Post by hawkeye on Jun 7, 2021 23:27:52 GMT
The initial chords of America the Beautiful send the hearts of many a FAWNatic soaring and with them hope America’s Idol, Lady Liberty can find revenge against the World Champion for plucking the California Angel’s wings at Spring Break and putting Colleen O’Neal on the shelf for the foreseeable future.
The proud, patriotic crowd rises to its feet, not only out of respect for their country but out of excitement at the arrival of the wrestler who beautifully encompasses everything good about the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
The arena is filled with cheers and hands over hearts as the eyes of the assembled are gloriously filled with an athletic, blonde beauty in starts-n-stripes, Lady Liberty emerging from stage right.
LADY LIBERTY
The flaring spotlights zero in on her immediate location and she smiles without hesitation, blue eyes likes sapphires, curls spun from gold.
She stands sharply at attention, the woman carrying herself with absolute assurance, an unfaltering confidence that’s spellbinding with a smile nothing short of heart-melting.
Lady L salutes her army of fans and journeys down the aisle, the Girl of Every State reaching out with either hand as she bounces between either side.
Even with the growing power and popularity of the Greater Good, so much about The Lady remains an enigma. The Girl called Liberty is a mystery, her accent oddly lacking any telltale regional accent and yet, somehow, combining many. She could come from anywhere within America’s borders and many in Orlando today dare believe she comes from their hometown.
About her sublimely sporty frame she wears the colors of her country, a version of the American Flag snugly fitting about her every crowd-pleasing curves. The sports top was white, the torch of liberty aflame across her bosom, sapphire bikini briefs decorated with a smattering of stars, her elbow pads a dazzling blue while her boots are a radiant red. She wears these colors with obvious pride amidst no irony or cynicism, and it’s impossible for the patriotic FAWNatics in attendance to not love her for it.
The Lady’s pace is swift and measured, her bearing steady, showing no signs of nervousness on a night she could claim the top spot in the organization. The woman steps away from the adoring public and displays her photogenic properties, camera flashes capturing her every movement as she again waves to the adoring throng while ascending the steel steps.
The blonde slips into the ring between the top and middle ropes, ducking low then rising to full vertical. She nimbly moves to the middle, the blonde beauty saluting her patriots once more before patiently and politely waiting for referee Nick Castle to confirm to his satisfaction she’s not brought anything illegal with her into the coming contest. The crowd jeers Nick’s temerity but Lady Liberty holds up a hand, asking for absolution for Castle’s cynicism. The ring announcer breaks in as Liberty’s music fades.
“Tonight’s final match is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is for the FAWN World Championship! First, hailing from the Good Ole U.S.A., she stands five feet four inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and twenty-four pounds. She is the Shining Example, the Grappler Next Door and the All American’s All American, she is LADY LIBERTY!”
The crowd roars in anticipation of their beloved blonde taking the title from the Bollywood Bombshell, a task with which her friend failed miserably a month before.
Nevertheless, Lady L moves to her corner with a look of determination, anxious for the champion to arrive.
The baby blues of tonight’s challenger and every other set of peepers in the house move to the upper stage.
The crowd can only imagine how arrogant the Bollywood Bombshell and her supercilious leader will be after Singh not only routed the Army of One to gain the belt but shot an Angel from the sky and sent her to an ICU in her first defense.
The FAWNatics aremn’t held in suspense as the captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s "Exotic” breaks through the murmur, heralding the imminent arrival of the gilded Subcontinental Siren.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
Materializing is a set of musclebound men clad in gold loin clothes and sandals. They carry their golden-brown royal. Excited yet repulsed by the appearance of the Empress, the despicable Singh draws the enmity of nearly every arena occupant.
AMARA SINGH
The behemoths carry the ornate bed where upon the Bombshell lies. As the ‘exotic’ grappler is carried toward the ring on the curious conveyance, the FAWNatics batter her with boos. The anger only grows when the long-scorned Manhattanite manager appears, VanBuren shouting directions at Singh’s transporters.
PORTIA VANBUREN
Flawless in her immaculate, white tennis togs; a form-fitting, Louis Vuitton tank, short skirt with white socks and thousand-dollar tennies, VanBuren skips past and leads the men and their beloved Empress to the war zone. Gone is Precious, her infamous polo mallet. Instead in the greedy hands of Fortune’s Favorite is the World Title belt. Baby holds the hardware high and points at her charge with the opposite index finger, touting the woman who had made her FAWN’s only manager to ever lead a woman to a Tag and World Title belt.
Behind and above, the copper-skinned beauty writhes seductively on her cushioned platform to the sound of the catchy beat. Below, the men’s gaze never leaves Portia, oblivious to the outstretched hands of the fans and the movements of the bronzed, ebony-haired beauty above.
The announcer greets the spectacular arrival of the Subcontinent’s most acclaimed warrior.
"And her opponent! Standing 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighing in at 133 pounds from Cawnpore, India…the Empress…the Bollywood Bombshell…AND THE FAWN WORLD CHAMPION…AMARA SINGH!"
Having reached their destination, the men lower the palanquin until it is even with the apron. Singh gracefully slides from bedside to ringside. Portia takes the nearby steps and helps Amara slip from beneath a sparkling golden robe, revealing the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease draws a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She moves through the ropes, taking center stage.
Amara is clad in her iconic and lavishly designed, gold bra with matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Singh’s raven tresses fall just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. The Bombshell raises a microphone to her full rosy lips, but VanBuren, having entered behind, requests Amara provide her the amplifier. Portia exchanges it for the title, which she places lovingly in the hands of a beaming Singh.
“Bow down to Your Empress,” Portia demands, the crowd not having it.
“Another night. Another fool who doesn’t understand might makes right.” Baby points to the Indian grappler. “This is a real hero. Power. Beauty. Intellect. The ultimate in meritocracy.”
“We have the evidence.” VanBuren motions the Subcontinental Siren to hold the gold high.
“Anyone denying this woman being the strongest champion since, well, me, is a fraud and the Jersey fake in the far corner is a perfect illustration of the Big Lie anyone can defeat Your Empress!”
Sneering at their jeers, VanBuren drops the mic and leads Singh to her corner. There’s no bothering with strategy, such is the confidence bordering on arrogance. Instead, Amara hands over the organization’s top prize and watches Baby hop to the floor below, only turning any attention to the American Idol when the bell brings the match to order.
Immediately, the ‘U.S.A.” chants rattle through the arena as Lady Liberty bounces on the balls of her feet, circling out of her corner, the Empress joining her in a set of tighter circles until they meet in a collar-and-elbow. The women work for leverage for a half-dozen seconds until Singh heaves her foe halfway back to the American Idol’s starting spot.
Liberty offers a tiny respectful grin along with the raise of an eyebrow.
