Post by SammieSinclair on Feb 7, 2015 17:28:06 GMT
Moments after Sammie Sinclair had ushered Charlie Dawson through the curtains, the arena’s sound system sparks back into life, posing a somewhat surprising question to tonight’s capacity crowd:
“Do you wanna get rocked?”
There isn’t a fan who’s watched FAWN in the last nearly 12 years who doesn’t know what that question means, even though the person it normally pertained to wasn’t scheduled to be here. Still, as Def Leppard’s “Let’s Get Rocked” begins to pump over the speakers, the crowd rises in anticipation...
“LET’S GET ROCKED”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBcsCn9QyUQ
Shea London
And sure enough, Sensational Shea London strides from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful. The British Bombshell darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile back on full display. As she wasn’t scheduled to compete tonight, it’s not nearly as surprising to see that the blonde is dressed in street clothes--sneakers, a pair of delightfully snug blue jeans and a t-shirt, though the shirt at least DOES sport her beloved Union Jack.
The gorgeous blonde makes a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes, entering the ring and calling for a microphone. When one is tossed to her, the Sensational One steps toward the center of the ring.
“I know, I know,” Shea says with a charming smile. “I know ya weren’t plannin’ on seein’ me tonight.”
As true as that might be, the FAWNatics still elect to let the living legend know just what a pleasant surprise this is.
“Honestly,” London continues, “I’m not SUPPOSED ta be ‘ere. Y’see, tha last few weeks, me an’ some o’ tha girls have been workin’ a European tour. An’ it’s been fun... but I’ve been keepin’ tabs on what’s been goin’ on ‘ere, which means I SAW what happened at Season’s Beatings. Specifically... I saw what ‘appened when a bunch of snot nosed li’l PUNKS decided not enough people were payin’ attention to them, an’ decided ta throw a tantrum.”
It doesn’t take much thought for the crowd to figure out who she’s referring to.
“... or maybe they just needed their nappies changed. Who knows?”
That draws a resounding round of mocking laughter from the FAWNatics.
“Now,” Shea says, once the merriment ebbs a little, “LORD knows there’s no love last between me an’ ‘er Ladyship. But lemme just say this on Waterford’s behalf: her CHARACTER might leave a lot ta be desired, but her ACCOMPLISHMENTS, in this industry AND in FAWN, deserve respect. An’ Cass? I ‘OPE ya know tha’, if I hadn’t been across the ocean, there’s nothin’ tha’ would’ve stopped me from comin’ out ‘ere ta ‘elp ya. Bethany may ‘ave split us up as a team, but ya’re STILL tha closest thing I’ve got ta a sister...”
The Sensational One’s voice trials off for a moment.
“An’... y’know what?” London asks, when she speaks again. “SCREW BETHANY!!!”
It’s shocking, to be sure, but that sentiment is WARMLY embraced by the FAWNatics.
“If ya need any ‘elp lettin’ Rose an’ Gabby, or any of those other brats know what a mistake they made, just say tha word. An’ I will be RIGHT THERE, in your corner, ready ta kick their arses right alongside ya! Darla, Irma... Know this. You lot SAY you’re tha future, an’ ‘ell, maybe ya are. But I’ll tell ya this, on behalf of EVERY woman who has sweated in this ring, who has shed blood in this ring, who has shed tears, of joy OR shame, in this ring... You WILL respect us, an’ what we’ve done. I’ll make sure of that.”
If the FAWNatics hadn’t been riled up enough following the conclusion of the night’s opener, Shea’s unscheduled arrival and delivered ultimatum to FAWN’s most violently disruptive quantity threatens to push them over the edge. Those cheers are set to be deafening as the gauntlet is cast down, and no doubt they would have ripped free from throats had the sound system not thundered into renewed life...
“ONE OF US IS GOING DOWN":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZQQghhnzCY
Irma Irons
...and as the lyrics promised that “One Of Us Is Going Down!!”, Irma Irons bursts out from behind the curtains on cue, the Weaponized Wolverine tearing a beeline down the aisle to the resounding jeers of the packed, capacity arena. Unperturbed, or perhaps fuelled by the unbridled condemnation, the compact, raven haired destroyer cuts a striding pace that can only be described as ruinous, eyes locked with murderous intent as she marches to her own, anarchistic beat, shoulders square and jaw clenched as she wipes the back of her fist across her lips, stage hands dashing aside lest they become the latest victim of her unbiased ire.
