Post by hawkeye on Sept 6, 2021 15:50:44 GMT
To say that the crowd was in high spirits would be an understatement, the packed arena filled to the brim for the Slaybor Day Weekend, the last PPV stop before the biggest show of the year, FAWNMANIA. The pre-show had performed a commendable job of getting the blood pumping and now, after the hype package had wowed them and the cameras had officially started rolling, a loud cheer began to roll around the stadium as, one and all, they couldn’t wait for the festivities to begin.
Cheers that, almost unanimously transformed into jeers as…
BAD THINGS
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKzwSsxkpTA
…burst into life over the loud speakers, heralding the arrival of one of FAWN’s Most Hated back to American shores. Moments later, a curvy brunette emerged from behind the curtains uninvited, 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 tipped with a beautifully sculptured, silver forged, glowering wolfs head. She planted it in the ground before her, clasping it imperiously with both palms.
Tipping her chin up just so, 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, for once, she allowed her very presence alone to speak for her. Satisfied that she had stamped her authority upon the faithless with her withering contempt, the aristocrat set off down the ramp at a stately pace, banishing those that especially displeased her with a dismissive sweep of her palm.
Every step of the way, the crowd watched her, both captivated and disillusioned in equal stride as, ever wary in her presence, they waited for the Princess of Privilege to reveal some vicious ploy or underhanded trickery at a moment’s notice, her regal poise just barely hiding the endless machinations she kept hidden beneath the surface.
She ascended the steel steps as though approaching her throne and, once upon the apron, she paused just long enough to arch her brow in imperious form and demanded silently of the Official to aid her entry. Suitably cowed, the man in black and white did exactly that, pacing over to her quickly and pushing down on the middle rope while lifting the top.
Barely sparing him another glance, the Penthouse Belle ducked into the ring via the opening he provided and, after securing a microphone, she marched to centre ring. With her lips twitching with the inklings of a fresh, malicious grin, she forced the Fawn Faithful to wait before she finally brought the stick up to speak…
…only to be interrupted by…
POWER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhTHJyRjVIc
…bursting into life over the loud speakers!!
While ordinarily this particular call to war would receive a mixed response at best, tonight it prompted a near tidal waves of cheers, if only because it rudely interrupted[/b] her Ladyship, Lydia Lethbridge. Moments later, lit up by the spotlights high above, the Mistress of Mayhem, Rebecca Reign appeared on stage, brandishing her weapon of choice, a particularly savage looking kendo stick in hand.
REBECCA REIGN
Caught somewhat by surprise by the positive reception, the one-time babyface in the making and now unrepentant anarchist merely shrugged at the crowds unexpected (and more than likely temporary) change in tune, and replied to it with her patented, crooked grin. Mimicking Lethbridge in the ring, the rebellious Brit planted her kendo stick in the ground as though it were a cane and grasped it in imperious fashion, tilting her nose up just so before shaking her head.
Securing a mic of her own, and remaining on the stage, Reign silently demanded the entirety of the FAWNatics attention as she brought the stick up to her lips, the Number One Contender for the EuroAsia Title as cocky as could be, and twice as confident.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the Havok Hellion declared, addressing her fellow Brit directly, something the already seething Lydia appeared to take exception to. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten where we actually work.”
The crowd cheered at that, always willing to join in any verbal assault on Her Ladyship.
Lydia was about to form a retort but, apparently lacking decorum, Reign saw fit to interrupt her betters again.
“Nu uh, shush now,” Rebecca insisted, shaking her finger, impetuous personified. “I’m talking, and you’re not even close to being my type, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
Again, the crowd raised their voices, joining in on the suggestion that it was already time for Lethbridge to wait her turn.
“Now, as much fun as it’s been watching your top-heavy Champion rip just about the entirety of two continents a new one,” Reign continued, referring to the EuroAsia Champion, Cleona Flynn’s extended tour of said territory, a dominant display that had toppled one challenger after another with increasingly destructive displays of power. “One can’t help but wonder,” the Chaos Child paused, tapping her chin with the mic, “if that redheaded bytch of yours hasn’t been, you know, running with her tail between her legs from…”
CRACK!!
…there had been no warning, no music to announce her arrival, the Gaelic Goddess appearing on stage behind the Havok Hellion and BLASTING her across her back with BLISTERING strike from a steel chair!!
