Post by dsb on Nov 26, 2019 1:00:45 GMT
If Shea London’s Mania match was to determine FAWN’s best ever, the Sensational One coming up just short, tonight’s All Hallows’ Evil encounter would be more about coronation versus retribution.
And if the FAWNatics had their way, history would repeat itself rather than be turned on its head. The possible head turner, a Mania winner against London’s protégé, Honey Harris. Still, there’s a long way between the sweetness of Honey and the sensation that is Shea.
The ring announcer brings the murmuring crowd to attention.
“Our next match is the best of THREE FALLS with a 30-minute time limit. A pinfall-count-anywhere fall. A submission fall. And a possible KO conclusion.
Our first competitor. From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
With the sound of Iggy gettin’ ‘Fancy’, the Platinum Pixie RIPS through the curtains, throwing them wide then striding confidently to center stage.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
Though many question the Pleasant Valley Pariah’s ability and more her ethical indiscretions, no one can deny her power to stir passion and Sanders immediately brings the crowd to its feet. The collective hate moves like a presence toward the silvery bobbed elfin beauty.
With no J-Dogg covering her flank, Vanilla seems an Empress with No Clothes, unaware of the dressing down she might receive with no cavalry at the ready to step in and save her. Instead, she scoffs and scowls at the faithful, pointing and shouting at the beating she’s about to deliver.
KYLIE SANDERS:
The FAWNatics unleash their revulsion on the organization’s most infamous traitor in return. 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 ire.
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.
(https://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. Kylie points behind her.
“Read it and weep limey lovers.”
Nodding knowingly, Sanders heads down the ramp and aisle, keeping clear of the reaching arms and baleful verbal jabs. She stops and stares indignantly at a poster board held high.
‘London’s a legend. Kylie’s a curtainjerker.’
“I stayed. I’m the goddamned legend! Three times I’m going to prove it tonight!”
FAWN’s Most Hated returns her attention to the ring, the long-time stage where she holds the record for most wins of any FAWN wrestler but also the most defeats. Striding to the squared circle, mostly ignoring the jeering crowd the rest of the way, the Hawkeye climbs the steps and demands Nick Castle open the ropes for her.
Nick knows well enough to listen to the FAWN original. He sits on the middle and pushes up the top, the diminutive turncoat slipping between. Once in, the inevitable chants begin, Sanders disregards them at first but as they dwarf the volume of her entrance, Kylie moves to the ring’s edge, receives a microphone and screams at them to stop.
It’s fuel to the ever-raging FAWNatics’ fire, booming chants of “TROLL” filling the bowl. The elfin blonde muffs her ears, demanding Castle make them stop. He shrugs, angering Ky all the more.
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
THEY WON’T!
“IF YOU DON’T, LONDON’S LEAVING THIS RING A CRIPPLE! I’LL DO WHAT BURLINGAME SHOULD’VE AND END THIS FARCE! I’LL…”
‘DO YOU WANNA GET ROCKED!”
”LET’S GET ROCKED”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhM_LxeKgEQ
The crowd’s chant turns to earsplitting cheers, the flustered, frustrated Hawkeye tossing the stick away knowing she can’t compete with such a sensational arrival.
SHEA LONDON:
As Def Leppard’s “Let’s Get Rocked” pumps over the arena’s speakers, the curtains part, and “Sensational” Shea London emerges onto the ramp. While it is said that familiarity breeds contempt, there is nothing but love in the FAWNatics’ response to the returning legend. Just as in her previous appearances since her return, the gorgeous blonde sports a pleasingly “Old School” look: visible underneath an open, traditional, red ring jacket is a one piece proudly emblazoned in the Union Jack, the red stripes of the cross running from the scooped neckline to between her legs and underneath her bosom, respectively, her eyes shielded behind a pair of stylish shades. Red knee and elbow pads along with blue boots complete her ensemble.
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, her million megawatt smile on full display as she slaps hands with a FAWN fandom populous that clearly feels no diminishment of their love for the living legend, even in the face of what the Rainmaker had done to Shea’s face. After all, Mania might have been a major stage, but it wasn’t the first time they had seen the Sensational One come up short.
No, what defines Shea—what has ALWAYS defined Shea London—is her ability to come back from adversity and hold her head high.
Of course, with the Brit’s renewed presence on the roster now a given, the FAWNatics have had the opportunity to prepare signs to greet Sensational One’s appearance. A particular one catches London’s eyes at ringside:
”IN FAWN, TEACHERS STILL GET TO SPANK MISBEHAVING STUDENTS.”
“Didn’t bring a paddle with me,” Shea says with a playful pout, which promptly shifts into a grin. “Guess my ‘and’ll do!”
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes and steps toward her corner. Mounting the middle rope, London slips her ring jacket down her shoulders, Shea’s grin growing broader as the crowd enjoys the tease...
On the other side of the canvas, Sanders fumes, watching London prostitute herself for the fans. The Platinum Pixie wants to attack but knows Shea well enough to recognize a set-up. The Brit‘s flaunting her back to Vanilla Chill for a reason and Kylie waits out the charade, Shea dropping back to the canvas and turning to face the once-upon-a-time Girl Scout, offering a pleasant wave to Sanders.
“Bytch,” Ky murmurs under her breath, circling out of her corner as the bell rings.
London quickly joins her and the two throw their bodies together in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. It’s an even battle for leverage for several seconds, but Shea finally dips and swings around behind Kylie, capturing her foe in a tight waistlock. London lifts Sanders off the mat and deposits her to the canvas, ending tight to the back of FAWN’s greatest traitor, riding her as if a collegiate wrestler.
Sanders sits out, trying to escape but Shea catches her foe before she can. With her hands wrapped around either of Ky’s wrists, the Sensational One digs her right knee between Kylie’s shoulderblades, drawing a grimace out of Chill.
Ky leans back, increasing the pressure on herself but able to use London’s frame to rise to vertical, thereby removing the knee from play. Upright, London stalls the Hawkeye’s progress, sliding alongside, collecting a ¾ facelock and snapmaring Sanders to a seat on her pert, ivory backside. Shea adds a soccer kick worthy of her Manchester roots, ramming it home into the lower spine of the American. Kylie yelps in pain, back arching.
The Brit is already on the move as Sanders’ hazel eyes snap shut in pain. Racing in front of the seated Sanders, she rebounds out of the ropes and lands a low dropkick to Kylie’s chest, the Platinum Pixie collapsing to the deck, the back of her skull hitting hard. She cradles her noggin with both hands, boot soles pattering against the canvas.
Shea dives across Kylie in a lateral press, hooking a leg for…
ONE…
Sanders kicks free, ending on her side, cursing under her breath.
“Get used to kicking,” Shea warbles, “until you can’t.”
Sanders spins up to kneel on her haunches, facing London who motions the Pleasant Valley Pariah up the rest of the way. Chill silently joins her. Knowing this is likely her last chance to dent the scoreboard against Shea in singles competition, Sanders’ chatter is at a premium.
Instead, she raises her arms high, wriggling her fingers heavenward. London grins excitedly at Kylie’s offer and nods as she steps toward the Platinum Pixie. Sanders and Shea lace fingers and immediately throw their mass forward, one leg in front of the other, to gain the advantage.
After a half-dozen seconds of stalemate, Kylie starts to force Shea’s wrists back, folding them toward London’s upper arms, Shea in distress for the first time, a sinister smirk alighting on Ky’s visage. Leaning forward, Sanders increases her lead, Shea starting to lower, keeping her body beneath the growing problem.
“SHEA…SHEA…SHEA!”
The chant echoes through the AHE crowd and, as if on command, London starts to rise, pushing back toward even as Kylie shakes her head in disbelief. Reaching high noon in the test of strength, London rips Ky’s arms down in the opposite direction, all four sets of knuckles now pointed toward the deck. The Pleasant Valley Pariah is on tiptoes, wincing as London commands the situation. She steps over the locked fingers, moves both her grips to Kylie’s right hand, and arm drags Sanders to the deck, the Hawkeye skidding up, turning and racing at Shea.
London is ready, catching the tip of Chill’s chin with a supremely located dropkick that sends Sanders to the canvas. Kylie scrambles to her feet but it’s a tick behind Shea and she EATS a series of five forearms sending her in forced retreat to a corner, London only relenting when Kylie’s back is against a set of buckles.
The Sensational One climbs to the middle ropes and raises a clenched right hand high, the crowd roaring at the thought of London bringing the hammer down and, after teasing her legion for a tick or two, it’s time to start counting right crosses to the silvery hairline of the Hawkeye.
FIVE…SIX…SEVUHH!
A bedraggled Sanders reanimates, scooping her arms under London’s thighs and lifting the Brit off her perch. She struggles with the cargo a few steps toward center stage and drops to one knee, PLANTING London’s undercarriage onto the bony joint. Elevated Inverted Atomic Drop delivered, Shea hops off her landing, hands buried between her thighs. She somehow remains upright though frozen and pigeon-toed in front of a wobbling Sanders.
Ky pounds a toe kick deep into the taut tanned tummy of the living legend, doubling Shea over at the waist and, with London stuck in neutral, Chill takes off for the ropes. She rebounds off the rubber-coated steel and surges to Shea. Lifting a knee, the Platinum Pixie RAMS it into Shea’s temple, the Englishwoman whiplashing away from the impact in a violent pirouette that leaves her a jumbled mess on the canvas.
Sanders grabs London’s ankles and pulls her out of the hot pile, leaving her in a succulent single file at the Hawkeye’s feet. The petulant Chill leaps into the air above London and double stomps Shea’s open midriff. London reflexively crunches her aching abs halfway to a seated position when Kylie leaps into the air off her, delivers a dropkick to the Brit’s chin and a thumping senton atop the legend’s torso.
Kylie remains lounged atop her one-time mentor, lifting her right arm and counting out the…
ONE…
TWO…
London kicks out from under the unorthodox pin, sending Vanilla Chill barrel rolling off her bitter rival. Pushing up to one knee, Kylie motions a groaning Shea to rise and London obliges, her back to the skulking Sanders.
The Sensational One slowly turns to find FAWN’s Most Hated racing toward her, the crowd pleading her with to create a last-second counter, but it’s not to be. Kylie SPEARS the HOLY HELL out of Shea, folding the legend like a matchbook around the impaling shoulder of the Hawkeye. Sanders brings London to the canvas like a miniaturized linebacker, teaching the Manchester native what REAL football is all about.
There’s an opportunity for a pin but the Platinum Pixie leaves the splayed Shea limp on the deck. A seemingly replenished Chill rises the nearest corner and turns to face her target, evil smile creasing her Cupid’s Arrow lips. Sanders raises her arms high, the crowd jeering the supremacy of Sanders as she flies off the penthouse perch, legs extended, and delivers a PRETTY DAMN SENSATIONAL drop across Shea’s throat and bosom.
London shudders back to life from the vile but seemingly successful trademark infringement but just as quickly she’s lifeless under Kylie’s draping alabaster stems for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The lackadaisical legs-only pin likely costs Kylie her first win at the expense of the Sensational Englishwoman. But London still looks far from herself, ending on her side, eyes half-lidded in pain, unable to make her way any further.
Sanders helps, sinking a set of nails into Shea’s scalp and tugging the blasted Brit to her feet. She dips an arm, sending it through London’s quivering legs. Chill ‘hups’ Shea across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, the FAWNatics immediately in ‘OH NO’ mode. But instead of taking Shea to Chilly Valley, the Platinum Pixie begins to spin, slowly at first but picking up speed. The centrifugal force straightens Shea into a propeller and, after a dozen turns, the hated and hateful Kylie shoves Shea off her shoulders and lets London take the last half-turn alone, the living legend crash landing on her beak and chest after a wild Airplane Spin.
Sanders staggers like a drunken Hawkeye fan before regaining her equilibrium and enjoying the sight of a splattered London, Shea rolling absently to her back. A wide grin emerges, and Sanders moves to a standing reverse straddle of the dilapidated legend.
Ky drops to her haunches, sending her diminutive backside into the base of Shea’s spine. From there, she raises her right arm high and clenches her tines. The crowd, despite their animosity, can’t help but chant ‘FARM…HAND’! And Kylie sends her hammy clamp into the meat of Shea’s right thigh just below the curve of her glute, within the nerve bundle that sets London afire.
Shea spasms wildly as Kylie ‘chews’ on the back of her muscular thighs, digging DEEP into the cluster of synapses located there like only the Iowan can do.
Castle dopes to all fours in front of the legend and asks if London wants to surrender.
“No,” London shrieks, the volume telling Kylie her foe’s as close to capitulation as she’s ever had the certain Hall of Famer.
“Give up, London,” Sanders demands sinking her claws in as far as she can manage and closing the clamp tighter. “Or I’ll put you in a wheelchair until your contract’s up!”
Shea shakes her head, dirty blonde locks flying to and fro until a frustrated Kylie releases the submission grip, rises to her feet with London’s ankle in her possession, and SLAMS London’s knee into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
The Sensational One cries out, her hands clutching at the now throbbing joint, her face sporting a grimace not merely the result of a now aching knee, but the fiery pain from the back of thigh as she pulls that knee closer to her chest. Alas, Shea doesn’t get much of an opportunity to lick her wounds, her onetime best friend and protégé pulling her up to her feet by a handful of hair. Pretty much from day one of her career, attacking London’s wheels had been a smart strategy for dealing with her, and the hobble in her stride as the Pleasant Valley Pariah drags her toward the near corner illustrates that it’s paying dividends tonight as well.
