Post by alyadmirer on Oct 20, 2015 7:24:09 GMT
(EDITOR'S UPDATE: This match is now posted IN FULL. Enjoy.)
The biggest show of the year required spectacle. It often meant that the FAWNatics were treating to things they hadn’t seen before. Sometimes, like right now, it meant that they encountered things they hadn’t quite smelled before, either...
Following the last bit of mayhem (lowercase ‘m’, naturally), several staffers had wheeled down to the ring a large, commercial dumpster, positioning it not very far from the announce position. And, judging by the fragrance, those oh-so-lucky first row fans who’d shelled out their money for these seats were certain that it was fairly loaded with the usual contents as well.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the ring announcer declares, “the following contest is a Dumpster Match! There is no time limit, no pinfalls, no submissions, no countouts, no disqualifications. The ONLY way to win this match is for one women to toss her opponent into the dumpster, and then close the lid.”
Sure enough, the prospect of THAT level of carnage and animosity helped ease the discomfort of that one small pocket of fans. The larger audience roared regardless.
“Introducing first," the announcer resumes, spawning another round 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, exploding 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.
“TESTIFY”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_zyb-XXWz0
Admittedly, the younger member of the Bloodwind tribe’s career had not gotten off to the hottest start in FAWN history. In fact, Nyssa could once be said to have been the next in a long line of “lovable losers” that won the hearts of the Orlando faithful while losing matches--a lineage that traces all the way back to the likes of Kylie Sanders and Cynthia Mitchell. But, much like the Pleasant Valley Princess and the Cynful One before her, the Nubile Navajo had not just gained seasoning, but had become a champion three over, twice on her own and once alongside her big sister--and she’s managed to do so without sacrificing the adoration of the masses, the way Cynthia and Kylie had.
Buoyed by the support of the FAWNatics, a beaming Nyssa makes her way down the aisle, slapping hands along the guardrail, and doing her absolute best not to miss a single palm... utterly unaware of the red, white, blue and blonde blur charging toward her from behind.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
FAWN's True American sprints into view too fast for the assembled to offer a proper warning. Polly Lockwood, sporting her customary hot pants and bikini top, Lockwood alternating her country’s colors 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.
Lockwood drives one of those ivory kneepads into the spine of the Nubile Navajo. Nyssa is sent lurching forward, falling to all fours unceremoniously. Only a few feet away from the green, metallic garbage receptacle, a startled Nyssa scrambles to her feet, but Polly is there with a patriotic paw grasping onto Nyssa's right shoulder and spinning her bitter rival to face her.
Lockwood loads up a European uppercut and delivers to Bloodwind's jaw, snapping the head of her foe in whiplash fashion. "Revenge not tasting quite as sweet as you thought," Polly shouts. "Your night's gonna taste like garbage, I'm thinking." Lockwood screams at a FAWN flunky to open the lid of the dumpster but the official demands the match at least start in the ring and a perturbed Polly ushers Nyssa toward the squared circle, flinging her in an Irish Whip toward the apron's edge.
The Nubile Navajo is sent sprinting toward the ring, instinct compelling Bloodwind to turn her back as she approached the ropes. Unfortunately, the ropes were quite a few feet ABOVE Nyssa, and so when she turns, the base of her spine crashes into the edge of plywood planks and their thin cover of canvas, the brunette again crashing to all fours with an anguished yelp. "Andheropponentpollylockwood," the announcer says from inside the ring, all in the quickest breath humanly possible, before he beats a hasty retreat to the timekeeper's station.
A good thing because the pint-sized blonde grabs a wincing, arched Bloodwind and throws her under the bottom rope. Nyssa rolls to the middle as Lockwood slides in behind, the bell making this Mania match official. Polly kneewalks to her Native American rival, ending in a straddle of the face-up Bloodwind. Not bothering with any pretense, her hands encircle Nyssa's throat, Polly intent on finishing Bloodwind in a hurry by choking the life from her.
"Hands off the throat, Polly," the official barks, instinctively raising HIS hand to start counting... but the TRUE American cuts him off.
"Weren't you paying attention, nitwit? Anything goes tonight! Including THIS BYTCH GOING RIGHT IN THAT DUMPSTER!"
Put in his place, the ref's arm reluctantly falls to his side, and he can only watch along with the FAWNatics as Nyssa's legs kick and thrash, her fist clubbing at Lockwood's forearms. Eventually, while Bloodwind keeps slugging away with her right hand, her left arm begins to rise, fingers seeking out flaxen tresses, hoping that she might be able to coax Polly to release her choke with some hairpulling.