Immediately, Rebecca went down, wailing with a silent, shocked scream as the WHACK of steel colliding with her all too yielding flesh shocked the FAWNatics into silence, Reign dropping to her hands and knees as Flynn towered over her like the Redheaded Reaper she was.
CLEONA FLYNN
Standing in at five foot six, and one hundred and fifty-two pounds, the Celtic Constrictor was every inch as imposing as the packed arena remembered, ten pounds of coveted EuroAsia Gold strapped about her waist that no-one had been able to remove.
Finding their voices, the momentarily shocked FAWNatics rained down a veritable cascade of Boos on the returning Champion, filling the stadium with their discontent as Flynn looked down upon her blindsided Challenger. If anything, despite the severity of her assault, Cleona looked faintly bored with her current endeavours, patently ignoring the heckles of the FAWNatics as she tilted her head slightly, looking to her weapon of choice for the evening before dismissively tossing the folded, steel chair aside. It clattered away to places unknown as Flynn rolled her shoulders and stepped forwards with purpose, SLAMMING her right boot upwards into the exposed and vulnerable gut of the forcibly penitent Reign.
Rebecca GROOOOANED, a great deal of air forced up and out of her body as she was briefly vaulted up off of her hands and knees and sent rolling through the air, landing on her back before she rolled over onto one side. She grimaced, struggling to breath, protectively turtling as the young Brit struggled to catch up with current events, grimacing as she…
…released a prolonged hiss, gritting her teeth and curling sharply as, a second time, Flynn delivered a ruthless kick to her prostrate body, this time nailing the small of her back. She rolled over onto her front, sputtering as she tried and failed to form words, blindly reaching out and grasping the nearest barricade.
Inside the ring, which seemed to be so very far away now, Lethbridge was looking as pleased as could be, politely applauding her associates’ efforts, infuriatingly smug as her EuroAsia Champion cut the legs out from under her Number One Contender. With mild irritation, she noted the Official was seeking her attention.
“Damn it, Lydia,” the man in black and white protested. “You can’t do this; the match hasn’t started yet. Call her off!”
“I most certainly will not,” Lydia refused, lip curling in distaste at both his proximity, and the sheer gall he was displaying in thinking that he could issue her demands. “And you will do well to stand aside.”
“I mean it,” the Official stood his ground. “I’ll call it off.”
“Oh dear,” Lethbridge didn’t even attempt to conceal her contempt, rolling her eyes even as the Official realised just how ineffectual his attempted warning would be. “How terribly unfortunate that would be.”
The man in black and white searched for a fresh retort but, at this junction, found that he had none. Instead, he took a step back, letting events play out a little longer and hoping and opportunity would present itself to help him restore the balance.
He wasn’t about to hold his breath.
Of this brief exchange inside the squared circle, the FAWNatics themselves saw little, their attention instead focused on the unfolding lynching taking place on the ramp.
Cleona reached down, grabbing Reign by the back of her hair with one hand whilst lifting her under the shoulder with the other. Barely looking invested in the violence that she was unleashing, she forcibly scraped Rebecca back off the concrete and lifted her to a semblance of vertical. She didn’t quite reach boot leather however, Flynn instead turning Rebecca about and, without an iota of malice, forced the Havok Hellion to lean throat first over the top of the barricade, and then proceeded to SHOVE down!!
Her eyes snapping open wide, Reign immediately began to gag, ruthlessly straggled by an impassive Scot who was relentless in pressing her opposites neck down across the metal rod. Rebecca bucked hard, instinctively panicking as her vision grew blurry, the young woman gagging as her hands clenched impotently into fists and her feet kicked out aimlessly behind her, unable to find anything resembling useable purchase.
The Redheaded Reaper would not let her go, impassive in expression as the FAWNatics rained down protests upon her, adjusting her grip just slightly only to ensure she could better hold her fruitlessly flailing victim in place. All too quickly, her labours were rewarded, Rebecca’s efforts to get away reducing with each successive buck, her frantic kicks becoming listless while her arms soon began to sway idly, the ensnared Brits shoulders twitching as her cheeks turned a worrying shade of crimson.
Before Rebecca could pass out, Cleona looked the full length of her Challenger over, perhaps admiring the view as Reign lay increasingly limp over the barricade, and only then reduced the pressure to her windpipe. With her would be adversary for the evening rendered suitably pliable, Flynn peeled the limp limbed Brit back off the barricade and, keeping her upright, turned the bleary-eyed Mistress of Mayhem about to face her.
