Post by dsb on Oct 22, 2019 5:14:25 GMT
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer declares, “your following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a 20-minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Reading, Berkshire in the United Kingdom. She stands five feet five inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-three pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to… HOOONNNEEEYYY HAAARRRRRRIIISSS!!!!!”
HONEY HARRIS:
“BEST YOU EVER”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lN_Lxfeed9A
As the first chords of Michelle Branch’s “Best You Ever” begin to pulse over the sound system, Honey grabs the edges of the curtain on both sides and BURSTS through onto the stage, making her presence known to the raucous mass of cheering FAWNatics. The young, blonde British spitfire skips to a halt on one foot, her left knee raised as she pumps her right fist to the crowd. “C’MON, LET’S GO!!!!!” Harris bellows, a bright smile gracing her youthful features.
And the crowd responds with a thunderous roar, clearly ready to follow her into battle, perhaps more enthusiastically now than ever before. Clearly they did not believe this stage to be too big for the youngster. And why should they? Honey’s star had certainly been on the rise of late, thanks in part to the new association of two generations of British wrestling.
Honey makes her way toward the ring at a brisk pace, but not going so fast that she bypasses slapping any offered hand or occasionally pausing for an embrace. The closer she gets to the ring, the louder it seems that the crowd cheers, as they gain more of an opportunity to take her in. The ingenue’s well-shaped legs are bared, a hint of gold bikini style bottoms (with black trim) just visible beneath the hem a gold tee. Upon the front read the words “SWEET AS” in black type, directly above an illustration of a pot of honey. On the back, below the words “BUT WITH A” is a cartoon bee abdomen—complete with stinger.
Harris practically skips up the ring steps, that smile never leaving her features as she wipes her boots on the skirt of the apron. Honey slips through the ropes and mounts the second rope, tapping her fist to her heart twice before blowing a kiss to the full house. Maintaining her perch, the blonde’s hands move to the hem of her shirt, which she peels overhead to reveal a bikini top with matches her black trimmed gold shorts. Balling the garment in her right hand, the Brit cocks her arm and scans the crowd—a gesture which brings a few FAWNatics hands rising in anticipation. Choosing a lucky fan, Harris sends the shirt flying into the masses.
As the gift is snatched from the air by a delighted London Legionnaire, the ring announcer interrupts his celebration.
“And her opponent. From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and twelve pounds…VANILLA CHILL…KYYYLLLIIIEEE SAAANNNDDDEEERRRSSS!!!!!”
The Platinum Pixie RIPS her way through the curtains, jerking them wide to the sounds of Iggy gettin’ ‘Fancy’. As is her ability, though in the increasingly distant past for a completely different reason, Sanders brings the crowd to its feet. The collective hate moves like a presence in its own right toward the silvery bob and the elfin beauty it tops.
KYLIE SANDERS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w
With no J-Dogg covering her flank, Vanilla moves to center stage, the FAWNatics unleashing their revulsion upon the organization’s most infamous traitor. Unlike others, Kylie had been disloyal and deceitful to the hopes of her admirers, a felony much worse than backstabbing another member of the roster, and the assembled make that known with ever-increasing decibels.
Drawing on echoes of her original gear, Sanders sports a multi-strapped, yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
( www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
On the FAWNtron behind her, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. It’s yet another Mania moment for the organizational original though tonight’s appearance might mark the first where she’s a considerable betting favorite despite Honey pinning her one---two---three in a tag match the month prior.
Sanders heads for the Mania spotlight ready to treat Shea’s stand-in like her stepchild.
With London in the main event some are calling the main event of Mania main events. She’s slogging in the middle of the card, up against a relative no-name.
FAWN’s Most Hated makes a bee line, ignoring the jeering crowd and the many distasteful signs, ‘Honey’s going to stick it to the Hogeye’ and ‘Shea’s sequel is still better than original Kylie’ among them.
Reaching the squared circle, Sanders ignores Harris, instead angrily earmuffing against the booming chants of “TROLL”. She screams at the Mania throng to shut the hell up and when they grow louder instead, she ascends the steps and slides through the ropes, hands still cupped around her ears.
Chill moves to the middle, finally dropping her hands to point an index finger at the bouncing Honey, Harris shifting from one foot to the other.
“You’re mine!” Sanders shouts.
“Didn’t you say that to Cynthia?” Honey asks, knowing the answer.
Not waiting for the sounds of Iggy and Charli to fade from the speakers, an infuriated Kylie charges before the ref can signal for the bell, apparently not caring Honey can see the incoming.
For all of her accomplishments in a Hall of Fame worthy career, on a list of Most Intimidating Women in FAWN History, Kylie Sanders most likely rates closer to Maiden America than she does to, say, Pandora. Even so, perhaps she would expect Honey to shy away from a hard-charging collision, even if she might not be as likely to bury herself in the ropes to avoid a confrontation as Sanders might.
But instead, the Sweet Sensation doesn’t back down. Not only does she move forward to meet the challenge head on, she elevates to meet the challenge feet first, her boots mashing into Kylie’s bosom with an impressive dropkick that connects before Vanilla Chill can chill out and back off. Both women hit the deck, the Hawkeye’s descent a rougher one than her British counterpart, but both climb back to their feet in rapid fashion…
… and Honey is off her feet again, just as rapidly, launching a second dropkick that catches the Pleasant Valley Pariah under the chin. Again, both women scramble off the canvas, but there’s an even more clear cut winner this time, Harris having to pause just a tick before a third dropkick connects with the elfin blonde’s jaw.
The novice Brit kips back to her feet, but this time, it’s not even a race. Kylie remains seated on her backside, one hand pressed to the mat behind her to steady herself, the other raised plaintively. “Easy, easy,” the FAWN Original pants, scooting backwards, retreating toward the near corner.
“Come on, Kylie,” referee Merle Oberon sighs. “Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to remind you about the lack of timeouts in this sport?”
Honey shakes her head and steps forward. It didn’t really do to kick a woman while she was down, but it also doesn’t serve the Brit’s best interests to allow her opponent to dictate pace, or to regroup. But as she starts to reach down, Merle steps in for a moment, not fully obstructing her path, but enough to interrupt her approach. “Honey, she’s in the ropes. You need to let her get up…”
That moment’s hesitation proves to be all Kylie needs. Acting quickly, FAWN’s Most Hated reaches up, grabbing a handful of Harris’ waistband below the navel and quickly tugging downward while scooting just a bit to the side along the ropes to clear a path. Caught off guard, Honey pitches forward, her hands still moving to catch the ropes when her face smashes into the leather padding of the middle turnbuckle. Stunned, the Sweet Sensation slumps from her knees to her tush, turning and effectively trading places with her foe, now seated in the corner with the back of her head resting against the turnbuckle, eyes blinking rapidly.
The Platinum Pixie, meanwhile, pulls herself back to her feet. She pays no heed whatsoever to Oberon’s admonition to keep away from the downed youngster, steadying herself with a double-handed, white knuckle grip of the top rope as she drives stomp after stomp after stomp down against Honey’s chest. The blonde British import can do little more than slump and wither under the barrage, and wait for the official to determine that he had given Kylie enough slack to keep his paymasters happy. At that point, Merle begins his count, Kylie punctuating her avalanche of boots with an emphatic stomp that crashes down almost simultaneous with Oberon’s call of, “FOUR!!!!”
With Honey reduced to catching her breath, Vanilla Chill allows herself a moment to divert her focus away from her foe, and towards those traitorous former Corps members in the crowd. “THIS IS WHO YOU MORONS WANT TO CHEER?” she shouts at the FAWNatics, who answer near deafeningly in the affirmative.
Giving the crowd a piteous shake of her head, Kylie again puts bootleather to the Sweet Sensation. Only this time it’s singular, and consistent, the Hawkeye’s sole bringing her full weight down onto Honey’s windpipe. “THIS BYTCH ISN’T EVEN CHLOE FIELDS!” Chill snaps back, Harris’ hands clutching and pushing at Kylie’s ankle, her legs kicking and thrashing at the air. “SHE’S F*CKING STRAWBEARY!!!”
Merle doesn’t wait as long to begin his count on this occasion, and Kylie pushes it just beyond the point of “FOUR!!!!” before pulling her foot away, allowing Honey to suck down a loud gasp. “Hell,” Sanders mutters, tugging the younger blonde up to her feet with the help of a handful of hair and pushing her back against the buckles, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was REALLY f*cking Strawbeary!”
Leaning in against her opponent, enjoying the sensation of Honey’s stouter frame yielding against her weight, Kylie takes the Brit’s wrist and launches her foe toward the opposite corner with an Irish whip. Initially, the FAWNatics cross their fingers in hope of a reversal, but no, the youngster is sent racing across the ring. Certain that this saccharine simpleton had already been put in her rightful place, Sanders follows her in, but instead of turning her back into a collision with the turnbuckles, Honey leaps onto the middle rope before springing backward. Kylie has the wherewithal to halt her approach, but has little other choice than to raise her arms and catch the British blonde as Harris’ backside lands against her chest, Sanders shifting her feet to broaden her stance to help support holding her foe’s weight. Honey’s upper body drops toward the canvas, her descent halted when she brings her hands down and pushes up. The younger blonde lifts back into the air, Honey’s arms briefly windmilling before the spitfire reverses course and sweeps through the Platinum Pixie’s stems, her hands catching Kylie behind the knees and repaying the FAWN Original’s earlier introduction of her mug to turnbuckle with one of her own.
HONEYCOMB FACEBUSTER:
youtu.be/RJTsJ1TNR20?t=84
Kylie might be FAWN’s Most Hated, but the roar ruminating through the FAWN Arena suggests that her fate here is anything but, the elfin blonde left on her knees and nuzzling leather. At least, until Honey tugs Chill back to her feet. Turning a glassy eyed Sanders to face her, Harris guides the smaller blonde’s head under her left arm before gathering and underhooking both of the veteran’s wings. Popping her hips, Harris propels Kylie off her feet, depositing the Pleasant Valley Pariah’s spine against the pine with a beautiful double underhook suplex. But, rather than release her opponent either just prior to or after that impact, Honey rolls through, Sanders’ arms still trapped by the less experienced blonde as the Sweet Sensation settles into a seat atop Vanilla Chill’s lap, Kylie’s head still forced under Honey’s arm and her arms left to flail helplessly overhead.
Trapping Chill in her Honey Pot at least gave the youngster a little time to gather herself after a somewhat frenetic initial back and forth. “I don’t get it, Kylie,” the British spitfire muses. “I’ll never understand how you could turn your back on everyone. I know they say awful things about you now, and I know some people said awful things about you then. I’ve heard said some people used to call you a welcome mat…”
Harris leans back on her butterfly lock and drawing a pained grunt out of the FAWN Original.
“Regardless of whether it was true then, it’s gonna be true tonight.”
“Bullsh!t,” Sanders hisses, but she finds it harder to escape than disagree. Rising isn’t an option with the Brit anchoring her while on her lap, so the Platinum Pixie rocks to the side, eventually flopping to a shoulder and stretching out. Harris still has her butterfly but can’t stop Chill from rolling each of the blondes to the ropes and under. The conjoined women tumble to the floor before the Sweet Sensation decides to give up her grip and separate.
Rising, Honey grabs a wrist of the Pleasant Valley Pariah and tugs Sanders to vertical. She latches onto a shoulder as well to guide Sanders back into the ring, but Kylie lifts a leg and uses her boot sole as a brake against the apron to stop her forced return. After a couple unsuccessful heaves from Harris, Ky spins and rakes a set of nails across Honey’s peepers, Shea’s protégé howling in pain. The blonde turns away from the attack and stumbles blindly down the length of the ring with a huffing Hawkeye hot on her trail.
