Dove Cameron vs. Isabela Moner

(Hawkeye International vs. Global Boxing Syndicate)

(Dove: 26 yo, 5’2”, 13-14 with 13 KOs vs. Isabela: 20 yo, 5’0”, 14-8, with 14 KOs)

Results: Lookout; Story: Hawkeye

BEFORE:

After righting the ship with a huge win over Camila Mendes post-Bassinger stable war debacle, Dove Cameron is set to step into the ring with another lovely and possible lethal Latina in Isabela. Dove’s previously ragged career reborn under the Consortium, the new standard-bearer of the HISC’s once preeminent flyweight forces can reach .500 with a win tonight.

“I think my pummeling of Camila shows that loss to Brec was a fluke. Mishy got me back in the gym, worked out some kinks, and I’m ready to put myself back in the title picture with another win. Isabela’s too young, too hot-headed to deal with me. Mishy and Natalie have already put the chica on her back and the lessons courtesy the Consortium continue with this right hand. If she lasts four, color me surprised.”

Global’s blossoming ingenue isn’t having it. After winning the ‘Cierra Ramriez War’ and polishing off Samira Ghadie in fine fashion, the diminutive Isabela is feeling feisty. Barely into her second decade of life, with 22 fights under her belt and a work rate that will keep her as busy in the FCBA as long she wants to be, Moner isn’t the mood for Cameron’s condescension.

“Dove can dream about having as many wins as losses all she wants. I’ve already got more Ws than her and I’m five years younger. Let her spout off about HISC having changed her, but underneath, where and when it counts, I see a lot of quit in that gringa. She’s good for one thing. When I beat her, I’m getting top ten consideration. So thanks, Dove. I owe you for that.”

Dove heads to the ring in the Consortium’s default colors, the sparkling blue-eyed blonde in yellow-gold sports bra and tight spandex boy-cuts with black trim. The gloves and boots are black and she sports a battle braid topside.

Isabela is five feet of fury in a red sports bra and boy-cut spandex, each piece rimmed with gold trim. She completes with red boots and gloves, her shoulder-length locks ties in a short, loose pony.

As instructions are provided, the women ignore the official instead concentrating on staring lasers at their opposition. Cameron’s got a slight height and reach advantage but nothing overly consequential. Despite Dove’s additional five years, experience isn’t a huge factor. It might come down to current form and who wants to be considered a contender more than her rival.

ROUND 1:

For as much sass as there’s been prior to the bell, blonde and brunette start at a stalking pace, each circling the other early, feeling their way into the match with testing jabs. Dove’s length gives her a chance to connect several snapping blows in succession, putting an annoyed crinkle in Isabela’s beak. Moner’s showing some frustration and ups the ante, tossing more leather mid-round and finding some touches to the blonde’s nose before receiving payback with a counter combo to chin and cheek that has the tawny little Latina backpedaling. Not one to let momentum pass since coming under Mishy’s tutelage, Cameron advances and adds some bite to Isabela’s belly and bosom, pounding the youngster into a corner. Late round point-taking commences. Isabela’s shifty enough and skilled with her hands from keeping too much damage from accumulating, but there’s no mistake who leads the dance through the finish of the first stanza. Moner’s tenderized through the final seconds and Dove takes the first wide on points.

ROUND 2:

Global’s corner lets Isabella know staying composed is all well and good, but it’s not especially her game and Moner adds more spice to her attack as the women come together for the second. Izzy’s footwork is a sight to behold and Dove’s confusion is showing with several misses and glancing blows. Isabella adds some rock to her roll, the speed of her hands also something with which to contend. Moner connects with pecking lefts and rights to the midriff and chest that are making the blonde as angry as they are hurting her. But for the first couple minutes, there’s seemingly little Dove can do to stop it, missing over the top and then gurgling as Izzy pops leather to torso, keeping Cameron off-balance. The final minute Dove pulls back, focusing on her defense and catches Isabela with a nasty shot to the sternum. Cameron plays some catch-up, battering Moner into the ropes. But Isabela ducks out of trouble and plants a farewell kiss to the jaw of Cameron that has Dove shaking cobwebs after and convincing the judges to award Round Two to the brunette close.

