Post by SammieSinclair on Dec 20, 2014 18:43:38 GMT
With the matches in the Pay-Per-View dwindling to a precious few, the crowd revs up for the under-125 set and the battle for lightweight gold.
When the house speakers spark to life with the pounding of Metallica’s “Don’t Tread on Me”.
“DON’T TREAD ON ME":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPl2sTo_8-o
a few scattered ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet, saluting crisply. The other 98 percent of the FAWNatics make themselves known in quite a different way.
While once upon a time this musical cue would spur a round of enthusiastic shouts and cheers, the crowd’s cascade of boos is deafening, the Young Americans’ Benedict Arnold being booed out of the building or more appropriately in this instance, into it.
The PA barely breaks through the jeers.
“Tonight’s next match is for FAWN’s Lightweight championship. Scheduled for one fall with a time limit of 30 minutes. Tonight’s challenger…hailing from Buffalo, NY; standing five feet one inch tall, and weighing in tonight at one-hundred and eighteen scintillating pounds of All-American Awesome. Ladies and gentlemen, she is the one and only TRUE American... POLLY LOCKWOOD!”
Polly Lockwood
The haters only get louder when the blonde hardbody strides confidently to center stage, bringing a salute to her brow. When the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Lockwood adds her own little twist, a middle finger remaining straight while the others recede.
Looking stern, lightweight title belt noticeably absent, Lockwood wraps her palms around her waist, making it clear she expects to have the gold back around her waist, stripping it from the woman who’d taken it from her two months ago.
Polly’s wardrobe remains worthy of flag waving. The tiny blonde hardbody sports the former Young Americans’ standard uniform of hot pants and bikini top. Polly alternates her country’s colours between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in just the right spots, and shimmering red and white stripes below; with white pads and boots capping off the ensemble.
The True American no longer wears Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak, instead opting for a flag with a rattlesnake and the old chestnut ‘Don’t Tread On Me’ in its place. She spreads her arms wide, showing off the dangerous snake as she walks down the ramp and aisle, the crowd not missing the symbolism. Lockwood growls at the moronic hordes, ignoring the insults and the jeers.
Reaching the ring, the patriot ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood shrugs off her flag cum cape, draping it over her corner. She walks to the center of the ring, pulling a microphone to her lips.
“I bet you all loved it when that Fake American took my gold, ” Polly shouts.
It didn’t take a crystal ball to predict the blonde right on that score as the FAWNatics raise their collective voice in a loud cheer.
“Well, tonight it comes back to the land of the free and the home of the brave and the waist of the hottest chick in all fifty, baby. So deal with that you dumpster divers. Polly out!”
Lockwood tosses the stick to the canvas with a ‘CLUNK’, the ref snatching it off the mat and handing it to a FAWN flunky on the sidelines.
As the challenger awaits her opponent’s arrival, some FAWNatics reflect on how unlikely a Lightweight title defence happening this month had appeared at All Hallows Evil. And some of those even wonder about how advisable this defence is. Nyssa Bloodwind had endured one of the most savage beatings FAWN had even seen, at the hands of another formerly beloved heroine. That Nyssa had been medically cleared to compete seems to some a minor miracle...
... though, rumour has it, Bloodwind HADN’T been cleared. She had INSISTED on defending her belt tonight.
“And now, the CHAMPION..." he resumes, spawning a ROAR of deafening cheers. “Hailing from Tempe, Arizona… She stands five feet three inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-two pounds… Ladies and gentlemen, she is the Nubile Navajo… NYYYYYSSSSSSSSA BLLLOOOOOOODDDDWWWWIIIIINNNNNNNDDD!”
Nyssa Bloodwind
The murmur of the crowd is interrupted by the first note of Rage Against the Machine. But instead of the elder Bloodwind's ‘Killing in the Name‘, the speakers blare the defiant chords of ‘Testify‘. An instant later and Nyssa pushes the curtains aside, bursting out onto the aisle, the fans bursting into warm cheers for the talented lightweight. The pedigree is no doubt responsible for part of her reception, but there is little denying that the tyro’s choice of ring gear also wins her a fair few whistles. The raven haired beauty stands clad in a faux deerskin halter, the shoulder straps eventually becoming two thin strings that crisscross her otherwise bare back. She also wears matching bikini bottoms, augmented by for lack of a better term a "half loin cloth" that descends to mid-thigh in the front, and that fails to obscure the view of her exquisite derriere in the back. Ugg boots molded to resemble moccasins complete the ensemble.
But of course, the crowning touch of the ensemble was the ultimate accessory: the championship belt of the Lightweight division, gracing her midsection.
Buoyed by the support of the FAWNatics,Nyssa makes her way down the aisle, slapping hands along the guardrail, and doing her absolute best not to miss a single palm. But it doesn’t go without notice that her usual buoyant smile is a bit dimmed this evening. A show of determination, heading into a rematch with the woman she’d beaten for the belt? Or a sign of just how much she was STILL feeling Kylie’s sickening assault?
Finally reaching the ring steps, Bloodwind takes them nearly two at a time, eager to get in the ring. Stopping just long enough to wipe her boots on the apron, the Nubile Navajo slips through the ropes and makes a beeline for the nearest corner. Nyssa foregoes her usual hop onto the middle rope, instead opting to remain flat-footed as she pumps a fist in the air, drawing another loud roar of support from the crowd in response.
And while Bloodwind revels in her fans, looking out upon the masses, Lockwood stalks from behind, poised to attack for the bell. Just as she's about to sprint toward Nyssa's six, the champ turns. Polly skids to a halt barely a step after putting her frame in motion. She holds up her palms and plays off the aborted sneak attack. "Looking a little out of sorts there, Bloodwind." she says. "Sanders did a little number on ya, didn't she? You could just give it to me. Nothing unpatriotic about handing it over to the better woman."
The Nubile Navajo DOES hand the belt over--but to the official, not Polly. "Maybe not," Nyssa responds, "but Jules isn't out here."
Polly scowls and takes a step forward, possibly ready to attempt that pre-bell attack, even with Bloodwind ready... but the referee quickly gets in between blonde and brunette, ordering the TRUE American back to her corner. Lockwood grudgingly complies, Nyssa remaining in hers as the zebra lifts the Lightweight title belt high over his head. After passing the strap to a ringside staffer, he calls for the bell--and Polly and Nyssa waste little time storming out of their corners. But just as it appears they're ready to tie up, the Nubile Navajo dips, trying to slip behind her predecessor and secure a waistlock.
Using Lockwood's aggressiveness against her, the raven-haired grappler ends glued to Polly's back, arms tight around the challenger's waist. She lifts Lockwood to tiptoes and swings her from side to side. The True American grits her teeth, prying at Bloodwind's grip but unable to get free. Instead, she struggles her way to the ropes and grabs hold, instantly demanding she be shown her home country advantage, one that would only allow Nyssa a two-count before having to break for the ropes. When Nyssa uses all four, Polly turns with a complaint on her lips but Nyssa slaps it right off with a paintbrush to Lockwood's left cheek.
"You littllllwwwooooOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" the TRUE American begins to protest, but again, Nyssa doesn't give her a chance to finish getting the words out. Instead, the Nubile Navajo snatches Polly's wrist, sets her feet and LAUNCHES Lockwood toward the far ropes with an Irish whip. Marching out to mid-ring as Polly rebounds off the cables, Bloodwind takes a step to the side, drawing back her right hand...
... and UNLOADING with an open-hand chop to the Star Spangled Bytch's chest! Polly's legs fly out from under her, the challenger cut down, sent sprawling onto her back. And once the TRUE American has finished her descent, the Nubile Navajo takes off, launching into an attempting standing shooting star press.