Nyssa tugs the blonde's head from side to side with alternate pulls from left and right, finally convincing Lockwood to relent. But while Nyssa gasps in deep pulls of oxygen, Lockwood pops to her feet and begins putting the boots to any part of the golden skin of Nyssa she can find free. Having stomped her foe into a protective ball, Polly halts her mudhole-creating and grabs a wrist, launching Nyssa to her feet and shuffling Bloodwind into a backpedal that continues until her spine hits a set of buckles. There, Polly gives her right palm a long lollipop lick ready to steal some of Nyssa's thunder with a backhand chop to Bloodwind's chest.
'THWAAAAAAAACK!'
Polly's chop finds its mark with thunderous force, but the blow is more than loud, judging by the way Nyssa's eyes snap shut and her left leg rises into the air. Of course, ANY chop employed against the Bloodwind tribe is certain to earn an outraged gasp from Navajo Nation, but Lockwood regards them with a smirk and a shrug of her shoulders, bringing her choppin' hand up to her right eye and miming drying away a tear. She then prepares to unload a second chop... when the Nubile Navajo's hands grasp her at the shoulders. Nyssa snarls and Polly squeaks as the duo spin around, trading places, the TRUE American's back against the buckles as Bloodwind draws her hand back to answer the blonde's chop with one of her own.
And the professional shows the patriot how it's done with a SMACK that dwarfs Lockwood's, Polly rocking off her feet from the stinging force of the attack. But Nyssa's not done with one and she lights up Polly's chest with two, three, four, five. Each time Lockwood's legs fly out in front of her, the True American yelping from the reverberating blow. A sixth lifts Polly so high her grasp of the top rope on either side of the corner is loosened. Lockwood's ass drops to the canvas. Hands moving to her chest, Polly seems relieved to hit the deck and be out of the range of another wicked chop from the furious Bloodwind.
But Nyssa had more than chops to pay Polly back for, the Native American warrior driving stomp after stomp after stomp after stomp to Lockwood's chest. Stopping at ten, Bloodwind stoops forward, claiming a handful of hair and guiding a crawling TRUE American out of the corner. Not quite at center ring, the Nubile Navajo uses Polly's mane to tug the blonde up to her feet, and then dips, threading an arm through Lockwood's thighs. With a small grunt, Nyssa starts to scoop the former Lightweight champion up across her shoulder--with POLLY'S shoulder ticketed for a collision with Bloodwind's knee.
SHOULDERBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nD8ui2Sa4DQ
With Lockwood draped over Nyssa's right shoulder, Polly ready to be delivered to a joint-blasting impact, the True American instead squirms her way out of trouble and down the back of Bloodwind. The blonde's palms press into Nyssa's shoulderblades and Polly shoves her foe forward. The Navajo beauty takes off like a shot to the ropes in front of her, using the momentum to rebound toward the pocket hardbody. And as Nyssa closes in, Polly launches with a shoulderblock aimed for Nyssa's chest to knock the Nubile One to her back and let everyone know revenge would not be served warm or cold tonight.
That "pocket hardbody" moniker is much deserved, as demonstrated by what happens next. Even with a head of steam behind her from the ropes, Nyssa's feet fly out from under her when the TRUE American's shoulder SLAMS into her sternum. Bloodwind groans as she tumbles backward, hitting the mat with a dull thud... and a LOUDER groan when the back of her skull whiplashes into the canvas. While Navajo Nation expresses its displeasure, Nyssa rolls over to her belly, cradling her throbbing noggin with both arms.
Lockwood turns to the jeering crowd and offers a crisp salute that quickly turns into a one-fingered variety, only drawing more of the ire of the FAWNatics. Reaching down, Lockwood grabs Nyssa around the noggin and tugs the Navajo to her feet in a side headlock. She draws a staggering Nyssa with her in a victory lap of the ring before sprinting toward a far corner. Reaching the buckles with Nyssa in tow, Polly travels up the corner, ready to push her boot soles off the top and into a u-turn that would end with Bloodwind's face banging off the canvas with a bulldog if the True American has her way.
And she does, Polly landing on her taut little tush--and Nyssa's mug colliding with the mat just off the TRUE American's hip, with enough force to send the Nubile Navajo flopping to her back in a boneless starfish. Rolling to her side, Lockwood drapes herself across Bloodwind's chest, her left arm scooping up her opponent's outside leg. Polly right hand slaps off a totally unofficial...