Keeping a hand plunged into the Brit’s flaxen tresses, Kylie introduces Shea’s mug to the leather padding of the top turnbuckle three times in rapid succession, then spins London’s back to the buckle. Having at last relinquished her foe’s hair, Sanders now takes the British Bombshell’s ankle—the right one, naturally—and threads Shea’s leg over the middle rope. Vanilla Chill then viciously yanks up on that ankle, forcing the taut, rubber coated steel cable to mercilessly dig into the tendons and ligaments at the pit of Shea’s traumatized knee.
“Dammit, Ky,” Nick scolds her, “you know she’s in the ropes! You PUT her in the ropes!”
“And you know I’ve got five seconds to do what I damn well want with her in the ropes,” Sanders snaps back. “You want her out? You best get to counting!”
And count Castle does.
“ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
FOUR!!!!”
Kylie lets go of her former mentor’s ankle, turning toward the zebra and jabbing a finger in his face. “NOT THAT FAST! Damn… Don’t remember you ever giving LK a count that quick with ME!”
The pause in the assault allows Shea a chance to extricate her leg from the rope, but no sooner does the sole of her boot briefly meet the mat does she lift it, ever so slightly. The jolt of pain from allowing her weight to settle on that foot proves too much for, at least for the moment. And alas, that moment allows Kylie to mount the middle rope. Burying her left hand in London’s locks, FAWN’s Most Hated tilts her fellow FAWN Original’s head back, and after raising her balled right fist, she begins to repay the Briton’s punches from just moments ago…
Just as Shea had done, Kylie reaches half a dozen with nary a peep of resistance. But as she launches the seventh, the Sensational One’s arms slip underneath the Hawkeye’s thighs, lifting her from her perch and allowing the living legend to step away from the corner and muscle her foe onto her shoulders…
… which proves to be a mistake. Shea’s balking right knee and hammy had just about complied with that first step away from buckles, but adding Kylie’s weight to her own overwhelms both, aborting the Sensational One’s attempt at an improvised powerbomb and sending her collapsing to her back. Kylie lands heavily atop the Brit’s bosom, knocking a gust of breath past London’s lips as Sanders settles into a makeshift schoolgirl pin. As the elfin blonde reaches back to gather Shea’s luscious stems, the referee slides into position…
ONE…
TWO…
NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
London bucks Kylie off.
Chill scrambles to her feet quickly and quells any further resistance from the Sensational One with a couple of quick stomps. Dragging her nemesis back to her feet with a helping of hair, Sanders slips her head underneath Shea’s left arm, and now turns her attention to the British blonde’s left ankle. Folding that leg at the knee, the Hawkeye lifts London off her feet before dropping to one knee, bringing the living legend’s shin crashing down across her outstretched thigh.
London flops to the canvas while Kylie rises—the Sensational One’s ankle still under her control. Stepping over the leg, Sanders spins through and drops to her tush, deftly following up the shinbreaker with a figure four that now puts the pressure on BOTH of the Brit’s gams.
SHINBREAKER TO FIGURE FOUR:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AK8mRh0bgl8
Immediately, Shea lets out a scream of utter agony, though she just as quickly bites down on her bottom lip as she shuffles her elbows underneath her. London’s stubborn refusal to give voice to her torment prompts a tut of disapproval from FAWN’s Most Hated, but that’s followed by a cruel twist of Shea’s captive ankle, a twist clearly meant to break the Briton’s vow of silence. “Oh, you’re gonna scream, bytch,” Sanders mutters. “You’re gonna BEG me to put you out of OUR misery!”
The Sensational One vehemently shakes her head. “If… ya think… ya think I’d EVVVAAAAGGGGUUUUUAAAAAWWWWWWDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
London’s protest is abruptly halted when Chill begins going to work on that ankle with abandon, twisting left and right and left again. The pain is not only too much for Shea to remain silent, it sends the British Bombshell’s hands flying to her hair, dropping her to her back as she tugs at her own locks in an attempt at misdirecting the pain receptors of her brain.
Right away, Castle turns his attention to FAWN’s first ever World champion. “Do you need me to ring the bell, Shea?” he asks, earning a swift rebuke from the Pleasant Valley Pariah.
“THIS FALL IS PINFALLS ONLY, DOOFUS!” Kylie shouts. “Bytch can quit all she wants! Doesn’t mean I have to do jack shyt!”
Damn the bytch, Nick knows she’s right. But Castle had always been an official who took his duty to look after the wellbeing of the competitors seriously. And so, his attention remains on the writhing, moaning blonde in torment…
… allowing the smirking, scheming blonde in control to reach up, behind her, and claim a grip on the middle rope with each hand.
“FUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” London shrieks anew, moisture welling in both eyes as she thrashes side to side. After a few seconds, though, the Sensational One falls still… with her shoulders flat against the canvas. Nick immediately starts his count…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shea lets out another cry as she sits up, propping her elbows underneath her… and that’s when the Briton spots her foe’s nefarious tactics. She tries to alert the official, but when her jaw falls open, only anguished murmurs emerge, the torture overwhelming her ability to speak.
However, a veteran official such as Castle can recognize that look of recognition in the Sensational One’s eyes. So too can a veteran like Vanilla Chill, and at approximately the same time, Kylie let go of the middle rope and Castle turned toward the elfin blonde. While he thinks[/i] he might have caught a glimpse of Sanders’ digits falling away from the cable, he definitely recognizes the tremor of a taut steel band being freshly released. “Kylie…” he begins to reprimand her.
“Oh, cry me a river,” Vanilla Chill sighs, but nevertheless breaks the figure four of her own accord. “I think my point’s been made.” While Kylie climbs to her feet, a mewling Shea rolls over to her stomach. Circling to the Briton’s feet, Sanders stuffs London’s right boot into the pit of her left knee, folding that leg to trap the other in place before gathering up and pulling back on Shea’s wrists. The elfin blonde then places a boot between Shea’s shoulderblades, simultaneously stomping down and letting go of London’s arms and SMASHING her face into the canvas with a brutal curbstomp.
CURBSTOMP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9t5kjf4ctdI
Rolling the nearly senseless Brit to her back with a nudge of her boot and feeling particularly vindictive toward her former best friend at the moment, Kylie buries her heel into London’s navel before stepping over the Sensational One, marching toward the near corner. While she might never have become the legendary high flyer her long ago mentor had been, Sanders can still acquit herself adequately on the top rope. And there was something undeniably satisfying about punishing Shea with aerial maneuvers, so she climbs the top turnbuckle, her back to the inside of the ring as she launches into a not-ungraceful moonsault…
… that comes to a decidedly ungraceful end when Shea rolls toward the corner, leaving Kylie to crash and burn against unoccupied canvas! As FAWN’s Most Hated receives a rousing ovation while tumbling to her back, hugging her poor tummy, London pulls herself through the ropes and to her feet, climbing to the very turnbuckle which the Platinum Pixie had just launched herself from.
Had Shea been a little fresher, she might have reached the top in time to launch a Sensational Leg Drop. As it transpires, by the time London’s climb ends, Kylie is on her feet—albeit with her back to the turnbuckle. And as Kylie turns, the Sensational One takes flight, driving both boots into the Hawkeye’s chest with a beautiful missile dropkick!
MISSILE DROPKICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnTwo0NZqLY
As Sanders tumbles into a splattered, face down starfish, Shea rolls over to her back, London’s Legion preparing to rally their heroine back to her feet before Kylie can recover. But the fans barely have a chance to start clapping before London rocks back to her shoulder and KIPS UP, her right knee barely registering any trace of its previous trauma as she sticks the landing.
And the FAWNatics erupt!
Kylie, meanwhile, has only managed to push herself up to all fours. Clearly having now caught her second wind, the Sensational One launches into a pirouette that takes the blonde Brit off her feet, Shea sending a boot SLAMMING into the small of Sanders’ back with a Tornado Kick that sends FAWN’s Most Hated again crashing into a face down heap.
TORNADO KICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A3NJ04CqcU
Eschewing any attempt at a pin, London rises, hairhauling her rival up alongside before slinging an arm around Kylie’s neck. Shea against tests her punished legs, and again they prove up to the task as the British beauty sprints across the ring with her opponent in tow, the Sensational One leaving her feet and SLAMMING Vanilla Chill’s mug into the mat with a beautiful running bulldog. Kylie flops over to her back, starfished, and Shea now accepts the invitation to apply the lateral press.
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
Kylie gets a shoulder up.
London pushes to her feet, stooping down to hairhaul the Hawkeye up as well. But at the precise moment that both women reach verticality, Kylie’s hand flashes toward the Brit’s face, her fingernails raking across Shea’s eyes and earning FAWN’s Most Hated a momentary respite. As Shea staggers forward, blinking furiously, Sanders attempts to shake off the punishment of the last few minutes. Righting herself, Kylie claims a wrist and starts to send her former mentor into the ropes with an Irish whip…
… and she realizes her mistake almost in time to prevent the Sensational One from reeling her back in. Instead, London reaches up, pulling the elfin blonde’s jaw over her shoulder before kicking out her legs, London Calling with swift efficiency.
LONDON CALLING:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NCPRcQVtKE&feature=youtu.be&t=347
The FAWNatics ERUPT as both women hit the deck… but as true as Shea had connected, somehow Kylie has enough of her wits and enough strength to roll toward the ropes, her body spilling out onto the apron. Of course, under normal circumstances, that would be a blessing for Vanilla Chill. But in a pinfalls count anywhere fall, the outside was no respite. Climbing to her feet, London marches to the ropes, slipping out to the apron as well. Bending forward, she starts to pull Kylie up…
… WHEN KYLIE SUDDENLY THREADS AN ARM THROUGH SHEA’S THIGHS, MUSCLING THE SENSATIONAL ONE ONTO HER SHOULDERS AND INTO A FIREMAN’S CARRY. And before anyone, least of all Shea, can process this stunning turn of events, the Platinum Pixie lays out, depositing the Sensational One’s spine against the apron with perhaps the most savage Chilly Valley Driver anyone had ever witnessed!
APRON CHILLY VALLEY DRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0AGUuXhSL8
Shea’s spine SLAMS against the hardest part of the mat, the Brit’s momentum taking her tumbling off the edge. London PLOPS to the thinly padded cement of the arena floor, mewling in pain as she absently reaches for the base of her backbone. It’s unclear if the legend knows where she’s at. While Sanders does, she’s hurting from the impact as well.
Also having dropped off the canvas, though in a more controlled fashion than her bitter rival, Chill ends kneeling on her haunches, trying to shake her senses back into place. The FAWNatics are mostly silent, London’s trip to Chilly Valley an unexpected one. Kylie finally realizes where the splattered Shea’s located. She crawls to London, spreads her foe’s battered body wide and climbs on in a lateral press, hooking London’s near leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Shea throws a shoulder up, sending the Platinum Pixie up to her knees, Ky staring down at the Englishwoman in horror. She runs her fingers through her silvery bob, wide hazel eyes locked on Castle. Nick holds up two fingers. Kylie’s too gobsmacked to protest the call.
A chant of ‘THIS IS AWESOME’ doesn’t assuage Sanders’ disappointment.
As London pushes to a dazed seat, the risen Hawkeye grabs a wrist and tugs the Sensational One up the rest of the way. Sanders aims her former mentor down the length of the ring toward a conspicuous potential terminus. Kylie Irish Whips Shea toward the steel ring steps, but London reverses, only for Kylie to reverse the reversal. By that time, it’s a short trip to the metal and London finds no brakes, THUMPING into the steel, jarring the upper half of the structure off the lower. She crumples to a fetal ball in front of the metal steps.
Kylie leans against the side of the apron, head bowed in exhaustion. She takes a glance to the side to find the legend puddled and unmoving. The Pleasant Valley Pariah turns to the quieted fans and motions toward London.
“What’s wrong with you people? Don’t you people care? Or are you as happy to see her suffer as you were with me?”
The volume is turned on like a switch, Vanilla Chill bringing da noise as the sellout crowd rains boos down upon FAWN’s Most Hated. Kylie strides to the stirring Shea and latches onto her foe’s dirty blonde locks, pulling the legend up to a kneel when London balls a right fist and sends it deep into Kylie’s alabaster midriff.
Ky doubles over with a guttural ‘OOOOF’. Shea connects with another and another, London slowly rising as she guts the Platinum Pixie. Screaming like a banshee, Kylie tightens her loosened grip on London’s mane, pulls her foe’s braincase back and SLAMS the legend’s forehead into the deck. Shea’s head snaps back from the impact but she remains upright, grasping onto Sanders to remain vertical while a groaning Kylie leans into her former friend to maintain her stance.
“Not this time,” Kylie grunts.
Shea begs to differ. Not via words but actions. The Manchester native BURIES an elbow into Kylie’s chest, rocking the Hawkeye. Another and another plunge into Sanders’ sternum, Chill staggered. London grabs a wrist and stretches Kylie’s arm wide. The Brit kicks up her right leg, placing it behind the lowered neck of the stooped Sanders. She hops into the air and sends the Platinum Pixie’s mug plummeting into the floor with a Rocker Dropper.
Rocker Dropper ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oZNgvcKy-0 )
The crowd roars as Kylie remains face down, arms limp at her sides, palms up, her body unmoving. On her knees next to the splayed Sanders, Shea seems numb for a moment, then shoves the deadweight from Iowa to her back, ivory limbs flopping lifelessly as Kylie’s turned. London covers in a high crossbody pin over Ky’s chest and shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Vanilla chills the audience’s celebration, kicking free at the last split-second. But London doesn’t seem nearly as surprised as Sanders had moments before. Instead, she drops next to the Platinum Pixie, slipping her tanned stems around Sanders’ frame and cinching them tight in a body scissors around Ky’s midsection. Working her way to Sanders’ six, Shea snakes her arms under and around those of Chill, lacing her fingers behind Kylie’s neck in a full nelson. She rattles Kylie’s noggin from side to side, scrambling her foe’s senses while pinching her abdomen with the unrelenting vise of her lower limbs.