Coming to a decision, she folded the pliant Rebecca forwards and stuffed her swaying noggin in tight between her thighs, adjusting her grip to then wrap her arms about the other young woman’s firm tummy. Squeezing for good measure, rewarded by a fresh groan from her Challenger, the Gaelic Goddess flexed her biceps and displayed her power by damn near deadlifting the five foot seven, one-hundred-and-thirty-pound athlete up into the air until she was sitting across the Scots shoulders.
The FAWNatics, wracked with concern, cried out a protest, but it was all for naught, Cleona displaying zero interest in heeding their calls before she dropped down sharply to sitting and FLUNG her unwilling cargo back down to earth on the wrong end of a hellacious Sit Out Powerbomb!!
SIT OUT POWERBOMB: @2:40
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tR7CQmJm2IQ
By in large, the Havok Hellion was SLAMMED into the concrete across her back and shoulders, a landing that would obliterate even the hardiest of wrestlers and yet, those sitting closest would later insist that they also heard the chilling WHACK of Rebecca’s noggin colliding with that unforgiving surface as well. Either way, following the initial, violent convulsion that ran the full length of her athletic body, Reign showed no signs of recovering, laying in a heap between the EuroAsia Champions extended stems and just barely breathing.
After observing her handiwork, Flynn creaked her neck, displaying little hurry in returning to vertical after grabbing one of her would be Challenger’s ankles. Like a cavewoman with her prize, she began to drag Rebecca down the isle by her limp stem, the young woman lifeless as she was unceremoniously carted towards the squared circle, the nearest cameraman opting to follow them every step of the way.
All the while, Lydia applauded, looking to the crowd as though expecting them to join in, the sheer, self-indulgent pleasure that she was exuding near nauseating to behold. Her praise for her handpicked Champion only improved further as the Celtic Constrictor, after adjusting her grip on her captive cargo, hauled the Mistress of Mayhem off the ground and dismissively tossed her rag dolled physique up onto the apron and then into the ring. Cleona followed moments later, the FAWNatics not liking where this was going.
“Be a dear,” Lydia spared the Official the barest of glances. “And ring the bell.”
“Ring the bell?” the man in black and white looked incredulous. “You must be out of your mind, Lethbridge…”
“That’s Your Ladyship!!” the Penthouse Belle snapped, swinging the tip of her silver topped cane up dangerously close to the underside of his jaw. “Begin the match,” Lydia demanded, her tone deceptively even, “Or you may find that Ms. Reign here may never compete again. The lesser of two evils, peasant, I am certain that Rebecca would plead for you to choose wisely.”
After a shot swallow, and not at all satisfied with his options, the Official did as he was prompted, calling for the bell to start the match…
The FAWNatics booed, but it didn’t matter, Flynn reaching down and grasping her unresponsive foe by both of her limp wrists, first peeling her off the canvas before hauling her up to vertical. With what appeared to be shockingly little effort, she jostled Rebecca into position before powering her up off the canvas, slinging the other young woman up across her shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry.
With her fellow Brit so secured, Cleona marched towards centre ring and then THREW herself backwards, NAILING Reign down into the mat again on the back end of a brutal Celtic Drop!!
CELTIC DROP: @0:45 Onwards.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HI0IffMxJM0
With a heady groan, Rebecca would have bounced were she not pinned between the canvas and her adversary, so she instead flopped out across the rattled plywood, laying largely still save for an erratic twitch from her right leg.
Flynn looked nonplussed, pulling herself up to sitting before finding her feet, apparently in no particular hurry to do so before she turned about, lined up Reign and then leapt. She didn’t go far, she didn’t need to, achieving just enough air for the Redheaded Reaper to sit out and then, when gravity dragged her back down to earth, she DROPPED all one hundred and fifty-two pounds of her body weight across her defenceless opponent’s head and torso, damn near crushing her beneath a devastating Last Drop!!
LAST DROP: @2:30
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uszPl9SNOQ
After her lower limbs kicked up into the air in recoil, Rebecca lay still, unresponsive as, filled with visible relief, the Official dropped down to the canvas with almost unseemly haste and began his count…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…and jumped back up to his feet, calling for the bell and an immediate end of the match.
As if it were necessary, and with the FAWNatics more than happy to let their displeasure be known, Her Ladyship, Lydia Lethbridge took it upon herself to make all matters official, bringing her microphone to her lips to perform the duties of the Announcer.