ONE
TWO
THREE...
... and a considerably quicker than regulation one at that, earning FAWN's resident Benedict Arnold another helping of boos and insults. Sinking back on her haunches, Lockwood regards the crowd with the same open disdain she would an audience of undocumented workers.
"ANY TIME I WANT," the blonde shouts. "THIS MATCH IS OVER ANY TIME I WANT! BUT I'M NOT ENDING IT UNTIL THIS TRASH IS *BEGGING* ME TO CLOSE THAT LID!"
Polly hops to her feet and pushes Bloodwind off her side with a kick. With the Navajo still on her back and somewhat dazed, Polly positions herself in a standing straddle. "BEG!" Polly shouts. And when Nyssa only responds with a few confused blinks of her dark peepers, Lockwood launches into a jump above the chest of the Arizonan, planning to land her boot leather atop the faux deerskin and flatten Bloodwind's bounty with a vicious mushroom stomp.
Lockwood's heels mash down into the yielding, sensitive flesh and tissue underneath their imitation deerskin protection--which almost prompts Bloodwind's bosom to slip FREE of its covering as the TRUE American is propelled back into the air. As Polly lands on her feet, the Nubile Navajo rolls over to her chest... and howls in anguish, rising up onto her knees, her arms folding over her gurls in an 'X'. Bloodwind slumps forward, until her forehead touches down on the mat, Nyssa's rump wriggling as her Uggs drum the canvas.
Sidling behind Nyssa, Polly slides a set of fingers under the back side of Bloodwind's bottoms and YANKS up for an All-American wedgie that sends Nyssa's eyes bulging, her lips forming a silent 'O', as she straightens to her knees. "Got your attention, Pocahontas?" Polly asks. Lockwood dips her opposite hand into Nyssa's raven locks and tears the Native American to her feet. Pointing Bloodwind at a far corner, Polly starts to bum rush a dipped Nyssa toward the post, ready to send her head and shoulders between the buckles and introduce Nyssa to some unforgiving iron.
Fortunately for Bloodwind given the way her last match with Polly Lockwood had concluded, the brunette's skull misses the steel beam. Less fortunately for the Nubile Navajo, her shoulder does not, Nyssa screaming in pain, her eyes instantly beginning to well. Bloodwind's upper body remains hanging through the ropes, her belly resting on the middle turnbuckle as her feet raise into the air behind her. Most of the crowd continues to jeer, but some whistle in appreciation that Nyssa's impact with the ringpost had done little to realign her bottoms--and Bloodwind's hanging arms aren't in much state to do so, either.
Lockwood stands behind the blasted Bloodwind nodding knowingly before delivering a cheeky swat to Nyssa's exposed derriere. Plucking Nyssa out of her predicament by the same wedged faux deerskin and a shoulder, Polly spins Bloodwind toward her and dips to scoop her off the canvas. Lifting Nyssa to a place on her right shoulder, Polly starts to drop the crook of either knee onto the top rope on either side of the corner. With Nyssa so placed, the blonde starts to fold the lower leg of the Navajo so the tip of her boots catch on the middle cable and place the beleaguered Bloodwind in a Tree of Woe, Lockwood planning to use it as the perfect excuse to steal Nyssa's tomahawk chop in a most unsavory manner.
Uggs hooked underneath the wiring mooring the turnbuckles to the post, Nyssa starts to crunch up... until she sees Polly's knife-edge swooping downward. Bloodwind's upper body immediately falls back, her eyes snapping shut as the Nubile Navajo braces herself against the blow. A blow that doesn't come, Lockwood's hand pulling up a little less than an inch short. Nyssa opens her eyes, only to find herself staring up at the smirking features of the TRUE American, Lockwood dropping her hand to possessively pat Bloodwind's nether regions. But then, the bronzed blonde raises her hand again, Nyssa unable to keep from whimpering a soft "Please" when Lockwood reverses course... and this time, the tomahawk connects, ripping a high pitched shriek from the Nubile Navajo's lungs.
A delighted Polly unhooks Nyssa's Uggs and lets Bloodwind pool at her feet in a whimpering ball. "You all thought Sacajawea here was going to roll me, didn't you?" The crowd jeers at the arrogant star-spangled bytch. "These colors don't run...and they fly especially high at Mania."