“If you could learn to beat me,” Shea whispers in Kylie’s ear, “you’d ‘ave done it by now.”
As if to prove her point, London takes things there, using the nelson to swing the side of Sanders’ skull into the nearby steel barricade, the barrier CLACKING as the side of Kylie’s cranium is forced into the metal, one, two and three times. The crowd is momentarily taken aback at where London’s gone but just as quickly, they chant a supportive “HOLY…SHIT” as the Sensational One shows she’s not fooling around with what is likely the closing chapter of the FAWN originals’ rivalry.
With the Hawkeye limp in her arms, London uncoils her scissors and arms and lets the slack Sanders melt to the thinly-padded concrete. London shoves the ragdolled blonde to her back and mounts in a full body pin, pressing Kylie’s arms down above her head in a single file, her nose to Kylie’s, chest on chest.
“You deserve every bit of this, luv,” Shea whispers to the demolished Chill. “What you could have been.”
Castle, on all fours next to the legend and her foil, slaps the cement for the final…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Sanders rolls a shoulder off the floor no more than a few inches, but it’s enough for Castle to sweep his arms in a ‘safe sign’, letting the arena’s occupants know the first fall of this war isn’t over yet.
Scraping what’s left of Sanders off the floor, London guides a wobbly Chill to the ring’s edge and shoves her back in the under the bottom rope. The Sensational One is quick to join the beleaguered Hawkeye, hopping first to the apron then slingshotting herself over the top rope in a somersault legdrop, sensationally landing across Kylie’s throat and chest.
The elfin blonde spasms wildly under a modified version of London’s infamous finisher, but the Brit isn’t ready to bring the fall to an end quite yet. She stalks behind a rising, throat-clutching Sanders, the bleary-eyed Kylie turning, trying to find London amidst a Run. She ABSOLUTELY EATS a superkick for her trouble, Shea skillfully snapping Ky’s head back with a brutal impact under the Iowan’s jaw.
Sanders stiffens like a board and timbers to the canvas. While Shea pumps a fist to her legion of fans, a stupefied Chill butt-scoots to a corner, leaning limply against the bottom buckle, legs extended, chin dipping to her chest.
London, having started a rhythmic clap that now echoes through every corner of the arena, settles in the corner opposite her target. She raises both hands high, the FAWNatics roaring their approval as London shows she’s lost little in the way of speed, racing across the canvas. Lifting off from several feet out, Shea’s legs lead the way, the Sensational One ready to bust her little silver-bobbed bronco.
BUT Kylie has enough fight and enough awareness left to throw her body to the right. The moan from the crowd tells the tale when the missile-like Shea finds the recipient of her Buster gone and she flies between the buckles until her crotch collides with the steel ring post.
London howls in pain, tears welling, her kitty demolished by the fatal mistake. A wobbling Sanders shakes her noggin, desperately trying to find her bearings. The Pleasant Valley Pariah has enough to leap into a dropkick to London’s back that again CRUNCHES the Brit’s privates into the metal pole.
Kylie grabs Shea’s wrists and tugs her out from the corner catastrophe. Sanders hauls London to rubbery stems, dipping an arm between and ‘hupping’ the limp English dishrag across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
With her undercarriage pounding a debilitating beat of agony, Shea can’t hope to counter, and Chill sends London DEEP into the Valley with her second Driver of the night.
Chilly Valley Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=96YGwFdN9K8 ) @ 00:14
Kylie expertly rolls through the blasting force of the trip to Chilltown, popping to her feet as Shea ends in a motionless starfish. Kylie dives atop the splayed London in a tight lateral press, hooking the legend’s far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
The stunned crowd gasps in surprise as Sanders releases Shea’s flaccid lower limb, letting it fall to the canvas, lifeless. Chill rolls to her back, lounging atop the mewling Sensational One, a weary but toothy grin emerging. She struggles to a seated position, leaning against the softly stirring London, and raises her hands high, a single index finger rising further to count her hard-won advantage in the ‘best of three falls’ battle.
Castle’s in quickly, firmly interjecting himself.
“Let’s go Kylie. Up and to your corner.”
Bedraggled but finding a second wind with the win, Kylie pushes off the defeated Shea and staggers there, ready to use every second of the break between falls to regain her breath and equilibrium.
With the ‘submissions only’ fall up next, the manner in which Kylie hungrily stares at the shellshocked London, makes it known Sanders clearly means to take this epic war in straight sets.
Nick Castle, meanwhile, regards the Sensational One with a measure of concern as the woozy blonde struggles to reach a seated position. After all, Shea had just been on the receiving end of her second trip to Pleasant (Chilly) Valley in one night, and this one coming on the heels of a trip to the most dangerous depths of the Valley when her spine had been slammed into the unrelenting edge of the apron. That would be enough to finish most anyone’s night… and London must still press through not just one fall but two, if she hopes to come back and claim victory.
But, before any of that becomes anything more than an academic discussion, the British beauty must first demonstrate that she can continue into the second fall.
“How do you feel, Shea?” the official asks her, as Shea groggily pushes up to one knee. “I’m gonna have to ring the bell in a moment, if you can go. But if you can’t…”
London waves him off before he can finish. “Duhh… don’t even think about callin’ this,” FAWN’s first ever World champion rasps, willing her way back up onto rubbery stems. “I’ve still got a thing or two ta show this biiuuuuuUUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Ever the opportunist, the biggest traitor in the history of FAWN has taken advantage of the rising Briton’s back being turned to her as she attempts to recover. Coming in from behind, Kylie drops to one knee and swings a savage uppercut flying up between Shea’s trembling thighs. London’s luscious legs are instantly liquified, the moment the elfin blonde’s blow connects with the Sensational One’s mound, the living legend crumpling back to the canvas in a softly sobbing heap, contracting into a fetal ball.
“Oh Gawddammit, Ky,” an exasperated Nick says.
“Please,” Sanders scoffs. “This is the most action she’s had since Connor got deported.”
With wave after wave of excruciating agony radiating from her battered flower throughout her entire body, Shea is powerless to resist as the Platinum Pixie takes hold of both of her ankles, pulling the Brit out of her protective shell. Kylie tugs the mewling British blonde over to her back, while at the same time lifting those ankles, raising the Sensational One’s stems in an open ‘V’. Shea’s former best friend and tag partner promptly goes to town, sending a plethora of stomps to the back of both London’s left and right thighs—though paying decidedly more attention to the right, following her earlier work on softening up that gam. After squeezing about as many boots to that meaty flesh as she can in the course of about 8 seconds, the Pleasant Valley Pariah at last relents…
… but leaves her raised foot hovering ominously over Shea’s defenseless kitty.
Looking down on her onetime mentor, Kylie smirks at the apprehension flickering across London’s eyes. “Where’s all that smugness now, huh, Teach?”
And before Shea can even attempt to offer an answer, Sanders mashes that boot down, with absolutely zero pity but about three times her own body weight in contempt.
Howling in misery, the British Bombshell rolls to her stomach once Kylie releases her ankles, promptly pushing up slightly on her knees to both create some space between her punished mound and the mat, as well as allowing her to stuff her hands under her belly in an attempt to smother some of the flames.
The Platinum Pixie allows herself some time to indulge in the moment, circling around her prey. “Do you have ANY idea how many YEARS I have fantasized about this very moment?” Kylie mutters, placing a boot against London’s rump and pressing down. “You are DONE, Shea. And you’re the ONLY person on the planet who doesn’t realize it.”
Stepping on the backs of the Brit’s thighs, Vanilla Chill hooks Shea’s boots against her calves before leaning forward and slapping at the living legend’s sides. “And please, don’t hurry up and get smart on MY account.”
It takes a trio of swats, but eventually each of London’s arms spasms into a position where Kylie can snatch them. And once her grip is secured, the elfin blonde rocks to her backside, dropping to her back and hoisting Shea’s body toward the rafters in a cruel ceiling hold.
CEILING HOLD:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWN9NdLnNqg
“GYYYUUUAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!” the Sensational One howls, her eyes clinched shut against the pain. But even before Castle can throw her a lifeline, the suffering British beauty shakes her head. “NOOOOOOAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” London cries out, her hanging, damp blonde locks flying with each defiant shake, drips of perspiration being sent in multiple directions—including down into Kylie’s face.
“Smart girl,” FAWN’s Most Hated hisses. “Cause Imma drop a spoiler on you: even if you DO quit? That ain’t gonna save your ass. I can’t squeeze all the suffering you deserve into just one more fall. And besides… these slobs were promised three falls, and I just KNOW you’d HATE to see them go hope cheated.”
As much as the proud and stubborn Briton is clearly anguishing in the Romero, Kylie can no longer deny the burn in her own shoulders, and so she releases the hold, a shift of her feet sending the Sensational One plummeting into a face and chest first collision with the mat. Rather than get up, Vanilla Chill scoots toward her foe, and gives her shoulders a breather by snaking a leg around Shea’s neck before locking that foot behind her other knee, locking in a figure four headscissors on her fellow FAWN Original.
Nick takes a knee beside the two grapplers. “Can you keep going, Shea?” he asks, fingers twitching, prepared to signal the timekeeper at the first indication of need.
Kylie’s thighs provide little room for the increasingly crimson faced Briton to shake her head. “I’ll… unnggghhhh… iffff… guuuhhhh… Ky thinks she can make me tap… ahhhhhhh… she’s… she’s gonna know… the disappointment ALL ‘er fans ‘ave knoooowwwwnnnuuuuuhhhhhhhh….”
Suddenly, Kylie rolls over to her knees. This not only turns Shea over to her belly, but it also leaves Sanders heavily seated against the Brit’s back and shoulders, with the figure four headscissors still in place. Then she leans back, the Platinum Pixie seeking out and finding each of London’s ankles and pulling back, renewing the assault on the Sensational One’s wheels as she effectively adds an inverted crab to the headscissor.
FIGURE FOUR HEADSCISSORS AND INVERTED CRAB:
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kr46tCCNz9I&feature=youtu.be&t=18 ) @ 00:18
Shea shrieks anew, and despite her earlier vow to the contrary, London’s right hand rises off the canvas, her arm trembling as her flattened palm looms over the mat. Immediately, the FAWNatics rally to her cause, loudly and impassionedly pleading with the Sensational One to hold on. Easy for them to say, of course, but while London’s hand continues to waver, she still refuses to tap out that surrender…
… and then, with everyone—perhaps even Kylie herself—focused on that right hand, Shea’s LEFT hand swings upward, her knuckles slamming into the side of Pleasant Valley Pariah’s noggin. It hits home hard enough to cause Sanders to release Shea’s ankles and pitch forward, freeing the British blonde from her latest prison.
But could she capitalize?
Each woman struggles to hands and knees, in a race to reach vertical first. It’s a disappointment but not a surprise when the Platinum Pixie gets there first. Ky swipes a clothesline at London’s clavicle, but the Sensational One ducks under. Spinning before Sanders can, Shea drives a boot into the pit of the Hawkeye’s left knee, forcing Kylie to genuflect in front of the Brit.
Quickly hobbling to her feet, Sanders turns to Shea and London scoops the elfin blonde up on her hip. Though far from a powerhouse, Shea could handle women her own size and smaller with aplomb and she carries the wriggling Chill alongside to center stage where she takes her turn dropping to a knee, Kyllie’s lower spine CRASHING down across London’s upper leg. Bent in an overturned ‘U’, Ky’s arching back is forced into a more pronounced curve when the Manchester native pushes down on both sides of her pendulum backbreaker.
Pendulum Backbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyC26Rsy1gc )
Then Shea really shows off her fortysomething fitness by rising and lifting Sanders high, only to repeat the process, Kylie crying out in pain from the bitter blow to her backbone.
Nick drops to all fours to get in the overturned face of Vanilla Chill.
“Just say it, Kylie. Give me the word.”
“I’ll give you two. FuAHHHK…”
The Iowan’s interrupted as London presses down on her chin, furthering the backbreaking advantage before lifting Ky AGAIN and dropping her to the canvas with a rattling side slam.
The Pleasant Valley Pariah absently rolls to her chest, back arching in agony, a hand of Sanders’ reaching to somehow massage away the pain but unable. The situation doesn’t get any better when London turns, hops onto the nearby middle rope and springboards into a u-turn of a senton, the Sensational One CRASHING down across Kylie’s already sore spine.
Lounging atop the wincing Hawkeye in a crossbody, back to back, Shea sweeps a crossface grip into place and rolls toward Sanders’ boots, bringing Chill’s upper half with her, formulating a devilishly clever modified side-saddle camel clutch.
The FAWNatics erupt as if on cue.
“TAP…TAP…TAP”
Hazel eyes pointed to the rafters, pools welling, Kylie’s palm rises, seemingly ready to slap any piece of London she can find, but the willfulness of the former leader of the Corps won’t allow it.
The Platinum Pixie grunts a muffled ‘no’ at Castle when he asks if Sanders wants to cash in for fall number three.
Convinced Kylie isn’t quite ready, London releases, letting the ivory-skinned Iowan unfurl to horizontal, Ky sighing in relief, for the time being. Knowing she has to stem the growing London Run, Sanders crawls desperately for the exit. She snatches the bottom rope with a curled palm when Shea clamps two hands around her left ankle.
The tug of war is on, London ultimately winning with a final heave that sends Chill several feet into the air and, unfortunately for FAWN’s Most Hated, a half-turn that means her back SMASHES against the canvas again.
Ky agonizingly arches, boot soles flat on the canvas on one side, the crown of her head touching the mat on the other. Shea solves that predicament with a leaping splash to Kylie’s offered alabaster midriff, flattening Sanders.
