Post by EmmaWoods007 on Aug 5, 2018 21:28:19 GMT
]A buzz of anticipation ripples through the air of the arena, like the tingle of a coming storm on a warm summer's night. Heartbeats quicken as the voice of the announcer blares through the PA system: “And now, hailing from Galway, Ireland, and weighing a combined weight of two hundred and fifty-nine pounds…they are the RIUIIIIILLLL KAAAAAAAAAAAANES!”
As the dry ice fog dissipates, a new sound fills the arena air. Traditional Celtic pipes transform into an electronica beat as the spotlight trains upon the top of the runway. The curtain rips open and out step Maeve and Moira, the Ríúil Kanes.
MAEVE KANE
MOIRA KANE
The elder sister, scarlet locks cascading down her shoulders, is clad in her trademark dark green, curve-hugging one-piece, with a generous enough plunge of the cleavage to display Maeve's "lasses" to their best advantage. The younger Irishwoman wears a two-piece of matching color, fully displaying her taut abs. Maeve’s eyes are riveted on the ring as she steps with solemn purpose toward the squared circle; Moira betrays more insouciance, a saucy half-smirk upon her lips as she slaps at the outstretched hands which reach for the shamrock sisters.
A forest of signs greet them as they pass, most of them supportive. WE LOVE THE IRISH TROUBLES...I RAEVE FOR MAEVE...THE MEAN, GREEN TAG MACHINE...and so on. Finally they reach the steps and ascend them to the apron of the ring.
With a sharp nod of her head, Maeve silently makes it plain to the official that he is expected to help them into the ring in a manner which befits their status as one of the top teams in FAWN. Without protest he sits upon the middle cable and pulls the top up over his shoulder, allowing the Kane siblings to step between the strands. Once in the ring, they allow the zebra to lightly pat them down for any foreign objects..."Where we would hide 'em," Moira once cracked, "He'd never find 'em!". Satisfied, he instructs them to take their corner.
Moving to their designated place, the sisters quietly confer with one another, each glancing at their opponents over the shoulders, and they conclude that Moira will start off the match for the team. Now, all that remains is for this new tag configuration to make its appearance.
There’s long seconds of silence; enough to make the crowd uncomfortable, the tension growing. Any team facing the Kanes would certainly be of high caliber as Bethany Christian wouldn’t want a squash on the Road to FAWNamania. When the arena’s speakers spark to life with the pounding of “America, Fuck Yeah” from Team America World Police, the crowd is brought to life as with shock therapy.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=7R5A0pg4oN8
Blue America’s least favorite, little blonde antagonist strides to center stage. Beside her is the woman she’d introduced to the big time in a win over the always ready and able Bloodwind sisters, Kira Koslova. The rooskie rookie is no destroyer-class-sized redhead, though the vertically-challenged Lockwood makes her appear in that general direction.
POLLY LOCKWOOD
KIRA KOSLOVA
Being in Florida, more than a few scattered ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet in delight despite her new cozy relationship with the Russian. The few and the proud salute her and her anthem crisply. The majority make themselves known in a completely different fashion, raining a cascade of boos toward the obnoxious Trumpeter and her new comrade.
The flaxen-haired hardbody brings a salute to her brow to signal her Trumptastic troops then lets the snowflakes know what she thinks of them by fashioning the knife-edge into a salute of the middle finger variety.
The Fox&Friendly grappler is in her battle fatigues, Polly proudly sporting her customary hot pants and bikini top. Lockwood alternates her country’s colors between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in the appropriate spots; and shimmering red and white-striped spandex below, the space age polymer barely covering her biscuit butt. She finishes the ensemble with gleaming white pads and boots.
The ‘True American’ has her customary cape, Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak.
Lockwood turns and accepts her new partner into a literal Russian bear hug. As the crowd’s jeers rise in volume the duo separates and start down the ramp to their next challenge.
Kira throws off a full-length grey fur coat and white wool hat to reveal a simple red one piece, with one unusual aspect — a cutout pattern displaying a portion of Kira’s bronzed, toned abdomen in the form of a hammer and sickle, Koslova ready to embrace her roots even more forcefully than her hero, President Vlad. White pads and boots, the footwear with red hammer-and-sickles, complete the rookie’s attire.
Arm in arm, the international team march confidently to the ring, Polly occasionally jawing with the fans who obviously have watched too much CNN, while Koslova is a picture of former Soviet stoicism, ignoring the free-flowing hate emanating from the FAWNatics.
Reaching the ring, an excited Lockwood seems particularly energized next to her powerful ally, bouncing with nervous energy, throwing stereotypical insults at the “drunk” Irishwomen that draws the slightest of smirks from her partner.
The rookie leads her veteran teammate up the ring steps as the announcer makes the Kanes’ foes official.
“And their opponents, hailing from Buffalo, New York and St. Petersburg, Russia, respectively, at a combined weight of two hundred and forty pounds…Polly Lockwood and Kira Koslova, together they are COLLUSION!”
Anyone expecting the blonde to demand her less experienced partner to widen the ropes for her entry is caught off guard when Polly is deferential to her comrade. Sitting on the middle rope, she pushes up the top for Koslova, who enters claims the middle of the ring, the Kanes in their corner sizing up the relative newbie.
Polly, with microphone now in hand, quickly joins her partner, both women eyeballing the Irish.
“We started to drain the swamp by sending the Bloodwinds back to the reservation. And now, we continue to bring safety and order to our shores by expelling some Emerald Isle scum that’ve been abusing their privileges in our land for FAR…TOO…LONG.”
The assembled don’t seem to agree. Though the Kanes often skirt the rules, they’re likely FAWN Hall of Famers and certainly seem the majority’s choice for electoral victory tonight, despite any underhanded interference.
“Our commander-in-chief has said it best,” Polly continues. “The world is a much better place when there is a strong working relationship between the two greatest countries on earth. Miss Koslova and I are of the same mind. My comrade Kira believes like I do that America is worth saving from its true enemies which I’m sad to say includes most of you.”
Lockwood motions to the fans as Kira nods solemnly. Orlando doesn’t seem all that happy at the aspersions, but the Star-Spangled Bytch couldn’t care less.
“So first we take out all enemies of our great alliance in the ring then we will deal with the pathetic likes of you people outside it. For those few true patriots, you know Kira and I and both of our Presidents have the world’s best interest at heart. We and they do it all for you. For you, we will destroy and deport these lumpy potato farmers as an example to FAWN that the joy of peace in our time will come when you learn to obey your leaders. And your leaders are Collusion.”
Her monologue delivered, Polly tosses the stick aside with a CLUNK, and retreats to her corner, Koslova covering the True American’s bubble backside. After a conversation Collusion makes sure no one else can hear or indeed read through their lips, both women covering their mouths, Lockwood emerges, ready to continue cleaning up and cleaning out the tag division.
