Post by hawkeye on Aug 15, 2019 1:35:16 GMT
The FAWNatics were already in full voice following the nights earlier contests, and with the blood pumping, they were more than ready to lift the rafters as the Announcer moved to centre ring, the collective masses willing him to give them a reason to. He cleared his throat and brought the mic up to lips…
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, capturing their attention, “the following contest will be…”
FEEL INVINCIBLE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gco_SAvHVSM
The Loud speakers cut him off before he could even finish his sentence and, even if he had tried to recover, the fact that the collective masses in attendance officially lost their collective sh*t would have rendered his efforts entirely mute. With the Houselights drawing their undivided attention to the curtains, the Upstart Supreme herself stood revealed for all to see!
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
While it became quickly apparent that the Little Sparrow had not arrived tonight to compete, her usual attire replaced by sneakers, jeans and the snuggliest looking jumper to have ever been worn by a FAWN superstar inside the Orlando Arena, the Loyalist Legionnaires were still in full voice by the arrival of the Upstart Supreme.
Standing with her feet braced apart and arms upraised, the miniature Brit flashed her most winning smile as her freckled cheeks flushed an endearing shade of crimson. She raised her hands up high and wiggled her fingers, the Little Sparrow cluing in her supporters that it was time for them to join in before she brought them together…
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
…the audience doing likewise in unison before she pointed dramatically towards the squared circle, pyrokinetics exploding to either side of the EuroAsia Champion and surrounding her in a halo of light.
Statement of intent made, the brunette of petite proportions set off down the ramp at a brisk and lively pace as she made her way to the ring, diverting from her destination as she spotted the youngest members of the audience in the front rows and delivering crisp high fives to make their evenings. Standing in at five foot four and one-hundred and ten pounds, her spirited and welcoming demeanour made her every inch the People’s Princess, welcoming the masses with open arms as they welcomed her in return.
Arriving at the ring, the lithe, cap wearing grappler hopped up onto the apron without even a hint of hinderance, grasping onto the top rope in short order. After delivering a cheeky shake of her pert booty, Sammie leaned backwards before positively vaulting her slender physique up and over the uppermost coil, turning about into a darling spiral as her sneakers returned to canvas, brunette curls bouncing about her shoulders as she toured the four corners of the squared circle.
Coming to a stop at centre ring, she brought her hands to rest upon the ten pounds of EuroAsia Gold sat snugly about her trim tummy, the tips of fingers drumming excitedly upon its surface as she bashfully bit down on her bottom lip.
The FAWNatics cheered all the more as attention was drawn to that coveted Title, the Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance exceedingly pleased to witness it being worn by a member of the most Babyfaced of Factions, the Upstart Nation. It was not long before a new chant found purchase amongst the faithful, one that had become a staple during a Samantha Sinclair appearance.
“WORLDS! BEST! BRIT! WORLDS! BEST! BRIT! WORLDS! BEST! BRIT!”
She looked bashful at that particular declaration, and she accepted it with good grace, revealing that she had secured a microphone for herself somewhere along the way to the ring, and she brought it to her lips as she turned apologetically to the Announcer who was still waiting patiently.
“Sorry,” Sammie addressed him directly, meaning it in the sincerest manner imaginable for cutting him off, “that was rude. Do you mind, I’d like to do this myself?”
The Announcer nodded gracefully but, before he could vacate the ring, Sinclair popped up onto her tip toes and kissed him gratefully on the cheek. That seemed to do the trick, and he departed the ring in good spirits.
With the formalities out of the way, the People’s Princess turned the entirety of her attention towards the masses, which they were more than welcome to receive.
“Miss me?” she queried, the FAWNatics responding in the positive. Sammie, in reply, tilted her head just a fraction and pouted ever so slightly, “But I was only just here last month?”
The arena was not slow in letting their feelings be known.
“NOT-E-NOUGH!! NOT-E-NOUGH!! NOT-E-NOUGH!! NOT-E-NOUGH!! NOT-E-NOUGH!!”
Sammie smirked, her freckled cheeks flushing a delightful crimson, “Ok, alright, I guess I haven’t been around as much with all of the touring and such. Apparently being the EuroAsia Champion means getting shipped off to every corner of multiple continents, but right now I’m only here for ORLANDO!!!”
The FAWNatics in attendance ate that up with gusto, Sammie sparing a moment to turn and wave into the Hard Camera for those watching at home. “And as it happens,” she continued, “I’m faced with bit of a pickle.”
The crowd settled down just a fraction at that, genuinely perplexed as to her meaning.
“Last month at Summer Swelter,” yet another positive response from the audience at the mention of the well-received PPV, “I defended my Gold in a Fatal Four Way Match. Now, as you all know, I walked back out with the strap I walked in with,” yet another positive pop for the Brit of Perfectly Petite Proportions, “but it wasn’t exactly a sure thing. All three of those girls had me dead to rights more than once and, had they not gotten in each other’s way, then it might have been a different outcome.”
The FAWNatics didn’t agree with that, but their Princess held up a placating hand.
“It’s ok, I want that kind of competition, I’m a Sinclair, I live off it, but I do believe that all three of them deserve another shot at this very Gold,” she explained, the tips of her fingers drumming atop her Title. She tilted her head as if in contemplation, before nodding in the affirmative.
“Now, personally,” she continued, I was all in on a Summer Swelter Re-Match,” the masses perked up at that notion, “but the Powers That Be said no, Pick One.”
The FAWNatics, eating out of her hand, booed the mention of any manner of authority.
“Trouble is,” Sammie sighed ever so slightly, “I royally suck at multiple choice, and I’m not big on the notion of ‘picking my opponents’. I might be the Champion, but I don’t get to ‘pick’ who I fight, we’ve seen that before, and it never ends well. So, here’s my proposition, all three of those girls deserve a shot at my Title, so tonight they ALL get a chance to prove it.”
The crowd roared in approval and, after waiting for them to calm down just a fraction, Samantha Sinclair prepared to get matters officially under way.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the following Contest will be for One Fall, and will be a Number One Contenders, Triple Threat Match!! Introducing first, hailing fro…”
CAN’T GO TO HELL
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c8tPJ740xA
To her credit, Sammie took her own interruption with good grace.
The intro had changed, but the young woman it heralded had not, the black sheep of wrestling returning to the stage whenever it suited her, and spurning the industry whenever it didn’t, the Purr-fect Princess swaggering into the limelight however, and whenever she desired, all five foot five and one-hundred and twenty pounds of her sublimely sculptured to purr-fection.
MARVELA MARCILLE
She smiled as she appeared, lights catching all the right curves, her manner without hesitation as she stood with regal bearings, raising one hand high in welcome as pyrotechnics erupted bombastically to either side of her. She seemed oblivious to the boos that were there to welcome her, the people that she had scorned as spitefully as possible letting her know just how much exactly they had not appreciated it.
It was this, however, that was the facade, and eventually she broke the illusion and she greeted the crowd’s heckling with a rolling of her eyes, a slightly exasperated ‘tut’ and a world weary smile tugging at the corners of her lips. With her less than sincere efforts of extending an olive branch rebuffed, Marvela launched into a light stepped stride down the ramp, the saunter of hips and the swish of her shoulders full of self-assured swagger, her mane of chocolate brown immaculate and shimmering, matching her gaze and showing not even a hint of fallibility.
She spun in a one eighty spiral, sweeping out her arms to either side as she continued to saunter backwards, smiling in a way that suggested that she knew that she was hot shit, and everyone else was just burned by it, her stride as infuriatingly confident in reverse as it was in going the right way. It was at this point she spotted one sign in particular, a message that was repeated several times over throughout the arena in preparation of her appearance, and she barely even had to read the words to know what it said.
What it always said.
NOT “OUR” PRINCESS
She merely rolled her eyes once more and dismissed the heartbroken sentiment with a dismissive flick of her wrist, turning back to sauntering the right way as she reached the ring. She strode up the steel steps and slipped into the squared circle like a welcomed heroine, taking a diagonal path across the canvas until she reached the opposite corner.
Marvela climbed the turnbuckles and swept up her arms as if in welcome, ready to salute the crowds that lov...
Marcille couldn’t do it, a wickedly indulgent grin marring her features as she opted to flip off the FAWNatics instead, and even that gesture seemed half hearted in its effort as she barely considered them worthy of it. The Purr-fect Princess hopped back down, swishing her curls dramatically across one shoulder before she held out one palm expectantly.
When nothing was placed into her waiting paw after several moments, she turned a withering glare in the direction of the Timekeeper when it became obvious that Sinclair wasn’t about to surrender her stick, intensifying her gaze with increasing venom until he found a microphone for her to use.
Her lips curling into a condescending facsimile of a smirk, Marvela turned the entirety of her attention to the waiting Sammie, forcing her ‘People’s’ equivalent to wait before she saw fit to address her. She brought the stick up to begin speaking… before stopping herself. Curling her lip in practiced disgust, she stepped back from the younger brunette and looked her up and down, clearly ‘aghast’ by what she saw.
“What on Earth are you WEARING!?” Marcille’s tone dripped with condescension, mocking Sammie’s choice of attire.
Sinclair, her brow initially perked, took a moment to look down fondly at the snuggliest looking jumper that had ever been worn in the Orlando Arena. A smirk appeared a moment later, the People’s Princess tapping the ten pounds of strap clasped comfortably about her trim midriff, “My Title?”
Whilst the FAWNatics approved of Samantha’s choice in counter, vocalising their support, Marvela was significantly less amused, striding forwards with her hackles immediately up.
“That’s my…”
OH MY MY
www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7TN-TpkET8
Scarlet burst out into the stage, Marvela incredulous at the interruption even as the FAWNatics welcomed the Upstart with all of the fanfare that was befitting a member of that most Babyfaced of Factions. While she was a somewhat reluctant, card carrying member of that particular Nation, she wasn’t about to turn down the accolades that accompanied the prestigious association.
SCARLET SINCLAIR
She came to a screeching halt, Scarlet grinning as she made a show of preventing herself from falling over and then, with her feet braced, she WHIPPED both of her arms up high into the air.
The FAWNatics responded to the invitation with a renewed bout of cheering, this time louder than before just as the Brit had requested it.
Scarlet, having heard what they had to say, set her hands back on her hips and tilted her head sideways. With a look of ‘deep’ consideration, she measured their offered enthusiasm to her arrival and, following a shaking of her head, she WHIPPED her arms up into the air for a second time!
