Post by hawkeye on Nov 9, 2020 2:51:49 GMT
With a Mania disaster of epic proportions prompting calls for Vanilla Chill’s retirement in the FAWN dirt sheets, not to mention delighted fans requesting she be sent to The Jungle, it’s hardly surprising Kylie Sanders comes out fighting with promo after promo following her flop. She blasts everyone and everything after being the fall girl for Hot&Bothered in their failed fight versus the Greater Good.
The Platinum Pixie must be weary as the most frightful night of the FAWN calendar All Hallows’ Evil is reached, so busy is she throwing people under any bus she can find.
The usual suspects include head ref Nick Castle, the American Idol Lady Liberty, who led her team to victory and the California Angel Colleen O’Neal, the Ginger Genius who made Kylie tap out her surrender, Sanders captured in the redhead’s Golden Gate.
But tonight’s public enemy #1 showed herself in the aftermath of the after-match. A woman Sanders claims is so despicable there aren’t words to describe how low a bytch her former partner J-Dogg turned out to be.
In the weeks following Mania, the silver-bobbed siren makes sure every microphone within reach is filled with her voice and hatred directed at the woman she’d plucked from obscurity and made relevant. Only for Washington to somehow get the impression, H&B’s losses weren’t anyone’s but Jasmine’s fault.
Sanders continually lists the ways Wash failed the team, mostly ignoring follow-up questions about what happened after she tapped her surrender to Colleen when a furious Jasmine, rage unleashed, destroyed Kylie with TWO Backasswards Drivers, leaving Sanders pale putty carted out to the cheers of the Mania throng.
Hardly surprisingly, the Badass responds in her own inimitable manner, gettin’ steamy on the mic and having her lawyers get a contract finalized in record time with what Bethany Christian called the perfect AHE stipulation, the first ever “Keepin’ It Real’ Hotlanta Street Fight. The winner would have to give up her street name for ever, either Vanilla Chill melting and dripping into a gutter sewer or J-Dogg getting spayed and put in the Pound.
The sound of Iggy gettin’ ‘Fancy’ lets the FAWNatics know which combatant will take her position in the weaponized boulevard battle tonight, the woman every wrestling addict loves to hate called to the field first.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
The assembled let loose with their usual barrage of animosity. But there’s also a hint of joviality, Kylie’s Mania nightmare fresh in their mind and every one of them determined to keep it foremost in the thoughts of the Pleasant Valley Pariah.
Though many question Sanders’ ability and even more her ethical indiscretions, no one can deny her power to stir passion. She immediately brings the crowd to a boil, the collective hate moving like a presence toward the silvery-bobbed, elfin beauty as she moves to center stage.
KYLIE SANDERS
Vanilla seems anything but Chill. She’d first refused even facing Washington, declaring herself at another level Jasmine hadn’t earned the right to face. With suspensions and fines threatened, Ky spun to a position that in fact it was J-Dogg who was trying to avoid her and that it was SHE, not the Badass who demanded street fight rules.
As Kylie moves down the ramp and aisle, the trepidation in the hazel eyes of the FAWN original seems to tell a different story.
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. For the last time? Kylie motions to the message, making certain everyone knows they’re going to leave disappointed.
“I’m Chill now and always!”
FAWN’s Most Hated reaches the ring, the stage where she holds the record for most wins of any FAWN wrestler but also and more so the most defeats. The Hawkeye climbs the steps and demands Castle open the ropes for her.
Nick knows well enough to listen or he’ll be hearing it all night. 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.
“I SAID SHUT UP!” she screams at the multitude then tries to ignore them.
“IT’S THAT DAMN DOGG THAT KEEPS FRONTIN’. I TELL DA MAN WHERE TO GO! AND I’M PUTTIN HER ON A LEASH AND WALKIN’ HER OUTTA HERE ON ALL FOURS!”
Sanders throws the stick aside and moves to the far corner in a huff, the crowd giving themselves a hand.
The announcer lets the fans wear themselves out before interrupting.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit and is a Hotlanta Street Fight. From Pleasant Valley, Iowa, standing 5’4” tall and weighing in at 110 pounds, the Platinum Pixie…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders.”
The pounding boos barely have time to bury a sneering Sanders when the music of her opponent fills the arena and the jeers turn to cheers.
Jasmine V’s soft melodic ’That’s Me Right There’ fills the arena bowl and the crowd’s collective gaze turns to the upper stage. Wash pushes through to face the woman she’d partnered with for years but slowly learned is a plant by Da Man to keep her down, a whitebread weight around her ankles.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tEyAAniu5U&index=36&list=PLFgquLnL59anjMBFmfztjKvngIUN1F987 )
JASMINE WASHINGTON
The Dogg Pound is more than a few barking fans tonight, but the gorgeous African-American grappler is barely acknowledging them as she moves to center stage, her eyes then an index finger pointed at Chill.
Starting down the ramp, J-Dogg flashes signs and shakes dat incredible ass, Washington smirking at the love she’s receiving, apparently considering it as fake as some bleached blonde, Snow White from Iowa playin’ like she got skillz.
Dressed in a tiny black hoodie, (black version of the following: i2.photobucket.com/albums/y32/biggerb/Jasmine-clothing.jpg~original ), Dogg angrily snaps her head back to clear the hood, her shoulder-length ebony locks brought into view. She waggles her way down the aisle as if she owns the place, her face pinching with disgust when shying away from the extended hands of the crowd, determined to keep her focus on Da Man’s pretend playa, ready to leave the chapter she played second fiddle to a craptastic Karen in her rear view mirror.
Beneath the woman wears camo boy-cut trunks (http://s2.photobucket.com/user/biggerb/media/Jasmine-clothing%20below.jpg.html ) which accentuate her bootylicious backside all the more. Below are black pads and boots.
Reaching the ring, Wash hops to the apron and swishes her rump from side to side. She dips and slides through the ropes, the ring announcer taking that as his cue.
“And her opponent from Hotlanta, G to the A. Standing five feet, five inches tall and weighing in at 125 pounds. She’s was the Hot in H&B and now she’s the baddest damn Dogg in the yard…Jasmine Washington.”
Jas swivels her badonka-donk through a pirouette, lifting a double-barreled, middle finger salute at her former partner as she backpedals to the buckles opposite the Platinum Pixie.
The bell rings and instantly Wash is off like a sprinter across the ring, the wide-eyed Sanders dipping and pushing her upper half through the ropes, screaming at Castle to keep the Dogg on a leash.
Kylie grins at the crowd in front of her while the FAWNatics jeering her cowardice.
“You people know I led this ungrateful bytch to the only relevance she’s ever known,” Ky shouts as she slips back in, her gaze still on the losers.
“And I’m going to put her back where she startAHHHHH”
Sanders howls in pain as Jasmine’s been standing right behind her. Castle not having moved from his original spot with no rules to enforce. The Dogg snatches Kylie by her platinum bob and drags Chill toward the middle, Ky’s hands wrapping around the wrists of the Badass as she tries to extricate herself.
“STAHHHHP,” Kylie wails, pleading with Castle to intervene.
The man shrugs. “Street fight, Sanders,” he reminds.
J-Dogg’s ready to take a bite out of her pale chew toy, spinning Vanilla to face her and show her Chill the truth, that the Badass from Hotlanta has far surpassed her.
But Ky’s right hand flashes to Jasmine’s dark eyes like silver lightning. She drags her nails across, drawing a shriek and a steady stream of curses from Washington as the African-American grappler turns and staggers away, furiously rubbing at her eyes.
“I taught you everything you know,” Sanders growls as she closes from behind on the blinded warrior. “Not everything I know.”
Jas spins and throws an unsighted clothesline Sanders ducks. Now behind Jasmine again, FAWN’s Most Hated sends a stomp into the pit of J-Dogg’s right knee, collapsing her foe, forcing her puppy to genuflect in front of her.
“You BETTER pray,” Ky informs. “Thinking you can humiliate me and on my special night? That’s a whole different Kylie who accepts that treatment. Ya got Chill on your hands, girl.”
Kylie raises a pointed elbow and drives it into the lowered crown of her former partner’s skull. The impact sends Jasmine into an unsteady wobble, lids blinking over still watery and now somewhat glazed peepers.
