Post by hawkeye on Jan 5, 2021 2:12:51 GMT
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer began, bringing all eyes back to the stage. The crowd hushed, in a manner of speaking, the Season’s Beatings audience eager to welcome back the EurAsia Title to the Orlando PPV circuit. Anticipation was high, and the tension was ready to snap.
“The following contest will be for One Fall and for the EurAsia Title!! Introducing first, the Challenger, hailing from the Blue Side of Manchester, England, and coming in tonight at five foot four and one hundred thirty pounds, the Apex Enforcer, IRMA! IRONS!!”
BURY YOU
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLliftUOkmg
The moment the lyrics burst into life over the loud speakers, Iron’s stormed out into view, tearing through the curtains and striding down the ramp with a distinct lack of ceremony. Ceaseless aggression personified, the Weaponised Wolverine rolled her thick shoulders, the five pounds of body weight she had added since her last run in FAWN represented by additional, steel corded muscle lacing her frame, Irma on the cusp of her prime and looking more lethal than ever.
IRMA IRONS
As perpetually pissed off as a person could be, and still be considered functionally human, Irma tore a path down towards the squared circle that was undeviating from its course. She snorted, feeding off the bottomless pit of resentment that lived entrenched deep within her gut.
When the squared circle was almost within reach, Irma accelerated into a dash, all but throwing herself beneath the bottom rope and tucking into a roll, pushing back up onto her feet and marching on over to one corner. She slammed both of her fists down on the top turnbuckle before marching away, rapidly approaching the one opposite and repeating the process.
Blood pumping, Irma marched to centre ring, planting her flag and ducking low, a bull ready to charge as her renewed campaign to claim the EurAsia Title was coming to a head. Some had believed that she would have exercised a little more caution in steeping up to the current Champion.
Evidently, they could not have been more mistaken.
As the soundtrack for the Manchester Malcontent began to wind down, the Announcer stepped back in, preparing to fulfil his duties for the contest, and then get the f*ck out of dodge. Just as he was about to speak, however…
BAD THINGS
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKzwSsxkpTA
…began blaring from the loud speakers, and a curvy brunette emerged from behind the curtains when she was good and ready, strolling out into view and coming to a full stop at centre stage. In one hand, Lady Lydia Lethbridge brandished an elegantly crafted, gleaming, ebony cane, one tipped with a beautifully sculptured, silver forged wolfs head, glowering as though it had picked up the scent of blood. She planted it in the ground before her, clasping it imperiously with both palms, tipping up her chin up just so as she looked to the left with faint disregard, before offering the right the very same disdain, her dark, covetous eyes ultimately coming to a rest on the ring before her.
LADY LYDIA LETHBRIDGE
Standing in at five foot two and one hundred seventeen pounds, she flashed a grin of ill intent, one filled to overflowing with smug satisfaction as, from places forever left unknown, she procured a microphone. Remaining on the stage, she brought the stick up to her lips, her big, possessive eyes filled with vindication and delight.
“Breeders and Throwbacks,” she began, enduring the cascade of boos being rained down upon her before she flashed a near feral grin, one that was just barely masked by the barest veil of civility. “REJOICE!! For while your lives have been both grey and disappointing, in this most dismal hour I bring back to you your NEW, TRUE, EUROASIA CHAMPION!!. My calculated killer, YOUR Gaelic goddess!! CLEONA! FLYNN!!”
KILLER INSIDE OF ME
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-ykAnJRPiw
…emerged from the sound system and, all too soon, the Celtic Constrictor arrived on stage.
CLEONA FLYNN
She didn’t pause as she made her presence known. Standing in at five foot six and one hundred fifty-two pounds, the Redheaded Reaper cut an imposing silhouette as she marched down the ramp, not batting an eye as she passed her Ladyship on the stage and sought the most direct route possible to the squared circle. There was no ceremony in her stride as she zeroed in on her objective, stalwart and unflinching in the face of her amassed accolades, Cleona declaring neither fanfare nor boasts, regardless of the ten pounds of glorious, coveted strap she now carried slung over one shoulder. The EuroAsia Gold that she had torn from the possession of the beloved People’s Princess, Samantha Sinclair.
Lydia fell into step a few paces behind her hired help, setting off down the ramp at a stately pace. As she sauntered towards the squared circle, she thrust the head of her cane in the direction of those in the crowd that especially displeased her. There was no shortage of candidates, the FAWNatics not shy in showering her with scorn, and she marked out each and every one to be disciplined later.
With only a few yards separating Flynn from the ring, Cleona picked up the pace, the Scottish Sociopath leaping up onto the apron and, as if she were not the focus of the evening, sat down on the middle rope and lifted the top, waiting patiently for Lethbridge to join her.
Unhurried, Lydia ascended the steel steps, the Princess of Privilege ducking…
…Iron’s suddenly flew into view, the Personification of Pissed Off launching into a sprint and positively THROWING herself into a spear!! With Cleona still on the apron, she was GUTTED by Irma’s shoulder and all one hundred and thirty pounds of raw aggression behind it, causing the FAWNatics to gasp in surprise!
