Post by hawkeye on Aug 2, 2020 23:57:43 GMT
The murmur of the crowd increases to an expectant buzz as the arena lights dim. A trio of spotlights knife through the darkness, all merging at the head of the ramp. Simultaneous, the mournful tolling of a bell and, soon after, a plaintive guitar riff marks the opening of AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells”, the music roiling through the stadium. The curtains part and Hades in the form of a legendary FAWN tag team is unleashed. The roar from the crowd reaches a crescendo as Belle’s Hellions take center stage.
Hell’s Bells ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=etAIpkdhU9Q )
The illustrious partners wear bustiers, Ivy's a dark scarlet trimmed in black, and Cynthia's the opposite color scheme, with black lace panties; each also wears a black lace garter around the upper right thigh. Both go barefoot. Their hair, which usually hangs wild and loose, is now teased up in a manner that suggests both sophistication and tempestuousness. Each is adorned with a red carnation, which they remove and toss to the fans.
IVY ARMSTRONG
CYNTHIA MITCHELL
They blow kisses to their fans as they work their way down the aisle, each giving appreciative winks to fans who brandish signs of support. When they pass one placard that reads HOLLAH FOR THE HELLIONS!!! both Southern gals give a whooping rebel yell answered in kind by thousands.
Fortified by the support and realizing this may be the last chance they receive at the ultimate station in FAWN’s tag division, the Hellions make their way to the ring with an atmosphere of supreme self-confidence. The eyes of every man and more than a few women are riveted on the duo, feasting upon their forbidden beauty, drinking in the glory of past and present. Ivy and Cynthia realize this, the veterans clearly energized to take down a team increasingly considered among the greats and one managed by one of their hated peers.
Climbing the steps to the apron, each Hellion enters in her own inimitable style. For Cynthia, this means bending over and stepping between the ropes slooooooowly to give the appreciative crowd behind her a healthy display of her fabled backside. As for Ivy, she leans back against the ropes, then does a backward flip over them, the most accomplished pair of legendary legs in the sport on full outstretched display as she slowly does a 360-degree arc into the ring.
With the celebrated partners in the ring, each dash for their own corners, bounding up the turnbuckles to the middle ropes. They signal title straps will be across their abs by the end of the night and the crowd goes bananas, the cheers cascading throughout the bowl.
Descending to the canvas, Armstrong and Mitchell move to and meet in their corner as their music fades. The ring announcer sensing his opportunity, shouts into his microphone in hopes of being heard over the roaring support.
"Tonight’s next match is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Tag Team Championships. From Charlotte, North Carolina and Uriah, Alabama respectively...tipping the scales at a collective 240 pounds...they are former FAWN Tag Team Champions...Cynthia Mitchell and Ivy Armstrong...they are BELLE’S HELLIONS!"
Somehow the assembled make even more noise for the FAWN originals, Ivy looking for her second tag title run and Cynthia, having also had two with her sister Sophie, is shooting for an unprecedented FOURTH time with a tag title around her waist.
Enjoying their reemergence into the spotlight and in no way daunted by it, the Hellions turn their attention to the upper stage and the team that has most of their contemporaries averting their eyes when challengers are sought. Not so the incomparable Hellions.
With the fabled, wild-eyed Southern Girls ready, another FAWN legend is about to join them per the infamous crashing chords of 'The World is Not Enough' from Garbage. Those FAWNatics not already looking in the direction turn to the upper stage to curse the vile, villainous tag champs and, as much or more, their malicious, moneyed manager.
THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8C5NLfYdZaE
“I know how to hurt. I know how to heal. I know what to show and what to conceal.”
“I know when to talk. And I know when to touch. No one ever died from wanting too much…”
The crowd lets their hatred fly, pouring it on the salacious sellouts and their Manhattanite manager.
A long streak of white light shoots from the rafters as Shirley Manson pronounces “The World Is Not Enough”. At the end of the beam, the infamous strawberry blonde patrician smirks surreptitiously, reveling in the loathing radiating from the concealed hordes.
PORTIA VANBUEN
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Fortune’s Favorite is flawless in her immaculate, white tennis togs, namely a form-fitting, Louis Vuitton tank top and short skirt with white socks and thousand-dollar tennies. In her right hand is Precious, her beloved polo mallet. Baby points it to stage right and appearing on cue are the golden-brown warriors of the Gold Standard.
AMARA SINGH
ALEXIS SUGUITAN
Strapped across their tawny midriffs is the gilded leather signifying their leader’s genius and the team’s growing ability and reputation, a well-oiled machine terrorizing taggers of all stripes.
The Standard stride to either side of their leader, Alexis shining her belt while Amara slaps hers. They each unstrap and raise their prizes high to the echoing jeers of the FAWNatics. VanBuren points her beauties toward the ring and their next victims, Portia touting and shouting as Suguitan and Singh lead the way in stern silence.
Each titleholder glistens in gold, two-piece battle gear, sturdy bikini tops complementing tight booty shorts letting the champs’ curves nearly overflow the shimmering spandex. Black boots and pads complete each woman’s identical gear.
Reaching the ring, Portia nods knowingly at women she has fought innumerable times, most notably losing the FAWN World Title to Armstrong for Ivy’s only time with the top title and burying Cynthia in her second official FAWN match, the first to reach a conclusion. Her predatory grin blossoms, Baby knowing she’s safe from the slings and arrows of Ivy and Cynthia and that her team, at the top of their game, would run roughshod over what remained of these sad Southern belles.
VanBuren gives each challenger a soft golf clap at having the honor of being fodder for the Gold Standard’s next defense.
Singh and Sugutian climb to the apron and slip through the ropes, claiming center stage. VanBuren ‘chats’ amiably with the front row, delighting in humiliating those ignorant enough to taunt her. Moving to the ring steps, the New Yorker ascends nimbly and slides between the top and middle cables. Joining her team, Baby places herself noticeably behind her exotic warriors, patting each champion on a shoulder, letting the grapplers have the spotlight as the ring announcer makes their arrival official.
“And their opponents, accompanied to the ring by their manager, Portia VanBuren the Fourth. Hailing from Manilla, The Philippines at five feet eight inches tall and 134 pounds, the Penthouse Panther…ALEXIS SUGUITAN. And her partner, from Cawnpore, India at five feet six inches and 137 pounds, the Golden Empress…AMARA SINGH! Together they are the Gold Standard and the FAWN Tag Team Champions!”
Amara and Alexis again raise their belts before placing them gently over Baby’s shoulders while Portia draws a microphone to her lips, her menacing gaze on the Hellions.
“Hello dear girls. It’s so wonderful to see you. It’s like a class reunion with me the only one who made something out of herself.”
Ivy and Cynthia only smile and request Portia take the place of one of her charges.
“Please,” VanBuren responds, “and get your Southern-fried sweat on me? Don’t be absurd. Just take your beatings and go back to the farm, Jerseys.”