“Care to try again, bimbo?” Amara asks the country’s preeminent patriot.
“These colors don’t run,” the blonde replies earnestly, drawing a chuckle from the Empress.
“Maybe not, but you sure as hell will hurt.”
Champ and challenger move toward each other, arms extended for another lock-up, when Singh shoots a right foot forward, toe kick to tanned tummy intercepted by Liberty before it can hit home. The blonde hardbody tosses the leg aside, sending Amara through a forceful pirouette, then crashing to the deck after a lariat clothesline from the Shining Example ends the trip.
A wincing Bollywood Bombshell stares up at the hovering Lady and sweeps a leg toward the blonde’s ankles. Liberty nimbly skips over. The challenger quickly takes to the air a second time, sinewy legs extended, the limbs SLAMMING down across Singh’s bosom and throat in a perfectly-positioned leg drop.
Pushing her foe’s stems off almost instantly, before Castle can get down to count, the Subcontinental warrior butt-scoots to a corner, choking and rubbing at her reddened neck. Amara fashions a ‘T’ out of her hands and VanBuren demands Nick keep the risen Liberty away from the Empress while Amara recovers.
Castle shakes his head, motioning Singh remains fair game. Lady Liberty isn’t one to forget what Amara did to her Greater Good sister-in-arms at Spring Break. Racing forward, the Girl of all 50 States RAMS a pointed knee into the jaw of the champion, snapping Amara’s head back in violent fashion.
The American Idol plucks her golden-brown foe off the deck and shoves her deep into the buckles. The Lady turns and sprints through a wide arc that ends when she leaps to a landing, her boots on the front of Singh’s upper legs. Liberty’s hands lace behind Amara’s neck and the blonde throws her body weight in reverse, monkey flipping Singh HIGH into the Orlando air. Amara lands harshly on her tailbone, hands shooting under her backside to massage her coccyx.
With the crowd roaring, Liberty takes a second to throw a crisp salute in Portia’s direction, drawing a sneering scowl from the miserable Manhattanite. The blonde sprints to the seated Singh and THUMPS a soccer kick into the raven-haired grappler’s backbone, Amara’s body sent arching forward, features etched in pain.
From behind, Liberty latches onto the champion’s noggin and drags a grimacing Singh to her feet. Amara spins in a tight 180 and CRACKS a forearm shiver into the blonde’s jaw, staggering the Lady. Finally on the front foot, Amara lowers the boom a second time and a third, Liberty wobbling into a drunken backpedal, likely kept upright only by her back meeting buckles.
Sensing the opening, Singh charges, lowering a shoulder to gut the American Idol. But Liberty leaps, her legs and back sliding over the top of the dipped Singh, the Bollywood Bombshell’s goring tackle becoming a ramrod CRASH of shoulder to steel post.
As the blonde lands on her feet and a groaning Empress pulls away from the steel, cradling her injured wing, Liberty races to the opposite corner, turns, and sprints toward the unsuspecting Amara. Portia cries out a warning but the throbbing from her shoulder is more than a distraction for the Indian grappler and the titleholder never picks up on the charging Liberty, the Greater Good’s flaxen-haired fighter SPEARING THE HOLY HELL out of the Indian grappler.
Amara’s body folds like a cheap suit and Singh’s PLANTED into the deck with the textbook tackle. Left in a limp spreadeagle next to Liberty, the blonde on all fours next to her, Amara can manage little in the way of resistance as the Shining Example covers in a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The Empress kicks free, flopping to her side. She winces, lids clamping shut, as she pushes to hands and knees, trying to show she’s fine in response to Baby’s demands she rise. But her roiling gut stop her there. A standing Liberty surrounds the Siren’s braincase with both hands, again ‘helping’ the struggling Singh to her feet.
Liberty snuggles in close, chest to chest, and lifts a pointed knee into the bronzed navel of the World Champion, doubling Amara over, Singh’s dark eyes bulging as her lips burst open from the forced exhale.
Immediately racing to the ropes on Singh’s left, the challenger hits the rubber-coated steel, rebounding toward her target. The Lady leaps into a front flip, catching Amara’s lowered head as she does, RIPPING the faltering Empress to the canvas with a fierce spinning neckbreaker that leaves Singh splattered on her back. Amara cradles her neck with both hands, boot soles pattering against the deck, likely wondering if she’s in the ring with the real force behind the Greater Good.
Passing on a pin attempt, Liberty hops to her feet and is off like a red-glaring rocket once more. She sprints to the ropes and gathers momentum on the rebound, rushing to the splayed Singh, acrobatically cartwheeling toward a second leg drop that MISSES the mark when Amara rolls clear of the Lady’s landing.
It’s the blonde’s turn to alleviate the pain coming from her bruised tailbone. As she does, Singh pushes to her feet and spins into a heel kick that CRUNCHES into a temple of the seated Liberty, snapping her head to the side. The Lady wobbles after impact but manages to remain on her posterior, baby blues glazed from the collision of boot to skull.
The Empress lines up a soccer kick to the chest of the Shining Example and swings in hard, only to miss when Liberty ducks under. But she quickly follows with a shooting side kick to the back of Liberty’s cranium.
With her challenger in a daze, Singh snatches the blonde’s braincase with both hands and hauls a stunned Lady to her feet. Exchanging her grip for a wrist, the champ flings Liberty to the far corner with an Irish Whip. The Girl of All 50 States hurtles into the buckles, turning into a back-first impact with the thin padding. The collision is so ferocious Lady Liberty’s legs give out, the Greater Good’s flaxen-haired fighter ending on her derriere, the pain of her last landing adding to this one, drawing a grimace form the flawless face of the American Idol. But her features quickly disappear under a crushing hip check from the charging champion, rocking the blonde into a concussive stupor.
With Liberty reeling, a beaming Amara shifts her glutes to directly in front of the face of the stupefied Lady and back she moves dat ass, stuffing her full cheeks into the mug of Liberty. With the face of the Shining Example engulfed, the Empress sensually swivels her hip,s then more forcefully, buffeting Liberty with her Harem Shake.
Having properly humiliated the woman defending Colleen O’Neal’s honor if not America in full, Singh relents, pulling free from the greasy face of the blonde. She moves to Liberty’s feet and grabs her foe by the ankles, pulling the blonde to center stage. There, Amara drops a heavy elbow across the chest of the challenger, eliciting a spasm before the Shining Example falls still and Amara coves for a second successful Pay-Per-View defense with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Lady pushes a shoulder off the canvas to keep her title hopes alive. The crowd sighs in relief while VanBuren complains at Castle, introducing the latest conspiracy theory against herself and the woman she represents. Singh seems less concerned, turning Liberty to her chest and scrubbing her foe’s face across the canvas before pulling her head back by the Lady’s golden locks and SLAMMING Liberty’s countenance into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
“This woman embodies all of your hopes and dreams,” Singh shouts to the crowd before rolling Liberty to her back and taking a seat across her waist. Amara leans forward to land a cocked forearm, but the blonde flips her foe off with a thrust of her hips, Singh tumbling over and off. The Empress scrambles to her feet while the American Idol does the same a tick behind the champion.