“Simpletons and the Slow Witted,” she began, practically purring as she prowled possessively about the ring as Cleona Flynn rose to her full, imposing stature behind her. “Your winner, by Flawless Victory, your Gaelic Goddess and STILL my EuroAsia Champion, CLEONA! FLYNN!!”
Gleefully smug in her victory, Lethbridge raised her arms up high, satisfaction writ across her features until, with a moment’s further consideration, she slowly turned her attention back to the immobile Reign. A fresh smile twitched her lips and, with the smallest of nods in Cleona’s direction, she directed her Firm Right Hand to collect a further pound of flesh…
“Hey now, hold on!” the Official fruitlessly tried to protest. “You said that this would be over!”
“I lied,” Lydia revealed, watching as Flynn began to peel the remains of her fellow Brit back off the canvas. “One does what one must in such trying times.”
The FAWNatics, already protesting, raised their voices even higher as Cleona…
FOR LIFE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGlrMUC2aJw
…stopped in her tracks, the sound system bursting into renewed life and not only capturing the attention of all those in the ring, but everyone in the crowd as well. All eyes turned to the stage, hope springing eternal in the minds of the FAWNatics for, while they didn’t recognise the tune or as to whom it heralded the arrival, any and all reinforcements at this time were needed…
That hope began to fade, however, when no-one seemed to appear, the lyrics rolling on but no-one breaching the curtains to invade the squared circle. Flynn, however, appearing mildly put out remained on her guard, all but tossing the remains of Reign aside as she marched closer to the ring ropes, rolling her shoulders in preparation…
…when a fresh disturbance seemed to ripple through the crowd, voices rising in surprise and then unexpected joy as, from their ranks suddenly appeared the beloved Summer Hopkins!!
SUMMER HOPKINS
Dynamically arriving on the Commonwealths blindside, the Supergirl of Sheffield returned to the Orlando Arena by practically bursting out the ranks of the jubilant Fawn Faithful, vaulting the barricade and storming the ring by diving beneath the bottom rope.
Flynn, detecting the real danger far too late, scarcely had time to turn around before the British Bombshell was on her, the blonde releasing a war cry that the crowd picked up in unison as she connected with a SOLID clothesline across the Celtic Constrictors shoulders!! Upended by the blow and knocked off balance, Cleona was sent tumbling head over heels over the top rope and quickly went plummeting to the cold concrete after bouncing off the apron.
Summer didn’t stop, back peddling half a step and, knowing that a furious Lethbridge was coming, spun on the spot and caught Lydia clean across her throat with a beautiful leg lariat. Her Ladyship went down, the masses cheering her misfortune, and Hopkins 2.0 was there to collect her, the Girl of Steel scooping the Penthouse Belle back off the mat and, after securing a grip of her hip, bodily tossed the smaller Brit of the ring as well!!
On her way out of the squared circle, she collided with a disgruntled Flynn just as the Scot was about to climb back up onto the apron, connecting with a THUD and a cursed tangling of limbs that sent both of them tumbling back down.
The FAWNatics were in full voice, a chant soon filling the arena, one that was familiar to the fans of one Summer Hopkins…
“MADE! FOR!! THIS!!! MADE! FOR!! THIS!!! MADE! FOR!! THIS!!! MADE! FOR!! THIS!!!”
Looking slightly flustered and, as always, a little bashful as the adrenaline wore off, the former wallflower turned Supergirl of Sheffield stepped back from the ropes and held her arms out wide, inviting the members of the Commonwealth back in.
For a moment, Cleona looked like she was game, less than intimidated by the other Amazon in the ring, but Lydia’s opinion appeared to differ. With sharp commands, she held Flynn back, evaluating the scenario before, with stern words and sharp jab of her cane in Summer’s direction, she ordered a withdraw.
Somewhat nervously, which Hopkins performed a commendable job of concealing, she watched both Lethbridge and Flynn leave before, lowering her guard, she turned her attention to Reign. While they weren’t exactly friends, Summer was relieved to see that her fellow athlete was already receiving medical attention thanks to the opening that she had created and so, with a brief biting of her bottom lip, she allowed the accolades of the FAWNatics to wash over her.
She stood there a moment, claiming centre ring, her cheeks flashing crimson as she was momentarily at a loss for what to do before her sponsors extensive coaching kicked in. As the cameras of the Gladiatrix photographers flashed, the Girl of Steel popped into a jaunty little bicep flex, one that melted hearts the world over and, gripped by a flash of spontaneity, she dropped one hand to her hips before pointing the other towards the rafters…
…specifically, to one massive sign in particular.