ROUND 3:

Isabela gaining in confidence. She meets Dove on the blonde’s side of the ring and is ready to swing, taking Dove aback. Cameron has her defenses high, startled into max security of her braincase and Isabela helps herself to ivory tummy, pik-pekking, forcing Cameron to double over in her corner, Moner getting big early. The Consortium seconds hold their tongue until the spirited Izzy snaps Dove’s head back with an uppercut. The blonde’s read the Riot Act and responds. Dove misses with a left cross but the effort is quickly shown a feint as a right overhand plows into Isabela’s lips, splitting the lower. Moner backtracks to make space, but Dove quickly gobbles it back and lands a combo to Izzy’s chin that turns a measured retreat into a drunken stumble. The blonde, sensing blood in the water, chases after a scurrying Moner, blasting through defensive jabs from the Latina to catch her foe against the cables. Cameron lets the leather fly, pounding gutting combos to Isabela’s tawny tummy, drawing breathy gasps from the smaller woman. Moner tries to slip to the side but Dove’s not having it, corralling Isabela with lefts to the ribs and shooting a right that gives a telltale head swivel to the side and an ‘ooooh’ from the crowd as the seconds tick toward the end of a frantic third. Isabela’s able to cover enough to survive, but it’s Cameron wide on the count, offering hope throughout the arena to Dove’s flock her pre-match prediction is on schedule.

ROUND 4:

Dove emerges from her corner with the hint of a smirk knowing she hurt Isabella the previous stanza. Evidence is added with the diminutive brunette slow off her stool. Cameron isn’t waiting. She’s a blonde bull in a china shop, looking to take out the smaller fighter and add to the roll call of victims for Dove Part Deux. Meeting Moner no more than a couple steps from the Latina’s corner, a confident Cameron shows abandon. Not bothering with a lead left to measure the slippery Izzy, Dove fires a right aimed between the eyes, but Isabella dips under, letting the volley slide by. With Dove’s right set of ribs exposed, she thwaps a hard left into Cameron’s cage, the blonde grunting as she hops in the opposite direction. Pivoting back to get her foe back in view, Cameron’s face is clouted with a follow-up left, the blonde’s head swiveled by the force of the impact. Dove is walking in fencepost holes as the crowd roars at the power packed into the bite-size package. Cameron stumbles into the ropes, throwing her left arm over the top to steady herself. Isabela turns the heat up several notches as she brings her right into play, stuffing it deep into pale midriff, doubling Dove with a groan. Moving to the second minute, Isabela is unleashing without remorse, the speed of her glovework causing Cameron fits. The volume is too much for the wavering Dove, Isabella battering the blonde’s face to a bruised mess until even the ropes at her back aren’t enough to keep Dove upright. A final left exclamation SENDS DOVE CRASHING TO THE CANVAS on her side, lower (left) arm stretched over head, right limp at her exposed side, blank look on her baby blues.

Moner hops in excitement then hustles to the far corner, pumping a fist at her corner.

“Paper tiger,” Izzy shouts, popping her gloves together as the official picks up his count at THREE.

Dove rolls to her chest and pushes to all fours, giving her noggin a rattle at ‘SIX’. Aware or not of Mishy’s frantic urging from the Consortium corner, Cameron reaches vertical at ‘EIGHT’. The official checks her for awareness. He decides Dove can continue.

And the remainder of the final minute is a figurative bloodbath. Isabella thrashing Dove around the ring, Cameron doing her best to stay away but unable to deal with the quickness of her foe both afoot and her leather. Dove teeters on the edge of another trip to the canvas when the bell saves her.

Izzy bodies the blonde.

“Out in four?!” Moner bellows into Cameron’s vacant stare. “You’re damn lucky you weren’t out in four!”

