Diane Parker knew all about how dangerous a flash pin could be.

Back in high school, she’d been living in Vermont, and so a wide array of sports weren’t available to her.  It was field hockey in the fall, which she liked, and soccer in the spring, which she loved.  And in winter, it was… her choice of basketball or wrestling. 

Back then, girls didn’t really wrestle.  But she’d watched basketball, which she had no interest in, and she’d tried to shoot, and found out she wasn’t any better at it than she was interested in it, and so she asked her coach if she could maybe join the wrestling team. 

Just so she’d be in shape for spring.

And because knowing a little self defense couldn’t hurt.

Her coach liked her.  Generally, any coach is going to like a good player who doesn’t come packing an ego, and since Diane could clear the soccer ball to the other end of the field, he – after asking her about five times if she was sure, and making her get written consent from both parents – let her on the wrestling team.

Wearing special wrestling tights that went down to her knees, a t-shirt under her singlet, and a plastic chest guard, Diane learned two things her first practice.  One was that three seconds is a lot longer when you’re on top than it is when you’re on the bottom.  And the other is that if you can put someone’s shoulders down for the count, everything that happened before that doesn’t matter.

She found what little footage she could of Lash Graham, and watched him pin person after person with his crucifix cradle.  It could come out of anywhere.  And no matter how badly he’d been dominated during the match, he could pin people with it and win.

Diane also casually followed the sport of MMA.  Lately, there was a girl in the news who had a ridiculously effective armbar, and it was said she got so good because when she was growing up, her mother would randomly armbar her for no reason other than that she wanted escaping one to become automatic.  Like a much more violent version of wax on wax off.

So the next time Diane saw Claira, instead of talking strategy or even saying hi, she grabbed Claira’s arm in a wristlock, jumped, hooked the other arm with her legs, and flipped her over backwards.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Claira screamed.

“One, two, three.  I’m Lash Graham, and I’m the new FIST of Defiance.”

Just to prove the point, Diane reached up to grab Claira’s near leg, and then cradled it in. 

“That hurt my neck.” Claira said, her voice flat.

“Well, it’ll only hurt a little bit less in an actual wrestling match, and hitting the floor with my ribs and shoulder didn’t feel good either.”  Diane unlocked Claira’s arms and let her roll back to her feet.  “I can’t predict what Lash is going to do in the ring, I wouldn’t even try.  So instead, we’re going to try to get it so you can counter the flying crucifix in your sleep.”

“She could do that.” 

Lisa Loeh, who Diane hadn’t noticed, had a smug little smirk on her makeup and eyeshadow stamped face.

“Or, she could hit the little freakazoid where it hurts.  Right in the armadillo.”

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