Polly scrapes Nyssa off the canvas, Bloodwind never having been able to get in gear, and already the pocket hardbody is ushering her through the ropes and onto the apron above the half-filled, aromatic dumpster. "Open it!" Polly demands and a flunky does as he's told. Lockwood cups a hand under Nyssa's chin to lift her head, but only to provide herself a target for the dropkick that would send the droopy trash into her proper location. Stepping back a few steps, the blonde launches to send boot to chin and send Nyssa tumbling in.
Polly's soles find their mark, connecting with Nyssa's chin and sending the Native American beauty pivoting as she tumbles off the edge of the ring. Navajo Nation draws in its collective breath in a loud gasp, holding it in as Bloodwind flies through the air and toward the garbage receptacle. The FAWNatics, at least, catch a break--Nyssa, not so much--when she comes up just short of Lockwood's intended destination, the brunette's chest slamming into the dumpster's edge and her arms momentarily falling within its confines. But the rest of Bloodwind collapses to the floor, gathering in a heap at the base of bin.
Polly looks down on the ruined Bloodwind in disgust. "Can't you do anything, right? Trash like you belongs on the inside." Lockwood drops to her side and rolls off the apron, planting her boot soles next to the splayed Nyssa. As the stubborn Navajo struggles up to all fours, the star-spangled bytch strides away from the sweaty mess at her feet only to turn and race back at Bloodwind, intending to punt her foe in the ribs and drive whatever wind remains clean out of the overmatched Nyssa.
The loud 'THWUMP' of bootleather meeting imitation deerskin is followed by an even louder "NYYYYUUUUUNNNNNNHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" from the Nubile Navajo, the impact of Lockwood's kick lifting Nyssa off her hands and knees for just a moment. Bloodwind settles back down on her right hip, her back pressed against the cold steel of the dumpster, Nyssa sputtering as her left arm falls across her blasted abdomen. While the Native American warrior desperately tries to catch her breath, the FAWNatics unload on Polly with both barrels, thoroughly disgusted with the TRUE American's Pearl Harbor act.
With Bloodwind groaning at her feet, Polly sidles over to the barricade and borrows a miniature American flag held by one of the few Polly Patriots in the audience, perhaps the only one in the front row. Snatching it from him, she moves to Nyssa and plants the pencil-sized staff into the raven locks of Nyssa behind an ear. "I claim this bytch as mine. And as such I get to do what I want with her."
Lockwood scoops Nyssa off her knees and into a fireman's carry. She turns her back to the dumpster and leans a wriggling Nyssa over the side, ready to toss her tawny cargo in and shut the lid, the trash man hopefully taking the Nubile Navajo back to Arizona forever more.
Only as Lockwood starts to tilt Bloodwind over the edge, Nyssa starts firing elbows into the side of her rival's skull. It takes a good five before Nyssa manages to land the right blow to the temple that slackens the TRUE American's arms, Polly shaking her head as she staggers away...
... leaving the Nubile Navajo to cling to the rim of the bin.
Just as it looks like gravity might pull the Native American into the pit of refuse, Nyssa manages to reverse course, falling the other way and landing on her feet on the floor. She still leans against the bin as Lockwood turns back toward her, loading up a forearm... but Nyssa ducks the shiver, which instead connects with the side of of the dumpster. Again, the diminutive blonde staggers away, this time shaking out her elbow while Nyssa turns toward the announcer's table. Hoping to its surface, Bloodwind turns and makes one more leap, landing on the dumpster's rim. The Nubile Navajo then displays impressive agility in the face of the pounding she's taken, tight-roping the edge as she races toward Lockwood. Leaping one last time, Bloodwind extends an arm, hoping to capture Polly's skull and treat Navajo Nation to perhaps the most improbable and remarkable tornado DDT they had ever witnessed.
Nyssa leaps off the wobbling dumpster, somehow retaining enough balance to find the head of the pint-sized hardbody, Nyssa's left arm encircling the blonde's braincase. The Navajo swings her body around in a violent whipping loop that rips Lockwood's boot leather off the floor and her frame with it. And while Bloodwind's back and derriere smack against the thinly-padded cement, it's the crown of Polly's head that finds the unyielding surface. A reflexive groan emerges from the crowd, though when the True American somersaults over to a semiconscious spreadeagle that quickly changes to celebratory applause.