Just like London, she is equally unprepared to step into the ring, her heavy set boots one of only two parts of her usual attire, the other being a vicious looking chain that she had wrapped about her waist, a belt tonight for faded and tattered jeans. Her vest top appears as equally unkempt whilst her jacket had clearly seen as many wars as the Manchester girl who wore it.
Somewhere between the curtains and the steel steps, Irons had acquired a stick and, after thrusting her way through ropes and into the ring, she brings it to her lips only to pull away, delaying her own commentary and passing Shea without a word. Irons reaches the opposite corner and, as the FAWNatics continue to voice displeasure, she climbs to the middle turnbuckle and, with a crooked grin, delivers a one fingered salute.
Satisfied that she had let those watching know just what she was feeling, Irma jumps back down with a heavy thud and begins pacing, circling the four corners of the ring like a rabid hound as she rolls her shoulders and a noticeable twitch cracked her neck.
“Well, f*** a duck, London,” finally she brought the stick back up to her lips as she brought herself to turn her full attention upon Shea, still pacing back and forth as if some manner of internal mania forced her to keep moving. “For a Sensational Sh*t Stain I left bleeding in the middle of this f***ing ring at Cold November Pain, yer sure as hell are a mouthy c**t tonight!”
The FAWNatics respond in kind, speaking up in defense of Shea on her behalf and yet, as she was about to respond, Irons immediately cut her off and, if anything, the intensity of her near manic pacing only increased.
“I AIN’T DONE YET!!” she snaps, the crick in her neck returning before she continued, “Yer had your turn to spout off, and now it’s mine. I ain’t much for talkin’, so yer can all listen. I ain’t out here ‘cause Darla sent me, I went and got myself out here ‘cause here yer are spouting off about bringing it to me! There ain’t no-one bringing it to me, I’m the mother f***ing apocalypse around here bytch, I’m bringing it to you!!”
As if finding her focus, Irons changes her course and marches down on her target, standing toe to toe with the undaunted Shea at center ring, brunette and blonde standing eye to eye and unflinching. “But you and me, we finally agree on one thing,” she pushes the words out from between her teeth, the two about to unleash hostilities there and then, “F**K! BETHANY!!”
The utterly unexpected nature of the statement, and its content, actually encourages a slightly confused cheer from the FAWNatics, however briefly.
“Yer ain’t meant to be here tonight,” Irma pushes on, paying them no attention, “I ain’t meant to be here tonight. We got no business taking up the air time, but sh*t,” if it were at all possible, the space between one Manchester native and the other becomes even slimmer, “you and me ain’t leavin’ this House until one of us is bleeding!!!”
For a few moments, the Sensational One’s only response is a slow nod. But then, she brings her mic back up. “It’s a funny thing, Irma,” London says. “Tha way ya’re out ‘ere, runnin’ yer gob, ya’d think you... well... BEAT me at Cold November Pain!”
The crowd responds with a few laughs and more cheers.
“Now,” Shea continues on, “tha way *I* remember it... an’ tha way I’m guessin’ most o’ these good folks ‘ere remember it... is that YOU came at me with everything ya ‘ad, but in tha end, YOU were screamin’ out a surrender. An’ tha ONLY reason ya got tha drop on me after tha bell was because you CONNED me inta thinkin’ tha’ ya ‘ad even tha tiniest shred of decency in you.”
Irma starts to open her mouth, but now it’s Shea who cuts her off.
“SHUT IT, YOU!” London snaps. “I’M not finished yet! Now... seein’ as I now know EXACTLY whatcha are, an’ EXACTLY who ya’re runnin’ with... If you wanna see whether you can put me down, ya’re welcome ta try. Name yer terms, name yer conditions. I don’t want ya ta be able to claim ANY excuses after I’ve kicked yer arse a second time!”
Irma pauses a moment, then asks, “Yer finished NOW?”
“Depends on you, don’t it?” the Sensational One asks.
“Damn right,” Irons replies. “Hell, yer more f*ckin’ right than you think. See you later tonight, Sh*t stain.”