With a roar on Irma’s lips, Champion and Challenger collided in a moment of unexpected violence and, equally unprepared, Lady Lydia Lethbridge was caught up in the sudden collision as well. As Flynn was blasted backwards off her perch with Iron’s trailing, she collided with the Penthouse Belle, sending all three young women tumbling through the air to the barely padded concrete outside the ring!!
Not one of them landed well, crashing to the ground in a tangling of limbs and expelling a variety of curses, but only one of them had expected it. Irma, with the promise of violence in her eyes, pushed her way back up onto her feet and wiped the back of her hand across her lips.
With intent to do a great deal of harm, Iron’s zeroed in on her next target, grabbing the poleaxed and groaning Lethbridge by the back of her head and the belt of her outfit, bodily dragging her back up onto her feet before pivoting sharply on the spot. With a shout filled with venom from the duos previous encounter, Irma released her unwilling package at the last moment and TOSSED the smaller, curvier Brit into the utterly unyielding steel steps.
Several members of the audience covered their eyes as Lydia’s YELP accompanied the CLANG!! of her petitely packaged body colliding with the furniture, before she slumped to the ground in a dishevelled, disbelieving state, all sense of her oh so treasured poise deserting her for the time being.
Irma didn’t linger, blood pumping and exhaling sharply as, in a display of dominance, she pounded her fist against her chest, turning her attention back to Flynn. It hadn’t taken long for the Redheaded Reaper to find her feet, the Scot as redoubtable as a fortress, and as she pulled herself back up to vertical with an assist from the barriers, Iron’s was collecting the EurAsia Gold that the Champion had dropped during their tumble.
Without warning, Iron’s immediately turned that very same, coveted strap into a weapon, gripping it tightly before charging and, as Flynn turned about, SLAMMED!! it’s metal faceplate clean across the bigger Brits features. With winces all round from those in the front rows, Cleona’s head snapped sideways following the CLANG and stumbled for a full two steps. Somehow, with one hand still upon the barrier, she remained standing.
As formidable as her fortitude was, Flynn remained unsurprisingly dazed, Irma returning to her mere moments after tossing the EurAsia Title onto the apron. Grabbing Cleona by both the back of her neck and her jacket, Iron’s bulled the Gaelic Goddess away from the crowd and towards the squared circle, shoving her under the bottom rope to roll into the ring.
“Irma,” the Official for the contest remonstrated the Apex Enforcer, as if she were going to pay the blindest bit of deference to him.
“Shut up, Prick,” she growled back, cutting off whatever reprimand he had in mind before he could begin. She began to haul herself up onto the apron to enter the ring herself, barely paying attention to the man in black and white. “And ring the bell, this shit aint gonna get no prettier.”
“Irons,” the Official began, standing his ground despite his better judgement. “I’m not starting this match until I’m happy that…”
He didn’t finish, SHOVED aside from behind by a suddenly upright Flynn, the FAWNatics found themselves in the surprising position of shouting out a warning to, of all people, the Manchester Malcontent!! It arrived far too late, Cleona moving swiftly for her size and, as Irma’s eyes snapped open wide, Flynn delivered a monstrous Bicycle Kick that SLAMMED the sole of her boot into the smaller Brit’s chest!!
HIGHLAND KICK
www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8QKicPHF44
With a painful expulsion of air from her torso, Iron’s was felled like a tree, grunting and growling as she hit the deck in a winded heap, releasing a hacking cough as Flynn strode pass.
Following a near, nonchalant crack of her jaw and creak of her neck, Cleona shook out her shoulders and exhaled, behaving as though Irma’s early blitz had been a mild inconvenience. She reached down without comment, scraping the wheezing Iron’s off the deck, turning the Personification of Pissed Off about and Irish Whipping her towards the nearest corner.
Irma was able to turn at the last moment, absorbing the impact across her shoulders and yet, already winded, the Brit grimaced as her ribcage shuddered further. She almost had enough time to collect enough stolen breath to express some manner of unfavourable comment concerning Flynn’s parentage, but it died long before it could leave her lips as the Celtic Constrictor arrived at considerable velocity to deliver a hellacious Avalanche Slash!!
CRUSHED between one hundred and fifty-two pounds of hardbody power and the unflinching turnbuckles, Irma’s own impressive physique was rendered little more than flaccid for several seconds as her groan was as long as it was heartfelt. Unsteady on her feet, she was easy pickings for Cleona to grasp by the thighs, the Scot lifting her up high until her chiselled gut was tucked up and over the EurAsia Champions powerful shoulder.
Stepping back from the corner and turning about, the Redheaded Reaper carried her cargo to centre ring before, picking her spot, she PLANTED Irma back down onto the deck with a bone rattling Spinebuster!!
SPINEBUSTER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ1DnhlDEM0
Irma bounced a good two inches before coming down to rest, growling and groaning as her chest rose and fell in pain, perhaps unaccustomed to being the smaller woman in the ring.
“Cleona,” the Official once again attempted to impose himself on proceedings, “I understand that you’re upset, but the match hasn’t started yet and…”
DING! DING!!
The bell sounded, cutting him off in mid protest, the man in black and white looking to the Time Keeper in confusion. Whom he found at that position only filled him with further puzzlement, Lady Lethbridge positively seething as she nursed her aching neck from behind the furniture as she scowled at the Official, threatening to begin spitting venom with her every utterance.