As Lockwood tumbles over (clearly not posing any threat to either Daly or Manning in the floor routine) Nyssa rockets up to a seated position... but then she topples herself, landing on her back with her arms sprawled overhead, blinking up at the lights. Fortunately, neither woman has to worry about the prospect of a countout, as the referee almost certainly would have been nearing "TEN!" when Bloodwind finally manages to sit up of her own accord. Climbing to her feet, Bloodwind grabs a handful of Polly's golden tresses, tugging the pocket hardbody up to her feet. The Native American beauty casts a brief glance toward the dumpster... but then shakes her head.
"Six. Months," Bloodwind mutters, dragging her foe back toward the ring. "I haven't even BEGUN collecting yet." The Nubile Navajo SLAMS Polly's forehead into the apron, before shoveling the blonde up onto the canvas and pushing her under the bottom rope. Instead of following her in, Nyssa shuffles over to the timekeeper's area, grabbing and folding up a steel chair. Returning to the ring, Bloodwind tosses that chair in before hopping onto the apron and making her way to the near ringpost. The Nubile Navajo starts to scale her way to the top turnbuckle right as a woozy TRUE American begins to rise, her back to Bloodwind. Nyssa draws her attention with a whistle, then takes to the skies, aiming a tomahawk chop at the crown of her skull.
The dazed blonde stumbles drunkenly through a wide arc, reacting to the whistle in slow motion. Lockwood's ears don't fail her, but it turns out to be an unfortunate success. Polly spins toward the already launching Bloodwind who has her knife-edge poised. Polly's glazed eyes manage to widen at the sight of the soaring Navajo. The blonde tries to get her arms up to block, but the limbs only reach halfway before Nyssa's tomahawk cleaves into Polly's forehead and the tanned patriot drops as if shot, her spine and the back of her head THUMPING into the deck with incredible force, making for a disastrous one-two blow to the cranium.
Having chopped down a rather short, blonde tree, Nyssa turns her attention to the steel chair. Picking it up, the Nubile Navajo pulls it tight to her chest, holding it there as she takes a step toward the fallen Lockwood. Springing off her feet, Bloodwind navigates the air with grace and aplomb, planning to land her standing shooting star press--only this one with a little metallic reinforcement.
STANDING SHOOTING STAR PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQ-dKtZnIyE
Blasted by the tomahawks of tomahawks, Lockwood's head bobbles from side to side as she lies flat to the mat. The movement shakes some senses into place, but only enough to realize what Nyssa has in mind. Polly's boots push vainly and weakly against the canvas, trying to push Nyssa's target out of the way. But she scantly moves and Bloodwind SPLASHES across Lockwood's open midriff with a metallic THWANK that seems to hurt the giver but takes so much more from the taker. Polly folds around the Shooting Star likes she's been ripped in half, gasping and hyperventilating when she recedes to the canvas.
The Nubile Navajo rolls to her back, still hugging the chair to her belly even as her Uggs stomp at the mat. Finally regaining a bit of her own breath, Nyssa lightly tosses the chair to the side before she begins to pick herself up. Toeing the steel with one boot, Bloodwind guides it over to Polly's left flank, then stoops down to roll the TRUE American over. Pulling Lockwood up to her knees, the pocket hardbody's left ankle slipping atop the back of her right calf. Locking Polly into a standing headscissors, Nyssa leans forward, reaching to secure a grip on her opponent's right ankle--and use that to hoist the TRUE American up for one hellacious Indian deathlock piledriver, onto the steel chair.
INDIAN DEATHLOCK PILEDRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bXcN8fXiktE
Having absorbed colossal blows to head and gut, Lockwood manages little in response to being brought to her knees, her legs folded, and her still swimming head pressed tight between Nyssa's flexing thighs. Leaned forward, her arms wrap around Bloodwind's hammies. But with her lower limbs locked up, there's no leverage available for any counter. And quickly enough, Nyssa uses the 'handle' of the True American's boot to haul her off the deck, the crown of her head hovering over the metal seat pan of the chair. There's a hint of a wriggle from the patriot and a chirpy, pleading 'no' escaping her lips before Nyssa lowers the boom and Polly's skull into the steel. Lockwood pops up to a glassy-eyed kneel from the impact before her head and torso fold backward, thighs ending atop calves.
Rising, Nyssa smirks down at the blasted blonde... and whether it's a response to Polly's earlier "cover", an answer to the manner in which Lockwood had taken the Lightweight belt off of Bloodwind, or all of the above, the Nubile Navajo plants an Ugg on Lockwood's bosom. The FAWNatics are more than delighted to shout out a...