And the judges agree, giving the round to Izzy wide with a knockdown, ending any thought of a lopsided contest.

ROUND FIVE:

Smelling salts have Dove grimacing, some semblance of her senses returning between rounds. But the bell comes too quickly for the mangled blonde. Stepping carefully away from her corner, Cameron only gets a few steps before she’s put upon by Isabela, the chirping brunette looking for the knockout. Moner’s lightning strike punches accumulate but Dove is surprisingly tidy in defense given the previous round’s result. On the small side, even by flyweight standards, Izzy’s relying on sheer numbers to finish the job she started in the fourth rather than one thunderous blow. Dove’s blocking with a cage of her forearms well enough to keep the hits to a minimum. After the first minute, Isabela’s huffing from the effort to floor Dove. Midway through, Dove turns to offense, shooting with one hand while protecting with the other. She puts the Latina’s chest and midriff on blast, backing Moner up a step to fire heavier artillery. But Dove’s radar remains off this round, the quickness of Isabela and her half-recovered state checking any chance of a meaningful turn in momentum. The judges are torn by an out-of-sync performance by both fighters. When the bell draws the fifth to a close, the cards come back with a draw.

ROUND SIX:

Both women seem reenergized after a staid fifth, each striding purposefully toward her target and meeting in the middle. There’s no chasing necessary and the leather is flying. Again Isabela’s work rate is flummoxing Dove. When the blonde wants to go on offense, Izzy’s finding creases to fire blinding one-twos before Cameron can unload and DOVE’S HURT when a one-two becomes three-four then five-six. Cameron’s lower limbs give a shimmy. She retreats, stuffing out a ‘don’t hurt me’ jab as she backpedals into the ropes in the first minute. Izzy’s on her windblown blonde instantly, sensing quit in Dove’s baby blues. Moner stuffs a left into the blonde’s chest and comes overhand with a right that’s beaten to the mark by a southpaw reply that ROCKS ISABELLA. Moner hops to the left to stay on her feet, legs growing rubbery. Izzy tries to grab hold of Dove, arms outstretched and reaching for her foe’s shoulders when Cameron guts her foe with a left uppercut that forces the mouthguard to dribble from between Isabela’s lips. With Moner bent at the waist and moaning, pushing her mitts at Dove’s hips to keep her at bay, Cameron unleashes with a sick right uppercut snapping Izzy’s head back with a wicked whiplash and ISABELLA SPLATTERS TO A SPREADEAGLE at Dove’s feet.

A disciplined Dove recedes to a corner quickly. The count is on, a wide-eyed Izzy able to prop on her forearms after a half-dozen seconds, staring blankly into space. The lithe brunette slowly spins to hands and knees but collapses to her chin and chest then tumbles to a hip as the ten-count passes with Isabela on the canvas. YOUR WINNER DOVE CAMERON!

AFTER: Isabela is guided gingerly to her stool, the head of the exhausted Moner drooping, beads of sweat occasionally dripping off the tip of her nose.

“I had her,” she mumbles to what she presumes is an audience of one but an arriving blonde catches wind of the words.

“No you had this.”

Dove shows off a bare right fist, her gloves already cut free as she moves to the Global corner to collect her tribute. Cameron raises the balled fingers to her puffy lips and gives the clenched digits a smooch. The victor raises Isabela’s chin with a cupped left, pulls Izzy to her feet after moving the digits to Moner’s dark pony, yanking her to vertical then stuffs the fist into Isabela’s bruised belly.

Izzy groans then mewls when Dove sidles in close, pressing the loser’s back into the buckles. The blonde climbs to the bottom ropes and stuffs her sweat-slicked abs into Moner’s mug.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, kid. And the first thing is. This Dove ain’t no fluke.”

Isabela’s force fed ivory-skinned tummy, exhaustion and lack of oxygen combining to see the ingenue melt to her haunches, puddling below the victorious Dove.

“I’m comin’ for those belts, ladies and gents,” the blonde bellows. “You get in the way. You end where Izzy is!”