The crowd agreed, it would be criminal to miss out.
FAWNMANIA
Cheers that, almost unanimously transformed into jeers as…
BAD THINGS
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKzwSsxkpTA
…burst into life over the loud speakers, heralding the arrival of one of FAWN’s Most Hated back to American shores. Moments later, a curvy brunette emerged from behind the curtains uninvited, 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 tipped with a beautifully sculptured, silver forged, glowering wolfs head. She planted it in the ground before her, clasping it imperiously with both palms.
Tipping her chin up just so, 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, for once, she allowed her very presence alone to speak for her. Satisfied that she had stamped her authority upon the faithless with her withering contempt, the aristocrat set off down the ramp at a stately pace, banishing those that especially displeased her with a dismissive sweep of her palm.
Every step of the way, the crowd watched her, both captivated and disillusioned in equal stride as, ever wary in her presence, they waited for the Princess of Privilege to reveal some vicious ploy or underhanded trickery at a moment’s notice, her regal poise just barely hiding the endless machinations she kept hidden beneath the surface.
She ascended the steel steps as though approaching her throne and, once upon the apron, she paused just long enough to arch her brow in imperious form and demanded silently of the Official to aid her entry. Suitably cowed, the man in black and white did exactly that, pacing over to her quickly and pushing down on the middle rope while lifting the top.
Barely sparing him another glance, the Penthouse Belle ducked into the ring via the opening he provided and, after securing a microphone, she marched to centre ring. With her lips twitching with the inklings of a fresh, malicious grin, she forced the Fawn Faithful to wait before she finally brought the stick up to speak…
…only to be interrupted by…
POWER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhTHJyRjVIc
…bursting into life over the loud speakers!!
While ordinarily this particular call to war would receive a mixed response at best, tonight it prompted a near tidal waves of cheers, if only because it rudely interrupted[/b] her Ladyship, Lydia Lethbridge. Moments later, lit up by the spotlights high above, the Mistress of Mayhem, Rebecca Reign appeared on stage, brandishing her weapon of choice, a particularly savage looking kendo stick in hand.
REBECCA REIGN
Caught somewhat by surprise by the positive reception, the one-time babyface in the making and now unrepentant anarchist merely shrugged at the crowds unexpected (and more than likely temporary) change in tune, and replied to it with her patented, crooked grin. Mimicking Lethbridge in the ring, the rebellious Brit planted her kendo stick in the ground as though it were a cane and grasped it in imperious fashion, tilting her nose up just so before shaking her head.
Securing a mic of her own, and remaining on the stage, Reign silently demanded the entirety of the FAWNatics attention as she brought the stick up to her lips, the Number One Contender for the EuroAsia Title as cocky as could be, and twice as confident.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the Havok Hellion declared, addressing her fellow Brit directly, something the already seething Lydia appeared to take exception to. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten where we actually work.”
The crowd cheered at that, always willing to join in any verbal assault on Her Ladyship.
Lydia was about to form a retort but, apparently lacking decorum, Reign saw fit to interrupt her betters again.
“Nu uh, shush now,” Rebecca insisted, shaking her finger, impetuous personified. “I’m talking, and you’re not even close to being my type, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
Again, the crowd raised their voices, joining in on the suggestion that it was already time for Lethbridge to wait her turn.
“Now, as much fun as it’s been watching your top-heavy Champion rip just about the entirety of two continents a new one,” Reign continued, referring to the EuroAsia Champion, Cleona Flynn’s extended tour of said territory, a dominant display that had toppled one challenger after another with increasingly destructive displays of power. “One can’t help but wonder,” the Chaos Child paused, tapping her chin with the mic, “if that redheaded bytch of yours hasn’t been, you know, running with her tail between her legs from…”
CRACK!!
…there had been no warning, no music to announce her arrival, the Gaelic Goddess appearing on stage behind the Havok Hellion and BLASTING her across her back with BLISTERING strike from a steel chair!!
Immediately, Rebecca went down, wailing with a silent, shocked scream as the WHACK of steel colliding with her all too yielding flesh shocked the FAWNatics into silence, Reign dropping to her hands and knees as Flynn towered over her like the Redheaded Reaper she was.