Kylie catches Honey by the scruff of the neck from behind and bum rushes her Mania counterpart to the end of the line, heaving Harris into a flipping, back-first collision with the metal barricade. The crowd groans in sympathy with Honey as she puddles at the base while Kylie, noticing the count is at ‘SEVEN’, slides in and out of the ring to restart Merle from scratch.
Sanders gives the official a middle finger and moves to Shea Lite, scraping Harris off the thinly padded cement.
“I should be in the main event,” she screams at the front rows, “not that tart from Manchester. I’ve been here the whole time. Making your lives worthwhile”
The Platinum Pixie bends Honey over the railing, the blonde’s head and torso amongst the fans, backside available for a raised knee between the cheeks from Ky. Honey’s eyes bulge, her hands shooting toward her derriere.
“I own this place,” Vanilla Chill asserts. “Not some prodigal has-been!”
Ky pulls Harris off the top of the barrier and points her to the metal steps, down the next side of the ring. She heaves the Sweet Sensation with an Irish Whip and Honey can’t stop herself until she turns into a clattering crash with the steel, upending the stairs and finishing seated and wincing against the base of the steps. Again, the cruel and increasingly confident Kylie rolls in and out of the ring to continue her outburst on the outside.
Sanders lands a couple stomps to Honey’s chest then tugs Harris to her feet and deems it time to stuff the ragged Englishwoman back inside the squared circle. The Brit rolls to a stop several feet in. Instead of following under the bottom rope, Ky climbs the ring post from the outside.
Early in her career, while under Shea’s tutelage, it was thought by many the Hawkeye might take on the aerial arts, learning at London’s flight school. Alas, Kylie could never master the airways, but it doesn’t prevent her from moving to the penthouse tonight, poised and waiting for Honey to rise when there.
Slowly, Harris struggles to her feet and turns toward Chill, the FAWNatics desperately trying to warn their favorite, but it’s no use. Sanders keeps it simple, leaping from the heights with a double axhandle she brings down HARD on the crown of Honey’s skull, sending the Brit rocketing to the canvas from the force of the blow.
Ky hovers over the decked Harris, nodding her head.
“Cheer for me, you losers!” Sanders demands of the rabble.
Instead, the obstinate fans start to chant “TROLL…TROLL…TROLL”, some holding strung-up, platinum-maned troll dolls to represent FAWN’s greatest traitor.
Kylie moves to the ropes, leaning over the top.
“SHUT YOUR MOUTHS! I’M A LEGEND. I’M NOT A TROLL!”
The assembled beg to differ, the chant reverberating through the entire arena bowl, Ky forced to apply muffs over her ears as she stomps around the ring, stopping at Merle to insist he shut the crowd down. The man shrugs, only making Chill angrier, her elfin features flushing.
Finally returning to an ascending Honey, Kylie drives a deep toe kick into the tummy of the Sweet Sensation. She sinks her nails into the flaxen locks of the stooped Brit then drops to her backside, delivering Honey’s features to the deck with a sit-out facebuster. Flaccid between the extended ivory stems of the Hawkeye, Harris can offer little resistance as Kylie rolls her foe onto her back and drops her legs across the shoulders and biceps of Shea’s protégé for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Honey shoves a shoulder off the canvas forcefully, rolling to her chest outside the ‘V’-shape of Sanders’ extended, lower limbs. Ky’s piercing hazel eyes shoot toward Merle for a moment but only that. The Platinum Pixie rises to a standing reverse straddle of her foe’s back. Sanders plucks both ankles off the canvas, lowers into a crouch, then backpedals until Honey’s almost vertical before dropping deeper and leaning backwards, forcing Harris’ body into a torturous ‘C’ for which it was never designed.
Boston Crab cinched tight, Sanders demands the Englishwoman’s surrender, drawing a loud shout of “BOTTLE ROCKETS!” from the Brit—no doubt a substitute for some other, decidedly less PG expression of defiance. Honey pushes up on her palms, giving herself enough room to dip her head and somersault forward, sending Kylie into a stumbling backpedal. Chill can’t maintain her balance and her ass hits canvas a step in front of the ropes. She uses the rubber-coated steel to rise, sheepishly furious Harris worked her way out of the predicament so skillfully.
“Shea teach you how to avoid this too?” Ky asks, rushing the seated Honey and swinging a soccer kick toward the Sweet Sensation’s chest. Honey drops flat and the boot sails over. As Sanders skids to a stop, Harris pivots and pulls the Platinum Pixie over her matbound frame, tripping Kylie to the canvas and tying her up in an aptly named small package for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
A wide-eyed Kylie breaks free and scrambles to her feet, shrieking “No…no…no” and, thankfully for Chill’s mental state, Merle agrees, two fingers raised.
Seeing she’s still alive, fear turns to anger and Chill races at a rising Honey. She drops to her knees a couple steps in front of Harris and slides by, delivering a gutting fist to Honey’s navel as she does, doubling up the Brit with a bug-eyed ‘ooooph’.
Popping to her feet behind the bent Harris, Ky grabs Honey’s right wrist and spins the blonde into an Irish Whip, Sanders heaving Harris toward the far corner, the Sweet Sensation unable to slow herself before turning into a back-racking impact.
Target in her sights, Vanilla Chill bursts into a sprint across the canvas and, from a few feet out, dives toward an ab-blasting spear. And it would have been if Harris hadn’t used the ropes behind her to lift herself momentarily horizontal above Sanders’ bullseye. Kylie flies through the buckles and RAMS her right shoulder into the steel ring post beneath.
Honey drops down across the back of the bent platinum blonde in a reverse-facing mount, then throws her body forward in a front flip, pulling the staggered Kylie into a somersault powerbomb that nearly DRIVES Sanders through the mat.
HONEY BOMB @0:15:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcP0hrK6pX4
With a slobberknocked Chill stacked on her shoulders between Honey’s stems, Merle drops to the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The FAWNatics groan in disappointment as Kylie first bucks loose of the pin, then beats Harris in regaining her footing. Honey still manages to pick herself off the mat, but before she can capitalize on the bomb she had dropped, the Platinum Pixie rocks her opponent back into the ropes with a couple of vengeful forearm shots to the chest. Bodying up against the Sweet Sensation as she took Honey’s wrist, Sanders hisses, “Fluke. That’s all last month was. That’s all YOU are!”
With that, Vanilla Chill ushers the British blonde on her way with an Irish whip, stalking her charging prey out to nearer the middle of the ring to meet Harris on the rebound. The crowd had hoped the younger blonde would flip the script on the actual whip, but they still get their wish a bit belatedly when, instead of sprinting unwittingly into whatever Kylie had in mind, she took one small hop toward her foe before jumping into the air and twisting her body. The Hawkeye’s arms reflexively wrap around Honey’s tummy as the Brit’s legs slip around Sanders’ waist, Harris’ upper body plunging toward the canvas…
In her brief time in FAWN, Honey had demonstrated herself both very found of and very proficient with wheelbarrow maneuvers. But, on the biggest stage the company had to offer, tonight the Sweet Sensation pulls something out of her bag of tricks that no one had seen her do before. After launching herself back into the air via a push up, Harris twisted her upper body around to face her opponent, reaching an arm across Kylie’s chest. She then kicks her feet into the air and throws her weight into reverse, falling to her back and SLAMMING the elfin blonde’s mug into the canvas via a wheelbarrow flatliner—something that would come to be known as the Honey Drop.
HONEY DROP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_B_f8175aLo
The impact sends Briton and Iowan rolling away in opposite directions. Both women scramble up, and this time, the FAWNatics’ delight it is Honey that gets there first. As Kylie begins to straighten up, the Sweet Sensation takes a step toward the Pleasant Valley Pariah before pivoting and presenting her back to Sanders. Harris launches herself into a beautiful arcing backflip, landing in a hand stand and swinging her legs toward Kylie’s noggin. Trapping Chill’s head between her calves, Honey pushes up just enough to drop to her back, and uses her scissors to rip Sanders off her feet. The Platinum Pixie is sent tumbling toward an empty corner, coming to a rest reclining against the bottom turnbuckle.
Which presents the Sweet Sensation with another opportunity to demonstrate the fruits of her lessons at the London School of Wrestlinomics.
Racing across the ring, Harris launches herself toward her prone adversary feet first, her back lowering toward being parallel to the canvas. Initially, it looks like it might be a dropkick, but Honey’s boots travel beyond level with Kylie’s noggin, and continue to sail upward as the British beauty flies through the air, Harris’ back and backside slamming into Sanders’ torso and head, respectively.
STING IN ITS TAIL:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEnEnOzqsAY
Grabbing FAWN’s Most Hated by the ankles, Honey drags her out of the corner before applying the lateral press, hooking a leg and scoring the…
ONE…
TWO…
THNOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sanders kicks out.
“You wanted to know what Shea’s been teaching me,” Honey teases, shoveling the most traitorous woman in FAWN history over onto her belly. “This one you ought to know pretty well…”
Harris shuffles her knees up onto Kylie’s back, one hand reaching to gather and cross the Hawkeye’s ankles while the other stretches toward Sanders’ chin. Vanilla Chill obviously knows this one pretty well, as she manages a couple of frantic shakes of her head and meeps of “No!” before the British blonde gets that chin cupped. And then, the house ERUPTS as the Sweet Sensation rocks back, hoisting FAWN’s Most Hated toward the rafters on her knees, Kylie locked in an excruciating Bow and Arrow!
BOW AND ARROW:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKIsV8Kg3AI
“Do you give, Kylie?” Merle asks, dropping to one knee beside the duo to be in better position to acknowledge that submission, or to ascertain Kylie’s continuing consciousness.
“OF COURSE I DON’T, MORON!” the Pleasant Valley pariah snaps. “I’M GONNA MAKE THIS BYTCH SORRY SHE EVUUUUGGGHHHAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Honey cuts off her foe’s protest with a harsh downward tug on her chin. “Gracious!” the British beauty exclaims, albeit with something of a cheeky grin. “Where’s a bar of soap when you need one?”
For an expert hand at the height of her powers, this hold could be all but inescapable. Alas, at this stage Honey Harris is merely a gifted pupil, and after a little wrangling, Kylie manages to slip her jaw free of her opponent’s grasp. From there, the FAWN Original has little difficulty in rolling off the Sweet Sensation’s knees and crashes down atop Harris’ torso.
“Uhhhhhh!!!!!!” Honey lets out a winded gasp, her legs flying into the air—which proves to be a gift for Kylie, who greedily hooks both of them. Suddenly, Oberon goes from checking for a submission to checking shoulders, and seeing that the younger blonde’s were indeed flat against the mat, he slaps off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
Harris kicks out.
Both blondes return to the attack quickly, the British one charging her adversary with an outstretched arm. But Kylie ducks the clothesline attempt, and quickly whips around behind the youngster, slipping her arms around Honey’s waist, ready to pop her hips and administer a German suplex to this annoying brat. Before she can fully secure her waistlock, however, Harris powers out of it and reverses into one of her own. The Sweet Sensation’s legs quickly start to churn, driving Sanders toward the ropes…
… or, more accurately, toward referee Merle Oberon, who stood directly between the Platinum Pixie and the cables!