Portia drops the mic and escorts the championship hardware to the outside, while Nick Castle collects the stick and offers it to an attendant. The champs gather in their corner for a moment to decide who will be the head of tonight’s spear. The Subcontinental Siren Singh takes charge and opposite her, the Dirtiest Player Ivy Armstrong, will be her dance partner, a return to their glorious past only three slaps of the mat away for the Southern Charmer and the Cynful One.
Singh strides to center stage and Armstrong does the same, the two finishing no more than a step apart. Amara looks the redhead up and down.
“Nobody has the guts to take on the best, so they dust off two FAWN monuments and their creeky asses?” the Indian asks.
“I saw somewhere Portia was pissing in her silk panties about those Leggy chicks. She doesn’t want you anywhere near them. Their loss. Our gain.”
An infuriated Singh surges forward, arms extended, talons bared to rip the emerald eyes out of the Bama Slamma. But as she does, Ivy drops to the deck and, from her back, shoots a stomp toward the gilded crotch of the champion, ready to introduce another roster member to just how dirty Ivy could play.
But Amara blocks and snags the Slamma’s stem before it hits the very private abode. She lifts Armstrong’s left leg high, shaking her head.
“Portia reads you like a book,” Singh chuckles then lays out to her right side, driving an elbow DEEP into an ivory inner thigh of the FAWN original, Ivy yelping in pain with the impact. Amara swing around to take a forward straddling seat of the lower limb. She twists it violently around her base, Armstrong biting her lower lip to contain the pain.
Ivy raises her opposite number and thumps the heel between the Subcontinental Siren’s shoulderblades. It’s enough for Amara to rise, pivoting out of her seat, then planting a series of kicks to Ivy’s raised and exposed hammy, Singh punting the supple muscle time and time again.
Armstrong writhes in Amara’s clutches, trying to break free. Singh starts to circle around the captured leg, apparently planning to secure a figure-four, a bald-faced insult to the Alabaman. But when the Indian momentarily presents her backside, Ivy gets a boot up and plants it between Amara’s cheeks, shoving her off.
Singh stumbles away and the crimson-maned grappler pushes to her feet. But as she does, the left leg gives way, sending her back down to one knee leaving her vulnerable for a spinning heel kick Amara THUNKS off Ivy’s left temple. Armstrong collapses to the canvas and the Empress dives aboard in a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Ivy shoves a shoulder off the canvas and shakes out some early cobwebs while Singh rises and strides to her corner, tagging in Alexis. Amara remaining inside with the newly legal Filipino Phenom, both golden-brown titleholders fall upon the dazed Ivy, yanking Armstrong to her feet. Singh snuggles in from behind the redhead, wrapping her arms around Ivy’s midriff. She vaults Armstrong off the canvas, holding her aloft in front of her while Alexis springs into action.
Suguitan races by, sinking her fingers into the auburn locks of the Slamma, and the duo combine layout and sitout facebusters in giving Ivy an Extreme Makeover.
Extreme Makeover ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqR7X0znLPg&t=10s ) 2:54
Ivy flops absently to her back from the force of the collision and Alexis dives atop in a crossbody pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Armstrong’s body spasms, a shoulder removed from the canvas in the process. She rolls to her side as Suguitan ends on her haunches next to the challenger, the Standardbearer looking more than a little perturbed the match continues.
Having presumed the maneuver was the end of her night’s work, Amara’s forced to head for the exit at Nick Castle’s urging after the kickout. Portia motions her champion back to the Gold Standard corner as Alexis prepares to take charge. The Penthouse Panther draws a flagging Ivy to her feet and flings her to a neutral corner with an Irish Whip, Armstrong’s spine CRASHING into the buckles.
Alexis follows her foe in at full speed, but the Southern Charmer gets her feet up, encircling her ankles around the neck of the Phenom when Alexis slams on the brakes. Dark eyes wide, a flustered Suguitan manages to spin through a 180 while captured, as she tries to escape the elevated scissors of the FAWN original. But that’s not Alexis’ only plan. She wraps her arm around the calves of the Slamma and pulls her foe away from the corner, Ivy suddenly draping down the back of the native of Manilla.
Now it’s the Hellion in trouble, Ivy’s arms flailing as she’s carried ass over teakettle to the middle. Alexis treats her to a little inverted piece of home as she flings the wide-eyed Ivy up and over her shoulders with a modified Alabama Slam, Armstrong crashing and burning, landing on her chest and chin. Alexis generates enough force to send Ivy bouncing off the canvas-covered plywood, the increasingly depleted redhead ending face down and groaning, hugging her frame as if she’s trying to keep her internal organs in place.
Inverted Alabama Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4bIIRGta7Y )
Outside, Portia turns to the fans, sweeping her arms behind her to showcase the destruction the champions are levying on the woman who once took VanBuren’s World Title from her.
“Give up the past you Jersey scum,” Baby shouts, twirling Precious in her fingers. “Embrace the present AND the future.”
Suguitan lands a stomp to Armstrong’s spine, sending an anguished shudder through the Tide fan’s frame. She waves cheerily at Mitchell, the dark-haired tag legend calling on her partner to respond like so many times before. And Armstrong pushes to all fours before Alexis mounts her in a standing front straddle and drops backside into the base of Ivy’s backbone, flattening her foe to the canvas.
Alexis scoops up the deteriorating challenger and heaves her to the Standard corner then spins on Castle and starts quizzing the zebra on the finer points of his awful cologne. As Nick defends himself from the scurrilous complaints, his face turned from the champ’s home base, Amara reaches over the top buckle and wraps a copper-skinned arm around the throat of the Slamma, collapsing Ivy’s windpipe.
The FAWNatics and Cynthia protest vociferously and finally Mitchell can take no more, slipping through the ropes and charging until Alexis guides Nick in the Carolina Hurricane’s direction. Nick intercepts the fuming Cynthia and, in the meantime, Alexis joins the party, lifting a long supple stem and driving her boot sole under Ivy’s chin, adding to the force of Amara’s continued chokehold.
Armstrong’s face turns rosy, the Dirtiest Player getting doubled down in the dirt by the shimmering champs, Portia directing her charges like a virtuosa.
Castle’s forced to carry Mitchell back to the Hellions’ corner, Cynthia thrashing within his grasp. Across the canvas, the champions have their way with an isolated Ivy, Singh finally giving up her choke since her partner has it covered. When Suguitan brings her raised stem back to the canvas, putting her boot sole to the mat, Amara hooks her arms around Ivy’s elbows, keeping the breathless, gasping Armstrong locked in place while the Filipino Phenom unleashes with a wicked series of Mongolian Chops to each nape of the Slamma’s neck.
As the battered redhead sags within Singh’s control, the Penthouse Panther turns to her catty apartment house tactics, sinking a pair of underhanded claws into Ivy’s bosom, shredding the tender flesh as she squeezes and kneads, Armstrong being taken apart like she never has in her career.