The opening bell clangs and both blondes push out of their corners, circling one another with springs in their steps. Moira smirks at her opposite number and says in her lilting brogue, "And see what we have here...a feckin' culchie in her star spangled made in China togs, and no doubt her bill o' sale to Moscow tucked away inside. Not that there isn't plenty o' room in here f'r it," she says with a taunting smile, her gaze casting down to Lockwood's admirable but...compared to the Irish Lass...less-impressive carriage.
Polly's features twist into an angry snarl for the barest of instants, but then she regains her cool, collected composure. No way in hell is she letting this potato farmer rattle her. Displaying a smile of her own, she responds, "Unlike the great unwashed masses filling the arena tonight, you don't even have the delusion of pretending you're on the winning side...your booze-soaked island has been the home of losers for like, forever. I mean seriously, how did you let a tiny country full of Shea London's push you around for a thousand years?
The verbal jousting comes to an end as the two blondes lock up, straining against one another for several moments. Suddenly Polly manages to convert the collar and elbow into a wristlock...but Moira is able to reverse it mere moments later. The American slaps at her shoulder, then executes a forward roll to break it, followed immediately thereafter by a reverse somersault to kip back up to her feet and secure a hammerlock on her opponent. But in that elongated moment before Polly can fully secure her footing, the Irish battler is able to bean forward and wrap a hand around one of her oppressor's ankles, giving it a good yank and toppling Lockwood onto her posterior, breaking the hold.
Still holding tight to the American's ankle, Kane starts to apply a spinning toehold, but Polly lashes out with her free leg, the sole of her boot pushing against Moira's rear end, shoving her down to the mat. Both blondes now free, they cautiously roll up to their feet and begin to slowly circle one another, each crouched and with hands flicking open and closed and at the ready. These opening feints were mere show craft, a chance to test one another. Now, the real fight begins.
"Don't get to thinking there's a place for you in the New World Order," Polly sneers as they circle. "Now, the New World Odor...you and your sister have got a lock on that."
Lockwood doesn't wait for a reply...she suddenly lunges. Unfortunately for her, Moira wasn't about to waste any thought on a verbal response, and thus she's completely clear headed as her adversary sails toward her. The result if the Irish lass throwing her right knee up, spearing Polly flush in the breadbasket. With a whoosh of expelled breath, the American drops to her knees, hands clutching her aching tummy. From her corner, Maeve claps and cheers on her sibling; across the squared circle, Kira remains impassive and inscrutable.
Moira, on the other hand, is an open book, her joy at taking control of the match writ large across her face. Grabbing her opponent's perfectly flaxen mane, the Irish battler "helps" the winded Lockwood back up to her feet. Taking the (cracked) Liberty belle by her left wrist, Kane suddenly whirls around and up and over Polly's arm, flipping her over onto her back and scissoring her arm, executing a textbook Rolling Cross Armlock. Lockwood shrieks, her free hand making a fist and pounding at the mat. The ref bends down close and asks, "How about it, Lockwood...ready to give?" The blonde shoots him a look of death and hisses through clenched teeth, "Are you fucking kidding me?" But for all of her bravado, escape doesn't look to be in the cards at the moment.
Luckily...and "luck" here is all relative...Kane herself opts to release the hold. Climbing back up to her feet, and still holding onto Lockwood's wrist, she yanks her adversary on up with her. An elbow grind into the junction of Polly's shoulder and arm adds to the American's discomfort, and more or less guarantees that it's going to be a mite longer before she has full use of that limb again. Now however, Moira decides to shift tactics...and target. Releasing Polly's wrist, Kane the Younger suddenly wraps her arms around her startled foe and hoists her up for a seeming Fireman's Carry; however, at the apex of Lockwood's elevation, Moira suddenly throws her down, even as the Irishwoman genuflects, resulting in Polly's supple spine crashing down upon the outstretched knee. Even Koslova has to wince in sympathy pain at that one.
Rolling off of the bent joint and flopping in a heap to the mat, Polly looks far from being a world superpower at the moment, her body wet with sweat and her eyes closed tight against the pain that wracks her back. Moira throws herself down across her rival for a pin, the ref counting...
ONE...
TWO...
NO!
As Kane hadn't bothered to hook the leg, even in her bedraggled state Lockwood was able to kick out. But she's still far from being able to mount any offensive of her own, and the leering Irish beauty is just getting started.
Moira snatches a wrist and pulls the rubbery patriot to jellied legs as she rises. An eager Maeve calls for a tag, but her kid sister shakes her head with a chuckle. Dipping, the younger Kane swings an arm between Lockwood’s abbreviated stems. The veteran ‘hups’ the Star-Spangled Bytch across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and starts to move in increasingly rapid pirouettes.
“Let’s see ya spin this one like the Trump striapach thatcha are,” Moira growls, pushing the RPMs of her Airplane Spin to its maximum, Polly becoming the Irishwoman’s propeller.
Getting a full five spins in, Kane launches the bite-sized hardbody off her shoulders, Polly completing an additional cycle on her own before crashing and burning to the canvas. She lands with a heavy ‘THUD’ chest down, rotating through a further quarter turn on the deck before skidding to a stop.
Showing her fortitude, or her desperation to get to her partner and out of the Irish line of fire, Lockwood slowly shoves to her feet and drunkenly stumbles away from Moira. But there’s no rush by the younger Kane to catch her foe as the Pernicious Patriot is wobbling toward Maeve, seemingly unaware she’s headed in the wrong direction.
The elder sister and newly minted blonde loads up a forearm and SMASHES it into Polly’s mug, forcing the battered Lockwood into a u-turn. The Ugly American staggers toward her own corner, but Moira is directly between. The former multi-time tag champ dips and encircles Lockwood’s hips and glutes with her arms. She lifts the little robobabe off her boot soles, pivoting as she elevates, then DRIVES Polly almost through the deck with a ring-rattling spinebuster.
Spinebuster
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZNztSk4jnE
On the outside, Koslova shows a hint of a fidget but remains in place even as Moira drapes herself over the demolished Trumpeter, hooking a leg for a dominant win over the colluders with the…
ONE…
TWO…
Lockwood throws a shoulder up, rolling limply to her side beside an unconcerned Kane.
“So ya want more do ya?” she asks with a hint of enthusiasm. “Cause I know someone who’d like some of your star-spangled arse.”
Moira hauls Polly to her feet with a grip on the Yank’s shoulder-length, golden locks. Kane draws Lockwood on spaghetti legs to the Riuls’ corner and slaps hands with her partner.
Regaining enough of her senses to realize the danger, Polly pleads with the official to force Moira out as Maeve enters, but the Kanes are given enough leeway to bully the Fox&Friendly blonde to the ropes where the siblings heave the hardbody toward the opposite cables with aptly named Irish whips.
Stationing center stage as Polly returns to them, each tag legend dips and tosses Polly into the stratosphere, Lockwood flipping high into the Orlando sky and CRASHING so heavily on her spine, she bounces a few inches off the canvas with a skyscraping double back body drop.
Double Back Body Drop
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JHwCwjhufg
Momentum draws Lockwood to a seated position where the grimacing future 8th Circuit Court of Appeals jurist reaches for the base of her spine, only to have Maeve plant a vicious soccer kick to the vertebrae just above, Polly’s back arching in agony.