Turning, Sanders races to the ropes behind her and rebounds. She sprints at Wash, J-Dogg still on one knee, and THUMPS her foe with a dropkick to the back of the head. The face of the Badass whips forward and CRASHES into the thinly-sheathed plywood, bouncing off the deck in a fashion hard enough to draw a sympathetic groan from the crowd.
Instead of hopping to her feet the Platinum Pixie rolls under the ropes, dropping her boot soles to the floor. She lifts the ring apron, ready to start the Street Party.
Finding a treasure trove, Ky pulls out a couple chairs and throws them in. A ‘Stop’ sign follows close behind and the ever-present kendo stick joins the FAWN original as she reenters. Jasmine pushes to hands and knees as the Hawkeye reaches her feet, Ky’s weapon in hand and smirk firmly planted, creasing her Cupid’s Arrow lips.
With her former partner teed up, Sanders doesn’t waste time. She raises the stick high and THWACKS it down across the café-au-lait-hued back of the Badass. The impact echoes as Jas arches in pain from the blow.
“How dare you believe you get the last word between us?” the Iowan asks. “You’re going to plead for me to take you back!”
THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.
A trifecta of attacks crashes across Jas’ spine, the last one sending her flat to the canvas. She rolls to her back to protect the aching expanse. Wincing, J-Dogg holds up a pleading hand, drawing a chuckle from Sanders.
“I taught you that one too,” Kylie says, brandishing her slightly bent weapon.
Sanders leaps atop Jasmine, landing in a kneeling straddle of Wash’s waist. Having grabbed either end of the kendo stick, she presses the middle against Jasmine’s throat, trying to collapse her windpipe. Washington flails in breathless agony, trying fitfully to press the stick from across her neck, gasping and bug-eyed.
Unable to budge the weapon, Wash instead rocks from side to side, finally exchanging positions, J-Dogg scrambling to a top straddle. Jas slowly but surely presses the kendo stick toward the gullet of a frightful Kylie when Sanders halves her grip, sending the tips of her right set of fingers into the reddened throat of her former partner.
A gagging Jasmine rolls off and away. She pushes to her feet and stumbles to a corner, leaning in to remain upright, unaware Kylie’s right on her tail. Dipping a shoulder, the Platinum Pixie SPEARS the open abdomen of the Dogg, gutting Jasmine, folding her foe between the top and middle ropes.
Removing her buried shoulder, Sanders draws Washington out with her and paintbrushes her former partner, the slap reverberating through the ring. The Hawkeye scoops the bigger woman up under the thighs and lifts her to a seat on the top buckle.
Kylie grabs Jasmine’s wrists and crosses them while she turns to face away from the Badass. Preternaturally having known exactly where the ‘Stop’ sign’s placed, Chill has her arrow and her bullseye. Forcing forward both with her body and arms, Sanders flips Jas off her perch, sending her CRASHING across the steel of the street sign with a perfectly-executed Iconoclasm.
Iconoclasm ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlDWO254zdQ ).
Landing in a seat at the splayed Jasmine’s head, Vanilla drapes her extended ivory and abbreviated stems over Wash’s biceps, her palms pushing down on J-Dogg’s shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The Badass kicks free, but there’s hardly a cheer for the escape, the AHE crowd placed in a sour mood by Kylie’s unexpected command.
Neither is Sanders happy, popping to her feet and getting in Castle’s grill for his slow count.
“You just put this bytch in the hospital,” Ky shouts. “That’s on you!”
Chill pushes past the man and plucks a chair off the canvas. She unfolds it and places it a few feet from the stirring Washington then collects her former partner, tugging Jasmine to unsteady feet, surrounding her noggin in a front facelock.
“Time to put you down for good, Dogg.”
But before Kylie can DDT the Badass onto the steel seatpan, Wash finds some life, plugging a set of short rights into the left side of the Hawkeye, loosening Sanders’ grip.
J-Dogg pulls her head loose and NAILS Chill with a leaping enziguri kick to the temple of the Platinum Pixie. The resilient Sanders staggers through a pirouette but remains upright if ending doubled at the waist, eyes blinking wide.
Working on instinct, Jasmine backpedals to the ropes behind her and rebounds. Wash leaps with her right leg raised high, curling it over the back of Kylie’s head and SMASHING Sanders’ face into the metal folding furniture with a Jazzasser.
Jazzasser ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONbf4k4DXjU ) 00:05
The brutal impact is enough to draw a sympathetic groan even from Kylie’s haters. Her body whiplashes away from the collision, ending in a wide spreadeagle, eyes staring blankly at the lights above.
Washington pushes the mangled chair aside and dives across the splayed frame of Vanilla Chill, the crowd counting along as one with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Ky shoves a shoulder up, showing determination is her one redeeming quality. J-Dogg, knowing that characteristic resides in her former teammate, still seems surprised at the recovery, but ready for the task to take Chill’s will away.
She flattens the battered chair then sidles behind Sanders, taking a seat as the platinum blonde pushes to one in front of her. Jasmine snakes her arms under and around those of Vanilla, securing a full nelson. She tugs the weakly struggling Sanders close between the wedge of her thighs then wraps a scissors around the waist of the FAWN original.
“Time to remind these people who’s got the booty,” Jas whispers in Kylie’s ear.
Jasmine leans back, lifting Ky into the air in front of her. When the blonde’s taut little behind is pointed to the rafters, Washington thrusts her pelvis up, forward then down, SPIKING Kylie’s can into the thinly-sheathed plywood with an atomic-sized keister bounce. Kylie’s hazel eyes go wide, her jaw dropping open from the pain in her tailbone. But J-Dogg is FAR from done, leaning back, ripping Sanders off the deck again, and repeating the process a second and third time, Kylie’s cheeks and coccyx throbbing, her eyes welling from the landings.
Jasmine releases her nelson and Ky’s hands immediately shoot to her rump, slipping underneath and massaging her backside as a grinning Jas rises and flashes signs at the cheering crowd, Washington warming to the relative embrace she’s receiving from the throng.
Wash’s support only grows when she piefaces the top of Ky’s silvery bob as Sanders makes it to all fours.
“All the time you thought you were using me,” Wash pronounces, “sorry girl, I was the brains AND the brawn of the outfit.”
Jasmine mounts the back of Kylie’s head, surrounding it in a standing, forward-facing scissors. She grabs Ky’s arms at the elbows and lifts them high and wide. Pivoting slightly, she rotates Sanders’ face over the chair and lets Chill consider the consequences before making them real. Jas drops to her knees, sending Ky’s elfin features barreling into the seatpan once again.
Scissors Facebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJlzoMSSYfg )
Washington rolls the lifeless Sanders to her back and mounts her in a schoolgirl pin for the certain…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Somehow the high-riding J-Dogg is dislodged enough by an instinctual kickout for Chill to slip out of the pin, breaking Castle’s count and keeping the street fight underway.
Jas looks over her shoulder in amazement at the splayed blonde. Having seen Sanders take punishment, it apparently seems different when she’s surviving it at your hands.
With Ky rolling to her side but seemingly stuck, unable to make it closer to vertical, Jasmine slides outside, dropping her feet to the floor and looking under the skirt. She emerges with a table, sliding it out from under, then under the bottom rope to the great delight of the FAWNatics.
But Jasmine takes another peek and seems to find something else to her liking, returning with a small bag of unknown contents in one hand and a trash can in the other. She tosses the steel cylinder in and brings in the handful-sized cloth sack in with her, placing it softly in a corner before retrieving the container that would see the removal of the white trash.
Kylie pushes to unsteady feet as Jasmine grabs the can from the canvas, raising it overhead with both hands, ready to bring the side down on the crown of the Hawkeye’s head.
The reviled but resourceful Sanders comes to life, shooting a toe kick into the café-au-lait-hued tummy of the Dogg. The gutting boot sends the can dribbling from Jasmine’s fingertips, an arm swaddles her aching midsection. Ky lifts a knee into the lowered chin of her former partner, straightening the Dogg and putting her in an unsteady vacancy, Jas wobbling.