"ONE!
TWO!
THREE!"
... for the Native American--and, when Nyssa gives the fans an accusatory eye, a...
"FOUR!"
...and...
"FIVE!"
... as well. Grinning in satisfaction, Bloodwind steps off, gathering up the chair before sauntering into the far corner. The brunette stuffs the chair into the gap between the middle and top turnbuckle before turning and making her way back to the TRUE American. Peeling Polly off the mat, Nyssa lines her up with the corner, preparing to launch her on her way with an Irish whip--and follow her in with a splash.
Lockwood is whipped toward the troublesome folding furniture but manages to hold on and do-si-do through a reversal that looks like it will send Bloodwind to her first meeting with the steel. Unfortunately for the Polly Patriots in the arena, Bloodwind matches reversal for reversal. With the distance to the chair halved by the winding waltz between the foes, Lockwood is racing to the steel with nary the time to turn her back to the chair. Instead, she CRASHES in chest-first, another metallic CLANK accompanying her impact. Arms splayed over either side of the corner, the blonde remains vertical and a blind target to the Navajo racing at her from behind. Nyssa leaps into a crushing nubile avalanche of the blonde's spine, SLAMMING her tight to the fortified corner, a loud 'GUHHH' bursting from the pancaked Polly.
When Bloodwind takes a step back, Lockwood crashes to her knees, slumping into leather padding and now dented steel. A few stomps to the back and shoulders put the pocket hardbody on her taut little bum, and a few more still leave her lying on her side. From there, stomps turn to kicks, sending Polly spilling under the bottom rope and down to the floor. The Nubile Navajo slips through the ropes, then hops down beside the battered blonde. Yanking her up with a handful of hair, Nyssa takes her opponent's wrist, readying to administer another whip--one which would send the TRUE American racing toward the dumpster.
Having used her chair in nearly as many ways as the Sioux use a buffalo, Bloodwind has the bite-sized, flaxen-haired hardbody reeling. Nyssa wraps both palms around Lockwood's left wrist, lining her up with another steel finish line. Bloodwind whips her foe off into a sprint down the floor, the beleaguered Polly stumbling as she scurries toward the receptacle one woman would find as her resting place for the night. Polly starts to lose her balance as she tries to put on the brakes and the result is not a skidding stop, but a lowered head, the crown of which CLANGS into the dumpster. A dent is carved into the metal as Lockwood melts to her haunches, settling there beside the steel container.
Bloodwind strolls toward the quite possibly concussed Polly, Nyssa's head bobbing along with the increasing chant of "NU-BILE NAV-A-JO!" Snatching one more handful of hair, the raven haired Native American pulls Lockwood up to her knees, forcing the pocket hardbody to kneewalk toward the announcer's table. Reaching their destination, Nyssa climbs onto the table's surface, hairhauling Lockwood up onto the same, Polly's gams visibly trembling as the Native American releases her tresses to wrap that arm around Polly's neck. Claiming a handful of hotpants, Bloodwind shouts, "NEVER HAS THIS SENTIMENT BEEN SO JUSTIFIED. POLLY... WHY DON'T YOU GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM???"
Popping her hips, the Nubile Navajo starts to muscle Lockwood airborne, intending to take a page out of Big Sister's book by sending Polly plummeting into the dumpster via a gourdbuster.
GOURDBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJDX1rbwZyQ
With a rubber-legged Polly trying but failing to snake one of her tanned limbs around Nyssa's, the True American is vaulted into the air to meet her last stand. Nyssa keeps her former tormentor and title-taker vertical for long moments, teasing both Polly and the FAWNatics, everyone in the arena with baited breath. That is until, Bloodwind pivots toward the open dumpster and sends the compliant and steamrolled Polly in.
The microphones inside pick up more of a SQUERSH than the metallic thunder the fans had happily grown accustomed to for the last several minutes. The stench-ridden padding may have lessened the impact to her chest and abdomen, but the garbage acts as grimy smelling salts to the True American, a scream of discontent echoing from inside. A second later, Polly's head emerges over the rim, her golden hair soaked and matted, a line of yellow mustard running in a line between her cleavage, empty ketchup packet glued to her cheek. “You b…buh…bytch,” Lockwood stammers from a combination of anger and a battered braincase.