CLEONA FLYNN
Standing in at five foot six, and one hundred and fifty-two pounds, the Celtic Constrictor was every inch as imposing as the packed arena remembered, ten pounds of coveted EuroAsia Gold strapped about her waist that no-one had been able to remove.
Finding their voices, the momentarily shocked FAWNatics rained down a veritable cascade of Boos on the returning Champion, filling the stadium with their discontent as Flynn looked down upon her blindsided Challenger. If anything, despite the severity of her assault, Cleona looked faintly bored with her current endeavours, patently ignoring the heckles of the FAWNatics as she tilted her head slightly, looking to her weapon of choice for the evening before dismissively tossing the folded, steel chair aside. It clattered away to places unknown as Flynn rolled her shoulders and stepped forwards with purpose, SLAMMING her right boot upwards into the exposed and vulnerable gut of the forcibly penitent Reign.
Rebecca GROOOOANED, a great deal of air forced up and out of her body as she was briefly vaulted up off of her hands and knees and sent rolling through the air, landing on her back before she rolled over onto one side. She grimaced, struggling to breath, protectively turtling as the young Brit struggled to catch up with current events, grimacing as she…
…released a prolonged hiss, gritting her teeth and curling sharply as, a second time, Flynn delivered a ruthless kick to her prostrate body, this time nailing the small of her back. She rolled over onto her front, sputtering as she tried and failed to form words, blindly reaching out and grasping the nearest barricade.
Inside the ring, which seemed to be so very far away now, Lethbridge was looking as pleased as could be, politely applauding her associates’ efforts, infuriatingly smug as her EuroAsia Champion cut the legs out from under her Number One Contender. With mild irritation, she noted the Official was seeking her attention.
“Damn it, Lydia,” the man in black and white protested. “You can’t do this; the match hasn’t started yet. Call her off!”
“I most certainly will not,” Lydia refused, lip curling in distaste at both his proximity, and the sheer gall he was displaying in thinking that he could issue her demands. “And you will do well to stand aside.”
“I mean it,” the Official stood his ground. “I’ll call it off.”
“Oh dear,” Lethbridge didn’t even attempt to conceal her contempt, rolling her eyes even as the Official realised just how ineffectual his attempted warning would be. “How terribly unfortunate that would be.”
The man in black and white searched for a fresh retort but, at this junction, found that he had none. Instead, he took a step back, letting events play out a little longer and hoping and opportunity would present itself to help him restore the balance.
He wasn’t about to hold his breath.
Of this brief exchange inside the squared circle, the FAWNatics themselves saw little, their attention instead focused on the unfolding lynching taking place on the ramp.
Cleona reached down, grabbing Reign by the back of her hair with one hand whilst lifting her under the shoulder with the other. Barely looking invested in the violence that she was unleashing, she forcibly scraped Rebecca back off the concrete and lifted her to a semblance of vertical. She didn’t quite reach boot leather however, Flynn instead turning Rebecca about and, without an iota of malice, forced the Havok Hellion to lean throat first over the top of the barricade, and then proceeded to SHOVE down!!
Her eyes snapping open wide, Reign immediately began to gag, ruthlessly straggled by an impassive Scot who was relentless in pressing her opposites neck down across the metal rod. Rebecca bucked hard, instinctively panicking as her vision grew blurry, the young woman gagging as her hands clenched impotently into fists and her feet kicked out aimlessly behind her, unable to find anything resembling useable purchase.
The Redheaded Reaper would not let her go, impassive in expression as the FAWNatics rained down protests upon her, adjusting her grip just slightly only to ensure she could better hold her fruitlessly flailing victim in place. All too quickly, her labours were rewarded, Rebecca’s efforts to get away reducing with each successive buck, her frantic kicks becoming listless while her arms soon began to sway idly, the ensnared Brits shoulders twitching as her cheeks turned a worrying shade of crimson.
Before Rebecca could pass out, Cleona looked the full length of her Challenger over, perhaps admiring the view as Reign lay increasingly limp over the barricade, and only then reduced the pressure to her windpipe. With her would be adversary for the evening rendered suitably pliable, Flynn peeled the limp limbed Brit back off the barricade and, keeping her upright, turned the bleary-eyed Mistress of Mayhem about to face her.
Coming to a decision, she folded the pliant Rebecca forwards and stuffed her swaying noggin in tight between her thighs, adjusting her grip to then wrap her arms about the other young woman’s firm tummy. Squeezing for good measure, rewarded by a fresh groan from her Challenger, the Gaelic Goddess flexed her biceps and displayed her power by damn near deadlifting the five foot seven, one-hundred-and-thirty-pound athlete up into the air until she was sitting across the Scots shoulders.