The Weaponized Wolverine drops her mic, then slips out of the ring. And as she trudges to the back, the crowd lets it be known exactly how much they’ll be looking forward to this impromptu match-up...
“Do you wanna get rocked?”
There isn’t a fan who’s watched FAWN in the last nearly 12 years who doesn’t know what that question means, even though the person it normally pertained to wasn’t scheduled to be here. Still, as Def Leppard’s “Let’s Get Rocked” begins to pump over the speakers, the crowd rises in anticipation...
“LET’S GET ROCKED”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBcsCn9QyUQ
Shea London
And sure enough, Sensational Shea London strides from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful. The British Bombshell darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile back on full display. As she wasn’t scheduled to compete tonight, it’s not nearly as surprising to see that the blonde is dressed in street clothes--sneakers, a pair of delightfully snug blue jeans and a t-shirt, though the shirt at least DOES sport her beloved Union Jack.
The gorgeous blonde makes a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes, entering the ring and calling for a microphone. When one is tossed to her, the Sensational One steps toward the center of the ring.
“I know, I know,” Shea says with a charming smile. “I know ya weren’t plannin’ on seein’ me tonight.”
As true as that might be, the FAWNatics still elect to let the living legend know just what a pleasant surprise this is.
“Honestly,” London continues, “I’m not SUPPOSED ta be ‘ere. Y’see, tha last few weeks, me an’ some o’ tha girls have been workin’ a European tour. An’ it’s been fun... but I’ve been keepin’ tabs on what’s been goin’ on ‘ere, which means I SAW what happened at Season’s Beatings. Specifically... I saw what ‘appened when a bunch of snot nosed li’l PUNKS decided not enough people were payin’ attention to them, an’ decided ta throw a tantrum.”
It doesn’t take much thought for the crowd to figure out who she’s referring to.
“... or maybe they just needed their nappies changed. Who knows?”
That draws a resounding round of mocking laughter from the FAWNatics.
“Now,” Shea says, once the merriment ebbs a little, “LORD knows there’s no love last between me an’ ‘er Ladyship. But lemme just say this on Waterford’s behalf: her CHARACTER might leave a lot ta be desired, but her ACCOMPLISHMENTS, in this industry AND in FAWN, deserve respect. An’ Cass? I ‘OPE ya know tha’, if I hadn’t been across the ocean, there’s nothin’ tha’ would’ve stopped me from comin’ out ‘ere ta ‘elp ya. Bethany may ‘ave split us up as a team, but ya’re STILL tha closest thing I’ve got ta a sister...”
The Sensational One’s voice trials off for a moment.
“An’... y’know what?” London asks, when she speaks again. “SCREW BETHANY!!!”
It’s shocking, to be sure, but that sentiment is WARMLY embraced by the FAWNatics.
“If ya need any ‘elp lettin’ Rose an’ Gabby, or any of those other brats know what a mistake they made, just say tha word. An’ I will be RIGHT THERE, in your corner, ready ta kick their arses right alongside ya! Darla, Irma... Know this. You lot SAY you’re tha future, an’ ‘ell, maybe ya are. But I’ll tell ya this, on behalf of EVERY woman who has sweated in this ring, who has shed blood in this ring, who has shed tears, of joy OR shame, in this ring... You WILL respect us, an’ what we’ve done. I’ll make sure of that.”
If the FAWNatics hadn’t been riled up enough following the conclusion of the night’s opener, Shea’s unscheduled arrival and delivered ultimatum to FAWN’s most violently disruptive quantity threatens to push them over the edge. Those cheers are set to be deafening as the gauntlet is cast down, and no doubt they would have ripped free from throats had the sound system not thundered into renewed life...
“ONE OF US IS GOING DOWN":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZQQghhnzCY
Irma Irons
...and as the lyrics promised that “One Of Us Is Going Down!!”, Irma Irons bursts out from behind the curtains on cue, the Weaponized Wolverine tearing a beeline down the aisle to the resounding jeers of the packed, capacity arena. Unperturbed, or perhaps fuelled by the unbridled condemnation, the compact, raven haired destroyer cuts a striding pace that can only be described as ruinous, eyes locked with murderous intent as she marches to her own, anarchistic beat, shoulders square and jaw clenched as she wipes the back of her fist across her lips, stage hands dashing aside lest they become the latest victim of her unbiased ire.