So prompted, the FAWNatics responded even louder than before, their voices filling the rafters and encouraging a fresh smirk to emerge upon the features of the girl of their affections.
Satisfied with their performance, the Rebel Princess set off down the ramp at an impressive pace, her feet crisscrossing in front of one another as she held out her arms in welcome. Just as she was about to reach the squared circle, she cut a sharp turn right and began circling the squared circle. Scouring the front rows of the crowd before her, she only paused in her search once she spotted what she was looking for, which was evidently the cutest looking boy that sat within arm’s reach.
She both snagged the beer cup from his grasp and a pen from the nearby Timekeeper, helping herself to a gulp of the cool beverage (to be social), and proceeded to write a note (to be doubly social) on the side of the paper container. She returned the cup with a wink accompanying the swivel of her hips as she turned her back to him, the young man both left smitten by her proximity, and astonished by the invitation that she had left.
Leaving him speechless, Scarlet bounded up onto the apron and, just as she was about to duck between the top and middle ropes, she delivered a firm SPANK to her own, shockingly firm buttocks for good measure. She slipped into the ring and zeroed in on the seething Marcille, smirk planted firmly in place as she swung her right palm up to slap the bottom of Marvela’s microphone, POPPING it clean out of her grasp before the Purr-Fect Princess could even think to protest.
The Babe of Brawl deftly caught the liberated stick out of the air, much to the amusement of those watching, and spun away from the fuming Marcille before she could retrieve it.
“I would apologise for stepping on your moment,” Scarlet made immediate use of her stolen microphone, her smirk still planted firmly in place. “But I did it on purpose.”
Marvela made to deliver a series of slurs, but the smaller brunette held up her palm to stall her, Marcille so taken aback that someone would have the gall to ‘shush’ her, that it actually worked.
“And your Title?” Scarlet questioned with a perk of her brow, pointing at the ten pounds of gold strapped about her sister’s midriff. “Babe, you became irrelevant the day Sam turned eighteen.”
Marcille, the ‘Original’ People’s Princess, could keep her silence no longer, advancing a full step whilst pointing an accusatory finger. She opened her mouth to…
ELECTRIFIED
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oNuQMTI7n0
…burst out over the loud speakers.
IRMA IRONS
The Dark-Haired Destroyer tore through the curtains with little ceremony, setting a murderous pace as she stormed towards the ring with singular purpose. She glowered, every muscle of her physique positively twitching, five foot four and one-hundred and twenty-five pounds of scarcely contained aggression made manifest as she cracked her own neck in alarming fashion.
She forgo the need to torment the FAWNatics, either having outgrown such necessities or, more likely, her volatile need to inflict misery had merely become more focused, refined by the counsel of one, Darla Diane Davis. Her murderous glare was for the occupiers of the squared circle only and, after she had stormed up the steel steps, the Manchester Malcontent came to a sudden stop on the apron.
With a white-knuckle embrace, she squeezed the top rope as she glared at the People’s Princess inside the ring, fully prepared to rip her most heated rival limb from beloved limb. With a twitch on her right eye, Irma ducked between the top and middle ropes before advancing across the ring, getting all up in Sammie’s business, scarcely contained aggression for her most personal rival bleeding off her in waves.
The eldest of the Sinclair sisters did not back down, perking her chin up at the slightly taller brunette, matching her eye to eye. “Something on your mind?” Sammie questioned, bringing her mic up to her lips.
Iron’s didn’t reply, not verbally, her glare betraying everything that might be said. She did, after a deep exhale, pull back a full pace as she displayed rare restraint, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck. Samantha wasn’t entirely certain that she liked that.
“Well,” she broke the mounting tension, a smile returning her lips as she looked about the ring, “being as you’re all here, feel free to get to it!”
With that said, she ducked between the top and middle ropes (not turning her back on either Irma or Marvela), before hopping down off the apron, pausing at the last moment to address her sibling privately, concern briefly writ across her features.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she warned Scarlet.
“Why not?” the miniature brunette shrugged, nimbly hopping between one foot and the other, “it’s been working for you.”
Sammie resisted the urge to release the world-weary sigh of elder siblings the world over, opting instead to leave her sister to it as she turned about to salute the FAWNatics, their receptive cheer returning a smile to her features before she joined the PPV Commentators behind the Announcers Table.
One of them complimented her on her choice of jumper, the other one did not.
One of them was rewarded with a high five, the other one… was not.
With no further formalities to be seen too, the Official called for the bell, Iron’s, Marvela and Scarlet all crouching low and eyeing one another, each daring the next to be the first ones to move…
…which was Marvela, who promptly dropped, ducked and rolled her way clean out of the ring!!
After wasting little time in making her escape to the outside of the squared circle, the Purr-Fect Princess left the other two competitors somewhat flat footed, holding her arms out wide before possessing the gall to suggest that they should feel free to get started. The FAWNatics weren’t slow in letting Marcille know how they felt about her most recent display, but she cared not a jot, smugly preening as she set her hands on her hips and waited out the conflict from a perceived safe distance.
Iron’s, rolling her shoulders, was intensely distrustful of the crimson clad grappler’s intensions, but with a snort of contempt, she turned her full attention to…
…Scarlet, who wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth as she launched her diminutive stature into a beautiful Dropkick!!
STANDING DROPKICK
www.youtube.com/watch?v=liKDQz94odw
The Legionnaires in attendance WHOOPED in delight as the soles of Scarlet’s boots made solid contact with Irma’s exposed torso, the impact alone sending the Weaponised Wolverine toppling to the deck, a loud grunt accompanying her hard landing.
With her temper now spiking, Iron’s was swift in rolling over onto her front, SLAMMING her knuckles into the canvas as her temper spiked, a sharp exhale accompanying her rapid ascent back up to vertical. Unfortunately for her, the Babe of Brawl had landed in a far more controlled manner and so, even before the Anarchist had reached boot leather, Sinclair was already repositioning herself to follow up, popping her delectable frame into the air to hit a blistering, Scarlet Cutter Out of No-Where!!
SCARLET CUTTER OUT OF NO-WHERE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VthfkxwvVw
With both of the brunette’s arms wrapped around the back of her head, there was little that Irma could do to resist the twin mistresses of gravity and momentum, the Hardbody Lightweight was YANKED forwards until her chin connected with the posted shoulder of the miniature Brit! With a CRACK that many insisted was audible, Irma recoiled as though she had been electrocuted, snapping back up to standing with spittle emerging from out between her clenched teeth. She teetered for a moment before tumbling sideways, the FAWNatics delighted as Scarlet threw herself atop her to secure a pinfall…
ONE!
TWO!!
Iron’s kicked out with a considerable amount of conviction, shoving the smaller brunette away as she shook her head almost violently.
Scarlet, for her part, was bucked away with the smallest glimmer of annoyance, evidently having already envisioned the headlines that would have surely been coming her way. She shook it off, rolling back to vertical as Irma was getting back up onto her knees, Scarlet hunkering herself low as she could scarcely restrain herself, the Rebel Princess awaiting the opportune moment to strike.
As soon as she spotted it, she charged forwards, Iron’s finding one boot just before Scarlet closed the distance, the young woman shouting out (in a not terribly threatening fashion), before leaping into the air and positively SMASHING her boot into the back of her foe’s noggin!
SCARLET WIZARD
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QW4zSJOu5_o
This time, the THUNK of a boot making contact with Irma’s exposed skull was most defiantly audible, picked up by the hard camera as it was, and as Irma went down from the impact, she did so in a boneless spiral. So great was the recoil, the moment she made contact with the canvas, the Manchester Malcontent just kept on going, rolling end over end until she reached the apron and, a moment later, tumbled off and over the edge, falling to the barely padded concrete outside of the ring.
“Wait, no!” Scarlet protested, chasing after the tumbling Irma on her hands and knees until it was too late to catch her opponent. With a world-weary groan that she was far too young to express sincerely, the little brunette set her hands on her hips and released a sulky huff, evidently of the opinion that the world was being entirely unfair towards her personally.
“Great,” she lamented, “now I have to hoist her heavy ass back in here. Stupid cow must have at least fifteen pounds on me,” she continued to lament as she found her feet, before the tenor of the crowd reminded her that she had alternate options.
Turning about, she spotted Marvela still outside the ring herself, her back to the squared circle as she taunted the audience, tapping her own head as if to demonstrate how clever she had been in avoiding direct conflict. Evidently, she hadn’t yet noticed that Irma had also vacated the premises, and so a smirk lit up Scarlet’s features.
With frankly impish exuberance, the miniature Brit shot off at a sprint, the tenor of the crowd rising in volume so quickly, a suddenly wide eyed Marcille was smart enough to turn about. She was far too late however, Scarlet taking to the air as she reached the ring ropes, vaulting herself through the top and middle coils and turning herself into a missile!!
SUICIDE DIVE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7OclqQhE_I
There was no time to get out of the way, and so Marvela took the hit full on, trying her best to shield herself before the entirety of Scarlet SLAMMED into her at high speed. The FAWNatics accompanied the daring collision with loud shout, that appreciation increasing by the moment as Marcille was sent tumbling backwards into the waiting barricade, Sinclair herself popping right back up onto her feet with her arms outstretched, releasing a loud WHOOP as she revelled in her momentum.
With her heart beating a mile a minute, and with the Legionnaires in full voice behind her, an especially pleased Scarlet strode forwards several steps with a visible bounce in her stride, a smirk firmly in place as she spotted her big sister on commentary. ‘Me and you’ she insinuated with hand gestures, clearly expressing what she expected their next PPV match to be.
Sammie resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation, demonstrating some universal language of her own in suggesting that her little sister focus on the ‘here and now!!’
Scarlet shrugged, waving off her sibling’s concerns, turning about and…
…finding herself on the wrong end of a blistering Dropkick from Marvela, one that connected squarely with her exposed bosom, sending the young woman reeling. Unprepared for the impact, Scarlet stumbled backwards until the small of her back collided with the waiting steel steps, the miniature Brit arching with a barked yelp.
Even as Scarlet dropped down to one knee, the ‘Marvellous’ One was already back up on her feet, silently seething with indignation as she zeroed in on her opponent. “Rodent!” she sneered, snatching a fistful of the girl’s hair before forcing her to turn about, pulling her head back hard before YANKING!! it back forwards, SPIKING Sinclair’s forehead off the weaponised furniture with a sharp CLANG!!