Shea snatches a wrist of Vanilla and drags her former friend up with her, tugging the mewling Chill into a tight front facelock. London tosses a limp arm of Kylie’s behind her neck and the Brit grabs a handful of trunks on Ky’s hip to send Sanders up and over with a suplex.
However, the resourceful, resentful traitor is able to land on her feet and, when the Englishwoman spins to find out why the mat hasn’t rattled, she’s met with a jabbing thumb to the left eye.
“GAHHHHH!”
Shea wheels away from the reprehensible attack, staggering to the ropes and rubbing at her searing eye.
Several steps away, Kylie gingerly tries to stretch out her aching vertebrae, cursing under her breath about London’s lineage. From behind, she surges as best she can at the turned Brit and lands a punt to the back of Shea’s right thigh.
London’s taken off her feet, her back and the back of her skull THUMPING against the canvas. Still, it’s London’s leg she snatches for, pulling it close, the Farm Hand’s imprint from earlier in the match still being felt. Sanders drops one, two, three knees to the tenderized hammy in succession, Shea yelping in pain from the focused attack.
“Time for you to Chill Out has-been,” Kylie snorts, grabbing an ankle and pulling the Sensational One to the middle of the ring. “These people are going to FINALLY know the TRUTH!”
The Platinum Pioxie drops to her knees with Shea’s right leg in her possession. Extending the tanned Sensational stem, Sanders ducks under, shoving the back of her neck into the crook of London’s knee, an arm of the elfin blonde on either side of the Brit’s knee as Chill rolls the Brit to her side.
Kylie grasps for Shea’s wrist with her top hand to close the loop and finish the match with her version of the Stretch Muffler to take the second fall.
Chill Out ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVtOcOoAjCA ) @ 00:09
But before Sanders can manage, Shea pushes off her free leg, rolling to her opposite side and forcing a spooked Kylie beneath the Brit. Ceding her Chill to scramble from under, Ky gets caught in the freed and flexing limbs of the Sensational One, Shea securing Kylie in a vice-like head scissors, London’s flawless reversal drawing a rousing ovation.
Headscissors ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LmCH80YLu0 )
Shea rolls the captured Hawkeye over 180 degrees and proceeds to slam Sanders’ face into the deck a half-dozen times while Vanilla Chill’s noggin remains stuck between the flexing, sinewy stems of the Sensational One.
Releasing her vise from around Kylie’s temples, London scrambles to her feet next to the face-down Sanders. Shea hops into the air, collapsing into a tight tuck that helps her DRIVE both knees into the savaged spine of the platinum blonde.
Before the crowd is fully aware of what’s happening, Shea crosses and folds Sanders’ legs, creating a handle at one end while her arm sweeps under Kylie’s throat at the other.
Now the crowd roars to its feet, fully aware this London Run is headed to London’s Bridge.
Shea leans back as she has so many times before in these circumstances, sending Kylie heavenward, brutally curled around the Brit’s knees, London extending her legs even while her looping arms pull downward to keep Kylie in place.
A wailing Chill immediately understands if she didn’t milliseconds before. Her alabaster tummy is thrust upward, along with the spine behind and Kylie is quickly sobbing in anguish, trapped in the bytch’s Bridge.
London’s Bridge ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWB78WsfPL4 )
The Platinum Pixie writes as much as she’s able, but the expert angles and handles leave Shea in complete control. London doesn’t waste her breath on a demand for surrender, the Brit feeling Ky’s body giving way until Kylie is shrieking her surrender, tapping the legend’s arm plaintively.
“I GIVAHHHH! PLEEEEASE! I GIVAHHHHH!”
Shea releases her handles and straightens her legs, sending a bawling Sanders rolling to a stop several feet away, the match tied at one fall apiece.
One down.
One to go.
London pushes to her feet, hunched forward, hands pressed against her thighs as Nick Castle turns his attention to the Platinum Pixie. Breathing heavily, the veteran straightens up and returns to her corner, reclining against the buckles as she tries to gulp down a third wind. After all, the job was only half done. She needed to claim one more fall.
And if her experience against the Rainmaker had taught her anything, she needed to score that fall soon.
And that’s why, with Kylie struggling to sit up, the Sensational One drops to the mat and rolls under the bottom rope. Flipping up the ring skirt, London soon finds what she’s looking for: a steel chair, something perfectly legal for this anything goes final round. Sliding the chair under the bottom rope, Shea dives in after it. Meanwhile, Vanilla Chill has made it back to her feet, but as Castle calls for the bell, the elfin blonde drops back to one knee.
“Hey, Ky!” the blonde Briton shouts. “’Eads up!”
With no further warning, Shea tosses the chair toward her long ago friend’s face. To her credit, Kylie’s reflexes remain sharp enough to allow her to snatch it out of the air, but London had expected nothing less from her former protégé. Before Sanders can move the chair to a safer position for her, London charges forward, landing one foot on the Hawkeye’s posted knee and swinging the other into the back of the chair. A sickening ‘THWAK!’ accompanies the metallic surface being SMASHED into Kylie’s mug, the souped up shining wizard putting FAWN’s Most Hated flat on her back, eyes closed, arms spilled absently above her head.
Hoping the chair had been every bit the effective capper to her shining wizard as Cassie Hopkins’ powerbomb had always been, London throws herself across Kylie’s chest and hooks the leg for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kylie gets a shoulder up.
Well aware she didn’t have enough left to waste any energy on expressions of disappointment, no matter how disappointed the Sensational One might be, London pushes to her feet and staggers over to the discarded chair. Opening it, London sets it upside down, resting on the edge of the seat and back, its legs pointed toward the fallen Hawkeye instead of providing the usual base. Moving off to the side, London again slumps forward, chest heaving, but this time only her left hand drops to her thigh—Shea’s right beckons for Kylie to rise. It takes a few seconds for the Pleasant Valley Pariah to comply, but once she does, the British beauty surges forward. Rushing up alongside, Shea leaps into the air, palming the back of Kylie’s noggin with her left hand—and again, viciously introducing the Hawkeye’s face to the crossbar connecting the chair legs, courtesy of a bulldog.
ONE HANDED BULLDOG
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeEn8s7YS-s
Kylie flops to her back, starfished, her head lolling so that her chin rests against her right shoulder. Instead of opting for a pin, however, Shea turns to the chair. Folding it closed again, the Sensational One places it atop Vanilla Chill’s noggin, then heads to the apron. As London climbs her way to the top rope, it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to realize that the FAWN Original intends to turn back the clock, and perhaps cap this rivalry off once and for all in a decidedly classic fashion. And the FAWNatics rise to their feet as Shea leaves her, flying toward the rafters, extending both shapely stems in front of her, London’s right leg rapidly descending on the steel chair…
… but it’s such a pity that Kylie’s head is no longer underneath it when Shea lands, FAWN’s Most Hated earning even more disdain by rolling clear with no time to spare. Not only does the back of the Brit’s thigh crash down on the cruel steel, London’s crotch lands atop one of the legs of the chair, turning this into a daily double of disaster. The Sensational One rolls to her knees and chest, boots drumming at the canvas…
… while the Pleasant Valley Pariah claws her way back to the feet, assisted by the ropes.
Kylie’s eyes first locate the mewling, moaning Shea, and the vulnerable position that the British blonde now finds herself in. A moment later, the Hawkeye’s gaze falls upon precisely what has rendered London so vulnerable, and a cruel spark flickers across those eyes. First claiming the chair, Sanders raises it overhead, and swings it down, SLAMMING the steel into the base of the living legend’s spine, and flattening Shea to the canvas. The Platinum Pixie then points the chair downward, ramming the edge of the seat back into the pit of London’s right knee a half dozen times, each impact producing a more anguished shriek from the Sensational One than the last.
Finally, Kylie drops the chair, just a few inches above Shea’s head. Tying up the venerable Briton’s legs, Sanders gathers Shea’s wrists and pulls back, practically lifting the Sensational One up onto her knees as the elfin blonde places a boot against the back of London’s head. Suddenly, Sanders stomps down with all her might, delivering a massive curbstomp—one which, thanks to the extent to which she had lifted London up, sends the other blonde’s face crashing down a couple of inches further up the mat than it had been when Vanilla Chill had hoisted her up.
Or, more precisely, driving Shea’s face into the steel chair.
Satisfied that her nemesis had been sufficiently pacified, the Pleasant Valley Pariah picks up the chair, folding it open and setting it down in the traditional manner. Kylie then takes a seat, leaning forward, her forearm resting atop her thighs and her hands dropping between her legs. For a moment, at least, she seems content to watch as Shea struggles to rise. But when the Sensational One crumples from all fours back to the canvas, Sanders sighs and stands up.
“You want Old School?” the traitorous blonde asks, stooping down and pulling Shea up to rubbery legs. The elfin blonde then slips her arms around London’s waist, at which point the Brit’s legs buckle. But Kylie pulls her one-time friend’s back against her chest as she tightens her embrace. “Lemme show you Old School.”
With that, Kylie pops her hips and bridges back, swinging Shea overhead with what under different circumstances might have been described as a beautiful German suplex, even by Kylie’s most ardent detractors. What diminishes from the beauty of the move in this case is the savage collision of the back of Shea’s head with the back of the chair, as well as the impact of London’s upper back with the seat, each one striking with enough force to leave a dent in each as the Sensational One melts into a boneless heap, perhaps all but truly over and done.
GERMAN SUPLEX ONTO CHAIR:
youtu.be/smF4s9oMvdY?t=513
Only Kylie doesn’t pin her.
Instead, with more smugness than a woman who has just endured over 20 minutes of punishment should be able to muster, Vanilla Chill saunters over to the puddled icon and, with a handful of hair, pulls Shea up to her hands and knees. She then guides a crawling London back toward the chair, pushing the Sensational One’s head between the gap in the seat and the back, London’s chest rested against the now slightly curved pan. With Shea’s arms drooping limply toward the mat, Sanders moves toward the ropes. After blowing a taunting kiss to her former mentor, the Hawkeye charges forward, lashing her right foot upward and treating Shea’s face just as Ryan Donahue used to treat a football, her punt SMASHING into London’s mug. The ruthless assault not only sends the back of Shea’s head crashing into the back of the seat, but also snaps the back of London’s neck against the bottom edge of the seat back.
And the FAWNatics can only hope the last part is only in a metaphorical sense.
The Sensational One’s carcass remains bound in the chair, limp and lifeless. And despite how many times Kylie had visualized a moment like this, as much as she had always relished the fantasy of doing this to London…
… the reality proves even more satisfying.
Since Shea refuses to ooze out of her steel confines, Sanders circles to the Brit’s right side. Grabbing London’s ankle, Vanilla Chill lifts her foe’s leg, positioning the pit of the Sensational One’s punished right knee against the back of her neck. The Hawkeye then lifts her left leg, placing the sole of her boot against the edge of the seat back and pressing down, trapping Shea’s upper body in a steel vice. And then, continuing to press down with her boot, Kylie slips an arm over the Brit’s right boot, grabbing Shea’s wrist and simultaneously pulling up on that arm while cranking down on her ankle. The resulting torture chamber can only be described as a high angle Chill Out!
CHILL OUT UNDER NORMAL CONDITIONS:
youtu.be/NVtOcOoAjCA?t=9
(Just add chair.)
And fears for Shea’s mortality are momentarily eased when London begins to scream like few could ever remember hearing. But that relief instantly gives way to concern for her wellbeing. Fortunately, it’s only a matter of seconds before the Sensational One’s left hand flies upward, her slaps finding both the back of the chair and her shoulder, but her intent is readily apparent.
And Nick Castle calls for the bell.
Castle steadies himself to force Kylie into relinquishing the hold as the bell sounds, but the elfin blonde’s strength seems to melt away as well while the bell tolls. Releasing the chair, Vanilla Chill plops to a seat on the mat, thoroughly spent… but with a canary-eating smile on her lips.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer informs a disappointed crowd, “your winner of the third fall, and as a result the match… by submission… KYYYLLLIIIEEE SAAANNNDDDEEERRRSSS!!!!!”
FAWN’s Most Hated accepts the jeers with a smirk, her breathing ragged, but victory has always been a wonderful elixir. Alas, only one thing mars her ultimate satisfaction: that she doesn’t feel her arm being raised in triumph. Turning her attention away from that, she spots Castle extricating the vanquished Briton from her prison.
“Hey!” Sanders snaps. “Deal with the loser later!”
As much as he might have enjoyed leaving Kylie to wait a little longer, his efforts to free Shea find success nearly as soon as Sanders voices her displeasure. Reluctantly, he moves away from the mewling Brit, and lifts the arm of FAWN’s Most Hated.
Who perhaps had never been more hated than in this moment.
Chill sweeps a set of fingers through her silvery bob before ripping her lifted hand from Castle.
“Alright. I think the dopes get it now. But just to make sure.”
Kylie slips past Nick and begins stomping Shea into a Manchester mudhole, laying wicked boot after boot to the turtling Brit.
The crowd’s hateful din turns excited and hopeful and Sanders catches the flash of a familiar foe reaching the ring and sliding under the ropes. As Honey Harris pops to her feet, Kylie races in the opposite direction, plops to the canvas and rolls out. She staggers to the metal barricade behind her and leans against it, cursing at Honey for spoiling her much-earned fun.
Seeing a snarling Sanders receding toward the ramp, Honey moves to a beaten and battered London. Harris, not used to seeing her hero in this condition, is emotional as she comforts the Sensational One, placing Shea’s head in her lap and brushing sweat-soaked dirty blonde locks off her friend’s forehead.
Kylie looks like she’s about to gag at the touching sight. She lets anyone within earshot have it as she heads for the exit but is swallowed up by an approaching Jasmine Washington who embraces her partner.
J-Dogg turns to the crowd.
“What they say out dere? Oh hell yeah. London best served Chilled mutherfuckers!”
