Post by dsb on Oct 19, 2018 22:20:53 GMT
Backstage…
Jaime London was nothing short of irate, pacing back and forth across the locker room of FAWN’s most Babyface of Factions, the Upstart Nation. “You’re doing this on purpose,” she insisted, the little redhead wrought with concern for her friend, “I know you are, on purpose.”
JAIME LONDON
For her own part, Samantha Sinclair let her vent, knowing full well that it was fruitless to do otherwise, focusing instead on lacing up the front of her second boot. Even this far from the arena floor, they could both hear the highs and lows of the crowd cheering the highs and lows of the current match taking place, Sammie feeling the reverberations through the soles of her feet, the trepidation building in her trim tummy.
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
“Iron’s wants to cripple you,” Jaime stopped, standing before the brunette with both of arms folded, “everyone knows this. She wants to cripple you, and this time, it might stick.”
Sammie paused, releasing the smallest sigh, subconsciously and gently rubbing the back of her slim neck, an ever-present reminder of how close she had come to living her life in a wheelchair. “I know.”
“You know?” Jaime exclaimed in exasperation.
“Jaime,” Sammie exhaled sharply, looking up at her friend with a disarming smile, “I got this ok, you know that I can do this.”
Baby London opened her mouth to protest one final time before audibly groaning, rolling her eyes before sitting down beside Sinclair in a huff. It didn’t take long for the two allies, both inheritors of proud legacies, to link arms with a familiarity that only friends could. Jaime sighed again, wracked with concern, “Someone has to tell you when you’re doing something stupid.”
“And you do it so well,” Sammie smirked, feeling genuine affection for her comrade.
“Damn right I do,” Jaime nodded, the duo settling down before the stage hand would arrive to notify Sinclair that they were ready for her coming contest. They remained silent for a time, comfortable in each other’s company, Sammie finding her centre in the calm.
“I’m going to kick her ass,” Sinclair declared, her tone filled with quite conviction.
“Damn straight!” Jaime agreed without a moment’s hesitation, a smirk spreading across her features, one hundred percent behind the Upstart Supreme. “Across every, single inch of that damn cage. World’s Best Brit.”
“World’s Best Brits,” Samantha immediately amended, squeezing her friends’ hand tightly.
Sinclair didn’t notice the hesitation that was to follow, her mind on far more pressing issues, the cage to come forming in her mind’s eye.
“...Sure.”
**********
Arena…
A relatively sombre mood fell over the arena as the card quickly approached a long-anticipated event, many in attendance daring to dart a glance or two upwards towards the rafters, an ominous structure waiting to descend. Some swallowed, many whispered, and all awaited the upcoming collision with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. No-one was quite sure what they should be feeling, only that they wouldn’t be able to keep it in much longer…
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer came to centre stage, bringing the matter to a head. “The following contest will be a Cage Match!!”
He paused for effect, a ripple of anticipation bleeding from off the waiting FAWNatics.
“No Pinfalls, No Submissions, No Disqualifications. The only path to victory is to scale the sides of this hellish structure and to escape to the outside of the ring, the winner being the first women to have both of her feet touch the floor. Introducing first…”
That was when the Legionnaires in attendance found their voice, chanting now in anticipation, their shared love for the upcoming competitor overriding any sense of worry or concern.
“Hailing from Nottingham, England and standing in at 5’ 4” and one hundred and ten pounds, she is the People’s Princess, SAMANTHA!! SINCLAIR!!!”
GOOD TIME
www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_56H2DJct0
The moment Samantha Sinclair appeared on stage, that was when the FAWNatics truly lost their sh*t, the Leader of the Upstart Nation standing as tall as her perfectly petite mass would allow her, catching the light in all the right places as she whipped both her arms up high and waved. Five foot four and one hundred and ten pounds of athletically sculptured, miniature might, Sammie Sinclair was every inch the People’s Princess as she cheered back, shimmering in her golden/yellow attire with her dimple, freckled cheeks flushing a delightful shade of crimson.
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
Sporting her ever familiar ensemble, family colours bright and on show, Sinclair’s identity was impossible to confuse. Her sports bra, smoothly curved about her small, proud bosom left her softly sculptured tummy bare and her upraised arms the same way. About her hips snugly sat a short skirt which, with a generous slit running up the right side, revealed a wonderful shot of her firm thigh as the baby brown eyed darling hopped up onto her tip toes and spiralled. Her boots were a bright blue and reached upwards to just beneath her knees, tanned from firm leather and sporting lacing right up the front.
With the flourish of her spiral completed, the People’s Princess set her feet apart and kept her fingers wiggling heavenwards, nodding to her followers with a knowing smirk just before she lead them in her usual declaration of intent, a three beat mantra that the Legionnaires watching were always a part of. Once they were ready, she brought her hands together...
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
With her statement of intent made clear she pointed directly towards the squared circle, a hearty explosion of pyrokinetics erupting to either side of the stage that she was standing on. Samantha Sinclair was here and, with a joy induced skip she headed down the aisle at a swift sprint, the second generation superstar with chocolate curls bouncing free about her slender shoulders now a little older, a little wiser and a worthy inheritor of her Father’s legacy. The girl was now a young woman, and she was looking all the bolder for it.
Fearless? Perhaps not, but nerve?
She most defiantly had nerve.
The moment Sinclair reached the squared circle, a deft run, skip and jump took her clean up onto the apron. Grasping the top coil with both of her hands, the Bright-Eyed Wonder leaned back and, following a cheeky shake her pert buttocks, she shot right up and over the top rope with an applause worthy sault.
Landing lightly on her feet and clapping once more, she headed on over to the farthest corner before turning to lean backwards into the turnbuckles. She stayed there for a moment, resisting the urge to turn her own eyes skywards, resisting with every ounce of will that she possessed the urge to begin exhaling with nervous energy. She would be seeing that structure up close and personal soon enough, she didn’t need to obsess over it just yet, not when a far more immediate threat was about to begin marching right towards her.
The Announcer resumed his place at centre stage, bringing the mic to his lips before the FAWNatics could bring themselves to calm down. “And introducing her opponent,” he cut straight to the chase, “hailing from Manchester, England, standing in at five foot four and one hundred and twenty-five pounds, the Anarchist of Anarchy, IRMA! IRONS!!”
Let the Bodies Hit the Floor
www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8-sMJZTYf0
The arena lights dropped sharply as the sound system began to whisper “let the bodies hit the floor,” before, without warning, they blazed back into renewed life as the audio itself screamed in unison. Deliberately disorientating and vindictively glaring, those watching were already forced to curse long before the instigator of their collective discomfort made herself known.
IRMA IRONS
The Dark-Haired Destroyer herself stood near immobile at the apex of the ramp, fingers fitfully spasming into clenched fists as her head remained lowered. With a sudden outburst of action, she thrust her head back and screamed, Iron’s rolling her shoulders sharply before she stormed her way down the aisle, inhaling deeply as her malicious glare burned a hole into the ring before her. Not a single f**k was given towards the FAWNatics watching as she marched towards her destination, snorting out a glob of phlegm before she reached her objective and then, without a moment’s hesitation, she ducked and rolled beneath the bottom rope.
She was back on her feet in no time, the Hardbody Lightweight refusing to acknowledge her upcoming opponent before she zeroed in on the nearest corner. She climbed to the middle turnbuckle and then, with a sh*t eating grin, she only fed the jeers of the FAWNatics further by delivering a double, one figured salute to one and all, reminding everyone that she despised them with a passion.
Clad in a black shirt and equally black shorts, the only part of the malcontents ensemble that was not deep ebony in appearance was the ‘belt’ about her waste, a chain wrapped about her hips by way of silent threat, a weapon that had been used to ill effect on more than one occasion. Suspiciously heavy-set boots THUNKED!! as she dropped back down to the canvas, grinning with far too many teeth as she revelled in the crowd’s displeasure.
Her mood, dark tempered as it already was, turned all the sourer soon enough, the Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance changing their own tune as the People’s Princess stepped up from her own corner. Iron’s turned about to meet the undaunted Sinclair at centre ring, the slighter young woman the focus of much of her frequent ire.
“Last chance, Sinclair,” Iron’s warned, tightening her fists, her shoulders rigid, “tuck tail and run.”
Sammie didn’t flinch, matching her own eyes with Irma’s. The two young, stubborn Brits would have to swim against the tide to cross the amount of bad blood there was between them. Sinclair did her utmost to appear as fearsome as possible, having to settle for being endearingly determined.
“Tell me, Iron’s,” Samantha questioned, not backing off, the Upstart Supreme defiant. “Has threatening me ever worked?”
She didn’t have an answer, not to her question, Irma working her own jaw slowly with a scowl. Finally, after a pregnant and uncomfortable pause, she pushed five words out from between her teeth. Samantha was the only one who would ever hear them, their conversation all but drowned out by the chanting of the FAWNatics, three words bellowed out in support of the People’s Princess that infuriated Irma more than any other.
“WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!! WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!! WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!!”
“You aint better than me,” the Raven-Haired Destroyer growled.
“You know what,” the Bright-Eyed Wonder jousted, not feeling overly diplomatic when it came to the Manchester Malcontent, “After everything we’ve been through, I just might be.”
“F**k you!”
“Girls,” the Official moved to intercede, encouraging the highly competitive duo to create a little distance, “not yet.”
Neither young women wanted to back off but, as his insinuation became apparent, they backpaddled just enough to create a pace of two between them, never once breaking eye contact with one another.
That was when the Cage began to descend, gears clanking ominously into life as the structure was being lowered, chains clanking one link at a time until, inevitably, the opened topped, hellish structure thudded into place, utterly surrounding all four corners of the squared circle, not leaving even an inch of room between the apron and the steel mesh.
Finally, Sammie peeked up, resisting the urge to swallow hard, her hands unconsciously clasping into fists, feeling suddenly surrounded. There was no way out of the steel structure except up and, now that she was within it’s confines, her path to victory appeared impossibly high, even for a Sparrow. There was nothing else for it, however, there was only one way to go, and so climb this mountain is what she would do, the young woman nodding to herself as she steadied her resolve.
First things first however…
The bell rang, and it was Iron’s who surged forwards, the Weaponised Wolverine going for the throat while Sammie was still looking up, the stronger brunette forcibly SHOVING Sinclair back several paces. Sinclair responded, much to the delight of the watching crowd, steadying her enforced retreat with a not overly threatening scowl, Babyfaced Dander well and truly up already as she swung a stiff, Forearm Smash!
It landed true, connecting with the side of Irma’s head and rewarding the smaller brunette with a grunt of pain, Iron’s stumbling half a pace sideways as her temple throbbed. She growled deep and low, the FAWNatics responding with a rising crescendo of their own as the Dark-Haired Destroyer recovered quickly and unleashed a wild haymaker.
It may well had taken Sinclair’s adorable little noggin clean off had she not been ready to duck low and avoid the strike entirely, darting forwards into a sprint that took her clean across the ring. Whilst the sight of rapidly approaching steel mesh before her was certainly unsettling, the Little Sparrow was not prepared to allow her change in environment to dull her resolve as she knew full well what she still could and couldn’t do, appearances to the contrary. She leapt into the ropes, turning about at the last moment to land across her back and, after the coils contorted to take the weight of her slender frame, they snapped back taunt and sent her hurtling back towards centre ring even faster than before.
Iron’s was ready to collect her, only once again Sammie was too quick, the Bright-Eyed Wonder popping her knees and, with a crowd-pleasing whoop of her own, leap frogged her way clean over the top of her increasingly frustrated rival. She landed with a bounce and, true to form, kept right on sprinting, the very image of perpetual motion as she zeroed in on the opposite ring ropes. Once again, she hit them at maximum velocity and, once again, she spring boarded back into action at even greater speed…
Which Irons had clearly had enough of as she had pursued Sinclair towards the second set of ring ropes and, while she was far too slow to keep pace, she was more than ideally placed to cut her opponent off at the pass, scooping a surprised Sammie up into her arms. Stronger by far, the Dark-Haired Destroyer spun her much lighter foe up and over in a wicked cross body press, before slamming the athletic young woman down HARD against the canvas across her back, emphatically grounding the Upstart Supreme in one swift, merciless movement.
Sammie emptied her lithe frame of air as she found herself caught between the mat and Irma’s unyielding mass, her slender stems kicking out in sympathy before she lay momentarily dormant.