Instinctively, Merle throws her arms up, across his face, pivoting away from the impending collision and toward the ropes. Thankfully for him, though, Honey catches a glimpse of the alarmed zebra over Kylie’s shoulder and skids to a halt, Sanders’ arms reaching over the official’s to grab the top rope…
They say speed kills, but hesitation can be even more deadly. And for a snake like Kylie, it takes only the slightest of hesitations for her to turn circumstances to her advantage. Her right foot sweeps back in a mule kick, her boot splitting Honey’s wickets with vicious precision. Almost instantly, the youngster’s arms fall from Sanders’ waist, the blonde letting out a high pitched, agonized chirp as she turns and staggers away from her foe, legs quaking with each step.
The crowd showers Vanilla Chill in condemnation, but Merle is none the wiser as to why when Kylie pulls away from her. Her eyes clasped shut, knees knocking and her bottom lip quivering, the Sweet Sensation’s drunken course brings her back into Sanders’ orbit, and Kylie dips to thread on arm through those trembling thighs, muscling the youngster onto her shoulders and into a fireman’s carry. The FAWN Original then transforms into a spinning top, whipping around and around as she further scrambles her opponent’s senses with an airplane spin.
Rather than toss away her cargo, Sanders sets a now dizzied and dazed Honey down on her feet, Harris nearly tripping over them as she manages to swing a wild, looping right in front of her…
Pity that Kylie was actually standing behind her when she fired.
Smirking, the Platinum Pixie snatches a handful of Harris’ mane, tugging the blonde back around to face her before shoving Honey’s head under her left arm. Helping herself to a handful of Harris’ waistband, Sanders powers the younger blonde off her feet, as if for a vertical suplex. But she then swivels toward the ropes and reverses course, dropping Honey in front of her, the Sweet Sensational knees landing atop the bottom rope. The taut, rubber coated steel propels Harris in the opposite direction, providing a little extra oomph for the less-than-powerhouse Pleasant Valley Pariah when she SLAMS Honey’s back into the mat with a slingshot suplex.
SLINGSHOT SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-pQDKDbCqdc
Getting back to her feet, Kylie tugs Honey up to a stooped base and forces the British blonde’s skull between her thighs. Clamping down on her standing headscissors, FAWN’s Most Hated wraps her arms around the youngster’s gulping tummy, and lifts her opponent until the Sweet Sensation’s back is against her chest, and—more perilously—the crown of her skull is pointed toward the unforgiving canvas. Kylie then breaks her clasp around her foe’s midsection, instead locking them around Honey’s right thigh before she jumps into the air and sits out, SPIKING Harris with a savage cradle piledriver.
CRADLE PILEDRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GtIqp37oP8
Honey puddles into a weakly shuddering spreadeagle, seemingly driven into next week by the Hawkeye. With nary a care in the world, Kylie simply drops across Honey’s chest on her side, propping herself up with her right hand, while her left absently plunges into the Brit’s damp locks, no effort or thought whatsoever given to securing the Sweet Sensation’s stems.
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kylie hadn’t miscalculated in not hooking a leg.
Honey hadn’t even twitched.
So why no bell?
The answer to that question is in Kylie’s hand: specifically, a bunch of Honey’s locks, which she had used to lift the near insensate blonde off the deck before Merle could bring the match to a conclusion. “Come on, Kylie…” Oberon sighs, as the boos rein down.
“Shut it, zebra meat,” the Platinum Pixie orders. “I haven’t finished showing just how outclassed this punk ass bytch truly is.”
Hairhauling her opposition to her feet, the stupefied expression gracing Honey’s features enough to warm Kylie’s black heart, Sanders once again shuffled the Sweet Sensation onto her shoulders and into a fireman’s carry. And despite the fact that she gives up nearly a dozen pounds to the woman strapped across her shoulders, Vanilla Chill channels her inner Pandora, displaying her cargo to the infuriated masses, letting them anticipate the impending drive to Pleasant Valley on behalf of a sniveling brat too far gone to…
“Unnngghhhh….”
Not QUITE so far gone.
Honey finally demonstrates some signs of life, smashing an elbow into the side of Kylie’s skull. The blow isn’t harsh enough to free the suddenly wriggling blonde, but it does bring the FAWNatics back to life. And their support spurs the Sweet Sensation on to keep firing, landing elbow after elbow, until one finally catches enough of the Hawkeye’s temple to slacken Kylie’s grasp, and letting Harris slip out the back door with hopes of launching a “Harris Run”…
(… no, that doesn’t quite roll off the tongue as easily.)
Honey charges into the ropes, rebounding off the cables and hurtling toward Vanilla Chill with renewed vigor. Leaping, the Sweet Sensation’s boots land atop Kylie’s thighs, the Brit’s hands reaching out behind her foe’s head, but this would be no monkey flip. Harris shifts her weight to the left, her momentum forcing the Platinum Pixie to turn along with the motion, until the Brit’s back was to the near ropes—and there was now no longer the room to monkey flip anyone. That doesn’t stop Honey from falling backwards, however, the top rope launching the Sweet Sensation the other way upon impact. Honey sails over her foe, folding so that her chest is against Kylie’s back as she reaches her arms around Sanders’ chest—and Chill’s noggin was now snugly between Honey’s thighs! With that boost to her momentum provided before the ropes, Honey RIPS the elfin blonde from her moorings, forcing Sanders to flip over her as she answers Kylie’s cradle piledriver with her own Reading Destroyer!
READING DESTROYER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IkGmxvfbN8
FAWN’s Most Hated tumbles through the impact to her knees, cross-eyed, swaying slightly before the Sweet Sensation pushes her over to her back. Turning to face Kylie’s gams, Honey drops to a seat atop Sanders’ belly, gathering up the Hawkeye’s legs and hugging them to her chest with her left arm. As Merle slides into position, Honey’s right hand presses against the mat, just to the right of Kylie’s lolling noggin, steadying herself as Oberon counts her toward the biggest win of her career…
ONE…
TWO…
Sanders stays alive, her ivory body spasming enough to lift a shoulder off the canvas and buck Honey off kilter. Ky flops to her side, limp as a dishrag, Harris still in possession of her foe’s lethargic legs, but Sanders still in the match.
Honey lets the limbs loosely tumble from her grasp as she rises. Shea had no doubt told her Sanders’ one outstanding attribute is survival, a silvery-bobbed cockroach. And Ky lives up to her moniker, the Pleasant Valley Pariah slinking away on her belly, struggling toward the ropes. The Sweet Sensation follows, pulling Chill to her feet by a wrist and elbow when Vanilla makes it close to the cables.
London’s protégé bullies the sagging Sanders to a corner and sends the FAWN original racing out. Kylie is a black-and-gold blur across the canvas, spinning into a back-first collision with the buckles that has enough force to turn off the traitor’s lower limbs. Ky plops to her taut little backside, legs extended, arms limp over the bottom ropes, head drooping, chin to chest.
Across the ring, Harris is shot out of a cannon, flying across the expanse and leaping, legs leading the way from several feet out. Her undercarriage RAMS into Kylie’s modest chest, Honey’s butt CRUNCHING into the sternum of the Platinum Pixie. But Hon isn’t done. She grabs the middle ropes on either side and busts her short-haired Palomino, THWUMPING her ass into Chill’s chest her junk into the increasingly glassy-eyed Sanders’ chin.
The crowd counts out a full ten thrusts before the Brit dismounts, leaving Kylie an alabaster greasespot, horizontal, staring blankly at the rafters, her noggin wobbling.
Taking Shea’s words to heart, Harris doesn’t overindulge in the Mania spotlight. Using her success instead of reveling in it, Honey tugs a rubbery Kylie to her feet. She sends a blistering chop to Ky’s cleavage, Sanders sent backpedaling to a slumped position against the buckles.
Harris jogs to the opposite corner and u-turns, dashing toward the still vertical Chill. About halfway across, the Englishwoman shows off her tumbling skills, cartwheeling and flipping her way toward the flagging Sanders before delivering a handspring back elbow to the cleft of Kylie’s bosom. Hazel eyes crossing, Chill offers futile resistance to Honey, Harris spinning her in place, the Hawkeye’s chest now pointed to the corner, glassy eyes facing her former fans.
Harris slips between the ropes, grabbing the top with both hands. Using the cable as a slingshot, she launches back into the ring, transferring her grip to Kylie’s traps. Using gravity to her advantage, Honey rips Ky off her boot soles and BACKSTABS the Platinum Pixie, the Brit’s knees doubling as spears into Sanders’ shoulderblades. Shea’s current partner dives atop her waylaid former teammate, hooking a leg from a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!!!!!
Sanders can’t kick free, but she’s wily enough to reach out and grab the bottom rope, palm wrapping tightly. The battered blonde croaks about a pleading ‘get her off me’ to Merle and the zebra does the best he’s able. Harris climbs off the battered Sanders, rising and backing away a couple steps.
Hugging the saving strand tightly, Ky demands the Sweet Sensation provide her more room and Honey obliges, moving to the center of the ring. The Brit motions for Kylie to get up and join her but instead Chill yanks herself under the ropes and out. She waves both hands at Harris and makes her way to the ramp.
“You people don’t deserve to watch me,” Sanders shouts. “And this wannabe certainly doesn’t deserve to wrestle me. At Mania no less.”
The Platinum Pixie turns and stalks up the incline. That is until Def Leppard crashes through the sound system…
“DO YOU WANNA GET ROCKED?!”
SHEA LONDON:
The crowd loses its proverbial shit as Shea London, in full Union Jack battle gear, appears and walks down the ramp. Kylie’s hazel eyes fill with fear. She stumbles in a backpedal, throwing up a beseeching palm toward the living legend.
Not wanting anything to do with London, Sanders turns and hightails. Deciding in the ring is safer with the Sensational One on the outside, Chill dives in under the bottom rope and hops to her feet.
Harris, having taken all of the extracurricular action in, sprints toward the rising Platinum Pixie. Honey leaps into the air, grabbing two mini-handfuls of slivery bob as she sails past FAWN’s greatest traitor. Gravity does Honey’s bidding as the blossoming Brit turns her back to the canvas and draws her knees toward her chest and Kylie’s jaw.
BLASTED by the Honey Trap, Ky is sent flying into the air from the impact and, luckily for the Hawkeye, between the ropes, spilling off the apron and ending in a jumbled pile on the floor.
London moves toward the splattered Sanders, perhaps to toss her once-upon-a-time friend back in with her protégé, but Harris holds up a hand.
“I got this,” Harris assures.
Shea nods as the Sweet Sensation slips through the strands and drops to the floor. She scrapes up what’s left of Chill and heaves her back in the squared circle, following closely behind. With Kylie safely within her pupil’s playground, Shea heads for the exit and the biggest night of her career in the main event.
On her feet in an instant, Harris tracks down a crawling Kylie, sinking a set of fingers into the nape of the Iowan’s neck and pulling her up. But as Ky reaches her boot leather, she spins and jabs a thumb in Honey’s right eye. Harris howls in pain, turning away from Sanders and rubbing furiously at her injured eyeball.
Behind her, a suddenly energized Kylie stalks to the half-blinded Brit’s six o’clock. She leaps forward, throwing a chop block into the back of Honey’s left knee. Harris collapses to the balled joint, genuflecting as she reaches for the injured limb. Racing past her foe from behind, Sanders rebounds toward Harris and DRIVES A KNEE between the baby blues of the Englishwoman, sending Honey flopping to a spreadeagle.
The invite is too good to refuse and, after Ky skids to a stop, she dives atop the flattened blonde in a crossbody, hooking a leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Honey pops a shoulder up with a second to spare and a frustrated Chill slaps the canvas, the crowd cheering loudly at Honey denying FAWN’s Most Hated a Mania Moment she did NOT deserve.