STANDING SHOOTING STAR PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQ-dKtZnIyE
Eyelids still clenched from the stinging rebuke from the champ, Lockwood doesn't seem to realize the acrobatics above her. When the emerald eyes open, Nyssa is already mid-flip and while Polly starts to rise, she's quickly met with a descent, namely Nyssa. The Native American grappler CRASHES down across the pocket-sized hardbody and SPLASHES her foe in dramatic fashion with enough OOOMPH that Bloodwind can't resist going for the pin. She hooks a leg and collects...
ONE...
TWO....
... and the Star-Spangled Bytch gets a shoulder up to keep her chances at a second light title reign alive.
Nyssa doesn't bother arguing--getting the pin on Polly this early was unlikely at best, and only a fool would think otherwise. Pushing off the TRUE American, Bloodwind climbs to her feet before stooping down and gathering a handful of Lockwood's golden locks. With a tug, the Nubile Navajo brings her challenger up off the deck. Keeping Polly doubled over, Nyssa reaches underneath her foe's midsection. Perhaps hoping to make an early statement, once Bloodwind's grip is secure, the Native American beauty prepares to hoist Lockwood up for an inverted shoulderbreaker.
INVERTED SHOULDERBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3zJs4f7yO0
But as Nyssa's grip cinches around Polly's tummy, the blonde wraps her arms around Bloodwind's thighs. Before the champ can lift and deliver her blow, Polly vaults the Nubile Navajo heavenward. Bloodwind flips up and over from a back body drop. But as Polly straightens, she doesn't realize Nyssa's been able to land on her feet. With a grin, she turns to see the wreckage behind her but instead feels an Ugg from Nyssa buried deep in her tummy. With Polly doubling with a grunt in front of her, Nyssa recaptures the blonde around her midriff and launches Lockwood up and across her shoulder, holding the blonde in a painful arch until Nyssa drops to a knee and DRIVES Polly's shoulder into the joint. Lockwood tumbles away from the collision, yelping and holding her injured wing.
A boot to the back of that very same shoulder sends the Star Spangled Bytch flopping over to her belly--exactly where the Lightweight champ wants her. Moving to Lockwood's feet, Nyssa stuffs Polly's left boot into the pit of her right knee, before pushing Lockwood's right leg back to hold that foot in place. Bloodwind then steps into the keyhole between Polly's thighs, turning her back to the challenger as Lockwood's right foot presses against the back of the Navajo's calf. The Native American beauty then starts to bridge back, ready to clamp onto the TRUE American's chin and cinch in the Muta lock.
MUTA LOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jee-ODWGvVI
The Native American falls back into her bridge and locks her hands under Polly's chin. Ripping back on the grip, the champ uses her lock to curl the spine of the former champ, turning the blonde's spinal column into a tortured arch. The official slides down in front of the challenger and asks if she wants to lower her flag. Polly's hand rises but it then shakes instead of slaps the mat. The blonde claws at the canvas but can't move any closer to the ropes, her body trapped by the machinations of the raven-haired beauty. Nyssa continues to wrench until her body fatigues from the bridge, Polly outlasting Bloodwind's submission effort, if barely.
The Nubile Navajo rolls away from her groaning adversary, then uses the ropes to pull herself up. Some feet away, Polly begins to do the same, without any assistance--but with perhaps a little more difficulty. As the Star Spangled Bytch finally starts to straighten up, Nyssa pushes away from the cables, racing toward Lockwood as swiftly as her shapely legs will carry her. Homing in on the TRUE American, Bloodwind vaults toward the skies, reaching out her arm to capture Polly's skull. If she could manage that, drilling the standing tornado DDT should be a snap.
STANDING TORNADO DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2_gWhStA3c
But when Nyssa launches, hoping to rotate around and SPIKE Polly's braincase into the deck, the blonde is able to get her hands up and shove Bloodwind off at the height of her upswing. The Nubile Navajo manages to land on her feet again and her cat-like reflexes pay off once more. For while Polly straightens, a spasm in her back momentarily slowing her, Nyssa surges forward, burying a shoulder and SPEARING Lockwood. Nyssa carries the gutted, bugeyed blonde several steps before planting her to the canvas. The True American coughs and sputters while Nyssa rises to all fours. Polly spins to her chest, groaning, but managing to slither along the deck, trying to make her way under the bottom rope and to the outside where she can reevaluate how this Fake American was finding success.
The Lightweight champ scampers after the retreating Polly on her hands and knees, but Lockwood manages to worm her way under the bottom rope before Bloodwind can catch her. A frustrated Nyssa slaps the mat with both hands--but then pops right back to her feet. Outside the ring, the Star Spangled Bytch paces, shaking out her head while one hand massages her lower back. Meanwhile, the Nubile Navajo darts to the far corner. Vaulting onto the top turnbuckle, Nyssa pauses juuuust long enough to steady herself before throwing caution to the four winds, taking flight in a jaw-dropping somersault plancha.
SOMERSAULT PLANCHA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucOell8R6yk
Throwing caution to the wind and showing precious little effect from her awful battering at All Hallows Eve, Bloodwind launches from her perch. Flipping as she plummets toward the little blonde hardbody, the crowd waits in rapt anticipation. But neither the Navajo or the crowd is rewarded as Polly dives out of the blast zone and Nyssa CRASHES to the thinly padded cement, across her back. The champ's spine arches in agony as Polly leans against the apron, drawing the back of her hand across her forehead to wipe her brow. Taking a gulping swallow, Lockwood staggers toward the writhing Nyssa. Grabbing a wrist of the Arizona native, the True American rips Bloodwind to her feet and aims her at the steel ringsteps, hoping to bring back some memories of Bloodwind braincase ramming into steel.
An alarmed squeal runs through the FAWNatics as Polly starts to toss Nyssa away, the crowd fully noting which part of the Nubile Navajo will be leading the way. But Bloodwind's hard landing has already taken a toll on the Native American beauty, and she fails to summon an answer before Lockwood launches her. The Lightweight champion shoots toward the steps, whatever her lumbering gate might lack in grace unfortunately making up for with speed, until...
'CLAAAAUUUUNNNNKKKK!!!!!!!'
The crown of Nyssa's skull meets the steel, hard enough to dislodge the steps from the side of the ring and send them skidding a couple of feet. Navajo Nation's breath catches in its collective throat as their champion drops to her hands and knees, but that proves only a passing stop. Bloodwind's arms and legs promptly give way, sending Nyssa pitching to the concrete. The more observant among the FAWNatics recognize that the Nubile Navajo's hands don't make any subsequent move to break her final descent, a detail which fills those who noticed it with concern.
And the crowd also notices Polly is well aware when Lockwood sends a vicious stomp to Bloodwind's temple. With the count accumulating and the True American needing the match in the ring to take the title, Polly plucks Nyssa off the deck. The raven-haired grappler seems nearly deadweight and Lockwood has some difficulty tossing the champ in, but the pocket-sized hardbody manages. Polly her follows her foe and watches as a blasted Bloodwind shows some life, wobbly pushing up to all fours. Lockwood's features sprout a predatory sneer as the blonde heads for the ropes to the champ's side, rebounds and leaps, right leg lifted high to come down on the back of Nyssa's noggin and curbstomp the Navajo's face into the deck.
With Nyssa appearing all but defenceless, quaking arms and limbs straining just to support her never mind propel her clear of Polly's path, the FAWNatics rise to her defence. Many in the crowd shoot to their feet as the TRUE American charges her adversary, begging and pleading with the challenger NOT to follow through on her approach. One ringside microphone picks up a very clear, "NonononononoNONONOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" from one spectator, the final plea elongating and rising in volume as Lockwood leaves her feet and gains elevation.
In the next instant, the Star Spangled Bytch proves exactly WHY she's earned that unflattering moniker. Polly's sole lands against the back of Nyssa's noggin, and one-hundred and eighteen pounds of challenger DRIVE Bloodwind's face into the harsh canvas. As Lockwood's feet settle back to the mat, the blonde practically skips away from her opponent, the Nubile Navajo left sprawled on her stomach, her body rocked by infrequent waves of spasms.