Singh changes with clothesline drawn, but Liberty slips under the scythe-like swing. Both women turn to face each other, but the challenger is quicker, giving her time to leap toward the startled Singh and destroy her with a flawless flatliner.
Flatliner ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=B64m_dzrUlE ) 3:21
Amara absently flops to her back after impact and Liberty dives across in a lateral press.
Portia watches nervously through fingers raised in front of her face as the FAWNatics chant in unison for the new champion…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The Empress keeps her reign intact, if barely, eeking a shoulder a few inches off the mat with Castle’s palm likewise a few inches removed from proclaiming a new champion.
With Singh splayed, the Lady hustles to the nearest corner and deftly climbs to the top, turning to face her target. She raises her arms high, the crowd cheering wildly at the proximity of Amara’s title run being ended and VanBuren being forced to eat a shyt sandwich served from their beloved patriot.
Liberty elevates from her perch, flipping gracefully toward a 450 splash across the open, bronzed midriff of the titleholder, but Amara manages to roll toward Liberty’s launching point and out of harm’s way. Thankfully for the FAWNatics, the Shining Example adjusts midflight, adding an extra 90 degrees to her trip, landing softly on her hands and rolling through an earthbound extension to pop back to her feet unharmed.
Champ and challenger race toward each other and Amara leaves her feet. Proving herself more graceful than many understand. The Indian’s legs lead the way and snap shut around the blonde’s noggin. Amara’s momentum swings her body around her challenger and sends Liberty flipping to the deck with a bruised spinal column for her trouble.
Flying headscissors ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrJMvSkuw_Y ) 0:00
The motion of the impact allows the grimacing Lady to roll to her feet and turn to face her foe, only for Singh to take her down again with an arm drag and, when Liberty proves stubborn enough to rise again, another arm drag put her back on the mat.
Singh ends her lucha display by scooping Liberty off the deck from the side when the Shining Example manages to lift her aching frame off the canvas. Amara genuflects, bringing the blonde down with her, trying to split her foe’s spine with an over the knee backbreaker.
With the pained blonde arched over the plank of her upper right leg. Amara presses down on either side, one hand tucked under the blonde’s chin, the other on the front her foe’s thigh. Intensifying the arc with each increase of pressure, Singh stretches the vertebrae of Liberty to the snapping point, Lady L mewling in anguish as the Empress tests the limits of her challenger.
After a dozen seconds of continued torture, Amara laces her fingers into a double axhandle and PLOWS the joined fists into Liberty’s midriff. The blonde groans and jackknifes from the impact before being shoved into a fetal ball by the champion.
Singh rises to boot leather and wraps a pair of hands around the head of the gutted blonde. She pulls Liberty to her feet and swings an arm through the quaking legs of the American Idol. With ease, the champ ‘hups’ the Lady across her shoulders. The challenger struggles weakly to find an escape from the fireman’s carry, but the flexing biceps of the Indian show the strength that’s put her at the top of the FAWN mountain.
On the outside, Portia watches with an arrogant smugness, seemingly knowing Singh’s a monster when properly motivated by her. The slender socialite motions Amara to destroy and the Bollywood Bombshell ends her tour of the ring with her would-be victim. She tosses Liberty forward over her shoulders while laying out and pulling in her knees, demolishing the bruised belly of the blonde with an innovative gutbuster.
Lady L rolls away, hugging her tummy as if trying keep internal organs in place, gagging and groaning. VanBuren nods knowingly as she watches the Shining Example be made a very different example indeed. Amara rolls to her haunches and watches the breathless display for a few seconds before knee-walking to the eviscerated Liberty.
The Empress maneuvers Liberty into her lap and swings her right arm in a backhand motion across the blonde’s throat, pulling the Lady in a dragon sleeper position, Liberty laying atop the controlling Singh. Lady L desperately flails within Amara’s grasp, trying to free herself. It seems a fool’s errand until her boot soles find enough purchase on the canvas to push Amara onto her shoulders.
As Castle slaps the mat, a frustrated sigh escapes Portia’s lips, seemingly upset Singh’s allowed an escape hatch for the Greater Good’s persistent patriot. And at ‘TWO’, Amara shoves the challenger off and away. The golden-brown beauty huffs to a seated position, gazing irritably at her foe.
“Polish her off,” Baby calls from the floor and the former tag champion and current World Champion, both achieved under VanBuren’s guidance, nods in agreement. Singh pushes to her feet and collects a ragged Liberty, pulling her up for more punishment.
Amara dips and scoops the reeling Lady onto her right shoulder for a body slam to take whatever breath and fight she has remaining out of the Girl From All 50 States. But fight remains in the athletic, blonde hardbody and she manages to push out of her predicament, slipping down Amara’s back.
Landing behind the startled Singh, Liberty wraps one arm around the bronzed belly of the Bombshell, the other scooping behind a leg. Showing she has power to burn in her taut frame, Liberty sends Singh airborne in a backflip, Lady L nimbly steering her cargo into a face and chest-first collision with the canvas when sitting out with her signature Red Glare.
Red Glare ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lC7zCDdnz8 )
Amara spasms then falls still, face down. With adrenaline pumping, Liberty clambers to her knees and pulls the champion to her back then climbs aboard in a lateral press, hooking Amara’s far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
A spastic VanBuren leaps with fright at the sight of Singh crashing and burning at the hands of Jersey trash. Relief is sudden as Amara weakly slips a shoulder off the canvas before Castle can make the change of power official. The Lady gives a disappointed glance in Nick’s direction. He holds up two fingers and Liberty takes the official at his word.
Feeling the title within her grasp, the blonde scrambles to her feet next to the splayed Singh. Instantly judging how to finish off the Empress, the American Idol skips over the champion and hops onto the middle rope, grabbing the top and launching. Liberty gracefully backflips toward the spreadeagled Indian grappler and the meaty THWACK of chest to belly echoes when the Shining Example lands a perfectly-placed Merica-sault.
Merica-sault ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ReZL3ICiEo )
Liberty moves to the feet of the moaning Bollywood Bully, collecting a half-matchbook on the demolished Singh for the pin that would make not only herself, but the Greater Good and America a champion with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Singh again denies Liberty and the roaring FAWNatics, causing the crowd to collectively groan when Amara manages to unfold and escape with her reign intact one more time.