“Lydia…” the zebra valiantly attempted, before being immediately cowed for his efforts.
“SHUSH!!” the Princess of Privilege cut him off. “I am the authority here, Cretin!! You are a means to my end, and nothing more. Call the contest, or that sewer rat will be taking a direct route to the morgue!!”
“I,” the Official stammered before, caught by indecision, he inevitably relented. “Alright, fine, but by the book from now on.”
If Lethbridge was still sparing him even the scantest slither of attention, she didn’t show it, the aristocrat instead brandishing with her wolf headed cane in the direction of Flynn, gesturing sharply as though she were a Marshall deploying her forces.
Cleona, shockingly nonchalant for a young woman who had rapidly developed a reputation for unleashing overwhelming violence, slowly rolled her neck before finally shrugging off her jacket, letting it drop to the canvas as a formality. The Gaelic Goddess turned about and…
Received a STIFF!! forearm up between her thighs from a kneeling Irons!!
Several FAWNatics winced upon witnessing the sudden low blow delivered with wicked force, and understandably Cleona’s own reaction was considerably more pronounced. Her whole-body tensing, Flynn’s eyes opened wide as she bent forwards, breath caught momentarily in her chest as the space between her legs protested with a throb.
Irma exhaled, bracing herself on one knee as, with an angry scowl, she grabbed Cleona by the collar of her top with both hands and, with a shout, threw her noggin forwards to connect with a hellacious Headbutt!! With a CRACK! their respective foreheads collided, and both reeled away from the impact, cursing and muttering in their respective, British dialects.
Iron’s pushed her way back up onto her feet as Flynn remained on hers, the duo stumbling as they fought their own, personal battles to clear their visions. Instinctively, they came back around to facing one another almost in tandem, shaking their heads and balling up fists…
…only for Cleona to be a second faster. She connected with a blistering right hook, one that caught Irma clean across her cheek and damn near knocked her clean back off her feet. The Apex Enforcer lurched in a full one eighty spiral before reversing course, coming back around with a growl to…
…eat the entirety of a second right hook, one delivered with even more force than the first!! This time, Irma’s eyes flashed blank, no-body home for a spattering of seconds as she spun on the spot and teetered, little to nothing standing in the way of her faceplanting the canvas.
Nothing, that is, aside from Cleona herself. Tucking in close, the Celtic Constrictor slung one of Iron’s arms up over shoulders before securing her Challenger’s left leg and waist. With a burst of effort, the EuroAsia Champion powered all one hundred and thirty pounds of Irma up into the air, holding her aloft horizontal with the canvas, then SLAMMING her back down into the deck via a Backdrop Suplex!!
HIGH ANGLE BACKDROP SUPLEX
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSioZXCPIzU
Plywood flexed and the ring rattled as Iron’s GRUNTED in tandem with the high velocity collision, her powerful body bouncing a good inch or two before she recoiled away from the point that she had landed, rolling her way on over to the ropes. Struggling to breath as she was, some semblance of awareness seemed to have been snapped back into place as, with a growl, she reached out and grabbed the bottom coil, stubbornly hauling herself up to the second and using the rubber coated steel to assist in her ascent.
“Uppity wee Cow, aint ya?” Flynn observed with an exhale, cocking her head as if she were observing a particularly stubborn mule.
“B…byt…” Irma began to stammer as her vision cleared, grasping the top rope with a white knuckled grip as she continued to haul herself upwards. “BYTC…”
Cleona cut her off, storming across the ring and, with right arm extended, SLAMMED her rigid bicep across the throat of Iron’s and sending her tumbling up and over the uppermost coil. If she’d had no-where to go, the clothesline may well have beheaded the Brit but, instead, Iron’s was flipped over the uppermost strand before crashing back down onto the apron. Her landing on the hardest part of the ring was short lived as, with a grunt, she rebounded and continued on falling, soon arriving on the concrete outside the confines of the squared circle.
With Flynn evidently in no great hurry to give chase, the Official had reached a count of…
THREE!
…before the Redheaded Reaper ducked under the top rope and stepped over the second, moving to exit the ring under her own power.
The Official made a move to protest but, following a sharp glare from Lydia, he considered otherwise. Instead, with an air of dejection, he began his ten count once again from the beginning. It was doubtful that anyone was listening, but formalities had to be observed.
Iron’s had dragged her way on over to the Announce Table, behind which the crew were becoming nervous, the girl spitting something fowl onto the concrete before shaking her head. As the soles of Cleona’s boots hit the concrete, a violent twitch ran the length of Irma’s brow before she suddenly unleased a hateful roar, SHOVING herself away from the furniture she had been using as a crutch, and barrelling into a charge towards the EurAsia Champion!
Flynn had but a second to brace before one hundred and thirty pounds of Manchester Malcontent arrived shoulder first into her gut and RAMMED!! her backwards against the apron. Cleona released a grunt, her body being robbed of much of its air before the small of her back twisted painfully about the rim of the ring, the Scot riding the unexpected flare of pain with a grimace and noticeable annoyance. She braced herself as Irma pulled back, preparing to…
Iron’s CLOCKED!! her with a European Uppercut, snapping her mouth shut and whipping her head back at a sharp angle, rattling her senses and leaving her dazed.