With a raging Cynthia back in place, the Indian releases Armstrong’s guns. She drops to her haunches, leaning heavily on the golden-brown thighs of Alexis. A suspicious Castle gives Suguitan the once over, but if there was any chicanery, he’s missed it. The Phenom wraps her arms around the back of her foe’s noggin and draws Ivy up. She moves beside the flaccid redhead, the women pointed in opposite directions. Alexis draws Ivy back into an arch then lifts her and flattens her with a clubbing forearm with a powerpacked STO Driver.
STO Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGaIdmCPqfY )
Alexis leans her back across the demolished Crimson Tide fan, hooking a leg with one arm while pressing the side of Ivy’s face flat to the mat with the other in a domineering pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Cynthia’s halfway in and tardy for the save, but Armstrong shows the grit and determination making her a likely Hall of Famer by throwing a shoulder up.
On the outside, Portia looks almost relieved the woman that took the big belt from her a decade and a half ago is paying with interest now at her behest and without Baby having to break a sweat.
Alexis plucks Armstrong off the canvas as she rises, bullies the redheaded ragdoll to the Gold Standard corner and reaches over a stooped shoulder to leisurely tag her partner. Amara enters. She looks at the sad state of Armstrong and passes on Alexis’ offer for a double team. Instead, she takes control and sits Ivy down with a crowning Big Elbow, the Subcontinental Siren BLASTING Armstrong with the point, leaving the Southern Charmer seated, limp legs extended, head bobbling as she leans wearily into the buckles.
A smirking Singh dips and pivots, backing her ass up and swallowing Ivy’s sleepy features in her rounded derriere. The Indian grappler swabs the face of the broken Ivy with her Harem Shake stinkface, Armstrong flailing weakly as her oxygen supply is again denied, this time by a suffocating smother. Amara’s fun is finally killed by Castle’s count and she pulls away at ‘FOUR’, letting the greasy-faced Ivy sink deeper into the abyss, spittle dripping from the corner of her lips, Armstrong never treated so shabbily in long illustrious career.
Just outside the ropes, VanBuren jaws at her fellow FAWN original, enough so Ivy is woken from her stupor and takes a swing, Baby jerking her patrician features out of reach of Armstrong’s literal attempt at a bytch slap.
“I’m gonna kill you, Portia,” Mitchell screams from the opposite corner.
“You’re going to do nothing South Jersey trash,” VanBuren responds. “Until you try to stop us from beating the hell out of you after the bell.”
A chuckling Singh lowers and reaches through the ropes to give Baby five, manager and champion slapping hands. A mischievous Castle seems ready to call VanBuren the legal woman, but he holds his tongue. But in the mid-celebratory merriment, Armstrong springs to life, shoving off the buckles behind her and baseball sliding through the spread legs of the Empress. She scrambles to hands and knees and struggles toward her corner. A surprised but secure Singh strides after and catches an ankle with both hands, Ivy several feet from salvation.
“Where do you think you’re going, Red?” Amara asks.
The answer is physical rather than verbal, Armstrong spinning to her back and kicking the trapped leg free with the loose one. She dives blindly backwards, the Slamma able to tap fingers with her partner. Cynthia roars through the ropes, fire in her eyes.
Retreating with plaintive hands raised, Singh’s leveled by a clothesline. She quickly pushes to her feet as the veteran tag sensation skids to a stop, the Empress turning and reaching vertical just in time for Mitchell to nearly remove her head from her shoulders with another lariat. The dazed Empress is a little slower on the uptake after this second attack and it gives Cynthia a chance to time her approach with the Indian. She races at a rising Singh, snatching Amara as she floats by, then PLANTING the champ’s face into the deck with her brutal Carolina Blues.
Carolina Blues ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tXjmTPxmUo )
Amara flops absently to her back and Cynthia covers, looking to steal the titles with her lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Singh kicks free, ending on her side, looking worriedly at Alexis, reaching an arm out that Cynthia grabs and wrenches into a hammerlock, the veteran using it to force the Empress to vertical.
Portia isn’t taking any chances and she sends the shocktroops in early, pointing Alexis into the squared circle. The ebony-maned warrior shoots through, coming from Mitchell’s six. But the concerned crowd raises Cynthia’s well-tuned spidey senses and she slides to the side as a charging Suguitan sends a Big Boot snapping into the jaw of an escaped and turning Singh instead the back of Mitchell’s noggin. Flattened into a glassy-eyed starfish, Amara stares blankly up at an astonished Phenom.
Portia shouts at her still standing title holder to return her focus to her opponent, but Mitchell quickly locks elbows with the startled Suguitan from behind, the women back to back. Using surprise, Cynthia overcomes her size disadvantage and throws her body forward, ripping Alexis off the canvas and POUNDING the Penthouse Panther’s shoulders and skull into the canvas with a Backslide Driver.
Backslide Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Pwes5Lb5ek )
The shellshocked Alexis remains stacked on her shoulders in a matchbook, ready for pinning if she were the legal entrant for the champs. Mitchell knows better and she returns her attention to Singh, the Empress having pushed to hands and knees but no further.
The Cynful One helps Amara up the rest of the way, spinning the gobsmacked Indian into a dragon sleeper position, Amara bent in an arch, her head surrounded by an enveloping arm of the second-generation superstar. The FAWNatics roar with approval as they know what’s to come. Mitchell doesn’t disappoint, lifting her leg and laying it across Amara’s throat then using it as a guillotine as she forces Singh to the deck with her Cardinal Cyn.
Cardinal Cyn ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=eu3bOHMtcDA&feature=player_embedded )
Cynthia leaves her left leg draped across the throat of the lifeless Singh and Castle drops to the canvas to count out a huge win for the Hellions with the…
ONE…
TWO…
And no THREE, as reaching in under the bottom rope, VanBuren snatches an ankle of the zebra and pulls him out of the ring. A furious Nick argues with Fortune’s Favorite, threatening to disqualify Baby’s champions, but a bigger problem emerges when a recovered Ivy, having raced around the outside, barrels into VanBuren from behind with a raised knee to the base of Portia’s spine. The manager lurches forward, banging heads with Castle.
With Nick down and a wobbling Portia perilously close to tipping, Ivy grabs the strawberry blonde locks of the Standard’s leader and SLAMS her face into the hardest part of the mat one…two…three times. Armstrong heaves her old foe backwards, VanBuren half-flying, half-stumbling into the metal barricade dividing fans from grapplers. After the agonizing impact, a wincing Portia slides down the metal, ending in a slumped seat.
Inside, Cynthia’s collected Singh by her charcoal mane and pulled her foe to hands and knees, Singh on a leash of her own hair. After eyeballing Ivy’s fun, Mitchell turns her focus to the Empress. She tugs Amara to stooped feet and stuffs the Indian’s head between her thighs while underhooking both arms of Amara. With the crowd roaring, Cynthia leaps into the air and PLOWS the champ’s face into the deck with her Drop Out.