With that Kylie and Jasmine head to the back, shoulder to shoulder to paint Orlando red, preferably blood red.
And if the FAWNatics had their way, history would repeat itself rather than be turned on its head. The possible head turner, a Mania winner against London’s protégé, Honey Harris. Still, there’s a long way between the sweetness of Honey and the sensation that is Shea.
The ring announcer brings the murmuring crowd to attention.
“Our next match is the best of THREE FALLS with a 30-minute time limit. A pinfall-count-anywhere fall. A submission fall. And a possible KO conclusion.
Our first competitor. From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
With the sound of Iggy gettin’ ‘Fancy’, the Platinum Pixie RIPS through the curtains, throwing them wide then striding confidently to center stage.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
Though many question the Pleasant Valley Pariah’s ability and more her ethical indiscretions, no one can deny her power to stir passion and Sanders immediately brings the crowd to its feet. The collective hate moves like a presence toward the silvery bobbed elfin beauty.
With no J-Dogg covering her flank, Vanilla seems an Empress with No Clothes, unaware of the dressing down she might receive with no cavalry at the ready to step in and save her. Instead, she scoffs and scowls at the faithful, pointing and shouting at the beating she’s about to deliver.
KYLIE SANDERS:
The FAWNatics unleash their revulsion on the organization’s most infamous traitor in return. 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 ire.
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.
(https://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. Kylie points behind her.
“Read it and weep limey lovers.”
Nodding knowingly, Sanders heads down the ramp and aisle, keeping clear of the reaching arms and baleful verbal jabs. She stops and stares indignantly at a poster board held high.
‘London’s a legend. Kylie’s a curtainjerker.’
“I stayed. I’m the goddamned legend! Three times I’m going to prove it tonight!”
FAWN’s Most Hated returns her attention to the ring, the long-time stage where she holds the record for most wins of any FAWN wrestler but also the most defeats. Striding to the squared circle, mostly ignoring the jeering crowd the rest of the way, the Hawkeye climbs the steps and demands Nick Castle open the ropes for her.
Nick knows well enough to listen to the FAWN original. He sits on the middle and pushes up the top, the diminutive turncoat slipping between. Once in, the inevitable chants begin, Sanders disregards them at first but as they dwarf the volume of her entrance, Kylie moves to the ring’s edge, receives a microphone and screams at them to stop.
It’s fuel to the ever-raging FAWNatics’ fire, booming chants of “TROLL” filling the bowl. The elfin blonde muffs her ears, demanding Castle make them stop. He shrugs, angering Ky all the more.
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
THEY WON’T!
“IF YOU DON’T, LONDON’S LEAVING THIS RING A CRIPPLE! I’LL DO WHAT BURLINGAME SHOULD’VE AND END THIS FARCE! I’LL…”
‘DO YOU WANNA GET ROCKED!”
”LET’S GET ROCKED”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhM_LxeKgEQ
The crowd’s chant turns to earsplitting cheers, the flustered, frustrated Hawkeye tossing the stick away knowing she can’t compete with such a sensational arrival.
SHEA LONDON:
As Def Leppard’s “Let’s Get Rocked” pumps over the arena’s speakers, the curtains part, and “Sensational” Shea London emerges onto the ramp. While it is said that familiarity breeds contempt, there is nothing but love in the FAWNatics’ response to the returning legend. Just as in her previous appearances since her return, the gorgeous blonde sports a pleasingly “Old School” look: visible underneath an open, traditional, red ring jacket is a one piece proudly emblazoned in the Union Jack, the red stripes of the cross running from the scooped neckline to between her legs and underneath her bosom, respectively, her eyes shielded behind a pair of stylish shades. Red knee and elbow pads along with blue boots complete her ensemble.
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, her million megawatt smile on full display as she slaps hands with a FAWN fandom populous that clearly feels no diminishment of their love for the living legend, even in the face of what the Rainmaker had done to Shea’s face. After all, Mania might have been a major stage, but it wasn’t the first time they had seen the Sensational One come up short.
No, what defines Shea—what has ALWAYS defined Shea London—is her ability to come back from adversity and hold her head high.
Of course, with the Brit’s renewed presence on the roster now a given, the FAWNatics have had the opportunity to prepare signs to greet Sensational One’s appearance. A particular one catches London’s eyes at ringside:
”IN FAWN, TEACHERS STILL GET TO SPANK MISBEHAVING STUDENTS.”
“Didn’t bring a paddle with me,” Shea says with a playful pout, which promptly shifts into a grin. “Guess my ‘and’ll do!”
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes and steps toward her corner. Mounting the middle rope, London slips her ring jacket down her shoulders, Shea’s grin growing broader as the crowd enjoys the tease...
On the other side of the canvas, Sanders fumes, watching London prostitute herself for the fans. The Platinum Pixie wants to attack but knows Shea well enough to recognize a set-up. The Brit‘s flaunting her back to Vanilla Chill for a reason and Kylie waits out the charade, Shea dropping back to the canvas and turning to face the once-upon-a-time Girl Scout, offering a pleasant wave to Sanders.
“Bytch,” Ky murmurs under her breath, circling out of her corner as the bell rings.
London quickly joins her and the two throw their bodies together in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. It’s an even battle for leverage for several seconds, but Shea finally dips and swings around behind Kylie, capturing her foe in a tight waistlock. London lifts Sanders off the mat and deposits her to the canvas, ending tight to the back of FAWN’s greatest traitor, riding her as if a collegiate wrestler.
Sanders sits out, trying to escape but Shea catches her foe before she can. With her hands wrapped around either of Ky’s wrists, the Sensational One digs her right knee between Kylie’s shoulderblades, drawing a grimace out of Chill.
Ky leans back, increasing the pressure on herself but able to use London’s frame to rise to vertical, thereby removing the knee from play. Upright, London stalls the Hawkeye’s progress, sliding alongside, collecting a ¾ facelock and snapmaring Sanders to a seat on her pert, ivory backside. Shea adds a soccer kick worthy of her Manchester roots, ramming it home into the lower spine of the American. Kylie yelps in pain, back arching.
The Brit is already on the move as Sanders’ hazel eyes snap shut in pain. Racing in front of the seated Sanders, she rebounds out of the ropes and lands a low dropkick to Kylie’s chest, the Platinum Pixie collapsing to the deck, the back of her skull hitting hard. She cradles her noggin with both hands, boot soles pattering against the canvas.
Shea dives across Kylie in a lateral press, hooking a leg for…
ONE…
Sanders kicks free, ending on her side, cursing under her breath.
“Get used to kicking,” Shea warbles, “until you can’t.”
Sanders spins up to kneel on her haunches, facing London who motions the Pleasant Valley Pariah up the rest of the way. Chill silently joins her. Knowing this is likely her last chance to dent the scoreboard against Shea in singles competition, Sanders’ chatter is at a premium.
Instead, she raises her arms high, wriggling her fingers heavenward. London grins excitedly at Kylie’s offer and nods as she steps toward the Platinum Pixie. Sanders and Shea lace fingers and immediately throw their mass forward, one leg in front of the other, to gain the advantage.
After a half-dozen seconds of stalemate, Kylie starts to force Shea’s wrists back, folding them toward London’s upper arms, Shea in distress for the first time, a sinister smirk alighting on Ky’s visage. Leaning forward, Sanders increases her lead, Shea starting to lower, keeping her body beneath the growing problem.
“SHEA…SHEA…SHEA!”
The chant echoes through the AHE crowd and, as if on command, London starts to rise, pushing back toward even as Kylie shakes her head in disbelief. Reaching high noon in the test of strength, London rips Ky’s arms down in the opposite direction, all four sets of knuckles now pointed toward the deck. The Pleasant Valley Pariah is on tiptoes, wincing as London commands the situation. She steps over the locked fingers, moves both her grips to Kylie’s right hand, and arm drags Sanders to the deck, the Hawkeye skidding up, turning and racing at Shea.
London is ready, catching the tip of Chill’s chin with a supremely located dropkick that sends Sanders to the canvas. Kylie scrambles to her feet but it’s a tick behind Shea and she EATS a series of five forearms sending her in forced retreat to a corner, London only relenting when Kylie’s back is against a set of buckles.
The Sensational One climbs to the middle ropes and raises a clenched right hand high, the crowd roaring at the thought of London bringing the hammer down and, after teasing her legion for a tick or two, it’s time to start counting right crosses to the silvery hairline of the Hawkeye.
FIVE…SIX…SEVUHH!
A bedraggled Sanders reanimates, scooping her arms under London’s thighs and lifting the Brit off her perch. She struggles with the cargo a few steps toward center stage and drops to one knee, PLANTING London’s undercarriage onto the bony joint. Elevated Inverted Atomic Drop delivered, Shea hops off her landing, hands buried between her thighs. She somehow remains upright though frozen and pigeon-toed in front of a wobbling Sanders.
Ky pounds a toe kick deep into the taut tanned tummy of the living legend, doubling Shea over at the waist and, with London stuck in neutral, Chill takes off for the ropes. She rebounds off the rubber-coated steel and surges to Shea. Lifting a knee, the Platinum Pixie RAMS it into Shea’s temple, the Englishwoman whiplashing away from the impact in a violent pirouette that leaves her a jumbled mess on the canvas.
Sanders grabs London’s ankles and pulls her out of the hot pile, leaving her in a succulent single file at the Hawkeye’s feet. The petulant Chill leaps into the air above London and double stomps Shea’s open midriff. London reflexively crunches her aching abs halfway to a seated position when Kylie leaps into the air off her, delivers a dropkick to the Brit’s chin and a thumping senton atop the legend’s torso.
Kylie remains lounged atop her one-time mentor, lifting her right arm and counting out the…
ONE…
TWO…
London kicks out from under the unorthodox pin, sending Vanilla Chill barrel rolling off her bitter rival. Pushing up to one knee, Kylie motions a groaning Shea to rise and London obliges, her back to the skulking Sanders.
The Sensational One slowly turns to find FAWN’s Most Hated racing toward her, the crowd pleading her with to create a last-second counter, but it’s not to be. Kylie SPEARS the HOLY HELL out of Shea, folding the legend like a matchbook around the impaling shoulder of the Hawkeye. Sanders brings London to the canvas like a miniaturized linebacker, teaching the Manchester native what REAL football is all about.
There’s an opportunity for a pin but the Platinum Pixie leaves the splayed Shea limp on the deck. A seemingly replenished Chill rises the nearest corner and turns to face her target, evil smile creasing her Cupid’s Arrow lips. Sanders raises her arms high, the crowd jeering the supremacy of Sanders as she flies off the penthouse perch, legs extended, and delivers a PRETTY DAMN SENSATIONAL drop across Shea’s throat and bosom.
London shudders back to life from the vile but seemingly successful trademark infringement but just as quickly she’s lifeless under Kylie’s draping alabaster stems for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The lackadaisical legs-only pin likely costs Kylie her first win at the expense of the Sensational Englishwoman. But London still looks far from herself, ending on her side, eyes half-lidded in pain, unable to make her way any further.
Sanders helps, sinking a set of nails into Shea’s scalp and tugging the blasted Brit to her feet. She dips an arm, sending it through London’s quivering legs. Chill ‘hups’ Shea across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, the FAWNatics immediately in ‘OH NO’ mode. But instead of taking Shea to Chilly Valley, the Platinum Pixie begins to spin, slowly at first but picking up speed. The centrifugal force straightens Shea into a propeller and, after a dozen turns, the hated and hateful Kylie shoves Shea off her shoulders and lets London take the last half-turn alone, the living legend crash landing on her beak and chest after a wild Airplane Spin.
Sanders staggers like a drunken Hawkeye fan before regaining her equilibrium and enjoying the sight of a splattered London, Shea rolling absently to her back. A wide grin emerges, and Sanders moves to a standing reverse straddle of the dilapidated legend.
Ky drops to her haunches, sending her diminutive backside into the base of Shea’s spine. From there, she raises her right arm high and clenches her tines. The crowd, despite their animosity, can’t help but chant ‘FARM…HAND’! And Kylie sends her hammy clamp into the meat of Shea’s right thigh just below the curve of her glute, within the nerve bundle that sets London afire.
Shea spasms wildly as Kylie ‘chews’ on the back of her muscular thighs, digging DEEP into the cluster of synapses located there like only the Iowan can do.
Castle dopes to all fours in front of the legend and asks if London wants to surrender.
“No,” London shrieks, the volume telling Kylie her foe’s as close to capitulation as she’s ever had the certain Hall of Famer.
“Give up, London,” Sanders demands sinking her claws in as far as she can manage and closing the clamp tighter. “Or I’ll put you in a wheelchair until your contract’s up!”
Shea shakes her head, dirty blonde locks flying to and fro until a frustrated Kylie releases the submission grip, rises to her feet with London’s ankle in her possession, and SLAMS London’s knee into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
The Sensational One cries out, her hands clutching at the now throbbing joint, her face sporting a grimace not merely the result of a now aching knee, but the fiery pain from the back of thigh as she pulls that knee closer to her chest. Alas, Shea doesn’t get much of an opportunity to lick her wounds, her onetime best friend and protégé pulling her up to her feet by a handful of hair. Pretty much from day one of her career, attacking London’s wheels had been a smart strategy for dealing with her, and the hobble in her stride as the Pleasant Valley Pariah drags her toward the near corner illustrates that it’s paying dividends tonight as well.
Keeping a hand plunged into the Brit’s flaxen tresses, Kylie introduces Shea’s mug to the leather padding of the top turnbuckle three times in rapid succession, then spins London’s back to the buckle. Having at last relinquished her foe’s hair, Sanders now takes the British Bombshell’s ankle—the right one, naturally—and threads Shea’s leg over the middle rope. Vanilla Chill then viciously yanks up on that ankle, forcing the taut, rubber coated steel cable to mercilessly dig into the tendons and ligaments at the pit of Shea’s traumatized knee.