There’s more than a hint of frustration in the baby blues of the patriot this time, a sign in those azure pools the blonde is wondering what she has to do. Lady L grabs a wrist and shoulder of her foe and pulls the ragdolled Singh to unsteady feet. She HAMMERS Amara’s chin with an American Uppercut, the impact snapping Singh’s head back violently and as Liberty hits a second and third, the crowd counts along to a fateful ‘FIVE’.
With the Empress still on her feet out of sheer will, the American Idol grabs a wrist and heaves Singh to the far corner with an Irish Whip. The shellshocked Amara turns into a back-first collision with the thinly-padded steel, leaving her an inviting target for the charging blonde who delivers a modified version of the Patriot Missile, a supercharged Uppercut that leaves Singh on Dream Street.
Patriot Missile ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=RGvmWEAKHUY ) 0:00 (only one big uppercut)
Amara staggers past the growling Liberty, nearly reaching mid-ring before the flush impacts remove the remaining bearings from her body and she takes a dramatic header to the canvas, ending face down, clinging to consciousness.
Liberty trails after the fallen champion, reaching down to peel her foe off the canvas for the coupe de grace. But as the blonde pulls Singh to a position approaching vertical, Amara throws and lands a blind elbow thrust behind her. The bony point THUMPS into the right temple of the American Idol, staggering the Lady.
But the woman generally considered the Greater Good’s greatest isn’t about to cede her hard-won advantage. She quickly closes the space between them, cozying to the back of the ebony-maned Empress. Gripping both shoulders, the athletic Liberty leaps to an Electric Chair position seated atop Amara’s shoulders. From there, she flips forward, forcing Singh down with a flip of her own, the patriot’s Victory Roll leaving the Bollywood Bombshell ripe for a cradle pin.
Victory Roll ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngj5qxr9Yyw ).
The seated Liberty holds on to the squirming Singh for dear life as Portia frantically demands her charge break free before the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Kicking loose, the fear-filled eyes of the champion shoot to Castle, the man holding two fingers aloft, preventing a rage-filled outburst from the Subcontinental Siren. Instead, Amara pushes to her feet and turns to her challenger, only for the blonde to leap into an enizguri kick to the skull, Amara stunned by the blow, ending faced away from Liberty.
Seeing her chance to end the Empress, Liberty catches Singh’s arms around the elbows, hooking them with her own. She ducks and spins, so she’s turned away from the titleholder, the crown of Amara’s head buried between her shoulderblades, Liberty set to Light The Torch and extinguish Singh.
Light The Torch ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZ6FSscKXFk )
But before the Shining Example can follow through and ruin VanBuren’s night and year simultaneously, Amara resorts to desperation, lifting a swift kick between Liberty’s parted stems, punting the Lady in the pussy.
The blonde’s grip falls away, hands settling between her thighs. Liberty’s frozen, bow-legged, her face etched in agony as Amara draws in a couple deep breaths and lands a clubbing blow to the back of Liberty’s skull, sending the challenger CRASHING to the canvas face first.
The sultry Empress passes on a pin, instead hopping to her feet and sending a barrage of elbow drops into the back of Liberty’s neck and noggin, the crowd groaning in time with each, VanBuren seeming comfortable for the first time in many minutes.
After a five set of bitter, brutal elbows, the Bollywood Bombshell relents, but only to grab the blonde by the scruff of the neck and a handful of golden locks and wrench the Ragdoll of All 50 States to her feet.
Never allowing the Lady to reach anything but stooped feet, the golden-brown grappler tugs Liberty’s lowered head between her thighs. She wraps her arms around the American Idol’s gulping tummy and vaults her high into the Orlando night, flipping the Shining Example to a seat on her shoulders.
Perhaps some of the FAWNatics hope for a rally, Liberty slugging her way out of trouble, but there’s no capability and no time, Amara sitting out, nearly driving the blonde THROUGH the canvas with her PowerBollyBomb.
PowerBollyBomb ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjSpD_5Lu08 )
A chuckling Portia and the silenced crowd watch as the seated Singh controls the limp leavings of Liberty, Lady L’s boot soles pointed to the rafters, her lower limbs and waist within the Indian’s grasp, her upper half showing no sign of life let alone consciousness for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREENOOOO!
At something approximating 2 and 15/16, the Greater Good’s patriotic bastion sneaks a shoulder off the deck by no more than an inch.
The eagle-eyed Castle somehow sees the sliver of light between Liberty and the canvas, holding his slap no more than an inch above.
Nick quickly leaps to his feet, screaming out ‘TWO’ as he raises the same amount of fingers. The crowd roars to life, not out of belief there will be anything but an unhappy ending, but instead for that flicker of fight Liberty reached down into her belly and found.
The Empress is in disbelief, first at Castle then at Lady Liberty when VanBuren confirms the challenger somehow found a way to survive. Snarling, she tosses Liberty’s flaccid lower limbs aside and pushes to her feet, stewing.
At the insistence of Baby, Singh gets back to work, shoveling the Lady to her chest with a boot then dropping to her knees at the feet of the challenger. She plucks Liberty’s limp legs off the canvas, resting her foe’s ankles on her shoulders.
Knee-walking forward, Amara folds the stems and begins curling the spine of the Shining Example, the crowd pleading with the blonde to escape, but there will be none. For when Singh reaches forward, lacing her fingers into a cup under Liberty’s chin and yanks back, Amara’s BollyKnot II is tied, sealed and delivered.
BollyKnot II ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLslYdXah28 )
Liberty squeals back to life from the anguish, her vertebrae approaching the snapping point. A scowling Singh pulls the back of Liberty’s head toward her boot soles, clearly hoping to put the Lady in the same wing of Orlando General as the California Angel.
Liberty desperately pries at Amara’s grip on her chin, trying to free herself before the pain grows too great, but it’s a futile effort and even the Shining Example admits as much after a half-dozen seconds of holding out. When Castle offers relief in the form of a submission, Liberty slaps the mat enthusiastically, crying out “I GIVE” at least three times, pitiful sobbing interspersed between.
Only when the official threatens to reverse the decision does Amara release her modified camel clutch, leaving a mewling Liberty to reach for her broken back while Singh pushes to her feet and accepts her championship gold from a beaming VanBuren.
Portia shoos Castle away and raises Amara’s wrist, the Bollywood Bombshell raising her trophy with the opposite hand.
Microphone in her grasp, Portia raises it to her lips.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what an Empress does to a Jersey wannabe. Princess Giselle. If you have any marbles clattering about, take a look, learn a lesson. Remove that tiara from your head and hide it along with yourself. Because if you believe you can do any better than the plucked angel and this star-spangled sack of shyt, have someone make you a reservation for the ICU.”
Amara plucks the microphone from VanBuren’s hand.