Sanders dips a head between the jellied legs of her foe, wrapping her arms around either lower limb. Showing the adrenaline is free and flowing within the Platinum Pixie, Chill lifts the Dogg off her feet, shifting Washington over her shoulders until she’s partially draping down Kylie’s back, Sanders’ arms tight behind Jasmine’s knees.
Finding the contorted chair that said ‘howdy’ to her face a couple times, Vanilla sets her stance in front of the metal and delivers a writhing Jasmine’s spine to the devilish device with her signature Sit-out Waterwheel Slam.
Sit-out Waterwheel ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMQKpMgwui8 ) 00:16
With the Badass out on her ass in front of her parted stems, Chill controls her foe’s legs as Castle drops to the canvas and counts out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
It’s Wash’s turn to show her stuff, shoving a shoulder up from the battered remains of the chair and the mat underneath.
Kylie’s hands shoot to her platinum mop. She runs her fingers through her bobbed strands in disbelief, glancing up at Nick but then grumbling at the reality her former partner kicked free in time. She tosses the muscular stems away in frustration and rises, looking over the landscape as she draws in some deep breaths.
The glint of the steel trashcan catches Kylie’s hazel peepers and she’s drawn to it. Plucking it off the mat, she turns with a weary but blossoming smile toward the slowly recovering Jasmine, who’s made it to a seated position.
The Dogg’s world goes black as Ky stuffs the can over her foe’s head and shoulders. With Washington’s top half squirming within the container, Sanders kicks what’s left of a chair aside and hustles to the far ropes. She rebounds and leaps into a low dropkick to the can and its contents, knocking both flat to the deck. The Platinum Pixie rises with a grimace and takes a seat on the dented container, demanding Castle count. He hesitates.
“Sorry Kylie, but you have to have some contact with Jasmine to consider it a pin.”
“Are you rulebooking me? ME?”
The man shrugs. “I guess so.”
A furious, snorting Sanders lifts her cheeks from the can, moves to Jasmine’s ankles and pulls her out. She drops to a lateral press, hooking a leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Washington shoves a shoulder up, sending Sanders to all fours above her and into a fit. She stares lasers through the zebra.
“That’s TWO strikes, Castle! You don’t want to see what happens with three.”
Kylie’s hazel eyes cast around the ring, weaponry available in all manners but Sanders keeps it simple, snatching a chair of the unused variety. Jasmine, having flipped to her chest, is crawling toward the ropes. The Pleasant Valley Pariah marches after her former partner. Raising the chair, Chill uses the bowed top end of the folding furniture, CRASHING the metal into Jasmine’s left thigh, the muscular meat of Washington’s hamstring taking the brunt of the blow.
Clearly enjoying herself and the toothy grimace from her foe, Ky RAMS the top ridge into the leg just below the curve of J-Dogg’s ample gluteus.
“YOU…DON’T…GIVE…UP…ON…ME!” Ky shouts in time to thumping, stabbing chair shots, finally tossing the battered frame away.
“I GIVE UP ON YOU!”
With that order verbalized, Sanders drops to a reverse kneeling straddle of Jasmine’s waist. Everyone seems to know what’s coming and the FAWNatics almost beat Vanilla to the punch, or in this case, claw.
“FARM…HAND” they chant as one.
The Platinum Pixie raises a clenching right hand high, Jas groaning beneath her then yipping as Kylie DIGS her digits DEEP into the meat of Jasmine’s hammy, CLAMPING her signature submission in place then ‘chewing’.
“Scream it for me,” Kylie shouts, demanding Wash surrender to her hammy clamp.
Despite mewls and yelps, her left leg becoming progressively paralyzed by the infamous impaling talons, Jasmine shakes her head when Castle invites her to quit.
“Casper don’t got it in her,” the Badass growls at Nick, perhaps imaging the humiliation of losing to White Bread in her own Hotlanta Street Fight.
An infuriated Kylie leans her left hand on top of the tearing right then her body weight over that, crunching her clamp into the muscle and the nerve bundle beneath, making Jasmine’s leg look leaden. Washington wails in pain, grasping at her ebony locks and yanking to spread the pain, but she shakes her head when Castle offers relief in tandem with defeat.
Convinced this Dogg needs moreto learn how to heel, Sanders pulls her tines free and grabs both of Washington’s wrists as she rises. She places a boot between the shoulderblades of her former faux friend and lifts J-Dogg’s upper half off the canvas.
Jasmine’s dark eyes go wide. It seems she’s about to plead her case when Kylie sends her face flush to the canvas with a curbstomp, leaving Jas a shuddering husk.
“Do y’all get it now,” Chill bellows at the crowd. “Dis girl from da burbs. Yeah. Ya didn’t know?”
Ky shakes her head.
“Man, ya know I ain’t frontin’. She drives a damn Prius.”
Jasmine’s head rises slightly, Washington rattling it, awareness slowly reentering her battered gray matter.
Leaving Washington for the moment, Sanders strolls to the table J-Dogg brought in the squared circle some time ago. Chill thanks Wash for her thoughtfulness and sets up one end then the other, cutting off a corner with the fully placed table.
“Time to serve my revenge the best way,” the Platinum Pixie barks, grabbing Jasmine by her ebony locks and harshly yanking the Dogg to unsteady feet.
“And ya know that’s chilly!” Ky concludes.
Ky dips and slips an arm between the rubbery stems of the African-American star-in-the making, ready to prove there was only ever one luminary of H&B. Sanders ‘hups’ Jasmine across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and takes the few steps to the table. Pivoting so she’s parallel, Kylie readies Jasmine’s trip to Chilly Valley.
Chilly Valley Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=96YGwFdN9K8 ) 00:14
But before Chill can send J-Dogg into the Valley, Jas begins frantically pumping elbows into Ky’s temple. A half-dozen hitting the mark gets her out of the predicament, Washington sliding down the back of the startled Hawkeye.
Sanders spins, searching for her lost cargo. The Platinum Pixie finds all too much of it as, after having touched ground, Washington immediately leaps into a spinning tornado kick, PLOWING her boot into the side of Sanders’ skull.
Tornado Kick ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=6pYZu4pMoB8 ) 1:57
Kylie’s cranium whips in a 180 simultaneous to the sickening thud of the impact. Defrosting Chill with her kick, Washington scrambles to her feet as she watches Ky go board stiff, arms falling to her sides. The ivory-skinned Iowan timbers to the deck to the roar of the crowd, ending in a wide single file.
Wash’s eyes go wide at the sight, perhaps not realizing how flush she’s caught Kylie. Despite pleas from the crowd, Jasmine passes on a pin, instead walking to the cloth bag and collecting it in a palm. She strides to center stage, opens the bag and spreads a couple hundred tacks across the canvas.
Immediately, the excitement in the crowd raises multiple levels, a smirking Dogg nodding her head at the FAWNatics.
“Time to puncture this bytch’s balloon.”
Washington strides to the dumbfounded Hawkeye, sinking a set of digits into the silvery bob of a legend.
“Get yo ass up, Karen,” Jas barks, hauling a rubbery Chill to unsteady feet. “Da man don’t give a shyt about your tiny lil’ ass anymore. He got bigger worries. Namely the Dogg!”
As if determined to prove it, Jasmine dips and scoops the waylaid Kylie up and spins her onto her right shoulder. Beaming, the Badass pivots and BODY SLAMS Sanders into the tack-filled expanse. The ring rattles with the collision of spine to mat and the air fills with shrieks from a suddenly revived Platinum Pixie. Kylie flails on the deck as if 10,000 volts enters her system, Washington stepping back to watch with pride the spasms of her former partner.
Vanilla Chill’s face is twisted in pain as she pushes to her feet, trying to reach behind her and brush out some of the dozens of tacks embedded in her alabaster back and taut cheeks.
Mightily distracted with the impaling, needle-like points, Ky doesn’t notice as Wash unfolds half of the nearby table’s legs and props it in a corner in a low angle diagonal of about 30 degrees.
Wash returns to the woman she intends to ruin. Grabbing her foe’s right wrist, she heaves Chill to the ropes. Kylie rebounds, racing at a stationed Jasmine, who spins and leaps into the air in front of Vanilla, knocking the senses from Sanders with her ass-tastic Rear End.