As Harris rolls to her chest and starts to push to all fours, a growling Kylie hovers over Harris in a standing reverse straddle. She RAMS her ass into the base of Honey’s spine, dropping Harris flat to the canvas. Vanilla Chill kneels bestride the Sweet Sensation and raises her right hand high, curling her talons.
Reflexively, the former members of the Kylie Corps shout out “FARM…HAND!”
And the sinful, selfish version of the former Girl Scout DIGS her claw into Honey’s hammy, Ky clamping into the nerve bundle at the juncture of Harris’ thigh and gluteus. Debilitating pinpricks of pain quickly turn to scalded nerves being bundled and pinched.
“Show you really are like Shea,” Kylie insists. “GIVE THE HELL UP!”
“GYYYYAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!” Harris cries out, her usually adorable features transformed into a masque of agony. Of all the claw variants in professional wrestling, this might be the most dreaded—yes, even over the one applied south of the border. Because the longer Kylie could keep those digits plunged and kneading at that vulnerable muscle mass and nerve cluster, the more useless Vanilla Chill can render that gam going forward. And, in the patootie kicking contest that is FAWN, no one wants to be a one-legged woman. “I’ll… unnnggghhhh… I’ll never… agggghhhhhh… never give… to you…”
“That a fact, Jack?” Vanilla Chill asks with a raised eyebrow and a deceptively sweet tone, before DIGGING in the Clamp with renewed relish. Honey utters a quick “EEP!” of torment, before successfully swallowing back the rest of what would have been a heart-rending shriek. Gritting her teeth in determination, the younger blonde digs her elbows into the mat and, gradually drags herself toward the ropes on her stomach. With one last lunge, the Sweet Sensation stretches out a hand…
… and coils her fingers around the bottom rope!
“ROPES!” Merle calls out. “Break the hold, Ky!”
The FAWN Original’s forehead furrows in thought. “Hmmm… No, think I’d rather keep shredding this cottage cheese thigh, thanks!”
Oberon doesn’t waste any time or energy arguing the point, immediately beginning his count. Kylie waits until juuust past the count of “FOUR!” before RIIIIIPPPPPPING away her talons, the Sweet Sensation crying out in an odd mixture of agony and relief as she pulls herself into a protective shell, all the while continuing to maintain a white knuckle grip on the bottom rope.
Taking a knee beside the mewling Briton, the official asks, “How are you feeling, Honey? Good to keep going?”
Harris answers with a small nod. “I’m good, Merle,” she mutters, then begins to pull herself up to her feet with the aid of the ropes. Leaning against the cables for a moment, the Sweet Sensation cautiously shifts her weight to her left leg, gingerly testing whether the stem will support her…
In FAWN, matches can often turn on one simple mistake. And sometimes, that mistake is as small as which direction you turn. In retrospect, Harris might have been better served turning her wounded leg toward the ropes, but instead the blonde’s right side faces the strands…
… and that gives Kylie Sanders a clear path to send a swift, heartless kick that strikes the pit of Honey’s left knee with a loud ‘THWAAAP!’ The Sweet Sensation howls in pain, crumpling to the deck, both hands reaching to clutch her knee and pull it toward her chest…
… but she never gets the chance. Snatching that ankle, FAWN’s Most Hated is now more shark than troll, and she can scent blood in the water. Threading that leg over the middle rope, Kylie PULLLLLLLS back on that ankle with all her might, forcing the taut, rubber coated steel to viciously bite into the tendons and ligaments at the back of Honey’s folded knee.
“COME ON, KYLIE!” Merle scolds her, then launches his count. Again, Vanilla Chill patiently waits for the ref to hit “FOUR!” before letting go—but only long enough to break the count. Grabbing a handful of hair, Sanders tugs her foe up to her feet before slipping her head under Honey’s left arm. Reaching down, Kylie again grabs at the Sweet Sensation’s left ankle, folding the Brit’s leg at the knee before hoisting her into the air. The Platinum Pixie then genuflects, dropping Honey’s shin across her posted knee, the younger woman letting out a yelp as she spills to the canvas…
… but Kylie still has her ankle. And, rising back to her feet, the Hawkeye steps around, swivels, and drops to her tush, locking Honey into a figure four leglock!
SHINBREAKER TO FIGURE FOUR:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AK8mRh0bgl8
“GIVE UP, SAM’S CHOICE SHEA!” Sanders demands, twisting the British blonde’s captive ankle to and fro, Honey thrashing in agony… but still shaking her head. After a few moments, however, the Sweet Sensation’s struggles slacken, Harris beginning to fade, until she’s left lying flat on her back. Seeing Honey’s shoulders flat on the mat, Merle slides into position…
ONE…
TWO…
THNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Honey forces herself up onto her elbows. Kylie looks down toward her foe, no doubt expecting to see a look of pain, perhaps even fear. And while there’s definitely some anguish etched on those features, Harris meets the Hawkeye’s gaze with a look of determination. “Only one of us is giving up today…”
The Sweet Sensation begins to rock her hips, left to right to left again, building up momentum…
“… AND IT’S NOT GOING TO BE ME!!!”
Suddenly, it’s Chill’s turn to look frightened, fully aware of what Honey is trying to do, and able to feel the force that the Sweet Sensation is building up. “Oh no you don’t,” Kylie says, attempting to quell her opponent’s resistance with another twist of her ankle. “OH NO YOU DOOOOOOAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Oh yes she does! Honey Harris rolls the Figure Four over, reversing the pressure, now putting the strain on KYLIE’S legs! The elfin blonde plunges her hands into her abbreviated locks, Merle shifting his focus from Harris now to Sanders. The Sweet Sensation, meanwhile, presses her palms flat against the mat and pushes her upper body into the air. “YOU GIVE!” the youthful Brit shouts, the FAWNatics roaring in support of the younger woman. “GIVE, YOU FUDGING NAUGHTY DOTTIE!!!”
“Do you give, Kylie?” the ref asks.
And, in a clear sign of just how perilously close to surrender the Pleasant Valley Pariah is, she DOESN’T answer Oberon’s query with a heaping of abuse. Instead, she channels all her energies into dragging herself toward the ropes, Honey clawing at the mat to try to hold her ground…
… but Sanders’ determination wins out, and she snatches the cable.
It takes Merle’s assistance to get the blondes’ gams disengaged from one another. It’s then less than a sprint back to their feet for Honey and Kylie than it is a marathon, the Hawkeye using the ropes to assist her while the British spitfire clearly favors her left leg. But, to the consternation of the former Corps, it is Kylie who wins the race. Pushing away from the cables, she raises an arm for a clothesline…
… but, rather than duck that scythe, Harris twists to the left, grimacing as her weight transitions onto her punished knee, but that doesn’t stop the Sweet Sensation from raising her right arm and hooking Kylie’s wing with her own. Pushing off with her right foot, Honey sweeps her body across the Hawkeye’s back, locking her left arm around Kylie’s neck before falling to the mat and DRILLING Kylie’s cranium with a Floatover DDT! Throwing herself atop Sanders’ chest, the Sweet Sensation gathers a leg and scores the…
FLOATOVER DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1hS4xOy8fQ
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kylie gets a shoulder up.
Honey pushes up to her feet, stumbling over to the near corner and pulling herself up onto the middle turnbuckle. A woozy Kylie waves off a referee who, in no way could be said to have been moving to assist her, before struggling to her feet as well, her back presented to the Sweet Sensation. As she turns, Honey leaps from her perch, drawing her knees up and SLAMMING them into the Hawkeye’s shoulders, Harris riding the smaller blonde all the way to the mat, her backside smashing down against Chill’s chest.
HONEY TO THE B:
youtu.be/rPHlm6jjkjI?t=510
Harris rolls through her landing, toward the opposite corner… only instead of rolling immediately to the outside, as she so often did, the British beauty spills over onto a hip and grabs at her left knee. Clearly, her landing had done the joint that Kylie had targeted few favors, but with victory so close in hand, she knows she can tend to her knee later. Right now, she needs to get to the top rope.
Gamely, the British blonde finally wills herself to roll out to the apron, and pulls herself up. Investing all her focus on reaching the perch from which she would launch her Reading Rainbow, Harris hobbles toward the corner and begins to scale the ropes…
She never spotted Kylie Sanders pick herself up. FAWN’s Most Hated, on the other hand, locates Honey fairly quickly, and just as the Sweet Sensation starts getting her feet underneath her on the top rope, Sanders charges the cables to her left, slamming her full weight into the ropes. With the tremor sent through the strand emanating from the side that Honey is already favoring, she has no chance of keeping her balance, the Brit tumbling into a crotch first collision with the metal framework behind the leather padding.
With Honey rendered a paralyzed mass of flesh, raised above the ring, Kylie makes short work of pulling the Sweet Sensation’s stems over the top rope and back into the ring. She then pulls Harris forward and down from her throne and onto her shoulders, threading an arm between the Briton’s quivering thighs as she secures Honey in a fireman’s carry. She carries the younger blonde away from the corner, but doesn’t indulge in the parading that had gone against her early. She hesitates only to offer three parting words before laying out and taking Harris on a not-so-pleasant Drive to Chilly Valley:
“Thanks for playing.”
CHILLY VALLEY DRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzDBLix7L1o
A pin would almost certainly have been academic, but Kylie doesn’t go for it. Instead, the FAWN Original takes Honey’s left ankle and pulls that leg behind her head. Sanders rising to her knees forces the British youngster to her right side, the pit of her knee now pressed against the back of Kylie’s skull. The elfin blonde then moves from two knees to one, planting a boot against the side of Honey’s skull as her right arm stretches over the Brit’s captive stem to gather and pull up on Harris’ left arm.
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Indescribable agony snaps the Sweet Sensation out of her stupor, Honey wailing in torment as Kylie’s left arm slips around her thigh. “READY TO EAT THOSE WORDS, BYTCH?” Chill venomously spits, mashing the sole of her boot against the Brit’s cheek.
“NOOOOOOAAAAAGGGGUUUUUAAAAWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!” the younger blonde screams, Harris straaaaaaining to reach out her free arm. Unfortunately, two factors serve to hinder her efforts: Kylie’s boot pinning her head down, and her own body weight bearing down on that right shoulder. The ropes remain a good two feet from her waving fingers, and no amount of wriggling underneath Kylie’s domineering bootleather can maneuver her any closer…
Finally, Honey’s hand surrenders that quest… and surrenders the match, slapping frantically at her own shoulder. Merle immediately turns and signals for the bell.
But Vanilla Chill won’t release the hold.
“Dammit, Kylie,” Merle sighs, but the vengeful Hawkeye won’t have anything to do with mercy.
“NOT GOOD ENOUGH,” Sanders shouts. “SAY IT! SAY YOU QUIT! ADMIT YOUR PINNING ME WAS A FLUKE! ADMIT YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A JOKE!”
“NAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Honey screams, attempting to shake her head under Kylie’s boot.
“DON’T PUSH ME, KYLIE!” Oberon cautions her. “I’LL REVERSE THE DECISION! SEE IF I WON’T!”
The Platinum Pixie is unmoved.
Merle starts to count, but the roar of the crowd even before he reaches “TWO!” alerts Sanders that she might have a more immediate and pressing threat to worry about. She tosses away Honey’s leg and rolls under the bottom rope, just as Shea London dives into the ring from the other side. Keeping her eyes locked on the Pleasant Valley Pariah, the Sensational One crawls to her partner and pulls Honey into a comforting embrace.
Backpedaling up the aisle, Kylie points a finger at her former tag team partner and bestie. “YOU’RE NEXT, SHEA!” the elfin blonde calls back down the ramp. “JUST AS LONG AS SUE LEAVES ME SOMETHING TO PLAY WITH!”