“Dammit, Ky,” Nick scolds her, “you know she’s in the ropes! You PUT her in the ropes!”
“And you know I’ve got five seconds to do what I damn well want with her in the ropes,” Sanders snaps back. “You want her out? You best get to counting!”
And count Castle does.
“ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
FOUR!!!!”
Kylie lets go of her former mentor’s ankle, turning toward the zebra and jabbing a finger in his face. “NOT THAT FAST! Damn… Don’t remember you ever giving LK a count that quick with ME!”
The pause in the assault allows Shea a chance to extricate her leg from the rope, but no sooner does the sole of her boot briefly meet the mat does she lift it, ever so slightly. The jolt of pain from allowing her weight to settle on that foot proves too much for, at least for the moment. And alas, that moment allows Kylie to mount the middle rope. Burying her left hand in London’s locks, FAWN’s Most Hated tilts her fellow FAWN Original’s head back, and after raising her balled right fist, she begins to repay the Briton’s punches from just moments ago…
Just as Shea had done, Kylie reaches half a dozen with nary a peep of resistance. But as she launches the seventh, the Sensational One’s arms slip underneath the Hawkeye’s thighs, lifting her from her perch and allowing the living legend to step away from the corner and muscle her foe onto her shoulders…
… which proves to be a mistake. Shea’s balking right knee and hammy had just about complied with that first step away from buckles, but adding Kylie’s weight to her own overwhelms both, aborting the Sensational One’s attempt at an improvised powerbomb and sending her collapsing to her back. Kylie lands heavily atop the Brit’s bosom, knocking a gust of breath past London’s lips as Sanders settles into a makeshift schoolgirl pin. As the elfin blonde reaches back to gather Shea’s luscious stems, the referee slides into position…
ONE…
TWO…
NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
London bucks Kylie off.
Chill scrambles to her feet quickly and quells any further resistance from the Sensational One with a couple of quick stomps. Dragging her nemesis back to her feet with a helping of hair, Sanders slips her head underneath Shea’s left arm, and now turns her attention to the British blonde’s left ankle. Folding that leg at the knee, the Hawkeye lifts London off her feet before dropping to one knee, bringing the living legend’s shin crashing down across her outstretched thigh.
London flops to the canvas while Kylie rises—the Sensational One’s ankle still under her control. Stepping over the leg, Sanders spins through and drops to her tush, deftly following up the shinbreaker with a figure four that now puts the pressure on BOTH of the Brit’s gams.
SHINBREAKER TO FIGURE FOUR:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AK8mRh0bgl8
Immediately, Shea lets out a scream of utter agony, though she just as quickly bites down on her bottom lip as she shuffles her elbows underneath her. London’s stubborn refusal to give voice to her torment prompts a tut of disapproval from FAWN’s Most Hated, but that’s followed by a cruel twist of Shea’s captive ankle, a twist clearly meant to break the Briton’s vow of silence. “Oh, you’re gonna scream, bytch,” Sanders mutters. “You’re gonna BEG me to put you out of OUR misery!”
The Sensational One vehemently shakes her head. “If… ya think… ya think I’d EVVVAAAAGGGGUUUUUAAAAAWWWWWWDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
London’s protest is abruptly halted when Chill begins going to work on that ankle with abandon, twisting left and right and left again. The pain is not only too much for Shea to remain silent, it sends the British Bombshell’s hands flying to her hair, dropping her to her back as she tugs at her own locks in an attempt at misdirecting the pain receptors of her brain.
Right away, Castle turns his attention to FAWN’s first ever World champion. “Do you need me to ring the bell, Shea?” he asks, earning a swift rebuke from the Pleasant Valley Pariah.
“THIS FALL IS PINFALLS ONLY, DOOFUS!” Kylie shouts. “Bytch can quit all she wants! Doesn’t mean I have to do jack shyt!”
Damn the bytch, Nick knows she’s right. But Castle had always been an official who took his duty to look after the wellbeing of the competitors seriously. And so, his attention remains on the writhing, moaning blonde in torment…
… allowing the smirking, scheming blonde in control to reach up, behind her, and claim a grip on the middle rope with each hand.
“FUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” London shrieks anew, moisture welling in both eyes as she thrashes side to side. After a few seconds, though, the Sensational One falls still… with her shoulders flat against the canvas. Nick immediately starts his count…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shea lets out another cry as she sits up, propping her elbows underneath her… and that’s when the Briton spots her foe’s nefarious tactics. She tries to alert the official, but when her jaw falls open, only anguished murmurs emerge, the torture overwhelming her ability to speak.
However, a veteran official such as Castle can recognize that look of recognition in the Sensational One’s eyes. So too can a veteran like Vanilla Chill, and at approximately the same time, Kylie let go of the middle rope and Castle turned toward the elfin blonde. While he thinks[/i] he might have caught a glimpse of Sanders’ digits falling away from the cable, he definitely recognizes the tremor of a taut steel band being freshly released. “Kylie…” he begins to reprimand her.
“Oh, cry me a river,” Vanilla Chill sighs, but nevertheless breaks the figure four of her own accord. “I think my point’s been made.” While Kylie climbs to her feet, a mewling Shea rolls over to her stomach. Circling to the Briton’s feet, Sanders stuffs London’s right boot into the pit of her left knee, folding that leg to trap the other in place before gathering up and pulling back on Shea’s wrists. The elfin blonde then places a boot between Shea’s shoulderblades, simultaneously stomping down and letting go of London’s arms and SMASHING her face into the canvas with a brutal curbstomp.
CURBSTOMP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9t5kjf4ctdI
Rolling the nearly senseless Brit to her back with a nudge of her boot and feeling particularly vindictive toward her former best friend at the moment, Kylie buries her heel into London’s navel before stepping over the Sensational One, marching toward the near corner. While she might never have become the legendary high flyer her long ago mentor had been, Sanders can still acquit herself adequately on the top rope. And there was something undeniably satisfying about punishing Shea with aerial maneuvers, so she climbs the top turnbuckle, her back to the inside of the ring as she launches into a not-ungraceful moonsault…
… that comes to a decidedly ungraceful end when Shea rolls toward the corner, leaving Kylie to crash and burn against unoccupied canvas! As FAWN’s Most Hated receives a rousing ovation while tumbling to her back, hugging her poor tummy, London pulls herself through the ropes and to her feet, climbing to the very turnbuckle which the Platinum Pixie had just launched herself from.
Had Shea been a little fresher, she might have reached the top in time to launch a Sensational Leg Drop. As it transpires, by the time London’s climb ends, Kylie is on her feet—albeit with her back to the turnbuckle. And as Kylie turns, the Sensational One takes flight, driving both boots into the Hawkeye’s chest with a beautiful missile dropkick!
MISSILE DROPKICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnTwo0NZqLY
As Sanders tumbles into a splattered, face down starfish, Shea rolls over to her back, London’s Legion preparing to rally their heroine back to her feet before Kylie can recover. But the fans barely have a chance to start clapping before London rocks back to her shoulder and KIPS UP, her right knee barely registering any trace of its previous trauma as she sticks the landing.
And the FAWNatics erupt!
Kylie, meanwhile, has only managed to push herself up to all fours. Clearly having now caught her second wind, the Sensational One launches into a pirouette that takes the blonde Brit off her feet, Shea sending a boot SLAMMING into the small of Sanders’ back with a Tornado Kick that sends FAWN’s Most Hated again crashing into a face down heap.
TORNADO KICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A3NJ04CqcU
Eschewing any attempt at a pin, London rises, hairhauling her rival up alongside before slinging an arm around Kylie’s neck. Shea against tests her punished legs, and again they prove up to the task as the British beauty sprints across the ring with her opponent in tow, the Sensational One leaving her feet and SLAMMING Vanilla Chill’s mug into the mat with a beautiful running bulldog. Kylie flops over to her back, starfished, and Shea now accepts the invitation to apply the lateral press.
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
Kylie gets a shoulder up.
London pushes to her feet, stooping down to hairhaul the Hawkeye up as well. But at the precise moment that both women reach verticality, Kylie’s hand flashes toward the Brit’s face, her fingernails raking across Shea’s eyes and earning FAWN’s Most Hated a momentary respite. As Shea staggers forward, blinking furiously, Sanders attempts to shake off the punishment of the last few minutes. Righting herself, Kylie claims a wrist and starts to send her former mentor into the ropes with an Irish whip…
… and she realizes her mistake almost in time to prevent the Sensational One from reeling her back in. Instead, London reaches up, pulling the elfin blonde’s jaw over her shoulder before kicking out her legs, London Calling with swift efficiency.
LONDON CALLING:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NCPRcQVtKE&feature=youtu.be&t=347
The FAWNatics ERUPT as both women hit the deck… but as true as Shea had connected, somehow Kylie has enough of her wits and enough strength to roll toward the ropes, her body spilling out onto the apron. Of course, under normal circumstances, that would be a blessing for Vanilla Chill. But in a pinfalls count anywhere fall, the outside was no respite. Climbing to her feet, London marches to the ropes, slipping out to the apron as well. Bending forward, she starts to pull Kylie up…
… WHEN KYLIE SUDDENLY THREADS AN ARM THROUGH SHEA’S THIGHS, MUSCLING THE SENSATIONAL ONE ONTO HER SHOULDERS AND INTO A FIREMAN’S CARRY. And before anyone, least of all Shea, can process this stunning turn of events, the Platinum Pixie lays out, depositing the Sensational One’s spine against the apron with perhaps the most savage Chilly Valley Driver anyone had ever witnessed!
APRON CHILLY VALLEY DRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0AGUuXhSL8
Shea’s spine SLAMS against the hardest part of the mat, the Brit’s momentum taking her tumbling off the edge. London PLOPS to the thinly padded cement of the arena floor, mewling in pain as she absently reaches for the base of her backbone. It’s unclear if the legend knows where she’s at. While Sanders does, she’s hurting from the impact as well.
Also having dropped off the canvas, though in a more controlled fashion than her bitter rival, Chill ends kneeling on her haunches, trying to shake her senses back into place. The FAWNatics are mostly silent, London’s trip to Chilly Valley an unexpected one. Kylie finally realizes where the splattered Shea’s located. She crawls to London, spreads her foe’s battered body wide and climbs on in a lateral press, hooking London’s near leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Shea throws a shoulder up, sending the Platinum Pixie up to her knees, Ky staring down at the Englishwoman in horror. She runs her fingers through her silvery bob, wide hazel eyes locked on Castle. Nick holds up two fingers. Kylie’s too gobsmacked to protest the call.
A chant of ‘THIS IS AWESOME’ doesn’t assuage Sanders’ disappointment.
As London pushes to a dazed seat, the risen Hawkeye grabs a wrist and tugs the Sensational One up the rest of the way. Sanders aims her former mentor down the length of the ring toward a conspicuous potential terminus. Kylie Irish Whips Shea toward the steel ring steps, but London reverses, only for Kylie to reverse the reversal. By that time, it’s a short trip to the metal and London finds no brakes, THUMPING into the steel, jarring the upper half of the structure off the lower. She crumples to a fetal ball in front of the metal steps.
Kylie leans against the side of the apron, head bowed in exhaustion. She takes a glance to the side to find the legend puddled and unmoving. The Pleasant Valley Pariah turns to the quieted fans and motions toward London.
“What’s wrong with you people? Don’t you people care? Or are you as happy to see her suffer as you were with me?”
The volume is turned on like a switch, Vanilla Chill bringing da noise as the sellout crowd rains boos down upon FAWN’s Most Hated. Kylie strides to the stirring Shea and latches onto her foe’s dirty blonde locks, pulling the legend up to a kneel when London balls a right fist and sends it deep into Kylie’s alabaster midriff.
Ky doubles over with a guttural ‘OOOOF’. Shea connects with another and another, London slowly rising as she guts the Platinum Pixie. Screaming like a banshee, Kylie tightens her loosened grip on London’s mane, pulls her foe’s braincase back and SLAMS the legend’s forehead into the deck. Shea’s head snaps back from the impact but she remains upright, grasping onto Sanders to remain vertical while a groaning Kylie leans into her former friend to maintain her stance.
“Not this time,” Kylie grunts.
Shea begs to differ. Not via words but actions. The Manchester native BURIES an elbow into Kylie’s chest, rocking the Hawkeye. Another and another plunge into Sanders’ sternum, Chill staggered. London grabs a wrist and stretches Kylie’s arm wide. The Brit kicks up her right leg, placing it behind the lowered neck of the stooped Sanders. She hops into the air and sends the Platinum Pixie’s mug plummeting into the floor with a Rocker Dropper.
Rocker Dropper ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oZNgvcKy-0 )
The crowd roars as Kylie remains face down, arms limp at her sides, palms up, her body unmoving. On her knees next to the splayed Sanders, Shea seems numb for a moment, then shoves the deadweight from Iowa to her back, ivory limbs flopping lifelessly as Kylie’s turned. London covers in a high crossbody pin over Ky’s chest and shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Vanilla chills the audience’s celebration, kicking free at the last split-second. But London doesn’t seem nearly as surprised as Sanders had moments before. Instead, she drops next to the Platinum Pixie, slipping her tanned stems around Sanders’ frame and cinching them tight in a body scissors around Ky’s midsection. Working her way to Sanders’ six, Shea snakes her arms under and around those of Chill, lacing her fingers behind Kylie’s neck in a full nelson. She rattles Kylie’s noggin from side to side, scrambling her foe’s senses while pinching her abdomen with the unrelenting vise of her lower limbs.
“If you could learn to beat me,” Shea whispers in Kylie’s ear, “you’d ‘ave done it by now.”