Blood in the water, Irma would not relent, breathing heavily as she grabbed a hold of the Gaelic Goddess and, with a shout, she bum rushed the bigger Brit into an unwanted charge, almost flinging Flynn gut first into the Announcers Desk!! With a heady groan, almost all of the air was expelled from Cleona’s powerful body, the rigid furniture she had been impaled by violently rattled but betrayed no give, her body losing this particular battle of opposing forces.
With Flynn slumped as she was, Irma took a moment to shake her head in an effort to clear out the cobwebs before she scowled, preparing to…
“SEVEN!!”
“For f*cks sake,” she cursed, the Official’s count cutting through her fog.
“EIGHT!!!”
With a further curse, Irma turned about, hopped up onto the apron and rolled beneath the bottom rope.
“NINE!!!”
Irma rolled straight back out the ring, immediately breaking up the ten count.
“Don’t even f*cking bother startin’ again,” she pointedly warned the man in black and white, stabbing a digit in his direction for good measure. “Or I’m breakin’ a finger for each number yer get to!”
With the zebra suitably chastised, Iron’s returned to business, rolling her shoulders…
…just as Flynn shoved her way back off the table with a TV Monitor in hand, all but ripping it free from the desk as she swung it up and over and, with the FAWNatics gasping, SLAMMED it across the unprotected noggin of the Personification of Pissed Off!!
The Official inside the ring cursed loudly and Iron’s dropped down bodily to both knees, bleeding from her forehead as her eyes stared vacant. She would have toppled the whole way, had Cleona not tossed away her improvised weapon and grabbed Irma by the throat. With seemingly little effort, she hauled the smaller Brit back up to vertical before bracing the small of the other young woman’s back with her free hand. Turning about, and with a mighty heave, the Celtic Constrictor powered Iron’s high up into the air, before DRIVING her near rag dolled, powerhouse physique back down across the Announcer Table with a brutal Chokeslam!!
The furniture shook and buckled but still did not quite collapse, Irma spread out across its surface like a sacrifice.
“That’s it,” the Official came a decision, exasperated and moments away from calling the match off. “This is…”
“SILENCE!!” Lydia Lethbridge commanded with venom in her tone, brandishing her cane as she marched back across his sightline, the aristocrat seething and pride wounded. “Select your next words carefully, peasant, otherwise need I remind you that Ms. Iron’s here will be leaving in a body bag as opposed to a stretcher!?!”
The man in black and white stuttered for several seconds before relenting in his position, “Fine. But I won’t tolerate this much longer.”
Her Ladyship was already not listening, instead turning her attention back to her charge as Cleona was climbing up onto the table beside the sputtering Irma. With the Apex Enforcer still laid out before her, the Redheaded Reaper lined up her Challenger before cracking her jaw.
“Should have known better,” Flynn observed before stepping forwards on their precarious, impromptu stage before leaping, spreading out her right leg and letting gravity do its work. “Mess with the bull,” she declared before DROPPING near ALL of her one hundred and fifty-two pounds of her awesome physique down on Iron’s head and chest!!
Finally, the table gave way, camera men swooping in to capture the carnage as the furniture buckled in a devastating display of sudden violence, Irma’s remains disappearing somewhere in the debris.
To the side, Lydia applauded the spectacle, satisfied with what she witnessed.
Unsurprisingly, Cleona was the first to get up, the EuroAsia Champion collecting one of Iron’s wrists and dragging her fellow Brit out of the destruction she had wrought as though she were a cavewoman with her prize. It didn’t take them long to reach ringside and, with little ceremony, she leant down and grabbed a hold of Irma’s belt before lifting and bodily rolling her wrecked opponent back into the squared circle.
Hoping that matters were almost over, the Official backed up and made way for Flynn to climb back in as well, the Scot taking her time as she performed a short series of half-hearted stretches.
The Manchester Malcontent was laid out on her front, blood leaking from her forehead and staining the canvas crimson.
Cleona released a sigh before stepping forward, leaping and stretching out her right leg, gravity DRAGGING her back down to earth for a second time as Irma was all but FLATTENED beneath the entirety of her body weight.
Beyond a sharp convulsion immediately following the hellacious collision, the Personification of Pissed Off lay still upon the canvas, near boneless and right leg twitching, the FAWNatics looking away as the Gaelic Goddess claimed another victim.
Seemingly bored, Flynn rolled the unresponsive Iron’s over onto her back, collected a limp leg and rolled the smaller Brit up into a tight pinfall.
The Official could not have dropped down to the canvas faster.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
The EuroAsia Champion tossed aside the stem of her Challenger and rose slowly to her feet, working out a few kinks before collecting her jacket, apparently far less interested in the evening’s proceedings than her sponsor.
Her Ladyship was already entering the ring, supremely smug with the coveted Gold still in their possession, even as the Announcer was making matter official.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, your winner by Pinfall and STILL EuroAsia Champion, CLEONA!! FLYNN!!!”
The FAWNatics booed, displeased by the outcome, and Lethbridge cut through their collective scorn with her own commanding, condescending tone, bolstered significantly by her trusty microphone.
“REJOICE!!” she declared, “For the natural order is preserved!! And lest it be forgot…”
Lethbridge placed her boot upon Iron’s temple, turning her scathing stare directly to the hard camera.