Rear End ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEFvAjqn7M8 )
Ky’s noggin whiplashes away from the Badass, the back of her skull thumping against the deck, her back again landing across some leftover tacks, only fueling the pain and adding at least a dozen more steel push-pins into her back.
Even with more entering her flesh, the force of the Rear End has Kylie in a stupor on Dream Street, the pain of the tacks unable to fully revive her.
A glowing J-Dogg plucks what’s left of her former partner off the spiked mat floor. Jasmine ducks her head between the front of the abbreviated ivory stems of her shellshocked foe, Ky in no state to stop her. Washington’s arms wrap around the pits of Sanders’ knees and she easily lifts Vanilla Chill, Kylie ending draped down the back of the Dogg.
There’s no doubt what’s coming next but the anticipation only grows when Jasmine shuffles to the table with her helpless load and permanently melts Vanilla Chill with an Ass Backwards Driver THROUGH THE TABLE.
Ass Backwards Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIrXluxc6VU )
The crowd groans piteously as Kylie’s sent through, ending splayed and lifeless among the splinters. A supremely satisfied Jasmine remains seated in front of the unconscious Kylie, reveling in her moment. She leisurely spins and covers the remnants of Vanilla Chill in a lateral press, hooking a leg for show and getting the anticlimactic…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEE!!!
J-Dogg remains atop the comatose Kylie, having defended her Hotlanta Street Fight cred and claimed Chill’s street name to toss in the trash bin of history. Jasmine uses Ky’s flaccid body to push to her feet. She stares down at Kylie, pointing and barking.
“You ain’t nothin’ but a Wonder Bread loser from Iowa now, girlfriend. I done showed Da Man who’s the Da Show and who’s is his bytch!”
The announcer makes things official with his call. “Your winner by pinfall, J-DOGG Jasmine Washington!”
Wash plants a boot sole on the softly rolling chest of her victim.
“But ya know,” Jas continues. “Since I got ya here in front of all these nice people. And since you said I drive a Prius. Bytch. I’m gonna give ya what ya deserve and end your scrawny little ass right now.”
With Castle departed, Jasmine’s free to dispatch Kylie in any way she sees fit and with the full backing of the crowd. But as she starts to lift her ragdoll, a ruckus collects attention on the ramp and another denizen of Pleasant Valley is racing to the ring.
On bare feet, sprints the Buns of Mass Destruction champion, Cassava Onika. The young lioness flashes down the ramp with the fervor of a mother saving her child from a rabid dog! Dressed to brawl in her ring gear of pink booty shorts and a white beater top with a visible red bra underneath, it’s fibers straining to contain the cocoa mountains jostling with each pumping stride.
CASSAVA ONIKA
The last remaining member of the defunct Kylie Corps hollers, “Get away from her, you bitch!”
As she completes a running slide into the ring and Cassava jumps to her feet, somehow already mid-swing with the first of a baker’s dozen of haymakers. Jasmine drops her former ‘mentor’ callously on the canvas the moment she sees the Swimfan remake coming, meeting her bottom-heavy foil fist for fist. The two trade rapid-fire punches as the FAWNatics go wild for this meeting of possible future BMD rivals.
Cassava is wild in her attack, no technique or strategy, just throwing everything she has to repel this ungrateful parasite of Saint Kylie Sanders. Jasmine’s landing fewer shots but hitting more effectively, turning Cassava’s head with knuckledusters.
However, she’s finished a full match less than a minute ago and is in no shape to take on this enraged stalker. J-Dogg grunting as she forced back.
"Gawd damnunugh! Stupid assgeh! Why are you-!"
Jasmine ducks a right cross and escapes to Onika's back, digging an elbow into her liver as she passes. Cassava falters “Eergh!” and lurches forward. Washington takes her by the scruff of the neck and the hem of the shorts, really yanking up on the latter to give the intruder a wedgying thong.
Jasmine uses her new leash to turn Onika around and starts giving her the bum’s rush out of the ring, “You gotta learn to mind your own business, bootlicker! This doesn’t concern-”
CRACK!
Cassava withstands the severe wrench of her bottoms to strike Jasmine on the chin with an upward palm thrust! Rocked, Jasmine’s hands drop to her sides and instinctively she backs up a few steps, fencepost style.
Cassava snatches her by the wrist and whips her into the ropes, Jas turning in time to save her precious puppies but she has to grab the top rope and rapidly bicycle her feet to stop herself from a steep fall to the outside. Unfortunately for her, the moment her boots touch the ground, Jasmine is blasted from the ring by a HIGH-powered Hip Attack! Onika gives Washington a running Rear End that swallows her face before the victor of the match is sent over the top rope from the sheer force in The BMD’s gold-bearing glutes.
Washington throws a hand out saving her from a painful stop on the apron but still lands in a loud heap on the padded concrete. Shaking her disheveled but lovely ebony locks out of her face, Jasmine points an accusing finger at Cassava as she gets off the floor.
“Jumping me before I could put that flat-assed Karen out to pasture doesn’t undo my win! If she gets the nerve to step up again, I’ll send her to the retirement home!”
Cassava grips the top rope so hard with her left hand the knuckles whiten. She points back, spitting with anger.
“You should be kissing the ground of the path Miss Sanders trailblazed you ungrateful brat! You would have been a Jungle lifer without her giving you the spotlight!”
J-Dogg barks back, “Farmgirl was just leeching off my spotlight! She lost hers a long while back, and if you put your nose in my business again, I’ll bury it between my cheeks!”
With that threat, Jasmine turns and marches up the ramp with a gait that highlights her bootyliciousness, leaving through the curtains with a parting slap to her ass. Cassava curls a lip, unimpressed.
“Please. Bates at her worst outclasses you at your best, so I’m better than both of you.”
With the threat gone, Onika whirls back to check on the sleeping Sanders. Her mood doing a one-eighty from enraged to distressingly concerned for the Hawkeye’s welfare. Cassava runs to her side, dropping to skid the last foot of rough canvas on her bare knees.
Her hands clench and unclench rapidly as she hovers over Kylie’s insensate form, her eyes scanning every inch of her idol’s body and (to her) angelic face.
“WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo? Chest compression?” she chitters.
Cassava opens her trembling hand an inch away from Sanders’ slowly heaving chest. The cascading boos Cassava pays no attention to briefly shift to a mix of catcalls.
Not trusting herself to not indulge (correctly) Cassava pulls back.
She squeaks, “Maybe CPR?” Cassava leans in close, her quivering lips inching closer and closer to- “whahappun...?”
Cassava whips back like she’s scalded, seeing Kylie has regained consciousness without mouth to mouth and potentially tongue to tongue contact. Grimacing, the now former Vanilla Chill presses a hand against the mat and pushes to a seat. Her first semi-conscious thoughts being {i}when did Jasmine dye her hair?[/i] and were her boobs always that big?
The woman of 1000 Hip Attacks turns nursemaid, lightly brushing the looser tacks from Kylie’s body.
“Don’t worry Miss Sanders I’m here for you! We’re gonna fix you up!”
Cassava treats her idol like she’s made of glass; carrying her off the ring apron to a seat on the steel steps, then putting Kylie’s arm over her shoulders to help her up the ramp to the back. As Kylie regains her wits, she grows more and more confused by the young lioness’s presence and worried she’s fallen into the hands of a Miriam Gaiman in sheep’s clothing. Sanders can feel Onika’s finger grip and caress wherever she touches like she wants to remember it later.
What she doesn’t notice is the fellow Pleasant Valley citizen sneaking little sniffs of her hair as they walk up the ramp. An incredulous fan in the front tries to make the empirical babyface see reason “Why are you helping that troll?! She’s-”
Cassava kicks the guardrail so hard it nearly comes loose. She shrieks “How much has this woman suffered for you?! Show some damn respect!”
The FAWNatics treat the pair of pint-sized grapplers like a wild bear and back away slowly. Kylie observes this interaction a bit detached, raw from her loss to her Hot and Bothered junior. This psycho though… might be an upgrade in loyalty at least.