Drop Out ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=35VBNUWWrQ0 ) 00:12
Knocked into next week, Amara’s lifeless body lies face down. Mitchell shovels it over into a spreadeagle and only then realizes Castle’s still barely aware of his circumstances on the outside. Leaving Singh to sleep it off, the Carolina Hurricane marches to the ropes and shouts down at the stirring Nick.
But another more beautiful sight also catches her baby blues. Ivy has a flailing Portia in her legendary face-first, figure-four head scissors, the Southern Charm engulfing VanBuren’s buried face as Armstrong’s lethal legs surround and squeeze the senses from the champs’ leader. Baby taps wildly on Ivy’s hip, trying to surrender as she smothered and cinched into semiconsciousness, the crowd threatening to bring down the arena with their decibels.
Unfortunately for those assembled, Alexis has emerged from her stupor, taken a detour to collect a tag belt out of the Gold Standard corner and CRACKS it into the back of a distracted Cynthia’s skull. Tossing it aside as Mitchell timbers to the deck, out cold, Suguitan slides through the cables, drops to the floor, and shoves a recovering Castle back in.
Entering behind, Alexis grabs a wrist of her barely lucid partner, the Phenom dragging Singh to the splayed Hellion and draping the Subcontinental Siren over her challenger. Shouting at Castle, Alexis finally brings the man out of his coma.
To the groaning crowd’s dismay, he slaps the canvas for…
ONE…
TWO…
BUT NO THREE.
Ivy, having unshackled a drained and drooling Portia from her Charm, slides into the ring and shoves the mostly deadweight Singh off her partner.
Furious, Alexis races at a rising, turning Ivy, Yakuza Kick on the way to the jaw of the Bama Slamma. But Armstrong ducks under and as Alexis skids to a stop after the miss, Ivy throws a vile chop block into the back of Suguitan’s knee, cutting the golden-brown catfighter down to size, Alexis grimacing in a pained genuflection, grasping at her throbbing joint.
Armstrong, ready to pay back the mauling she’d withstood earlier, sinks her nails into the ebony mane of the Phenom and rips a yelping Alexis to her feet. She forces Suguitan to a corner and, with her grip still tight around her foe’s locks THUMPS Alexis’ forehead into the buckles for a full ten-spot, the crowd cheerily counting along as Ivy batters the senses from the Standardbearer.
Behind the melee, those in various stages of disrepair try to recover. Castle is up to hands and knees, shaking his head, regaining more of his bearings and beside him a seated and swaying Singh does likewise.
Outside, a disheveled Portia is vertical, leaning against the barricade, straightening her gear and wiping off the perspiration built on her previously buried face, eyes blinking wide as she tries to recoup from Ivy’s Southern Charm offensive.
Unfortunately for the Hellions, the seemingly concussive force of the belt-shot to Cynthia’s cranium has the longest-lasting effect. Portia pushes away from the metal behind her and staggers to the apron’s edge, trying to gather Amara’s attention while not Ivy’s.
Armstrong, focused on making Alexis pay, spins Suguitan to face her, the faltering Phenom’s back to the buckles. Ivy snatches Alexis’ right arm with her left hand and folds it behind her foe’s back, clearing a path. Growling as she folds her right set of fingers into a fist, Armstrong THUMPS it home, Ivy blasting the Filipino’s ticker with her fabled Heart Punch. Alexis’s dark eyes roll white, her legs giving a shimmy but keeping her upright with the help of her arms draped over the ropes on either side of the buckles. Reveling in making Alexis pay, she pulls Suguitan out a few feet for more punishment.
Behind, Amara tugs a semiconscious Cynthia up, driving a toe kick into the tummy of the Carolina Hurricane. With Mitchell doubled over, the Empress underhooks Cynthia’s arms, joining Ivy in a thirst for revenge. As Amara launches Mitchell to fully vertical, with the brunette’s soles pointed to the rafters, Ivy moves next to a bent Alexis, lifting a knee and placing it next to the Penthouse Panther’s temple.
Simultaneously, Ivy snatches Alexis’ far arm and lays out, CRUNCHING the Standardbearer to the deck with her signature Mama Knows Best ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJmrOSHMhwI ) while Amara delivers the goods with her infamous Bollywood Bash ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lsAq4v6XBU ) 00:15.
If any part of Cynthia’s senses remained, they’ve left the building, the face-down, second-gen star out cold between Singh’s extended legs.
And while Ivy kneels next to the demolished Alexis, letting her know the South has risen again, Amara flips Cynthia to her back, remaining seated, dropping her legs over the shoulders of the waylaid Mitchell for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The slaps of the mat finally gather Ivy’s interest and she dives to break up the pin…too late.
THREEEE!
Armstrong rolls Singh off and Amara uses the momentum to slide under the ropes and into Portia’s arms. Castle follows behind to the floor, pointing to the manager and champion and signaling for the bell.
The ring announcer makes the retention official under the resounding jeers of the FAWNatics.
“Your winners by pinfall and STILL FAWN Tag team Champions, Amara Singh and Alexis Suguitan…the Gold Standard!”
Perhaps unsurprisingly, VanBuren’s somehow ended with both straps and lays one over a shoulder of the sweat-drenched Singh. She starts to travel around the outside toward an entry point closer to the stirring Alexis than the sick-to-her-stomach Armstrong, who lightly taps at Cynthia’s cheek, trying to bring her around. Not immediately successful, she catches Baby entering out of the corner of her eye and flashes toward VanBuren, Portia scooting back out the way she’d come.
“Get out of the ring, Jersey. The match is ours. The ring is ours,” Portia demands.
“Come in and make me, sugah,” the glistening Ivy responds while pulling the Filipino ragdoll to her feet.
“Don’t you f’ing dare,” Portia threatens. “You leave my champion alone!”
“Save her, sugah. If ya got the guts.”
Baby remains on the floor next to a spent Singh, who also shows no willingness to tangle with the Slamma for possession of her partner. Ivy shrugs then buries a boot into Alexis’ abs. Spinning as she grabs the Phenom’s head in a ¾ facelock, Ivy sits out and delivers a mammoth SoCo Stunner to the Penthouse Panther, sending Suguitan nearly into orbit before she crashes to the deck, out as cold as Mitchell.
SoCo Stunner ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysvpoIjCs9I )
The furious Fortune’s Favorite rails at Castle demanding Ivy be arrested for assault but he shrugs off the complaint, more than ready to head to the back for Miller Time.
A spastic Portia circles in one direction and that allows Amara to ease in from the other, grab a wrist of Alexis and drag her out of the ring, Suguitan limp as a dishrag. VanBuren joins them each slipping under an arm of Alexis, helping her to the back, Portia and Amara looking like they’ve been through a war to keep their gold, Alexis looking like she’s been through a Weekend at Bernie’s…as Bernie.
