376 – Making an Entrance
Morgan had loved planning out their entrance and spent quite a bit of time with the backstage crew getting it all perfect. Calcine had put an idea here and there, but she wasn't the natural performer Morgan was, she'd mainly enjoyed watching Morgan and the backstage crew enthuse about the whole process. This was important to the Murkrow, and that meant Calcine had to give it her all.
The lights had been dimmed for them, casting a hush across the roaring arena, and they both strode out of the curtains lit behind by the faint backstage light, two silhouettes against the entrance. They hadn't planned to hold hands coming out, but their fingers had found each other, and Morgan wasn't letting go, so Calcine wasn't going to either.
The arena lights snapped to life and sliced the stadium in two, right along their grasped hands.
One side was bathed in radiant liquid gold that swirled like it was alive, Calcine's side of the arena. Her half of the entrance ramp burned with flickers of flame, and a rising thunder of drums roared out from beside her, each beat matching the stomp of her boots.
The other half shimmered in a pale silvery moonlight, calm and serene. Beams of soft light rippled across the floor like reflections on still water, while ethereal mist curled low around Morgan's feet. Strings whispered from the speakers like distant wind chimes, joined by the haunting echo of bells. A low-down spotlight let Morgan's shadow stretch long behind her, shadowy wings flickering like ink through the fog as the charms on her dress gleamed.
In perfect sync, they strode forward together. The string melody spiraled in and out of sync, dissonant but addictive, like a waltz with a deep drumming heartbeat keeping it alive. Calcine could hear the crowd's roar layered over the music like it was part of it. The rhythm of her drums beneath it all, pounding in her ears, made her feel powerful. She was the forceful, unwavering beat behind Morgan's haunting tune, the solid ground beneath ethereal wings. The contrast thrilled her. Together, they weren't just making an entrance. They were making a statement.
They'd tightened up Calcine's outfit to really make it pop. Brandy's white button-down shirt was stretched tight across her chest now, and her shoulders made the fabric creak as she walked. They'd rolled up the shirt sleeves to show off the fire flowing in the veins of her arms, and the shiny pair of black pants that hugged her hips were now practically painted on. Every time she shifted her weight, it flexed and outlined her dick which she hadn't been able to quite calm down after her heart-to-heart with Morgan. Calcine couldn't see where her team was sitting in the stands, but Brandy and Sparky did have those special eyes. Hopefully, they got to appreciate the show she was putting on.
Morgan walked beside Calcine as if she were gliding, using a little bit of Hurricane to sweep her feathers and let her flared coat billow behind her. Her corset cinched her silhouette into something truly sinful, the silver charms glinting with every sway of her hips. Calcine didn't even try to pretend she wasn't looking as they walked. She let her eyes roam, soaking up the way Morgan's thigh slit exposed just the right amount of fishnet to get her blood sizzling.
Seeing Morgan like this, owning the moment, just made Calcine happy. The team's Murkrow often felt like she didn't fit in, but this was all her ideas with just a little smidge of Calcine for flavor.
The Toxtricity announcer's voice boomed across the arena like a divine proclamation.
"The pairing of elegance and intensity. Riches and delightful ruin. Give it up for our devastating new duo. Smoke and Embers!"
Calcine paused just before the ring, glancing over her shoulder. With a confident smirk, she raised one hand and let loose a burst of Smokescreen, the thick plume billowing out around them in a swirling curtain of grey. The heavy smoke settled around them until Morgan swept forward with a flare of her cloak and spun the lingering fog with a small pulse of Hurricane, turning the air into a spiraling vortex of smoke.
Calcine stepped through it, Flame Charge on her fingertips, and that fire caught in the swirling mist. Fire and smoke danced in midair, and the crowd roared like crazy.
"They seem to like it," Calcine grinned, the pyrotechnics giving them a quick moment together. She tugged on Morgan's arm, pulling her in for a kiss. "You did good."
"Save it for our opponents," Morgan blushed, which just made her cute smile even cuter. "Think Brandy saw it?"
"There's no way she didn't. They'll be losing their minds right now, and they haven't even seen us kiss yet."
"Cool your Steam Engine there, Embers," Morgan said, pressing her fingers lightly to Calcine's lips and pushing her back a step. "Going to drop the smoke. Strike a pose?"
Calcine grinned behind Morgan's fingers, and as the Hurricane thinned, she swept Morgan up with one strong arm, dipping her down low so her wings trailed to the ground. Her other hand slid along Morgan's back, warmth flooding into the down beneath her feathers. Calcine didn't show any mercy. Morgan got a deep, slow press of lips, and Calcine poured her warmth into Morgan as her tongue rolled into her mouth.
Morgan shuddered against her, clutching at Calcine's shirt for support as her knees buckled beneath her. She melted into the hold, and if Calcine hadn't been holding her up, she would have slumped into a heap on the ground, completely undone by the moment's tenderness.
As their lips parted, the last of the mist dispersed, the roar from the crowd deafening out the final musical sting.
"Fuck me," Morgan wheezed. "You're a danger when you're worked up."