Following both a stunned grunt and a sharp spasm, the petite physique of the Babe of Brawl slumped into a shell-shocked heap, groaning she lay folded over the top of the steel steps.
Satisfied that she had made her point with enough suitable venom, Marvela ran both of her hands through her hair before swishing her mane over one shoulder, dismissively swatting the back of Scarlets head before she took her time in ascending the steel steps. She stopped before entering the squared circle, instead reaching down to grasp a hold of one of Scarlets limp arms, folding it awkwardly until the elbow was pointing upwards towards the rafters.
The only time she wasted was a moment to look out at the audience, raising her arms up high before methodically pointing her thumbs down to the top of her own head.
“ITS! MY!! TIME!!!”
She declared, before STOMPING!! down viciously on her opponents’ fingers!!
STOMP!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJ4b1OYuOwQ
That woke Scarlet up, a YELP escaping from her small body as she recoiled away, grasping her throbbing paw as she winced in renewed pain, stumbling this way and that along the length of the apron. The Youngest of the Sinclair’s was still hissing when she finally came to stop, her involuntary momentum slowing only when she reached the next Ringpost.
Marvela followed her every step of the way, a saunter in the hips of the ‘Original’ People’s Princess as she thrust out a dismissive, open palm in the direction of the FAWNatics, unconcerned with their protests as she saw fit to do as she so pleased. Once again, with Scarlet still folded forwards, Marcille grabbed the ailing Brit by her hair, forcibly YANKING her head back to look her in the eye…
…which Scarlet clearly took exception to, the Rebel Princess releasing a fierce cry, this time of defiance, as she positively SLAMMED her knee up into Marcille’s most private regions!!
Marvela’s dark eyes snapped open wide as her jaw dropped, a silent scream emerging from her lips as she, ever so slowly, folded forward, a quiver in her knees threatening to betray her, absently releasing her hold of her opponents’ curls as she felt compelled to see to her own ills.
Even the FAWNatics winced in sympathy, Scarlet however, possessed none.
“Fight like a Bytch,” the miniature Brunette explained, “and I’ll treat you like a Bytch!!”
Marcille had no counter to that, not verbally or physically, far too concerned as she was with the throbbing between her thighs.
Scarlet, it seemed, was evidently one who was slow to forgive and forget, helping herself to a fistful of Marvella’s top and the waistband of her tights, spinning the crimson clad grappler about before bum rushing her in a direction she did not want to go. There was little Marcille could do about it, however, the ‘Magnificent’ Marvel sent hurtling into an uncontrolled sprint, hitting the brakes only because her knees COLLIDED with the waiting steel steps!!
With a YELP!! the brunette flipped ass over head, her legs spasming from the impact as she tumbled out of control, collapsing in a pained heap on the opposite side of the furniture she had started from, grasping at the apron as she struggled to recover. Somehow, perhaps fuelled by her seething sense of indignation, she did manage to drag herself upright, shuddering out deep breaths as the entirety of her body protested. She stumbled one step, and then a second, desperate to create some distance between herself and her opponent.
Scarlet had other ideas however, looking to the FAWNatics with the cheekiest of smirks with the perk of her brow suggesting that she was perhaps asking for their permission. They gave it, whether or not she actually needed it, responding to her request with a hearty cheer before the Babe of Brawl set off at a sprint. She reached the steel steps in no time flat and, unlike Marcille, she did not collide with them, instead vaulting her miniature mass up onto them before using them as a pedestal to LAUNCH herself into the air!!
STEP ASSISTED ELBOW SMASH
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cCM8UbKUucw
Recognising the change of tenor in the crowd’s reactions, Marvella turned herself about just in time to EAT the sweetest of high-flying elbows to the side of her cheek, the young woman smacked into a sharp spiral that sent her spinning down to the concrete. She remained there following Sinclair’s landing, her ears ringing, her taunt buttocks twitching as she struggled to recover.
Invigorated, the Youngest of the Sinclair’s thrust up one little fist into the air and beat out a ‘mighty’ cheer from her torso, popping up onto her tip toes (perhaps in an effort to look taller) as she addressed the FAWNatics directly. They returned her enthusiasm with gusto and, after she delivered a final salute, she turned her full attention back to the poleaxed Marcille…
…before EATING a blistering elbow of her own, the crowd gripped by shock after a resurgent Iron’s returned to the fray and positively SLAMMED her pointed joint into the smaller Brits temple, a blood curdling cry on her lips to accompany the unexpected charge. Caught completely unawares, Scarlet was almost sent spinning head over heels following the impact, landing in as dishevelled heap and shaking her head in a stupor.
RUNNING ELBOW SMASH
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXP559sBLv8
Irma was all but spitting blood as she just kept on going, her own momentum carrying her to the opposite set of barricades which she seized with a white knuckled grip. She exhaled in short, sharp snorts, her right eye bloodshot as she blinked several times, the Weaponised Wolverine well named as those sat in the front rows felt appropriately concerned finding themselves suddenly so close to the frequently, excessively violent Brit. She shook her head, as if she were still regathering her own senses, her previous assault against Sinclair apparently driven by instinct, before she pushed herself away from the barricades.
“Hey, numb nuts!” Scarlet announced with a pained exhale, the petite brunette groggily dragging herself upright with an assist from the steel steps. “Cheers for getting up, now I don’t have to toss your saggy ass back into the ring!”
For a single, solitary moment, Irma froze, before turning her head slowly with a eyes promising murder.
She turned sharply on the spot and bore down on Sinclair with vengeful intent, grabbing the smaller woman by her slim shoulders before she could fully return to upright. “BYTCH!!” Irma snapped out before slamming a brutal kneelift up into her foes unprotected, trim tummy, rewarded by a pained, guff of air escaping from the brunette’s frame. She followed it up with a swift second, forcibly folding her reeling opponent forwards and almost gutting her in the process. With the slim midriff of the crowd favourite beginning to buckle from the abuse, the Youngest of the Sinclair’s was rendered penitent in brutally swift fashion.
“You aint walking away tonight!” Irma warned, leaning forwards to deliver the dire promise with a low snarl, before grasping her limp limbed adversary by the collar of her top and the hem of her shorts, before turning about sharply and…
…instead of bum rushing Scarlet back into the ring, she instead all but THREW her into the waiting Announce Table, all but IMPALING the poor young woman’s already abused gut into its unyielding frame. Almost collectively, the FAWNatics winced away as Scarlet released a pained YELP, spasming before slumping over the top of the furniture, her slim shoulder shuddering as she legs gave out beneath her.
Iron’s, slowly becoming dangerously composed, turned her attention away from the Sinclair that she had been abusing, and turned it towards the other, Sammie watching it all from the other side of the desk. The two locked eyes and neither blinked, the two heated rivals separated by but a single piece of furniture and, while it seemed Irma may just vault it at a moment’s notice, the People’s Princess stood slowly to her feet, the tension palpable in the air.
Just as it seemed that the two of them were about to go at it, it was Iron’s that broke out in a crooked grin, grabbing Sammie’s little sister by her hair and forcing Sammie to watch as she hauled the younger woman up onto her feet. “Aint our time yet, bytch,” Irma explained, backing off with her rival’s sibling in her possession, “I aint done with this one yet.”
Declaration so made, and with Scarlet still suitably compliant, Iron’s continued to retain eye contact with the Little Sparrow as she muscled her fellow lightweight opponent up and over onto one shoulder. She turned away only when she was ready, inhaling deeply before launching herself into a charge, the FAWNatics crying out in protest before Irma suddenly threw both herself and her cargo forwards, the Anarchist DRIVING the Rebel Princess spine first into the concrete by way of Powerslam!!
RUNNING POWERSLAM
www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOW1ocYQqqA
Whilst Sammie may have forced herself to watch the whole thing, many the audience had looked away, the dull THUMP of the brutal collision accompanying Scarlet’s pained cry as she popped back up to sitting, cradling the small of her back before she slumped over onto her side. She remained there in a heap, puddled on the floor, her right leg kicking out at irregular intervals as her nerves began misfiring.
Irma, by comparison, was the picture of health, even seethed in sweet as she was and bloodshot in one eye. She was grinning again, the tension in her shoulders almost quivering, the Weaponised Wolverine almost grinding her teeth in anticipation. She grabbed Scarlet by her curls before securing a second fistful of the younger woman’s shorts and forcibly hauling her up, almost dismissively tossing the girl back into the squared circle for what felt like the first time in age.
“You ‘Babyface’ Bytches never learn,” Iron’s sneered, hauling herself back into the ring soon after, zeroing in on the moaning Scarlet who lay spread eagled on the canvas. “Don’t ever take it outside the ropes with the likes of me!!”
Re-securing her rag dolled victim, she muscled the petite girl back up off the deck and up over her shoulders, this time holding her aloft via a Fireman’s Carry. With her opponent providing little protest beyond a compulsory wriggle, Irma set her up at centre ring, preparing to make a statement via an Iron Valley Driver. With a sharp inhale, she SHOVED up on Scarlet’s limber, lower limbs, preparing to vault her up and over…
…only for a (far more than she was ever going to admit) desperate Scarlet resurged to life, taking that fraction of a moment of freedom to pivot her way to even more of it, slipping free from her foes lethal grasp and dodging out of the back door!!
Before Iron’s could recover, the Babe of Brawl came to land behind the Anarchist, whipping her own arms up beneath the wider shoulders of her opponent and quickly securing a Full Nelson. There was no time to waste, not with Irma flat footed, and so Sinclair didn’t even pause to deliver a witty rejoinder before slipping her right foot in front of her foes left stem and, with a grunt of effort, WHIPPED them both forwards for a Scarlet Surprise!!
SCARLET SURPRISE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBS7DOD8-oI
The Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance positively WHOOPED at the sudden reversal in fortunes, Iron’s finding her features DRIVEN into the mat with an audible THUNK, the curses that had threatened to emerge from her body cut off at the pass.
Irma lay still after a sharp spasm whilst Scarlet popped back up onto her knees, still visibly wincing herself when her back delivered a sharp protest. She filed such complaints away for later review, instead forcing herself to find her feet before ducking low to shovel the shell-shocked Iron’s over onto her back.
“I don’t know what you’re still so mad about,” Scarlet exhaled with a breathy grunt before moving again to collect both of her foe’s ankles. With little ceremony, she raised Iron’s legs upwards, spreading them outwards into a wide V and leaving a certain part of the other woman’s anatomy dangerously vulnerable, “I can barely even still see the giant penis I drew on your forehead.”