“Because that’s what I do!”
Singh drops the stick on Liberty’s carcass, dusts off her boots on the remnants of the American Idol, and leads Portia toward the champion’s palanquin ride.
The proud, patriotic crowd rises to its feet, not only out of respect for their country but out of excitement at the arrival of the wrestler who beautifully encompasses everything good about the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
The arena is filled with cheers and hands over hearts as the eyes of the assembled are gloriously filled with an athletic, blonde beauty in starts-n-stripes, Lady Liberty emerging from stage right.
LADY LIBERTY
The flaring spotlights zero in on her immediate location and she smiles without hesitation, blue eyes likes sapphires, curls spun from gold.
She stands sharply at attention, the woman carrying herself with absolute assurance, an unfaltering confidence that’s spellbinding with a smile nothing short of heart-melting.
Lady L salutes her army of fans and journeys down the aisle, the Girl of Every State reaching out with either hand as she bounces between either side.
Even with the growing power and popularity of the Greater Good, so much about The Lady remains an enigma. The Girl called Liberty is a mystery, her accent oddly lacking any telltale regional accent and yet, somehow, combining many. She could come from anywhere within America’s borders and many in Orlando today dare believe she comes from their hometown.
About her sublimely sporty frame she wears the colors of her country, a version of the American Flag snugly fitting about her every crowd-pleasing curves. The sports top was white, the torch of liberty aflame across her bosom, sapphire bikini briefs decorated with a smattering of stars, her elbow pads a dazzling blue while her boots are a radiant red. She wears these colors with obvious pride amidst no irony or cynicism, and it’s impossible for the patriotic FAWNatics in attendance to not love her for it.
The Lady’s pace is swift and measured, her bearing steady, showing no signs of nervousness on a night she could claim the top spot in the organization. The woman steps away from the adoring public and displays her photogenic properties, camera flashes capturing her every movement as she again waves to the adoring throng while ascending the steel steps.
The blonde slips into the ring between the top and middle ropes, ducking low then rising to full vertical. She nimbly moves to the middle, the blonde beauty saluting her patriots once more before patiently and politely waiting for referee Nick Castle to confirm to his satisfaction she’s not brought anything illegal with her into the coming contest. The crowd jeers Nick’s temerity but Lady Liberty holds up a hand, asking for absolution for Castle’s cynicism. The ring announcer breaks in as Liberty’s music fades.
“Tonight’s final match is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is for the FAWN World Championship! First, hailing from the Good Ole U.S.A., she stands five feet four inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and twenty-four pounds. She is the Shining Example, the Grappler Next Door and the All American’s All American, she is LADY LIBERTY!”
The crowd roars in anticipation of their beloved blonde taking the title from the Bollywood Bombshell, a task with which her friend failed miserably a month before.
Nevertheless, Lady L moves to her corner with a look of determination, anxious for the champion to arrive.
The baby blues of tonight’s challenger and every other set of peepers in the house move to the upper stage.
The crowd can only imagine how arrogant the Bollywood Bombshell and her supercilious leader will be after Singh not only routed the Army of One to gain the belt but shot an Angel from the sky and sent her to an ICU in her first defense.
The FAWNatics aremn’t held in suspense as the captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s "Exotic” breaks through the murmur, heralding the imminent arrival of the gilded Subcontinental Siren.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
Materializing is a set of musclebound men clad in gold loin clothes and sandals. They carry their golden-brown royal. Excited yet repulsed by the appearance of the Empress, the despicable Singh draws the enmity of nearly every arena occupant.
AMARA SINGH
The behemoths carry the ornate bed where upon the Bombshell lies. As the ‘exotic’ grappler is carried toward the ring on the curious conveyance, the FAWNatics batter her with boos. The anger only grows when the long-scorned Manhattanite manager appears, VanBuren shouting directions at Singh’s transporters.
PORTIA VANBUREN
Flawless in her immaculate, white tennis togs; a form-fitting, Louis Vuitton tank, short skirt with white socks and thousand-dollar tennies, VanBuren skips past and leads the men and their beloved Empress to the war zone. Gone is Precious, her infamous polo mallet. Instead in the greedy hands of Fortune’s Favorite is the World Title belt. Baby holds the hardware high and points at her charge with the opposite index finger, touting the woman who had made her FAWN’s only manager to ever lead a woman to a Tag and World Title belt.
Behind and above, the copper-skinned beauty writhes seductively on her cushioned platform to the sound of the catchy beat. Below, the men’s gaze never leaves Portia, oblivious to the outstretched hands of the fans and the movements of the bronzed, ebony-haired beauty above.
The announcer greets the spectacular arrival of the Subcontinent’s most acclaimed warrior.
"And her opponent! Standing 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighing in at 133 pounds from Cawnpore, India…the Empress…the Bollywood Bombshell…AND THE FAWN WORLD CHAMPION…AMARA SINGH!"
Having reached their destination, the men lower the palanquin until it is even with the apron. Singh gracefully slides from bedside to ringside. Portia takes the nearby steps and helps Amara slip from beneath a sparkling golden robe, revealing the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease draws a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She moves through the ropes, taking center stage.
Amara is clad in her iconic and lavishly designed, gold bra with matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Singh’s raven tresses fall just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. The Bombshell raises a microphone to her full rosy lips, but VanBuren, having entered behind, requests Amara provide her the amplifier. Portia exchanges it for the title, which she places lovingly in the hands of a beaming Singh.
“Bow down to Your Empress,” Portia demands, the crowd not having it.
“Another night. Another fool who doesn’t understand might makes right.” Baby points to the Indian grappler. “This is a real hero. Power. Beauty. Intellect. The ultimate in meritocracy.”
“We have the evidence.” VanBuren motions the Subcontinental Siren to hold the gold high.
“Anyone denying this woman being the strongest champion since, well, me, is a fraud and the Jersey fake in the far corner is a perfect illustration of the Big Lie anyone can defeat Your Empress!”
Sneering at their jeers, VanBuren drops the mic and leads Singh to her corner. There’s no bothering with strategy, such is the confidence bordering on arrogance. Instead, Amara hands over the organization’s top prize and watches Baby hop to the floor below, only turning any attention to the American Idol when the bell brings the match to order.
Immediately, the ‘U.S.A.” chants rattle through the arena as Lady Liberty bounces on the balls of her feet, circling out of her corner, the Empress joining her in a set of tighter circles until they meet in a collar-and-elbow. The women work for leverage for a half-dozen seconds until Singh heaves her foe halfway back to the American Idol’s starting spot.
Liberty offers a tiny respectful grin along with the raise of an eyebrow.
“Care to try again, bimbo?” Amara asks the country’s preeminent patriot.
“These colors don’t run,” the blonde replies earnestly, drawing a chuckle from the Empress.