Polly skids to a stop, beaming. She raises her arms high and wide. "Seems Ol Cornpone is good for something. Can't win a title to save her life, but hands me one on a platter!" Lockwood salutes the jeering crowd and turns back to a splattered Bloodwind. She shovels Nyssa over with a boot and drops to one knee, that knee planted on Nyssa's softly rolling bosom. "Count please," Polly requests. The ref does as he's told, slapping the canvas for...
ONE...
TWO...
... and the Navajo shoves a shoulder up. Lockwood and not some of the fans seem stunned to see Nyssa conscious let alone able to stay alive. Among the least happy is the blonde. Lockwood backpedals a few feet from the stirring champion. There she waits for Nyssa to unsteadily fight her way to one knee. With the crowd chanting her name, Bloodwind raises a fist, her right bicep curling. Steps away, Polly surges toward the Nubile One's left temple, planning on delivering her signature, and appropriately named, 'Lights Out'.
LIGHTS OUT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lUAc1KVAQc
'THOOOOONK!'
The "NY-SSA!" chants are abruptly curtailed when Lockwood's knee SLAMS into side of the Nubile Navajo's skull. The blow sends Bloodwind plopping to her taut tush--and also rolls the champ's eyes back to whites. Nyssa then tumbles backward, a collapse that feels for the FAWNatics like it takes ten minutes rather than the seconds it does in actuality, the proud Native American warrior left starfished. A smug Polly takes one step toward her foe...
... until the referee forces her back. He then drops to one knee beside the Nubile Navajo. "Nyssa?" he asks. "Can you hear me? Are you awake?"
For a couple of seconds, the champ doesn't answer--but she then starts fighting her way toward a seated position. Eyelids blinking, Bloodwind mumbles, "Yeah... I'm... I'm fine..." Though the Nubile Navajo looks and sounds anything but.
"You hear, she's fine," Polly informs, pushing the man aside and sinking her nails into Bloodwind's scalp. "So come along now," the True American growls, "and show everyone how fine you are." Yanking Nyssa to her feet, Polly switches her grip to a wrist and aims the Native grappler to the far buckles, whipping her away. The Navajo half sprints, half stumbles to the corner, turning into a wicked impact that whiplashes Bloodwind's already loosened, bobbling braincase. The impact unhinges Nyssa's legs and the champ plops to her backside, tawny stems extended in front of her. Polly smiles at the semiconscious Nyssa and shrugs. "You know you want it!" the patriot shouts. She races to her foe and launches several feet out, gams extended, hands reaching for the ropes as she closes in, the juncture of her thighs headed for the champ's chin, pert backside ready to get its bounce on with an All-American bronco buster.
When most people consider the bronco buster, its primary object is usually thought to be shame. Oh, it punishes--any time someone's rump repeatedly comes crashing down against one's sternum, and someone's junk keep mashing into one's chin, mouth and nose, it's gonna hurt. But, first and foremost, it's an imposition of dominance--except when one is already suffering the effects of head trauma. Then, the constant ramming of the pelvis--and the subsequent jostling of poor Nyssa's noggin--has the added benefit (from Polly perspective) of further rattling the Nubile Navajo's cerebrum.
After a good dozen thrusts, the TRUE American dismounts her tamed filly, Bloodwind's glistening body gathering into a puddle of boneless flesh at the base of the corner. She rolls over, attempting to push up to her hands and knees... but when she cannot, the Nubile Navajo settles for slithering her way away from the buckles, along the ropes.
Polly sidles alongside the concussed champion, sending encouraging kicks to her foe's rump, the doctors that OK’ed Bloodwind's return to the ring looking more like quacks with every passing second. Dr. Lockwood checks to see if she has a prescription for what ails the champ. A blistering kick to the ribs from the blonde rolls a moaning Bloodwind to her back and, presented with the opportunity, Polly leaps high above the splayed Nyssa, boot soles aimed at the raven-haired grappler's heaving chest with a mushroom stomp.
It's little consolation that Polly FINALLY opts to target something other than Nyssa's cranium. When the Star Spangled Bytch's boots land against her bosom, the result is still excruciatingly painful. As Lockwood hops off Bloodwind's jubblies, the Nubile Navajo cries out, crossing her arms over her chest as she rolls over. Pushing up onto her knees, Nyssa's backside wiggles with each kick of her Uggs against the mat.
And AGAIN, the referee intercedes, backing the challenger off before turning to check on Nyssa. "C'mon, Nyssa," he says. "Think about tomorrow. Say the word, and I'll ring the bell."
"No!" Nyssa snaps, her voice weak... yet determined. She slings an arm over the middle rope, and begins to haul herself up. "Not... gonna... give up...: MY belt..." the Nubile Navajo pants, then slumps into the cables. "Not... not like... like Polly did..."
Her arms tensing, Bloodwind pushes away from the ropes, turning toward her foe, glazed eyes blinking... When did she sign to defend against the Valleys? No, Nyssa soon realizes. No, these girls might be identical blondes, but they weren't quite as tall as Aly or Bev... or as buxom. Lumbering toward the one to her left, Bloodwind loads up, swinging a wild looping right that would have knocked that opponent's head clear off her shoulders... if she hadn't been a phantom, Polly Lockwood standing safely off to Nyssa's right.
Lockwood chuckles at the swing and miss and the sound gives Bloodwind something to focus on instead of her failing vision. She spins 45 degrees and sends an overhand right into Polly's left breast with plenty behind it, staggering the blonde. FAWN's True American keeps her feet, face scrunched in pain. Anger quickly replaces any ache. Lockwood strides to the nearest corner and heads up. As she reaches the penthouse, she whistles at the lightweight titleholder and as the still wobbly Nyssa turns toward her, the blonde skies away from the corner, planning to flip over Nyssa's cranium and grab it on the fly-by, hoping to rip the Nubile Navajo off her feet and plant her on the back of her head with a Flying Neckbreaker.
FLYING NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILZrVGvCktk
Somehow, in spite of the ringing in her ears, Nyssa manages to locate Polly's whistle. Alas, that means she turns right into the diving Lockwood. As the TRUE American sails over her shoulder, Polly's hands fly out, capturing the Nubile Navajo's skull. Lockwood's momentum does the rest, RIIIIIIIPING the champ free of her moorings and SLAMMING the back of Bloodwind's skull into the canvas. Nyssa's exquisite gams sail into the air, eventually pulling the rest of the Nubile Navajo over, leaving Bloodwind splayed, face down, her hands feebly reaching for the back of her neck.
Polly pops to her feet and plays to a less than appreciative crowd. She slowly circles back to a rustling Bloodwind and collects her foe's bobbling braincase. The blonde tugs the stooped head of the champ toward her, securing the Navajo's left arm while doing so. And with Nyssa bent at the waist, the pernicious patriot leaps over Nyssa's lowered back, dropping to the canvas. Bloodwind follows, forced to the deck and quickly captured in Polly's First Armendment cross armbreaker. "You have the freedom to speak your submission!" Lockwood shouts as she tries to rip Nyssa's arm out of its socket. "Let's see if a Fake American will give up her gold!"
FIRST ARMENDMENT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=x049it0FWHI
Despite the fog engulfing her brain, Nyssa's ring instincts remain decently intact. As Polly's back lands against the canvas, Bloodwind’s right arm reaches across her chest, the Nubile Navajo's left hand battling against Lockwood's restraint to try to bring her hands together. If she could get her fingers clasped, Polly couldn't fully unleash...
"GYYAAAAAAAAFFFUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"
The instincts were sound. The flesh was weak, the TRUE American CRANKING back on Nyssa's left arm, well before the Native American's fingers could interlock. Unable to ease the torture on her wing, the Nubile Navajo shifts toward seeking sanctuary, scooting on her butt, trying to find the ropes with her Uggs, even as the agony radiating from her left shoulder threatens to overwhelm any sense of direction her concussed mind has let.
Polly continues to twist and tug in disbelief the moron won't give in. Beyond frustration, a steaming Polly releases her grip and untangles herself from Bloodwind. A furious Lockwood pushes to her feet, cursing and caterwauling while Nyssa softly rolls from side to side, cradling her injured wing. The increasingly concerned referee again asks the champ if she wants to give and a moaning shake shows a negatory. That doesn't help Polly's disposition, but instead of attacking the depleted Navajo, Lockwood slips outside the ropes. The pocket-sized blonde hardbody turns and grabs the top cable, watching as Nyssa again refuses to stay down, pitifully pushing up in stages. Finally reaching vertical, Nyssa slowly pirouettes, finding each corner in turn, lastly the one that the Star Spangled Bytch occupies. When she does, Lockwood launches, vaulting to a stance on the top rope, hoping to springboard cleanly off the cable and blow up what's left of Nyssa Bloodwind with the Polly Rocket.
POLLY ROCKET:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I
Judging from the vacant look in her eyes, it's debatable whether Nyssa even spots Polly Lockwood once she's finally turned in the right direction. What isn't debatable is Polly Lockwood's attack, the flying blonde's left arm wrapping around the Nubile Navajo's neck even as Bloodwind attempts to begin another revolution. Clamping her arm tightly around Nyssa's noggin, the Star Spangled Bytch's legs swing past Bloodwind's chest, rising toward the arena lights. The former Lightweight champion plummets the rest of the way to her back, tugging her successor along for the ride--one that ends in an explosive collision of the crown of Nyssa's skull with the thinly padded plywood.
Bloodwind's head pops free from the TRUE American, Nyssa tumble over to her back, her body bouncing twice across before coming to rest in a languid starfish. A low, lingering moan pushes past the Nubile Navajo's lips, her eyelids fluttering.... and both the sound and the movement of her eyelids cease at roughly the same time.
Pleased she's finally driven the senses from brain-dead Bloodwind and the hope from the crowd, the True American pushes to her feet and strolls to Nyssa. A glistening, glorious Lockwood plants an ivory boot atop the chest of the motionless titleholder, raises her right arm and three fingers at the top of it in time...
ONE...
TWO...
The thoroughly arrogant cover stokes the anger of Navajo Nation, the crowd ROARING with jeers and boos--and the first plastic cups and other items of garbage fly toward the ring before the official's hand even meets the mat for the first time. But as enraged as the audience might be, Nyssa Bloodwind herself is thoroughly pacified. The only motion from the Nubile Navajo's sweat-drenched frame is an occasional twitch of a leg, and the gentle push of her bosom against the bootleather of the Star Spangled Bytch.
THREE!!!!!!!!
Polly arrogantly nods and motions for the delivery of her belt while keeping her boot squarely on Nyssa's bosom. When the attendant reaches the apron, Lockwood adds her weight to the pin, stepping atop the demolished Bloodwind, quickly collecting her prize, and raising it high as the PA blares the result to the unappreciative audience. "YOUR WINNER AND NEWWWWW LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION...THE TRUE AMERICAN POLLY LOCKWOOD!"
The Star Spangled Bytch takes a victory lap with her hardware, following Nyssa to join Wendy Smith as two-time Lightweight champion. The diminutive blonde jaws with the standing-room only crowd, finally circling back to Nyssa who is still out, EMTs racing toward the squared circle. Polly places the belt on Nyssa's face, perhaps to perform a vile version of a curbstomp that would only exacerbate Kylie's post-match escapade from AHE, but as she does a roar from the crowd rolls through the arena bowl. Polly's head spins with her in mid-backpedal, Lockwood's trip to the ropes behind her for added momentum interrupted.
Streaking like through the cloud of black & whites like a crimson bolt from the heavens, Cherry Bomb roared out ahead of the pack and dove under the bottom rope just as Polly was reclaiming her belt.
Apoplectic with fury that this… this… ALIEN… would dare interrupt her celebration, Lockwood charged swung the Lightweight Title at Cherry’s face, then cursed like a sailor when the masked marvel dipped under the blow. “You meddling freak! Haven’t you learned your OOFFFHH!”
The Interstellar Angel booted Polly in the gut, forcing her to drop the belt. Then she grabbed the blonde’s wrist, pointed her toward a corner and let loose with an Irish--NO! Polly dug in her heels and sent the brunette racing to the buckles in her place.
Not about to let such a slight go unpunished, the Tea Party’s favourite wrestler charged down Cherry’s back-trail, but hit the brakes when the Bomb hopped onto the second strand and peeled off a gorgeous back-flip that deposited her on the apron. “SIT STILL YOU BORDER JUMPING FREAK!”
Certain that the force of her words was more than enough to freeze Cherry in place, Lockwood lashed out with a Haymaker that went wide when the Roseate Rocket lowered her head. Grabbing hold of the top rope as Polly’s fist passed overhead, Cherry leapt, swung back into the ring and slammed her heels into the blonde’s chest with a Mule Kick that sent Polly stumbling and put her attacker right back on the outside. The Bomb dropped into a deep crouch as soon as she landed, then jumped onto the top rope and took to the skies just as Polly was regaining her bearings. Knees raised high, the Crimson Comet slammed her shins into the new champ’s chest and rode her all the way to the canvas with a THWUNKING Springboard Double Knee Drop.
KEEP WATCHING THE SKIES:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3cS-njpDQ4
Polly’s head whiplashed off the mat and she rolled out of the ring as quick as she could, forgetting all about the referees and the medics and Nyssa… and her title. In fact she’d turned around and started up the ramp before she realized her prize was missing. Cursing under her breath, she rounded on the squared circle and almost choked on her own outrage when she saw Cherry picking the Lightweight strap off the mat.
“THAT’S MINE!” Polly shrieked at the top of her lungs. “THAT’S MINE AND THIS IS AN ILLEGAL SEARCH AND SEIZURE OF PRIVATE PROPERTY! GIVE IT BACK YOU BYTCH!”
Cherry looked from the belt to Polly, then raised it overhead and stepped forward. “You want it back, Pol? Step in this ring and I’ll hand it over without a word.”
Polly slammed her hands against the apron, then hopped onto it. She didn’t slip through the ropes though, that weirdo couldn’t order her around. “Give it back,” she demanded in a sibilant hiss. “Give it back or so help me I’ll--”
Cherry chested into her hard, the two Lightweight stars engaging in a forehead to forehead grind with only the rubber-coated steel between. “You’ll what?” she barked. “Whine to the referees? Stamp your feet and cry some more? Or maybe you’ll wait until someone else does the hard work for you, then claim a title you didn’t deserve? Is THAT what you’ll do, Pol? Is THAT the sort of AMERICAN you are?”
Lockwood’s green eyes narrowed to hateful, burning slots. After a few silent seconds she said, “I am the greatest American of this or any other generation. You will give me my title because I EARNED it and you have no right to it.”
To her surprise, Cherry nodded. “You’re right. I don’t have any right to it… yet. There’s a certain Imp I need to settle up with first. But once I’ve dealt with her--” The Bomb stuffed the belt against Polly’s chest and pushed hard enough to shove the champ from the apron. “I’ll come for you, Polly. You and I aren’t done. Not even sort of.”
Far more comfortable now that she’d reclaimed her property, Lockwood flashed Cherry a hard smile. “Why don’t you go visit the whelp behind you in the hospital before you pop off challenging me, freak? If you’re still feeling brave… and if Chrissy leaves anything behind… then I will beat your sneaking, illegal alien ass red, white, black and bruised.”