Just like London, she is equally unprepared to step into the ring, her heavy set boots one of only two parts of her usual attire, the other being a vicious looking chain that she had wrapped about her waist, a belt tonight for faded and tattered jeans. Her vest top appears as equally unkempt whilst her jacket had clearly seen as many wars as the Manchester girl who wore it.
Somewhere between the curtains and the steel steps, Irons had acquired a stick and, after thrusting her way through ropes and into the ring, she brings it to her lips only to pull away, delaying her own commentary and passing Shea without a word. Irons reaches the opposite corner and, as the FAWNatics continue to voice displeasure, she climbs to the middle turnbuckle and, with a crooked grin, delivers a one fingered salute.
Satisfied that she had let those watching know just what she was feeling, Irma jumps back down with a heavy thud and begins pacing, circling the four corners of the ring like a rabid hound as she rolls her shoulders and a noticeable twitch cracked her neck.
“Well, f*** a duck, London,” finally she brought the stick back up to her lips as she brought herself to turn her full attention upon Shea, still pacing back and forth as if some manner of internal mania forced her to keep moving. “For a Sensational Sh*t Stain I left bleeding in the middle of this f***ing ring at Cold November Pain, yer sure as hell are a mouthy c**t tonight!”
The FAWNatics respond in kind, speaking up in defense of Shea on her behalf and yet, as she was about to respond, Irons immediately cut her off and, if anything, the intensity of her near manic pacing only increased.
“I AIN’T DONE YET!!” she snaps, the crick in her neck returning before she continued, “Yer had your turn to spout off, and now it’s mine. I ain’t much for talkin’, so yer can all listen. I ain’t out here ‘cause Darla sent me, I went and got myself out here ‘cause here yer are spouting off about bringing it to me! There ain’t no-one bringing it to me, I’m the mother f***ing apocalypse around here bytch, I’m bringing it to you!!”
As if finding her focus, Irons changes her course and marches down on her target, standing toe to toe with the undaunted Shea at center ring, brunette and blonde standing eye to eye and unflinching. “But you and me, we finally agree on one thing,” she pushes the words out from between her teeth, the two about to unleash hostilities there and then, “F**K! BETHANY!!”
The utterly unexpected nature of the statement, and its content, actually encourages a slightly confused cheer from the FAWNatics, however briefly.
“Yer ain’t meant to be here tonight,” Irma pushes on, paying them no attention, “I ain’t meant to be here tonight. We got no business taking up the air time, but sh*t,” if it were at all possible, the space between one Manchester native and the other becomes even slimmer, “you and me ain’t leavin’ this House until one of us is bleeding!!!”
For a few moments, the Sensational One’s only response is a slow nod. But then, she brings her mic back up. “It’s a funny thing, Irma,” London says. “Tha way ya’re out ‘ere, runnin’ yer gob, ya’d think you... well... BEAT me at Cold November Pain!”
The crowd responds with a few laughs and more cheers.
“Now,” Shea continues on, “tha way *I* remember it... an’ tha way I’m guessin’ most o’ these good folks ‘ere remember it... is that YOU came at me with everything ya ‘ad, but in tha end, YOU were screamin’ out a surrender. An’ tha ONLY reason ya got tha drop on me after tha bell was because you CONNED me inta thinkin’ tha’ ya ‘ad even tha tiniest shred of decency in you.”
Irma starts to open her mouth, but now it’s Shea who cuts her off.
“SHUT IT, YOU!” London snaps. “I’M not finished yet! Now... seein’ as I now know EXACTLY whatcha are, an’ EXACTLY who ya’re runnin’ with... If you wanna see whether you can put me down, ya’re welcome ta try. Name yer terms, name yer conditions. I don’t want ya ta be able to claim ANY excuses after I’ve kicked yer arse a second time!”
Irma pauses a moment, then asks, “Yer finished NOW?”
“Depends on you, don’t it?” the Sensational One asks.
“Damn right,” Irons replies. “Hell, yer more f*ckin’ right than you think. See you later tonight, Sh*t stain.”
The Weaponized Wolverine drops her mic, then slips out of the ring. And as she trudges to the back, the crowd lets it be known exactly how much they’ll be looking forward to this impromptu match-up...