Back in the ring, Armstrong’s finally successful in rousing Mitchell who has enough energy to pound the canvas in frustration when she realizes the Hellions have come up short. But with the showing they’ve provided, pushing the champs to the limit, the veterans might’ve convinced Bethany there’s still life in the ‘old girls’ yet.
Hell’s Bells ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=etAIpkdhU9Q )
The illustrious partners wear bustiers, Ivy's a dark scarlet trimmed in black, and Cynthia's the opposite color scheme, with black lace panties; each also wears a black lace garter around the upper right thigh. Both go barefoot. Their hair, which usually hangs wild and loose, is now teased up in a manner that suggests both sophistication and tempestuousness. Each is adorned with a red carnation, which they remove and toss to the fans.
IVY ARMSTRONG
CYNTHIA MITCHELL
They blow kisses to their fans as they work their way down the aisle, each giving appreciative winks to fans who brandish signs of support. When they pass one placard that reads HOLLAH FOR THE HELLIONS!!! both Southern gals give a whooping rebel yell answered in kind by thousands.
Fortified by the support and realizing this may be the last chance they receive at the ultimate station in FAWN’s tag division, the Hellions make their way to the ring with an atmosphere of supreme self-confidence. The eyes of every man and more than a few women are riveted on the duo, feasting upon their forbidden beauty, drinking in the glory of past and present. Ivy and Cynthia realize this, the veterans clearly energized to take down a team increasingly considered among the greats and one managed by one of their hated peers.
Climbing the steps to the apron, each Hellion enters in her own inimitable style. For Cynthia, this means bending over and stepping between the ropes slooooooowly to give the appreciative crowd behind her a healthy display of her fabled backside. As for Ivy, she leans back against the ropes, then does a backward flip over them, the most accomplished pair of legendary legs in the sport on full outstretched display as she slowly does a 360-degree arc into the ring.
With the celebrated partners in the ring, each dash for their own corners, bounding up the turnbuckles to the middle ropes. They signal title straps will be across their abs by the end of the night and the crowd goes bananas, the cheers cascading throughout the bowl.
Descending to the canvas, Armstrong and Mitchell move to and meet in their corner as their music fades. The ring announcer sensing his opportunity, shouts into his microphone in hopes of being heard over the roaring support.
"Tonight’s next match is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Tag Team Championships. From Charlotte, North Carolina and Uriah, Alabama respectively...tipping the scales at a collective 240 pounds...they are former FAWN Tag Team Champions...Cynthia Mitchell and Ivy Armstrong...they are BELLE’S HELLIONS!"
Somehow the assembled make even more noise for the FAWN originals, Ivy looking for her second tag title run and Cynthia, having also had two with her sister Sophie, is shooting for an unprecedented FOURTH time with a tag title around her waist.
Enjoying their reemergence into the spotlight and in no way daunted by it, the Hellions turn their attention to the upper stage and the team that has most of their contemporaries averting their eyes when challengers are sought. Not so the incomparable Hellions.
With the fabled, wild-eyed Southern Girls ready, another FAWN legend is about to join them per the infamous crashing chords of 'The World is Not Enough' from Garbage. Those FAWNatics not already looking in the direction turn to the upper stage to curse the vile, villainous tag champs and, as much or more, their malicious, moneyed manager.
THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8C5NLfYdZaE
“I know how to hurt. I know how to heal. I know what to show and what to conceal.”
“I know when to talk. And I know when to touch. No one ever died from wanting too much…”
The crowd lets their hatred fly, pouring it on the salacious sellouts and their Manhattanite manager.
A long streak of white light shoots from the rafters as Shirley Manson pronounces “The World Is Not Enough”. At the end of the beam, the infamous strawberry blonde patrician smirks surreptitiously, reveling in the loathing radiating from the concealed hordes.
PORTIA VANBUEN
Fortune’s Favorite is flawless in her immaculate, white tennis togs, namely a form-fitting, Louis Vuitton tank top and short skirt with white socks and thousand-dollar tennies. In her right hand is Precious, her beloved polo mallet. Baby points it to stage right and appearing on cue are the golden-brown warriors of the Gold Standard.
AMARA SINGH
ALEXIS SUGUITAN
Strapped across their tawny midriffs is the gilded leather signifying their leader’s genius and the team’s growing ability and reputation, a well-oiled machine terrorizing taggers of all stripes.
The Standard stride to either side of their leader, Alexis shining her belt while Amara slaps hers. They each unstrap and raise their prizes high to the echoing jeers of the FAWNatics. VanBuren points her beauties toward the ring and their next victims, Portia touting and shouting as Suguitan and Singh lead the way in stern silence.
Each titleholder glistens in gold, two-piece battle gear, sturdy bikini tops complementing tight booty shorts letting the champs’ curves nearly overflow the shimmering spandex. Black boots and pads complete each woman’s identical gear.
Reaching the ring, Portia nods knowingly at women she has fought innumerable times, most notably losing the FAWN World Title to Armstrong for Ivy’s only time with the top title and burying Cynthia in her second official FAWN match, the first to reach a conclusion. Her predatory grin blossoms, Baby knowing she’s safe from the slings and arrows of Ivy and Cynthia and that her team, at the top of their game, would run roughshod over what remained of these sad Southern belles.
VanBuren gives each challenger a soft golf clap at having the honor of being fodder for the Gold Standard’s next defense.
Singh and Sugutian climb to the apron and slip through the ropes, claiming center stage. VanBuren ‘chats’ amiably with the front row, delighting in humiliating those ignorant enough to taunt her. Moving to the ring steps, the New Yorker ascends nimbly and slides between the top and middle cables. Joining her team, Baby places herself noticeably behind her exotic warriors, patting each champion on a shoulder, letting the grapplers have the spotlight as the ring announcer makes their arrival official.
“And their opponents, accompanied to the ring by their manager, Portia VanBuren the Fourth. Hailing from Manilla, The Philippines at five feet eight inches tall and 134 pounds, the Penthouse Panther…ALEXIS SUGUITAN. And her partner, from Cawnpore, India at five feet six inches and 137 pounds, the Golden Empress…AMARA SINGH! Together they are the Gold Standard and the FAWN Tag Team Champions!”
Amara and Alexis again raise their belts before placing them gently over Baby’s shoulders while Portia draws a microphone to her lips, her menacing gaze on the Hellions.
“Hello dear girls. It’s so wonderful to see you. It’s like a class reunion with me the only one who made something out of herself.”
Ivy and Cynthia only smile and request Portia take the place of one of her charges.
“Please,” VanBuren responds, “and get your Southern-fried sweat on me? Don’t be absurd. Just take your beatings and go back to the farm, Jerseys.”
Portia drops the mic and escorts the championship hardware to the outside, while Nick Castle collects the stick and offers it to an attendant. The champs gather in their corner for a moment to decide who will be the head of tonight’s spear. The Subcontinental Siren Singh takes charge and opposite her, the Dirtiest Player Ivy Armstrong, will be her dance partner, a return to their glorious past only three slaps of the mat away for the Southern Charmer and the Cynful One.
