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Description
Author's Note: Veherzak and I started this collaboration way back in the early days of summer. Isa Armstrong is his character, and we took turns writing this -- astute readers might be able to pick out where my voice ends and his begins, or vice versa. Everyone enjoys the pictures, of course, but we do hope you enjoy the story below as well.

Previous: Stranger in a Strange Land XI

Camille groaned as she gingerly got to her feet, every movement stiff and awkward with the damage she'd just sustained to her hamstrings and groin. She flexed her knees just the tiniest bit and immediately hissed in pain -- clearly she was done performing feats of strength for the night.

"Alright, Isa. If you want, we'll do one last hold. Lay on your back and gimme your legs."

Though she didn't like the thought of Cosworth targeting her joints again -- especially not when the Crab Clutch had hurt her in ways she didn't think possible -- Isa immediately did as instructed. She got flat on her back and raised her legs in a vertical V, letting Camille seize control of her ankles. The other woman stepped through her thighs with one foot and crossed her left shin over her right knee, a set-up that Armstrong figured would lead to a Sharpshooter.

Rather than turn the Romani wrestler onto her stomach, however, Camille laid down as well. She hooked her left calf over Isa's left foot, locking Armstrong's legs in a modified Figure Four. Isa sat up with a sharp yelp, reaching forward with an open palm as if to tap immediately. She regained control of herself just a moment later though, and Isa forced herself back to the mat, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists so tightly that her knuckles went white.

Armstrong was so preoccupied with the agony in her knees and thighs that she didn't even notice Cosworth tucking her exposed right foot underneath an arm with a bony wrist braced against her Achilles tendon.

"Hey, Isa..."

"Wh -- What..." Isa grunted in reply with her eyes squeezed shut.

"...I'm really sorry about this."

Before Armstrong could process why her sparring partner was apologizing, Cosworth leaned back hard. All at the same time, Isa found her right foot hyper-extended while the sharp blade of Camille's forearm sliced into the soft, vulnerable sinews in the back of her heel. The pain was so intense that it caused the Romani girl to spasmodically twist and arch her back, wildly slapping the rubber mat with both palms as an inhuman screech tore through her throat.

"YOU'RE OKAY! YOU'RE OKAY!" Camille yelled as she released her hold, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself rather than her partner.

She scrambled over to take a seat near Armstrong's head, then Cosworth cradled Isa's shuddering torso in her lap as she rocked back and forth and repeated, "You're okay... you're okay..."

Camille had grown accustomed to applying her Achilles Lock to wrestlers in thick, protective boots, and now she internally chastised herself for not dialing down the pressure against someone wearing only fabric wraps. Worse still, she knew via Yoona how delicate and vulnerable a dancer's feet could be, making the Figure Four Achilles Lock a particularly reckless hold that she now regretted. Fortunately, pole-dancing was nowhere near as torturous on the ankles as ballet, and much to Camille's relief, Isa recovered quickly as the initial wave of pain and panic subsided.

Still laying in Cosworth's arms, Armstrong looked up into the other woman's hazel eyes and asked, "Why didn't you convince me to quit while I was ahead?"

"Well now, what fun would that be?" Camille chuckled.

"Right. Because this whole thing was just a barrel of laughs," Isa mock-grumbled to Cosworth's amusement, the black-haired girl grinning as she spoke.

"Even-Stevens?"

"Even-Stevens. But you’re teaching me those last two." The Romani girl moved and hissed slightly as she disturbed an ache, “Just… later. A lot later.”

“If you show me those pole-dancing moves I asked about, you’ve got a deal.”

With that said, Camille laid down as well to recover from her assortment of aches and pains, allowing Isa to use her stomach as a pillow. For a good while, they were silent as they stared up at the dim ceiling lights, each young woman focused on her own thoughts.

"So you never told me..." Armstrong abruptly piped up, "...what DOES 'Girl of Tomorrow' rhyme with?"

"Doesn't rhyme with anything!" Cosworth replied with a soft snicker. "Yoona calls me that because she says I'm her reason for getting up in the morning. It was catchy... so it kinda stuck with the fans..."

"Yoona... that's your girl, right? She sounds special."

"Uhh... yeah..." Camille said, sounding slightly embarrassed for reasons unknown to Isa. "She's... she's really something..."

"You said she wrestles too? Maybe I'd like to meet her…"

Cosworth's tone suddenly turned grim and harsh.

"No. You don't."

Taken aback by Camille's rapid shift in demeanour from affable to taciturn, Isa let the mater drop. She wanted to ask 'why' but she didn’t want to ruin the mood, so she simply waited for Cosworth to elaborate in her own time. No explanation was coming though, and the pair of women fell silent for another couple of minutes until one last burning question popped into Armstrong's mind.

"If submissions are what you're worst at, then what are you BEST at?"

Camille laughed, a jovial sound that filled the room and put Isa at ease.

"Oh, Isa... that's a story for another time."