Promise made, she whirled around and stalked up the ramp, leaving Cherry to hover protectively around Nyssa while the medics loaded her onto a stretcher.
When the house speakers spark to life with the pounding of Metallica’s “Don’t Tread on Me”.
“DON’T TREAD ON ME":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPl2sTo_8-o
a few scattered ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet, saluting crisply. The other 98 percent of the FAWNatics make themselves known in quite a different way.
While once upon a time this musical cue would spur a round of enthusiastic shouts and cheers, the crowd’s cascade of boos is deafening, the Young Americans’ Benedict Arnold being booed out of the building or more appropriately in this instance, into it.
The PA barely breaks through the jeers.
“Tonight’s next match is for FAWN’s Lightweight championship. Scheduled for one fall with a time limit of 30 minutes. Tonight’s challenger…hailing from Buffalo, NY; standing five feet one inch tall, and weighing in tonight at one-hundred and eighteen scintillating pounds of All-American Awesome. Ladies and gentlemen, she is the one and only TRUE American... POLLY LOCKWOOD!”
Polly Lockwood
The haters only get louder when the blonde hardbody strides confidently to center stage, bringing a salute to her brow. When the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Lockwood adds her own little twist, a middle finger remaining straight while the others recede.
Looking stern, lightweight title belt noticeably absent, Lockwood wraps her palms around her waist, making it clear she expects to have the gold back around her waist, stripping it from the woman who’d taken it from her two months ago.
Polly’s wardrobe remains worthy of flag waving. The tiny blonde hardbody sports the former Young Americans’ standard uniform of hot pants and bikini top. Polly alternates her country’s colours between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in just the right spots, and shimmering red and white stripes below; with white pads and boots capping off the ensemble.
The True American no longer wears Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak, instead opting for a flag with a rattlesnake and the old chestnut ‘Don’t Tread On Me’ in its place. She spreads her arms wide, showing off the dangerous snake as she walks down the ramp and aisle, the crowd not missing the symbolism. Lockwood growls at the moronic hordes, ignoring the insults and the jeers.
Reaching the ring, the patriot ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood shrugs off her flag cum cape, draping it over her corner. She walks to the center of the ring, pulling a microphone to her lips.
“I bet you all loved it when that Fake American took my gold, ” Polly shouts.
It didn’t take a crystal ball to predict the blonde right on that score as the FAWNatics raise their collective voice in a loud cheer.
“Well, tonight it comes back to the land of the free and the home of the brave and the waist of the hottest chick in all fifty, baby. So deal with that you dumpster divers. Polly out!”
Lockwood tosses the stick to the canvas with a ‘CLUNK’, the ref snatching it off the mat and handing it to a FAWN flunky on the sidelines.
As the challenger awaits her opponent’s arrival, some FAWNatics reflect on how unlikely a Lightweight title defence happening this month had appeared at All Hallows Evil. And some of those even wonder about how advisable this defence is. Nyssa Bloodwind had endured one of the most savage beatings FAWN had even seen, at the hands of another formerly beloved heroine. That Nyssa had been medically cleared to compete seems to some a minor miracle...
... though, rumour has it, Bloodwind HADN’T been cleared. She had INSISTED on defending her belt tonight.
“And now, the CHAMPION..." he resumes, spawning a ROAR of deafening cheers. “Hailing from Tempe, Arizona… She stands five feet three inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-two pounds… Ladies and gentlemen, she is the Nubile Navajo… NYYYYYSSSSSSSSA BLLLOOOOOOODDDDWWWWIIIIINNNNNNNDDD!”
Nyssa Bloodwind
The murmur of the crowd is interrupted by the first note of Rage Against the Machine. But instead of the elder Bloodwind's ‘Killing in the Name‘, the speakers blare the defiant chords of ‘Testify‘. An instant later and Nyssa pushes the curtains aside, bursting out onto the aisle, the fans bursting into warm cheers for the talented lightweight. The pedigree is no doubt responsible for part of her reception, but there is little denying that the tyro’s choice of ring gear also wins her a fair few whistles. The raven haired beauty stands clad in a faux deerskin halter, the shoulder straps eventually becoming two thin strings that crisscross her otherwise bare back. She also wears matching bikini bottoms, augmented by for lack of a better term a "half loin cloth" that descends to mid-thigh in the front, and that fails to obscure the view of her exquisite derriere in the back. Ugg boots molded to resemble moccasins complete the ensemble.
But of course, the crowning touch of the ensemble was the ultimate accessory: the championship belt of the Lightweight division, gracing her midsection.
Buoyed by the support of the FAWNatics,Nyssa makes her way down the aisle, slapping hands along the guardrail, and doing her absolute best not to miss a single palm. But it doesn’t go without notice that her usual buoyant smile is a bit dimmed this evening. A show of determination, heading into a rematch with the woman she’d beaten for the belt? Or a sign of just how much she was STILL feeling Kylie’s sickening assault?
Finally reaching the ring steps, Bloodwind takes them nearly two at a time, eager to get in the ring. Stopping just long enough to wipe her boots on the apron, the Nubile Navajo slips through the ropes and makes a beeline for the nearest corner. Nyssa foregoes her usual hop onto the middle rope, instead opting to remain flat-footed as she pumps a fist in the air, drawing another loud roar of support from the crowd in response.
And while Bloodwind revels in her fans, looking out upon the masses, Lockwood stalks from behind, poised to attack for the bell. Just as she's about to sprint toward Nyssa's six, the champ turns. Polly skids to a halt barely a step after putting her frame in motion. She holds up her palms and plays off the aborted sneak attack. "Looking a little out of sorts there, Bloodwind." she says. "Sanders did a little number on ya, didn't she? You could just give it to me. Nothing unpatriotic about handing it over to the better woman."
The Nubile Navajo DOES hand the belt over--but to the official, not Polly. "Maybe not," Nyssa responds, "but Jules isn't out here."
Polly scowls and takes a step forward, possibly ready to attempt that pre-bell attack, even with Bloodwind ready... but the referee quickly gets in between blonde and brunette, ordering the TRUE American back to her corner. Lockwood grudgingly complies, Nyssa remaining in hers as the zebra lifts the Lightweight title belt high over his head. After passing the strap to a ringside staffer, he calls for the bell--and Polly and Nyssa waste little time storming out of their corners. But just as it appears they're ready to tie up, the Nubile Navajo dips, trying to slip behind her predecessor and secure a waistlock.
Using Lockwood's aggressiveness against her, the raven-haired grappler ends glued to Polly's back, arms tight around the challenger's waist. She lifts Lockwood to tiptoes and swings her from side to side. The True American grits her teeth, prying at Bloodwind's grip but unable to get free. Instead, she struggles her way to the ropes and grabs hold, instantly demanding she be shown her home country advantage, one that would only allow Nyssa a two-count before having to break for the ropes. When Nyssa uses all four, Polly turns with a complaint on her lips but Nyssa slaps it right off with a paintbrush to Lockwood's left cheek.
"You littllllwwwooooOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" the TRUE American begins to protest, but again, Nyssa doesn't give her a chance to finish getting the words out. Instead, the Nubile Navajo snatches Polly's wrist, sets her feet and LAUNCHES Lockwood toward the far ropes with an Irish whip. Marching out to mid-ring as Polly rebounds off the cables, Bloodwind takes a step to the side, drawing back her right hand...
... and UNLOADING with an open-hand chop to the Star Spangled Bytch's chest! Polly's legs fly out from under her, the challenger cut down, sent sprawling onto her back. And once the TRUE American has finished her descent, the Nubile Navajo takes off, launching into an attempting standing shooting star press.