“For all those who covert this here Title,” she narrowed her gaze slightly. “Consider otherwise.”
“The following contest will be for One Fall and for the EurAsia Title!! Introducing first, the Challenger, hailing from the Blue Side of Manchester, England, and coming in tonight at five foot four and one hundred thirty pounds, the Apex Enforcer, IRMA! IRONS!!”
BURY YOU
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLliftUOkmg
The moment the lyrics burst into life over the loud speakers, Iron’s stormed out into view, tearing through the curtains and striding down the ramp with a distinct lack of ceremony. Ceaseless aggression personified, the Weaponised Wolverine rolled her thick shoulders, the five pounds of body weight she had added since her last run in FAWN represented by additional, steel corded muscle lacing her frame, Irma on the cusp of her prime and looking more lethal than ever.
IRMA IRONS
As perpetually pissed off as a person could be, and still be considered functionally human, Irma tore a path down towards the squared circle that was undeviating from its course. She snorted, feeding off the bottomless pit of resentment that lived entrenched deep within her gut.
When the squared circle was almost within reach, Irma accelerated into a dash, all but throwing herself beneath the bottom rope and tucking into a roll, pushing back up onto her feet and marching on over to one corner. She slammed both of her fists down on the top turnbuckle before marching away, rapidly approaching the one opposite and repeating the process.
Blood pumping, Irma marched to centre ring, planting her flag and ducking low, a bull ready to charge as her renewed campaign to claim the EurAsia Title was coming to a head. Some had believed that she would have exercised a little more caution in steeping up to the current Champion.
Evidently, they could not have been more mistaken.
As the soundtrack for the Manchester Malcontent began to wind down, the Announcer stepped back in, preparing to fulfil his duties for the contest, and then get the f*ck out of dodge. Just as he was about to speak, however…
BAD THINGS
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKzwSsxkpTA
…began blaring from the loud speakers, and a curvy brunette emerged from behind the curtains when she was good and ready, strolling out into view and coming to a full stop at centre stage. In one hand, Lady Lydia Lethbridge brandished an elegantly crafted, gleaming, ebony cane, one tipped with a beautifully sculptured, silver forged wolfs head, glowering as though it had picked up the scent of blood. She planted it in the ground before her, clasping it imperiously with both palms, tipping up her chin up just so as she looked to the left with faint disregard, before offering the right the very same disdain, her dark, covetous eyes ultimately coming to a rest on the ring before her.
LADY LYDIA LETHBRIDGE
Standing in at five foot two and one hundred seventeen pounds, she flashed a grin of ill intent, one filled to overflowing with smug satisfaction as, from places forever left unknown, she procured a microphone. Remaining on the stage, she brought the stick up to her lips, her big, possessive eyes filled with vindication and delight.
“Breeders and Throwbacks,” she began, enduring the cascade of boos being rained down upon her before she flashed a near feral grin, one that was just barely masked by the barest veil of civility. “REJOICE!! For while your lives have been both grey and disappointing, in this most dismal hour I bring back to you your NEW, TRUE, EUROASIA CHAMPION!!. My calculated killer, YOUR Gaelic goddess!! CLEONA! FLYNN!!”
KILLER INSIDE OF ME
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-ykAnJRPiw
…emerged from the sound system and, all too soon, the Celtic Constrictor arrived on stage.
CLEONA FLYNN
She didn’t pause as she made her presence known. Standing in at five foot six and one hundred fifty-two pounds, the Redheaded Reaper cut an imposing silhouette as she marched down the ramp, not batting an eye as she passed her Ladyship on the stage and sought the most direct route possible to the squared circle. There was no ceremony in her stride as she zeroed in on her objective, stalwart and unflinching in the face of her amassed accolades, Cleona declaring neither fanfare nor boasts, regardless of the ten pounds of glorious, coveted strap she now carried slung over one shoulder. The EuroAsia Gold that she had torn from the possession of the beloved People’s Princess, Samantha Sinclair.
Lydia fell into step a few paces behind her hired help, setting off down the ramp at a stately pace. As she sauntered towards the squared circle, she thrust the head of her cane in the direction of those in the crowd that especially displeased her. There was no shortage of candidates, the FAWNatics not shy in showering her with scorn, and she marked out each and every one to be disciplined later.
With only a few yards separating Flynn from the ring, Cleona picked up the pace, the Scottish Sociopath leaping up onto the apron and, as if she were not the focus of the evening, sat down on the middle rope and lifted the top, waiting patiently for Lethbridge to join her.
Unhurried, Lydia ascended the steel steps, the Princess of Privilege ducking…
…Iron’s suddenly flew into view, the Personification of Pissed Off launching into a sprint and positively THROWING herself into a spear!! With Cleona still on the apron, she was GUTTED by Irma’s shoulder and all one hundred and thirty pounds of raw aggression behind it, causing the FAWNatics to gasp in surprise!
With a roar on Irma’s lips, Champion and Challenger collided in a moment of unexpected violence and, equally unprepared, Lady Lydia Lethbridge was caught up in the sudden collision as well. As Flynn was blasted backwards off her perch with Iron’s trailing, she collided with the Penthouse Belle, sending all three young women tumbling through the air to the barely padded concrete outside the ring!!