“Who would guessed ya still have a backbone. I thought that’s what your partner would be fer,” Maeve pronounces.
While Moira takes the official’s advice and heads for her place outside the ropes, Maeve helps Lockwood up from her uncomfortable seat, twisting Polly to face her before impaling the Star-Spangled Bytch with a toe kick to her flat, tanned tummy. The Fox&Friendly blonde is bent at the waist and ripe for the picking for the Irish lass.
Kane draws Lockwood’s lowered head between her thighs and wraps her arms around the gulping midriff of her foe. The elder Kane vaults Polly to vertical, noggin pointed toward the canvas. Her arms wrapping around the overturned abdomen of Lockwood, Maeve shifts her right arm to a grip that ends between Polly’s thighs and immediately drops to her backside, PILEDRIVING Polly’s skull into the thinly-covered plywood.
Cradle Piledriver: @00:06
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BonKBv_QFFk
The maven of MAGA’s head pops from between Kane’s thighs on impact and she slops to a motionless spread-eagle. Maeve sits next to the demolished Polly, grinning but not pinning. She rolls the limp body of the patriot to her chest instead, moving atop her foe in perpendicular fashion, collecting both a scissors of Polly’s left arm while wrenching back on her right, Lockwood stepping into a harrowing location no one inhabits for long, namely Maeve’s Galway Graveyard.
Galway Graveyard
www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5qccnOBuJc
Polly screams in agony as she’s bent brutally by the pouty-lipped purveyor of pain.
Still Kira shows no emotion, but what she does offer is action. Sensing Lockwood’s beating is about to lead to her surrender, the Russian redhead slips through the ropes and delivers a big boot to Kane’s cranium that breaks her fellow colluder free from the Irish torture chamber.
Not about to see her sister taken for a fool, Moira joins the free-for-all, entering and racing at the rooskie, but Koslova spins into her Sickle Lariat that nearly beheads the younger Kane, the Riul landing in sickening fashion on her head and neck.
Sickle Lariat
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0JAptFiLAVE
With a splayed Moira unmoving and Maeve in a daze, Koslova grabs Polly by a wrist and drags her partner to Collusion’s corner. Emotionless, Kira steps through the cables and offers her hand.
“You tag now,” she demands of her Yankee counterpart and a thrashed Polly is more than happy to comply with the order.
As Lockwood departs, crawling under the cables, Moira can’t even manage that and the referee is forced to help the glassy-eyed Kane to home base. Meanwhile, Maeve shakes out her cobwebs and climbs to her feet where she’s able to send a right fist toward the approaching Kira.
The brawler is blocked however, Koslova deflecting the blow with a raised left forearm. She responds with a right cross of her own that connects like a Soviet hammer. Maeve’s head whips to the side, her legs giving a shimmy.
Kane offers a return volley that is blocked again and she suffers the same fate, Kira ROCKING the blonde with a concrete first that puts Maeve down to one knee, if momentarily.
Kane bounces up, but her noggin is still lowered and Koslova has the antidote, straightening her with a sweeping European Uppercut that snaps Maeve’s head back and lifts her to tiptoes. Somehow, the stubborn Irishwoman retains her balance, if barely.
The St. Petersburg native is not perturbed. Instead, she fashions her right hand into a claw instead of a fist and SINKS it into the face and forehead of her foe, her Iron Claw clenching Maeve’s mug. The blonde’s hands reflexively move to Kira’s wrist to remove the painful tines, but the Russian presses her left hand atop her right, forcing the digits in deeper, taking the veteran closer and closer to an old school end.
The Irish battler lets out a wince that wobbles perilously close to a whimper, and her knees begin to buckle a bit. But if she has calculated correctly, the ropes are tantalizingly nearby...if only she can reach them. She stretches out her right arm, feeling nothing but air; calling upon her dwindling strength, she manages to drag herself and her opponent the few necessary inches to finally hook a few fingers around the steel strand. The referee orders a break, and the Ravishing Russian complies. Liberated, Maeve wraps both arms tight around the rope, taking full advantage of these few precious moments to gather her wits and marshal her second wind.
She takes nearly a full ten seconds before stepping away from the cables and slowly circling with her opponent, the blonde in a slight crouch, arms raised and hands almost absentmindedly 'window washing' the air as Kane looks for the opportune moment to lunge. "Yer right tidy about takin' th' piss from a blindside," the Galway grappler snarls. "But let's see just what ye kin do now, ye scranger!" And with that she leaps at the Russian. What her intent was, however, remains known only to her, as Kira deftly pivots aside. Finding her target suddenly not where she was, the confused Kane comes to a halt...and a heartbeat later, she finds herself thrown like a sack of laundry with a Gutwrench Suplex.
Landing hard to the mat with a grunt, the Irish lass is given no time to so much as catch her breath as Koslova fills her hands with recently tinted flaxen mane and hauls her adversary up to her booted feet. Maeve then feels a pair of arms like coiled steel slip under hers to apply a Full Nelson, leaving her grunting as her shoulders tighten painfully and her head is pushed downward, making it difficult to draw a full breath. However, she doesn't have to endure this for long, as the Russian dips her legs, and with a surprising burst of raw power, executes a modified Butterfly Suplex. Kane take the full impact on her shoulders and the back of her skull, leaving her goggle eyed and splayed upon the canvas.
Rising back up, the redhead catches sight of the other Kane in her peripheral vision. She starts to backpedal to the ropes as if to rebound off of them, but at the final moment suddenly veers to the side into the corner, where without even having to look she jacks a powerful elbow smash to the still-dazed Moira's jaw, sending her sailing backward and crashing with an agonized thud to the arena floor.
From her own corner, the (junior) partner of the Russian witnesses this, and although she's still in need of recovery time herself, she can't suppress a wicked smile. Jumping down from the apron, Lockwood hurries around to the opposite side of the ring, where she finds the moaning Irish lass struggling to sit up. The All-American decides to help her, in her own inimitable way, and swiftly enough Kane the Younger finds herself vertical...although a sudden kneelift to the tummy bends her over and leaves her huffing loudly for breath. Lockwood then wraps her arms around her rival's waist and purrs, "Consider this your Ellis Island experience, with all of the great unwashed masses." With that, she hoists Moira up and dumps her over the railing and to the feet of the fans.
Polly knows from bitter experience that this is the last place a wrestler wants to be, as all of the pervy hayseeds who fill the arena seats with their oversized asses are only all too happy to "help" a girl back over the railing, resulting in countless hands clutching and pawing at her, some deciding it would be a real treat to have a piece of her garment as a prize. Strutting back to her side of the ring, Lockwood smirks, knowing the Moira is going to have to expend just
about every last iota of power she has left in order to escape the clutches of her 'adoring public'.