STANDING SHOOTING STAR PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQ-dKtZnIyE
Eyelids still clenched from the stinging rebuke from the champ, Lockwood doesn't seem to realize the acrobatics above her. When the emerald eyes open, Nyssa is already mid-flip and while Polly starts to rise, she's quickly met with a descent, namely Nyssa. The Native American grappler CRASHES down across the pocket-sized hardbody and SPLASHES her foe in dramatic fashion with enough OOOMPH that Bloodwind can't resist going for the pin. She hooks a leg and collects...
ONE...
TWO....
... and the Star-Spangled Bytch gets a shoulder up to keep her chances at a second light title reign alive.
Nyssa doesn't bother arguing--getting the pin on Polly this early was unlikely at best, and only a fool would think otherwise. Pushing off the TRUE American, Bloodwind climbs to her feet before stooping down and gathering a handful of Lockwood's golden locks. With a tug, the Nubile Navajo brings her challenger up off the deck. Keeping Polly doubled over, Nyssa reaches underneath her foe's midsection. Perhaps hoping to make an early statement, once Bloodwind's grip is secure, the Native American beauty prepares to hoist Lockwood up for an inverted shoulderbreaker.
INVERTED SHOULDERBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3zJs4f7yO0
But as Nyssa's grip cinches around Polly's tummy, the blonde wraps her arms around Bloodwind's thighs. Before the champ can lift and deliver her blow, Polly vaults the Nubile Navajo heavenward. Bloodwind flips up and over from a back body drop. But as Polly straightens, she doesn't realize Nyssa's been able to land on her feet. With a grin, she turns to see the wreckage behind her but instead feels an Ugg from Nyssa buried deep in her tummy. With Polly doubling with a grunt in front of her, Nyssa recaptures the blonde around her midriff and launches Lockwood up and across her shoulder, holding the blonde in a painful arch until Nyssa drops to a knee and DRIVES Polly's shoulder into the joint. Lockwood tumbles away from the collision, yelping and holding her injured wing.
A boot to the back of that very same shoulder sends the Star Spangled Bytch flopping over to her belly--exactly where the Lightweight champ wants her. Moving to Lockwood's feet, Nyssa stuffs Polly's left boot into the pit of her right knee, before pushing Lockwood's right leg back to hold that foot in place. Bloodwind then steps into the keyhole between Polly's thighs, turning her back to the challenger as Lockwood's right foot presses against the back of the Navajo's calf. The Native American beauty then starts to bridge back, ready to clamp onto the TRUE American's chin and cinch in the Muta lock.
MUTA LOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jee-ODWGvVI
The Native American falls back into her bridge and locks her hands under Polly's chin. Ripping back on the grip, the champ uses her lock to curl the spine of the former champ, turning the blonde's spinal column into a tortured arch. The official slides down in front of the challenger and asks if she wants to lower her flag. Polly's hand rises but it then shakes instead of slaps the mat. The blonde claws at the canvas but can't move any closer to the ropes, her body trapped by the machinations of the raven-haired beauty. Nyssa continues to wrench until her body fatigues from the bridge, Polly outlasting Bloodwind's submission effort, if barely.
The Nubile Navajo rolls away from her groaning adversary, then uses the ropes to pull herself up. Some feet away, Polly begins to do the same, without any assistance--but with perhaps a little more difficulty. As the Star Spangled Bytch finally starts to straighten up, Nyssa pushes away from the cables, racing toward Lockwood as swiftly as her shapely legs will carry her. Homing in on the TRUE American, Bloodwind vaults toward the skies, reaching out her arm to capture Polly's skull. If she could manage that, drilling the standing tornado DDT should be a snap.
STANDING TORNADO DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2_gWhStA3c
But when Nyssa launches, hoping to rotate around and SPIKE Polly's braincase into the deck, the blonde is able to get her hands up and shove Bloodwind off at the height of her upswing. The Nubile Navajo manages to land on her feet again and her cat-like reflexes pay off once more. For while Polly straightens, a spasm in her back momentarily slowing her, Nyssa surges forward, burying a shoulder and SPEARING Lockwood. Nyssa carries the gutted, bugeyed blonde several steps before planting her to the canvas. The True American coughs and sputters while Nyssa rises to all fours. Polly spins to her chest, groaning, but managing to slither along the deck, trying to make her way under the bottom rope and to the outside where she can reevaluate how this Fake American was finding success.
The Lightweight champ scampers after the retreating Polly on her hands and knees, but Lockwood manages to worm her way under the bottom rope before Bloodwind can catch her. A frustrated Nyssa slaps the mat with both hands--but then pops right back to her feet. Outside the ring, the Star Spangled Bytch paces, shaking out her head while one hand massages her lower back. Meanwhile, the Nubile Navajo darts to the far corner. Vaulting onto the top turnbuckle, Nyssa pauses juuuust long enough to steady herself before throwing caution to the four winds, taking flight in a jaw-dropping somersault plancha.
SOMERSAULT PLANCHA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucOell8R6yk
Throwing caution to the wind and showing precious little effect from her awful battering at All Hallows Eve, Bloodwind launches from her perch. Flipping as she plummets toward the little blonde hardbody, the crowd waits in rapt anticipation. But neither the Navajo or the crowd is rewarded as Polly dives out of the blast zone and Nyssa CRASHES to the thinly padded cement, across her back. The champ's spine arches in agony as Polly leans against the apron, drawing the back of her hand across her forehead to wipe her brow. Taking a gulping swallow, Lockwood staggers toward the writhing Nyssa. Grabbing a wrist of the Arizona native, the True American rips Bloodwind to her feet and aims her at the steel ringsteps, hoping to bring back some memories of Bloodwind braincase ramming into steel.
An alarmed squeal runs through the FAWNatics as Polly starts to toss Nyssa away, the crowd fully noting which part of the Nubile Navajo will be leading the way. But Bloodwind's hard landing has already taken a toll on the Native American beauty, and she fails to summon an answer before Lockwood launches her. The Lightweight champion shoots toward the steps, whatever her lumbering gate might lack in grace unfortunately making up for with speed, until...
'CLAAAAUUUUNNNNKKKK!!!!!!!'
The crown of Nyssa's skull meets the steel, hard enough to dislodge the steps from the side of the ring and send them skidding a couple of feet. Navajo Nation's breath catches in its collective throat as their champion drops to her hands and knees, but that proves only a passing stop. Bloodwind's arms and legs promptly give way, sending Nyssa pitching to the concrete. The more observant among the FAWNatics recognize that the Nubile Navajo's hands don't make any subsequent move to break her final descent, a detail which fills those who noticed it with concern.
And the crowd also notices Polly is well aware when Lockwood sends a vicious stomp to Bloodwind's temple. With the count accumulating and the True American needing the match in the ring to take the title, Polly plucks Nyssa off the deck. The raven-haired grappler seems nearly deadweight and Lockwood has some difficulty tossing the champ in, but the pocket-sized hardbody manages. Polly her follows her foe and watches as a blasted Bloodwind shows some life, wobbly pushing up to all fours. Lockwood's features sprout a predatory sneer as the blonde heads for the ropes to the champ's side, rebounds and leaps, right leg lifted high to come down on the back of Nyssa's noggin and curbstomp the Navajo's face into the deck.
With Nyssa appearing all but defenceless, quaking arms and limbs straining just to support her never mind propel her clear of Polly's path, the FAWNatics rise to her defence. Many in the crowd shoot to their feet as the TRUE American charges her adversary, begging and pleading with the challenger NOT to follow through on her approach. One ringside microphone picks up a very clear, "NonononononoNONONOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" from one spectator, the final plea elongating and rising in volume as Lockwood leaves her feet and gains elevation.
In the next instant, the Star Spangled Bytch proves exactly WHY she's earned that unflattering moniker. Polly's sole lands against the back of Nyssa's noggin, and one-hundred and eighteen pounds of challenger DRIVE Bloodwind's face into the harsh canvas. As Lockwood's feet settle back to the mat, the blonde practically skips away from her opponent, the Nubile Navajo left sprawled on her stomach, her body rocked by infrequent waves of spasms.