HONEY HARRIS:
“BEST YOU EVER”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lN_Lxfeed9A
As the first chords of Michelle Branch’s “Best You Ever” begin to pulse over the sound system, Honey grabs the edges of the curtain on both sides and BURSTS through onto the stage, making her presence known to the raucous mass of cheering FAWNatics. The young, blonde British spitfire skips to a halt on one foot, her left knee raised as she pumps her right fist to the crowd. “C’MON, LET’S GO!!!!!” Harris bellows, a bright smile gracing her youthful features.
And the crowd responds with a thunderous roar, clearly ready to follow her into battle, perhaps more enthusiastically now than ever before. Clearly they did not believe this stage to be too big for the youngster. And why should they? Honey’s star had certainly been on the rise of late, thanks in part to the new association of two generations of British wrestling.
Honey makes her way toward the ring at a brisk pace, but not going so fast that she bypasses slapping any offered hand or occasionally pausing for an embrace. The closer she gets to the ring, the louder it seems that the crowd cheers, as they gain more of an opportunity to take her in. The ingenue’s well-shaped legs are bared, a hint of gold bikini style bottoms (with black trim) just visible beneath the hem a gold tee. Upon the front read the words “SWEET AS” in black type, directly above an illustration of a pot of honey. On the back, below the words “BUT WITH A” is a cartoon bee abdomen—complete with stinger.
Harris practically skips up the ring steps, that smile never leaving her features as she wipes her boots on the skirt of the apron. Honey slips through the ropes and mounts the second rope, tapping her fist to her heart twice before blowing a kiss to the full house. Maintaining her perch, the blonde’s hands move to the hem of her shirt, which she peels overhead to reveal a bikini top with matches her black trimmed gold shorts. Balling the garment in her right hand, the Brit cocks her arm and scans the crowd—a gesture which brings a few FAWNatics hands rising in anticipation. Choosing a lucky fan, Harris sends the shirt flying into the masses.
As the gift is snatched from the air by a delighted London Legionnaire, the ring announcer interrupts his celebration.
“And her opponent. From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and twelve pounds…VANILLA CHILL…KYYYLLLIIIEEE SAAANNNDDDEEERRRSSS!!!!!”
The Platinum Pixie RIPS her way through the curtains, jerking them wide to the sounds of Iggy gettin’ ‘Fancy’. As is her ability, though in the increasingly distant past for a completely different reason, Sanders brings the crowd to its feet. The collective hate moves like a presence in its own right toward the silvery bob and the elfin beauty it tops.
KYLIE SANDERS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w
With no J-Dogg covering her flank, Vanilla moves to center stage, the FAWNatics unleashing their revulsion upon the organization’s most infamous traitor. Unlike others, Kylie had been disloyal and deceitful to the hopes of her admirers, a felony much worse than backstabbing another member of the roster, and the assembled make that known with ever-increasing decibels.
Drawing on echoes of her original gear, Sanders sports a multi-strapped, yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
( www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
On the FAWNtron behind her, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. It’s yet another Mania moment for the organizational original though tonight’s appearance might mark the first where she’s a considerable betting favorite despite Honey pinning her one---two---three in a tag match the month prior.
Sanders heads for the Mania spotlight ready to treat Shea’s stand-in like her stepchild.
With London in the main event some are calling the main event of Mania main events. She’s slogging in the middle of the card, up against a relative no-name.
FAWN’s Most Hated makes a bee line, ignoring the jeering crowd and the many distasteful signs, ‘Honey’s going to stick it to the Hogeye’ and ‘Shea’s sequel is still better than original Kylie’ among them.
Reaching the squared circle, Sanders ignores Harris, instead angrily earmuffing against the booming chants of “TROLL”. She screams at the Mania throng to shut the hell up and when they grow louder instead, she ascends the steps and slides through the ropes, hands still cupped around her ears.
Chill moves to the middle, finally dropping her hands to point an index finger at the bouncing Honey, Harris shifting from one foot to the other.
“You’re mine!” Sanders shouts.
“Didn’t you say that to Cynthia?” Honey asks, knowing the answer.
Not waiting for the sounds of Iggy and Charli to fade from the speakers, an infuriated Kylie charges before the ref can signal for the bell, apparently not caring Honey can see the incoming.
For all of her accomplishments in a Hall of Fame worthy career, on a list of Most Intimidating Women in FAWN History, Kylie Sanders most likely rates closer to Maiden America than she does to, say, Pandora. Even so, perhaps she would expect Honey to shy away from a hard-charging collision, even if she might not be as likely to bury herself in the ropes to avoid a confrontation as Sanders might.
But instead, the Sweet Sensation doesn’t back down. Not only does she move forward to meet the challenge head on, she elevates to meet the challenge feet first, her boots mashing into Kylie’s bosom with an impressive dropkick that connects before Vanilla Chill can chill out and back off. Both women hit the deck, the Hawkeye’s descent a rougher one than her British counterpart, but both climb back to their feet in rapid fashion…
… and Honey is off her feet again, just as rapidly, launching a second dropkick that catches the Pleasant Valley Pariah under the chin. Again, both women scramble off the canvas, but there’s an even more clear cut winner this time, Harris having to pause just a tick before a third dropkick connects with the elfin blonde’s jaw.
The novice Brit kips back to her feet, but this time, it’s not even a race. Kylie remains seated on her backside, one hand pressed to the mat behind her to steady herself, the other raised plaintively. “Easy, easy,” the FAWN Original pants, scooting backwards, retreating toward the near corner.
“Come on, Kylie,” referee Merle Oberon sighs. “Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to remind you about the lack of timeouts in this sport?”
Honey shakes her head and steps forward. It didn’t really do to kick a woman while she was down, but it also doesn’t serve the Brit’s best interests to allow her opponent to dictate pace, or to regroup. But as she starts to reach down, Merle steps in for a moment, not fully obstructing her path, but enough to interrupt her approach. “Honey, she’s in the ropes. You need to let her get up…”
That moment’s hesitation proves to be all Kylie needs. Acting quickly, FAWN’s Most Hated reaches up, grabbing a handful of Harris’ waistband below the navel and quickly tugging downward while scooting just a bit to the side along the ropes to clear a path. Caught off guard, Honey pitches forward, her hands still moving to catch the ropes when her face smashes into the leather padding of the middle turnbuckle. Stunned, the Sweet Sensation slumps from her knees to her tush, turning and effectively trading places with her foe, now seated in the corner with the back of her head resting against the turnbuckle, eyes blinking rapidly.
The Platinum Pixie, meanwhile, pulls herself back to her feet. She pays no heed whatsoever to Oberon’s admonition to keep away from the downed youngster, steadying herself with a double-handed, white knuckle grip of the top rope as she drives stomp after stomp after stomp down against Honey’s chest. The blonde British import can do little more than slump and wither under the barrage, and wait for the official to determine that he had given Kylie enough slack to keep his paymasters happy. At that point, Merle begins his count, Kylie punctuating her avalanche of boots with an emphatic stomp that crashes down almost simultaneous with Oberon’s call of, “FOUR!!!!”
With Honey reduced to catching her breath, Vanilla Chill allows herself a moment to divert her focus away from her foe, and towards those traitorous former Corps members in the crowd. “THIS IS WHO YOU MORONS WANT TO CHEER?” she shouts at the FAWNatics, who answer near deafeningly in the affirmative.
Giving the crowd a piteous shake of her head, Kylie again puts bootleather to the Sweet Sensation. Only this time it’s singular, and consistent, the Hawkeye’s sole bringing her full weight down onto Honey’s windpipe. “THIS BYTCH ISN’T EVEN CHLOE FIELDS!” Chill snaps back, Harris’ hands clutching and pushing at Kylie’s ankle, her legs kicking and thrashing at the air. “SHE’S F*CKING STRAWBEARY!!!”
Merle doesn’t wait as long to begin his count on this occasion, and Kylie pushes it just beyond the point of “FOUR!!!!” before pulling her foot away, allowing Honey to suck down a loud gasp. “Hell,” Sanders mutters, tugging the younger blonde up to her feet with the help of a handful of hair and pushing her back against the buckles, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was REALLY f*cking Strawbeary!”
Leaning in against her opponent, enjoying the sensation of Honey’s stouter frame yielding against her weight, Kylie takes the Brit’s wrist and launches her foe toward the opposite corner with an Irish whip. Initially, the FAWNatics cross their fingers in hope of a reversal, but no, the youngster is sent racing across the ring. Certain that this saccharine simpleton had already been put in her rightful place, Sanders follows her in, but instead of turning her back into a collision with the turnbuckles, Honey leaps onto the middle rope before springing backward. Kylie has the wherewithal to halt her approach, but has little other choice than to raise her arms and catch the British blonde as Harris’ backside lands against her chest, Sanders shifting her feet to broaden her stance to help support holding her foe’s weight. Honey’s upper body drops toward the canvas, her descent halted when she brings her hands down and pushes up. The younger blonde lifts back into the air, Honey’s arms briefly windmilling before the spitfire reverses course and sweeps through the Platinum Pixie’s stems, her hands catching Kylie behind the knees and repaying the FAWN Original’s earlier introduction of her mug to turnbuckle with one of her own.
HONEYCOMB FACEBUSTER:
youtu.be/RJTsJ1TNR20?t=84
Kylie might be FAWN’s Most Hated, but the roar ruminating through the FAWN Arena suggests that her fate here is anything but, the elfin blonde left on her knees and nuzzling leather. At least, until Honey tugs Chill back to her feet. Turning a glassy eyed Sanders to face her, Harris guides the smaller blonde’s head under her left arm before gathering and underhooking both of the veteran’s wings. Popping her hips, Harris propels Kylie off her feet, depositing the Pleasant Valley Pariah’s spine against the pine with a beautiful double underhook suplex. But, rather than release her opponent either just prior to or after that impact, Honey rolls through, Sanders’ arms still trapped by the less experienced blonde as the Sweet Sensation settles into a seat atop Vanilla Chill’s lap, Kylie’s head still forced under Honey’s arm and her arms left to flail helplessly overhead.
Trapping Chill in her Honey Pot at least gave the youngster a little time to gather herself after a somewhat frenetic initial back and forth. “I don’t get it, Kylie,” the British spitfire muses. “I’ll never understand how you could turn your back on everyone. I know they say awful things about you now, and I know some people said awful things about you then. I’ve heard said some people used to call you a welcome mat…”
Harris leans back on her butterfly lock and drawing a pained grunt out of the FAWN Original.
“Regardless of whether it was true then, it’s gonna be true tonight.”
“Bullsh!t,” Sanders hisses, but she finds it harder to escape than disagree. Rising isn’t an option with the Brit anchoring her while on her lap, so the Platinum Pixie rocks to the side, eventually flopping to a shoulder and stretching out. Harris still has her butterfly but can’t stop Chill from rolling each of the blondes to the ropes and under. The conjoined women tumble to the floor before the Sweet Sensation decides to give up her grip and separate.
Rising, Honey grabs a wrist of the Pleasant Valley Pariah and tugs Sanders to vertical. She latches onto a shoulder as well to guide Sanders back into the ring, but Kylie lifts a leg and uses her boot sole as a brake against the apron to stop her forced return. After a couple unsuccessful heaves from Harris, Ky spins and rakes a set of nails across Honey’s peepers, Shea’s protégé howling in pain. The blonde turns away from the attack and stumbles blindly down the length of the ring with a huffing Hawkeye hot on her trail.