Description
Author's Note: Veherzak and I started this collaboration way back in the early days of summer. Isa Armstrong is his character, and we took turns writing this -- astute readers might be able to pick out where my voice ends and his begins, or vice versa. Everyone enjoys the pictures, of course, but we do hope you enjoy the story below as well.

Previous: Stranger in a Strange Land XI

Camille groaned as she gingerly got to her feet, every movement stiff and awkward with the damage she'd just sustained to her hamstrings and groin. She flexed her knees just the tiniest bit and immediately hissed in pain -- clearly she was done performing feats of strength for the night.

"Alright, Isa. If you want, we'll do one last hold. Lay on your back and gimme your legs."

Though she didn't like the thought of Cosworth targeting her joints again -- especially not when the Crab Clutch had hurt her in ways she didn't think possible -- Isa immediately did as instructed. She got flat on her back and raised her legs in a vertical V, letting Camille seize control of her ankles. The other woman stepped through her thighs with one foot and crossed her left shin over her right knee, a set-up that Armstrong figured would lead to a Sharpshooter.

Rather than turn the Romani wrestler onto her stomach, however, Camille laid down as well. She hooked her left calf over Isa's left foot, locking Armstrong's legs in a modified Figure Four. Isa sat up with a sharp yelp, reaching forward with an open palm as if to tap immediately. She regained control of herself just a moment later though, and Isa forced herself back to the mat, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists so tightly that her knuckles went white.

Armstrong was so preoccupied with the agony in her knees and thighs that she didn't even notice Cosworth tucking her exposed right foot underneath an arm with a bony wrist braced against her Achilles tendon.

"Hey, Isa..."

"Wh -- What..." Isa grunted in reply with her eyes squeezed shut.

"...I'm really sorry about this."

Before Armstrong could process why her sparring partner was apologizing, Cosworth leaned back hard. All at the same time, Isa found her right foot hyper-extended while the sharp blade of Camille's forearm sliced into the soft, vulnerable sinews in the back of her heel. The pain was so intense that it caused the Romani girl to spasmodically twist and arch her back, wildly slapping the rubber mat with both palms as an inhuman screech tore through her throat.

"YOU'RE OKAY! YOU'RE OKAY!" Camille yelled as she released her hold, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself rather than her partner.

She scrambled over to take a seat near Armstrong's head, then Cosworth cradled Isa's shuddering torso in her lap as she rocked back and forth and repeated, "You're okay... you're okay..."

Camille had grown accustomed to applying her Achilles Lock to wrestlers in thick, protective boots, and now she internally chastised herself for not dialing down the pressure against someone wearing only fabric wraps. Worse still, she knew via Yoona how delicate and vulnerable a dancer's feet could be, making the Figure Four Achilles Lock a particularly reckless hold that she now regretted. Fortunately, pole-dancing was nowhere near as torturous on the ankles as ballet, and much to Camille's relief, Isa recovered quickly as the initial wave of pain and panic subsided.

Still laying in Cosworth's arms, Armstrong looked up into the other woman's hazel eyes and asked, "Why didn't you convince me to quit while I was ahead?"

"Well now, what fun would that be?" Camille chuckled.

"Right. Because this whole thing was just a barrel of laughs," Isa mock-grumbled to Cosworth's amusement, the black-haired girl grinning as she spoke.

"Even-Stevens?"

"Even-Stevens. But you’re teaching me those last two." The Romani girl moved and hissed slightly as she disturbed an ache, “Just… later. A lot later.”

“If you show me those pole-dancing moves I asked about, you’ve got a deal.”

With that said, Camille laid down as well to recover from her assortment of aches and pains, allowing Isa to use her stomach as a pillow. For a good while, they were silent as they stared up at the dim ceiling lights, each young woman focused on her own thoughts.

"So you never told me..." Armstrong abruptly piped up, "...what DOES 'Girl of Tomorrow' rhyme with?"

"Doesn't rhyme with anything!" Cosworth replied with a soft snicker. "Yoona calls me that because she says I'm her reason for getting up in the morning. It was catchy... so it kinda stuck with the fans..."

"Yoona... that's your girl, right? She sounds special."

"Uhh... yeah..." Camille said, sounding slightly embarrassed for reasons unknown to Isa. "She's... she's really something..."

"You said she wrestles too? Maybe I'd like to meet her…"

Cosworth's tone suddenly turned grim and harsh.

"No. You don't."

Taken aback by Camille's rapid shift in demeanour from affable to taciturn, Isa let the mater drop. She wanted to ask 'why' but she didn’t want to ruin the mood, so she simply waited for Cosworth to elaborate in her own time. No explanation was coming though, and the pair of women fell silent for another couple of minutes until one last burning question popped into Armstrong's mind.

"If submissions are what you're worst at, then what are you BEST at?"

Camille laughed, a jovial sound that filled the room and put Isa at ease.

"Oh, Isa... that's a story for another time."