Polly skids to a stop, beaming. She raises her arms high and wide. "Seems Ol Cornpone is good for something. Can't win a title to save her life, but hands me one on a platter!" Lockwood salutes the jeering crowd and turns back to a splattered Bloodwind. She shovels Nyssa over with a boot and drops to one knee, that knee planted on Nyssa's softly rolling bosom. "Count please," Polly requests. The ref does as he's told, slapping the canvas for...
ONE...
TWO...
... and the Navajo shoves a shoulder up. Lockwood and not some of the fans seem stunned to see Nyssa conscious let alone able to stay alive. Among the least happy is the blonde. Lockwood backpedals a few feet from the stirring champion. There she waits for Nyssa to unsteadily fight her way to one knee. With the crowd chanting her name, Bloodwind raises a fist, her right bicep curling. Steps away, Polly surges toward the Nubile One's left temple, planning on delivering her signature, and appropriately named, 'Lights Out'.
LIGHTS OUT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lUAc1KVAQc
'THOOOOONK!'
The "NY-SSA!" chants are abruptly curtailed when Lockwood's knee SLAMS into side of the Nubile Navajo's skull. The blow sends Bloodwind plopping to her taut tush--and also rolls the champ's eyes back to whites. Nyssa then tumbles backward, a collapse that feels for the FAWNatics like it takes ten minutes rather than the seconds it does in actuality, the proud Native American warrior left starfished. A smug Polly takes one step toward her foe...
... until the referee forces her back. He then drops to one knee beside the Nubile Navajo. "Nyssa?" he asks. "Can you hear me? Are you awake?"
For a couple of seconds, the champ doesn't answer--but she then starts fighting her way toward a seated position. Eyelids blinking, Bloodwind mumbles, "Yeah... I'm... I'm fine..." Though the Nubile Navajo looks and sounds anything but.
"You hear, she's fine," Polly informs, pushing the man aside and sinking her nails into Bloodwind's scalp. "So come along now," the True American growls, "and show everyone how fine you are." Yanking Nyssa to her feet, Polly switches her grip to a wrist and aims the Native grappler to the far buckles, whipping her away. The Navajo half sprints, half stumbles to the corner, turning into a wicked impact that whiplashes Bloodwind's already loosened, bobbling braincase. The impact unhinges Nyssa's legs and the champ plops to her backside, tawny stems extended in front of her. Polly smiles at the semiconscious Nyssa and shrugs. "You know you want it!" the patriot shouts. She races to her foe and launches several feet out, gams extended, hands reaching for the ropes as she closes in, the juncture of her thighs headed for the champ's chin, pert backside ready to get its bounce on with an All-American bronco buster.
When most people consider the bronco buster, its primary object is usually thought to be shame. Oh, it punishes--any time someone's rump repeatedly comes crashing down against one's sternum, and someone's junk keep mashing into one's chin, mouth and nose, it's gonna hurt. But, first and foremost, it's an imposition of dominance--except when one is already suffering the effects of head trauma. Then, the constant ramming of the pelvis--and the subsequent jostling of poor Nyssa's noggin--has the added benefit (from Polly perspective) of further rattling the Nubile Navajo's cerebrum.
After a good dozen thrusts, the TRUE American dismounts her tamed filly, Bloodwind's glistening body gathering into a puddle of boneless flesh at the base of the corner. She rolls over, attempting to push up to her hands and knees... but when she cannot, the Nubile Navajo settles for slithering her way away from the buckles, along the ropes.
Polly sidles alongside the concussed champion, sending encouraging kicks to her foe's rump, the doctors that OK’ed Bloodwind's return to the ring looking more like quacks with every passing second. Dr. Lockwood checks to see if she has a prescription for what ails the champ. A blistering kick to the ribs from the blonde rolls a moaning Bloodwind to her back and, presented with the opportunity, Polly leaps high above the splayed Nyssa, boot soles aimed at the raven-haired grappler's heaving chest with a mushroom stomp.
It's little consolation that Polly FINALLY opts to target something other than Nyssa's cranium. When the Star Spangled Bytch's boots land against her bosom, the result is still excruciatingly painful. As Lockwood hops off Bloodwind's jubblies, the Nubile Navajo cries out, crossing her arms over her chest as she rolls over. Pushing up onto her knees, Nyssa's backside wiggles with each kick of her Uggs against the mat.
And AGAIN, the referee intercedes, backing the challenger off before turning to check on Nyssa. "C'mon, Nyssa," he says. "Think about tomorrow. Say the word, and I'll ring the bell."
"No!" Nyssa snaps, her voice weak... yet determined. She slings an arm over the middle rope, and begins to haul herself up. "Not... gonna... give up...: MY belt..." the Nubile Navajo pants, then slumps into the cables. "Not... not like... like Polly did..."
Her arms tensing, Bloodwind pushes away from the ropes, turning toward her foe, glazed eyes blinking... When did she sign to defend against the Valleys? No, Nyssa soon realizes. No, these girls might be identical blondes, but they weren't quite as tall as Aly or Bev... or as buxom. Lumbering toward the one to her left, Bloodwind loads up, swinging a wild looping right that would have knocked that opponent's head clear off her shoulders... if she hadn't been a phantom, Polly Lockwood standing safely off to Nyssa's right.
Lockwood chuckles at the swing and miss and the sound gives Bloodwind something to focus on instead of her failing vision. She spins 45 degrees and sends an overhand right into Polly's left breast with plenty behind it, staggering the blonde. FAWN's True American keeps her feet, face scrunched in pain. Anger quickly replaces any ache. Lockwood strides to the nearest corner and heads up. As she reaches the penthouse, she whistles at the lightweight titleholder and as the still wobbly Nyssa turns toward her, the blonde skies away from the corner, planning to flip over Nyssa's cranium and grab it on the fly-by, hoping to rip the Nubile Navajo off her feet and plant her on the back of her head with a Flying Neckbreaker.
FLYING NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILZrVGvCktk
Somehow, in spite of the ringing in her ears, Nyssa manages to locate Polly's whistle. Alas, that means she turns right into the diving Lockwood. As the TRUE American sails over her shoulder, Polly's hands fly out, capturing the Nubile Navajo's skull. Lockwood's momentum does the rest, RIIIIIIIPING the champ free of her moorings and SLAMMING the back of Bloodwind's skull into the canvas. Nyssa's exquisite gams sail into the air, eventually pulling the rest of the Nubile Navajo over, leaving Bloodwind splayed, face down, her hands feebly reaching for the back of her neck.
Polly pops to her feet and plays to a less than appreciative crowd. She slowly circles back to a rustling Bloodwind and collects her foe's bobbling braincase. The blonde tugs the stooped head of the champ toward her, securing the Navajo's left arm while doing so. And with Nyssa bent at the waist, the pernicious patriot leaps over Nyssa's lowered back, dropping to the canvas. Bloodwind follows, forced to the deck and quickly captured in Polly's First Armendment cross armbreaker. "You have the freedom to speak your submission!" Lockwood shouts as she tries to rip Nyssa's arm out of its socket. "Let's see if a Fake American will give up her gold!"
FIRST ARMENDMENT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=x049it0FWHI
Despite the fog engulfing her brain, Nyssa's ring instincts remain decently intact. As Polly's back lands against the canvas, Bloodwind’s right arm reaches across her chest, the Nubile Navajo's left hand battling against Lockwood's restraint to try to bring her hands together. If she could get her fingers clasped, Polly couldn't fully unleash...
"GYYAAAAAAAAFFFUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"
The instincts were sound. The flesh was weak, the TRUE American CRANKING back on Nyssa's left arm, well before the Native American's fingers could interlock. Unable to ease the torture on her wing, the Nubile Navajo shifts toward seeking sanctuary, scooting on her butt, trying to find the ropes with her Uggs, even as the agony radiating from her left shoulder threatens to overwhelm any sense of direction her concussed mind has let.