Back in the ring, things are going just as badly...if not worse...for the elder Kane sibling. Having been peeled up off of the canvas and thrown into the nearest corner, Maeve slumps against the turnbuckles, her arms draped over the upper ropes, as Kira goes full Ivan Drago on her, pummeling the voluptuous blonde's belly with a blizzard of punches, followed by a flurry of brutal uppercuts to the 'twins', the redhead's fists slamming upward with such brute force, Maeve's breasts are actually punched up and out of their cups.
"Hey partner, share the wealth!" the revitalized Lockwood calls out. Fully engrossed in her mauling of the Irish battler, Koslova pays the call for a tag no heed for several more punches, but then turns and marches back across the ring toward the American.
Kira drags the Irishwoman with her to the Collusion corner, the breasts teardropping on the bent and stumbling Kane. Koslova offers a palm to the frenetic, bite-sized blonde and the True American tags in. She pops through the ropes and together, Russian and Yank, each grab a D-cup of Maeve, squeezing their fingers white.
Maeve howls in pain from the shared double breast claw, the fast allies working seamlessly. They slip their heads under opposite arms of Kane and use the vile grips to launch Maeve up-n-over with an innovative and painful Suplex. Kane’s spine THUMPS against the canvas and her back arches in agony after the impact. Kira and Polly having released their claws on the flip, kip to their feet and share a bear hug before the official peels Kira away and guides her to the Collusion corner.
“You’re mine, has been,” Lockwood insists, delivering a soccer kick to the base of the seated Maeve’s backbone.
Kane’s bare chest thrusts forward as her vertebrae arch in reaction to the collision, putting on quite the peep show.
Shooting past the topless Kane, Polly hits the ropes and rebounds, leaping into a dropkick to Maeve’s gurls, SMASHING her to the canvas. The energized Lockwood scrambles to her feet rather than for a pin. She stands in a straddle above the grimacing Irishwoman and, before Kane can cover, hops and MUSHROOM STOMPS Maeve’s exposed bosom, CRUSHING the pair under boot leather, Kane yelping in pain.
The blonde’s hands wrap around the ankles of the Star-Spangled Bytch, trying to shove Polly off, but Lockwood manages to grind her soles into the tender tissue before bounding away.
Lockwood takes a victory lap around the ring while a rightly distracted Maeve tends to her worn weapons. When the colluder-in-chief sees Kane trying to cover them, she returns to her foe. As she reaches Maeve to renew the assault, the veteran sweeps Polly’s legs out from under her.
A furious Kane mounts the downed Lockwood and lathers the diminutive hardbody with sweeping rights and lefts. Most are blocked, but enough sneak through to leave Polly shell-shocked. As a dazed patriot stares blankly into the blazing green eyes of the elder Kane, Maeve leans forward and slips her arms behind Polly’s noggin, propping her head upwards.
The crowd roars as Maeve drops her bounty across the face of the wide-eyed Polly.
“Don’t you darUMMMPPPHHH.”
Lockwood’s protest is cut short by the enveloping flesh of Maeve’s front sleeper and the brat in red, white and blue flails wildly with her face buried in the Irishwoman’s lassies. Immersed for a good ten seconds, Polly’s thrashing lessens perceptibly, a smirk emerging on the face of the multiple-time tag champ. Moira, back in place in the Kanes’ corner, cheers her sister on.
In the opposite, the Russian redhead may be stoic on the exterior, but she is unwilling to allow Maeve to pull victory from the jaws of defeat. Entering, she charges toward Kane’s horizontal hug from behind. But Moira is ready. Barreling into the ring a split-second after Kira’s entry, she cuts Koslova off with a toe kick to the colluder’s gut, short-circuiting the double axhandle meant for her sister.
With Kira bent, mouth agape, Moira stuffs hooked right fingers into Koslova’s maw, driving the digits into the nerves gathered in the soft palate under the Russian’s mother tongue. Mandible claw buried, tremors shake the redhead’s frame and she drops to one knee.
With the crowd roaring at the sight of Maeve and Moira eliminating Collusion more effectively than Robert Mueller, a desperate Kira swings her right forearm up and splits Moira’s wickets. Kane rises to anguished tiptoes as her claw drops free of Koslova’s mouth, dribbling over her foe’s quivering bottom lip.
A shove from the Russian sends the younger Kane, flopping to her side, collapsing into a fetal ball.
With Polly sliding toward semi consciousness, Maeve peels her jubblies off the greasy face of the gurgling Yank and turns to a risen Koslova. Kane throws a nasty chop block to the back of Kira’s left knee, forcing the wincing Russian to genuflect.
Wrapping a backhand grip around the neck of the lowered redhead, Maeve pulls her foe’s head back into a dragon sleeper position, the elder Kane staring emerald lasers down at the crystal blue peepers of her foe.
“Ya might be better than that right American runt, but ya ain’t better than any Riul.”
Her piece said, Maeve DRIVES the back of Kira’s skull into the canvas with an inverted DDT that leaves Koslova starfished and stilled. Maeve leaps to her feet and gives the Russian what for, talking every bit of trash Galway has to offer.
That is until a perfectly placed punt from behind SLAMS into her undercarriage, a still wobbly Polly with enough to kick Maeve in the clover. The crowd groans in sympathy as Kane is frozen in place, Maeve knock-kneed, jaw having dropped.
Polly sputters down to one knee behind her foe, wipes off some of Maeve’s cleavage sweat from her face and fashions her own set of tines, digging them into Maeve’s crotch from behind, offering the foreigner a brutal Presidential Handshake. Gouging into the Irishwoman’s sex, Polly clenches tightly, drawing a pathetic squeaky mewl from the usually steadfast Kane.
With one final RIP that nearly shreds her foe’s spandex covering, Lockwood removes her ‘handshake’ and rises, spinning so she’s back to back with Kane. The Star-Spangled Bytch hooks her elbows with Maeve’s and the bite-sized hardbody throws her body forward, generating surprising power. It’s enough to send Maeve off the deck and tumbling over Polly’s before the back of her skull and shoulders CRASH into the deck from the ferocious Patriot Driver.
Patriot Driver
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Pwes5Lb5ek
Polly dives atop the upturned rump of the demolished Kane, pressing her foe deeper into the matchbook position in which the remnants of the topless Maeve ended. The official slides to the mat and counts it out…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
Not a twitch from Kane as Polly remains planted for a couple extra ticks before pushing the blonde leavings away, Maeve collapsing motionless onto her side.
Lockwood helps a stirring Kira to her feet and encases the Russian in an embrace worthy of the Putin-Trump bromance. They separate to hold each other’s near arm aloft and the announcer makes it official.
“Your winners, via pinfall, COLLUSION!”
Breaking, Kira moves to a recovering Moira, pulling the blonde to her feet. She bumrushes the blonde and tosses Kane over the top rope. Maeve gets the same treatment from Lockwood, though Polly tosses her Gaelic garbage between top and middle.
The victors meet in the middle to the loud displeasure of the FAWNatics and the noise only grows when Polly acquires a microphone.
“You should celebrate the coming together of our great nations and national interests. The world is a safer place when we are friends, but the tag division of FAWN is most definitely NOT.