Glancing back at Onika’s buns Kylie suffers some slight PTSD as memories of Bates and now Washington runs through her mind. Might be a step up there too…
“Cassava, Hot and Bothered may be willing to review applicants at this time.”
The nearly manic smile that takes over the dyed blonde’s face makes Kylie feel the tiniest amount of regret.
The Platinum Pixie must be weary as the most frightful night of the FAWN calendar All Hallows’ Evil is reached, so busy is she throwing people under any bus she can find.
The usual suspects include head ref Nick Castle, the American Idol Lady Liberty, who led her team to victory and the California Angel Colleen O’Neal, the Ginger Genius who made Kylie tap out her surrender, Sanders captured in the redhead’s Golden Gate.
But tonight’s public enemy #1 showed herself in the aftermath of the after-match. A woman Sanders claims is so despicable there aren’t words to describe how low a bytch her former partner J-Dogg turned out to be.
In the weeks following Mania, the silver-bobbed siren makes sure every microphone within reach is filled with her voice and hatred directed at the woman she’d plucked from obscurity and made relevant. Only for Washington to somehow get the impression, H&B’s losses weren’t anyone’s but Jasmine’s fault.
Sanders continually lists the ways Wash failed the team, mostly ignoring follow-up questions about what happened after she tapped her surrender to Colleen when a furious Jasmine, rage unleashed, destroyed Kylie with TWO Backasswards Drivers, leaving Sanders pale putty carted out to the cheers of the Mania throng.
Hardly surprisingly, the Badass responds in her own inimitable manner, gettin’ steamy on the mic and having her lawyers get a contract finalized in record time with what Bethany Christian called the perfect AHE stipulation, the first ever “Keepin’ It Real’ Hotlanta Street Fight. The winner would have to give up her street name for ever, either Vanilla Chill melting and dripping into a gutter sewer or J-Dogg getting spayed and put in the Pound.
The sound of Iggy gettin’ ‘Fancy’ lets the FAWNatics know which combatant will take her position in the weaponized boulevard battle tonight, the woman every wrestling addict loves to hate called to the field first.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
The assembled let loose with their usual barrage of animosity. But there’s also a hint of joviality, Kylie’s Mania nightmare fresh in their mind and every one of them determined to keep it foremost in the thoughts of the Pleasant Valley Pariah.
Though many question Sanders’ ability and even more her ethical indiscretions, no one can deny her power to stir passion. She immediately brings the crowd to a boil, the collective hate moving like a presence toward the silvery-bobbed, elfin beauty as she moves to center stage.
KYLIE SANDERS
Vanilla seems anything but Chill. She’d first refused even facing Washington, declaring herself at another level Jasmine hadn’t earned the right to face. With suspensions and fines threatened, Ky spun to a position that in fact it was J-Dogg who was trying to avoid her and that it was SHE, not the Badass who demanded street fight rules.
As Kylie moves down the ramp and aisle, the trepidation in the hazel eyes of the FAWN original seems to tell a different story.
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. For the last time? Kylie motions to the message, making certain everyone knows they’re going to leave disappointed.
“I’m Chill now and always!”
FAWN’s Most Hated reaches the ring, the stage where she holds the record for most wins of any FAWN wrestler but also and more so the most defeats. The Hawkeye climbs the steps and demands Castle open the ropes for her.
Nick knows well enough to listen or he’ll be hearing it all night. 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.
“I SAID SHUT UP!” she screams at the multitude then tries to ignore them.
“IT’S THAT DAMN DOGG THAT KEEPS FRONTIN’. I TELL DA MAN WHERE TO GO! AND I’M PUTTIN HER ON A LEASH AND WALKIN’ HER OUTTA HERE ON ALL FOURS!”
Sanders throws the stick aside and moves to the far corner in a huff, the crowd giving themselves a hand.
The announcer lets the fans wear themselves out before interrupting.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit and is a Hotlanta Street Fight. From Pleasant Valley, Iowa, standing 5’4” tall and weighing in at 110 pounds, the Platinum Pixie…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders.”
The pounding boos barely have time to bury a sneering Sanders when the music of her opponent fills the arena and the jeers turn to cheers.
Jasmine V’s soft melodic ’That’s Me Right There’ fills the arena bowl and the crowd’s collective gaze turns to the upper stage. Wash pushes through to face the woman she’d partnered with for years but slowly learned is a plant by Da Man to keep her down, a whitebread weight around her ankles.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tEyAAniu5U&index=36&list=PLFgquLnL59anjMBFmfztjKvngIUN1F987 )
JASMINE WASHINGTON
The Dogg Pound is more than a few barking fans tonight, but the gorgeous African-American grappler is barely acknowledging them as she moves to center stage, her eyes then an index finger pointed at Chill.
Starting down the ramp, J-Dogg flashes signs and shakes dat incredible ass, Washington smirking at the love she’s receiving, apparently considering it as fake as some bleached blonde, Snow White from Iowa playin’ like she got skillz.
Dressed in a tiny black hoodie, (black version of the following: i2.photobucket.com/albums/y32/biggerb/Jasmine-clothing.jpg~original ), Dogg angrily snaps her head back to clear the hood, her shoulder-length ebony locks brought into view. She waggles her way down the aisle as if she owns the place, her face pinching with disgust when shying away from the extended hands of the crowd, determined to keep her focus on Da Man’s pretend playa, ready to leave the chapter she played second fiddle to a craptastic Karen in her rear view mirror.
Beneath the woman wears camo boy-cut trunks (http://s2.photobucket.com/user/biggerb/media/Jasmine-clothing%20below.jpg.html ) which accentuate her bootylicious backside all the more. Below are black pads and boots.
Reaching the ring, Wash hops to the apron and swishes her rump from side to side. She dips and slides through the ropes, the ring announcer taking that as his cue.
“And her opponent from Hotlanta, G to the A. Standing five feet, five inches tall and weighing in at 125 pounds. She’s was the Hot in H&B and now she’s the baddest damn Dogg in the yard…Jasmine Washington.”
Jas swivels her badonka-donk through a pirouette, lifting a double-barreled, middle finger salute at her former partner as she backpedals to the buckles opposite the Platinum Pixie.
The bell rings and instantly Wash is off like a sprinter across the ring, the wide-eyed Sanders dipping and pushing her upper half through the ropes, screaming at Castle to keep the Dogg on a leash.
Kylie grins at the crowd in front of her while the FAWNatics jeering her cowardice.
“You people know I led this ungrateful bytch to the only relevance she’s ever known,” Ky shouts as she slips back in, her gaze still on the losers.
“And I’m going to put her back where she startAHHHHH”
Sanders howls in pain as Jasmine’s been standing right behind her. Castle not having moved from his original spot with no rules to enforce. The Dogg snatches Kylie by her platinum bob and drags Chill toward the middle, Ky’s hands wrapping around the wrists of the Badass as she tries to extricate herself.
“STAHHHHP,” Kylie wails, pleading with Castle to intervene.
The man shrugs. “Street fight, Sanders,” he reminds.
J-Dogg’s ready to take a bite out of her pale chew toy, spinning Vanilla to face her and show her Chill the truth, that the Badass from Hotlanta has far surpassed her.
But Ky’s right hand flashes to Jasmine’s dark eyes like silver lightning. She drags her nails across, drawing a shriek and a steady stream of curses from Washington as the African-American grappler turns and staggers away, furiously rubbing at her eyes.
“I taught you everything you know,” Sanders growls as she closes from behind on the blinded warrior. “Not everything I know.”
Jas spins and throws an unsighted clothesline Sanders ducks. Now behind Jasmine again, FAWN’s Most Hated sends a stomp into the pit of J-Dogg’s right knee, collapsing her foe, forcing her puppy to genuflect in front of her.
“You BETTER pray,” Ky informs. “Thinking you can humiliate me and on my special night? That’s a whole different Kylie who accepts that treatment. Ya got Chill on your hands, girl.”
Kylie raises a pointed elbow and drives it into the lowered crown of her former partner’s skull. The impact sends Jasmine into an unsteady wobble, lids blinking over still watery and now somewhat glazed peepers.