A furious Irma opened her mouth to unleash an appropriately sharp insult, but it died on lips without before said after Scarlet popped herself up into the air, the Youngest of the Sinclair’s spreading her own, athletic stems out wide into another V before she came down for a landing. Unfortunately for her opponent, that meant forcibly SNAPPING Iron’s own limbs out WIDE, felicitating a bark of pain to emerge from the spitting mad Irma, the Manchester Malcontent BUCKING away and cradling at her burning sex.
For Scarlet, the only discomfort she experienced was a bump to her taunt, little toosh following her landing, and so she rolled with it back up onto her feet, pumping a renewed fist up into the air as Babyface Momentum was once again well and truly on her side…
…until Marvela damn near took her head off!!
The FAWNatics collectively GASPED as Marcille returned to the ring, reminding everyone in attendance that she was DAMN WELL THERE as she jumped up onto the apron, vaulted up onto the top rope and all but EXPLODED into the air via a springboard. When the delectable athlete returned to earth, she delivered a high-flying clothesline to the blindsided Scarlet, knocking her clean off her feet and sending her spinning to the canvas!!
SPRINGBOARD CLOTHESLINE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=uL5_LG33B3A
Visibly wincing, the reeling Sinclair rolled with her fall back up onto her knees, a sudden bout of nausea keeping her from returning all the way back up to vertical. That suited Marvela just fine, the Purr-Fect Princess also rolling with her own, far more controlled landing to get straight back up onto her feet, light on the soles of her boots as she turned about on the little Brits rear.
She spared just enough time to deliver a dismissive flick of her hair before launching into a fresh sprint, leaping at the last moment and DRILLING both of her knees into the base of her opponents exposed neck!!
DOUBLE KNEE DROP
www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0LxLIK4B3E
Scarlet’s following cry was worryingly short lived as she was forcibly compressed forwards, her vision flashing white before the entirety of her back issued a stern protest, shutting itself down as Sinclair flopped over onto her side. The tip of her right boot tapped down against the canvas, but otherwise she remained still, her elder sibling watching with building concern from outside the ring.
Marvela was back on her feet in no time, sauntering about the ring and feeling excessively pleased with herself, both of her arms upraised as she ‘allowed’ the FAWNatics to drink in her glory. Satisfied that she had found an appropriate spot, she pointed both of her thumbs down towards her own head, motioning them towards her noggin as she declared…
“IT’S! MY!! TI…”
She didn’t get to finish, a suddenly wide eyed Marcille scampering away from her chosen spot as she gripped by far more alarm than she was ever going to admit to. Iron’s had returned to her feet, both of her eyes now bloodshot as she was almost quite literally spitting murder, and Marcille well recalled their last encounter a month previous and had no desire to repeat history. The brunette swiftly found the relative safety of the furthest corner from Iron’s and, with her hands upraised, she rapidly called for a ‘time out’.
Irma snorted, generally not the sort to partake in such an offer and so, as she began to advance, Marcille scrambled to make her case.
“Wait, wait, WAIT!!” she insisted, motioning her hands as though she was washing windows. “We take out her, the rodent, WE TAKE OUT SINCLAIR!!”
Iron’s did pause at that, perhaps her inherent desire to wreak havoc on that particular bloodline overriding her overall sense of bloodlust. With her right eye twitching, she looked between Marvela and the slowly stirring Scarlet, before finally coming to a decision… backing off from the ‘Marvellous’ One to the FAWNatics dismay.
Somewhat desperately, the Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance began to call fowl on the dark alliance that was forming, but neither of its members seemed to care as Iron’s rolled her shoulders and set herself up ready.
Marvela, her own lips now curling in delight, took her cue and collected the limp limbed Scarlet, the young woman returning to vertical only because she was being bullied into position. Not giving the Brit the chance to recover, she pivoted sharply on the spot and launched Sinclair across the ring by way of Irish Whip, lining her up with Irma who possessively collected the young woman up into her grasp.
In frightening short order, the Manchester Malcontent muscled the Babe of Brawl up and over onto one shoulder, almost effortlessly holding her above the ring as she marched forwards.
Marcille joined her at centre ring, throwing herself into a blistering kick that SLAMMED her boot into the side of her suspended opponent’s temple, knocking the already defenceless girl suitably senseless, a sharp spasm running through Scarlet’s taunt buttocks as they were pointed upwards towards the rafters.
Iron’s followed the head trauma up with by throwing both herself and Sinclair forwards, PLANTING the Youngest of the Sinclair’s into the canvas with her second Powerslam of the evening.
POWERSLAM/FLYING KICK COMBO
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iWnoQv4r1M
Scarlet wasn’t moving, splayed out on the canvas with her arms and legs outstretched, the diminutive Brit an offering to the Gods as she lay between Marvela Marcille and Irma Iron’s. Both were back up on their feet and allowing the moment to simmer, the Weaponised Wolverine scowling down at the debris of her opponent whilst the Magnificent Marvel pivoted into a wide, sauntering spiral, one that encompassed several steps as she paraded with her arms outstretched.
When she returned to Irma she did so with a sly smirk, the Crimson Clad Viper…
…releasing a startled GASP as her heart skipped a panicked beat, Iron’s immediately dissolving their alliance and hauling the flat footed, ‘Original’ People’s Princess up and over her shoulders. Marcille shook her head franticly in denial as she was secured in the Fireman’s Carry, and the FAWNatics were uncertain as to how they shoulder react as Irma shoved up on her captives’ lower limbs to power her into the Iron Valley Driver!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OXjxAdWwD8
Irma NAILED!!! the back of Marvella’s noggin into the deck with enough force to rattle the canvas, and the loud protests of the crimson clad athlete were silenced as though she had been shot. She was rigid for just a fraction of a moment before she flopped out into a heap, her sculptured physique bleeding out into a puddle as her peepers fluttered erratically.
Iron’s, by comparison, released a dominant HOWL as she surged back to vertical, beating her chest as she exhaled both fast and furiously. She snorted after finding herself back at centre ring, pacing this way and that before rolling her shoulders, forcing herself to calm down. Centring herself as best as could be expected, the Enforcer of the burgeoning Apex Nation made up her mind and returned to the flattened Marvela, grasping her
by her tights and hurling her out of the squared circle.
With the ‘Purr-Fect’ Princess unceremoniously deposited, Irma turned her attention back to the splayed Scarlet, the young woman of the FAWNatics affections looking no better than she had before. Iron’s didn’t seem to much care that the Rebel Princess was already out of it, not as she scraped the younger Brit off the canvas and muscled her featherweight mass up and over her shoulders by way of Fireman’s Carry.
This time, Scarlet didn’t even offer a defiant wriggle of protest, not as Irma grinned her crooked grin before repeating history, launching her rival’s lower limbs skywards before throwing the both of them sideways, SPIKING the back of the girls neck DEEP into the plywood!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OXjxAdWwD8
Following a hollow grunt that accompanied the spasming of her physique, Scarlet slumped into a heap, pretty peepers sealed entirely shut as she found herself unable to recover.
The FAWNatics lamented the coming pinfall as Irma rolled her up for…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
Only reluctantly, Irma vacated her perch of her defeated foe, releasing the girl’s leg by tossing it aside. She stood as the Announcer made the unpopular news official, Iron’s glaring down at the wreckage that was Scarlet splayed out at her feet.
“Your winner,” the loud speakers made clear across the entire arena, “and the new Number One Contender for the EuroAsia Championship, IRMA! IRONS!!”
She snorted at the news, increasingly agitated as she rolled her shoulders, muscles twitching as she continued to glare down at the smaller Brit, the girl utterly at her mercy. Suddenly, she released a sharp exhale and reach down, GRABBING the younger woman by her hair and dragging her…
The tenor of the FAWNatics changed dramatically as Samantha Sinclair dived into the squared circle, the People’s Princess abandoning the Announcers Table now that the match was over and immediately leaping to her little siblings’ defence. The FAWNatics roared in approval as the Little Sparrow was all up in the face of the Weaponised Wolverine in a flash, Iron’s quickly forgetting Scarlet as the two heated Rival’s stood eye to eye.
“Back off, Iron’s,” Sammie warned, button nose scrunched up in Babyfaced dander, “first and only warning, you got what you wanted.”
Irma didn’t answer, not verbally, her right eye twitching as her fingers clenched up into fists.
The FAWNatics held their breath, waiting for the first one to flinch…
…before they all GASPED in surprise, all potential warnings dying on their collective lips as Marvela threw herself back into the ring and SLAMMED a steel chair into Sammie’s unprotected back!!
The People’s Princess released a pained cry as she dropped down to her knees, gamely attempting to push her way right back up to vertical before Marcille connected with a SECOND chair shot directly to the Brits head!!!
With the CLANG being audible to all four corners of the Orlando Arena, and the dent that had been left in the steel chair visible to everyone who dared to look at it, no-one in attendance was surprised when the eldest of the Sinclair Sisters dropped down the canvas in a senseless heap. Her right leg twitched as her peepers fluttered, and perhaps she would have retained those signs of life had the incensed ‘Original’ People’s Princess not gone on to nail her successor with not one, not two, but THREE further chair shots before she was done.
With her own exhales now deep and ragged, Marvela threw her impromptu weapon aside before swiftly dropping to the canvas and rolling herself out of the ring, beating a retreat before Iron’s could consider her own reaction to the unprovoked assault that had just unfolded before her. Both of the young women glared at one another before Marcille threw up her palms dismissively to one and all, snapping herself about into a saunter as she set about vacating the premises on her own terms, Irma watching her depart every step on the way.
Iron’s was in no rush follow, not yet, not even when it seemed that she had everything that she could want…
Instead she turned about and glared at the splayed-out Sammie, the FAWNatics protesting even before she reached down GRABBED the young women by her proud curls.