Singh strides to center stage and Armstrong does the same, the two finishing no more than a step apart. Amara looks the redhead up and down.
“Nobody has the guts to take on the best, so they dust off two FAWN monuments and their creeky asses?” the Indian asks.
“I saw somewhere Portia was pissing in her silk panties about those Leggy chicks. She doesn’t want you anywhere near them. Their loss. Our gain.”
An infuriated Singh surges forward, arms extended, talons bared to rip the emerald eyes out of the Bama Slamma. But as she does, Ivy drops to the deck and, from her back, shoots a stomp toward the gilded crotch of the champion, ready to introduce another roster member to just how dirty Ivy could play.
But Amara blocks and snags the Slamma’s stem before it hits the very private abode. She lifts Armstrong’s left leg high, shaking her head.
“Portia reads you like a book,” Singh chuckles then lays out to her right side, driving an elbow DEEP into an ivory inner thigh of the FAWN original, Ivy yelping in pain with the impact. Amara swing around to take a forward straddling seat of the lower limb. She twists it violently around her base, Armstrong biting her lower lip to contain the pain.
Ivy raises her opposite number and thumps the heel between the Subcontinental Siren’s shoulderblades. It’s enough for Amara to rise, pivoting out of her seat, then planting a series of kicks to Ivy’s raised and exposed hammy, Singh punting the supple muscle time and time again.
Armstrong writhes in Amara’s clutches, trying to break free. Singh starts to circle around the captured leg, apparently planning to secure a figure-four, a bald-faced insult to the Alabaman. But when the Indian momentarily presents her backside, Ivy gets a boot up and plants it between Amara’s cheeks, shoving her off.
Singh stumbles away and the crimson-maned grappler pushes to her feet. But as she does, the left leg gives way, sending her back down to one knee leaving her vulnerable for a spinning heel kick Amara THUNKS off Ivy’s left temple. Armstrong collapses to the canvas and the Empress dives aboard in a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Ivy shoves a shoulder off the canvas and shakes out some early cobwebs while Singh rises and strides to her corner, tagging in Alexis. Amara remaining inside with the newly legal Filipino Phenom, both golden-brown titleholders fall upon the dazed Ivy, yanking Armstrong to her feet. Singh snuggles in from behind the redhead, wrapping her arms around Ivy’s midriff. She vaults Armstrong off the canvas, holding her aloft in front of her while Alexis springs into action.
Suguitan races by, sinking her fingers into the auburn locks of the Slamma, and the duo combine layout and sitout facebusters in giving Ivy an Extreme Makeover.
Extreme Makeover ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqR7X0znLPg&t=10s ) 2:54
Ivy flops absently to her back from the force of the collision and Alexis dives atop in a crossbody pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Armstrong’s body spasms, a shoulder removed from the canvas in the process. She rolls to her side as Suguitan ends on her haunches next to the challenger, the Standardbearer looking more than a little perturbed the match continues.
Having presumed the maneuver was the end of her night’s work, Amara’s forced to head for the exit at Nick Castle’s urging after the kickout. Portia motions her champion back to the Gold Standard corner as Alexis prepares to take charge. The Penthouse Panther draws a flagging Ivy to her feet and flings her to a neutral corner with an Irish Whip, Armstrong’s spine CRASHING into the buckles.
Alexis follows her foe in at full speed, but the Southern Charmer gets her feet up, encircling her ankles around the neck of the Phenom when Alexis slams on the brakes. Dark eyes wide, a flustered Suguitan manages to spin through a 180 while captured, as she tries to escape the elevated scissors of the FAWN original. But that’s not Alexis’ only plan. She wraps her arm around the calves of the Slamma and pulls her foe away from the corner, Ivy suddenly draping down the back of the native of Manilla.
Now it’s the Hellion in trouble, Ivy’s arms flailing as she’s carried ass over teakettle to the middle. Alexis treats her to a little inverted piece of home as she flings the wide-eyed Ivy up and over her shoulders with a modified Alabama Slam, Armstrong crashing and burning, landing on her chest and chin. Alexis generates enough force to send Ivy bouncing off the canvas-covered plywood, the increasingly depleted redhead ending face down and groaning, hugging her frame as if she’s trying to keep her internal organs in place.
Inverted Alabama Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4bIIRGta7Y )
Outside, Portia turns to the fans, sweeping her arms behind her to showcase the destruction the champions are levying on the woman who once took VanBuren’s World Title from her.
“Give up the past you Jersey scum,” Baby shouts, twirling Precious in her fingers. “Embrace the present AND the future.”
Suguitan lands a stomp to Armstrong’s spine, sending an anguished shudder through the Tide fan’s frame. She waves cheerily at Mitchell, the dark-haired tag legend calling on her partner to respond like so many times before. And Armstrong pushes to all fours before Alexis mounts her in a standing front straddle and drops backside into the base of Ivy’s backbone, flattening her foe to the canvas.
Alexis scoops up the deteriorating challenger and heaves her to the Standard corner then spins on Castle and starts quizzing the zebra on the finer points of his awful cologne. As Nick defends himself from the scurrilous complaints, his face turned from the champ’s home base, Amara reaches over the top buckle and wraps a copper-skinned arm around the throat of the Slamma, collapsing Ivy’s windpipe.
The FAWNatics and Cynthia protest vociferously and finally Mitchell can take no more, slipping through the ropes and charging until Alexis guides Nick in the Carolina Hurricane’s direction. Nick intercepts the fuming Cynthia and, in the meantime, Alexis joins the party, lifting a long supple stem and driving her boot sole under Ivy’s chin, adding to the force of Amara’s continued chokehold.
Armstrong’s face turns rosy, the Dirtiest Player getting doubled down in the dirt by the shimmering champs, Portia directing her charges like a virtuosa.
Castle’s forced to carry Mitchell back to the Hellions’ corner, Cynthia thrashing within his grasp. Across the canvas, the champions have their way with an isolated Ivy, Singh finally giving up her choke since her partner has it covered. When Suguitan brings her raised stem back to the canvas, putting her boot sole to the mat, Amara hooks her arms around Ivy’s elbows, keeping the breathless, gasping Armstrong locked in place while the Filipino Phenom unleashes with a wicked series of Mongolian Chops to each nape of the Slamma’s neck.
As the battered redhead sags within Singh’s control, the Penthouse Panther turns to her catty apartment house tactics, sinking a pair of underhanded claws into Ivy’s bosom, shredding the tender flesh as she squeezes and kneads, Armstrong being taken apart like she never has in her career.