Not one of them landed well, crashing to the ground in a tangling of limbs and expelling a variety of curses, but only one of them had expected it. Irma, with the promise of violence in her eyes, pushed her way back up onto her feet and wiped the back of her hand across her lips.
With intent to do a great deal of harm, Iron’s zeroed in on her next target, grabbing the poleaxed and groaning Lethbridge by the back of her head and the belt of her outfit, bodily dragging her back up onto her feet before pivoting sharply on the spot. With a shout filled with venom from the duos previous encounter, Irma released her unwilling package at the last moment and TOSSED the smaller, curvier Brit into the utterly unyielding steel steps.
Several members of the audience covered their eyes as Lydia’s YELP accompanied the CLANG!! of her petitely packaged body colliding with the furniture, before she slumped to the ground in a dishevelled, disbelieving state, all sense of her oh so treasured poise deserting her for the time being.
Irma didn’t linger, blood pumping and exhaling sharply as, in a display of dominance, she pounded her fist against her chest, turning her attention back to Flynn. It hadn’t taken long for the Redheaded Reaper to find her feet, the Scot as redoubtable as a fortress, and as she pulled herself back up to vertical with an assist from the barriers, Iron’s was collecting the EurAsia Gold that the Champion had dropped during their tumble.
Without warning, Iron’s immediately turned that very same, coveted strap into a weapon, gripping it tightly before charging and, as Flynn turned about, SLAMMED!! it’s metal faceplate clean across the bigger Brits features. With winces all round from those in the front rows, Cleona’s head snapped sideways following the CLANG and stumbled for a full two steps. Somehow, with one hand still upon the barrier, she remained standing.
As formidable as her fortitude was, Flynn remained unsurprisingly dazed, Irma returning to her mere moments after tossing the EurAsia Title onto the apron. Grabbing Cleona by both the back of her neck and her jacket, Iron’s bulled the Gaelic Goddess away from the crowd and towards the squared circle, shoving her under the bottom rope to roll into the ring.
“Irma,” the Official for the contest remonstrated the Apex Enforcer, as if she were going to pay the blindest bit of deference to him.
“Shut up, Prick,” she growled back, cutting off whatever reprimand he had in mind before he could begin. She began to haul herself up onto the apron to enter the ring herself, barely paying attention to the man in black and white. “And ring the bell, this shit aint gonna get no prettier.”
“Irons,” the Official began, standing his ground despite his better judgement. “I’m not starting this match until I’m happy that…”
He didn’t finish, SHOVED aside from behind by a suddenly upright Flynn, the FAWNatics found themselves in the surprising position of shouting out a warning to, of all people, the Manchester Malcontent!! It arrived far too late, Cleona moving swiftly for her size and, as Irma’s eyes snapped open wide, Flynn delivered a monstrous Bicycle Kick that SLAMMED the sole of her boot into the smaller Brit’s chest!!
HIGHLAND KICK
www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8QKicPHF44
With a painful expulsion of air from her torso, Iron’s was felled like a tree, grunting and growling as she hit the deck in a winded heap, releasing a hacking cough as Flynn strode pass.
Following a near, nonchalant crack of her jaw and creak of her neck, Cleona shook out her shoulders and exhaled, behaving as though Irma’s early blitz had been a mild inconvenience. She reached down without comment, scraping the wheezing Iron’s off the deck, turning the Personification of Pissed Off about and Irish Whipping her towards the nearest corner.
Irma was able to turn at the last moment, absorbing the impact across her shoulders and yet, already winded, the Brit grimaced as her ribcage shuddered further. She almost had enough time to collect enough stolen breath to express some manner of unfavourable comment concerning Flynn’s parentage, but it died long before it could leave her lips as the Celtic Constrictor arrived at considerable velocity to deliver a hellacious Avalanche Slash!!
CRUSHED between one hundred and fifty-two pounds of hardbody power and the unflinching turnbuckles, Irma’s own impressive physique was rendered little more than flaccid for several seconds as her groan was as long as it was heartfelt. Unsteady on her feet, she was easy pickings for Cleona to grasp by the thighs, the Scot lifting her up high until her chiselled gut was tucked up and over the EurAsia Champions powerful shoulder.
Stepping back from the corner and turning about, the Redheaded Reaper carried her cargo to centre ring before, picking her spot, she PLANTED Irma back down onto the deck with a bone rattling Spinebuster!!
SPINEBUSTER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ1DnhlDEM0
Irma bounced a good two inches before coming down to rest, growling and groaning as her chest rose and fell in pain, perhaps unaccustomed to being the smaller woman in the ring.
“Cleona,” the Official once again attempted to impose himself on proceedings, “I understand that you’re upset, but the match hasn’t started yet and…”
DING! DING!!
The bell sounded, cutting him off in mid protest, the man in black and white looking to the Time Keeper in confusion. Whom he found at that position only filled him with further puzzlement, Lady Lethbridge positively seething as she nursed her aching neck from behind the furniture as she scowled at the Official, threatening to begin spitting venom with her every utterance.
“Lydia…” the zebra valiantly attempted, before being immediately cowed for his efforts.