“Cynthia Mitchell…Ivy Armstrong! You are not True Americans! And you are not true champions. Enjoy the time you have left at the top. Kira and I are going to lock you up and throw you out!”
As the dry ice fog dissipates, a new sound fills the arena air. Traditional Celtic pipes transform into an electronica beat as the spotlight trains upon the top of the runway. The curtain rips open and out step Maeve and Moira, the Ríúil Kanes.
MAEVE KANE
MOIRA KANE
The elder sister, scarlet locks cascading down her shoulders, is clad in her trademark dark green, curve-hugging one-piece, with a generous enough plunge of the cleavage to display Maeve's "lasses" to their best advantage. The younger Irishwoman wears a two-piece of matching color, fully displaying her taut abs. Maeve’s eyes are riveted on the ring as she steps with solemn purpose toward the squared circle; Moira betrays more insouciance, a saucy half-smirk upon her lips as she slaps at the outstretched hands which reach for the shamrock sisters.
A forest of signs greet them as they pass, most of them supportive. WE LOVE THE IRISH TROUBLES...I RAEVE FOR MAEVE...THE MEAN, GREEN TAG MACHINE...and so on. Finally they reach the steps and ascend them to the apron of the ring.
With a sharp nod of her head, Maeve silently makes it plain to the official that he is expected to help them into the ring in a manner which befits their status as one of the top teams in FAWN. Without protest he sits upon the middle cable and pulls the top up over his shoulder, allowing the Kane siblings to step between the strands. Once in the ring, they allow the zebra to lightly pat them down for any foreign objects..."Where we would hide 'em," Moira once cracked, "He'd never find 'em!". Satisfied, he instructs them to take their corner.
Moving to their designated place, the sisters quietly confer with one another, each glancing at their opponents over the shoulders, and they conclude that Moira will start off the match for the team. Now, all that remains is for this new tag configuration to make its appearance.
There’s long seconds of silence; enough to make the crowd uncomfortable, the tension growing. Any team facing the Kanes would certainly be of high caliber as Bethany Christian wouldn’t want a squash on the Road to FAWNamania. When the arena’s speakers spark to life with the pounding of “America, Fuck Yeah” from Team America World Police, the crowd is brought to life as with shock therapy.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=7R5A0pg4oN8
Blue America’s least favorite, little blonde antagonist strides to center stage. Beside her is the woman she’d introduced to the big time in a win over the always ready and able Bloodwind sisters, Kira Koslova. The rooskie rookie is no destroyer-class-sized redhead, though the vertically-challenged Lockwood makes her appear in that general direction.
POLLY LOCKWOOD
KIRA KOSLOVA
Being in Florida, more than a few scattered ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet in delight despite her new cozy relationship with the Russian. The few and the proud salute her and her anthem crisply. The majority make themselves known in a completely different fashion, raining a cascade of boos toward the obnoxious Trumpeter and her new comrade.
The flaxen-haired hardbody brings a salute to her brow to signal her Trumptastic troops then lets the snowflakes know what she thinks of them by fashioning the knife-edge into a salute of the middle finger variety.
The Fox&Friendly grappler is in her battle fatigues, Polly proudly sporting her customary hot pants and bikini top. Lockwood alternates her country’s colors between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in the appropriate spots; and shimmering red and white-striped spandex below, the space age polymer barely covering her biscuit butt. She finishes the ensemble with gleaming white pads and boots.
The ‘True American’ has her customary cape, Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak.
Lockwood turns and accepts her new partner into a literal Russian bear hug. As the crowd’s jeers rise in volume the duo separates and start down the ramp to their next challenge.
Kira throws off a full-length grey fur coat and white wool hat to reveal a simple red one piece, with one unusual aspect — a cutout pattern displaying a portion of Kira’s bronzed, toned abdomen in the form of a hammer and sickle, Koslova ready to embrace her roots even more forcefully than her hero, President Vlad. White pads and boots, the footwear with red hammer-and-sickles, complete the rookie’s attire.
Arm in arm, the international team march confidently to the ring, Polly occasionally jawing with the fans who obviously have watched too much CNN, while Koslova is a picture of former Soviet stoicism, ignoring the free-flowing hate emanating from the FAWNatics.
Reaching the ring, an excited Lockwood seems particularly energized next to her powerful ally, bouncing with nervous energy, throwing stereotypical insults at the “drunk” Irishwomen that draws the slightest of smirks from her partner.
The rookie leads her veteran teammate up the ring steps as the announcer makes the Kanes’ foes official.
“And their opponents, hailing from Buffalo, New York and St. Petersburg, Russia, respectively, at a combined weight of two hundred and forty pounds…Polly Lockwood and Kira Koslova, together they are COLLUSION!”
Anyone expecting the blonde to demand her less experienced partner to widen the ropes for her entry is caught off guard when Polly is deferential to her comrade. Sitting on the middle rope, she pushes up the top for Koslova, who enters claims the middle of the ring, the Kanes in their corner sizing up the relative newbie.
Polly, with microphone now in hand, quickly joins her partner, both women eyeballing the Irish.
“We started to drain the swamp by sending the Bloodwinds back to the reservation. And now, we continue to bring safety and order to our shores by expelling some Emerald Isle scum that’ve been abusing their privileges in our land for FAR…TOO…LONG.”
The assembled don’t seem to agree. Though the Kanes often skirt the rules, they’re likely FAWN Hall of Famers and certainly seem the majority’s choice for electoral victory tonight, despite any underhanded interference.
“Our commander-in-chief has said it best,” Polly continues. “The world is a much better place when there is a strong working relationship between the two greatest countries on earth. Miss Koslova and I are of the same mind. My comrade Kira believes like I do that America is worth saving from its true enemies which I’m sad to say includes most of you.”
Lockwood motions to the fans as Kira nods solemnly. Orlando doesn’t seem all that happy at the aspersions, but the Star-Spangled Bytch couldn’t care less.
“So first we take out all enemies of our great alliance in the ring then we will deal with the pathetic likes of you people outside it. For those few true patriots, you know Kira and I and both of our Presidents have the world’s best interest at heart. We and they do it all for you. For you, we will destroy and deport these lumpy potato farmers as an example to FAWN that the joy of peace in our time will come when you learn to obey your leaders. And your leaders are Collusion.”
Her monologue delivered, Polly tosses the stick aside with a CLUNK, and retreats to her corner, Koslova covering the True American’s bubble backside. After a conversation Collusion makes sure no one else can hear or indeed read through their lips, both women covering their mouths, Lockwood emerges, ready to continue cleaning up and cleaning out the tag division.
The opening bell clangs and both blondes push out of their corners, circling one another with springs in their steps. Moira smirks at her opposite number and says in her lilting brogue, "And see what we have here...a feckin' culchie in her star spangled made in China togs, and no doubt her bill o' sale to Moscow tucked away inside. Not that there isn't plenty o' room in here f'r it," she says with a taunting smile, her gaze casting down to Lockwood's admirable but...compared to the Irish Lass...less-impressive carriage.