With a raging Cynthia back in place, the Indian releases Armstrong’s guns. She drops to her haunches, leaning heavily on the golden-brown thighs of Alexis. A suspicious Castle gives Suguitan the once over, but if there was any chicanery, he’s missed it. The Phenom wraps her arms around the back of her foe’s noggin and draws Ivy up. She moves beside the flaccid redhead, the women pointed in opposite directions. Alexis draws Ivy back into an arch then lifts her and flattens her with a clubbing forearm with a powerpacked STO Driver.
STO Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGaIdmCPqfY )
Alexis leans her back across the demolished Crimson Tide fan, hooking a leg with one arm while pressing the side of Ivy’s face flat to the mat with the other in a domineering pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Cynthia’s halfway in and tardy for the save, but Armstrong shows the grit and determination making her a likely Hall of Famer by throwing a shoulder up.
On the outside, Portia looks almost relieved the woman that took the big belt from her a decade and a half ago is paying with interest now at her behest and without Baby having to break a sweat.
Alexis plucks Armstrong off the canvas as she rises, bullies the redheaded ragdoll to the Gold Standard corner and reaches over a stooped shoulder to leisurely tag her partner. Amara enters. She looks at the sad state of Armstrong and passes on Alexis’ offer for a double team. Instead, she takes control and sits Ivy down with a crowning Big Elbow, the Subcontinental Siren BLASTING Armstrong with the point, leaving the Southern Charmer seated, limp legs extended, head bobbling as she leans wearily into the buckles.
A smirking Singh dips and pivots, backing her ass up and swallowing Ivy’s sleepy features in her rounded derriere. The Indian grappler swabs the face of the broken Ivy with her Harem Shake stinkface, Armstrong flailing weakly as her oxygen supply is again denied, this time by a suffocating smother. Amara’s fun is finally killed by Castle’s count and she pulls away at ‘FOUR’, letting the greasy-faced Ivy sink deeper into the abyss, spittle dripping from the corner of her lips, Armstrong never treated so shabbily in long illustrious career.
Just outside the ropes, VanBuren jaws at her fellow FAWN original, enough so Ivy is woken from her stupor and takes a swing, Baby jerking her patrician features out of reach of Armstrong’s literal attempt at a bytch slap.
“I’m gonna kill you, Portia,” Mitchell screams from the opposite corner.
“You’re going to do nothing South Jersey trash,” VanBuren responds. “Until you try to stop us from beating the hell out of you after the bell.”
A chuckling Singh lowers and reaches through the ropes to give Baby five, manager and champion slapping hands. A mischievous Castle seems ready to call VanBuren the legal woman, but he holds his tongue. But in the mid-celebratory merriment, Armstrong springs to life, shoving off the buckles behind her and baseball sliding through the spread legs of the Empress. She scrambles to hands and knees and struggles toward her corner. A surprised but secure Singh strides after and catches an ankle with both hands, Ivy several feet from salvation.
“Where do you think you’re going, Red?” Amara asks.
The answer is physical rather than verbal, Armstrong spinning to her back and kicking the trapped leg free with the loose one. She dives blindly backwards, the Slamma able to tap fingers with her partner. Cynthia roars through the ropes, fire in her eyes.
Retreating with plaintive hands raised, Singh’s leveled by a clothesline. She quickly pushes to her feet as the veteran tag sensation skids to a stop, the Empress turning and reaching vertical just in time for Mitchell to nearly remove her head from her shoulders with another lariat. The dazed Empress is a little slower on the uptake after this second attack and it gives Cynthia a chance to time her approach with the Indian. She races at a rising Singh, snatching Amara as she floats by, then PLANTING the champ’s face into the deck with her brutal Carolina Blues.
Carolina Blues ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tXjmTPxmUo )
Amara flops absently to her back and Cynthia covers, looking to steal the titles with her lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Singh kicks free, ending on her side, looking worriedly at Alexis, reaching an arm out that Cynthia grabs and wrenches into a hammerlock, the veteran using it to force the Empress to vertical.
Portia isn’t taking any chances and she sends the shocktroops in early, pointing Alexis into the squared circle. The ebony-maned warrior shoots through, coming from Mitchell’s six. But the concerned crowd raises Cynthia’s well-tuned spidey senses and she slides to the side as a charging Suguitan sends a Big Boot snapping into the jaw of an escaped and turning Singh instead the back of Mitchell’s noggin. Flattened into a glassy-eyed starfish, Amara stares blankly up at an astonished Phenom.
Portia shouts at her still standing title holder to return her focus to her opponent, but Mitchell quickly locks elbows with the startled Suguitan from behind, the women back to back. Using surprise, Cynthia overcomes her size disadvantage and throws her body forward, ripping Alexis off the canvas and POUNDING the Penthouse Panther’s shoulders and skull into the canvas with a Backslide Driver.
Backslide Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Pwes5Lb5ek )
The shellshocked Alexis remains stacked on her shoulders in a matchbook, ready for pinning if she were the legal entrant for the champs. Mitchell knows better and she returns her attention to Singh, the Empress having pushed to hands and knees but no further.
The Cynful One helps Amara up the rest of the way, spinning the gobsmacked Indian into a dragon sleeper position, Amara bent in an arch, her head surrounded by an enveloping arm of the second-generation superstar. The FAWNatics roar with approval as they know what’s to come. Mitchell doesn’t disappoint, lifting her leg and laying it across Amara’s throat then using it as a guillotine as she forces Singh to the deck with her Cardinal Cyn.
Cardinal Cyn ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=eu3bOHMtcDA&feature=player_embedded )
Cynthia leaves her left leg draped across the throat of the lifeless Singh and Castle drops to the canvas to count out a huge win for the Hellions with the…
ONE…
TWO…
And no THREE, as reaching in under the bottom rope, VanBuren snatches an ankle of the zebra and pulls him out of the ring. A furious Nick argues with Fortune’s Favorite, threatening to disqualify Baby’s champions, but a bigger problem emerges when a recovered Ivy, having raced around the outside, barrels into VanBuren from behind with a raised knee to the base of Portia’s spine. The manager lurches forward, banging heads with Castle.
With Nick down and a wobbling Portia perilously close to tipping, Ivy grabs the strawberry blonde locks of the Standard’s leader and SLAMS her face into the hardest part of the mat one…two…three times. Armstrong heaves her old foe backwards, VanBuren half-flying, half-stumbling into the metal barricade dividing fans from grapplers. After the agonizing impact, a wincing Portia slides down the metal, ending in a slumped seat.
Inside, Cynthia’s collected Singh by her charcoal mane and pulled her foe to hands and knees, Singh on a leash of her own hair. After eyeballing Ivy’s fun, Mitchell turns her focus to the Empress. She tugs Amara to stooped feet and stuffs the Indian’s head between her thighs while underhooking both arms of Amara. With the crowd roaring, Cynthia leaps into the air and PLOWS the champ’s face into the deck with her Drop Out.
Drop Out ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=35VBNUWWrQ0 ) 00:12
Knocked into next week, Amara’s lifeless body lies face down. Mitchell shovels it over into a spreadeagle and only then realizes Castle’s still barely aware of his circumstances on the outside. Leaving Singh to sleep it off, the Carolina Hurricane marches to the ropes and shouts down at the stirring Nick.