“SHUSH!!” the Princess of Privilege cut him off. “I am the authority here, Cretin!! You are a means to my end, and nothing more. Call the contest, or that sewer rat will be taking a direct route to the morgue!!”
“I,” the Official stammered before, caught by indecision, he inevitably relented. “Alright, fine, but by the book from now on.”
If Lethbridge was still sparing him even the scantest slither of attention, she didn’t show it, the aristocrat instead brandishing with her wolf headed cane in the direction of Flynn, gesturing sharply as though she were a Marshall deploying her forces.
Cleona, shockingly nonchalant for a young woman who had rapidly developed a reputation for unleashing overwhelming violence, slowly rolled her neck before finally shrugging off her jacket, letting it drop to the canvas as a formality. The Gaelic Goddess turned about and…
Received a STIFF!! forearm up between her thighs from a kneeling Irons!!
Several FAWNatics winced upon witnessing the sudden low blow delivered with wicked force, and understandably Cleona’s own reaction was considerably more pronounced. Her whole-body tensing, Flynn’s eyes opened wide as she bent forwards, breath caught momentarily in her chest as the space between her legs protested with a throb.
Irma exhaled, bracing herself on one knee as, with an angry scowl, she grabbed Cleona by the collar of her top with both hands and, with a shout, threw her noggin forwards to connect with a hellacious Headbutt!! With a CRACK! their respective foreheads collided, and both reeled away from the impact, cursing and muttering in their respective, British dialects.
Iron’s pushed her way back up onto her feet as Flynn remained on hers, the duo stumbling as they fought their own, personal battles to clear their visions. Instinctively, they came back around to facing one another almost in tandem, shaking their heads and balling up fists…
…only for Cleona to be a second faster. She connected with a blistering right hook, one that caught Irma clean across her cheek and damn near knocked her clean back off her feet. The Apex Enforcer lurched in a full one eighty spiral before reversing course, coming back around with a growl to…
…eat the entirety of a second right hook, one delivered with even more force than the first!! This time, Irma’s eyes flashed blank, no-body home for a spattering of seconds as she spun on the spot and teetered, little to nothing standing in the way of her faceplanting the canvas.
Nothing, that is, aside from Cleona herself. Tucking in close, the Celtic Constrictor slung one of Iron’s arms up over shoulders before securing her Challenger’s left leg and waist. With a burst of effort, the EuroAsia Champion powered all one hundred and thirty pounds of Irma up into the air, holding her aloft horizontal with the canvas, then SLAMMING her back down into the deck via a Backdrop Suplex!!
HIGH ANGLE BACKDROP SUPLEX
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSioZXCPIzU
Plywood flexed and the ring rattled as Iron’s GRUNTED in tandem with the high velocity collision, her powerful body bouncing a good inch or two before she recoiled away from the point that she had landed, rolling her way on over to the ropes. Struggling to breath as she was, some semblance of awareness seemed to have been snapped back into place as, with a growl, she reached out and grabbed the bottom coil, stubbornly hauling herself up to the second and using the rubber coated steel to assist in her ascent.
“Uppity wee Cow, aint ya?” Flynn observed with an exhale, cocking her head as if she were observing a particularly stubborn mule.
“B…byt…” Irma began to stammer as her vision cleared, grasping the top rope with a white knuckled grip as she continued to haul herself upwards. “BYTC…”
Cleona cut her off, storming across the ring and, with right arm extended, SLAMMED her rigid bicep across the throat of Iron’s and sending her tumbling up and over the uppermost coil. If she’d had no-where to go, the clothesline may well have beheaded the Brit but, instead, Iron’s was flipped over the uppermost strand before crashing back down onto the apron. Her landing on the hardest part of the ring was short lived as, with a grunt, she rebounded and continued on falling, soon arriving on the concrete outside the confines of the squared circle.
With Flynn evidently in no great hurry to give chase, the Official had reached a count of…
THREE!
…before the Redheaded Reaper ducked under the top rope and stepped over the second, moving to exit the ring under her own power.
The Official made a move to protest but, following a sharp glare from Lydia, he considered otherwise. Instead, with an air of dejection, he began his ten count once again from the beginning. It was doubtful that anyone was listening, but formalities had to be observed.
Iron’s had dragged her way on over to the Announce Table, behind which the crew were becoming nervous, the girl spitting something fowl onto the concrete before shaking her head. As the soles of Cleona’s boots hit the concrete, a violent twitch ran the length of Irma’s brow before she suddenly unleased a hateful roar, SHOVING herself away from the furniture she had been using as a crutch, and barrelling into a charge towards the EurAsia Champion!
Flynn had but a second to brace before one hundred and thirty pounds of Manchester Malcontent arrived shoulder first into her gut and RAMMED!! her backwards against the apron. Cleona released a grunt, her body being robbed of much of its air before the small of her back twisted painfully about the rim of the ring, the Scot riding the unexpected flare of pain with a grimace and noticeable annoyance. She braced herself as Irma pulled back, preparing to…
Iron’s CLOCKED!! her with a European Uppercut, snapping her mouth shut and whipping her head back at a sharp angle, rattling her senses and leaving her dazed.