Polly's features twist into an angry snarl for the barest of instants, but then she regains her cool, collected composure. No way in hell is she letting this potato farmer rattle her. Displaying a smile of her own, she responds, "Unlike the great unwashed masses filling the arena tonight, you don't even have the delusion of pretending you're on the winning side...your booze-soaked island has been the home of losers for like, forever. I mean seriously, how did you let a tiny country full of Shea London's push you around for a thousand years?
The verbal jousting comes to an end as the two blondes lock up, straining against one another for several moments. Suddenly Polly manages to convert the collar and elbow into a wristlock...but Moira is able to reverse it mere moments later. The American slaps at her shoulder, then executes a forward roll to break it, followed immediately thereafter by a reverse somersault to kip back up to her feet and secure a hammerlock on her opponent. But in that elongated moment before Polly can fully secure her footing, the Irish battler is able to bean forward and wrap a hand around one of her oppressor's ankles, giving it a good yank and toppling Lockwood onto her posterior, breaking the hold.
Still holding tight to the American's ankle, Kane starts to apply a spinning toehold, but Polly lashes out with her free leg, the sole of her boot pushing against Moira's rear end, shoving her down to the mat. Both blondes now free, they cautiously roll up to their feet and begin to slowly circle one another, each crouched and with hands flicking open and closed and at the ready. These opening feints were mere show craft, a chance to test one another. Now, the real fight begins.
"Don't get to thinking there's a place for you in the New World Order," Polly sneers as they circle. "Now, the New World Odor...you and your sister have got a lock on that."
Lockwood doesn't wait for a reply...she suddenly lunges. Unfortunately for her, Moira wasn't about to waste any thought on a verbal response, and thus she's completely clear headed as her adversary sails toward her. The result if the Irish lass throwing her right knee up, spearing Polly flush in the breadbasket. With a whoosh of expelled breath, the American drops to her knees, hands clutching her aching tummy. From her corner, Maeve claps and cheers on her sibling; across the squared circle, Kira remains impassive and inscrutable.
Moira, on the other hand, is an open book, her joy at taking control of the match writ large across her face. Grabbing her opponent's perfectly flaxen mane, the Irish battler "helps" the winded Lockwood back up to her feet. Taking the (cracked) Liberty belle by her left wrist, Kane suddenly whirls around and up and over Polly's arm, flipping her over onto her back and scissoring her arm, executing a textbook Rolling Cross Armlock. Lockwood shrieks, her free hand making a fist and pounding at the mat. The ref bends down close and asks, "How about it, Lockwood...ready to give?" The blonde shoots him a look of death and hisses through clenched teeth, "Are you fucking kidding me?" But for all of her bravado, escape doesn't look to be in the cards at the moment.
Luckily...and "luck" here is all relative...Kane herself opts to release the hold. Climbing back up to her feet, and still holding onto Lockwood's wrist, she yanks her adversary on up with her. An elbow grind into the junction of Polly's shoulder and arm adds to the American's discomfort, and more or less guarantees that it's going to be a mite longer before she has full use of that limb again. Now however, Moira decides to shift tactics...and target. Releasing Polly's wrist, Kane the Younger suddenly wraps her arms around her startled foe and hoists her up for a seeming Fireman's Carry; however, at the apex of Lockwood's elevation, Moira suddenly throws her down, even as the Irishwoman genuflects, resulting in Polly's supple spine crashing down upon the outstretched knee. Even Koslova has to wince in sympathy pain at that one.
Rolling off of the bent joint and flopping in a heap to the mat, Polly looks far from being a world superpower at the moment, her body wet with sweat and her eyes closed tight against the pain that wracks her back. Moira throws herself down across her rival for a pin, the ref counting...
ONE...
TWO...
NO!
As Kane hadn't bothered to hook the leg, even in her bedraggled state Lockwood was able to kick out. But she's still far from being able to mount any offensive of her own, and the leering Irish beauty is just getting started.
Moira snatches a wrist and pulls the rubbery patriot to jellied legs as she rises. An eager Maeve calls for a tag, but her kid sister shakes her head with a chuckle. Dipping, the younger Kane swings an arm between Lockwood’s abbreviated stems. The veteran ‘hups’ the Star-Spangled Bytch across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and starts to move in increasingly rapid pirouettes.
“Let’s see ya spin this one like the Trump striapach thatcha are,” Moira growls, pushing the RPMs of her Airplane Spin to its maximum, Polly becoming the Irishwoman’s propeller.
Getting a full five spins in, Kane launches the bite-sized hardbody off her shoulders, Polly completing an additional cycle on her own before crashing and burning to the canvas. She lands with a heavy ‘THUD’ chest down, rotating through a further quarter turn on the deck before skidding to a stop.
Showing her fortitude, or her desperation to get to her partner and out of the Irish line of fire, Lockwood slowly shoves to her feet and drunkenly stumbles away from Moira. But there’s no rush by the younger Kane to catch her foe as the Pernicious Patriot is wobbling toward Maeve, seemingly unaware she’s headed in the wrong direction.
The elder sister and newly minted blonde loads up a forearm and SMASHES it into Polly’s mug, forcing the battered Lockwood into a u-turn. The Ugly American staggers toward her own corner, but Moira is directly between. The former multi-time tag champ dips and encircles Lockwood’s hips and glutes with her arms. She lifts the little robobabe off her boot soles, pivoting as she elevates, then DRIVES Polly almost through the deck with a ring-rattling spinebuster.
Spinebuster
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZNztSk4jnE
On the outside, Koslova shows a hint of a fidget but remains in place even as Moira drapes herself over the demolished Trumpeter, hooking a leg for a dominant win over the colluders with the…
ONE…
TWO…
Lockwood throws a shoulder up, rolling limply to her side beside an unconcerned Kane.
“So ya want more do ya?” she asks with a hint of enthusiasm. “Cause I know someone who’d like some of your star-spangled arse.”
Moira hauls Polly to her feet with a grip on the Yank’s shoulder-length, golden locks. Kane draws Lockwood on spaghetti legs to the Riuls’ corner and slaps hands with her partner.
Regaining enough of her senses to realize the danger, Polly pleads with the official to force Moira out as Maeve enters, but the Kanes are given enough leeway to bully the Fox&Friendly blonde to the ropes where the siblings heave the hardbody toward the opposite cables with aptly named Irish whips.
Stationing center stage as Polly returns to them, each tag legend dips and tosses Polly into the stratosphere, Lockwood flipping high into the Orlando sky and CRASHING so heavily on her spine, she bounces a few inches off the canvas with a skyscraping double back body drop.
Double Back Body Drop
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JHwCwjhufg
Momentum draws Lockwood to a seated position where the grimacing future 8th Circuit Court of Appeals jurist reaches for the base of her spine, only to have Maeve plant a vicious soccer kick to the vertebrae just above, Polly’s back arching in agony.
“Who would guessed ya still have a backbone. I thought that’s what your partner would be fer,” Maeve pronounces.
