerning. That's a lung bruised. Maybe even punctured.

This seemed to be setting up a theme. The typical Flashy formula. Take a beating. Grab. Dish out beating. He thought that to himself as he gripped the side of the van to keep from falling, dropping to one knee as if in deep thought rather than extreme pain.

"..t-that was nice.."

He says, through gritted teeth, a tinge of froth on the corner of his mouth.

Mako would give Johnny credit where it was due - the dude could take a blow. The knee she threw would’ve knocked out nine out of ten guys flat and left them a bleeding, drooling mess on the floor. With that in mind, he was doing good.

It might’ve been hard to tell that at the moment, though, what with the way he was on his knee, hurting, leaning on his van. She’d took a step back to admire her work, smirking, when he decided to open his mouth up. Apparently, he liked the rough stuff.

If a shark could lick its lips before the kill, it would’ve looked something the devilish look Mako made. ”More where that came from.”

She hopped back in, raised her leg up as she neared, and shot the heel of her boot towards his chest, looking to smash his back against the hard metal.

As her boot came in with the surgical strike of a cruise missile, Mako forgot something. Johnny's book-stupid, sure. He's easily manipulated and beatable.

Don't sleep on him.

Don't ever sleep on him.

Mako's boot comes careening in before Johnny's heavy, calloused and taped hands grabbed her ankle, catching it firmly before it attacks his breadbasket.

"Much more."

The Flash Man arched his arm back and shot through with a heavy uppercut to the Biker's groin, trying to punch her right in the ovaries and make her feel that low, sick pain you get from a crotch shot, enough to give him a bit of breathing room.

Mako swung her leg out, quick and hard and full of venom, and then time stopped.

There was a moment, a long drawn out moment, where she realized that her kick hadn't connected, that he'd managed to block the damn thing, and that she was wide open. She knew where she’d strike if she were in Johnny’s shoes, but that was her. She didn't expect some Tension rookie to have the stones for a low blow.

She learned just how wrong she was when she felt a sharp pain between her legs, the unmistakable sensation of a fierce blow to her most sensitive area. She let out an undignified squawk, half from the pain and half from the surprise, before she turned around and awkwardly stumbled away with her hands between her legs.

”Shit!” She took one step, then another, then fell to a knee.”You fucking...goddamn it!”

They'd be editing this part out.

Raising up like a revenant, Flash moved up from his knees to his feet, standing now, holding his chest softly before sucking in air. He had bruised ribs. Maybe a cracked one. Didn't matter. He was a rock. He could take it. The Japanese wrestling public didn't nickname him Zombie Johnny for no reason. This motherfucker was unkillable.

Mako looked almost comical. Like she was trying to warm her hand between her thighs, the look of more outright shock then pain just plastered all over her face.

There was a moment of opportunity. Flash was slow, but like an alligator, he could close the distance quick, as he tried to plant a heavy axe handle between her shoulder blades with a bit of a sprinting start, going for a double fisted club.

"Where you goin'?"