Iron’s was of a mind to keep her that way, shoving the winded Sinclair up to sitting and, regardless of the protests of the FAWNatics, kneeled behind the smaller girl and slapped on a brutal sleeper! With her right arm secure about the neck of her defiant rival, Irma used her left to hold the noggin of the People’s Princess firmly in place, hissing into her ear with cruel enjoyment.
“That’s it Sinclair,” Iron’s taunted, jostling her favourite victim, “go f**cking slack.”
Forcibly lost for words, Sammie wasn’t about to say anything in counter, her freckled cheeks reddening rapidly as her right arm blindly reached out for nothing, the gold clad warrior feeling her pretty peepers fluttering as she slumped slowly, inch by precious inch, back into the grinding grasp of her opponent. This was not the first time that she had been forced to pass out by an adversary, nor did she doubt that it would be the last, her left arm already leaden by her side, limp against her thigh…
…but now was not the time to go quietly into the night!
Instead she turned her gurgle into a (a less than intimidating) growl and, with a sharp hiking of her petite, proud bosom, she clenched her grasping, right hand into a fist and SLAMMED her elbow back into the exposed ribs of her rival. Irma snarled instead of expressing pain, but Sammie would not be fooled, not when she could feel the give in her adversaries’ side. She struck again, and then a third time, the fourth elbow strike arriving in rapid succession and, after the fifth such strike with no further sign of weakening from the smaller brunette, Irma gave up on her strength sapping embrace and released Sammie from the early sleeper.
Which wasn’t to say that she was prepared to let her go, far from it, Iron’s unwilling to surrender even an ounce of room, almost immediately exchanging one suffocating embrace for another. Shoving her arms beneath the slim shoulders of the Bright Eyed Wonder, Irma forcibly clasped her palms across the back of the smaller girls’ neck, vindictively locking in a Full Nelson, one that elucidated an immediate, and heart-breaking cry of pain from the overpowered Sinclair.
With Sammie still gratefully gasping great lungsful of air, she was in little position to retaliate as her opponents’ latest hold forced both of her arms to spread out wide in cruciform, rendering them utterly impotent to defend her. Worst of all, however, was the devastating pressure being applied against the base of her neck, forcing her chin to press down against her chest, the once broken bone protesting like a burning lance.
Iron’s was well aware of the once life-threatening injury, and so she took a special joy in applying pressure in just the right places to cause her adversary misery, wrenching the hold just enough to make sure the People fully understood the anguish being experienced by their oh so precious Princess.
Practicality, however, outweighed her inherent vindictiveness as she was well aware that forcing Sinclair to capitulate was not going to accomplish anything tonight, not under the current circumstances. Instead she bodily forced the smaller young women within her grasp back up to standing, releasing her second, spirit sapping hold almost immediately afterwards.
With relief almost visibly flooding Sammie’s system, the Weaponised Wolverine spun the other brunette about and, without allowing her even a moment to regain her bearings, she grabbed the capitulating girl by the belt of her skirt and shoved the lithe young woman skywards. At the apex of Sammie’s enforced leap, Irma slipped her rough paws beneath the golden skirt of the girl in her possession and grasped her by her firm thighs, YANKING downwards to assist gravity in its work.
Iron’s followed through herself, sitting out and dropping to the canvas across her backside, positively DRIVING!! Sinclair down into the canvas with a BRUTAL Spinebuster, almost nailing her clean through the plywood.
Full Nelson into Spinebuster: @1:30
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXr6Rk7x5hQ
Sammie’s back hit the mat and the Little Sparrow found herself grounded for the second time in as many minutes, Irma clearly happy with keeping her where she could do little harm. She bounced a few inches before coming down to settle with a hollow cough, splayed out in a starfish as she moaned openly, shell shocked and at a loss for where she was. Her thighs twitched, bare against the probing paws of her long-term rival, and yet, in her stupor, she did not pull away, her hips parting open ever so slightly…
“I f**king knew it,” Iron’s lips parted into her crooked grin, showing far too many teeth as she did so. “Got a taste for it now, aint ya Bytch?”
Ordinarily, the Manchester Malcontent may well have gone for a pin there and then, feeling the touch of submission beneath her fingers as she did, but a three count wasn’t about to get her any further tonight than a tap out would have earlier. Instead she got back up, having learned from experience to be relentless against Sinclair and, with her crooked grin still in place, hopped into a vindictive knee drop, aiming to drive her pointed limb deep into the heart of her opponent.
Only for Sammie to roll aside, pretty peepers opening wide in alarm just before the miniature athlete was to be impaled, tumbling away to safety!
Iron’s own look of alarm was not so well rewarded as, with gravity proving to be a far greater bytch that even she could ever hope to be, there was to be no stopping her swift descent. Without an adorable crash pad to protect her, Irma’s knee SPIKED!! down HARD!! into plywood canvas, and her sharp shout of anguish was filled with as much frustration as it was agony.
She bounced away from the impact just as Sinclair completed her impromptu evasion and tumbled over onto her back.
As Irma physically forced her protesting limbs to stumble their way back upwards, the Bright-Eyed Wonder inhaled a deep breath, steadying her own resolve as the FAWNatics began clapping, a steady, three beat mantra that heralded the Upstart Nations March to War!! She rolled her petite body back onto her shoulders and then, with a determined shout, positively WHIPLASHED her way back up onto her feet by way of Fawn’s Favourite Kip Up!!
“Face it Iron’s,” Sammie taunted as an increasingly frustrated Irma turned face her, “when it comes to me, you’re like a dog with a squirrel!”
Suddenly she leapt, flipping herself about into a delightful hand stand and whipped her delightfully athletic right stem about like a scythe, SLAMMING!! her boot into the side of Irma’s noggin with a pitch perfect Pele Kick!
Iron’s recoiled like she had been hit by a brick, the Manchester Malcontent stumbling sideways like a drunkard and yet, as equally stubborn as one, she refused to tumble. With both of her ears ringing and an unflattering half yard of drool escaping from a momentarily slack lip, her eyes glazed back over with hatred as she stormed back into the breach.
She didn’t get far however, her vision still blurry following the last impact to her skull, and so she was almost a sitting duck as the People’s Princess, back on her feet again following a single, slick motion, connected a neat, clean and teeth cracking, European Uppercut to the bottom of her jaw!
“No matter how many times you manage to catch me,” Sammie continued to explain, stubbornly ignoring her own aches and pains. “You still don’t have a damn clue what to do about it afterwards!”
Still Iron’s wouldn’t go down, no matter how much her jaw throbbed, stumbling but not falling. She shook it off the moment her feet became steady, quite literally with a shake of her head, her bottom lip this time stained with blood. She wasn’t quite hearing everything Sinclair was saying, missing every third word or so, but she was well aware that it was nothing flattering. That only infuriated her further, that chiding tone from a ‘limp wristed bytch who’d never had to earn anything!!’ She wouldn’t have it, she wouldn’t stand for it, not now, not ever!!
Gritting her bloodied teeth, Iron’s forgo all sense of reason and roared as she charged, her temper well and truly off the leash now, with nothing to stop her!
Nothing, that is, save a sweet little Sammie Kick straight to her unprotected midriff, Sinclair spinning about and, weaponizing her athletic stem, DROVE!! The sole of her boot deep into the other brunettes’ abs! As the immediately winded Irons folded forwards with a deep exhale of air, the Legionnaires in attendance erupted in cheers, willing the Upstart Supreme to ride her momentum as only the best Babyfaces could.
Sinclair was hardly one to argue with the People and so, with Irma teetering and momentarily immobilised, the smaller brunette set off for the set of ring hopes sitting at a right angle to her opponent. Throwing herself into the cables, she was faithfully recoiled back towards her original target and then, at the last moment, she popped herself up into a leap, landing briefly on her rival’s folded back. She had no intention of hanging around, this time turning her left leg into a scythe, allowing gravity to assist her in bringing her stem down like a reaper!
The back of her descending thigh WHACKED!! Across the back of her rival’s noggin, continuing to knock that particular braincase senseless and, as she dropped down to the mat upon her pert buttocks, Iron’s was FINALLY brought tumbling down to the canvas as well, dropping front first against the barely yielding plywood.
SAMMIE’S PEDESTAL: @8:25
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsipdPIYW8g
“You know it’s true, Iron’s,” Sammie went on to educate without even a single hint condescension in her tone, however much she disliked her fellow Brit, shoving the groaning Manchester Malcontent over onto her back (with no small amount of effort it turned out). She spared a quick glance between the top of the cage and her opponent, quickly deducing that she wouldn’t have time to escape before her foe recovered.
“You’ve beaten me before, more than once,” Sammie was not too proud to admit, quickly getting back up before hopping into a skip that swiftly turned into a renewed sprint, driving her back towards the waiting ropes. This time, however, she did not throw herself into them as though they were the arms of a loved one, instead she leapt forwards, landing upon the middle coil and then, as it snapped taunt as it always would, Sinclair was LAUNCHED skywards. Arcing at just the right moment, the Little Sparrow spun her wonderfully athletic frame about in a beautiful backflip, one that could only come to an end with her slim, trim tummy and all of her one-hundred-and-ten-pound SPLASHING! her grounded opponent’s exposed midriff.
Irma’s compact, powerful frame was forcibly emptied of air scarcely a minute after it had only just been refilled, the Dark-Haired Destroyer both coughing and heaving after her muscle packed stems both kicked up and then out in recoil from the impact.
Sammie popped back up onto her knees, feeling a little winded herself but looking noticeably better than her opponent, sparing a quick wave for the appreciative audience after she unconsciously ran a hand through her hair. “Almost fair and square even,” she continued her examination as if there had been no interruption, “You’d won, you beat me, one on one, you proved whatever point it was you were trying to prove, and yet, here we are, at it again. Why?”
Sinclair exhaled deeply before putting her hands on the canvas and pushing herself up, soon collecting Irma along the way to shove her back up onto her knees. “You know what I think?” she questioned the other brunettes blank eyed stare, “I think you can’t let it go. I think you can’t let me go. I think your obsessed with the idea of beating me, but you have absolutely no idea what to do about it afterwards. I think I’m living in your head Iron’s, and I think I’m living there rent free.”
With Irma suitably positioned, murmuring some manner of something incomprehensible, Sammie hopped into yet another run, the FAWNatics joining her with a cheer, positively whooping as she turned into the coils at full pelt. She returned like a bullet, which was more or less what she wanted, leaping at the last minute and, with her right stem bent upwards, SLAMMED her pointed knee into the waiting jaw of her adversary!
The blistering ‘Golden Wizard’ snapped Irma’s head in a sharp half circle, the rest of her compact frame quickly following soon after, the Dark-Haired Destroyed teetering before flopping to the canvas, her cheek pressed down against a pool of her own saliva. She stayed there, face first against the mat, her eyes rolling backwards as her buttocks twitched.
Sammie didn’t stop to observe her handiwork, her eye on the prize as always, the young woman with the bouncing curls continuing her run until she reached the second set of ring ropes. She jumped, landing on the middle coil with practiced motion, only this time when they snapped taunt her lithe physique was propelled straight upwards. Sinclair cleared the rest of the ropes with, seemingly, the greatest of ease, Sammie all but bunny hopping her way to clasp a pair of dexterous handholds onto the wall of the Steel Cage!
The Legionnaires raised the volume of their chants as the Bright-Eyed Wonder began her climb to freedom, one handhold after another taking her closer to the top. She didn’t get overly far however, not as a distinctive groan caught her attention, the unmistakeable growl of Iron’s coming from the ring. Sammie spied a quick look over her shoulder and repressed a frustrated sigh, Irma already on her hands and knees and bullishly rising, the Brit reminded all to well just how damn swiftly her fellow countrywoman could recover.
It didn’t take her long to weigh her options in her noggin and, even with the FAWNatics urging her to keep climbing, the little brunette didn’t believe she could leave it to chance. Irma was already almost upright, and she was far too damn dangerous to leave that way, even for a moment.