Turning, Sanders races to the ropes behind her and rebounds. She sprints at Wash, J-Dogg still on one knee, and THUMPS her foe with a dropkick to the back of the head. The face of the Badass whips forward and CRASHES into the thinly-sheathed plywood, bouncing off the deck in a fashion hard enough to draw a sympathetic groan from the crowd.
Instead of hopping to her feet the Platinum Pixie rolls under the ropes, dropping her boot soles to the floor. She lifts the ring apron, ready to start the Street Party.
Finding a treasure trove, Ky pulls out a couple chairs and throws them in. A ‘Stop’ sign follows close behind and the ever-present kendo stick joins the FAWN original as she reenters. Jasmine pushes to hands and knees as the Hawkeye reaches her feet, Ky’s weapon in hand and smirk firmly planted, creasing her Cupid’s Arrow lips.
With her former partner teed up, Sanders doesn’t waste time. She raises the stick high and THWACKS it down across the café-au-lait-hued back of the Badass. The impact echoes as Jas arches in pain from the blow.
“How dare you believe you get the last word between us?” the Iowan asks. “You’re going to plead for me to take you back!”
THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.
A trifecta of attacks crashes across Jas’ spine, the last one sending her flat to the canvas. She rolls to her back to protect the aching expanse. Wincing, J-Dogg holds up a pleading hand, drawing a chuckle from Sanders.
“I taught you that one too,” Kylie says, brandishing her slightly bent weapon.
Sanders leaps atop Jasmine, landing in a kneeling straddle of Wash’s waist. Having grabbed either end of the kendo stick, she presses the middle against Jasmine’s throat, trying to collapse her windpipe. Washington flails in breathless agony, trying fitfully to press the stick from across her neck, gasping and bug-eyed.
Unable to budge the weapon, Wash instead rocks from side to side, finally exchanging positions, J-Dogg scrambling to a top straddle. Jas slowly but surely presses the kendo stick toward the gullet of a frightful Kylie when Sanders halves her grip, sending the tips of her right set of fingers into the reddened throat of her former partner.
A gagging Jasmine rolls off and away. She pushes to her feet and stumbles to a corner, leaning in to remain upright, unaware Kylie’s right on her tail. Dipping a shoulder, the Platinum Pixie SPEARS the open abdomen of the Dogg, gutting Jasmine, folding her foe between the top and middle ropes.
Removing her buried shoulder, Sanders draws Washington out with her and paintbrushes her former partner, the slap reverberating through the ring. The Hawkeye scoops the bigger woman up under the thighs and lifts her to a seat on the top buckle.
Kylie grabs Jasmine’s wrists and crosses them while she turns to face away from the Badass. Preternaturally having known exactly where the ‘Stop’ sign’s placed, Chill has her arrow and her bullseye. Forcing forward both with her body and arms, Sanders flips Jas off her perch, sending her CRASHING across the steel of the street sign with a perfectly-executed Iconoclasm.
Iconoclasm ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlDWO254zdQ ).
Landing in a seat at the splayed Jasmine’s head, Vanilla drapes her extended ivory and abbreviated stems over Wash’s biceps, her palms pushing down on J-Dogg’s shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The Badass kicks free, but there’s hardly a cheer for the escape, the AHE crowd placed in a sour mood by Kylie’s unexpected command.
Neither is Sanders happy, popping to her feet and getting in Castle’s grill for his slow count.
“You just put this bytch in the hospital,” Ky shouts. “That’s on you!”
Chill pushes past the man and plucks a chair off the canvas. She unfolds it and places it a few feet from the stirring Washington then collects her former partner, tugging Jasmine to unsteady feet, surrounding her noggin in a front facelock.
“Time to put you down for good, Dogg.”
But before Kylie can DDT the Badass onto the steel seatpan, Wash finds some life, plugging a set of short rights into the left side of the Hawkeye, loosening Sanders’ grip.
J-Dogg pulls her head loose and NAILS Chill with a leaping enziguri kick to the temple of the Platinum Pixie. The resilient Sanders staggers through a pirouette but remains upright if ending doubled at the waist, eyes blinking wide.
Working on instinct, Jasmine backpedals to the ropes behind her and rebounds. Wash leaps with her right leg raised high, curling it over the back of Kylie’s head and SMASHING Sanders’ face into the metal folding furniture with a Jazzasser.
Jazzasser ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONbf4k4DXjU ) 00:05
The brutal impact is enough to draw a sympathetic groan even from Kylie’s haters. Her body whiplashes away from the collision, ending in a wide spreadeagle, eyes staring blankly at the lights above.
Washington pushes the mangled chair aside and dives across the splayed frame of Vanilla Chill, the crowd counting along as one with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Ky shoves a shoulder up, showing determination is her one redeeming quality. J-Dogg, knowing that characteristic resides in her former teammate, still seems surprised at the recovery, but ready for the task to take Chill’s will away.
She flattens the battered chair then sidles behind Sanders, taking a seat as the platinum blonde pushes to one in front of her. Jasmine snakes her arms under and around those of Vanilla, securing a full nelson. She tugs the weakly struggling Sanders close between the wedge of her thighs then wraps a scissors around the waist of the FAWN original.
“Time to remind these people who’s got the booty,” Jas whispers in Kylie’s ear.
Jasmine leans back, lifting Ky into the air in front of her. When the blonde’s taut little behind is pointed to the rafters, Washington thrusts her pelvis up, forward then down, SPIKING Kylie’s can into the thinly-sheathed plywood with an atomic-sized keister bounce. Kylie’s hazel eyes go wide, her jaw dropping open from the pain in her tailbone. But J-Dogg is FAR from done, leaning back, ripping Sanders off the deck again, and repeating the process a second and third time, Kylie’s cheeks and coccyx throbbing, her eyes welling from the landings.
Jasmine releases her nelson and Ky’s hands immediately shoot to her rump, slipping underneath and massaging her backside as a grinning Jas rises and flashes signs at the cheering crowd, Washington warming to the relative embrace she’s receiving from the throng.
Wash’s support only grows when she piefaces the top of Ky’s silvery bob as Sanders makes it to all fours.
“All the time you thought you were using me,” Wash pronounces, “sorry girl, I was the brains AND the brawn of the outfit.”
Jasmine mounts the back of Kylie’s head, surrounding it in a standing, forward-facing scissors. She grabs Ky’s arms at the elbows and lifts them high and wide. Pivoting slightly, she rotates Sanders’ face over the chair and lets Chill consider the consequences before making them real. Jas drops to her knees, sending Ky’s elfin features barreling into the seatpan once again.
Scissors Facebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJlzoMSSYfg )
Washington rolls the lifeless Sanders to her back and mounts her in a schoolgirl pin for the certain…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Somehow the high-riding J-Dogg is dislodged enough by an instinctual kickout for Chill to slip out of the pin, breaking Castle’s count and keeping the street fight underway.
Jas looks over her shoulder in amazement at the splayed blonde. Having seen Sanders take punishment, it apparently seems different when she’s surviving it at your hands.
With Ky rolling to her side but seemingly stuck, unable to make it closer to vertical, Jasmine slides outside, dropping her feet to the floor and looking under the skirt. She emerges with a table, sliding it out from under, then under the bottom rope to the great delight of the FAWNatics.
But Jasmine takes another peek and seems to find something else to her liking, returning with a small bag of unknown contents in one hand and a trash can in the other. She tosses the steel cylinder in and brings in the handful-sized cloth sack in with her, placing it softly in a corner before retrieving the container that would see the removal of the white trash.
Kylie pushes to unsteady feet as Jasmine grabs the can from the canvas, raising it overhead with both hands, ready to bring the side down on the crown of the Hawkeye’s head.
The reviled but resourceful Sanders comes to life, shooting a toe kick into the café-au-lait-hued tummy of the Dogg. The gutting boot sends the can dribbling from Jasmine’s fingertips, an arm swaddles her aching midsection. Ky lifts a knee into the lowered chin of her former partner, straightening the Dogg and putting her in an unsteady vacancy, Jas wobbling.
Sanders dips a head between the jellied legs of her foe, wrapping her arms around either lower limb. Showing the adrenaline is free and flowing within the Platinum Pixie, Chill lifts the Dogg off her feet, shifting Washington over her shoulders until she’s partially draping down Kylie’s back, Sanders’ arms tight behind Jasmine’s knees.