While Moira takes the official’s advice and heads for her place outside the ropes, Maeve helps Lockwood up from her uncomfortable seat, twisting Polly to face her before impaling the Star-Spangled Bytch with a toe kick to her flat, tanned tummy. The Fox&Friendly blonde is bent at the waist and ripe for the picking for the Irish lass.
Kane draws Lockwood’s lowered head between her thighs and wraps her arms around the gulping midriff of her foe. The elder Kane vaults Polly to vertical, noggin pointed toward the canvas. Her arms wrapping around the overturned abdomen of Lockwood, Maeve shifts her right arm to a grip that ends between Polly’s thighs and immediately drops to her backside, PILEDRIVING Polly’s skull into the thinly-covered plywood.
Cradle Piledriver: @00:06
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BonKBv_QFFk
The maven of MAGA’s head pops from between Kane’s thighs on impact and she slops to a motionless spread-eagle. Maeve sits next to the demolished Polly, grinning but not pinning. She rolls the limp body of the patriot to her chest instead, moving atop her foe in perpendicular fashion, collecting both a scissors of Polly’s left arm while wrenching back on her right, Lockwood stepping into a harrowing location no one inhabits for long, namely Maeve’s Galway Graveyard.
Galway Graveyard
www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5qccnOBuJc
Polly screams in agony as she’s bent brutally by the pouty-lipped purveyor of pain.
Still Kira shows no emotion, but what she does offer is action. Sensing Lockwood’s beating is about to lead to her surrender, the Russian redhead slips through the ropes and delivers a big boot to Kane’s cranium that breaks her fellow colluder free from the Irish torture chamber.
Not about to see her sister taken for a fool, Moira joins the free-for-all, entering and racing at the rooskie, but Koslova spins into her Sickle Lariat that nearly beheads the younger Kane, the Riul landing in sickening fashion on her head and neck.
Sickle Lariat
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0JAptFiLAVE
With a splayed Moira unmoving and Maeve in a daze, Koslova grabs Polly by a wrist and drags her partner to Collusion’s corner. Emotionless, Kira steps through the cables and offers her hand.
“You tag now,” she demands of her Yankee counterpart and a thrashed Polly is more than happy to comply with the order.
As Lockwood departs, crawling under the cables, Moira can’t even manage that and the referee is forced to help the glassy-eyed Kane to home base. Meanwhile, Maeve shakes out her cobwebs and climbs to her feet where she’s able to send a right fist toward the approaching Kira.
The brawler is blocked however, Koslova deflecting the blow with a raised left forearm. She responds with a right cross of her own that connects like a Soviet hammer. Maeve’s head whips to the side, her legs giving a shimmy.
Kane offers a return volley that is blocked again and she suffers the same fate, Kira ROCKING the blonde with a concrete first that puts Maeve down to one knee, if momentarily.
Kane bounces up, but her noggin is still lowered and Koslova has the antidote, straightening her with a sweeping European Uppercut that snaps Maeve’s head back and lifts her to tiptoes. Somehow, the stubborn Irishwoman retains her balance, if barely.
The St. Petersburg native is not perturbed. Instead, she fashions her right hand into a claw instead of a fist and SINKS it into the face and forehead of her foe, her Iron Claw clenching Maeve’s mug. The blonde’s hands reflexively move to Kira’s wrist to remove the painful tines, but the Russian presses her left hand atop her right, forcing the digits in deeper, taking the veteran closer and closer to an old school end.
The Irish battler lets out a wince that wobbles perilously close to a whimper, and her knees begin to buckle a bit. But if she has calculated correctly, the ropes are tantalizingly nearby...if only she can reach them. She stretches out her right arm, feeling nothing but air; calling upon her dwindling strength, she manages to drag herself and her opponent the few necessary inches to finally hook a few fingers around the steel strand. The referee orders a break, and the Ravishing Russian complies. Liberated, Maeve wraps both arms tight around the rope, taking full advantage of these few precious moments to gather her wits and marshal her second wind.
She takes nearly a full ten seconds before stepping away from the cables and slowly circling with her opponent, the blonde in a slight crouch, arms raised and hands almost absentmindedly 'window washing' the air as Kane looks for the opportune moment to lunge. "Yer right tidy about takin' th' piss from a blindside," the Galway grappler snarls. "But let's see just what ye kin do now, ye scranger!" And with that she leaps at the Russian. What her intent was, however, remains known only to her, as Kira deftly pivots aside. Finding her target suddenly not where she was, the confused Kane comes to a halt...and a heartbeat later, she finds herself thrown like a sack of laundry with a Gutwrench Suplex.
Landing hard to the mat with a grunt, the Irish lass is given no time to so much as catch her breath as Koslova fills her hands with recently tinted flaxen mane and hauls her adversary up to her booted feet. Maeve then feels a pair of arms like coiled steel slip under hers to apply a Full Nelson, leaving her grunting as her shoulders tighten painfully and her head is pushed downward, making it difficult to draw a full breath. However, she doesn't have to endure this for long, as the Russian dips her legs, and with a surprising burst of raw power, executes a modified Butterfly Suplex. Kane take the full impact on her shoulders and the back of her skull, leaving her goggle eyed and splayed upon the canvas.
Rising back up, the redhead catches sight of the other Kane in her peripheral vision. She starts to backpedal to the ropes as if to rebound off of them, but at the final moment suddenly veers to the side into the corner, where without even having to look she jacks a powerful elbow smash to the still-dazed Moira's jaw, sending her sailing backward and crashing with an agonized thud to the arena floor.
From her own corner, the (junior) partner of the Russian witnesses this, and although she's still in need of recovery time herself, she can't suppress a wicked smile. Jumping down from the apron, Lockwood hurries around to the opposite side of the ring, where she finds the moaning Irish lass struggling to sit up. The All-American decides to help her, in her own inimitable way, and swiftly enough Kane the Younger finds herself vertical...although a sudden kneelift to the tummy bends her over and leaves her huffing loudly for breath. Lockwood then wraps her arms around her rival's waist and purrs, "Consider this your Ellis Island experience, with all of the great unwashed masses." With that, she hoists Moira up and dumps her over the railing and to the feet of the fans.
Polly knows from bitter experience that this is the last place a wrestler wants to be, as all of the pervy hayseeds who fill the arena seats with their oversized asses are only all too happy to "help" a girl back over the railing, resulting in countless hands clutching and pawing at her, some deciding it would be a real treat to have a piece of her garment as a prize. Strutting back to her side of the ring, Lockwood smirks, knowing the Moira is going to have to expend just
about every last iota of power she has left in order to escape the clutches of her 'adoring public'.
Back in the ring, things are going just as badly...if not worse...for the elder Kane sibling. Having been peeled up off of the canvas and thrown into the nearest corner, Maeve slumps against the turnbuckles, her arms draped over the upper ropes, as Kira goes full Ivan Drago on her, pummeling the voluptuous blonde's belly with a blizzard of punches, followed by a flurry of brutal uppercuts to the 'twins', the redhead's fists slamming upward with such brute force, Maeve's breasts are actually punched up and out of their cups.