“Maybe not, but you sure as hell will hurt.”
Champ and challenger move toward each other, arms extended for another lock-up, when Singh shoots a right foot forward, toe kick to tanned tummy intercepted by Liberty before it can hit home. The blonde hardbody tosses the leg aside, sending Amara through a forceful pirouette, then crashing to the deck after a lariat clothesline from the Shining Example ends the trip.
A wincing Bollywood Bombshell stares up at the hovering Lady and sweeps a leg toward the blonde’s ankles. Liberty nimbly skips over. The challenger quickly takes to the air a second time, sinewy legs extended, the limbs SLAMMING down across Singh’s bosom and throat in a perfectly-positioned leg drop.
Pushing her foe’s stems off almost instantly, before Castle can get down to count, the Subcontinental warrior butt-scoots to a corner, choking and rubbing at her reddened neck. Amara fashions a ‘T’ out of her hands and VanBuren demands Nick keep the risen Liberty away from the Empress while Amara recovers.
Castle shakes his head, motioning Singh remains fair game. Lady Liberty isn’t one to forget what Amara did to her Greater Good sister-in-arms at Spring Break. Racing forward, the Girl of all 50 States RAMS a pointed knee into the jaw of the champion, snapping Amara’s head back in violent fashion.
The American Idol plucks her golden-brown foe off the deck and shoves her deep into the buckles. The Lady turns and sprints through a wide arc that ends when she leaps to a landing, her boots on the front of Singh’s upper legs. Liberty’s hands lace behind Amara’s neck and the blonde throws her body weight in reverse, monkey flipping Singh HIGH into the Orlando air. Amara lands harshly on her tailbone, hands shooting under her backside to massage her coccyx.
With the crowd roaring, Liberty takes a second to throw a crisp salute in Portia’s direction, drawing a sneering scowl from the miserable Manhattanite. The blonde sprints to the seated Singh and THUMPS a soccer kick into the raven-haired grappler’s backbone, Amara’s body sent arching forward, features etched in pain.
From behind, Liberty latches onto the champion’s noggin and drags a grimacing Singh to her feet. Amara spins in a tight 180 and CRACKS a forearm shiver into the blonde’s jaw, staggering the Lady. Finally on the front foot, Amara lowers the boom a second time and a third, Liberty wobbling into a drunken backpedal, likely kept upright only by her back meeting buckles.
Sensing the opening, Singh charges, lowering a shoulder to gut the American Idol. But Liberty leaps, her legs and back sliding over the top of the dipped Singh, the Bollywood Bombshell’s goring tackle becoming a ramrod CRASH of shoulder to steel post.
As the blonde lands on her feet and a groaning Empress pulls away from the steel, cradling her injured wing, Liberty races to the opposite corner, turns, and sprints toward the unsuspecting Amara. Portia cries out a warning but the throbbing from her shoulder is more than a distraction for the Indian grappler and the titleholder never picks up on the charging Liberty, the Greater Good’s flaxen-haired fighter SPEARING THE HOLY HELL out of the Indian grappler.
Amara’s body folds like a cheap suit and Singh’s PLANTED into the deck with the textbook tackle. Left in a limp spreadeagle next to Liberty, the blonde on all fours next to her, Amara can manage little in the way of resistance as the Shining Example covers in a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The Empress kicks free, flopping to her side. She winces, lids clamping shut, as she pushes to hands and knees, trying to show she’s fine in response to Baby’s demands she rise. But her roiling gut stop her there. A standing Liberty surrounds the Siren’s braincase with both hands, again ‘helping’ the struggling Singh to her feet.
Liberty snuggles in close, chest to chest, and lifts a pointed knee into the bronzed navel of the World Champion, doubling Amara over, Singh’s dark eyes bulging as her lips burst open from the forced exhale.
Immediately racing to the ropes on Singh’s left, the challenger hits the rubber-coated steel, rebounding toward her target. The Lady leaps into a front flip, catching Amara’s lowered head as she does, RIPPING the faltering Empress to the canvas with a fierce spinning neckbreaker that leaves Singh splattered on her back. Amara cradles her neck with both hands, boot soles pattering against the deck, likely wondering if she’s in the ring with the real force behind the Greater Good.
Passing on a pin attempt, Liberty hops to her feet and is off like a red-glaring rocket once more. She sprints to the ropes and gathers momentum on the rebound, rushing to the splayed Singh, acrobatically cartwheeling toward a second leg drop that MISSES the mark when Amara rolls clear of the Lady’s landing.
It’s the blonde’s turn to alleviate the pain coming from her bruised tailbone. As she does, Singh pushes to her feet and spins into a heel kick that CRUNCHES into a temple of the seated Liberty, snapping her head to the side. The Lady wobbles after impact but manages to remain on her posterior, baby blues glazed from the collision of boot to skull.
The Empress lines up a soccer kick to the chest of the Shining Example and swings in hard, only to miss when Liberty ducks under. But she quickly follows with a shooting side kick to the back of Liberty’s cranium.
With her challenger in a daze, Singh snatches the blonde’s braincase with both hands and hauls a stunned Lady to her feet. Exchanging her grip for a wrist, the champ flings Liberty to the far corner with an Irish Whip. The Girl of All 50 States hurtles into the buckles, turning into a back-first impact with the thin padding. The collision is so ferocious Lady Liberty’s legs give out, the Greater Good’s flaxen-haired fighter ending on her derriere, the pain of her last landing adding to this one, drawing a grimace form the flawless face of the American Idol. But her features quickly disappear under a crushing hip check from the charging champion, rocking the blonde into a concussive stupor.
With Liberty reeling, a beaming Amara shifts her glutes to directly in front of the face of the stupefied Lady and back she moves dat ass, stuffing her full cheeks into the mug of Liberty. With the face of the Shining Example engulfed, the Empress sensually swivels her hip,s then more forcefully, buffeting Liberty with her Harem Shake.
Having properly humiliated the woman defending Colleen O’Neal’s honor if not America in full, Singh relents, pulling free from the greasy face of the blonde. She moves to Liberty’s feet and grabs her foe by the ankles, pulling the blonde to center stage. There, Amara drops a heavy elbow across the chest of the challenger, eliciting a spasm before the Shining Example falls still and Amara coves for a second successful Pay-Per-View defense with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Lady pushes a shoulder off the canvas to keep her title hopes alive. The crowd sighs in relief while VanBuren complains at Castle, introducing the latest conspiracy theory against herself and the woman she represents. Singh seems less concerned, turning Liberty to her chest and scrubbing her foe’s face across the canvas before pulling her head back by the Lady’s golden locks and SLAMMING Liberty’s countenance into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
“This woman embodies all of your hopes and dreams,” Singh shouts to the crowd before rolling Liberty to her back and taking a seat across her waist. Amara leans forward to land a cocked forearm, but the blonde flips her foe off with a thrust of her hips, Singh tumbling over and off. The Empress scrambles to her feet while the American Idol does the same a tick behind the champion.