Kylie catches Honey by the scruff of the neck from behind and bum rushes her Mania counterpart to the end of the line, heaving Harris into a flipping, back-first collision with the metal barricade. The crowd groans in sympathy with Honey as she puddles at the base while Kylie, noticing the count is at ‘SEVEN’, slides in and out of the ring to restart Merle from scratch.
Sanders gives the official a middle finger and moves to Shea Lite, scraping Harris off the thinly padded cement.
“I should be in the main event,” she screams at the front rows, “not that tart from Manchester. I’ve been here the whole time. Making your lives worthwhile”
The Platinum Pixie bends Honey over the railing, the blonde’s head and torso amongst the fans, backside available for a raised knee between the cheeks from Ky. Honey’s eyes bulge, her hands shooting toward her derriere.
“I own this place,” Vanilla Chill asserts. “Not some prodigal has-been!”
Ky pulls Harris off the top of the barrier and points her to the metal steps, down the next side of the ring. She heaves the Sweet Sensation with an Irish Whip and Honey can’t stop herself until she turns into a clattering crash with the steel, upending the stairs and finishing seated and wincing against the base of the steps. Again, the cruel and increasingly confident Kylie rolls in and out of the ring to continue her outburst on the outside.
Sanders lands a couple stomps to Honey’s chest then tugs Harris to her feet and deems it time to stuff the ragged Englishwoman back inside the squared circle. The Brit rolls to a stop several feet in. Instead of following under the bottom rope, Ky climbs the ring post from the outside.
Early in her career, while under Shea’s tutelage, it was thought by many the Hawkeye might take on the aerial arts, learning at London’s flight school. Alas, Kylie could never master the airways, but it doesn’t prevent her from moving to the penthouse tonight, poised and waiting for Honey to rise when there.
Slowly, Harris struggles to her feet and turns toward Chill, the FAWNatics desperately trying to warn their favorite, but it’s no use. Sanders keeps it simple, leaping from the heights with a double axhandle she brings down HARD on the crown of Honey’s skull, sending the Brit rocketing to the canvas from the force of the blow.
Ky hovers over the decked Harris, nodding her head.
“Cheer for me, you losers!” Sanders demands of the rabble.
Instead, the obstinate fans start to chant “TROLL…TROLL…TROLL”, some holding strung-up, platinum-maned troll dolls to represent FAWN’s greatest traitor.
Kylie moves to the ropes, leaning over the top.
“SHUT YOUR MOUTHS! I’M A LEGEND. I’M NOT A TROLL!”
The assembled beg to differ, the chant reverberating through the entire arena bowl, Ky forced to apply muffs over her ears as she stomps around the ring, stopping at Merle to insist he shut the crowd down. The man shrugs, only making Chill angrier, her elfin features flushing.
Finally returning to an ascending Honey, Kylie drives a deep toe kick into the tummy of the Sweet Sensation. She sinks her nails into the flaxen locks of the stooped Brit then drops to her backside, delivering Honey’s features to the deck with a sit-out facebuster. Flaccid between the extended ivory stems of the Hawkeye, Harris can offer little resistance as Kylie rolls her foe onto her back and drops her legs across the shoulders and biceps of Shea’s protégé for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Honey shoves a shoulder off the canvas forcefully, rolling to her chest outside the ‘V’-shape of Sanders’ extended, lower limbs. Ky’s piercing hazel eyes shoot toward Merle for a moment but only that. The Platinum Pixie rises to a standing reverse straddle of her foe’s back. Sanders plucks both ankles off the canvas, lowers into a crouch, then backpedals until Honey’s almost vertical before dropping deeper and leaning backwards, forcing Harris’ body into a torturous ‘C’ for which it was never designed.
Boston Crab cinched tight, Sanders demands the Englishwoman’s surrender, drawing a loud shout of “BOTTLE ROCKETS!” from the Brit—no doubt a substitute for some other, decidedly less PG expression of defiance. Honey pushes up on her palms, giving herself enough room to dip her head and somersault forward, sending Kylie into a stumbling backpedal. Chill can’t maintain her balance and her ass hits canvas a step in front of the ropes. She uses the rubber-coated steel to rise, sheepishly furious Harris worked her way out of the predicament so skillfully.
“Shea teach you how to avoid this too?” Ky asks, rushing the seated Honey and swinging a soccer kick toward the Sweet Sensation’s chest. Honey drops flat and the boot sails over. As Sanders skids to a stop, Harris pivots and pulls the Platinum Pixie over her matbound frame, tripping Kylie to the canvas and tying her up in an aptly named small package for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
A wide-eyed Kylie breaks free and scrambles to her feet, shrieking “No…no…no” and, thankfully for Chill’s mental state, Merle agrees, two fingers raised.
Seeing she’s still alive, fear turns to anger and Chill races at a rising Honey. She drops to her knees a couple steps in front of Harris and slides by, delivering a gutting fist to Honey’s navel as she does, doubling up the Brit with a bug-eyed ‘ooooph’.
Popping to her feet behind the bent Harris, Ky grabs Honey’s right wrist and spins the blonde into an Irish Whip, Sanders heaving Harris toward the far corner, the Sweet Sensation unable to slow herself before turning into a back-racking impact.
Target in her sights, Vanilla Chill bursts into a sprint across the canvas and, from a few feet out, dives toward an ab-blasting spear. And it would have been if Harris hadn’t used the ropes behind her to lift herself momentarily horizontal above Sanders’ bullseye. Kylie flies through the buckles and RAMS her right shoulder into the steel ring post beneath.
Honey drops down across the back of the bent platinum blonde in a reverse-facing mount, then throws her body forward in a front flip, pulling the staggered Kylie into a somersault powerbomb that nearly DRIVES Sanders through the mat.
HONEY BOMB @0:15:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcP0hrK6pX4
With a slobberknocked Chill stacked on her shoulders between Honey’s stems, Merle drops to the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The FAWNatics groan in disappointment as Kylie first bucks loose of the pin, then beats Harris in regaining her footing. Honey still manages to pick herself off the mat, but before she can capitalize on the bomb she had dropped, the Platinum Pixie rocks her opponent back into the ropes with a couple of vengeful forearm shots to the chest. Bodying up against the Sweet Sensation as she took Honey’s wrist, Sanders hisses, “Fluke. That’s all last month was. That’s all YOU are!”
With that, Vanilla Chill ushers the British blonde on her way with an Irish whip, stalking her charging prey out to nearer the middle of the ring to meet Harris on the rebound. The crowd had hoped the younger blonde would flip the script on the actual whip, but they still get their wish a bit belatedly when, instead of sprinting unwittingly into whatever Kylie had in mind, she took one small hop toward her foe before jumping into the air and twisting her body. The Hawkeye’s arms reflexively wrap around Honey’s tummy as the Brit’s legs slip around Sanders’ waist, Harris’ upper body plunging toward the canvas…
In her brief time in FAWN, Honey had demonstrated herself both very found of and very proficient with wheelbarrow maneuvers. But, on the biggest stage the company had to offer, tonight the Sweet Sensation pulls something out of her bag of tricks that no one had seen her do before. After launching herself back into the air via a push up, Harris twisted her upper body around to face her opponent, reaching an arm across Kylie’s chest. She then kicks her feet into the air and throws her weight into reverse, falling to her back and SLAMMING the elfin blonde’s mug into the canvas via a wheelbarrow flatliner—something that would come to be known as the Honey Drop.
HONEY DROP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_B_f8175aLo
The impact sends Briton and Iowan rolling away in opposite directions. Both women scramble up, and this time, the FAWNatics’ delight it is Honey that gets there first. As Kylie begins to straighten up, the Sweet Sensation takes a step toward the Pleasant Valley Pariah before pivoting and presenting her back to Sanders. Harris launches herself into a beautiful arcing backflip, landing in a hand stand and swinging her legs toward Kylie’s noggin. Trapping Chill’s head between her calves, Honey pushes up just enough to drop to her back, and uses her scissors to rip Sanders off her feet. The Platinum Pixie is sent tumbling toward an empty corner, coming to a rest reclining against the bottom turnbuckle.
Which presents the Sweet Sensation with another opportunity to demonstrate the fruits of her lessons at the London School of Wrestlinomics.
Racing across the ring, Harris launches herself toward her prone adversary feet first, her back lowering toward being parallel to the canvas. Initially, it looks like it might be a dropkick, but Honey’s boots travel beyond level with Kylie’s noggin, and continue to sail upward as the British beauty flies through the air, Harris’ back and backside slamming into Sanders’ torso and head, respectively.
STING IN ITS TAIL:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEnEnOzqsAY
Grabbing FAWN’s Most Hated by the ankles, Honey drags her out of the corner before applying the lateral press, hooking a leg and scoring the…
ONE…
TWO…
THNOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sanders kicks out.
“You wanted to know what Shea’s been teaching me,” Honey teases, shoveling the most traitorous woman in FAWN history over onto her belly. “This one you ought to know pretty well…”
Harris shuffles her knees up onto Kylie’s back, one hand reaching to gather and cross the Hawkeye’s ankles while the other stretches toward Sanders’ chin. Vanilla Chill obviously knows this one pretty well, as she manages a couple of frantic shakes of her head and meeps of “No!” before the British blonde gets that chin cupped. And then, the house ERUPTS as the Sweet Sensation rocks back, hoisting FAWN’s Most Hated toward the rafters on her knees, Kylie locked in an excruciating Bow and Arrow!
BOW AND ARROW:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKIsV8Kg3AI
“Do you give, Kylie?” Merle asks, dropping to one knee beside the duo to be in better position to acknowledge that submission, or to ascertain Kylie’s continuing consciousness.
“OF COURSE I DON’T, MORON!” the Pleasant Valley pariah snaps. “I’M GONNA MAKE THIS BYTCH SORRY SHE EVUUUUGGGHHHAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Honey cuts off her foe’s protest with a harsh downward tug on her chin. “Gracious!” the British beauty exclaims, albeit with something of a cheeky grin. “Where’s a bar of soap when you need one?”
For an expert hand at the height of her powers, this hold could be all but inescapable. Alas, at this stage Honey Harris is merely a gifted pupil, and after a little wrangling, Kylie manages to slip her jaw free of her opponent’s grasp. From there, the FAWN Original has little difficulty in rolling off the Sweet Sensation’s knees and crashes down atop Harris’ torso.
“Uhhhhhh!!!!!!” Honey lets out a winded gasp, her legs flying into the air—which proves to be a gift for Kylie, who greedily hooks both of them. Suddenly, Oberon goes from checking for a submission to checking shoulders, and seeing that the younger blonde’s were indeed flat against the mat, he slaps off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
Harris kicks out.
Both blondes return to the attack quickly, the British one charging her adversary with an outstretched arm. But Kylie ducks the clothesline attempt, and quickly whips around behind the youngster, slipping her arms around Honey’s waist, ready to pop her hips and administer a German suplex to this annoying brat. Before she can fully secure her waistlock, however, Harris powers out of it and reverses into one of her own. The Sweet Sensation’s legs quickly start to churn, driving Sanders toward the ropes…
… or, more accurately, toward referee Merle Oberon, who stood directly between the Platinum Pixie and the cables!
Instinctively, Merle throws her arms up, across his face, pivoting away from the impending collision and toward the ropes. Thankfully for him, though, Honey catches a glimpse of the alarmed zebra over Kylie’s shoulder and skids to a halt, Sanders’ arms reaching over the official’s to grab the top rope…
They say speed kills, but hesitation can be even more deadly. And for a snake like Kylie, it takes only the slightest of hesitations for her to turn circumstances to her advantage. Her right foot sweeps back in a mule kick, her boot splitting Honey’s wickets with vicious precision. Almost instantly, the youngster’s arms fall from Sanders’ waist, the blonde letting out a high pitched, agonized chirp as she turns and staggers away from her foe, legs quaking with each step.