But another more beautiful sight also catches her baby blues. Ivy has a flailing Portia in her legendary face-first, figure-four head scissors, the Southern Charm engulfing VanBuren’s buried face as Armstrong’s lethal legs surround and squeeze the senses from the champs’ leader. Baby taps wildly on Ivy’s hip, trying to surrender as she smothered and cinched into semiconsciousness, the crowd threatening to bring down the arena with their decibels.
Unfortunately for those assembled, Alexis has emerged from her stupor, taken a detour to collect a tag belt out of the Gold Standard corner and CRACKS it into the back of a distracted Cynthia’s skull. Tossing it aside as Mitchell timbers to the deck, out cold, Suguitan slides through the cables, drops to the floor, and shoves a recovering Castle back in.
Entering behind, Alexis grabs a wrist of her barely lucid partner, the Phenom dragging Singh to the splayed Hellion and draping the Subcontinental Siren over her challenger. Shouting at Castle, Alexis finally brings the man out of his coma.
To the groaning crowd’s dismay, he slaps the canvas for…
ONE…
TWO…
BUT NO THREE.
Ivy, having unshackled a drained and drooling Portia from her Charm, slides into the ring and shoves the mostly deadweight Singh off her partner.
Furious, Alexis races at a rising, turning Ivy, Yakuza Kick on the way to the jaw of the Bama Slamma. But Armstrong ducks under and as Alexis skids to a stop after the miss, Ivy throws a vile chop block into the back of Suguitan’s knee, cutting the golden-brown catfighter down to size, Alexis grimacing in a pained genuflection, grasping at her throbbing joint.
Armstrong, ready to pay back the mauling she’d withstood earlier, sinks her nails into the ebony mane of the Phenom and rips a yelping Alexis to her feet. She forces Suguitan to a corner and, with her grip still tight around her foe’s locks THUMPS Alexis’ forehead into the buckles for a full ten-spot, the crowd cheerily counting along as Ivy batters the senses from the Standardbearer.
Behind the melee, those in various stages of disrepair try to recover. Castle is up to hands and knees, shaking his head, regaining more of his bearings and beside him a seated and swaying Singh does likewise.
Outside, a disheveled Portia is vertical, leaning against the barricade, straightening her gear and wiping off the perspiration built on her previously buried face, eyes blinking wide as she tries to recoup from Ivy’s Southern Charm offensive.
Unfortunately for the Hellions, the seemingly concussive force of the belt-shot to Cynthia’s cranium has the longest-lasting effect. Portia pushes away from the metal behind her and staggers to the apron’s edge, trying to gather Amara’s attention while not Ivy’s.
Armstrong, focused on making Alexis pay, spins Suguitan to face her, the faltering Phenom’s back to the buckles. Ivy snatches Alexis’ right arm with her left hand and folds it behind her foe’s back, clearing a path. Growling as she folds her right set of fingers into a fist, Armstrong THUMPS it home, Ivy blasting the Filipino’s ticker with her fabled Heart Punch. Alexis’s dark eyes roll white, her legs giving a shimmy but keeping her upright with the help of her arms draped over the ropes on either side of the buckles. Reveling in making Alexis pay, she pulls Suguitan out a few feet for more punishment.
Behind, Amara tugs a semiconscious Cynthia up, driving a toe kick into the tummy of the Carolina Hurricane. With Mitchell doubled over, the Empress underhooks Cynthia’s arms, joining Ivy in a thirst for revenge. As Amara launches Mitchell to fully vertical, with the brunette’s soles pointed to the rafters, Ivy moves next to a bent Alexis, lifting a knee and placing it next to the Penthouse Panther’s temple.
Simultaneously, Ivy snatches Alexis’ far arm and lays out, CRUNCHING the Standardbearer to the deck with her signature Mama Knows Best ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJmrOSHMhwI ) while Amara delivers the goods with her infamous Bollywood Bash ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lsAq4v6XBU ) 00:15.
If any part of Cynthia’s senses remained, they’ve left the building, the face-down, second-gen star out cold between Singh’s extended legs.
And while Ivy kneels next to the demolished Alexis, letting her know the South has risen again, Amara flips Cynthia to her back, remaining seated, dropping her legs over the shoulders of the waylaid Mitchell for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The slaps of the mat finally gather Ivy’s interest and she dives to break up the pin…too late.
THREEEE!
Armstrong rolls Singh off and Amara uses the momentum to slide under the ropes and into Portia’s arms. Castle follows behind to the floor, pointing to the manager and champion and signaling for the bell.
The ring announcer makes the retention official under the resounding jeers of the FAWNatics.
“Your winners by pinfall and STILL FAWN Tag team Champions, Amara Singh and Alexis Suguitan…the Gold Standard!”
Perhaps unsurprisingly, VanBuren’s somehow ended with both straps and lays one over a shoulder of the sweat-drenched Singh. She starts to travel around the outside toward an entry point closer to the stirring Alexis than the sick-to-her-stomach Armstrong, who lightly taps at Cynthia’s cheek, trying to bring her around. Not immediately successful, she catches Baby entering out of the corner of her eye and flashes toward VanBuren, Portia scooting back out the way she’d come.
“Get out of the ring, Jersey. The match is ours. The ring is ours,” Portia demands.
“Come in and make me, sugah,” the glistening Ivy responds while pulling the Filipino ragdoll to her feet.
“Don’t you f’ing dare,” Portia threatens. “You leave my champion alone!”
“Save her, sugah. If ya got the guts.”
Baby remains on the floor next to a spent Singh, who also shows no willingness to tangle with the Slamma for possession of her partner. Ivy shrugs then buries a boot into Alexis’ abs. Spinning as she grabs the Phenom’s head in a ¾ facelock, Ivy sits out and delivers a mammoth SoCo Stunner to the Penthouse Panther, sending Suguitan nearly into orbit before she crashes to the deck, out as cold as Mitchell.
SoCo Stunner ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysvpoIjCs9I )
The furious Fortune’s Favorite rails at Castle demanding Ivy be arrested for assault but he shrugs off the complaint, more than ready to head to the back for Miller Time.
A spastic Portia circles in one direction and that allows Amara to ease in from the other, grab a wrist of Alexis and drag her out of the ring, Suguitan limp as a dishrag. VanBuren joins them each slipping under an arm of Alexis, helping her to the back, Portia and Amara looking like they’ve been through a war to keep their gold, Alexis looking like she’s been through a Weekend at Bernie’s…as Bernie.
Back in the ring, Armstrong’s finally successful in rousing Mitchell who has enough energy to pound the canvas in frustration when she realizes the Hellions have come up short. But with the showing they’ve provided, pushing the champs to the limit, the veterans might’ve convinced Bethany there’s still life in the ‘old girls’ yet.