"Hey partner, share the wealth!" the revitalized Lockwood calls out. Fully engrossed in her mauling of the Irish battler, Koslova pays the call for a tag no heed for several more punches, but then turns and marches back across the ring toward the American.
Kira drags the Irishwoman with her to the Collusion corner, the breasts teardropping on the bent and stumbling Kane. Koslova offers a palm to the frenetic, bite-sized blonde and the True American tags in. She pops through the ropes and together, Russian and Yank, each grab a D-cup of Maeve, squeezing their fingers white.
Maeve howls in pain from the shared double breast claw, the fast allies working seamlessly. They slip their heads under opposite arms of Kane and use the vile grips to launch Maeve up-n-over with an innovative and painful Suplex. Kane’s spine THUMPS against the canvas and her back arches in agony after the impact. Kira and Polly having released their claws on the flip, kip to their feet and share a bear hug before the official peels Kira away and guides her to the Collusion corner.
“You’re mine, has been,” Lockwood insists, delivering a soccer kick to the base of the seated Maeve’s backbone.
Kane’s bare chest thrusts forward as her vertebrae arch in reaction to the collision, putting on quite the peep show.
Shooting past the topless Kane, Polly hits the ropes and rebounds, leaping into a dropkick to Maeve’s gurls, SMASHING her to the canvas. The energized Lockwood scrambles to her feet rather than for a pin. She stands in a straddle above the grimacing Irishwoman and, before Kane can cover, hops and MUSHROOM STOMPS Maeve’s exposed bosom, CRUSHING the pair under boot leather, Kane yelping in pain.
The blonde’s hands wrap around the ankles of the Star-Spangled Bytch, trying to shove Polly off, but Lockwood manages to grind her soles into the tender tissue before bounding away.
Lockwood takes a victory lap around the ring while a rightly distracted Maeve tends to her worn weapons. When the colluder-in-chief sees Kane trying to cover them, she returns to her foe. As she reaches Maeve to renew the assault, the veteran sweeps Polly’s legs out from under her.
A furious Kane mounts the downed Lockwood and lathers the diminutive hardbody with sweeping rights and lefts. Most are blocked, but enough sneak through to leave Polly shell-shocked. As a dazed patriot stares blankly into the blazing green eyes of the elder Kane, Maeve leans forward and slips her arms behind Polly’s noggin, propping her head upwards.
The crowd roars as Maeve drops her bounty across the face of the wide-eyed Polly.
“Don’t you darUMMMPPPHHH.”
Lockwood’s protest is cut short by the enveloping flesh of Maeve’s front sleeper and the brat in red, white and blue flails wildly with her face buried in the Irishwoman’s lassies. Immersed for a good ten seconds, Polly’s thrashing lessens perceptibly, a smirk emerging on the face of the multiple-time tag champ. Moira, back in place in the Kanes’ corner, cheers her sister on.
In the opposite, the Russian redhead may be stoic on the exterior, but she is unwilling to allow Maeve to pull victory from the jaws of defeat. Entering, she charges toward Kane’s horizontal hug from behind. But Moira is ready. Barreling into the ring a split-second after Kira’s entry, she cuts Koslova off with a toe kick to the colluder’s gut, short-circuiting the double axhandle meant for her sister.
With Kira bent, mouth agape, Moira stuffs hooked right fingers into Koslova’s maw, driving the digits into the nerves gathered in the soft palate under the Russian’s mother tongue. Mandible claw buried, tremors shake the redhead’s frame and she drops to one knee.
With the crowd roaring at the sight of Maeve and Moira eliminating Collusion more effectively than Robert Mueller, a desperate Kira swings her right forearm up and splits Moira’s wickets. Kane rises to anguished tiptoes as her claw drops free of Koslova’s mouth, dribbling over her foe’s quivering bottom lip.
A shove from the Russian sends the younger Kane, flopping to her side, collapsing into a fetal ball.
With Polly sliding toward semi consciousness, Maeve peels her jubblies off the greasy face of the gurgling Yank and turns to a risen Koslova. Kane throws a nasty chop block to the back of Kira’s left knee, forcing the wincing Russian to genuflect.
Wrapping a backhand grip around the neck of the lowered redhead, Maeve pulls her foe’s head back into a dragon sleeper position, the elder Kane staring emerald lasers down at the crystal blue peepers of her foe.
“Ya might be better than that right American runt, but ya ain’t better than any Riul.”
Her piece said, Maeve DRIVES the back of Kira’s skull into the canvas with an inverted DDT that leaves Koslova starfished and stilled. Maeve leaps to her feet and gives the Russian what for, talking every bit of trash Galway has to offer.
That is until a perfectly placed punt from behind SLAMS into her undercarriage, a still wobbly Polly with enough to kick Maeve in the clover. The crowd groans in sympathy as Kane is frozen in place, Maeve knock-kneed, jaw having dropped.
Polly sputters down to one knee behind her foe, wipes off some of Maeve’s cleavage sweat from her face and fashions her own set of tines, digging them into Maeve’s crotch from behind, offering the foreigner a brutal Presidential Handshake. Gouging into the Irishwoman’s sex, Polly clenches tightly, drawing a pathetic squeaky mewl from the usually steadfast Kane.
With one final RIP that nearly shreds her foe’s spandex covering, Lockwood removes her ‘handshake’ and rises, spinning so she’s back to back with Kane. The Star-Spangled Bytch hooks her elbows with Maeve’s and the bite-sized hardbody throws her body forward, generating surprising power. It’s enough to send Maeve off the deck and tumbling over Polly’s before the back of her skull and shoulders CRASH into the deck from the ferocious Patriot Driver.
Patriot Driver
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Pwes5Lb5ek
Polly dives atop the upturned rump of the demolished Kane, pressing her foe deeper into the matchbook position in which the remnants of the topless Maeve ended. The official slides to the mat and counts it out…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
Not a twitch from Kane as Polly remains planted for a couple extra ticks before pushing the blonde leavings away, Maeve collapsing motionless onto her side.
Lockwood helps a stirring Kira to her feet and encases the Russian in an embrace worthy of the Putin-Trump bromance. They separate to hold each other’s near arm aloft and the announcer makes it official.
“Your winners, via pinfall, COLLUSION!”
Breaking, Kira moves to a recovering Moira, pulling the blonde to her feet. She bumrushes the blonde and tosses Kane over the top rope. Maeve gets the same treatment from Lockwood, though Polly tosses her Gaelic garbage between top and middle.
The victors meet in the middle to the loud displeasure of the FAWNatics and the noise only grows when Polly acquires a microphone.
“You should celebrate the coming together of our great nations and national interests. The world is a safer place when we are friends, but the tag division of FAWN is most definitely NOT.
“Cynthia Mitchell…Ivy Armstrong! You are not True Americans! And you are not true champions. Enjoy the time you have left at the top. Kira and I are going to lock you up and throw you out!”