As if to prove her point, London takes things there, using the nelson to swing the side of Sanders’ skull into the nearby steel barricade, the barrier CLACKING as the side of Kylie’s cranium is forced into the metal, one, two and three times. The crowd is momentarily taken aback at where London’s gone but just as quickly, they chant a supportive “HOLY…SHIT” as the Sensational One shows she’s not fooling around with what is likely the closing chapter of the FAWN originals’ rivalry.
With the Hawkeye limp in her arms, London uncoils her scissors and arms and lets the slack Sanders melt to the thinly-padded concrete. London shoves the ragdolled blonde to her back and mounts in a full body pin, pressing Kylie’s arms down above her head in a single file, her nose to Kylie’s, chest on chest.
“You deserve every bit of this, luv,” Shea whispers to the demolished Chill. “What you could have been.”
Castle, on all fours next to the legend and her foil, slaps the cement for the final…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Sanders rolls a shoulder off the floor no more than a few inches, but it’s enough for Castle to sweep his arms in a ‘safe sign’, letting the arena’s occupants know the first fall of this war isn’t over yet.
Scraping what’s left of Sanders off the floor, London guides a wobbly Chill to the ring’s edge and shoves her back in the under the bottom rope. The Sensational One is quick to join the beleaguered Hawkeye, hopping first to the apron then slingshotting herself over the top rope in a somersault legdrop, sensationally landing across Kylie’s throat and chest.
The elfin blonde spasms wildly under a modified version of London’s infamous finisher, but the Brit isn’t ready to bring the fall to an end quite yet. She stalks behind a rising, throat-clutching Sanders, the bleary-eyed Kylie turning, trying to find London amidst a Run. She ABSOLUTELY EATS a superkick for her trouble, Shea skillfully snapping Ky’s head back with a brutal impact under the Iowan’s jaw.
Sanders stiffens like a board and timbers to the canvas. While Shea pumps a fist to her legion of fans, a stupefied Chill butt-scoots to a corner, leaning limply against the bottom buckle, legs extended, chin dipping to her chest.
London, having started a rhythmic clap that now echoes through every corner of the arena, settles in the corner opposite her target. She raises both hands high, the FAWNatics roaring their approval as London shows she’s lost little in the way of speed, racing across the canvas. Lifting off from several feet out, Shea’s legs lead the way, the Sensational One ready to bust her little silver-bobbed bronco.
BUT Kylie has enough fight and enough awareness left to throw her body to the right. The moan from the crowd tells the tale when the missile-like Shea finds the recipient of her Buster gone and she flies between the buckles until her crotch collides with the steel ring post.
London howls in pain, tears welling, her kitty demolished by the fatal mistake. A wobbling Sanders shakes her noggin, desperately trying to find her bearings. The Pleasant Valley Pariah has enough to leap into a dropkick to London’s back that again CRUNCHES the Brit’s privates into the metal pole.
Kylie grabs Shea’s wrists and tugs her out from the corner catastrophe. Sanders hauls London to rubbery stems, dipping an arm between and ‘hupping’ the limp English dishrag across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
With her undercarriage pounding a debilitating beat of agony, Shea can’t hope to counter, and Chill sends London DEEP into the Valley with her second Driver of the night.
Chilly Valley Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=96YGwFdN9K8 ) @ 00:14
Kylie expertly rolls through the blasting force of the trip to Chilltown, popping to her feet as Shea ends in a motionless starfish. Kylie dives atop the splayed London in a tight lateral press, hooking the legend’s far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
The stunned crowd gasps in surprise as Sanders releases Shea’s flaccid lower limb, letting it fall to the canvas, lifeless. Chill rolls to her back, lounging atop the mewling Sensational One, a weary but toothy grin emerging. She struggles to a seated position, leaning against the softly stirring London, and raises her hands high, a single index finger rising further to count her hard-won advantage in the ‘best of three falls’ battle.
Castle’s in quickly, firmly interjecting himself.
“Let’s go Kylie. Up and to your corner.”
Bedraggled but finding a second wind with the win, Kylie pushes off the defeated Shea and staggers there, ready to use every second of the break between falls to regain her breath and equilibrium.
With the ‘submissions only’ fall up next, the manner in which Kylie hungrily stares at the shellshocked London, makes it known Sanders clearly means to take this epic war in straight sets.
Nick Castle, meanwhile, regards the Sensational One with a measure of concern as the woozy blonde struggles to reach a seated position. After all, Shea had just been on the receiving end of her second trip to Pleasant (Chilly) Valley in one night, and this one coming on the heels of a trip to the most dangerous depths of the Valley when her spine had been slammed into the unrelenting edge of the apron. That would be enough to finish most anyone’s night… and London must still press through not just one fall but two, if she hopes to come back and claim victory.
But, before any of that becomes anything more than an academic discussion, the British beauty must first demonstrate that she can continue into the second fall.
“How do you feel, Shea?” the official asks her, as Shea groggily pushes up to one knee. “I’m gonna have to ring the bell in a moment, if you can go. But if you can’t…”
London waves him off before he can finish. “Duhh… don’t even think about callin’ this,” FAWN’s first ever World champion rasps, willing her way back up onto rubbery stems. “I’ve still got a thing or two ta show this biiuuuuuUUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Ever the opportunist, the biggest traitor in the history of FAWN has taken advantage of the rising Briton’s back being turned to her as she attempts to recover. Coming in from behind, Kylie drops to one knee and swings a savage uppercut flying up between Shea’s trembling thighs. London’s luscious legs are instantly liquified, the moment the elfin blonde’s blow connects with the Sensational One’s mound, the living legend crumpling back to the canvas in a softly sobbing heap, contracting into a fetal ball.
“Oh Gawddammit, Ky,” an exasperated Nick says.
“Please,” Sanders scoffs. “This is the most action she’s had since Connor got deported.”
With wave after wave of excruciating agony radiating from her battered flower throughout her entire body, Shea is powerless to resist as the Platinum Pixie takes hold of both of her ankles, pulling the Brit out of her protective shell. Kylie tugs the mewling British blonde over to her back, while at the same time lifting those ankles, raising the Sensational One’s stems in an open ‘V’. Shea’s former best friend and tag partner promptly goes to town, sending a plethora of stomps to the back of both London’s left and right thighs—though paying decidedly more attention to the right, following her earlier work on softening up that gam. After squeezing about as many boots to that meaty flesh as she can in the course of about 8 seconds, the Pleasant Valley Pariah at last relents…
… but leaves her raised foot hovering ominously over Shea’s defenseless kitty.
Looking down on her onetime mentor, Kylie smirks at the apprehension flickering across London’s eyes. “Where’s all that smugness now, huh, Teach?”
And before Shea can even attempt to offer an answer, Sanders mashes that boot down, with absolutely zero pity but about three times her own body weight in contempt.
Howling in misery, the British Bombshell rolls to her stomach once Kylie releases her ankles, promptly pushing up slightly on her knees to both create some space between her punished mound and the mat, as well as allowing her to stuff her hands under her belly in an attempt to smother some of the flames.
The Platinum Pixie allows herself some time to indulge in the moment, circling around her prey. “Do you have ANY idea how many YEARS I have fantasized about this very moment?” Kylie mutters, placing a boot against London’s rump and pressing down. “You are DONE, Shea. And you’re the ONLY person on the planet who doesn’t realize it.”
Stepping on the backs of the Brit’s thighs, Vanilla Chill hooks Shea’s boots against her calves before leaning forward and slapping at the living legend’s sides. “And please, don’t hurry up and get smart on MY account.”
It takes a trio of swats, but eventually each of London’s arms spasms into a position where Kylie can snatch them. And once her grip is secured, the elfin blonde rocks to her backside, dropping to her back and hoisting Shea’s body toward the rafters in a cruel ceiling hold.
CEILING HOLD:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWN9NdLnNqg
“GYYYUUUAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!” the Sensational One howls, her eyes clinched shut against the pain. But even before Castle can throw her a lifeline, the suffering British beauty shakes her head. “NOOOOOOAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” London cries out, her hanging, damp blonde locks flying with each defiant shake, drips of perspiration being sent in multiple directions—including down into Kylie’s face.
“Smart girl,” FAWN’s Most Hated hisses. “Cause Imma drop a spoiler on you: even if you DO quit? That ain’t gonna save your ass. I can’t squeeze all the suffering you deserve into just one more fall. And besides… these slobs were promised three falls, and I just KNOW you’d HATE to see them go hope cheated.”
As much as the proud and stubborn Briton is clearly anguishing in the Romero, Kylie can no longer deny the burn in her own shoulders, and so she releases the hold, a shift of her feet sending the Sensational One plummeting into a face and chest first collision with the mat. Rather than get up, Vanilla Chill scoots toward her foe, and gives her shoulders a breather by snaking a leg around Shea’s neck before locking that foot behind her other knee, locking in a figure four headscissors on her fellow FAWN Original.
Nick takes a knee beside the two grapplers. “Can you keep going, Shea?” he asks, fingers twitching, prepared to signal the timekeeper at the first indication of need.
Kylie’s thighs provide little room for the increasingly crimson faced Briton to shake her head. “I’ll… unnggghhhh… iffff… guuuhhhh… Ky thinks she can make me tap… ahhhhhhh… she’s… she’s gonna know… the disappointment ALL ‘er fans ‘ave knoooowwwwnnnuuuuuhhhhhhhh….”
Suddenly, Kylie rolls over to her knees. This not only turns Shea over to her belly, but it also leaves Sanders heavily seated against the Brit’s back and shoulders, with the figure four headscissors still in place. Then she leans back, the Platinum Pixie seeking out and finding each of London’s ankles and pulling back, renewing the assault on the Sensational One’s wheels as she effectively adds an inverted crab to the headscissor.
FIGURE FOUR HEADSCISSORS AND INVERTED CRAB:
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kr46tCCNz9I&feature=youtu.be&t=18 ) @ 00:18
Shea shrieks anew, and despite her earlier vow to the contrary, London’s right hand rises off the canvas, her arm trembling as her flattened palm looms over the mat. Immediately, the FAWNatics rally to her cause, loudly and impassionedly pleading with the Sensational One to hold on. Easy for them to say, of course, but while London’s hand continues to waver, she still refuses to tap out that surrender…
… and then, with everyone—perhaps even Kylie herself—focused on that right hand, Shea’s LEFT hand swings upward, her knuckles slamming into the side of Pleasant Valley Pariah’s noggin. It hits home hard enough to cause Sanders to release Shea’s ankles and pitch forward, freeing the British blonde from her latest prison.
But could she capitalize?
Each woman struggles to hands and knees, in a race to reach vertical first. It’s a disappointment but not a surprise when the Platinum Pixie gets there first. Ky swipes a clothesline at London’s clavicle, but the Sensational One ducks under. Spinning before Sanders can, Shea drives a boot into the pit of the Hawkeye’s left knee, forcing Kylie to genuflect in front of the Brit.
Quickly hobbling to her feet, Sanders turns to Shea and London scoops the elfin blonde up on her hip. Though far from a powerhouse, Shea could handle women her own size and smaller with aplomb and she carries the wriggling Chill alongside to center stage where she takes her turn dropping to a knee, Kyllie’s lower spine CRASHING down across London’s upper leg. Bent in an overturned ‘U’, Ky’s arching back is forced into a more pronounced curve when the Manchester native pushes down on both sides of her pendulum backbreaker.
Pendulum Backbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyC26Rsy1gc )
Then Shea really shows off her fortysomething fitness by rising and lifting Sanders high, only to repeat the process, Kylie crying out in pain from the bitter blow to her backbone.
Nick drops to all fours to get in the overturned face of Vanilla Chill.
“Just say it, Kylie. Give me the word.”
“I’ll give you two. FuAHHHK…”
The Iowan’s interrupted as London presses down on her chin, furthering the backbreaking advantage before lifting Ky AGAIN and dropping her to the canvas with a rattling side slam.
The Pleasant Valley Pariah absently rolls to her chest, back arching in agony, a hand of Sanders’ reaching to somehow massage away the pain but unable. The situation doesn’t get any better when London turns, hops onto the nearby middle rope and springboards into a u-turn of a senton, the Sensational One CRASHING down across Kylie’s already sore spine.
Lounging atop the wincing Hawkeye in a crossbody, back to back, Shea sweeps a crossface grip into place and rolls toward Sanders’ boots, bringing Chill’s upper half with her, formulating a devilishly clever modified side-saddle camel clutch.
The FAWNatics erupt as if on cue.
“TAP…TAP…TAP”
Hazel eyes pointed to the rafters, pools welling, Kylie’s palm rises, seemingly ready to slap any piece of London she can find, but the willfulness of the former leader of the Corps won’t allow it.
The Platinum Pixie grunts a muffled ‘no’ at Castle when he asks if Sanders wants to cash in for fall number three.
Convinced Kylie isn’t quite ready, London releases, letting the ivory-skinned Iowan unfurl to horizontal, Ky sighing in relief, for the time being. Knowing she has to stem the growing London Run, Sanders crawls desperately for the exit. She snatches the bottom rope with a curled palm when Shea clamps two hands around her left ankle.
The tug of war is on, London ultimately winning with a final heave that sends Chill several feet into the air and, unfortunately for FAWN’s Most Hated, a half-turn that means her back SMASHES against the canvas again.
Ky agonizingly arches, boot soles flat on the canvas on one side, the crown of her head touching the mat on the other. Shea solves that predicament with a leaping splash to Kylie’s offered alabaster midriff, flattening Sanders.
Shea snatches a wrist of Vanilla and drags her former friend up with her, tugging the mewling Chill into a tight front facelock. London tosses a limp arm of Kylie’s behind her neck and the Brit grabs a handful of trunks on Ky’s hip to send Sanders up and over with a suplex.