The FAWNatics, wracked with concern, cried out a protest, but it was all for naught, Cleona displaying zero interest in heeding their calls before she dropped down sharply to sitting and FLUNG her unwilling cargo back down to earth on the wrong end of a hellacious Sit Out Powerbomb!!
SIT OUT POWERBOMB: @2:40
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tR7CQmJm2IQ
By in large, the Havok Hellion was SLAMMED into the concrete across her back and shoulders, a landing that would obliterate even the hardiest of wrestlers and yet, those sitting closest would later insist that they also heard the chilling WHACK of Rebecca’s noggin colliding with that unforgiving surface as well. Either way, following the initial, violent convulsion that ran the full length of her athletic body, Reign showed no signs of recovering, laying in a heap between the EuroAsia Champions extended stems and just barely breathing.
After observing her handiwork, Flynn creaked her neck, displaying little hurry in returning to vertical after grabbing one of her would be Challenger’s ankles. Like a cavewoman with her prize, she began to drag Rebecca down the isle by her limp stem, the young woman lifeless as she was unceremoniously carted towards the squared circle, the nearest cameraman opting to follow them every step of the way.
All the while, Lydia applauded, looking to the crowd as though expecting them to join in, the sheer, self-indulgent pleasure that she was exuding near nauseating to behold. Her praise for her handpicked Champion only improved further as the Celtic Constrictor, after adjusting her grip on her captive cargo, hauled the Mistress of Mayhem off the ground and dismissively tossed her rag dolled physique up onto the apron and then into the ring. Cleona followed moments later, the FAWNatics not liking where this was going.
“Be a dear,” Lydia spared the Official the barest of glances. “And ring the bell.”
“Ring the bell?” the man in black and white looked incredulous. “You must be out of your mind, Lethbridge…”
“That’s Your Ladyship!!” the Penthouse Belle snapped, swinging the tip of her silver topped cane up dangerously close to the underside of his jaw. “Begin the match,” Lydia demanded, her tone deceptively even, “Or you may find that Ms. Reign here may never compete again. The lesser of two evils, peasant, I am certain that Rebecca would plead for you to choose wisely.”
After a shot swallow, and not at all satisfied with his options, the Official did as he was prompted, calling for the bell to start the match…
The FAWNatics booed, but it didn’t matter, Flynn reaching down and grasping her unresponsive foe by both of her limp wrists, first peeling her off the canvas before hauling her up to vertical. With what appeared to be shockingly little effort, she jostled Rebecca into position before powering her up off the canvas, slinging the other young woman up across her shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry.
With her fellow Brit so secured, Cleona marched towards centre ring and then THREW herself backwards, NAILING Reign down into the mat again on the back end of a brutal Celtic Drop!!
CELTIC DROP: @0:45 Onwards.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HI0IffMxJM0
With a heady groan, Rebecca would have bounced were she not pinned between the canvas and her adversary, so she instead flopped out across the rattled plywood, laying largely still save for an erratic twitch from her right leg.
Flynn looked nonplussed, pulling herself up to sitting before finding her feet, apparently in no particular hurry to do so before she turned about, lined up Reign and then leapt. She didn’t go far, she didn’t need to, achieving just enough air for the Redheaded Reaper to sit out and then, when gravity dragged her back down to earth, she DROPPED all one hundred and fifty-two pounds of her body weight across her defenceless opponent’s head and torso, damn near crushing her beneath a devastating Last Drop!!
LAST DROP: @2:30
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uszPl9SNOQ
After her lower limbs kicked up into the air in recoil, Rebecca lay still, unresponsive as, filled with visible relief, the Official dropped down to the canvas with almost unseemly haste and began his count…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…and jumped back up to his feet, calling for the bell and an immediate end of the match.
As if it were necessary, and with the FAWNatics more than happy to let their displeasure be known, Her Ladyship, Lydia Lethbridge took it upon herself to make all matters official, bringing her microphone to her lips to perform the duties of the Announcer.
“Simpletons and the Slow Witted,” she began, practically purring as she prowled possessively about the ring as Cleona Flynn rose to her full, imposing stature behind her. “Your winner, by Flawless Victory, your Gaelic Goddess and STILL my EuroAsia Champion, CLEONA! FLYNN!!”