In worryingly short order, she had scrapped the EuroAsia Champion off the canvas and muscled her up and over onto her waiting shoulders, securing the Fireman’s Carry that many had learned to dread. She snorted, tensing her shoulders before popping her most hated rival’s lower limbs skywards, dropping herself sideways to NAIL the base of the girl’s noggin into the canvas!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OXjxAdWwD8
When Sammie was released, she flopped onto the deck in a boneless heap, Irma quickly straddling her to make her point, collecting the young woman’s head and displaying the crowd favourites, blank eyed expression to the hard camera for a long moment. She exhaled deeply, indulging in her dominance, a harbinger of things to come…
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, capturing their attention, “the following contest will be…”
FEEL INVINCIBLE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gco_SAvHVSM
The Loud speakers cut him off before he could even finish his sentence and, even if he had tried to recover, the fact that the collective masses in attendance officially lost their collective sh*t would have rendered his efforts entirely mute. With the Houselights drawing their undivided attention to the curtains, the Upstart Supreme herself stood revealed for all to see!
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
While it became quickly apparent that the Little Sparrow had not arrived tonight to compete, her usual attire replaced by sneakers, jeans and the snuggliest looking jumper to have ever been worn by a FAWN superstar inside the Orlando Arena, the Loyalist Legionnaires were still in full voice by the arrival of the Upstart Supreme.
Standing with her feet braced apart and arms upraised, the miniature Brit flashed her most winning smile as her freckled cheeks flushed an endearing shade of crimson. She raised her hands up high and wiggled her fingers, the Little Sparrow cluing in her supporters that it was time for them to join in before she brought them together…
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
…the audience doing likewise in unison before she pointed dramatically towards the squared circle, pyrokinetics exploding to either side of the EuroAsia Champion and surrounding her in a halo of light.
Statement of intent made, the brunette of petite proportions set off down the ramp at a brisk and lively pace as she made her way to the ring, diverting from her destination as she spotted the youngest members of the audience in the front rows and delivering crisp high fives to make their evenings. Standing in at five foot four and one-hundred and ten pounds, her spirited and welcoming demeanour made her every inch the People’s Princess, welcoming the masses with open arms as they welcomed her in return.
Arriving at the ring, the lithe, cap wearing grappler hopped up onto the apron without even a hint of hinderance, grasping onto the top rope in short order. After delivering a cheeky shake of her pert booty, Sammie leaned backwards before positively vaulting her slender physique up and over the uppermost coil, turning about into a darling spiral as her sneakers returned to canvas, brunette curls bouncing about her shoulders as she toured the four corners of the squared circle.
Coming to a stop at centre ring, she brought her hands to rest upon the ten pounds of EuroAsia Gold sat snugly about her trim tummy, the tips of fingers drumming excitedly upon its surface as she bashfully bit down on her bottom lip.
The FAWNatics cheered all the more as attention was drawn to that coveted Title, the Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance exceedingly pleased to witness it being worn by a member of the most Babyfaced of Factions, the Upstart Nation. It was not long before a new chant found purchase amongst the faithful, one that had become a staple during a Samantha Sinclair appearance.
“WORLDS! BEST! BRIT! WORLDS! BEST! BRIT! WORLDS! BEST! BRIT!”
She looked bashful at that particular declaration, and she accepted it with good grace, revealing that she had secured a microphone for herself somewhere along the way to the ring, and she brought it to her lips as she turned apologetically to the Announcer who was still waiting patiently.
“Sorry,” Sammie addressed him directly, meaning it in the sincerest manner imaginable for cutting him off, “that was rude. Do you mind, I’d like to do this myself?”
The Announcer nodded gracefully but, before he could vacate the ring, Sinclair popped up onto her tip toes and kissed him gratefully on the cheek. That seemed to do the trick, and he departed the ring in good spirits.
With the formalities out of the way, the People’s Princess turned the entirety of her attention towards the masses, which they were more than welcome to receive.
“Miss me?” she queried, the FAWNatics responding in the positive. Sammie, in reply, tilted her head just a fraction and pouted ever so slightly, “But I was only just here last month?”
The arena was not slow in letting their feelings be known.
“NOT-E-NOUGH!! NOT-E-NOUGH!! NOT-E-NOUGH!! NOT-E-NOUGH!! NOT-E-NOUGH!!”
Sammie smirked, her freckled cheeks flushing a delightful crimson, “Ok, alright, I guess I haven’t been around as much with all of the touring and such. Apparently being the EuroAsia Champion means getting shipped off to every corner of multiple continents, but right now I’m only here for ORLANDO!!!”
The FAWNatics in attendance ate that up with gusto, Sammie sparing a moment to turn and wave into the Hard Camera for those watching at home. “And as it happens,” she continued, “I’m faced with bit of a pickle.”
The crowd settled down just a fraction at that, genuinely perplexed as to her meaning.
“Last month at Summer Swelter,” yet another positive response from the audience at the mention of the well-received PPV, “I defended my Gold in a Fatal Four Way Match. Now, as you all know, I walked back out with the strap I walked in with,” yet another positive pop for the Brit of Perfectly Petite Proportions, “but it wasn’t exactly a sure thing. All three of those girls had me dead to rights more than once and, had they not gotten in each other’s way, then it might have been a different outcome.”
The FAWNatics didn’t agree with that, but their Princess held up a placating hand.
“It’s ok, I want that kind of competition, I’m a Sinclair, I live off it, but I do believe that all three of them deserve another shot at this very Gold,” she explained, the tips of her fingers drumming atop her Title. She tilted her head as if in contemplation, before nodding in the affirmative.
“Now, personally,” she continued, I was all in on a Summer Swelter Re-Match,” the masses perked up at that notion, “but the Powers That Be said no, Pick One.”
The FAWNatics, eating out of her hand, booed the mention of any manner of authority.
“Trouble is,” Sammie sighed ever so slightly, “I royally suck at multiple choice, and I’m not big on the notion of ‘picking my opponents’. I might be the Champion, but I don’t get to ‘pick’ who I fight, we’ve seen that before, and it never ends well. So, here’s my proposition, all three of those girls deserve a shot at my Title, so tonight they ALL get a chance to prove it.”
The crowd roared in approval and, after waiting for them to calm down just a fraction, Samantha Sinclair prepared to get matters officially under way.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the following Contest will be for One Fall, and will be a Number One Contenders, Triple Threat Match!! Introducing first, hailing fro…”
CAN’T GO TO HELL
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c8tPJ740xA
To her credit, Sammie took her own interruption with good grace.
The intro had changed, but the young woman it heralded had not, the black sheep of wrestling returning to the stage whenever it suited her, and spurning the industry whenever it didn’t, the Purr-fect Princess swaggering into the limelight however, and whenever she desired, all five foot five and one-hundred and twenty pounds of her sublimely sculptured to purr-fection.
MARVELA MARCILLE
She smiled as she appeared, lights catching all the right curves, her manner without hesitation as she stood with regal bearings, raising one hand high in welcome as pyrotechnics erupted bombastically to either side of her. She seemed oblivious to the boos that were there to welcome her, the people that she had scorned as spitefully as possible letting her know just how much exactly they had not appreciated it.
It was this, however, that was the facade, and eventually she broke the illusion and she greeted the crowd’s heckling with a rolling of her eyes, a slightly exasperated ‘tut’ and a world weary smile tugging at the corners of her lips. With her less than sincere efforts of extending an olive branch rebuffed, Marvela launched into a light stepped stride down the ramp, the saunter of hips and the swish of her shoulders full of self-assured swagger, her mane of chocolate brown immaculate and shimmering, matching her gaze and showing not even a hint of fallibility.
She spun in a one eighty spiral, sweeping out her arms to either side as she continued to saunter backwards, smiling in a way that suggested that she knew that she was hot shit, and everyone else was just burned by it, her stride as infuriatingly confident in reverse as it was in going the right way. It was at this point she spotted one sign in particular, a message that was repeated several times over throughout the arena in preparation of her appearance, and she barely even had to read the words to know what it said.
What it always said.
NOT “OUR” PRINCESS
She merely rolled her eyes once more and dismissed the heartbroken sentiment with a dismissive flick of her wrist, turning back to sauntering the right way as she reached the ring. She strode up the steel steps and slipped into the squared circle like a welcomed heroine, taking a diagonal path across the canvas until she reached the opposite corner.
Marvela climbed the turnbuckles and swept up her arms as if in welcome, ready to salute the crowds that lov...
Marcille couldn’t do it, a wickedly indulgent grin marring her features as she opted to flip off the FAWNatics instead, and even that gesture seemed half hearted in its effort as she barely considered them worthy of it. The Purr-fect Princess hopped back down, swishing her curls dramatically across one shoulder before she held out one palm expectantly.
When nothing was placed into her waiting paw after several moments, she turned a withering glare in the direction of the Timekeeper when it became obvious that Sinclair wasn’t about to surrender her stick, intensifying her gaze with increasing venom until he found a microphone for her to use.
Her lips curling into a condescending facsimile of a smirk, Marvela turned the entirety of her attention to the waiting Sammie, forcing her ‘People’s’ equivalent to wait before she saw fit to address her. She brought the stick up to begin speaking… before stopping herself. Curling her lip in practiced disgust, she stepped back from the younger brunette and looked her up and down, clearly ‘aghast’ by what she saw.
“What on Earth are you WEARING!?” Marcille’s tone dripped with condescension, mocking Sammie’s choice of attire.
Sinclair, her brow initially perked, took a moment to look down fondly at the snuggliest looking jumper that had ever been worn in the Orlando Arena. A smirk appeared a moment later, the People’s Princess tapping the ten pounds of strap clasped comfortably about her trim midriff, “My Title?”
Whilst the FAWNatics approved of Samantha’s choice in counter, vocalising their support, Marvela was significantly less amused, striding forwards with her hackles immediately up.
“That’s my…”
OH MY MY
www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7TN-TpkET8
Scarlet burst out into the stage, Marvela incredulous at the interruption even as the FAWNatics welcomed the Upstart with all of the fanfare that was befitting a member of that most Babyfaced of Factions. While she was a somewhat reluctant, card carrying member of that particular Nation, she wasn’t about to turn down the accolades that accompanied the prestigious association.
SCARLET SINCLAIR
She came to a screeching halt, Scarlet grinning as she made a show of preventing herself from falling over and then, with her feet braced, she WHIPPED both of her arms up high into the air.
The FAWNatics responded to the invitation with a renewed bout of cheering, this time louder than before just as the Brit had requested it.
Scarlet, having heard what they had to say, set her hands back on her hips and tilted her head sideways. With a look of ‘deep’ consideration, she measured their offered enthusiasm to her arrival and, following a shaking of her head, she WHIPPED her arms up into the air for a second time!
So prompted, the FAWNatics responded even louder than before, their voices filling the rafters and encouraging a fresh smirk to emerge upon the features of the girl of their affections.