Momentum was the key, she decided, and so with a leap of daring agility the miniature brunette kicked her way off of the cage wall and, with deft precision, landed with both of her feet on the waiting top coil. Using the most precarious strand of all, Sammie spring boarded her way back towards her woozy Rival to…
Iron’s caught Sinclair straight out of the air, the Weaponised Wolverine screaming as she plucked the Little Sparrow from the sky, strapping the smaller young woman across her shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry. She kept her aloft just long enough for the panicked brunette to try and wiggle free and, more importantly, to turn in a small half circle just so that Legionnaires could see the sh*t she was now in.
Shrugging her shoulders with another shout, the resurgent Irma shoved upwards against her opponent’s captive thigh, forcing Sammie’s lower body to flip up and over, her skirt sliding down to reveal her firm buttocks, just as Iron’s also threw herself to the mat! She SPIKED!! the People’s Princess into the canvas right on top of her neck and shoulders, the young woman bouncing and convulsing as the momentum of the match was ripped away from her.
SPRINGBOARD INTERCEPTION INTO IRON VALLEY DRIVER: @2:21
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsipdPIYW8g
Upstart Supreme or not, Sammie Sinclair was fit to be pinned there and then as she puddled across the canvas, the small of her back spasming in sympathy for her neck, Iron’s dragging herself over the top of the smaller girl and breathing heavily as if to prove a point. In truth, was still in the process of shaking off her own cobwebs and so, as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, one palm shoving down HARD against the trim tummy of her despised Rival, Sinclair groaning and tensing in response, it took a few moments to acknowledge the ‘good news’.
When her vision cleared enough to see the wreckage of the athletic brunette splayed out before her, ripe for the taking, her crooked grin was soon plastered across her features. With her teeth stained red with her own blood, she pushed herself back up onto one knee and grabbed a full handful of her opponent’s hair in the process, a deep, throaty and dangerous growl rippling upwards from her torso.
“I’m not a dog, Sinclair,” Iron’s all but spat as she dragged the Bright-Eyed Wonder up onto her feet by her own mane, no chance of a reprimand coming tonight. She was exhaling deeply, controlling her breathing, reigning her volatile temper back in, which made her all the more dangerous.
“But I am a pure breed, mother f**king BYTCH!!” she screamed the last word, seizing the weak-kneed Sammie by her belt and, with that shout, HURLED!! her head first into the Steel Cage! Sinclair recoiled from the sickening impact, the mesh itself scarcely moving, her limbs turned to jelly as she spun about and flopped into Iron’s unforgiving embrace.
“But you’re right,” she conceded, her grin still as vicious as ever as she jostled the punch-drunk Upstart Supreme, the Manchester Malcontent holding her up before folding her forwards, securing a standing Headscissors.
“I am obsessed with you,” Irma got the confession off of her chest, leaning forwards to wrap her arms about the smaller brunettes shivering tummy. With what appeared to be not a great deal of effort, Irons ripped her opponent off of her feet, spun her about and brought her up to a stalling seat upon the strong shoulders of the Dark-Haired Destroyer, the girls head and arms drooping forwards, her peepers glazy and half lidded.
“Which means,” Iron’s grin grew wider still before, with a shout, she began charging forwards, the FAWNatics crying out in alarm!! “Ripping yer f**cking throat out aint never getting old!!”
At the climax of her charge, the black clad brawler crossing almost the entirety of the squared girl, she positively roared as she released her cargo, THROWING her back first into the opposite wall of the Steel Cage, the SMACK!! of an all too fragile body colliding with an unyielding object echoing around the arena, along with Samantha Sinclair’s cry!
The People’s Princess dropped, for lack of a better word, falling like a sack of bricks and, were it not for the ring ropes, she would have fallen flat against the apron. Instead her swift plummet ended with a sudden and whiplash collision with the top coil, Sammie finding her arms entangled and draped forwards over that same rope, the young woman hanging leaden and groaning.
Iron’s was there without a moment’s hesitation, rolling her shoulders in anticipation and, just as it looked as though Sinclair was about to start untangling herself, Irma was there to put a stop to it. Grabbing the back of Sammie’s head with both hands, she immediately began to push down, driving the smaller brunettes throat down HARD over the top coil, exerting enough force to choke her out.
Sinclair’s petite physique stiffened from head to toe as she was being throttled by the ring rope, her right leg sporadically kicking out with short, sharp spasms as her freckled cheeks flushed a fierce crimson. She struggled pitifully to get away, but to no avail, her lips parting slightly as she sputtered and gagged.
“What was that?” the Dark-Haired Destroyer pulled back slightly, revelling in the jeers of the FAWNatics as they screamed bloody murder, “Something to say, Sinclair? Something pithy? Something irritating to the f**king core?”
Iron’s released her choke hold, genuinely curious, grabbing her Rival by her proud mane and jerking her head up, forcing the wheezing, blank eyed Sinclair to look into her face. The Bright-Eyed Wonder tried to answer, but she couldn’t get the words out, her lips only able to form hoarse whispers.
“Come on, Sinclair!” Irma demanded, pulling in the girl’s hair sharply, bulling into her personal space as though she owned it, the duo almost nose to nose. “Speak up, Bytch! These f**ktards can’t f**king hear you!”
Sammie opened her lips to try again, only for the words to go unsaid, the People’s Princess instead relying on her actions to speak for her. With reserves of energy only possessed by the most Babyfaced of competitors, Sinclair forced herself to stand upright, if only briefly, and wrap her hands about the back of her tormentor’s head.
Suddenly she dropped and, with Irma unprepared to take her bodyweight, the Manchester Malcontent was YANKED!! forwards right along with her, her throat brought WHIPPING!! down upon the top rope, momentarily experiencing a taste of her own medicine! It was enough to send her into a fit of wild gagging as she was propelled away from her would be victim, sent stumbling off into the ring as she massaged her savaged neck, her eyes wide with mounting fury.
She turned about with a dangerous muttering, intent on seeking immediate retribution, only to find that Sammie had no intention of going along with that! Instead the Little Sparrow embraced her adrenaline and, after popping her way up onto the top rope, used that uppermost coil to springboard her way back into the ring. She unleashed a (not exactly as threatening) war cry of her own as the FAWNatics watching erupted into cheers, the miniature brunette bringing back her back fist before she threw it forwards!
Assisted by both gravity and velocity, Sinclair’s blistering right hook connected with a great deal more force than it had any right to, the ‘Sammie Strike’ connecting with Irma’s unprotected cheek and driving the stronger brunette down onto her knees!
While Iron’s landed with a THUNK!! Sammie landed far more gracefully, tucking into a crowd pleasing, forward roll as she contacted the canvas. She was up on her feet again in no time, bulling through her own aches and pains as she turned rapidly about, her skirt billowing about her hips as she completed the photogenic spiral, her still crimson cheeks set with adorable determination.
“What I was trying to say, Iron’s,” she explained as she advanced quickly, trying to ignore the shimmy in her knees before leaning forwards in front of her kneeling adversary, smirking in cheeky fashion as she tapped the tip of her index finger against Irma’s nose, “was Boop!”
The bleary-eyed malcontent responded with the beginnings of a guttural growl which was clearly about to be a threat, only for Sammie to decide that she was not impressed with such fowl language. She spun rapidly on the spot before Iron’s could fully form her first curse, extending out her right stem at the same time and, just as she came back to front, SMACKED!! the sole her boot clean against the right cheek of her foe, all but slapping the taste clean out of her mouth!
The spinning Sammie Kick struck square and true and Irma would know very little about it until she watched the replays later, the Weaponised Wolverine puddling to the deck like a deboned fish. The People found their voices as they cheered their Princess on, several in attendance imploring with her to begin climbing the cage again right now!
They had a point, she could admit, that was after all how one went about winning this particular contest, but she wasn’t quite convinced that Irma was down for good. A quandary that could be quickly fixed however as, with Sammie stood beside the splayed-out Iron’s, she pleased the Gladiatrix photographers all around the ring no end by suddenly lifting one of her delightfully athletic stems up in a standing splits! The FAWNatics voiced their collective appreciation as well (more than a few of the calls not exactly PG-13 appropriate), before she dropped down rapidly, DRIVING one firm thigh across her opponents heaving bosom with a THUD!
Irma convulsed and sputtered with a deep exhale of air as the oxygen was forcibly driven from her body, both of her own legs kicking out before buckling, the violent Brit groaning in pain.
“Ok Iron’s, now do us all a favour,” Sammie requested with unsurprising sincerity, the words spilling from her weary lips as if she were conversing with an old friend. “For once, just stay where I leave you.”
Irma didn’t answer, far too winded to manage it, and yet somehow, she still managed to crease her features into a scowl.
Sammie opted to take that as a positive, wearily nodding to herself over so slightly as she pushed herself back up onto her feet, leaving the Manchester Malcontent behind her. She reached the corner turnbuckle quickly enough, pausing only before she started her climb, pain flaring at the base of her shoulders, an always worrisome occurrence. Inhaling a deep, reassuring breath, she began her ascent of Everest, using the turnbuckles to set her on her way.
Pulling herself up one after the other, the FAWNatics willing her own, Sinclair reached the top of what was usually the highest part of the ring before she leaned forwards and grasped her first-hand hold of the cage itself. It was then, with a barely repressed sigh of irritation, that she could hear Iron’s stirring on the canvas, spitting and cursing as she did so.
Sammie peeked a look over her slender shoulder and, while the Legionnaires once again pleaded with her continue, she just couldn’t afford to leave the Weaponised Wolverine on her blindside. She was too damn dangerous…
Swiftly smothering any sense of mounting frustration before it could find purchase, Sammie quickly turned herself about and, before Iron’s could fully scrape herself off the mat, suddenly launched herself into the air from the top turnbuckle!
Despite their very own protests mere heartbeats earlier, the Legionnaire’s still couldn’t help but gasp in appreciation as the Bright-Eyed Wonder took to the air, tucking into a full, forward sault before spreading out and leading with her elbow, driving her joint down HARD over the heart of the Dark-Haired Destroyer!!
TOP TURNBUCKLE, FORWARD SAULT ELBOW SPLASH: @007
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsipdPIYW8g
Irma’s mouth sprung open in a silent exhale before she sat up involuntarily, responding as though Sinclair had SHOCKED her with a crash cart. The stronger brunette toppled back over onto her side with a broken curse, her back spasming in sympathy before she continued rolling, finally coming to a stop on one side, her breathing laboured.
Sammie, for her own part, was not as quick to get back up herself as people would have liked, the high-flying maneuverer seeming to take a great deal out her already battered frame as well. Get up, however, is what she did, sighing deeply as she did so with a briefly pained expression, cradling her own joint as she flexed out her previously weaponised arm.
She raised her hands up high and started clapping, a familiar, three beat mantra, one that was taken up by every Legionnaire in attendance, their faith filling her with confidence.
“Do you hear that, Iron’s?” she queried with the smallest of cheeky smirks as she made her way over to her fallen Rival. “That’s the sound of me kicking your ass.”
“Fu… f**k you…” Irma managed to spit out after several minutes of trying to vocalise anything at all, the Manchester Malcontent heaving as she tried to force her way out of her own, foetal ball. Her curses once again returned to being indecipherable as Sammie began lending her a help hand, the gold clad athlete peeling the stronger brunette off the deck.
Suddenly she lashed out, screaming bloody murder the moment she was upright on her knees, and viciously SLAMMED!! her forearm up between the open thighs of her opponent, her limb DRIVEN deep into the unprotected sex of Sinclair!!
With her bright eyes opening wide, the People’s Princess opened her mouth to cry out, and yet no sound would emerge for her to do so, her whole body recoiling from the impact with a single, sharp spasm before she went limp all over, the young women jolted up onto her tip toes before she started to collapse. Irma was there to catch her, rising even as Sinclair was falling, showing far too many teeth as she jostled the smaller brunette up across her shoulders as though she were no burden at all.
“This is the sound of me owning yours,” Iron’s taunted, powering up onto her feet and securing her perfectly petite cargo by way of Fireman’s Carry. The Upstart Supreme did not protest, paralysed as she was from tippy toe to button nose, hanging loose across her adversaries’ shoulders, not even as she was displayed a trophy to the watching masses.
Irma found the centre of the ring and, satisfied that she had made point, shoved up against her shackled opponents captured thigh to launch the young women’s lower body skywards, arcing her nubile frame up and over into a precarious position. Scarcely a heartbeat later, Iron’s dropped down the canvas and BURIED!! Sinclair’s neck and shoulders into the deck, nailing the People’s Princess with a second Iron Valley Driver in one night!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxT9JhZk1lc
Sammie’s grunt of pain was hollow as the recoil from the big impact popped her miniature mass right back up to sitting, where she remained with her head slumped forwards, her slender shoulders slack. She teetered over onto her side with a less than graceful bump, her lithe, right stem kicking out with fitful spasms.