Finding the contorted chair that said ‘howdy’ to her face a couple times, Vanilla sets her stance in front of the metal and delivers a writhing Jasmine’s spine to the devilish device with her signature Sit-out Waterwheel Slam.
Sit-out Waterwheel ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMQKpMgwui8 ) 00:16
With the Badass out on her ass in front of her parted stems, Chill controls her foe’s legs as Castle drops to the canvas and counts out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
It’s Wash’s turn to show her stuff, shoving a shoulder up from the battered remains of the chair and the mat underneath.
Kylie’s hands shoot to her platinum mop. She runs her fingers through her bobbed strands in disbelief, glancing up at Nick but then grumbling at the reality her former partner kicked free in time. She tosses the muscular stems away in frustration and rises, looking over the landscape as she draws in some deep breaths.
The glint of the steel trashcan catches Kylie’s hazel peepers and she’s drawn to it. Plucking it off the mat, she turns with a weary but blossoming smile toward the slowly recovering Jasmine, who’s made it to a seated position.
The Dogg’s world goes black as Ky stuffs the can over her foe’s head and shoulders. With Washington’s top half squirming within the container, Sanders kicks what’s left of a chair aside and hustles to the far ropes. She rebounds and leaps into a low dropkick to the can and its contents, knocking both flat to the deck. The Platinum Pixie rises with a grimace and takes a seat on the dented container, demanding Castle count. He hesitates.
“Sorry Kylie, but you have to have some contact with Jasmine to consider it a pin.”
“Are you rulebooking me? ME?”
The man shrugs. “I guess so.”
A furious, snorting Sanders lifts her cheeks from the can, moves to Jasmine’s ankles and pulls her out. She drops to a lateral press, hooking a leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Washington shoves a shoulder up, sending Sanders to all fours above her and into a fit. She stares lasers through the zebra.
“That’s TWO strikes, Castle! You don’t want to see what happens with three.”
Kylie’s hazel eyes cast around the ring, weaponry available in all manners but Sanders keeps it simple, snatching a chair of the unused variety. Jasmine, having flipped to her chest, is crawling toward the ropes. The Pleasant Valley Pariah marches after her former partner. Raising the chair, Chill uses the bowed top end of the folding furniture, CRASHING the metal into Jasmine’s left thigh, the muscular meat of Washington’s hamstring taking the brunt of the blow.
Clearly enjoying herself and the toothy grimace from her foe, Ky RAMS the top ridge into the leg just below the curve of J-Dogg’s ample gluteus.
“YOU…DON’T…GIVE…UP…ON…ME!” Ky shouts in time to thumping, stabbing chair shots, finally tossing the battered frame away.
“I GIVE UP ON YOU!”
With that order verbalized, Sanders drops to a reverse kneeling straddle of Jasmine’s waist. Everyone seems to know what’s coming and the FAWNatics almost beat Vanilla to the punch, or in this case, claw.
“FARM…HAND” they chant as one.
The Platinum Pixie raises a clenching right hand high, Jas groaning beneath her then yipping as Kylie DIGS her digits DEEP into the meat of Jasmine’s hammy, CLAMPING her signature submission in place then ‘chewing’.
“Scream it for me,” Kylie shouts, demanding Wash surrender to her hammy clamp.
Despite mewls and yelps, her left leg becoming progressively paralyzed by the infamous impaling talons, Jasmine shakes her head when Castle invites her to quit.
“Casper don’t got it in her,” the Badass growls at Nick, perhaps imaging the humiliation of losing to White Bread in her own Hotlanta Street Fight.
An infuriated Kylie leans her left hand on top of the tearing right then her body weight over that, crunching her clamp into the muscle and the nerve bundle beneath, making Jasmine’s leg look leaden. Washington wails in pain, grasping at her ebony locks and yanking to spread the pain, but she shakes her head when Castle offers relief in tandem with defeat.
Convinced this Dogg needs moreto learn how to heel, Sanders pulls her tines free and grabs both of Washington’s wrists as she rises. She places a boot between the shoulderblades of her former faux friend and lifts J-Dogg’s upper half off the canvas.
Jasmine’s dark eyes go wide. It seems she’s about to plead her case when Kylie sends her face flush to the canvas with a curbstomp, leaving Jas a shuddering husk.
“Do y’all get it now,” Chill bellows at the crowd. “Dis girl from da burbs. Yeah. Ya didn’t know?”
Ky shakes her head.
“Man, ya know I ain’t frontin’. She drives a damn Prius.”
Jasmine’s head rises slightly, Washington rattling it, awareness slowly reentering her battered gray matter.
Leaving Washington for the moment, Sanders strolls to the table J-Dogg brought in the squared circle some time ago. Chill thanks Wash for her thoughtfulness and sets up one end then the other, cutting off a corner with the fully placed table.
“Time to serve my revenge the best way,” the Platinum Pixie barks, grabbing Jasmine by her ebony locks and harshly yanking the Dogg to unsteady feet.
“And ya know that’s chilly!” Ky concludes.
Ky dips and slips an arm between the rubbery stems of the African-American star-in-the making, ready to prove there was only ever one luminary of H&B. Sanders ‘hups’ Jasmine across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and takes the few steps to the table. Pivoting so she’s parallel, Kylie readies Jasmine’s trip to Chilly Valley.
Chilly Valley Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=96YGwFdN9K8 ) 00:14
But before Chill can send J-Dogg into the Valley, Jas begins frantically pumping elbows into Ky’s temple. A half-dozen hitting the mark gets her out of the predicament, Washington sliding down the back of the startled Hawkeye.
Sanders spins, searching for her lost cargo. The Platinum Pixie finds all too much of it as, after having touched ground, Washington immediately leaps into a spinning tornado kick, PLOWING her boot into the side of Sanders’ skull.
Tornado Kick ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=6pYZu4pMoB8 ) 1:57
Kylie’s cranium whips in a 180 simultaneous to the sickening thud of the impact. Defrosting Chill with her kick, Washington scrambles to her feet as she watches Ky go board stiff, arms falling to her sides. The ivory-skinned Iowan timbers to the deck to the roar of the crowd, ending in a wide single file.
Wash’s eyes go wide at the sight, perhaps not realizing how flush she’s caught Kylie. Despite pleas from the crowd, Jasmine passes on a pin, instead walking to the cloth bag and collecting it in a palm. She strides to center stage, opens the bag and spreads a couple hundred tacks across the canvas.
Immediately, the excitement in the crowd raises multiple levels, a smirking Dogg nodding her head at the FAWNatics.
“Time to puncture this bytch’s balloon.”
Washington strides to the dumbfounded Hawkeye, sinking a set of digits into the silvery bob of a legend.
“Get yo ass up, Karen,” Jas barks, hauling a rubbery Chill to unsteady feet. “Da man don’t give a shyt about your tiny lil’ ass anymore. He got bigger worries. Namely the Dogg!”
As if determined to prove it, Jasmine dips and scoops the waylaid Kylie up and spins her onto her right shoulder. Beaming, the Badass pivots and BODY SLAMS Sanders into the tack-filled expanse. The ring rattles with the collision of spine to mat and the air fills with shrieks from a suddenly revived Platinum Pixie. Kylie flails on the deck as if 10,000 volts enters her system, Washington stepping back to watch with pride the spasms of her former partner.
Vanilla Chill’s face is twisted in pain as she pushes to her feet, trying to reach behind her and brush out some of the dozens of tacks embedded in her alabaster back and taut cheeks.
Mightily distracted with the impaling, needle-like points, Ky doesn’t notice as Wash unfolds half of the nearby table’s legs and props it in a corner in a low angle diagonal of about 30 degrees.
Wash returns to the woman she intends to ruin. Grabbing her foe’s right wrist, she heaves Chill to the ropes. Kylie rebounds, racing at a stationed Jasmine, who spins and leaps into the air in front of Vanilla, knocking the senses from Sanders with her ass-tastic Rear End.
Rear End ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEFvAjqn7M8 )
Ky’s noggin whiplashes away from the Badass, the back of her skull thumping against the deck, her back again landing across some leftover tacks, only fueling the pain and adding at least a dozen more steel push-pins into her back.