Satisfied with their performance, the Rebel Princess set off down the ramp at an impressive pace, her feet crisscrossing in front of one another as she held out her arms in welcome. Just as she was about to reach the squared circle, she cut a sharp turn right and began circling the squared circle. Scouring the front rows of the crowd before her, she only paused in her search once she spotted what she was looking for, which was evidently the cutest looking boy that sat within arm’s reach.
She both snagged the beer cup from his grasp and a pen from the nearby Timekeeper, helping herself to a gulp of the cool beverage (to be social), and proceeded to write a note (to be doubly social) on the side of the paper container. She returned the cup with a wink accompanying the swivel of her hips as she turned her back to him, the young man both left smitten by her proximity, and astonished by the invitation that she had left.
Leaving him speechless, Scarlet bounded up onto the apron and, just as she was about to duck between the top and middle ropes, she delivered a firm SPANK to her own, shockingly firm buttocks for good measure. She slipped into the ring and zeroed in on the seething Marcille, smirk planted firmly in place as she swung her right palm up to slap the bottom of Marvela’s microphone, POPPING it clean out of her grasp before the Purr-Fect Princess could even think to protest.
The Babe of Brawl deftly caught the liberated stick out of the air, much to the amusement of those watching, and spun away from the fuming Marcille before she could retrieve it.
“I would apologise for stepping on your moment,” Scarlet made immediate use of her stolen microphone, her smirk still planted firmly in place. “But I did it on purpose.”
Marvela made to deliver a series of slurs, but the smaller brunette held up her palm to stall her, Marcille so taken aback that someone would have the gall to ‘shush’ her, that it actually worked.
“And your Title?” Scarlet questioned with a perk of her brow, pointing at the ten pounds of gold strapped about her sister’s midriff. “Babe, you became irrelevant the day Sam turned eighteen.”
Marcille, the ‘Original’ People’s Princess, could keep her silence no longer, advancing a full step whilst pointing an accusatory finger. She opened her mouth to…
ELECTRIFIED
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oNuQMTI7n0
…burst out over the loud speakers.
IRMA IRONS
The Dark-Haired Destroyer tore through the curtains with little ceremony, setting a murderous pace as she stormed towards the ring with singular purpose. She glowered, every muscle of her physique positively twitching, five foot four and one-hundred and twenty-five pounds of scarcely contained aggression made manifest as she cracked her own neck in alarming fashion.
She forgo the need to torment the FAWNatics, either having outgrown such necessities or, more likely, her volatile need to inflict misery had merely become more focused, refined by the counsel of one, Darla Diane Davis. Her murderous glare was for the occupiers of the squared circle only and, after she had stormed up the steel steps, the Manchester Malcontent came to a sudden stop on the apron.
With a white-knuckle embrace, she squeezed the top rope as she glared at the People’s Princess inside the ring, fully prepared to rip her most heated rival limb from beloved limb. With a twitch on her right eye, Irma ducked between the top and middle ropes before advancing across the ring, getting all up in Sammie’s business, scarcely contained aggression for her most personal rival bleeding off her in waves.
The eldest of the Sinclair sisters did not back down, perking her chin up at the slightly taller brunette, matching her eye to eye. “Something on your mind?” Sammie questioned, bringing her mic up to her lips.
Iron’s didn’t reply, not verbally, her glare betraying everything that might be said. She did, after a deep exhale, pull back a full pace as she displayed rare restraint, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck. Samantha wasn’t entirely certain that she liked that.
“Well,” she broke the mounting tension, a smile returning her lips as she looked about the ring, “being as you’re all here, feel free to get to it!”
With that said, she ducked between the top and middle ropes (not turning her back on either Irma or Marvela), before hopping down off the apron, pausing at the last moment to address her sibling privately, concern briefly writ across her features.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she warned Scarlet.
“Why not?” the miniature brunette shrugged, nimbly hopping between one foot and the other, “it’s been working for you.”
Sammie resisted the urge to release the world-weary sigh of elder siblings the world over, opting instead to leave her sister to it as she turned about to salute the FAWNatics, their receptive cheer returning a smile to her features before she joined the PPV Commentators behind the Announcers Table.
One of them complimented her on her choice of jumper, the other one did not.
One of them was rewarded with a high five, the other one… was not.
With no further formalities to be seen too, the Official called for the bell, Iron’s, Marvela and Scarlet all crouching low and eyeing one another, each daring the next to be the first ones to move…
…which was Marvela, who promptly dropped, ducked and rolled her way clean out of the ring!!
After wasting little time in making her escape to the outside of the squared circle, the Purr-Fect Princess left the other two competitors somewhat flat footed, holding her arms out wide before possessing the gall to suggest that they should feel free to get started. The FAWNatics weren’t slow in letting Marcille know how they felt about her most recent display, but she cared not a jot, smugly preening as she set her hands on her hips and waited out the conflict from a perceived safe distance.
Iron’s, rolling her shoulders, was intensely distrustful of the crimson clad grappler’s intensions, but with a snort of contempt, she turned her full attention to…
…Scarlet, who wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth as she launched her diminutive stature into a beautiful Dropkick!!
STANDING DROPKICK
www.youtube.com/watch?v=liKDQz94odw
The Legionnaires in attendance WHOOPED in delight as the soles of Scarlet’s boots made solid contact with Irma’s exposed torso, the impact alone sending the Weaponised Wolverine toppling to the deck, a loud grunt accompanying her hard landing.
With her temper now spiking, Iron’s was swift in rolling over onto her front, SLAMMING her knuckles into the canvas as her temper spiked, a sharp exhale accompanying her rapid ascent back up to vertical. Unfortunately for her, the Babe of Brawl had landed in a far more controlled manner and so, even before the Anarchist had reached boot leather, Sinclair was already repositioning herself to follow up, popping her delectable frame into the air to hit a blistering, Scarlet Cutter Out of No-Where!!
SCARLET CUTTER OUT OF NO-WHERE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VthfkxwvVw
With both of the brunette’s arms wrapped around the back of her head, there was little that Irma could do to resist the twin mistresses of gravity and momentum, the Hardbody Lightweight was YANKED forwards until her chin connected with the posted shoulder of the miniature Brit! With a CRACK that many insisted was audible, Irma recoiled as though she had been electrocuted, snapping back up to standing with spittle emerging from out between her clenched teeth. She teetered for a moment before tumbling sideways, the FAWNatics delighted as Scarlet threw herself atop her to secure a pinfall…
ONE!
TWO!!
Iron’s kicked out with a considerable amount of conviction, shoving the smaller brunette away as she shook her head almost violently.
Scarlet, for her part, was bucked away with the smallest glimmer of annoyance, evidently having already envisioned the headlines that would have surely been coming her way. She shook it off, rolling back to vertical as Irma was getting back up onto her knees, Scarlet hunkering herself low as she could scarcely restrain herself, the Rebel Princess awaiting the opportune moment to strike.
As soon as she spotted it, she charged forwards, Iron’s finding one boot just before Scarlet closed the distance, the young woman shouting out (in a not terribly threatening fashion), before leaping into the air and positively SMASHING her boot into the back of her foe’s noggin!
SCARLET WIZARD
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QW4zSJOu5_o
This time, the THUNK of a boot making contact with Irma’s exposed skull was most defiantly audible, picked up by the hard camera as it was, and as Irma went down from the impact, she did so in a boneless spiral. So great was the recoil, the moment she made contact with the canvas, the Manchester Malcontent just kept on going, rolling end over end until she reached the apron and, a moment later, tumbled off and over the edge, falling to the barely padded concrete outside of the ring.
“Wait, no!” Scarlet protested, chasing after the tumbling Irma on her hands and knees until it was too late to catch her opponent. With a world-weary groan that she was far too young to express sincerely, the little brunette set her hands on her hips and released a sulky huff, evidently of the opinion that the world was being entirely unfair towards her personally.
“Great,” she lamented, “now I have to hoist her heavy ass back in here. Stupid cow must have at least fifteen pounds on me,” she continued to lament as she found her feet, before the tenor of the crowd reminded her that she had alternate options.
Turning about, she spotted Marvela still outside the ring herself, her back to the squared circle as she taunted the audience, tapping her own head as if to demonstrate how clever she had been in avoiding direct conflict. Evidently, she hadn’t yet noticed that Irma had also vacated the premises, and so a smirk lit up Scarlet’s features.
With frankly impish exuberance, the miniature Brit shot off at a sprint, the tenor of the crowd rising in volume so quickly, a suddenly wide eyed Marcille was smart enough to turn about. She was far too late however, Scarlet taking to the air as she reached the ring ropes, vaulting herself through the top and middle coils and turning herself into a missile!!
SUICIDE DIVE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7OclqQhE_I
There was no time to get out of the way, and so Marvela took the hit full on, trying her best to shield herself before the entirety of Scarlet SLAMMED into her at high speed. The FAWNatics accompanied the daring collision with loud shout, that appreciation increasing by the moment as Marcille was sent tumbling backwards into the waiting barricade, Sinclair herself popping right back up onto her feet with her arms outstretched, releasing a loud WHOOP as she revelled in her momentum.
With her heart beating a mile a minute, and with the Legionnaires in full voice behind her, an especially pleased Scarlet strode forwards several steps with a visible bounce in her stride, a smirk firmly in place as she spotted her big sister on commentary. ‘Me and you’ she insinuated with hand gestures, clearly expressing what she expected their next PPV match to be.
Sammie resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation, demonstrating some universal language of her own in suggesting that her little sister focus on the ‘here and now!!’
Scarlet shrugged, waving off her sibling’s concerns, turning about and…
…finding herself on the wrong end of a blistering Dropkick from Marvela, one that connected squarely with her exposed bosom, sending the young woman reeling. Unprepared for the impact, Scarlet stumbled backwards until the small of her back collided with the waiting steel steps, the miniature Brit arching with a barked yelp.
Even as Scarlet dropped down to one knee, the ‘Marvellous’ One was already back up on her feet, silently seething with indignation as she zeroed in on her opponent. “Rodent!” she sneered, snatching a fistful of the girl’s hair before forcing her to turn about, pulling her head back hard before YANKING!! it back forwards, SPIKING Sinclair’s forehead off the weaponised furniture with a sharp CLANG!!
Following both a stunned grunt and a sharp spasm, the petite physique of the Babe of Brawl slumped into a shell-shocked heap, groaning she lay folded over the top of the steel steps.