Iron’s was already back up onto her knees, the pain of her opponent filling her with vigour, and she wiped the back of her hand across her lips, breathing heavily all the while. Looking at the streak of her own blood left behind on her paw, Irma could only summon a dark scowl.
“F**king Bytch,” she spat out a glob of something that look unhealthy as she shoved her way back up to standing, the Hardbody Lightweight towering over the grounded Little Sparrow. “Get up!” she demanded, circling Sinclair as though she were wounded prey. “I know you aint done Bytch,” she insisted with a blood-stained snarl, watching the young women slump over onto her back, “GET UP!!”
As if willed on by an instinct that was primordial, Sammie began to do precisely that as she shoved up her right shoulder with a sharp spasm. If this were any other night and Irma had gone straight in for a Pinfall, that would have proven to be Sinclair’s last second escape, as it was, instead, it was merely the beginning of her attempt to get back up.
“That’s it,” Irma snarled as her grin turned toothy, the Manchester Malcontent leaning forwards as she were a bull in sight of red, her building anticipation almost palpable. “There we are, like a good little f**kwit!”
She waited, scarcely containing herself as the smaller, young women before her groaned over onto her front, visibly struggling to get up onto her hands and knees, seemingly oblivious to the warnings being cried out by the FAWNatics. With limbs shaking, Sinclair managed to push herself upwards off the mat…
And Iron’s charged right in, closing the distance with terrifying swiftness as she zeroed in her target, screaming as, at the last moment, she swept her right leg forwards in a vicious kick!! With all of the might she could summon, the Dark-Haired Destroyer PUNTED!! the steel toecaps of her heavy-duty footwear deep into the trim tummy of the Bright-Eyed Wonder with enough force to almost LAUNCH her off the mat!
Sinclair did expel every single ounce of air from her perfectly petite body as she was gutted by the single strike, jolting upwards onto her knees as she grimaced in misery, the entirety of her pained body shivering in sympathy. She slumped back on her haunches, cradling her abused midriff, her petite bosom rising in sharp spikes as she struggled to restart breathing.
“You know what really pisses me off about this place?” Irma stated as she reached to her belt, the FAWNatics responding with shouts of concern as she grabbed the chain wrapped about her waist before she yanked it free. With a flick of her wrist she grasped the weapon lightly, the links digging into her knuckles as she pulled it as taunt as she could.
“I get f**king reprimanded every time I start a fight,” Iron’s went on to curse as she reached out with her free hand and grasped a fierce handhold of her opponent’s brunette’s mane. Sammie winced but did not otherwise protest as her head was pulled back sharply, yanking her neck into a painful arch. She tried to lift her arms, but nothing happened, the Upstart Supreme evidently spent.
Iron’s scowled down into the half-lidded features of the freckled, Bright-Eyed Wonder, before she pulled back her right arm and PLANTED!! a BRUTAL chain wrapped fist into exposed noggin of her hated adversary, the ‘Iron Fist’ doing its job with vicious finality. The smaller Brit went down to the canvas as though she had been shot, lying there without a reflective spasm, her petite body barely moving.
Iron’s looked down at her work with dark satisfaction and then, after tipping the young women over onto her back, PLANETED her boot down onto Sinclair’s pert bosom, pinning the People’s Princess to the canvas. While it counted for nothing in the history books tonight, the Weaponised Wolverine held out her arms wide in mocking statement, the FAWNatics counting silently as solidified her point…
One.
Two.
Three.
…and on into infinity it seemed, Samantha Sinclair unable to kick out.
Satisfied that there could be no arguments as soon as the evening was out, Irma stepped off her submissive perch and uncoiled her steel chain, marching until she reached the lithe legs of her Rival. Grabbing one of those athletic stems, she lifted the dead weight up off the canvas, regardless of the protests from those watching, she wrapped her weapon about the ankle of the Upstart Supreme, leaving enough of the length free to act as a leash, clearing harbouring intentions to drag her opponent away later as though she were a Cavewoman.
For the time being, Iron’s let Sammie leg drop free to the canvas and, after rolling her strong shoulders, she marched on over to the cage wall. She reached it after stepping between the top and middle ropes, her fingers grasping the steel mesh before, with a victorious shout, she began the long climb.
Far from being the nimblest of warriors, Irma’s ascent up the wall was far from rapid, one handhold after the next, and yet it was relentless. Like the coming of the tide, regardless of how much the Legionnaires willed it to be otherwise, the progress to the top was inevitable. So intent was she however, on her looming objective, that she failed to notice the change in tenor from those watching, until the cry of someone else caught her attention.
“IROOOOOONS!!” Samantha Sinclair shouted from the canvas, having rolled over onto her front and breathing heavily, the bleary-eyed Brit otherwise a puddle of pain. Never the less, the miniature brunette looked up from the mat, appearing as determined as she was able, defiant until the last.
“I’m still breathing!!”
Incredulous, Irma halted her own ascent, the Dark-Eyed Destroyer perched halfway up the cage as she looked back over her own shoulder. Her features twisted into a snarl and then fury… before contorting into dark amusement. “So f**king what Bytch?” she mocked from her superior position. “What f**king good is it gonna do ya?”
Dismissing Sinclair’s implied challenge in favour of victory, Irma continued her ascent, leaving her adversary behind her.
Sammie, every single fibre of her petite frame begging for her to give up, scrunched up her button nose with Babyfaced Dander as it became obvious that Irma was going to ignore her, refusing to take the bait, releasing a small huff as the revelation dawned. As much as her body didn’t want to, Sinclair inhaled a deep breath and, with the FAWNatics watching, she cried out with exertion simply to scrape herself off the mat.
With a second-deep breath she stumbled towards the turnbuckles, the Legionnaires uncertain of how hopeful they should be, especially as the Bright-Eyed Wonder almost collided chest first with the ring post. Instead, with their support, the petite Brit was able to steady her weak knees and then, with a will honed through adversity, she began to climb, soon scaling the side of the steel cage behind her foe.
As nimble as she was in comparison to her equally weary adversary, it just didn’t seem as though that this was a race that she could win, regardless how much the Legionnaires might want to believe otherwise. It was a truth abundantly clear to both competitors, Iron’s sitting at the top whilst Sinclair has scarcely managed to scale halfway, the Dark-Haired Destroyer looking down at her opponent with grim amusement.
“Fucking loser,” Iron’s derided from her perch, the hard part of her escape from the steel structure now well and truly done. She watched her adversary struggle to catch up, her shoulders quivering with exertion, freckled cheeks bright and flustered, Irma shaking her head at the sight.
“This is f**king embarrassing,” the Manchester Malcontent dismissed as she swung herself off of her perch and began her descent towards the concrete below.
Sammie wasn’t listening, she couldn’t even if she wanted to, the blood pounding in her ears as she reached for one handhold after another. Finally, perhaps inevitably, she reached the top, the Upstart Supreme finding the peak of Everest, and almost collapsing from exhaustion atop it.
Her heart sank almost immediately as she looked down, Iron’s looking back up at her barely ten feet above the ground, surely no more than a few moments away from victory. Irma looked up at her with a shit eating grin, mocking her with how fruitless all of her efforts had proven to be.
“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO NOW, SINCLAIR!?” Iron’s taunted, hanging from the side of the cage.
For her own part, Sammie closed her eyes and sighed, feeling utterly fatigued.
“Something stupid,” she replied, scarcely above her whisper, closing her eyes…
…before leaping from the top of the steel cage.
She fell like a brick, the entire arena falling silent as Samantha Sinclair plummeted from the sky, free falling from the ridiculously high structure and aiming for another. Several thousand people GASPED!! in unison as her descent ended as quickly as it began, the People’s Princess CRASHING!! through an Announce Table which shattered beneath the impact.
For several seconds pandemonium reigned, thousands of concerned people straining for a better look as the poor Spanish Announcement Team scattered for safety, the Official and several others rapidly moving in to check on the Upstart Supreme.
Iron’s, still clinging to the side of the cage, could only hang there was she had watched the insane dive unfold along with everyone else, simply dumbfounded into inaction. She didn’t know how to feel, and so she felt nothing, still struggling to process what had just happened.
Suddenly the Official popped up from the wreckage of the Announce Table, immediately displaying an odd sense of priorities as he waved his hands franticly at the Time Keeper.
“BOTH HER FEET TOUCHED THE GROUND!! he yelled, desperate to be heard over the crowd and beside the barely moving, Samantha Sinclair. “BOTH HER FEET TOUCHED THE GROUND!!”
Taking his cue, the Timekeeper rang the bell, and the outcome of the match was made Official.
“The winner of this contest, after both of her feet touched the ground before her opponent, the People’s Princess, SAMANTHA! SINCLAIR!!”
“What?” Iron’s muttered almost absently, still hanging from the side of the cage, “WHAT?”
She finally dropped, confused, irate beyond belief, struggling to process what she was supposed to be doing with this information now that there was no escaping it.
Meanwhile, a camera man had moved in to join the EMT’s converging on the ‘crash site’ and, up on the FAWNTRON, the Legionnaires could see, however painfully, that the Upstart Supreme was moving, although it didn’t look like she would be getting up under her own power anytime soon.
It was enough however, in conjunction with the news that the Bright-Eyed Wonder had secured victory, that they erupted into cheers, none of them quite believing that they had been here to witness such a daring (and extremely stupid) feat!!
Those same cheers were undercut by a growing current of concern as Irma Irons continued to loiter at the scene, the Weaponised Wolverine pacing back and forth, her increasingly incensed glare never leaving the defenceless frame of her fellow Brit. Those concerns, however, evaporated almost immediately as additional activity erupted on the stage, a duo of beloved Lightweight’s bursting through the curtains and sprinting down to the ringside at breakneck speeds.
Jaime London and Chloe Fields (with StrawBeary in hand), the resident red heads of the Upstart Nation could not have travelled faster on their way down from backstage, the FAWNatics more than grateful for the arrival, and always pleased to see them. Close behind came the Suplex Machine, Wendy Smith, the PA Powerhouse almost bowling the cameraman out of her way in her efforts to reach Samantha’s side!
JAIME LONDON
CHLOE FIELDS
WENDY SMITH
No-one could quite hear what she was saying, but concern was clearly writ across her features as the dazed Sinclair was assisted in sitting up. Chloe remained close to the duo as the medics did their job, StrawBeary ‘assisting’ by providing lookout while Jaime London narrowed her gaze, and in a flare of temper, took a far more direct approach in securing the perimeter.
With Irma seemingly having gotten over her state off shock, she made a sudden movement towards the gathering, her fingers clenching into fists, her shoulders rippling with frustration.
“Back up Irons!!” Jaime warned, her own dander up as she cut the Dark-Haired Destroyer off at the pass, one Manchester lass blocking off the other. “You can just back right the HELL UP!!”
“Or what, Fake London?” the Malcontent scowled, staring down the smaller Lightweight, a palpable sense of threat bleeding from off her body.
“Or you’ll find out what it’s like to have my boot shoved right up your arse!” Jaime warned, the miniature Lightweight utterly undaunted.
Iron’s didn’t respond, not verbally, her body language otherwise screaming. She glared down at Jamie, the two girls chesting up, Irma almost visibly shaking in fury from head to toe. Finally, she relented, reluctantly backing up half a step as she reigned in her temper, snorting in irritation as she did so.
“Next time, London,” Iron’s warned, her tone dangerous and low.
“Count on it,” Jaime agreed, her own posture ready to go at a moments notice, unwavering even as Irma withdrew.
With the Malcontent retreating, Sinclair was free to recover in peace, growing increasingly coherent with each passing minute, trying her best to at least look a little bit contrite as she was being scolded by a distraught looking Wendy.
Helped up onto her feet by the Suplex Machine, who was taking the majority of it without a great deal of effort, the intensely fatigued and incredibly relieved Sinclair raised up hand to acknowledge the Legionnaires in attendance, those same thousands roaring back in approval.
“I was right,” she commented almost idly before wincing in visible pain.
“About what?” Chloe piped up, genuinely curious.