The crowd showers Vanilla Chill in condemnation, but Merle is none the wiser as to why when Kylie pulls away from her. Her eyes clasped shut, knees knocking and her bottom lip quivering, the Sweet Sensation’s drunken course brings her back into Sanders’ orbit, and Kylie dips to thread on arm through those trembling thighs, muscling the youngster onto her shoulders and into a fireman’s carry. The FAWN Original then transforms into a spinning top, whipping around and around as she further scrambles her opponent’s senses with an airplane spin.
Rather than toss away her cargo, Sanders sets a now dizzied and dazed Honey down on her feet, Harris nearly tripping over them as she manages to swing a wild, looping right in front of her…
Pity that Kylie was actually standing behind her when she fired.
Smirking, the Platinum Pixie snatches a handful of Harris’ mane, tugging the blonde back around to face her before shoving Honey’s head under her left arm. Helping herself to a handful of Harris’ waistband, Sanders powers the younger blonde off her feet, as if for a vertical suplex. But she then swivels toward the ropes and reverses course, dropping Honey in front of her, the Sweet Sensational knees landing atop the bottom rope. The taut, rubber coated steel propels Harris in the opposite direction, providing a little extra oomph for the less-than-powerhouse Pleasant Valley Pariah when she SLAMS Honey’s back into the mat with a slingshot suplex.
SLINGSHOT SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-pQDKDbCqdc
Getting back to her feet, Kylie tugs Honey up to a stooped base and forces the British blonde’s skull between her thighs. Clamping down on her standing headscissors, FAWN’s Most Hated wraps her arms around the youngster’s gulping tummy, and lifts her opponent until the Sweet Sensation’s back is against her chest, and—more perilously—the crown of her skull is pointed toward the unforgiving canvas. Kylie then breaks her clasp around her foe’s midsection, instead locking them around Honey’s right thigh before she jumps into the air and sits out, SPIKING Harris with a savage cradle piledriver.
CRADLE PILEDRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GtIqp37oP8
Honey puddles into a weakly shuddering spreadeagle, seemingly driven into next week by the Hawkeye. With nary a care in the world, Kylie simply drops across Honey’s chest on her side, propping herself up with her right hand, while her left absently plunges into the Brit’s damp locks, no effort or thought whatsoever given to securing the Sweet Sensation’s stems.
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kylie hadn’t miscalculated in not hooking a leg.
Honey hadn’t even twitched.
So why no bell?
The answer to that question is in Kylie’s hand: specifically, a bunch of Honey’s locks, which she had used to lift the near insensate blonde off the deck before Merle could bring the match to a conclusion. “Come on, Kylie…” Oberon sighs, as the boos rein down.
“Shut it, zebra meat,” the Platinum Pixie orders. “I haven’t finished showing just how outclassed this punk ass bytch truly is.”
Hairhauling her opposition to her feet, the stupefied expression gracing Honey’s features enough to warm Kylie’s black heart, Sanders once again shuffled the Sweet Sensation onto her shoulders and into a fireman’s carry. And despite the fact that she gives up nearly a dozen pounds to the woman strapped across her shoulders, Vanilla Chill channels her inner Pandora, displaying her cargo to the infuriated masses, letting them anticipate the impending drive to Pleasant Valley on behalf of a sniveling brat too far gone to…
“Unnngghhhh….”
Not QUITE so far gone.
Honey finally demonstrates some signs of life, smashing an elbow into the side of Kylie’s skull. The blow isn’t harsh enough to free the suddenly wriggling blonde, but it does bring the FAWNatics back to life. And their support spurs the Sweet Sensation on to keep firing, landing elbow after elbow, until one finally catches enough of the Hawkeye’s temple to slacken Kylie’s grasp, and letting Harris slip out the back door with hopes of launching a “Harris Run”…
(… no, that doesn’t quite roll off the tongue as easily.)
Honey charges into the ropes, rebounding off the cables and hurtling toward Vanilla Chill with renewed vigor. Leaping, the Sweet Sensation’s boots land atop Kylie’s thighs, the Brit’s hands reaching out behind her foe’s head, but this would be no monkey flip. Harris shifts her weight to the left, her momentum forcing the Platinum Pixie to turn along with the motion, until the Brit’s back was to the near ropes—and there was now no longer the room to monkey flip anyone. That doesn’t stop Honey from falling backwards, however, the top rope launching the Sweet Sensation the other way upon impact. Honey sails over her foe, folding so that her chest is against Kylie’s back as she reaches her arms around Sanders’ chest—and Chill’s noggin was now snugly between Honey’s thighs! With that boost to her momentum provided before the ropes, Honey RIPS the elfin blonde from her moorings, forcing Sanders to flip over her as she answers Kylie’s cradle piledriver with her own Reading Destroyer!
READING DESTROYER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IkGmxvfbN8
FAWN’s Most Hated tumbles through the impact to her knees, cross-eyed, swaying slightly before the Sweet Sensation pushes her over to her back. Turning to face Kylie’s gams, Honey drops to a seat atop Sanders’ belly, gathering up the Hawkeye’s legs and hugging them to her chest with her left arm. As Merle slides into position, Honey’s right hand presses against the mat, just to the right of Kylie’s lolling noggin, steadying herself as Oberon counts her toward the biggest win of her career…
ONE…
TWO…
Sanders stays alive, her ivory body spasming enough to lift a shoulder off the canvas and buck Honey off kilter. Ky flops to her side, limp as a dishrag, Harris still in possession of her foe’s lethargic legs, but Sanders still in the match.
Honey lets the limbs loosely tumble from her grasp as she rises. Shea had no doubt told her Sanders’ one outstanding attribute is survival, a silvery-bobbed cockroach. And Ky lives up to her moniker, the Pleasant Valley Pariah slinking away on her belly, struggling toward the ropes. The Sweet Sensation follows, pulling Chill to her feet by a wrist and elbow when Vanilla makes it close to the cables.
London’s protégé bullies the sagging Sanders to a corner and sends the FAWN original racing out. Kylie is a black-and-gold blur across the canvas, spinning into a back-first collision with the buckles that has enough force to turn off the traitor’s lower limbs. Ky plops to her taut little backside, legs extended, arms limp over the bottom ropes, head drooping, chin to chest.
Across the ring, Harris is shot out of a cannon, flying across the expanse and leaping, legs leading the way from several feet out. Her undercarriage RAMS into Kylie’s modest chest, Honey’s butt CRUNCHING into the sternum of the Platinum Pixie. But Hon isn’t done. She grabs the middle ropes on either side and busts her short-haired Palomino, THWUMPING her ass into Chill’s chest her junk into the increasingly glassy-eyed Sanders’ chin.
The crowd counts out a full ten thrusts before the Brit dismounts, leaving Kylie an alabaster greasespot, horizontal, staring blankly at the rafters, her noggin wobbling.
Taking Shea’s words to heart, Harris doesn’t overindulge in the Mania spotlight. Using her success instead of reveling in it, Honey tugs a rubbery Kylie to her feet. She sends a blistering chop to Ky’s cleavage, Sanders sent backpedaling to a slumped position against the buckles.
Harris jogs to the opposite corner and u-turns, dashing toward the still vertical Chill. About halfway across, the Englishwoman shows off her tumbling skills, cartwheeling and flipping her way toward the flagging Sanders before delivering a handspring back elbow to the cleft of Kylie’s bosom. Hazel eyes crossing, Chill offers futile resistance to Honey, Harris spinning her in place, the Hawkeye’s chest now pointed to the corner, glassy eyes facing her former fans.
Harris slips between the ropes, grabbing the top with both hands. Using the cable as a slingshot, she launches back into the ring, transferring her grip to Kylie’s traps. Using gravity to her advantage, Honey rips Ky off her boot soles and BACKSTABS the Platinum Pixie, the Brit’s knees doubling as spears into Sanders’ shoulderblades. Shea’s current partner dives atop her waylaid former teammate, hooking a leg from a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!!!!!
Sanders can’t kick free, but she’s wily enough to reach out and grab the bottom rope, palm wrapping tightly. The battered blonde croaks about a pleading ‘get her off me’ to Merle and the zebra does the best he’s able. Harris climbs off the battered Sanders, rising and backing away a couple steps.
Hugging the saving strand tightly, Ky demands the Sweet Sensation provide her more room and Honey obliges, moving to the center of the ring. The Brit motions for Kylie to get up and join her but instead Chill yanks herself under the ropes and out. She waves both hands at Harris and makes her way to the ramp.
“You people don’t deserve to watch me,” Sanders shouts. “And this wannabe certainly doesn’t deserve to wrestle me. At Mania no less.”
The Platinum Pixie turns and stalks up the incline. That is until Def Leppard crashes through the sound system…
“DO YOU WANNA GET ROCKED?!”
SHEA LONDON:
The crowd loses its proverbial shit as Shea London, in full Union Jack battle gear, appears and walks down the ramp. Kylie’s hazel eyes fill with fear. She stumbles in a backpedal, throwing up a beseeching palm toward the living legend.
Not wanting anything to do with London, Sanders turns and hightails. Deciding in the ring is safer with the Sensational One on the outside, Chill dives in under the bottom rope and hops to her feet.
Harris, having taken all of the extracurricular action in, sprints toward the rising Platinum Pixie. Honey leaps into the air, grabbing two mini-handfuls of slivery bob as she sails past FAWN’s greatest traitor. Gravity does Honey’s bidding as the blossoming Brit turns her back to the canvas and draws her knees toward her chest and Kylie’s jaw.
BLASTED by the Honey Trap, Ky is sent flying into the air from the impact and, luckily for the Hawkeye, between the ropes, spilling off the apron and ending in a jumbled pile on the floor.
London moves toward the splattered Sanders, perhaps to toss her once-upon-a-time friend back in with her protégé, but Harris holds up a hand.
“I got this,” Harris assures.
Shea nods as the Sweet Sensation slips through the strands and drops to the floor. She scrapes up what’s left of Chill and heaves her back in the squared circle, following closely behind. With Kylie safely within her pupil’s playground, Shea heads for the exit and the biggest night of her career in the main event.
On her feet in an instant, Harris tracks down a crawling Kylie, sinking a set of fingers into the nape of the Iowan’s neck and pulling her up. But as Ky reaches her boot leather, she spins and jabs a thumb in Honey’s right eye. Harris howls in pain, turning away from Sanders and rubbing furiously at her injured eyeball.
Behind her, a suddenly energized Kylie stalks to the half-blinded Brit’s six o’clock. She leaps forward, throwing a chop block into the back of Honey’s left knee. Harris collapses to the balled joint, genuflecting as she reaches for the injured limb. Racing past her foe from behind, Sanders rebounds toward Harris and DRIVES A KNEE between the baby blues of the Englishwoman, sending Honey flopping to a spreadeagle.
The invite is too good to refuse and, after Ky skids to a stop, she dives atop the flattened blonde in a crossbody, hooking a leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Honey pops a shoulder up with a second to spare and a frustrated Chill slaps the canvas, the crowd cheering loudly at Honey denying FAWN’s Most Hated a Mania Moment she did NOT deserve.
As Harris rolls to her chest and starts to push to all fours, a growling Kylie hovers over Harris in a standing reverse straddle. She RAMS her ass into the base of Honey’s spine, dropping Harris flat to the canvas. Vanilla Chill kneels bestride the Sweet Sensation and raises her right hand high, curling her talons.