Even with more entering her flesh, the force of the Rear End has Kylie in a stupor on Dream Street, the pain of the tacks unable to fully revive her.
A glowing J-Dogg plucks what’s left of her former partner off the spiked mat floor. Jasmine ducks her head between the front of the abbreviated ivory stems of her shellshocked foe, Ky in no state to stop her. Washington’s arms wrap around the pits of Sanders’ knees and she easily lifts Vanilla Chill, Kylie ending draped down the back of the Dogg.
There’s no doubt what’s coming next but the anticipation only grows when Jasmine shuffles to the table with her helpless load and permanently melts Vanilla Chill with an Ass Backwards Driver THROUGH THE TABLE.
Ass Backwards Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIrXluxc6VU )
The crowd groans piteously as Kylie’s sent through, ending splayed and lifeless among the splinters. A supremely satisfied Jasmine remains seated in front of the unconscious Kylie, reveling in her moment. She leisurely spins and covers the remnants of Vanilla Chill in a lateral press, hooking a leg for show and getting the anticlimactic…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEE!!!
J-Dogg remains atop the comatose Kylie, having defended her Hotlanta Street Fight cred and claimed Chill’s street name to toss in the trash bin of history. Jasmine uses Ky’s flaccid body to push to her feet. She stares down at Kylie, pointing and barking.
“You ain’t nothin’ but a Wonder Bread loser from Iowa now, girlfriend. I done showed Da Man who’s the Da Show and who’s is his bytch!”
The announcer makes things official with his call. “Your winner by pinfall, J-DOGG Jasmine Washington!”
Wash plants a boot sole on the softly rolling chest of her victim.
“But ya know,” Jas continues. “Since I got ya here in front of all these nice people. And since you said I drive a Prius. Bytch. I’m gonna give ya what ya deserve and end your scrawny little ass right now.”
With Castle departed, Jasmine’s free to dispatch Kylie in any way she sees fit and with the full backing of the crowd. But as she starts to lift her ragdoll, a ruckus collects attention on the ramp and another denizen of Pleasant Valley is racing to the ring.
On bare feet, sprints the Buns of Mass Destruction champion, Cassava Onika. The young lioness flashes down the ramp with the fervor of a mother saving her child from a rabid dog! Dressed to brawl in her ring gear of pink booty shorts and a white beater top with a visible red bra underneath, it’s fibers straining to contain the cocoa mountains jostling with each pumping stride.
CASSAVA ONIKA
The last remaining member of the defunct Kylie Corps hollers, “Get away from her, you bitch!”
As she completes a running slide into the ring and Cassava jumps to her feet, somehow already mid-swing with the first of a baker’s dozen of haymakers. Jasmine drops her former ‘mentor’ callously on the canvas the moment she sees the Swimfan remake coming, meeting her bottom-heavy foil fist for fist. The two trade rapid-fire punches as the FAWNatics go wild for this meeting of possible future BMD rivals.
Cassava is wild in her attack, no technique or strategy, just throwing everything she has to repel this ungrateful parasite of Saint Kylie Sanders. Jasmine’s landing fewer shots but hitting more effectively, turning Cassava’s head with knuckledusters.
However, she’s finished a full match less than a minute ago and is in no shape to take on this enraged stalker. J-Dogg grunting as she forced back.
"Gawd damnunugh! Stupid assgeh! Why are you-!"
Jasmine ducks a right cross and escapes to Onika's back, digging an elbow into her liver as she passes. Cassava falters “Eergh!” and lurches forward. Washington takes her by the scruff of the neck and the hem of the shorts, really yanking up on the latter to give the intruder a wedgying thong.
Jasmine uses her new leash to turn Onika around and starts giving her the bum’s rush out of the ring, “You gotta learn to mind your own business, bootlicker! This doesn’t concern-”
CRACK!
Cassava withstands the severe wrench of her bottoms to strike Jasmine on the chin with an upward palm thrust! Rocked, Jasmine’s hands drop to her sides and instinctively she backs up a few steps, fencepost style.
Cassava snatches her by the wrist and whips her into the ropes, Jas turning in time to save her precious puppies but she has to grab the top rope and rapidly bicycle her feet to stop herself from a steep fall to the outside. Unfortunately for her, the moment her boots touch the ground, Jasmine is blasted from the ring by a HIGH-powered Hip Attack! Onika gives Washington a running Rear End that swallows her face before the victor of the match is sent over the top rope from the sheer force in The BMD’s gold-bearing glutes.
Washington throws a hand out saving her from a painful stop on the apron but still lands in a loud heap on the padded concrete. Shaking her disheveled but lovely ebony locks out of her face, Jasmine points an accusing finger at Cassava as she gets off the floor.
“Jumping me before I could put that flat-assed Karen out to pasture doesn’t undo my win! If she gets the nerve to step up again, I’ll send her to the retirement home!”
Cassava grips the top rope so hard with her left hand the knuckles whiten. She points back, spitting with anger.
“You should be kissing the ground of the path Miss Sanders trailblazed you ungrateful brat! You would have been a Jungle lifer without her giving you the spotlight!”
J-Dogg barks back, “Farmgirl was just leeching off my spotlight! She lost hers a long while back, and if you put your nose in my business again, I’ll bury it between my cheeks!”
With that threat, Jasmine turns and marches up the ramp with a gait that highlights her bootyliciousness, leaving through the curtains with a parting slap to her ass. Cassava curls a lip, unimpressed.
“Please. Bates at her worst outclasses you at your best, so I’m better than both of you.”
With the threat gone, Onika whirls back to check on the sleeping Sanders. Her mood doing a one-eighty from enraged to distressingly concerned for the Hawkeye’s welfare. Cassava runs to her side, dropping to skid the last foot of rough canvas on her bare knees.
Her hands clench and unclench rapidly as she hovers over Kylie’s insensate form, her eyes scanning every inch of her idol’s body and (to her) angelic face.
“WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo? Chest compression?” she chitters.
Cassava opens her trembling hand an inch away from Sanders’ slowly heaving chest. The cascading boos Cassava pays no attention to briefly shift to a mix of catcalls.
Not trusting herself to not indulge (correctly) Cassava pulls back.
She squeaks, “Maybe CPR?” Cassava leans in close, her quivering lips inching closer and closer to- “whahappun...?”
Cassava whips back like she’s scalded, seeing Kylie has regained consciousness without mouth to mouth and potentially tongue to tongue contact. Grimacing, the now former Vanilla Chill presses a hand against the mat and pushes to a seat. Her first semi-conscious thoughts being {i}when did Jasmine dye her hair?[/i] and were her boobs always that big?
The woman of 1000 Hip Attacks turns nursemaid, lightly brushing the looser tacks from Kylie’s body.
“Don’t worry Miss Sanders I’m here for you! We’re gonna fix you up!”
Cassava treats her idol like she’s made of glass; carrying her off the ring apron to a seat on the steel steps, then putting Kylie’s arm over her shoulders to help her up the ramp to the back. As Kylie regains her wits, she grows more and more confused by the young lioness’s presence and worried she’s fallen into the hands of a Miriam Gaiman in sheep’s clothing. Sanders can feel Onika’s finger grip and caress wherever she touches like she wants to remember it later.
What she doesn’t notice is the fellow Pleasant Valley citizen sneaking little sniffs of her hair as they walk up the ramp. An incredulous fan in the front tries to make the empirical babyface see reason “Why are you helping that troll?! She’s-”
Cassava kicks the guardrail so hard it nearly comes loose. She shrieks “How much has this woman suffered for you?! Show some damn respect!”
The FAWNatics treat the pair of pint-sized grapplers like a wild bear and back away slowly. Kylie observes this interaction a bit detached, raw from her loss to her Hot and Bothered junior. This psycho though… might be an upgrade in loyalty at least.
Glancing back at Onika’s buns Kylie suffers some slight PTSD as memories of Bates and now Washington runs through her mind. Might be a step up there too…
“Cassava, Hot and Bothered may be willing to review applicants at this time.”
The nearly manic smile that takes over the dyed blonde’s face makes Kylie feel the tiniest amount of regret.