“That was a really stupid idea…”
Jaime London was nothing short of irate, pacing back and forth across the locker room of FAWN’s most Babyface of Factions, the Upstart Nation. “You’re doing this on purpose,” she insisted, the little redhead wrought with concern for her friend, “I know you are, on purpose.”
JAIME LONDON
For her own part, Samantha Sinclair let her vent, knowing full well that it was fruitless to do otherwise, focusing instead on lacing up the front of her second boot. Even this far from the arena floor, they could both hear the highs and lows of the crowd cheering the highs and lows of the current match taking place, Sammie feeling the reverberations through the soles of her feet, the trepidation building in her trim tummy.
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
“Iron’s wants to cripple you,” Jaime stopped, standing before the brunette with both of arms folded, “everyone knows this. She wants to cripple you, and this time, it might stick.”
Sammie paused, releasing the smallest sigh, subconsciously and gently rubbing the back of her slim neck, an ever-present reminder of how close she had come to living her life in a wheelchair. “I know.”
“You know?” Jaime exclaimed in exasperation.
“Jaime,” Sammie exhaled sharply, looking up at her friend with a disarming smile, “I got this ok, you know that I can do this.”
Baby London opened her mouth to protest one final time before audibly groaning, rolling her eyes before sitting down beside Sinclair in a huff. It didn’t take long for the two allies, both inheritors of proud legacies, to link arms with a familiarity that only friends could. Jaime sighed again, wracked with concern, “Someone has to tell you when you’re doing something stupid.”
“And you do it so well,” Sammie smirked, feeling genuine affection for her comrade.
“Damn right I do,” Jaime nodded, the duo settling down before the stage hand would arrive to notify Sinclair that they were ready for her coming contest. They remained silent for a time, comfortable in each other’s company, Sammie finding her centre in the calm.
“I’m going to kick her ass,” Sinclair declared, her tone filled with quite conviction.
“Damn straight!” Jaime agreed without a moment’s hesitation, a smirk spreading across her features, one hundred percent behind the Upstart Supreme. “Across every, single inch of that damn cage. World’s Best Brit.”
“World’s Best Brits,” Samantha immediately amended, squeezing her friends’ hand tightly.
Sinclair didn’t notice the hesitation that was to follow, her mind on far more pressing issues, the cage to come forming in her mind’s eye.
“...Sure.”
**********
Arena…
A relatively sombre mood fell over the arena as the card quickly approached a long-anticipated event, many in attendance daring to dart a glance or two upwards towards the rafters, an ominous structure waiting to descend. Some swallowed, many whispered, and all awaited the upcoming collision with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. No-one was quite sure what they should be feeling, only that they wouldn’t be able to keep it in much longer…
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer came to centre stage, bringing the matter to a head. “The following contest will be a Cage Match!!”
He paused for effect, a ripple of anticipation bleeding from off the waiting FAWNatics.
“No Pinfalls, No Submissions, No Disqualifications. The only path to victory is to scale the sides of this hellish structure and to escape to the outside of the ring, the winner being the first women to have both of her feet touch the floor. Introducing first…”
That was when the Legionnaires in attendance found their voice, chanting now in anticipation, their shared love for the upcoming competitor overriding any sense of worry or concern.
“Hailing from Nottingham, England and standing in at 5’ 4” and one hundred and ten pounds, she is the People’s Princess, SAMANTHA!! SINCLAIR!!!”
GOOD TIME
www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_56H2DJct0
The moment Samantha Sinclair appeared on stage, that was when the FAWNatics truly lost their sh*t, the Leader of the Upstart Nation standing as tall as her perfectly petite mass would allow her, catching the light in all the right places as she whipped both her arms up high and waved. Five foot four and one hundred and ten pounds of athletically sculptured, miniature might, Sammie Sinclair was every inch the People’s Princess as she cheered back, shimmering in her golden/yellow attire with her dimple, freckled cheeks flushing a delightful shade of crimson.
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
Sporting her ever familiar ensemble, family colours bright and on show, Sinclair’s identity was impossible to confuse. Her sports bra, smoothly curved about her small, proud bosom left her softly sculptured tummy bare and her upraised arms the same way. About her hips snugly sat a short skirt which, with a generous slit running up the right side, revealed a wonderful shot of her firm thigh as the baby brown eyed darling hopped up onto her tip toes and spiralled. Her boots were a bright blue and reached upwards to just beneath her knees, tanned from firm leather and sporting lacing right up the front.
With the flourish of her spiral completed, the People’s Princess set her feet apart and kept her fingers wiggling heavenwards, nodding to her followers with a knowing smirk just before she lead them in her usual declaration of intent, a three beat mantra that the Legionnaires watching were always a part of. Once they were ready, she brought her hands together...
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
With her statement of intent made clear she pointed directly towards the squared circle, a hearty explosion of pyrokinetics erupting to either side of the stage that she was standing on. Samantha Sinclair was here and, with a joy induced skip she headed down the aisle at a swift sprint, the second generation superstar with chocolate curls bouncing free about her slender shoulders now a little older, a little wiser and a worthy inheritor of her Father’s legacy. The girl was now a young woman, and she was looking all the bolder for it.
Fearless? Perhaps not, but nerve?
She most defiantly had nerve.
The moment Sinclair reached the squared circle, a deft run, skip and jump took her clean up onto the apron. Grasping the top coil with both of her hands, the Bright-Eyed Wonder leaned back and, following a cheeky shake her pert buttocks, she shot right up and over the top rope with an applause worthy sault.
Landing lightly on her feet and clapping once more, she headed on over to the farthest corner before turning to lean backwards into the turnbuckles. She stayed there for a moment, resisting the urge to turn her own eyes skywards, resisting with every ounce of will that she possessed the urge to begin exhaling with nervous energy. She would be seeing that structure up close and personal soon enough, she didn’t need to obsess over it just yet, not when a far more immediate threat was about to begin marching right towards her.
The Announcer resumed his place at centre stage, bringing the mic to his lips before the FAWNatics could bring themselves to calm down. “And introducing her opponent,” he cut straight to the chase, “hailing from Manchester, England, standing in at five foot four and one hundred and twenty-five pounds, the Anarchist of Anarchy, IRMA! IRONS!!”
Let the Bodies Hit the Floor
www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8-sMJZTYf0
The arena lights dropped sharply as the sound system began to whisper “let the bodies hit the floor,” before, without warning, they blazed back into renewed life as the audio itself screamed in unison. Deliberately disorientating and vindictively glaring, those watching were already forced to curse long before the instigator of their collective discomfort made herself known.
IRMA IRONS
The Dark-Haired Destroyer herself stood near immobile at the apex of the ramp, fingers fitfully spasming into clenched fists as her head remained lowered. With a sudden outburst of action, she thrust her head back and screamed, Iron’s rolling her shoulders sharply before she stormed her way down the aisle, inhaling deeply as her malicious glare burned a hole into the ring before her. Not a single f**k was given towards the FAWNatics watching as she marched towards her destination, snorting out a glob of phlegm before she reached her objective and then, without a moment’s hesitation, she ducked and rolled beneath the bottom rope.
She was back on her feet in no time, the Hardbody Lightweight refusing to acknowledge her upcoming opponent before she zeroed in on the nearest corner. She climbed to the middle turnbuckle and then, with a sh*t eating grin, she only fed the jeers of the FAWNatics further by delivering a double, one figured salute to one and all, reminding everyone that she despised them with a passion.
Clad in a black shirt and equally black shorts, the only part of the malcontents ensemble that was not deep ebony in appearance was the ‘belt’ about her waste, a chain wrapped about her hips by way of silent threat, a weapon that had been used to ill effect on more than one occasion. Suspiciously heavy-set boots THUNKED!! as she dropped back down to the canvas, grinning with far too many teeth as she revelled in the crowd’s displeasure.
Her mood, dark tempered as it already was, turned all the sourer soon enough, the Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance changing their own tune as the People’s Princess stepped up from her own corner. Iron’s turned about to meet the undaunted Sinclair at centre ring, the slighter young woman the focus of much of her frequent ire.
“Last chance, Sinclair,” Iron’s warned, tightening her fists, her shoulders rigid, “tuck tail and run.”
Sammie didn’t flinch, matching her own eyes with Irma’s. The two young, stubborn Brits would have to swim against the tide to cross the amount of bad blood there was between them. Sinclair did her utmost to appear as fearsome as possible, having to settle for being endearingly determined.
“Tell me, Iron’s,” Samantha questioned, not backing off, the Upstart Supreme defiant. “Has threatening me ever worked?”
She didn’t have an answer, not to her question, Irma working her own jaw slowly with a scowl. Finally, after a pregnant and uncomfortable pause, she pushed five words out from between her teeth. Samantha was the only one who would ever hear them, their conversation all but drowned out by the chanting of the FAWNatics, three words bellowed out in support of the People’s Princess that infuriated Irma more than any other.
“WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!! WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!! WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!!”
“You aint better than me,” the Raven-Haired Destroyer growled.
“You know what,” the Bright-Eyed Wonder jousted, not feeling overly diplomatic when it came to the Manchester Malcontent, “After everything we’ve been through, I just might be.”
“F**k you!”
“Girls,” the Official moved to intercede, encouraging the highly competitive duo to create a little distance, “not yet.”
Neither young women wanted to back off but, as his insinuation became apparent, they backpaddled just enough to create a pace of two between them, never once breaking eye contact with one another.
That was when the Cage began to descend, gears clanking ominously into life as the structure was being lowered, chains clanking one link at a time until, inevitably, the opened topped, hellish structure thudded into place, utterly surrounding all four corners of the squared circle, not leaving even an inch of room between the apron and the steel mesh.
Finally, Sammie peeked up, resisting the urge to swallow hard, her hands unconsciously clasping into fists, feeling suddenly surrounded. There was no way out of the steel structure except up and, now that she was within it’s confines, her path to victory appeared impossibly high, even for a Sparrow. There was nothing else for it, however, there was only one way to go, and so climb this mountain is what she would do, the young woman nodding to herself as she steadied her resolve.
First things first however…
The bell rang, and it was Iron’s who surged forwards, the Weaponised Wolverine going for the throat while Sammie was still looking up, the stronger brunette forcibly SHOVING Sinclair back several paces. Sinclair responded, much to the delight of the watching crowd, steadying her enforced retreat with a not overly threatening scowl, Babyfaced Dander well and truly up already as she swung a stiff, Forearm Smash!
It landed true, connecting with the side of Irma’s head and rewarding the smaller brunette with a grunt of pain, Iron’s stumbling half a pace sideways as her temple throbbed. She growled deep and low, the FAWNatics responding with a rising crescendo of their own as the Dark-Haired Destroyer recovered quickly and unleashed a wild haymaker.
It may well had taken Sinclair’s adorable little noggin clean off had she not been ready to duck low and avoid the strike entirely, darting forwards into a sprint that took her clean across the ring. Whilst the sight of rapidly approaching steel mesh before her was certainly unsettling, the Little Sparrow was not prepared to allow her change in environment to dull her resolve as she knew full well what she still could and couldn’t do, appearances to the contrary. She leapt into the ropes, turning about at the last moment to land across her back and, after the coils contorted to take the weight of her slender frame, they snapped back taunt and sent her hurtling back towards centre ring even faster than before.
Iron’s was ready to collect her, only once again Sammie was too quick, the Bright-Eyed Wonder popping her knees and, with a crowd-pleasing whoop of her own, leap frogged her way clean over the top of her increasingly frustrated rival. She landed with a bounce and, true to form, kept right on sprinting, the very image of perpetual motion as she zeroed in on the opposite ring ropes. Once again, she hit them at maximum velocity and, once again, she spring boarded back into action at even greater speed…
Which Irons had clearly had enough of as she had pursued Sinclair towards the second set of ring ropes and, while she was far too slow to keep pace, she was more than ideally placed to cut her opponent off at the pass, scooping a surprised Sammie up into her arms. Stronger by far, the Dark-Haired Destroyer spun her much lighter foe up and over in a wicked cross body press, before slamming the athletic young woman down HARD against the canvas across her back, emphatically grounding the Upstart Supreme in one swift, merciless movement.
Sammie emptied her lithe frame of air as she found herself caught between the mat and Irma’s unyielding mass, her slender stems kicking out in sympathy before she lay momentarily dormant.