Calcine just helped Morgan up to her feet. She had nothing to say that Morgan didn't already feel down to her bones. Searching the crowd, Calcine saw an electric web whirling in the air, and following down there was a rascally yellow bug, a wide-eyed Magikarp, and a proud, smiling trainer.
Maybe showmanship wasn't so bad if it got reactions like this.
When the crowd started to calm, the whole arena flashed with a burst of light and a crack of thunder. Wailing electric guitars fired up into a jaunty, high-energy western theme as fireworks burst above the stage, colorful sparks raining down as the curtain on the other side of the arena swished open.
A woman stepped out alone into the light with a sway in her wide hips and a wicked grin playing across her lips, her mouth all sharp, gleaming fangs. Thin slitted purple eyes shone from beneath the red brim of a wide, low-tipped hat, casting a sly shadow over her eyes. Her outfit was pure temptress, a sparkling crimson dress that shimmered under stage lights, hugging her every curve and cut daringly low to reveal a scaled cleavage that glittered like Calcine's obsidian skin. Crimson flame-like markings licked along her chest and across her collarbone, a living tattoo that made her look all the more dangerous. The kind of lady who'd have you buying her drinks all night just for the hope of a smile.
She fired off finger guns at the crowd with long, clawed fingers. Twin puffs of Flamethrower burst from her fingertips, drawing cheers from the crowd. Even in her figure-hugging dress, she prowled like she was on the hunt, her hips rolling with serpentine grace and her long, whip-like tail flicking behind her in rhythm with each step.
"Salazzle?" Calcine asked Morgan and got a confirmation nod.
"Good match up for you. Steal her hat for me."
"You don't have a monopoly on hats."
"Not yet, I don't."
The Salazzle turned, put two fingers in her mouth, and blasted a shrill whistle.
It started as a low, distant rumble, like distant thunder. But the noise grew slowly, steadily, until the floor began to tremble, shaking harder with every passing second. A deep seismic growl rattled the guard rails of the arena and made drinks slosh. People vibrated in their chairs, lights swung in their riggings, and it all built up to a thunderous clap that tipped a few people over.
The cause of it stepped into the light. A tall, broad-shouldered woman, her boots shaking the arena with every step. A golden-trimmed duster jacket had been thrown over her thick, muscular frame, and a wide-brimmed cowgirl hat was perched on a set of gorgeous black braids as thick as rope. The tips of her hair were a muddy red, and bits of them broke off to give her a dusty trail as she strode up to sweep the Salazzle into her arms.
The audience was clearly a little jealous of the Salazzle getting to be pressed against those firm muscles. Calcine was getting far too familiar with a build like that, and the powerful thighs that strained against fitted chaps barely containing a cock that might even make Sparky blush gave away just what they were facing.
"Another horse lady?" Morgan groaned. "This team is cursed."
"Can't handle a Mudsdale?"
Morgan snorted, but Calcine wouldn't have blamed her if she'd had doubts. Not many people would want to try to tackle all that muscle on their own.
The arena lights pulsed bright, matching the music's tempo as Heatstroke and Hustle launched into motion. The bigger of the two dipped low and swung the Salazzle up into a graceful twirl, her sparkling dress flashing with each rotation. Then, with practiced precision, the Mudsdale whipped out her lasso and cracked it high into the air, the rope arcing in a wide loop.
Salazzle slipped through it as it fell, a Flamethrower burst blooming from her mouth in a coiling spiral that traced the shape of the lasso midair. The rope burnt up around her as she fell back into the Mudsdale's arms, one heel skidding dramatically across the mat to show off a ludicrous amount of scaled thigh. The Mudsdale cradled her back and held onto her shapely ass as fire sizzled at their feet.
As the crowd lost their mind, the announcer cut in. "Rolling in from the Safari Zone, two ladies out of time but certainly not out of fight. The Trailblazers, Heatstroke, and Hustle!"
The Salazzle, probably Heatstroke from all the fire, blew a fiery kiss toward Morgan, who didn't flinch as it burst over her face.
The Mudsdale, who had to be Hustle, stomped once and gave Calcine a thumbs up. Calcine just cracked her knuckles in return.
"Nice clean fight?" Hustle asked.
"With a muddy lady like you? Not a chance," Morgan snorted, and Heatstroke gave her a vicious, approving grin.
"We'll try not to break you both in too bad." Heatstroke hissed, her voice pitched low enough to make the spine tingle. "If it's too much for you, just tap out, and we'll fake it."
"Same," Calcine said, "Try not to give in too quickly, I'm really enjoying this. I want to enjoy you both as well."
"I'm sure you'll love us," Hustle winked, "All the ladies love us. Once they've had the chance to stretch out a bit."
Before they could reply, the bell rang.
The sound had barely faded before the arena began to rumble again. Hustle's boot slammed down with seismic force, and the tremors of her Earthquake surged outward. The ground cracked beneath them, the ground buckling with a roar as the arena tilted underfoot, throwing the two teams together.
This was going to start up close, and it was going to be messy. Perfect. Calcine couldn't have waited any longer to get a hold of someone.