Blood in the water, Irma would not relent, breathing heavily as she grabbed a hold of the Gaelic Goddess and, with a shout, she bum rushed the bigger Brit into an unwanted charge, almost flinging Flynn gut first into the Announcers Desk!! With a heady groan, almost all of the air was expelled from Cleona’s powerful body, the rigid furniture she had been impaled by violently rattled but betrayed no give, her body losing this particular battle of opposing forces.
With Flynn slumped as she was, Irma took a moment to shake her head in an effort to clear out the cobwebs before she scowled, preparing to…
“SEVEN!!”
“For f*cks sake,” she cursed, the Official’s count cutting through her fog.
“EIGHT!!!”
With a further curse, Irma turned about, hopped up onto the apron and rolled beneath the bottom rope.
“NINE!!!”
Irma rolled straight back out the ring, immediately breaking up the ten count.
“Don’t even f*cking bother startin’ again,” she pointedly warned the man in black and white, stabbing a digit in his direction for good measure. “Or I’m breakin’ a finger for each number yer get to!”
With the zebra suitably chastised, Iron’s returned to business, rolling her shoulders…
…just as Flynn shoved her way back off the table with a TV Monitor in hand, all but ripping it free from the desk as she swung it up and over and, with the FAWNatics gasping, SLAMMED it across the unprotected noggin of the Personification of Pissed Off!!
The Official inside the ring cursed loudly and Iron’s dropped down bodily to both knees, bleeding from her forehead as her eyes stared vacant. She would have toppled the whole way, had Cleona not tossed away her improvised weapon and grabbed Irma by the throat. With seemingly little effort, she hauled the smaller Brit back up to vertical before bracing the small of the other young woman’s back with her free hand. Turning about, and with a mighty heave, the Celtic Constrictor powered Iron’s high up into the air, before DRIVING her near rag dolled, powerhouse physique back down across the Announcer Table with a brutal Chokeslam!!
The furniture shook and buckled but still did not quite collapse, Irma spread out across its surface like a sacrifice.
“That’s it,” the Official came a decision, exasperated and moments away from calling the match off. “This is…”
“SILENCE!!” Lydia Lethbridge commanded with venom in her tone, brandishing her cane as she marched back across his sightline, the aristocrat seething and pride wounded. “Select your next words carefully, peasant, otherwise need I remind you that Ms. Iron’s here will be leaving in a body bag as opposed to a stretcher!?!”
The man in black and white stuttered for several seconds before relenting in his position, “Fine. But I won’t tolerate this much longer.”
Her Ladyship was already not listening, instead turning her attention back to her charge as Cleona was climbing up onto the table beside the sputtering Irma. With the Apex Enforcer still laid out before her, the Redheaded Reaper lined up her Challenger before cracking her jaw.
“Should have known better,” Flynn observed before stepping forwards on their precarious, impromptu stage before leaping, spreading out her right leg and letting gravity do its work. “Mess with the bull,” she declared before DROPPING near ALL of her one hundred and fifty-two pounds of her awesome physique down on Iron’s head and chest!!
Finally, the table gave way, camera men swooping in to capture the carnage as the furniture buckled in a devastating display of sudden violence, Irma’s remains disappearing somewhere in the debris.
To the side, Lydia applauded the spectacle, satisfied with what she witnessed.
Unsurprisingly, Cleona was the first to get up, the EuroAsia Champion collecting one of Iron’s wrists and dragging her fellow Brit out of the destruction she had wrought as though she were a cavewoman with her prize. It didn’t take them long to reach ringside and, with little ceremony, she leant down and grabbed a hold of Irma’s belt before lifting and bodily rolling her wrecked opponent back into the squared circle.
Hoping that matters were almost over, the Official backed up and made way for Flynn to climb back in as well, the Scot taking her time as she performed a short series of half-hearted stretches.
The Manchester Malcontent was laid out on her front, blood leaking from her forehead and staining the canvas crimson.
Cleona released a sigh before stepping forward, leaping and stretching out her right leg, gravity DRAGGING her back down to earth for a second time as Irma was all but FLATTENED beneath the entirety of her body weight.
Beyond a sharp convulsion immediately following the hellacious collision, the Personification of Pissed Off lay still upon the canvas, near boneless and right leg twitching, the FAWNatics looking away as the Gaelic Goddess claimed another victim.
Seemingly bored, Flynn rolled the unresponsive Iron’s over onto her back, collected a limp leg and rolled the smaller Brit up into a tight pinfall.
The Official could not have dropped down to the canvas faster.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
The EuroAsia Champion tossed aside the stem of her Challenger and rose slowly to her feet, working out a few kinks before collecting her jacket, apparently far less interested in the evening’s proceedings than her sponsor.
Her Ladyship was already entering the ring, supremely smug with the coveted Gold still in their possession, even as the Announcer was making matter official.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, your winner by Pinfall and STILL EuroAsia Champion, CLEONA!! FLYNN!!!”
The FAWNatics booed, displeased by the outcome, and Lethbridge cut through their collective scorn with her own commanding, condescending tone, bolstered significantly by her trusty microphone.
“REJOICE!!” she declared, “For the natural order is preserved!! And lest it be forgot…”
Lethbridge placed her boot upon Iron’s temple, turning her scathing stare directly to the hard camera.
“For all those who covert this here Title,” she narrowed her gaze slightly. “Consider otherwise.”