However, the resourceful, resentful traitor is able to land on her feet and, when the Englishwoman spins to find out why the mat hasn’t rattled, she’s met with a jabbing thumb to the left eye.
“GAHHHHH!”
Shea wheels away from the reprehensible attack, staggering to the ropes and rubbing at her searing eye.
Several steps away, Kylie gingerly tries to stretch out her aching vertebrae, cursing under her breath about London’s lineage. From behind, she surges as best she can at the turned Brit and lands a punt to the back of Shea’s right thigh.
London’s taken off her feet, her back and the back of her skull THUMPING against the canvas. Still, it’s London’s leg she snatches for, pulling it close, the Farm Hand’s imprint from earlier in the match still being felt. Sanders drops one, two, three knees to the tenderized hammy in succession, Shea yelping in pain from the focused attack.
“Time for you to Chill Out has-been,” Kylie snorts, grabbing an ankle and pulling the Sensational One to the middle of the ring. “These people are going to FINALLY know the TRUTH!”
The Platinum Pioxie drops to her knees with Shea’s right leg in her possession. Extending the tanned Sensational stem, Sanders ducks under, shoving the back of her neck into the crook of London’s knee, an arm of the elfin blonde on either side of the Brit’s knee as Chill rolls the Brit to her side.
Kylie grasps for Shea’s wrist with her top hand to close the loop and finish the match with her version of the Stretch Muffler to take the second fall.
Chill Out ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVtOcOoAjCA ) @ 00:09
But before Sanders can manage, Shea pushes off her free leg, rolling to her opposite side and forcing a spooked Kylie beneath the Brit. Ceding her Chill to scramble from under, Ky gets caught in the freed and flexing limbs of the Sensational One, Shea securing Kylie in a vice-like head scissors, London’s flawless reversal drawing a rousing ovation.
Headscissors ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LmCH80YLu0 )
Shea rolls the captured Hawkeye over 180 degrees and proceeds to slam Sanders’ face into the deck a half-dozen times while Vanilla Chill’s noggin remains stuck between the flexing, sinewy stems of the Sensational One.
Releasing her vise from around Kylie’s temples, London scrambles to her feet next to the face-down Sanders. Shea hops into the air, collapsing into a tight tuck that helps her DRIVE both knees into the savaged spine of the platinum blonde.
Before the crowd is fully aware of what’s happening, Shea crosses and folds Sanders’ legs, creating a handle at one end while her arm sweeps under Kylie’s throat at the other.
Now the crowd roars to its feet, fully aware this London Run is headed to London’s Bridge.
Shea leans back as she has so many times before in these circumstances, sending Kylie heavenward, brutally curled around the Brit’s knees, London extending her legs even while her looping arms pull downward to keep Kylie in place.
A wailing Chill immediately understands if she didn’t milliseconds before. Her alabaster tummy is thrust upward, along with the spine behind and Kylie is quickly sobbing in anguish, trapped in the bytch’s Bridge.
London’s Bridge ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWB78WsfPL4 )
The Platinum Pixie writes as much as she’s able, but the expert angles and handles leave Shea in complete control. London doesn’t waste her breath on a demand for surrender, the Brit feeling Ky’s body giving way until Kylie is shrieking her surrender, tapping the legend’s arm plaintively.
“I GIVAHHHH! PLEEEEASE! I GIVAHHHHH!”
Shea releases her handles and straightens her legs, sending a bawling Sanders rolling to a stop several feet away, the match tied at one fall apiece.
One down.
One to go.
London pushes to her feet, hunched forward, hands pressed against her thighs as Nick Castle turns his attention to the Platinum Pixie. Breathing heavily, the veteran straightens up and returns to her corner, reclining against the buckles as she tries to gulp down a third wind. After all, the job was only half done. She needed to claim one more fall.
And if her experience against the Rainmaker had taught her anything, she needed to score that fall soon.
And that’s why, with Kylie struggling to sit up, the Sensational One drops to the mat and rolls under the bottom rope. Flipping up the ring skirt, London soon finds what she’s looking for: a steel chair, something perfectly legal for this anything goes final round. Sliding the chair under the bottom rope, Shea dives in after it. Meanwhile, Vanilla Chill has made it back to her feet, but as Castle calls for the bell, the elfin blonde drops back to one knee.
“Hey, Ky!” the blonde Briton shouts. “’Eads up!”
With no further warning, Shea tosses the chair toward her long ago friend’s face. To her credit, Kylie’s reflexes remain sharp enough to allow her to snatch it out of the air, but London had expected nothing less from her former protégé. Before Sanders can move the chair to a safer position for her, London charges forward, landing one foot on the Hawkeye’s posted knee and swinging the other into the back of the chair. A sickening ‘THWAK!’ accompanies the metallic surface being SMASHED into Kylie’s mug, the souped up shining wizard putting FAWN’s Most Hated flat on her back, eyes closed, arms spilled absently above her head.
Hoping the chair had been every bit the effective capper to her shining wizard as Cassie Hopkins’ powerbomb had always been, London throws herself across Kylie’s chest and hooks the leg for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kylie gets a shoulder up.
Well aware she didn’t have enough left to waste any energy on expressions of disappointment, no matter how disappointed the Sensational One might be, London pushes to her feet and staggers over to the discarded chair. Opening it, London sets it upside down, resting on the edge of the seat and back, its legs pointed toward the fallen Hawkeye instead of providing the usual base. Moving off to the side, London again slumps forward, chest heaving, but this time only her left hand drops to her thigh—Shea’s right beckons for Kylie to rise. It takes a few seconds for the Pleasant Valley Pariah to comply, but once she does, the British beauty surges forward. Rushing up alongside, Shea leaps into the air, palming the back of Kylie’s noggin with her left hand—and again, viciously introducing the Hawkeye’s face to the crossbar connecting the chair legs, courtesy of a bulldog.
ONE HANDED BULLDOG
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeEn8s7YS-s
Kylie flops to her back, starfished, her head lolling so that her chin rests against her right shoulder. Instead of opting for a pin, however, Shea turns to the chair. Folding it closed again, the Sensational One places it atop Vanilla Chill’s noggin, then heads to the apron. As London climbs her way to the top rope, it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to realize that the FAWN Original intends to turn back the clock, and perhaps cap this rivalry off once and for all in a decidedly classic fashion. And the FAWNatics rise to their feet as Shea leaves her, flying toward the rafters, extending both shapely stems in front of her, London’s right leg rapidly descending on the steel chair…
… but it’s such a pity that Kylie’s head is no longer underneath it when Shea lands, FAWN’s Most Hated earning even more disdain by rolling clear with no time to spare. Not only does the back of the Brit’s thigh crash down on the cruel steel, London’s crotch lands atop one of the legs of the chair, turning this into a daily double of disaster. The Sensational One rolls to her knees and chest, boots drumming at the canvas…
… while the Pleasant Valley Pariah claws her way back to the feet, assisted by the ropes.
Kylie’s eyes first locate the mewling, moaning Shea, and the vulnerable position that the British blonde now finds herself in. A moment later, the Hawkeye’s gaze falls upon precisely what has rendered London so vulnerable, and a cruel spark flickers across those eyes. First claiming the chair, Sanders raises it overhead, and swings it down, SLAMMING the steel into the base of the living legend’s spine, and flattening Shea to the canvas. The Platinum Pixie then points the chair downward, ramming the edge of the seat back into the pit of London’s right knee a half dozen times, each impact producing a more anguished shriek from the Sensational One than the last.
Finally, Kylie drops the chair, just a few inches above Shea’s head. Tying up the venerable Briton’s legs, Sanders gathers Shea’s wrists and pulls back, practically lifting the Sensational One up onto her knees as the elfin blonde places a boot against the back of London’s head. Suddenly, Sanders stomps down with all her might, delivering a massive curbstomp—one which, thanks to the extent to which she had lifted London up, sends the other blonde’s face crashing down a couple of inches further up the mat than it had been when Vanilla Chill had hoisted her up.
Or, more precisely, driving Shea’s face into the steel chair.
Satisfied that her nemesis had been sufficiently pacified, the Pleasant Valley Pariah picks up the chair, folding it open and setting it down in the traditional manner. Kylie then takes a seat, leaning forward, her forearm resting atop her thighs and her hands dropping between her legs. For a moment, at least, she seems content to watch as Shea struggles to rise. But when the Sensational One crumples from all fours back to the canvas, Sanders sighs and stands up.
“You want Old School?” the traitorous blonde asks, stooping down and pulling Shea up to rubbery legs. The elfin blonde then slips her arms around London’s waist, at which point the Brit’s legs buckle. But Kylie pulls her one-time friend’s back against her chest as she tightens her embrace. “Lemme show you Old School.”
With that, Kylie pops her hips and bridges back, swinging Shea overhead with what under different circumstances might have been described as a beautiful German suplex, even by Kylie’s most ardent detractors. What diminishes from the beauty of the move in this case is the savage collision of the back of Shea’s head with the back of the chair, as well as the impact of London’s upper back with the seat, each one striking with enough force to leave a dent in each as the Sensational One melts into a boneless heap, perhaps all but truly over and done.
GERMAN SUPLEX ONTO CHAIR:
youtu.be/smF4s9oMvdY?t=513
Only Kylie doesn’t pin her.
Instead, with more smugness than a woman who has just endured over 20 minutes of punishment should be able to muster, Vanilla Chill saunters over to the puddled icon and, with a handful of hair, pulls Shea up to her hands and knees. She then guides a crawling London back toward the chair, pushing the Sensational One’s head between the gap in the seat and the back, London’s chest rested against the now slightly curved pan. With Shea’s arms drooping limply toward the mat, Sanders moves toward the ropes. After blowing a taunting kiss to her former mentor, the Hawkeye charges forward, lashing her right foot upward and treating Shea’s face just as Ryan Donahue used to treat a football, her punt SMASHING into London’s mug. The ruthless assault not only sends the back of Shea’s head crashing into the back of the seat, but also snaps the back of London’s neck against the bottom edge of the seat back.
And the FAWNatics can only hope the last part is only in a metaphorical sense.
The Sensational One’s carcass remains bound in the chair, limp and lifeless. And despite how many times Kylie had visualized a moment like this, as much as she had always relished the fantasy of doing this to London…
… the reality proves even more satisfying.
Since Shea refuses to ooze out of her steel confines, Sanders circles to the Brit’s right side. Grabbing London’s ankle, Vanilla Chill lifts her foe’s leg, positioning the pit of the Sensational One’s punished right knee against the back of her neck. The Hawkeye then lifts her left leg, placing the sole of her boot against the edge of the seat back and pressing down, trapping Shea’s upper body in a steel vice. And then, continuing to press down with her boot, Kylie slips an arm over the Brit’s right boot, grabbing Shea’s wrist and simultaneously pulling up on that arm while cranking down on her ankle. The resulting torture chamber can only be described as a high angle Chill Out!
CHILL OUT UNDER NORMAL CONDITIONS:
youtu.be/NVtOcOoAjCA?t=9
(Just add chair.)
And fears for Shea’s mortality are momentarily eased when London begins to scream like few could ever remember hearing. But that relief instantly gives way to concern for her wellbeing. Fortunately, it’s only a matter of seconds before the Sensational One’s left hand flies upward, her slaps finding both the back of the chair and her shoulder, but her intent is readily apparent.
And Nick Castle calls for the bell.
Castle steadies himself to force Kylie into relinquishing the hold as the bell sounds, but the elfin blonde’s strength seems to melt away as well while the bell tolls. Releasing the chair, Vanilla Chill plops to a seat on the mat, thoroughly spent… but with a canary-eating smile on her lips.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer informs a disappointed crowd, “your winner of the third fall, and as a result the match… by submission… KYYYLLLIIIEEE SAAANNNDDDEEERRRSSS!!!!!”
FAWN’s Most Hated accepts the jeers with a smirk, her breathing ragged, but victory has always been a wonderful elixir. Alas, only one thing mars her ultimate satisfaction: that she doesn’t feel her arm being raised in triumph. Turning her attention away from that, she spots Castle extricating the vanquished Briton from her prison.
“Hey!” Sanders snaps. “Deal with the loser later!”
As much as he might have enjoyed leaving Kylie to wait a little longer, his efforts to free Shea find success nearly as soon as Sanders voices her displeasure. Reluctantly, he moves away from the mewling Brit, and lifts the arm of FAWN’s Most Hated.
Who perhaps had never been more hated than in this moment.
Chill sweeps a set of fingers through her silvery bob before ripping her lifted hand from Castle.
“Alright. I think the dopes get it now. But just to make sure.”
Kylie slips past Nick and begins stomping Shea into a Manchester mudhole, laying wicked boot after boot to the turtling Brit.
The crowd’s hateful din turns excited and hopeful and Sanders catches the flash of a familiar foe reaching the ring and sliding under the ropes. As Honey Harris pops to her feet, Kylie races in the opposite direction, plops to the canvas and rolls out. She staggers to the metal barricade behind her and leans against it, cursing at Honey for spoiling her much-earned fun.
Seeing a snarling Sanders receding toward the ramp, Honey moves to a beaten and battered London. Harris, not used to seeing her hero in this condition, is emotional as she comforts the Sensational One, placing Shea’s head in her lap and brushing sweat-soaked dirty blonde locks off her friend’s forehead.
Kylie looks like she’s about to gag at the touching sight. She lets anyone within earshot have it as she heads for the exit but is swallowed up by an approaching Jasmine Washington who embraces her partner.
J-Dogg turns to the crowd.
“What they say out dere? Oh hell yeah. London best served Chilled mutherfuckers!”
With that Kylie and Jasmine head to the back, shoulder to shoulder to paint Orlando red, preferably blood red.