Satisfied that she had made her point with enough suitable venom, Marvela ran both of her hands through her hair before swishing her mane over one shoulder, dismissively swatting the back of Scarlets head before she took her time in ascending the steel steps. She stopped before entering the squared circle, instead reaching down to grasp a hold of one of Scarlets limp arms, folding it awkwardly until the elbow was pointing upwards towards the rafters.
The only time she wasted was a moment to look out at the audience, raising her arms up high before methodically pointing her thumbs down to the top of her own head.
“ITS! MY!! TIME!!!”
She declared, before STOMPING!! down viciously on her opponents’ fingers!!
STOMP!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJ4b1OYuOwQ
That woke Scarlet up, a YELP escaping from her small body as she recoiled away, grasping her throbbing paw as she winced in renewed pain, stumbling this way and that along the length of the apron. The Youngest of the Sinclair’s was still hissing when she finally came to stop, her involuntary momentum slowing only when she reached the next Ringpost.
Marvela followed her every step of the way, a saunter in the hips of the ‘Original’ People’s Princess as she thrust out a dismissive, open palm in the direction of the FAWNatics, unconcerned with their protests as she saw fit to do as she so pleased. Once again, with Scarlet still folded forwards, Marcille grabbed the ailing Brit by her hair, forcibly YANKING her head back to look her in the eye…
…which Scarlet clearly took exception to, the Rebel Princess releasing a fierce cry, this time of defiance, as she positively SLAMMED her knee up into Marcille’s most private regions!!
Marvela’s dark eyes snapped open wide as her jaw dropped, a silent scream emerging from her lips as she, ever so slowly, folded forward, a quiver in her knees threatening to betray her, absently releasing her hold of her opponents’ curls as she felt compelled to see to her own ills.
Even the FAWNatics winced in sympathy, Scarlet however, possessed none.
“Fight like a Bytch,” the miniature Brunette explained, “and I’ll treat you like a Bytch!!”
Marcille had no counter to that, not verbally or physically, far too concerned as she was with the throbbing between her thighs.
Scarlet, it seemed, was evidently one who was slow to forgive and forget, helping herself to a fistful of Marvella’s top and the waistband of her tights, spinning the crimson clad grappler about before bum rushing her in a direction she did not want to go. There was little Marcille could do about it, however, the ‘Magnificent’ Marvel sent hurtling into an uncontrolled sprint, hitting the brakes only because her knees COLLIDED with the waiting steel steps!!
With a YELP!! the brunette flipped ass over head, her legs spasming from the impact as she tumbled out of control, collapsing in a pained heap on the opposite side of the furniture she had started from, grasping at the apron as she struggled to recover. Somehow, perhaps fuelled by her seething sense of indignation, she did manage to drag herself upright, shuddering out deep breaths as the entirety of her body protested. She stumbled one step, and then a second, desperate to create some distance between herself and her opponent.
Scarlet had other ideas however, looking to the FAWNatics with the cheekiest of smirks with the perk of her brow suggesting that she was perhaps asking for their permission. They gave it, whether or not she actually needed it, responding to her request with a hearty cheer before the Babe of Brawl set off at a sprint. She reached the steel steps in no time flat and, unlike Marcille, she did not collide with them, instead vaulting her miniature mass up onto them before using them as a pedestal to LAUNCH herself into the air!!
STEP ASSISTED ELBOW SMASH
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cCM8UbKUucw
Recognising the change of tenor in the crowd’s reactions, Marvella turned herself about just in time to EAT the sweetest of high-flying elbows to the side of her cheek, the young woman smacked into a sharp spiral that sent her spinning down to the concrete. She remained there following Sinclair’s landing, her ears ringing, her taunt buttocks twitching as she struggled to recover.
Invigorated, the Youngest of the Sinclair’s thrust up one little fist into the air and beat out a ‘mighty’ cheer from her torso, popping up onto her tip toes (perhaps in an effort to look taller) as she addressed the FAWNatics directly. They returned her enthusiasm with gusto and, after she delivered a final salute, she turned her full attention back to the poleaxed Marcille…
…before EATING a blistering elbow of her own, the crowd gripped by shock after a resurgent Iron’s returned to the fray and positively SLAMMED her pointed joint into the smaller Brits temple, a blood curdling cry on her lips to accompany the unexpected charge. Caught completely unawares, Scarlet was almost sent spinning head over heels following the impact, landing in as dishevelled heap and shaking her head in a stupor.
RUNNING ELBOW SMASH
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXP559sBLv8
Irma was all but spitting blood as she just kept on going, her own momentum carrying her to the opposite set of barricades which she seized with a white knuckled grip. She exhaled in short, sharp snorts, her right eye bloodshot as she blinked several times, the Weaponised Wolverine well named as those sat in the front rows felt appropriately concerned finding themselves suddenly so close to the frequently, excessively violent Brit. She shook her head, as if she were still regathering her own senses, her previous assault against Sinclair apparently driven by instinct, before she pushed herself away from the barricades.
“Hey, numb nuts!” Scarlet announced with a pained exhale, the petite brunette groggily dragging herself upright with an assist from the steel steps. “Cheers for getting up, now I don’t have to toss your saggy ass back into the ring!”
For a single, solitary moment, Irma froze, before turning her head slowly with a eyes promising murder.
She turned sharply on the spot and bore down on Sinclair with vengeful intent, grabbing the smaller woman by her slim shoulders before she could fully return to upright. “BYTCH!!” Irma snapped out before slamming a brutal kneelift up into her foes unprotected, trim tummy, rewarded by a pained, guff of air escaping from the brunette’s frame. She followed it up with a swift second, forcibly folding her reeling opponent forwards and almost gutting her in the process. With the slim midriff of the crowd favourite beginning to buckle from the abuse, the Youngest of the Sinclair’s was rendered penitent in brutally swift fashion.
“You aint walking away tonight!” Irma warned, leaning forwards to deliver the dire promise with a low snarl, before grasping her limp limbed adversary by the collar of her top and the hem of her shorts, before turning about sharply and…
…instead of bum rushing Scarlet back into the ring, she instead all but THREW her into the waiting Announce Table, all but IMPALING the poor young woman’s already abused gut into its unyielding frame. Almost collectively, the FAWNatics winced away as Scarlet released a pained YELP, spasming before slumping over the top of the furniture, her slim shoulder shuddering as she legs gave out beneath her.
Iron’s, slowly becoming dangerously composed, turned her attention away from the Sinclair that she had been abusing, and turned it towards the other, Sammie watching it all from the other side of the desk. The two locked eyes and neither blinked, the two heated rivals separated by but a single piece of furniture and, while it seemed Irma may just vault it at a moment’s notice, the People’s Princess stood slowly to her feet, the tension palpable in the air.
Just as it seemed that the two of them were about to go at it, it was Iron’s that broke out in a crooked grin, grabbing Sammie’s little sister by her hair and forcing Sammie to watch as she hauled the younger woman up onto her feet. “Aint our time yet, bytch,” Irma explained, backing off with her rival’s sibling in her possession, “I aint done with this one yet.”
Declaration so made, and with Scarlet still suitably compliant, Iron’s continued to retain eye contact with the Little Sparrow as she muscled her fellow lightweight opponent up and over onto one shoulder. She turned away only when she was ready, inhaling deeply before launching herself into a charge, the FAWNatics crying out in protest before Irma suddenly threw both herself and her cargo forwards, the Anarchist DRIVING the Rebel Princess spine first into the concrete by way of Powerslam!!
RUNNING POWERSLAM
www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOW1ocYQqqA
Whilst Sammie may have forced herself to watch the whole thing, many the audience had looked away, the dull THUMP of the brutal collision accompanying Scarlet’s pained cry as she popped back up to sitting, cradling the small of her back before she slumped over onto her side. She remained there in a heap, puddled on the floor, her right leg kicking out at irregular intervals as her nerves began misfiring.
Irma, by comparison, was the picture of health, even seethed in sweet as she was and bloodshot in one eye. She was grinning again, the tension in her shoulders almost quivering, the Weaponised Wolverine almost grinding her teeth in anticipation. She grabbed Scarlet by her curls before securing a second fistful of the younger woman’s shorts and forcibly hauling her up, almost dismissively tossing the girl back into the squared circle for what felt like the first time in age.
“You ‘Babyface’ Bytches never learn,” Iron’s sneered, hauling herself back into the ring soon after, zeroing in on the moaning Scarlet who lay spread eagled on the canvas. “Don’t ever take it outside the ropes with the likes of me!!”
Re-securing her rag dolled victim, she muscled the petite girl back up off the deck and up over her shoulders, this time holding her aloft via a Fireman’s Carry. With her opponent providing little protest beyond a compulsory wriggle, Irma set her up at centre ring, preparing to make a statement via an Iron Valley Driver. With a sharp inhale, she SHOVED up on Scarlet’s limber, lower limbs, preparing to vault her up and over…
…only for a (far more than she was ever going to admit) desperate Scarlet resurged to life, taking that fraction of a moment of freedom to pivot her way to even more of it, slipping free from her foes lethal grasp and dodging out of the back door!!
Before Iron’s could recover, the Babe of Brawl came to land behind the Anarchist, whipping her own arms up beneath the wider shoulders of her opponent and quickly securing a Full Nelson. There was no time to waste, not with Irma flat footed, and so Sinclair didn’t even pause to deliver a witty rejoinder before slipping her right foot in front of her foes left stem and, with a grunt of effort, WHIPPED them both forwards for a Scarlet Surprise!!
SCARLET SURPRISE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBS7DOD8-oI
The Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance positively WHOOPED at the sudden reversal in fortunes, Iron’s finding her features DRIVEN into the mat with an audible THUNK, the curses that had threatened to emerge from her body cut off at the pass.
Irma lay still after a sharp spasm whilst Scarlet popped back up onto her knees, still visibly wincing herself when her back delivered a sharp protest. She filed such complaints away for later review, instead forcing herself to find her feet before ducking low to shovel the shell-shocked Iron’s over onto her back.
“I don’t know what you’re still so mad about,” Scarlet exhaled with a breathy grunt before moving again to collect both of her foe’s ankles. With little ceremony, she raised Iron’s legs upwards, spreading them outwards into a wide V and leaving a certain part of the other woman’s anatomy dangerously vulnerable, “I can barely even still see the giant penis I drew on your forehead.”