Iron’s was of a mind to keep her that way, shoving the winded Sinclair up to sitting and, regardless of the protests of the FAWNatics, kneeled behind the smaller girl and slapped on a brutal sleeper! With her right arm secure about the neck of her defiant rival, Irma used her left to hold the noggin of the People’s Princess firmly in place, hissing into her ear with cruel enjoyment.
“That’s it Sinclair,” Iron’s taunted, jostling her favourite victim, “go f**cking slack.”
Forcibly lost for words, Sammie wasn’t about to say anything in counter, her freckled cheeks reddening rapidly as her right arm blindly reached out for nothing, the gold clad warrior feeling her pretty peepers fluttering as she slumped slowly, inch by precious inch, back into the grinding grasp of her opponent. This was not the first time that she had been forced to pass out by an adversary, nor did she doubt that it would be the last, her left arm already leaden by her side, limp against her thigh…
…but now was not the time to go quietly into the night!
Instead she turned her gurgle into a (a less than intimidating) growl and, with a sharp hiking of her petite, proud bosom, she clenched her grasping, right hand into a fist and SLAMMED her elbow back into the exposed ribs of her rival. Irma snarled instead of expressing pain, but Sammie would not be fooled, not when she could feel the give in her adversaries’ side. She struck again, and then a third time, the fourth elbow strike arriving in rapid succession and, after the fifth such strike with no further sign of weakening from the smaller brunette, Irma gave up on her strength sapping embrace and released Sammie from the early sleeper.
Which wasn’t to say that she was prepared to let her go, far from it, Iron’s unwilling to surrender even an ounce of room, almost immediately exchanging one suffocating embrace for another. Shoving her arms beneath the slim shoulders of the Bright Eyed Wonder, Irma forcibly clasped her palms across the back of the smaller girls’ neck, vindictively locking in a Full Nelson, one that elucidated an immediate, and heart-breaking cry of pain from the overpowered Sinclair.
With Sammie still gratefully gasping great lungsful of air, she was in little position to retaliate as her opponents’ latest hold forced both of her arms to spread out wide in cruciform, rendering them utterly impotent to defend her. Worst of all, however, was the devastating pressure being applied against the base of her neck, forcing her chin to press down against her chest, the once broken bone protesting like a burning lance.
Iron’s was well aware of the once life-threatening injury, and so she took a special joy in applying pressure in just the right places to cause her adversary misery, wrenching the hold just enough to make sure the People fully understood the anguish being experienced by their oh so precious Princess.
Practicality, however, outweighed her inherent vindictiveness as she was well aware that forcing Sinclair to capitulate was not going to accomplish anything tonight, not under the current circumstances. Instead she bodily forced the smaller young women within her grasp back up to standing, releasing her second, spirit sapping hold almost immediately afterwards.
With relief almost visibly flooding Sammie’s system, the Weaponised Wolverine spun the other brunette about and, without allowing her even a moment to regain her bearings, she grabbed the capitulating girl by the belt of her skirt and shoved the lithe young woman skywards. At the apex of Sammie’s enforced leap, Irma slipped her rough paws beneath the golden skirt of the girl in her possession and grasped her by her firm thighs, YANKING downwards to assist gravity in its work.
Iron’s followed through herself, sitting out and dropping to the canvas across her backside, positively DRIVING!! Sinclair down into the canvas with a BRUTAL Spinebuster, almost nailing her clean through the plywood.
Full Nelson into Spinebuster: @1:30
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXr6Rk7x5hQ
Sammie’s back hit the mat and the Little Sparrow found herself grounded for the second time in as many minutes, Irma clearly happy with keeping her where she could do little harm. She bounced a few inches before coming down to settle with a hollow cough, splayed out in a starfish as she moaned openly, shell shocked and at a loss for where she was. Her thighs twitched, bare against the probing paws of her long-term rival, and yet, in her stupor, she did not pull away, her hips parting open ever so slightly…
“I f**king knew it,” Iron’s lips parted into her crooked grin, showing far too many teeth as she did so. “Got a taste for it now, aint ya Bytch?”
Ordinarily, the Manchester Malcontent may well have gone for a pin there and then, feeling the touch of submission beneath her fingers as she did, but a three count wasn’t about to get her any further tonight than a tap out would have earlier. Instead she got back up, having learned from experience to be relentless against Sinclair and, with her crooked grin still in place, hopped into a vindictive knee drop, aiming to drive her pointed limb deep into the heart of her opponent.
Only for Sammie to roll aside, pretty peepers opening wide in alarm just before the miniature athlete was to be impaled, tumbling away to safety!
Iron’s own look of alarm was not so well rewarded as, with gravity proving to be a far greater bytch that even she could ever hope to be, there was to be no stopping her swift descent. Without an adorable crash pad to protect her, Irma’s knee SPIKED!! down HARD!! into plywood canvas, and her sharp shout of anguish was filled with as much frustration as it was agony.
She bounced away from the impact just as Sinclair completed her impromptu evasion and tumbled over onto her back.
As Irma physically forced her protesting limbs to stumble their way back upwards, the Bright-Eyed Wonder inhaled a deep breath, steadying her own resolve as the FAWNatics began clapping, a steady, three beat mantra that heralded the Upstart Nations March to War!! She rolled her petite body back onto her shoulders and then, with a determined shout, positively WHIPLASHED her way back up onto her feet by way of Fawn’s Favourite Kip Up!!
“Face it Iron’s,” Sammie taunted as an increasingly frustrated Irma turned face her, “when it comes to me, you’re like a dog with a squirrel!”
Suddenly she leapt, flipping herself about into a delightful hand stand and whipped her delightfully athletic right stem about like a scythe, SLAMMING!! her boot into the side of Irma’s noggin with a pitch perfect Pele Kick!
Iron’s recoiled like she had been hit by a brick, the Manchester Malcontent stumbling sideways like a drunkard and yet, as equally stubborn as one, she refused to tumble. With both of her ears ringing and an unflattering half yard of drool escaping from a momentarily slack lip, her eyes glazed back over with hatred as she stormed back into the breach.
She didn’t get far however, her vision still blurry following the last impact to her skull, and so she was almost a sitting duck as the People’s Princess, back on her feet again following a single, slick motion, connected a neat, clean and teeth cracking, European Uppercut to the bottom of her jaw!
“No matter how many times you manage to catch me,” Sammie continued to explain, stubbornly ignoring her own aches and pains. “You still don’t have a damn clue what to do about it afterwards!”
Still Iron’s wouldn’t go down, no matter how much her jaw throbbed, stumbling but not falling. She shook it off the moment her feet became steady, quite literally with a shake of her head, her bottom lip this time stained with blood. She wasn’t quite hearing everything Sinclair was saying, missing every third word or so, but she was well aware that it was nothing flattering. That only infuriated her further, that chiding tone from a ‘limp wristed bytch who’d never had to earn anything!!’ She wouldn’t have it, she wouldn’t stand for it, not now, not ever!!
Gritting her bloodied teeth, Iron’s forgo all sense of reason and roared as she charged, her temper well and truly off the leash now, with nothing to stop her!
Nothing, that is, save a sweet little Sammie Kick straight to her unprotected midriff, Sinclair spinning about and, weaponizing her athletic stem, DROVE!! The sole of her boot deep into the other brunettes’ abs! As the immediately winded Irons folded forwards with a deep exhale of air, the Legionnaires in attendance erupted in cheers, willing the Upstart Supreme to ride her momentum as only the best Babyfaces could.
Sinclair was hardly one to argue with the People and so, with Irma teetering and momentarily immobilised, the smaller brunette set off for the set of ring hopes sitting at a right angle to her opponent. Throwing herself into the cables, she was faithfully recoiled back towards her original target and then, at the last moment, she popped herself up into a leap, landing briefly on her rival’s folded back. She had no intention of hanging around, this time turning her left leg into a scythe, allowing gravity to assist her in bringing her stem down like a reaper!
The back of her descending thigh WHACKED!! Across the back of her rival’s noggin, continuing to knock that particular braincase senseless and, as she dropped down to the mat upon her pert buttocks, Iron’s was FINALLY brought tumbling down to the canvas as well, dropping front first against the barely yielding plywood.
SAMMIE’S PEDESTAL: @8:25
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsipdPIYW8g
“You know it’s true, Iron’s,” Sammie went on to educate without even a single hint condescension in her tone, however much she disliked her fellow Brit, shoving the groaning Manchester Malcontent over onto her back (with no small amount of effort it turned out). She spared a quick glance between the top of the cage and her opponent, quickly deducing that she wouldn’t have time to escape before her foe recovered.
“You’ve beaten me before, more than once,” Sammie was not too proud to admit, quickly getting back up before hopping into a skip that swiftly turned into a renewed sprint, driving her back towards the waiting ropes. This time, however, she did not throw herself into them as though they were the arms of a loved one, instead she leapt forwards, landing upon the middle coil and then, as it snapped taunt as it always would, Sinclair was LAUNCHED skywards. Arcing at just the right moment, the Little Sparrow spun her wonderfully athletic frame about in a beautiful backflip, one that could only come to an end with her slim, trim tummy and all of her one-hundred-and-ten-pound SPLASHING! her grounded opponent’s exposed midriff.
Irma’s compact, powerful frame was forcibly emptied of air scarcely a minute after it had only just been refilled, the Dark-Haired Destroyer both coughing and heaving after her muscle packed stems both kicked up and then out in recoil from the impact.
Sammie popped back up onto her knees, feeling a little winded herself but looking noticeably better than her opponent, sparing a quick wave for the appreciative audience after she unconsciously ran a hand through her hair. “Almost fair and square even,” she continued her examination as if there had been no interruption, “You’d won, you beat me, one on one, you proved whatever point it was you were trying to prove, and yet, here we are, at it again. Why?”
Sinclair exhaled deeply before putting her hands on the canvas and pushing herself up, soon collecting Irma along the way to shove her back up onto her knees. “You know what I think?” she questioned the other brunettes blank eyed stare, “I think you can’t let it go. I think you can’t let me go. I think your obsessed with the idea of beating me, but you have absolutely no idea what to do about it afterwards. I think I’m living in your head Iron’s, and I think I’m living there rent free.”
With Irma suitably positioned, murmuring some manner of something incomprehensible, Sammie hopped into yet another run, the FAWNatics joining her with a cheer, positively whooping as she turned into the coils at full pelt. She returned like a bullet, which was more or less what she wanted, leaping at the last minute and, with her right stem bent upwards, SLAMMED her pointed knee into the waiting jaw of her adversary!
The blistering ‘Golden Wizard’ snapped Irma’s head in a sharp half circle, the rest of her compact frame quickly following soon after, the Dark-Haired Destroyed teetering before flopping to the canvas, her cheek pressed down against a pool of her own saliva. She stayed there, face first against the mat, her eyes rolling backwards as her buttocks twitched.
Sammie didn’t stop to observe her handiwork, her eye on the prize as always, the young woman with the bouncing curls continuing her run until she reached the second set of ring ropes. She jumped, landing on the middle coil with practiced motion, only this time when they snapped taunt her lithe physique was propelled straight upwards. Sinclair cleared the rest of the ropes with, seemingly, the greatest of ease, Sammie all but bunny hopping her way to clasp a pair of dexterous handholds onto the wall of the Steel Cage!
The Legionnaires raised the volume of their chants as the Bright-Eyed Wonder began her climb to freedom, one handhold after another taking her closer to the top. She didn’t get overly far however, not as a distinctive groan caught her attention, the unmistakeable growl of Iron’s coming from the ring. Sammie spied a quick look over her shoulder and repressed a frustrated sigh, Irma already on her hands and knees and bullishly rising, the Brit reminded all to well just how damn swiftly her fellow countrywoman could recover.
It didn’t take her long to weigh her options in her noggin and, even with the FAWNatics urging her to keep climbing, the little brunette didn’t believe she could leave it to chance. Irma was already almost upright, and she was far too damn dangerous to leave that way, even for a moment.
Momentum was the key, she decided, and so with a leap of daring agility the miniature brunette kicked her way off of the cage wall and, with deft precision, landed with both of her feet on the waiting top coil. Using the most precarious strand of all, Sammie spring boarded her way back towards her woozy Rival to…
Iron’s caught Sinclair straight out of the air, the Weaponised Wolverine screaming as she plucked the Little Sparrow from the sky, strapping the smaller young woman across her shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry. She kept her aloft just long enough for the panicked brunette to try and wiggle free and, more importantly, to turn in a small half circle just so that Legionnaires could see the sh*t she was now in.