Polly continues to twist and tug in disbelief the moron won't give in. Beyond frustration, a steaming Polly releases her grip and untangles herself from Bloodwind. A furious Lockwood pushes to her feet, cursing and caterwauling while Nyssa softly rolls from side to side, cradling her injured wing. The increasingly concerned referee again asks the champ if she wants to give and a moaning shake shows a negatory. That doesn't help Polly's disposition, but instead of attacking the depleted Navajo, Lockwood slips outside the ropes. The pocket-sized blonde hardbody turns and grabs the top cable, watching as Nyssa again refuses to stay down, pitifully pushing up in stages. Finally reaching vertical, Nyssa slowly pirouettes, finding each corner in turn, lastly the one that the Star Spangled Bytch occupies. When she does, Lockwood launches, vaulting to a stance on the top rope, hoping to springboard cleanly off the cable and blow up what's left of Nyssa Bloodwind with the Polly Rocket.
POLLY ROCKET:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I
Judging from the vacant look in her eyes, it's debatable whether Nyssa even spots Polly Lockwood once she's finally turned in the right direction. What isn't debatable is Polly Lockwood's attack, the flying blonde's left arm wrapping around the Nubile Navajo's neck even as Bloodwind attempts to begin another revolution. Clamping her arm tightly around Nyssa's noggin, the Star Spangled Bytch's legs swing past Bloodwind's chest, rising toward the arena lights. The former Lightweight champion plummets the rest of the way to her back, tugging her successor along for the ride--one that ends in an explosive collision of the crown of Nyssa's skull with the thinly padded plywood.
Bloodwind's head pops free from the TRUE American, Nyssa tumble over to her back, her body bouncing twice across before coming to rest in a languid starfish. A low, lingering moan pushes past the Nubile Navajo's lips, her eyelids fluttering.... and both the sound and the movement of her eyelids cease at roughly the same time.
Pleased she's finally driven the senses from brain-dead Bloodwind and the hope from the crowd, the True American pushes to her feet and strolls to Nyssa. A glistening, glorious Lockwood plants an ivory boot atop the chest of the motionless titleholder, raises her right arm and three fingers at the top of it in time...
ONE...
TWO...
The thoroughly arrogant cover stokes the anger of Navajo Nation, the crowd ROARING with jeers and boos--and the first plastic cups and other items of garbage fly toward the ring before the official's hand even meets the mat for the first time. But as enraged as the audience might be, Nyssa Bloodwind herself is thoroughly pacified. The only motion from the Nubile Navajo's sweat-drenched frame is an occasional twitch of a leg, and the gentle push of her bosom against the bootleather of the Star Spangled Bytch.
THREE!!!!!!!!
Polly arrogantly nods and motions for the delivery of her belt while keeping her boot squarely on Nyssa's bosom. When the attendant reaches the apron, Lockwood adds her weight to the pin, stepping atop the demolished Bloodwind, quickly collecting her prize, and raising it high as the PA blares the result to the unappreciative audience. "YOUR WINNER AND NEWWWWW LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION...THE TRUE AMERICAN POLLY LOCKWOOD!"
The Star Spangled Bytch takes a victory lap with her hardware, following Nyssa to join Wendy Smith as two-time Lightweight champion. The diminutive blonde jaws with the standing-room only crowd, finally circling back to Nyssa who is still out, EMTs racing toward the squared circle. Polly places the belt on Nyssa's face, perhaps to perform a vile version of a curbstomp that would only exacerbate Kylie's post-match escapade from AHE, but as she does a roar from the crowd rolls through the arena bowl. Polly's head spins with her in mid-backpedal, Lockwood's trip to the ropes behind her for added momentum interrupted.
Streaking like through the cloud of black & whites like a crimson bolt from the heavens, Cherry Bomb roared out ahead of the pack and dove under the bottom rope just as Polly was reclaiming her belt.
Apoplectic with fury that this… this… ALIEN… would dare interrupt her celebration, Lockwood charged swung the Lightweight Title at Cherry’s face, then cursed like a sailor when the masked marvel dipped under the blow. “You meddling freak! Haven’t you learned your OOFFFHH!”
The Interstellar Angel booted Polly in the gut, forcing her to drop the belt. Then she grabbed the blonde’s wrist, pointed her toward a corner and let loose with an Irish--NO! Polly dug in her heels and sent the brunette racing to the buckles in her place.
Not about to let such a slight go unpunished, the Tea Party’s favourite wrestler charged down Cherry’s back-trail, but hit the brakes when the Bomb hopped onto the second strand and peeled off a gorgeous back-flip that deposited her on the apron. “SIT STILL YOU BORDER JUMPING FREAK!”
Certain that the force of her words was more than enough to freeze Cherry in place, Lockwood lashed out with a Haymaker that went wide when the Roseate Rocket lowered her head. Grabbing hold of the top rope as Polly’s fist passed overhead, Cherry leapt, swung back into the ring and slammed her heels into the blonde’s chest with a Mule Kick that sent Polly stumbling and put her attacker right back on the outside. The Bomb dropped into a deep crouch as soon as she landed, then jumped onto the top rope and took to the skies just as Polly was regaining her bearings. Knees raised high, the Crimson Comet slammed her shins into the new champ’s chest and rode her all the way to the canvas with a THWUNKING Springboard Double Knee Drop.
KEEP WATCHING THE SKIES:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3cS-njpDQ4
Polly’s head whiplashed off the mat and she rolled out of the ring as quick as she could, forgetting all about the referees and the medics and Nyssa… and her title. In fact she’d turned around and started up the ramp before she realized her prize was missing. Cursing under her breath, she rounded on the squared circle and almost choked on her own outrage when she saw Cherry picking the Lightweight strap off the mat.
“THAT’S MINE!” Polly shrieked at the top of her lungs. “THAT’S MINE AND THIS IS AN ILLEGAL SEARCH AND SEIZURE OF PRIVATE PROPERTY! GIVE IT BACK YOU BYTCH!”
Cherry looked from the belt to Polly, then raised it overhead and stepped forward. “You want it back, Pol? Step in this ring and I’ll hand it over without a word.”
Polly slammed her hands against the apron, then hopped onto it. She didn’t slip through the ropes though, that weirdo couldn’t order her around. “Give it back,” she demanded in a sibilant hiss. “Give it back or so help me I’ll--”
Cherry chested into her hard, the two Lightweight stars engaging in a forehead to forehead grind with only the rubber-coated steel between. “You’ll what?” she barked. “Whine to the referees? Stamp your feet and cry some more? Or maybe you’ll wait until someone else does the hard work for you, then claim a title you didn’t deserve? Is THAT what you’ll do, Pol? Is THAT the sort of AMERICAN you are?”
Lockwood’s green eyes narrowed to hateful, burning slots. After a few silent seconds she said, “I am the greatest American of this or any other generation. You will give me my title because I EARNED it and you have no right to it.”
To her surprise, Cherry nodded. “You’re right. I don’t have any right to it… yet. There’s a certain Imp I need to settle up with first. But once I’ve dealt with her--” The Bomb stuffed the belt against Polly’s chest and pushed hard enough to shove the champ from the apron. “I’ll come for you, Polly. You and I aren’t done. Not even sort of.”
Far more comfortable now that she’d reclaimed her property, Lockwood flashed Cherry a hard smile. “Why don’t you go visit the whelp behind you in the hospital before you pop off challenging me, freak? If you’re still feeling brave… and if Chrissy leaves anything behind… then I will beat your sneaking, illegal alien ass red, white, black and bruised.”
Promise made, she whirled around and stalked up the ramp, leaving Cherry to hover protectively around Nyssa while the medics loaded her onto a stretcher.