Singh changes with clothesline drawn, but Liberty slips under the scythe-like swing. Both women turn to face each other, but the challenger is quicker, giving her time to leap toward the startled Singh and destroy her with a flawless flatliner.
Flatliner ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=B64m_dzrUlE ) 3:21
Amara absently flops to her back after impact and Liberty dives across in a lateral press.
Portia watches nervously through fingers raised in front of her face as the FAWNatics chant in unison for the new champion…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The Empress keeps her reign intact, if barely, eeking a shoulder a few inches off the mat with Castle’s palm likewise a few inches removed from proclaiming a new champion.
With Singh splayed, the Lady hustles to the nearest corner and deftly climbs to the top, turning to face her target. She raises her arms high, the crowd cheering wildly at the proximity of Amara’s title run being ended and VanBuren being forced to eat a shyt sandwich served from their beloved patriot.
Liberty elevates from her perch, flipping gracefully toward a 450 splash across the open, bronzed midriff of the titleholder, but Amara manages to roll toward Liberty’s launching point and out of harm’s way. Thankfully for the FAWNatics, the Shining Example adjusts midflight, adding an extra 90 degrees to her trip, landing softly on her hands and rolling through an earthbound extension to pop back to her feet unharmed.
Champ and challenger race toward each other and Amara leaves her feet. Proving herself more graceful than many understand. The Indian’s legs lead the way and snap shut around the blonde’s noggin. Amara’s momentum swings her body around her challenger and sends Liberty flipping to the deck with a bruised spinal column for her trouble.
Flying headscissors ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrJMvSkuw_Y ) 0:00
The motion of the impact allows the grimacing Lady to roll to her feet and turn to face her foe, only for Singh to take her down again with an arm drag and, when Liberty proves stubborn enough to rise again, another arm drag put her back on the mat.
Singh ends her lucha display by scooping Liberty off the deck from the side when the Shining Example manages to lift her aching frame off the canvas. Amara genuflects, bringing the blonde down with her, trying to split her foe’s spine with an over the knee backbreaker.
With the pained blonde arched over the plank of her upper right leg. Amara presses down on either side, one hand tucked under the blonde’s chin, the other on the front her foe’s thigh. Intensifying the arc with each increase of pressure, Singh stretches the vertebrae of Liberty to the snapping point, Lady L mewling in anguish as the Empress tests the limits of her challenger.
After a dozen seconds of continued torture, Amara laces her fingers into a double axhandle and PLOWS the joined fists into Liberty’s midriff. The blonde groans and jackknifes from the impact before being shoved into a fetal ball by the champion.
Singh rises to boot leather and wraps a pair of hands around the head of the gutted blonde. She pulls Liberty to her feet and swings an arm through the quaking legs of the American Idol. With ease, the champ ‘hups’ the Lady across her shoulders. The challenger struggles weakly to find an escape from the fireman’s carry, but the flexing biceps of the Indian show the strength that’s put her at the top of the FAWN mountain.
On the outside, Portia watches with an arrogant smugness, seemingly knowing Singh’s a monster when properly motivated by her. The slender socialite motions Amara to destroy and the Bollywood Bombshell ends her tour of the ring with her would-be victim. She tosses Liberty forward over her shoulders while laying out and pulling in her knees, demolishing the bruised belly of the blonde with an innovative gutbuster.
Lady L rolls away, hugging her tummy as if trying keep internal organs in place, gagging and groaning. VanBuren nods knowingly as she watches the Shining Example be made a very different example indeed. Amara rolls to her haunches and watches the breathless display for a few seconds before knee-walking to the eviscerated Liberty.
The Empress maneuvers Liberty into her lap and swings her right arm in a backhand motion across the blonde’s throat, pulling the Lady in a dragon sleeper position, Liberty laying atop the controlling Singh. Lady L desperately flails within Amara’s grasp, trying to free herself. It seems a fool’s errand until her boot soles find enough purchase on the canvas to push Amara onto her shoulders.
As Castle slaps the mat, a frustrated sigh escapes Portia’s lips, seemingly upset Singh’s allowed an escape hatch for the Greater Good’s persistent patriot. And at ‘TWO’, Amara shoves the challenger off and away. The golden-brown beauty huffs to a seated position, gazing irritably at her foe.
“Polish her off,” Baby calls from the floor and the former tag champion and current World Champion, both achieved under VanBuren’s guidance, nods in agreement. Singh pushes to her feet and collects a ragged Liberty, pulling her up for more punishment.
Amara dips and scoops the reeling Lady onto her right shoulder for a body slam to take whatever breath and fight she has remaining out of the Girl From All 50 States. But fight remains in the athletic, blonde hardbody and she manages to push out of her predicament, slipping down Amara’s back.
Landing behind the startled Singh, Liberty wraps one arm around the bronzed belly of the Bombshell, the other scooping behind a leg. Showing she has power to burn in her taut frame, Liberty sends Singh airborne in a backflip, Lady L nimbly steering her cargo into a face and chest-first collision with the canvas when sitting out with her signature Red Glare.
Red Glare ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lC7zCDdnz8 )
Amara spasms then falls still, face down. With adrenaline pumping, Liberty clambers to her knees and pulls the champion to her back then climbs aboard in a lateral press, hooking Amara’s far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
A spastic VanBuren leaps with fright at the sight of Singh crashing and burning at the hands of Jersey trash. Relief is sudden as Amara weakly slips a shoulder off the canvas before Castle can make the change of power official. The Lady gives a disappointed glance in Nick’s direction. He holds up two fingers and Liberty takes the official at his word.
Feeling the title within her grasp, the blonde scrambles to her feet next to the splayed Singh. Instantly judging how to finish off the Empress, the American Idol skips over the champion and hops onto the middle rope, grabbing the top and launching. Liberty gracefully backflips toward the spreadeagled Indian grappler and the meaty THWACK of chest to belly echoes when the Shining Example lands a perfectly-placed Merica-sault.
Merica-sault ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ReZL3ICiEo )
Liberty moves to the feet of the moaning Bollywood Bully, collecting a half-matchbook on the demolished Singh for the pin that would make not only herself, but the Greater Good and America a champion with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Singh again denies Liberty and the roaring FAWNatics, causing the crowd to collectively groan when Amara manages to unfold and escape with her reign intact one more time.