Shrugging her shoulders with another shout, the resurgent Irma shoved upwards against her opponent’s captive thigh, forcing Sammie’s lower body to flip up and over, her skirt sliding down to reveal her firm buttocks, just as Iron’s also threw herself to the mat! She SPIKED!! the People’s Princess into the canvas right on top of her neck and shoulders, the young woman bouncing and convulsing as the momentum of the match was ripped away from her.
SPRINGBOARD INTERCEPTION INTO IRON VALLEY DRIVER: @2:21
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsipdPIYW8g
Upstart Supreme or not, Sammie Sinclair was fit to be pinned there and then as she puddled across the canvas, the small of her back spasming in sympathy for her neck, Iron’s dragging herself over the top of the smaller girl and breathing heavily as if to prove a point. In truth, was still in the process of shaking off her own cobwebs and so, as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, one palm shoving down HARD against the trim tummy of her despised Rival, Sinclair groaning and tensing in response, it took a few moments to acknowledge the ‘good news’.
When her vision cleared enough to see the wreckage of the athletic brunette splayed out before her, ripe for the taking, her crooked grin was soon plastered across her features. With her teeth stained red with her own blood, she pushed herself back up onto one knee and grabbed a full handful of her opponent’s hair in the process, a deep, throaty and dangerous growl rippling upwards from her torso.
“I’m not a dog, Sinclair,” Iron’s all but spat as she dragged the Bright-Eyed Wonder up onto her feet by her own mane, no chance of a reprimand coming tonight. She was exhaling deeply, controlling her breathing, reigning her volatile temper back in, which made her all the more dangerous.
“But I am a pure breed, mother f**king BYTCH!!” she screamed the last word, seizing the weak-kneed Sammie by her belt and, with that shout, HURLED!! her head first into the Steel Cage! Sinclair recoiled from the sickening impact, the mesh itself scarcely moving, her limbs turned to jelly as she spun about and flopped into Iron’s unforgiving embrace.
“But you’re right,” she conceded, her grin still as vicious as ever as she jostled the punch-drunk Upstart Supreme, the Manchester Malcontent holding her up before folding her forwards, securing a standing Headscissors.
“I am obsessed with you,” Irma got the confession off of her chest, leaning forwards to wrap her arms about the smaller brunettes shivering tummy. With what appeared to be not a great deal of effort, Irons ripped her opponent off of her feet, spun her about and brought her up to a stalling seat upon the strong shoulders of the Dark-Haired Destroyer, the girls head and arms drooping forwards, her peepers glazy and half lidded.
“Which means,” Iron’s grin grew wider still before, with a shout, she began charging forwards, the FAWNatics crying out in alarm!! “Ripping yer f**cking throat out aint never getting old!!”
At the climax of her charge, the black clad brawler crossing almost the entirety of the squared girl, she positively roared as she released her cargo, THROWING her back first into the opposite wall of the Steel Cage, the SMACK!! of an all too fragile body colliding with an unyielding object echoing around the arena, along with Samantha Sinclair’s cry!
The People’s Princess dropped, for lack of a better word, falling like a sack of bricks and, were it not for the ring ropes, she would have fallen flat against the apron. Instead her swift plummet ended with a sudden and whiplash collision with the top coil, Sammie finding her arms entangled and draped forwards over that same rope, the young woman hanging leaden and groaning.
Iron’s was there without a moment’s hesitation, rolling her shoulders in anticipation and, just as it looked as though Sinclair was about to start untangling herself, Irma was there to put a stop to it. Grabbing the back of Sammie’s head with both hands, she immediately began to push down, driving the smaller brunettes throat down HARD over the top coil, exerting enough force to choke her out.
Sinclair’s petite physique stiffened from head to toe as she was being throttled by the ring rope, her right leg sporadically kicking out with short, sharp spasms as her freckled cheeks flushed a fierce crimson. She struggled pitifully to get away, but to no avail, her lips parting slightly as she sputtered and gagged.
“What was that?” the Dark-Haired Destroyer pulled back slightly, revelling in the jeers of the FAWNatics as they screamed bloody murder, “Something to say, Sinclair? Something pithy? Something irritating to the f**king core?”
Iron’s released her choke hold, genuinely curious, grabbing her Rival by her proud mane and jerking her head up, forcing the wheezing, blank eyed Sinclair to look into her face. The Bright-Eyed Wonder tried to answer, but she couldn’t get the words out, her lips only able to form hoarse whispers.
“Come on, Sinclair!” Irma demanded, pulling in the girl’s hair sharply, bulling into her personal space as though she owned it, the duo almost nose to nose. “Speak up, Bytch! These f**ktards can’t f**king hear you!”
Sammie opened her lips to try again, only for the words to go unsaid, the People’s Princess instead relying on her actions to speak for her. With reserves of energy only possessed by the most Babyfaced of competitors, Sinclair forced herself to stand upright, if only briefly, and wrap her hands about the back of her tormentor’s head.
Suddenly she dropped and, with Irma unprepared to take her bodyweight, the Manchester Malcontent was YANKED!! forwards right along with her, her throat brought WHIPPING!! down upon the top rope, momentarily experiencing a taste of her own medicine! It was enough to send her into a fit of wild gagging as she was propelled away from her would be victim, sent stumbling off into the ring as she massaged her savaged neck, her eyes wide with mounting fury.
She turned about with a dangerous muttering, intent on seeking immediate retribution, only to find that Sammie had no intention of going along with that! Instead the Little Sparrow embraced her adrenaline and, after popping her way up onto the top rope, used that uppermost coil to springboard her way back into the ring. She unleashed a (not exactly as threatening) war cry of her own as the FAWNatics watching erupted into cheers, the miniature brunette bringing back her back fist before she threw it forwards!
Assisted by both gravity and velocity, Sinclair’s blistering right hook connected with a great deal more force than it had any right to, the ‘Sammie Strike’ connecting with Irma’s unprotected cheek and driving the stronger brunette down onto her knees!
While Iron’s landed with a THUNK!! Sammie landed far more gracefully, tucking into a crowd pleasing, forward roll as she contacted the canvas. She was up on her feet again in no time, bulling through her own aches and pains as she turned rapidly about, her skirt billowing about her hips as she completed the photogenic spiral, her still crimson cheeks set with adorable determination.
“What I was trying to say, Iron’s,” she explained as she advanced quickly, trying to ignore the shimmy in her knees before leaning forwards in front of her kneeling adversary, smirking in cheeky fashion as she tapped the tip of her index finger against Irma’s nose, “was Boop!”
The bleary-eyed malcontent responded with the beginnings of a guttural growl which was clearly about to be a threat, only for Sammie to decide that she was not impressed with such fowl language. She spun rapidly on the spot before Iron’s could fully form her first curse, extending out her right stem at the same time and, just as she came back to front, SMACKED!! the sole her boot clean against the right cheek of her foe, all but slapping the taste clean out of her mouth!
The spinning Sammie Kick struck square and true and Irma would know very little about it until she watched the replays later, the Weaponised Wolverine puddling to the deck like a deboned fish. The People found their voices as they cheered their Princess on, several in attendance imploring with her to begin climbing the cage again right now!
They had a point, she could admit, that was after all how one went about winning this particular contest, but she wasn’t quite convinced that Irma was down for good. A quandary that could be quickly fixed however as, with Sammie stood beside the splayed-out Iron’s, she pleased the Gladiatrix photographers all around the ring no end by suddenly lifting one of her delightfully athletic stems up in a standing splits! The FAWNatics voiced their collective appreciation as well (more than a few of the calls not exactly PG-13 appropriate), before she dropped down rapidly, DRIVING one firm thigh across her opponents heaving bosom with a THUD!
Irma convulsed and sputtered with a deep exhale of air as the oxygen was forcibly driven from her body, both of her own legs kicking out before buckling, the violent Brit groaning in pain.
“Ok Iron’s, now do us all a favour,” Sammie requested with unsurprising sincerity, the words spilling from her weary lips as if she were conversing with an old friend. “For once, just stay where I leave you.”
Irma didn’t answer, far too winded to manage it, and yet somehow, she still managed to crease her features into a scowl.
Sammie opted to take that as a positive, wearily nodding to herself over so slightly as she pushed herself back up onto her feet, leaving the Manchester Malcontent behind her. She reached the corner turnbuckle quickly enough, pausing only before she started her climb, pain flaring at the base of her shoulders, an always worrisome occurrence. Inhaling a deep, reassuring breath, she began her ascent of Everest, using the turnbuckles to set her on her way.
Pulling herself up one after the other, the FAWNatics willing her own, Sinclair reached the top of what was usually the highest part of the ring before she leaned forwards and grasped her first-hand hold of the cage itself. It was then, with a barely repressed sigh of irritation, that she could hear Iron’s stirring on the canvas, spitting and cursing as she did so.
Sammie peeked a look over her slender shoulder and, while the Legionnaires once again pleaded with her continue, she just couldn’t afford to leave the Weaponised Wolverine on her blindside. She was too damn dangerous…
Swiftly smothering any sense of mounting frustration before it could find purchase, Sammie quickly turned herself about and, before Iron’s could fully scrape herself off the mat, suddenly launched herself into the air from the top turnbuckle!
Despite their very own protests mere heartbeats earlier, the Legionnaire’s still couldn’t help but gasp in appreciation as the Bright-Eyed Wonder took to the air, tucking into a full, forward sault before spreading out and leading with her elbow, driving her joint down HARD over the heart of the Dark-Haired Destroyer!!
TOP TURNBUCKLE, FORWARD SAULT ELBOW SPLASH: @007
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsipdPIYW8g
Irma’s mouth sprung open in a silent exhale before she sat up involuntarily, responding as though Sinclair had SHOCKED her with a crash cart. The stronger brunette toppled back over onto her side with a broken curse, her back spasming in sympathy before she continued rolling, finally coming to a stop on one side, her breathing laboured.
Sammie, for her own part, was not as quick to get back up herself as people would have liked, the high-flying maneuverer seeming to take a great deal out her already battered frame as well. Get up, however, is what she did, sighing deeply as she did so with a briefly pained expression, cradling her own joint as she flexed out her previously weaponised arm.
She raised her hands up high and started clapping, a familiar, three beat mantra, one that was taken up by every Legionnaire in attendance, their faith filling her with confidence.
“Do you hear that, Iron’s?” she queried with the smallest of cheeky smirks as she made her way over to her fallen Rival. “That’s the sound of me kicking your ass.”
“Fu… f**k you…” Irma managed to spit out after several minutes of trying to vocalise anything at all, the Manchester Malcontent heaving as she tried to force her way out of her own, foetal ball. Her curses once again returned to being indecipherable as Sammie began lending her a help hand, the gold clad athlete peeling the stronger brunette off the deck.
Suddenly she lashed out, screaming bloody murder the moment she was upright on her knees, and viciously SLAMMED!! her forearm up between the open thighs of her opponent, her limb DRIVEN deep into the unprotected sex of Sinclair!!
With her bright eyes opening wide, the People’s Princess opened her mouth to cry out, and yet no sound would emerge for her to do so, her whole body recoiling from the impact with a single, sharp spasm before she went limp all over, the young women jolted up onto her tip toes before she started to collapse. Irma was there to catch her, rising even as Sinclair was falling, showing far too many teeth as she jostled the smaller brunette up across her shoulders as though she were no burden at all.
“This is the sound of me owning yours,” Iron’s taunted, powering up onto her feet and securing her perfectly petite cargo by way of Fireman’s Carry. The Upstart Supreme did not protest, paralysed as she was from tippy toe to button nose, hanging loose across her adversaries’ shoulders, not even as she was displayed a trophy to the watching masses.
Irma found the centre of the ring and, satisfied that she had made point, shoved up against her shackled opponents captured thigh to launch the young women’s lower body skywards, arcing her nubile frame up and over into a precarious position. Scarcely a heartbeat later, Iron’s dropped down the canvas and BURIED!! Sinclair’s neck and shoulders into the deck, nailing the People’s Princess with a second Iron Valley Driver in one night!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxT9JhZk1lc
Sammie’s grunt of pain was hollow as the recoil from the big impact popped her miniature mass right back up to sitting, where she remained with her head slumped forwards, her slender shoulders slack. She teetered over onto her side with a less than graceful bump, her lithe, right stem kicking out with fitful spasms.