Reflexively, the former members of the Kylie Corps shout out “FARM…HAND!”
And the sinful, selfish version of the former Girl Scout DIGS her claw into Honey’s hammy, Ky clamping into the nerve bundle at the juncture of Harris’ thigh and gluteus. Debilitating pinpricks of pain quickly turn to scalded nerves being bundled and pinched.
“Show you really are like Shea,” Kylie insists. “GIVE THE HELL UP!”
“GYYYYAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!” Harris cries out, her usually adorable features transformed into a masque of agony. Of all the claw variants in professional wrestling, this might be the most dreaded—yes, even over the one applied south of the border. Because the longer Kylie could keep those digits plunged and kneading at that vulnerable muscle mass and nerve cluster, the more useless Vanilla Chill can render that gam going forward. And, in the patootie kicking contest that is FAWN, no one wants to be a one-legged woman. “I’ll… unnnggghhhh… I’ll never… agggghhhhhh… never give… to you…”
“That a fact, Jack?” Vanilla Chill asks with a raised eyebrow and a deceptively sweet tone, before DIGGING in the Clamp with renewed relish. Honey utters a quick “EEP!” of torment, before successfully swallowing back the rest of what would have been a heart-rending shriek. Gritting her teeth in determination, the younger blonde digs her elbows into the mat and, gradually drags herself toward the ropes on her stomach. With one last lunge, the Sweet Sensation stretches out a hand…
… and coils her fingers around the bottom rope!
“ROPES!” Merle calls out. “Break the hold, Ky!”
The FAWN Original’s forehead furrows in thought. “Hmmm… No, think I’d rather keep shredding this cottage cheese thigh, thanks!”
Oberon doesn’t waste any time or energy arguing the point, immediately beginning his count. Kylie waits until juuust past the count of “FOUR!” before RIIIIIPPPPPPING away her talons, the Sweet Sensation crying out in an odd mixture of agony and relief as she pulls herself into a protective shell, all the while continuing to maintain a white knuckle grip on the bottom rope.
Taking a knee beside the mewling Briton, the official asks, “How are you feeling, Honey? Good to keep going?”
Harris answers with a small nod. “I’m good, Merle,” she mutters, then begins to pull herself up to her feet with the aid of the ropes. Leaning against the cables for a moment, the Sweet Sensation cautiously shifts her weight to her left leg, gingerly testing whether the stem will support her…
In FAWN, matches can often turn on one simple mistake. And sometimes, that mistake is as small as which direction you turn. In retrospect, Harris might have been better served turning her wounded leg toward the ropes, but instead the blonde’s right side faces the strands…
… and that gives Kylie Sanders a clear path to send a swift, heartless kick that strikes the pit of Honey’s left knee with a loud ‘THWAAAP!’ The Sweet Sensation howls in pain, crumpling to the deck, both hands reaching to clutch her knee and pull it toward her chest…
… but she never gets the chance. Snatching that ankle, FAWN’s Most Hated is now more shark than troll, and she can scent blood in the water. Threading that leg over the middle rope, Kylie PULLLLLLLS back on that ankle with all her might, forcing the taut, rubber coated steel to viciously bite into the tendons and ligaments at the back of Honey’s folded knee.
“COME ON, KYLIE!” Merle scolds her, then launches his count. Again, Vanilla Chill patiently waits for the ref to hit “FOUR!” before letting go—but only long enough to break the count. Grabbing a handful of hair, Sanders tugs her foe up to her feet before slipping her head under Honey’s left arm. Reaching down, Kylie again grabs at the Sweet Sensation’s left ankle, folding the Brit’s leg at the knee before hoisting her into the air. The Platinum Pixie then genuflects, dropping Honey’s shin across her posted knee, the younger woman letting out a yelp as she spills to the canvas…
… but Kylie still has her ankle. And, rising back to her feet, the Hawkeye steps around, swivels, and drops to her tush, locking Honey into a figure four leglock!
SHINBREAKER TO FIGURE FOUR:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AK8mRh0bgl8
“GIVE UP, SAM’S CHOICE SHEA!” Sanders demands, twisting the British blonde’s captive ankle to and fro, Honey thrashing in agony… but still shaking her head. After a few moments, however, the Sweet Sensation’s struggles slacken, Harris beginning to fade, until she’s left lying flat on her back. Seeing Honey’s shoulders flat on the mat, Merle slides into position…
ONE…
TWO…
THNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Honey forces herself up onto her elbows. Kylie looks down toward her foe, no doubt expecting to see a look of pain, perhaps even fear. And while there’s definitely some anguish etched on those features, Harris meets the Hawkeye’s gaze with a look of determination. “Only one of us is giving up today…”
The Sweet Sensation begins to rock her hips, left to right to left again, building up momentum…
“… AND IT’S NOT GOING TO BE ME!!!”
Suddenly, it’s Chill’s turn to look frightened, fully aware of what Honey is trying to do, and able to feel the force that the Sweet Sensation is building up. “Oh no you don’t,” Kylie says, attempting to quell her opponent’s resistance with another twist of her ankle. “OH NO YOU DOOOOOOAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Oh yes she does! Honey Harris rolls the Figure Four over, reversing the pressure, now putting the strain on KYLIE’S legs! The elfin blonde plunges her hands into her abbreviated locks, Merle shifting his focus from Harris now to Sanders. The Sweet Sensation, meanwhile, presses her palms flat against the mat and pushes her upper body into the air. “YOU GIVE!” the youthful Brit shouts, the FAWNatics roaring in support of the younger woman. “GIVE, YOU FUDGING NAUGHTY DOTTIE!!!”
“Do you give, Kylie?” the ref asks.
And, in a clear sign of just how perilously close to surrender the Pleasant Valley Pariah is, she DOESN’T answer Oberon’s query with a heaping of abuse. Instead, she channels all her energies into dragging herself toward the ropes, Honey clawing at the mat to try to hold her ground…
… but Sanders’ determination wins out, and she snatches the cable.
It takes Merle’s assistance to get the blondes’ gams disengaged from one another. It’s then less than a sprint back to their feet for Honey and Kylie than it is a marathon, the Hawkeye using the ropes to assist her while the British spitfire clearly favors her left leg. But, to the consternation of the former Corps, it is Kylie who wins the race. Pushing away from the cables, she raises an arm for a clothesline…
… but, rather than duck that scythe, Harris twists to the left, grimacing as her weight transitions onto her punished knee, but that doesn’t stop the Sweet Sensation from raising her right arm and hooking Kylie’s wing with her own. Pushing off with her right foot, Honey sweeps her body across the Hawkeye’s back, locking her left arm around Kylie’s neck before falling to the mat and DRILLING Kylie’s cranium with a Floatover DDT! Throwing herself atop Sanders’ chest, the Sweet Sensation gathers a leg and scores the…
FLOATOVER DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1hS4xOy8fQ
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kylie gets a shoulder up.
Honey pushes up to her feet, stumbling over to the near corner and pulling herself up onto the middle turnbuckle. A woozy Kylie waves off a referee who, in no way could be said to have been moving to assist her, before struggling to her feet as well, her back presented to the Sweet Sensation. As she turns, Honey leaps from her perch, drawing her knees up and SLAMMING them into the Hawkeye’s shoulders, Harris riding the smaller blonde all the way to the mat, her backside smashing down against Chill’s chest.
HONEY TO THE B:
youtu.be/rPHlm6jjkjI?t=510
Harris rolls through her landing, toward the opposite corner… only instead of rolling immediately to the outside, as she so often did, the British beauty spills over onto a hip and grabs at her left knee. Clearly, her landing had done the joint that Kylie had targeted few favors, but with victory so close in hand, she knows she can tend to her knee later. Right now, she needs to get to the top rope.
Gamely, the British blonde finally wills herself to roll out to the apron, and pulls herself up. Investing all her focus on reaching the perch from which she would launch her Reading Rainbow, Harris hobbles toward the corner and begins to scale the ropes…
She never spotted Kylie Sanders pick herself up. FAWN’s Most Hated, on the other hand, locates Honey fairly quickly, and just as the Sweet Sensation starts getting her feet underneath her on the top rope, Sanders charges the cables to her left, slamming her full weight into the ropes. With the tremor sent through the strand emanating from the side that Honey is already favoring, she has no chance of keeping her balance, the Brit tumbling into a crotch first collision with the metal framework behind the leather padding.
With Honey rendered a paralyzed mass of flesh, raised above the ring, Kylie makes short work of pulling the Sweet Sensation’s stems over the top rope and back into the ring. She then pulls Harris forward and down from her throne and onto her shoulders, threading an arm between the Briton’s quivering thighs as she secures Honey in a fireman’s carry. She carries the younger blonde away from the corner, but doesn’t indulge in the parading that had gone against her early. She hesitates only to offer three parting words before laying out and taking Harris on a not-so-pleasant Drive to Chilly Valley:
“Thanks for playing.”
CHILLY VALLEY DRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzDBLix7L1o
A pin would almost certainly have been academic, but Kylie doesn’t go for it. Instead, the FAWN Original takes Honey’s left ankle and pulls that leg behind her head. Sanders rising to her knees forces the British youngster to her right side, the pit of her knee now pressed against the back of Kylie’s skull. The elfin blonde then moves from two knees to one, planting a boot against the side of Honey’s skull as her right arm stretches over the Brit’s captive stem to gather and pull up on Harris’ left arm.
CHILL OUT:
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Indescribable agony snaps the Sweet Sensation out of her stupor, Honey wailing in torment as Kylie’s left arm slips around her thigh. “READY TO EAT THOSE WORDS, BYTCH?” Chill venomously spits, mashing the sole of her boot against the Brit’s cheek.
“NOOOOOOAAAAAGGGGUUUUUAAAAWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!” the younger blonde screams, Harris straaaaaaining to reach out her free arm. Unfortunately, two factors serve to hinder her efforts: Kylie’s boot pinning her head down, and her own body weight bearing down on that right shoulder. The ropes remain a good two feet from her waving fingers, and no amount of wriggling underneath Kylie’s domineering bootleather can maneuver her any closer…
Finally, Honey’s hand surrenders that quest… and surrenders the match, slapping frantically at her own shoulder. Merle immediately turns and signals for the bell.
But Vanilla Chill won’t release the hold.
“Dammit, Kylie,” Merle sighs, but the vengeful Hawkeye won’t have anything to do with mercy.
“NOT GOOD ENOUGH,” Sanders shouts. “SAY IT! SAY YOU QUIT! ADMIT YOUR PINNING ME WAS A FLUKE! ADMIT YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A JOKE!”
“NAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Honey screams, attempting to shake her head under Kylie’s boot.
“DON’T PUSH ME, KYLIE!” Oberon cautions her. “I’LL REVERSE THE DECISION! SEE IF I WON’T!”
The Platinum Pixie is unmoved.
Merle starts to count, but the roar of the crowd even before he reaches “TWO!” alerts Sanders that she might have a more immediate and pressing threat to worry about. She tosses away Honey’s leg and rolls under the bottom rope, just as Shea London dives into the ring from the other side. Keeping her eyes locked on the Pleasant Valley Pariah, the Sensational One crawls to her partner and pulls Honey into a comforting embrace.
Backpedaling up the aisle, Kylie points a finger at her former tag team partner and bestie. “YOU’RE NEXT, SHEA!” the elfin blonde calls back down the ramp. “JUST AS LONG AS SUE LEAVES ME SOMETHING TO PLAY WITH!”