There’s more than a hint of frustration in the baby blues of the patriot this time, a sign in those azure pools the blonde is wondering what she has to do. Lady L grabs a wrist and shoulder of her foe and pulls the ragdolled Singh to unsteady feet. She HAMMERS Amara’s chin with an American Uppercut, the impact snapping Singh’s head back violently and as Liberty hits a second and third, the crowd counts along to a fateful ‘FIVE’.
With the Empress still on her feet out of sheer will, the American Idol grabs a wrist and heaves Singh to the far corner with an Irish Whip. The shellshocked Amara turns into a back-first collision with the thinly-padded steel, leaving her an inviting target for the charging blonde who delivers a modified version of the Patriot Missile, a supercharged Uppercut that leaves Singh on Dream Street.
Patriot Missile ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=RGvmWEAKHUY ) 0:00 (only one big uppercut)
Amara staggers past the growling Liberty, nearly reaching mid-ring before the flush impacts remove the remaining bearings from her body and she takes a dramatic header to the canvas, ending face down, clinging to consciousness.
Liberty trails after the fallen champion, reaching down to peel her foe off the canvas for the coupe de grace. But as the blonde pulls Singh to a position approaching vertical, Amara throws and lands a blind elbow thrust behind her. The bony point THUMPS into the right temple of the American Idol, staggering the Lady.
But the woman generally considered the Greater Good’s greatest isn’t about to cede her hard-won advantage. She quickly closes the space between them, cozying to the back of the ebony-maned Empress. Gripping both shoulders, the athletic Liberty leaps to an Electric Chair position seated atop Amara’s shoulders. From there, she flips forward, forcing Singh down with a flip of her own, the patriot’s Victory Roll leaving the Bollywood Bombshell ripe for a cradle pin.
Victory Roll ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngj5qxr9Yyw ).
The seated Liberty holds on to the squirming Singh for dear life as Portia frantically demands her charge break free before the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Kicking loose, the fear-filled eyes of the champion shoot to Castle, the man holding two fingers aloft, preventing a rage-filled outburst from the Subcontinental Siren. Instead, Amara pushes to her feet and turns to her challenger, only for the blonde to leap into an enizguri kick to the skull, Amara stunned by the blow, ending faced away from Liberty.
Seeing her chance to end the Empress, Liberty catches Singh’s arms around the elbows, hooking them with her own. She ducks and spins, so she’s turned away from the titleholder, the crown of Amara’s head buried between her shoulderblades, Liberty set to Light The Torch and extinguish Singh.
Light The Torch ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZ6FSscKXFk )
But before the Shining Example can follow through and ruin VanBuren’s night and year simultaneously, Amara resorts to desperation, lifting a swift kick between Liberty’s parted stems, punting the Lady in the pussy.
The blonde’s grip falls away, hands settling between her thighs. Liberty’s frozen, bow-legged, her face etched in agony as Amara draws in a couple deep breaths and lands a clubbing blow to the back of Liberty’s skull, sending the challenger CRASHING to the canvas face first.
The sultry Empress passes on a pin, instead hopping to her feet and sending a barrage of elbow drops into the back of Liberty’s neck and noggin, the crowd groaning in time with each, VanBuren seeming comfortable for the first time in many minutes.
After a five set of bitter, brutal elbows, the Bollywood Bombshell relents, but only to grab the blonde by the scruff of the neck and a handful of golden locks and wrench the Ragdoll of All 50 States to her feet.
Never allowing the Lady to reach anything but stooped feet, the golden-brown grappler tugs Liberty’s lowered head between her thighs. She wraps her arms around the American Idol’s gulping tummy and vaults her high into the Orlando night, flipping the Shining Example to a seat on her shoulders.
Perhaps some of the FAWNatics hope for a rally, Liberty slugging her way out of trouble, but there’s no capability and no time, Amara sitting out, nearly driving the blonde THROUGH the canvas with her PowerBollyBomb.
PowerBollyBomb ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjSpD_5Lu08 )
A chuckling Portia and the silenced crowd watch as the seated Singh controls the limp leavings of Liberty, Lady L’s boot soles pointed to the rafters, her lower limbs and waist within the Indian’s grasp, her upper half showing no sign of life let alone consciousness for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREENOOOO!
At something approximating 2 and 15/16, the Greater Good’s patriotic bastion sneaks a shoulder off the deck by no more than an inch.
The eagle-eyed Castle somehow sees the sliver of light between Liberty and the canvas, holding his slap no more than an inch above.
Nick quickly leaps to his feet, screaming out ‘TWO’ as he raises the same amount of fingers. The crowd roars to life, not out of belief there will be anything but an unhappy ending, but instead for that flicker of fight Liberty reached down into her belly and found.
The Empress is in disbelief, first at Castle then at Lady Liberty when VanBuren confirms the challenger somehow found a way to survive. Snarling, she tosses Liberty’s flaccid lower limbs aside and pushes to her feet, stewing.
At the insistence of Baby, Singh gets back to work, shoveling the Lady to her chest with a boot then dropping to her knees at the feet of the challenger. She plucks Liberty’s limp legs off the canvas, resting her foe’s ankles on her shoulders.
Knee-walking forward, Amara folds the stems and begins curling the spine of the Shining Example, the crowd pleading with the blonde to escape, but there will be none. For when Singh reaches forward, lacing her fingers into a cup under Liberty’s chin and yanks back, Amara’s BollyKnot II is tied, sealed and delivered.
BollyKnot II ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLslYdXah28 )
Liberty squeals back to life from the anguish, her vertebrae approaching the snapping point. A scowling Singh pulls the back of Liberty’s head toward her boot soles, clearly hoping to put the Lady in the same wing of Orlando General as the California Angel.
Liberty desperately pries at Amara’s grip on her chin, trying to free herself before the pain grows too great, but it’s a futile effort and even the Shining Example admits as much after a half-dozen seconds of holding out. When Castle offers relief in the form of a submission, Liberty slaps the mat enthusiastically, crying out “I GIVE” at least three times, pitiful sobbing interspersed between.
Only when the official threatens to reverse the decision does Amara release her modified camel clutch, leaving a mewling Liberty to reach for her broken back while Singh pushes to her feet and accepts her championship gold from a beaming VanBuren.
Portia shoos Castle away and raises Amara’s wrist, the Bollywood Bombshell raising her trophy with the opposite hand.
Microphone in her grasp, Portia raises it to her lips.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what an Empress does to a Jersey wannabe. Princess Giselle. If you have any marbles clattering about, take a look, learn a lesson. Remove that tiara from your head and hide it along with yourself. Because if you believe you can do any better than the plucked angel and this star-spangled sack of shyt, have someone make you a reservation for the ICU.”
Amara plucks the microphone from VanBuren’s hand.
“Because that’s what I do!”
Singh drops the stick on Liberty’s carcass, dusts off her boots on the remnants of the American Idol, and leads Portia toward the champion’s palanquin ride.