Iron’s was already back up onto her knees, the pain of her opponent filling her with vigour, and she wiped the back of her hand across her lips, breathing heavily all the while. Looking at the streak of her own blood left behind on her paw, Irma could only summon a dark scowl.
“F**king Bytch,” she spat out a glob of something that look unhealthy as she shoved her way back up to standing, the Hardbody Lightweight towering over the grounded Little Sparrow. “Get up!” she demanded, circling Sinclair as though she were wounded prey. “I know you aint done Bytch,” she insisted with a blood-stained snarl, watching the young women slump over onto her back, “GET UP!!”
As if willed on by an instinct that was primordial, Sammie began to do precisely that as she shoved up her right shoulder with a sharp spasm. If this were any other night and Irma had gone straight in for a Pinfall, that would have proven to be Sinclair’s last second escape, as it was, instead, it was merely the beginning of her attempt to get back up.
“That’s it,” Irma snarled as her grin turned toothy, the Manchester Malcontent leaning forwards as she were a bull in sight of red, her building anticipation almost palpable. “There we are, like a good little f**kwit!”
She waited, scarcely containing herself as the smaller, young women before her groaned over onto her front, visibly struggling to get up onto her hands and knees, seemingly oblivious to the warnings being cried out by the FAWNatics. With limbs shaking, Sinclair managed to push herself upwards off the mat…
And Iron’s charged right in, closing the distance with terrifying swiftness as she zeroed in her target, screaming as, at the last moment, she swept her right leg forwards in a vicious kick!! With all of the might she could summon, the Dark-Haired Destroyer PUNTED!! the steel toecaps of her heavy-duty footwear deep into the trim tummy of the Bright-Eyed Wonder with enough force to almost LAUNCH her off the mat!
Sinclair did expel every single ounce of air from her perfectly petite body as she was gutted by the single strike, jolting upwards onto her knees as she grimaced in misery, the entirety of her pained body shivering in sympathy. She slumped back on her haunches, cradling her abused midriff, her petite bosom rising in sharp spikes as she struggled to restart breathing.
“You know what really pisses me off about this place?” Irma stated as she reached to her belt, the FAWNatics responding with shouts of concern as she grabbed the chain wrapped about her waist before she yanked it free. With a flick of her wrist she grasped the weapon lightly, the links digging into her knuckles as she pulled it as taunt as she could.
“I get f**king reprimanded every time I start a fight,” Iron’s went on to curse as she reached out with her free hand and grasped a fierce handhold of her opponent’s brunette’s mane. Sammie winced but did not otherwise protest as her head was pulled back sharply, yanking her neck into a painful arch. She tried to lift her arms, but nothing happened, the Upstart Supreme evidently spent.
Iron’s scowled down into the half-lidded features of the freckled, Bright-Eyed Wonder, before she pulled back her right arm and PLANTED!! a BRUTAL chain wrapped fist into exposed noggin of her hated adversary, the ‘Iron Fist’ doing its job with vicious finality. The smaller Brit went down to the canvas as though she had been shot, lying there without a reflective spasm, her petite body barely moving.
Iron’s looked down at her work with dark satisfaction and then, after tipping the young women over onto her back, PLANETED her boot down onto Sinclair’s pert bosom, pinning the People’s Princess to the canvas. While it counted for nothing in the history books tonight, the Weaponised Wolverine held out her arms wide in mocking statement, the FAWNatics counting silently as solidified her point…
One.
Two.
Three.
…and on into infinity it seemed, Samantha Sinclair unable to kick out.
Satisfied that there could be no arguments as soon as the evening was out, Irma stepped off her submissive perch and uncoiled her steel chain, marching until she reached the lithe legs of her Rival. Grabbing one of those athletic stems, she lifted the dead weight up off the canvas, regardless of the protests from those watching, she wrapped her weapon about the ankle of the Upstart Supreme, leaving enough of the length free to act as a leash, clearing harbouring intentions to drag her opponent away later as though she were a Cavewoman.
For the time being, Iron’s let Sammie leg drop free to the canvas and, after rolling her strong shoulders, she marched on over to the cage wall. She reached it after stepping between the top and middle ropes, her fingers grasping the steel mesh before, with a victorious shout, she began the long climb.
Far from being the nimblest of warriors, Irma’s ascent up the wall was far from rapid, one handhold after the next, and yet it was relentless. Like the coming of the tide, regardless of how much the Legionnaires willed it to be otherwise, the progress to the top was inevitable. So intent was she however, on her looming objective, that she failed to notice the change in tenor from those watching, until the cry of someone else caught her attention.
“IROOOOOONS!!” Samantha Sinclair shouted from the canvas, having rolled over onto her front and breathing heavily, the bleary-eyed Brit otherwise a puddle of pain. Never the less, the miniature brunette looked up from the mat, appearing as determined as she was able, defiant until the last.
“I’m still breathing!!”
Incredulous, Irma halted her own ascent, the Dark-Eyed Destroyer perched halfway up the cage as she looked back over her own shoulder. Her features twisted into a snarl and then fury… before contorting into dark amusement. “So f**king what Bytch?” she mocked from her superior position. “What f**king good is it gonna do ya?”
Dismissing Sinclair’s implied challenge in favour of victory, Irma continued her ascent, leaving her adversary behind her.
Sammie, every single fibre of her petite frame begging for her to give up, scrunched up her button nose with Babyfaced Dander as it became obvious that Irma was going to ignore her, refusing to take the bait, releasing a small huff as the revelation dawned. As much as her body didn’t want to, Sinclair inhaled a deep breath and, with the FAWNatics watching, she cried out with exertion simply to scrape herself off the mat.
With a second-deep breath she stumbled towards the turnbuckles, the Legionnaires uncertain of how hopeful they should be, especially as the Bright-Eyed Wonder almost collided chest first with the ring post. Instead, with their support, the petite Brit was able to steady her weak knees and then, with a will honed through adversity, she began to climb, soon scaling the side of the steel cage behind her foe.
As nimble as she was in comparison to her equally weary adversary, it just didn’t seem as though that this was a race that she could win, regardless how much the Legionnaires might want to believe otherwise. It was a truth abundantly clear to both competitors, Iron’s sitting at the top whilst Sinclair has scarcely managed to scale halfway, the Dark-Haired Destroyer looking down at her opponent with grim amusement.
“Fucking loser,” Iron’s derided from her perch, the hard part of her escape from the steel structure now well and truly done. She watched her adversary struggle to catch up, her shoulders quivering with exertion, freckled cheeks bright and flustered, Irma shaking her head at the sight.
“This is f**king embarrassing,” the Manchester Malcontent dismissed as she swung herself off of her perch and began her descent towards the concrete below.
Sammie wasn’t listening, she couldn’t even if she wanted to, the blood pounding in her ears as she reached for one handhold after another. Finally, perhaps inevitably, she reached the top, the Upstart Supreme finding the peak of Everest, and almost collapsing from exhaustion atop it.
Her heart sank almost immediately as she looked down, Iron’s looking back up at her barely ten feet above the ground, surely no more than a few moments away from victory. Irma looked up at her with a shit eating grin, mocking her with how fruitless all of her efforts had proven to be.
“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO NOW, SINCLAIR!?” Iron’s taunted, hanging from the side of the cage.
For her own part, Sammie closed her eyes and sighed, feeling utterly fatigued.
“Something stupid,” she replied, scarcely above her whisper, closing her eyes…
…before leaping from the top of the steel cage.
She fell like a brick, the entire arena falling silent as Samantha Sinclair plummeted from the sky, free falling from the ridiculously high structure and aiming for another. Several thousand people GASPED!! in unison as her descent ended as quickly as it began, the People’s Princess CRASHING!! through an Announce Table which shattered beneath the impact.
For several seconds pandemonium reigned, thousands of concerned people straining for a better look as the poor Spanish Announcement Team scattered for safety, the Official and several others rapidly moving in to check on the Upstart Supreme.
Iron’s, still clinging to the side of the cage, could only hang there was she had watched the insane dive unfold along with everyone else, simply dumbfounded into inaction. She didn’t know how to feel, and so she felt nothing, still struggling to process what had just happened.
Suddenly the Official popped up from the wreckage of the Announce Table, immediately displaying an odd sense of priorities as he waved his hands franticly at the Time Keeper.
“BOTH HER FEET TOUCHED THE GROUND!! he yelled, desperate to be heard over the crowd and beside the barely moving, Samantha Sinclair. “BOTH HER FEET TOUCHED THE GROUND!!”
Taking his cue, the Timekeeper rang the bell, and the outcome of the match was made Official.
“The winner of this contest, after both of her feet touched the ground before her opponent, the People’s Princess, SAMANTHA! SINCLAIR!!”
“What?” Iron’s muttered almost absently, still hanging from the side of the cage, “WHAT?”
She finally dropped, confused, irate beyond belief, struggling to process what she was supposed to be doing with this information now that there was no escaping it.
Meanwhile, a camera man had moved in to join the EMT’s converging on the ‘crash site’ and, up on the FAWNTRON, the Legionnaires could see, however painfully, that the Upstart Supreme was moving, although it didn’t look like she would be getting up under her own power anytime soon.
It was enough however, in conjunction with the news that the Bright-Eyed Wonder had secured victory, that they erupted into cheers, none of them quite believing that they had been here to witness such a daring (and extremely stupid) feat!!
Those same cheers were undercut by a growing current of concern as Irma Irons continued to loiter at the scene, the Weaponised Wolverine pacing back and forth, her increasingly incensed glare never leaving the defenceless frame of her fellow Brit. Those concerns, however, evaporated almost immediately as additional activity erupted on the stage, a duo of beloved Lightweight’s bursting through the curtains and sprinting down to the ringside at breakneck speeds.
Jaime London and Chloe Fields (with StrawBeary in hand), the resident red heads of the Upstart Nation could not have travelled faster on their way down from backstage, the FAWNatics more than grateful for the arrival, and always pleased to see them. Close behind came the Suplex Machine, Wendy Smith, the PA Powerhouse almost bowling the cameraman out of her way in her efforts to reach Samantha’s side!
JAIME LONDON
CHLOE FIELDS
WENDY SMITH
No-one could quite hear what she was saying, but concern was clearly writ across her features as the dazed Sinclair was assisted in sitting up. Chloe remained close to the duo as the medics did their job, StrawBeary ‘assisting’ by providing lookout while Jaime London narrowed her gaze, and in a flare of temper, took a far more direct approach in securing the perimeter.
With Irma seemingly having gotten over her state off shock, she made a sudden movement towards the gathering, her fingers clenching into fists, her shoulders rippling with frustration.
“Back up Irons!!” Jaime warned, her own dander up as she cut the Dark-Haired Destroyer off at the pass, one Manchester lass blocking off the other. “You can just back right the HELL UP!!”
“Or what, Fake London?” the Malcontent scowled, staring down the smaller Lightweight, a palpable sense of threat bleeding from off her body.
“Or you’ll find out what it’s like to have my boot shoved right up your arse!” Jaime warned, the miniature Lightweight utterly undaunted.
Iron’s didn’t respond, not verbally, her body language otherwise screaming. She glared down at Jamie, the two girls chesting up, Irma almost visibly shaking in fury from head to toe. Finally, she relented, reluctantly backing up half a step as she reigned in her temper, snorting in irritation as she did so.
“Next time, London,” Iron’s warned, her tone dangerous and low.
“Count on it,” Jaime agreed, her own posture ready to go at a moments notice, unwavering even as Irma withdrew.
With the Malcontent retreating, Sinclair was free to recover in peace, growing increasingly coherent with each passing minute, trying her best to at least look a little bit contrite as she was being scolded by a distraught looking Wendy.
Helped up onto her feet by the Suplex Machine, who was taking the majority of it without a great deal of effort, the intensely fatigued and incredibly relieved Sinclair raised up hand to acknowledge the Legionnaires in attendance, those same thousands roaring back in approval.
“I was right,” she commented almost idly before wincing in visible pain.
“About what?” Chloe piped up, genuinely curious.
“That was a really stupid idea…”