Gleefully smug in her victory, Lethbridge raised her arms up high, satisfaction writ across her features until, with a moment’s further consideration, she slowly turned her attention back to the immobile Reign. A fresh smile twitched her lips and, with the smallest of nods in Cleona’s direction, she directed her Firm Right Hand to collect a further pound of flesh…
“Hey now, hold on!” the Official fruitlessly tried to protest. “You said that this would be over!”
“I lied,” Lydia revealed, watching as Flynn began to peel the remains of her fellow Brit back off the canvas. “One does what one must in such trying times.”
The FAWNatics, already protesting, raised their voices even higher as Cleona…
FOR LIFE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGlrMUC2aJw
…stopped in her tracks, the sound system bursting into renewed life and not only capturing the attention of all those in the ring, but everyone in the crowd as well. All eyes turned to the stage, hope springing eternal in the minds of the FAWNatics for, while they didn’t recognise the tune or as to whom it heralded the arrival, any and all reinforcements at this time were needed…
That hope began to fade, however, when no-one seemed to appear, the lyrics rolling on but no-one breaching the curtains to invade the squared circle. Flynn, however, appearing mildly put out remained on her guard, all but tossing the remains of Reign aside as she marched closer to the ring ropes, rolling her shoulders in preparation…
…when a fresh disturbance seemed to ripple through the crowd, voices rising in surprise and then unexpected joy as, from their ranks suddenly appeared the beloved Summer Hopkins!!
SUMMER HOPKINS
Dynamically arriving on the Commonwealths blindside, the Supergirl of Sheffield returned to the Orlando Arena by practically bursting out the ranks of the jubilant Fawn Faithful, vaulting the barricade and storming the ring by diving beneath the bottom rope.
Flynn, detecting the real danger far too late, scarcely had time to turn around before the British Bombshell was on her, the blonde releasing a war cry that the crowd picked up in unison as she connected with a SOLID clothesline across the Celtic Constrictors shoulders!! Upended by the blow and knocked off balance, Cleona was sent tumbling head over heels over the top rope and quickly went plummeting to the cold concrete after bouncing off the apron.
Summer didn’t stop, back peddling half a step and, knowing that a furious Lethbridge was coming, spun on the spot and caught Lydia clean across her throat with a beautiful leg lariat. Her Ladyship went down, the masses cheering her misfortune, and Hopkins 2.0 was there to collect her, the Girl of Steel scooping the Penthouse Belle back off the mat and, after securing a grip of her hip, bodily tossed the smaller Brit of the ring as well!!
On her way out of the squared circle, she collided with a disgruntled Flynn just as the Scot was about to climb back up onto the apron, connecting with a THUD and a cursed tangling of limbs that sent both of them tumbling back down.
The FAWNatics were in full voice, a chant soon filling the arena, one that was familiar to the fans of one Summer Hopkins…
“MADE! FOR!! THIS!!! MADE! FOR!! THIS!!! MADE! FOR!! THIS!!! MADE! FOR!! THIS!!!”
Looking slightly flustered and, as always, a little bashful as the adrenaline wore off, the former wallflower turned Supergirl of Sheffield stepped back from the ropes and held her arms out wide, inviting the members of the Commonwealth back in.
For a moment, Cleona looked like she was game, less than intimidated by the other Amazon in the ring, but Lydia’s opinion appeared to differ. With sharp commands, she held Flynn back, evaluating the scenario before, with stern words and sharp jab of her cane in Summer’s direction, she ordered a withdraw.
Somewhat nervously, which Hopkins performed a commendable job of concealing, she watched both Lethbridge and Flynn leave before, lowering her guard, she turned her attention to Reign. While they weren’t exactly friends, Summer was relieved to see that her fellow athlete was already receiving medical attention thanks to the opening that she had created and so, with a brief biting of her bottom lip, she allowed the accolades of the FAWNatics to wash over her.
She stood there a moment, claiming centre ring, her cheeks flashing crimson as she was momentarily at a loss for what to do before her sponsors extensive coaching kicked in. As the cameras of the Gladiatrix photographers flashed, the Girl of Steel popped into a jaunty little bicep flex, one that melted hearts the world over and, gripped by a flash of spontaneity, she dropped one hand to her hips before pointing the other towards the rafters…
…specifically, to one massive sign in particular.
The crowd agreed, it would be criminal to miss out.
FAWNMANIA