A furious Irma opened her mouth to unleash an appropriately sharp insult, but it died on lips without before said after Scarlet popped herself up into the air, the Youngest of the Sinclair’s spreading her own, athletic stems out wide into another V before she came down for a landing. Unfortunately for her opponent, that meant forcibly SNAPPING Iron’s own limbs out WIDE, felicitating a bark of pain to emerge from the spitting mad Irma, the Manchester Malcontent BUCKING away and cradling at her burning sex.
For Scarlet, the only discomfort she experienced was a bump to her taunt, little toosh following her landing, and so she rolled with it back up onto her feet, pumping a renewed fist up into the air as Babyface Momentum was once again well and truly on her side…
…until Marvela damn near took her head off!!
The FAWNatics collectively GASPED as Marcille returned to the ring, reminding everyone in attendance that she was DAMN WELL THERE as she jumped up onto the apron, vaulted up onto the top rope and all but EXPLODED into the air via a springboard. When the delectable athlete returned to earth, she delivered a high-flying clothesline to the blindsided Scarlet, knocking her clean off her feet and sending her spinning to the canvas!!
SPRINGBOARD CLOTHESLINE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=uL5_LG33B3A
Visibly wincing, the reeling Sinclair rolled with her fall back up onto her knees, a sudden bout of nausea keeping her from returning all the way back up to vertical. That suited Marvela just fine, the Purr-Fect Princess also rolling with her own, far more controlled landing to get straight back up onto her feet, light on the soles of her boots as she turned about on the little Brits rear.
She spared just enough time to deliver a dismissive flick of her hair before launching into a fresh sprint, leaping at the last moment and DRILLING both of her knees into the base of her opponents exposed neck!!
DOUBLE KNEE DROP
www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0LxLIK4B3E
Scarlet’s following cry was worryingly short lived as she was forcibly compressed forwards, her vision flashing white before the entirety of her back issued a stern protest, shutting itself down as Sinclair flopped over onto her side. The tip of her right boot tapped down against the canvas, but otherwise she remained still, her elder sibling watching with building concern from outside the ring.
Marvela was back on her feet in no time, sauntering about the ring and feeling excessively pleased with herself, both of her arms upraised as she ‘allowed’ the FAWNatics to drink in her glory. Satisfied that she had found an appropriate spot, she pointed both of her thumbs down towards her own head, motioning them towards her noggin as she declared…
“IT’S! MY!! TI…”
She didn’t get to finish, a suddenly wide eyed Marcille scampering away from her chosen spot as she gripped by far more alarm than she was ever going to admit to. Iron’s had returned to her feet, both of her eyes now bloodshot as she was almost quite literally spitting murder, and Marcille well recalled their last encounter a month previous and had no desire to repeat history. The brunette swiftly found the relative safety of the furthest corner from Iron’s and, with her hands upraised, she rapidly called for a ‘time out’.
Irma snorted, generally not the sort to partake in such an offer and so, as she began to advance, Marcille scrambled to make her case.
“Wait, wait, WAIT!!” she insisted, motioning her hands as though she was washing windows. “We take out her, the rodent, WE TAKE OUT SINCLAIR!!”
Iron’s did pause at that, perhaps her inherent desire to wreak havoc on that particular bloodline overriding her overall sense of bloodlust. With her right eye twitching, she looked between Marvela and the slowly stirring Scarlet, before finally coming to a decision… backing off from the ‘Marvellous’ One to the FAWNatics dismay.
Somewhat desperately, the Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance began to call fowl on the dark alliance that was forming, but neither of its members seemed to care as Iron’s rolled her shoulders and set herself up ready.
Marvela, her own lips now curling in delight, took her cue and collected the limp limbed Scarlet, the young woman returning to vertical only because she was being bullied into position. Not giving the Brit the chance to recover, she pivoted sharply on the spot and launched Sinclair across the ring by way of Irish Whip, lining her up with Irma who possessively collected the young woman up into her grasp.
In frightening short order, the Manchester Malcontent muscled the Babe of Brawl up and over onto one shoulder, almost effortlessly holding her above the ring as she marched forwards.
Marcille joined her at centre ring, throwing herself into a blistering kick that SLAMMED her boot into the side of her suspended opponent’s temple, knocking the already defenceless girl suitably senseless, a sharp spasm running through Scarlet’s taunt buttocks as they were pointed upwards towards the rafters.
Iron’s followed the head trauma up with by throwing both herself and Sinclair forwards, PLANTING the Youngest of the Sinclair’s into the canvas with her second Powerslam of the evening.
POWERSLAM/FLYING KICK COMBO
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iWnoQv4r1M
Scarlet wasn’t moving, splayed out on the canvas with her arms and legs outstretched, the diminutive Brit an offering to the Gods as she lay between Marvela Marcille and Irma Iron’s. Both were back up on their feet and allowing the moment to simmer, the Weaponised Wolverine scowling down at the debris of her opponent whilst the Magnificent Marvel pivoted into a wide, sauntering spiral, one that encompassed several steps as she paraded with her arms outstretched.
When she returned to Irma she did so with a sly smirk, the Crimson Clad Viper…
…releasing a startled GASP as her heart skipped a panicked beat, Iron’s immediately dissolving their alliance and hauling the flat footed, ‘Original’ People’s Princess up and over her shoulders. Marcille shook her head franticly in denial as she was secured in the Fireman’s Carry, and the FAWNatics were uncertain as to how they shoulder react as Irma shoved up on her captives’ lower limbs to power her into the Iron Valley Driver!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OXjxAdWwD8
Irma NAILED!!! the back of Marvella’s noggin into the deck with enough force to rattle the canvas, and the loud protests of the crimson clad athlete were silenced as though she had been shot. She was rigid for just a fraction of a moment before she flopped out into a heap, her sculptured physique bleeding out into a puddle as her peepers fluttered erratically.
Iron’s, by comparison, released a dominant HOWL as she surged back to vertical, beating her chest as she exhaled both fast and furiously. She snorted after finding herself back at centre ring, pacing this way and that before rolling her shoulders, forcing herself to calm down. Centring herself as best as could be expected, the Enforcer of the burgeoning Apex Nation made up her mind and returned to the flattened Marvela, grasping her
by her tights and hurling her out of the squared circle.
With the ‘Purr-Fect’ Princess unceremoniously deposited, Irma turned her attention back to the splayed Scarlet, the young woman of the FAWNatics affections looking no better than she had before. Iron’s didn’t seem to much care that the Rebel Princess was already out of it, not as she scraped the younger Brit off the canvas and muscled her featherweight mass up and over her shoulders by way of Fireman’s Carry.
This time, Scarlet didn’t even offer a defiant wriggle of protest, not as Irma grinned her crooked grin before repeating history, launching her rival’s lower limbs skywards before throwing the both of them sideways, SPIKING the back of the girls neck DEEP into the plywood!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OXjxAdWwD8
Following a hollow grunt that accompanied the spasming of her physique, Scarlet slumped into a heap, pretty peepers sealed entirely shut as she found herself unable to recover.
The FAWNatics lamented the coming pinfall as Irma rolled her up for…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
Only reluctantly, Irma vacated her perch of her defeated foe, releasing the girl’s leg by tossing it aside. She stood as the Announcer made the unpopular news official, Iron’s glaring down at the wreckage that was Scarlet splayed out at her feet.
“Your winner,” the loud speakers made clear across the entire arena, “and the new Number One Contender for the EuroAsia Championship, IRMA! IRONS!!”
She snorted at the news, increasingly agitated as she rolled her shoulders, muscles twitching as she continued to glare down at the smaller Brit, the girl utterly at her mercy. Suddenly, she released a sharp exhale and reach down, GRABBING the younger woman by her hair and dragging her…
The tenor of the FAWNatics changed dramatically as Samantha Sinclair dived into the squared circle, the People’s Princess abandoning the Announcers Table now that the match was over and immediately leaping to her little siblings’ defence. The FAWNatics roared in approval as the Little Sparrow was all up in the face of the Weaponised Wolverine in a flash, Iron’s quickly forgetting Scarlet as the two heated Rival’s stood eye to eye.
“Back off, Iron’s,” Sammie warned, button nose scrunched up in Babyfaced dander, “first and only warning, you got what you wanted.”
Irma didn’t answer, not verbally, her right eye twitching as her fingers clenched up into fists.
The FAWNatics held their breath, waiting for the first one to flinch…
…before they all GASPED in surprise, all potential warnings dying on their collective lips as Marvela threw herself back into the ring and SLAMMED a steel chair into Sammie’s unprotected back!!
The People’s Princess released a pained cry as she dropped down to her knees, gamely attempting to push her way right back up to vertical before Marcille connected with a SECOND chair shot directly to the Brits head!!!
With the CLANG being audible to all four corners of the Orlando Arena, and the dent that had been left in the steel chair visible to everyone who dared to look at it, no-one in attendance was surprised when the eldest of the Sinclair Sisters dropped down the canvas in a senseless heap. Her right leg twitched as her peepers fluttered, and perhaps she would have retained those signs of life had the incensed ‘Original’ People’s Princess not gone on to nail her successor with not one, not two, but THREE further chair shots before she was done.
With her own exhales now deep and ragged, Marvela threw her impromptu weapon aside before swiftly dropping to the canvas and rolling herself out of the ring, beating a retreat before Iron’s could consider her own reaction to the unprovoked assault that had just unfolded before her. Both of the young women glared at one another before Marcille threw up her palms dismissively to one and all, snapping herself about into a saunter as she set about vacating the premises on her own terms, Irma watching her depart every step on the way.
Iron’s was in no rush follow, not yet, not even when it seemed that she had everything that she could want…
Instead she turned about and glared at the splayed-out Sammie, the FAWNatics protesting even before she reached down GRABBED the young women by her proud curls.
In worryingly short order, she had scrapped the EuroAsia Champion off the canvas and muscled her up and over onto her waiting shoulders, securing the Fireman’s Carry that many had learned to dread. She snorted, tensing her shoulders before popping her most hated rival’s lower limbs skywards, dropping herself sideways to NAIL the base of the girl’s noggin into the canvas!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OXjxAdWwD8
When Sammie was released, she flopped onto the deck in a boneless heap, Irma quickly straddling her to make her point, collecting the young woman’s head and displaying the crowd favourites, blank eyed expression to the hard camera for a long moment. She exhaled deeply, indulging in her dominance, a harbinger of things to come…