Nyssa chuckles harshly, her lips curling into a cold smile. "Me bytch," the Navajo warrior says, reaching for the lid of the dumpster.
"You LOSER!"
Securing her grip, Bloodwind sends the hood of the dumpster crashing downward with a savage swing, certain that its impact with Polly's cranium would send the TRUE American back into her richly deserved confines. And as the lid closes, the Nubile Navajo adds a fully ironic, "How..."
The metal covering finishes off the steel symphony Bloodwind performed on Polly's demolished frame, one last CLANK of steel to skull sending the blonde SPLORSHING into the wretched refuse, this time likely unconscious as there's not a peep from inside. Outside, the crowd erupts. After a slow start, Nyssa dominated her fellow two-time lightweight champ in a manner which made it clear Polly and perhaps even Nyssa's fans weren't prepared for.
The results speak for themselves as the ring announcer makes it official. "With Polly Lockwood sealed in the dumpster...your winner, NYYYSSSSSSAAA BLLLOOOOOODDDWWWIIINNNDDD!!!!!"
Navajo Nation explodes into raucous cheers--even more so when Nyssa climbs from the announcer's table onto the lid. She makes her way to the edge of the dumpster cautiously, wary of either slipping on the slope on collapsing the lid. But she manages to get there without incident, taking a seat and letting her legs dangle over the edge. Bloodwind's feet absently kick at the air as the referee rises to his tiptoes--necessary with their current positioning to raise her hand.
After a few moments, the Nubile Navajo is jostled, the surface beneath her hindquarters receiving a push--but it's not strong enough to dislodge her. A second follows... with much the same result. As one cameraman approaches, the mic on his device picks up some muffled, unintelligible protests... but Nyssa's words are perfectly clear.
"I beat this bytch," the Native American beauty remarks. "Now I'm coming to take what she stole off me. Hope you're ready, Lily."
The biggest show of the year required spectacle. It often meant that the FAWNatics were treating to things they hadn’t seen before. Sometimes, like right now, it meant that they encountered things they hadn’t quite smelled before, either...
Following the last bit of mayhem (lowercase ‘m’, naturally), several staffers had wheeled down to the ring a large, commercial dumpster, positioning it not very far from the announce position. And, judging by the fragrance, those oh-so-lucky first row fans who’d shelled out their money for these seats were certain that it was fairly loaded with the usual contents as well.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the ring announcer declares, “the following contest is a Dumpster Match! There is no time limit, no pinfalls, no submissions, no countouts, no disqualifications. The ONLY way to win this match is for one women to toss her opponent into the dumpster, and then close the lid.”
Sure enough, the prospect of THAT level of carnage and animosity helped ease the discomfort of that one small pocket of fans. The larger audience roared regardless.
“Introducing first," the announcer resumes, spawning another round 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, exploding 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.
“TESTIFY”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_zyb-XXWz0
Admittedly, the younger member of the Bloodwind tribe’s career had not gotten off to the hottest start in FAWN history. In fact, Nyssa could once be said to have been the next in a long line of “lovable losers” that won the hearts of the Orlando faithful while losing matches--a lineage that traces all the way back to the likes of Kylie Sanders and Cynthia Mitchell. But, much like the Pleasant Valley Princess and the Cynful One before her, the Nubile Navajo had not just gained seasoning, but had become a champion three over, twice on her own and once alongside her big sister--and she’s managed to do so without sacrificing the adoration of the masses, the way Cynthia and Kylie had.
Buoyed by the support of the FAWNatics, a beaming Nyssa makes her way down the aisle, slapping hands along the guardrail, and doing her absolute best not to miss a single palm... utterly unaware of the red, white, blue and blonde blur charging toward her from behind.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
FAWN's True American sprints into view too fast for the assembled to offer a proper warning. Polly Lockwood, sporting her customary hot pants and bikini top, Lockwood alternating her country’s colors 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.
Lockwood drives one of those ivory kneepads into the spine of the Nubile Navajo. Nyssa is sent lurching forward, falling to all fours unceremoniously. Only a few feet away from the green, metallic garbage receptacle, a startled Nyssa scrambles to her feet, but Polly is there with a patriotic paw grasping onto Nyssa's right shoulder and spinning her bitter rival to face her.
Lockwood loads up a European uppercut and delivers to Bloodwind's jaw, snapping the head of her foe in whiplash fashion. "Revenge not tasting quite as sweet as you thought," Polly shouts. "Your night's gonna taste like garbage, I'm thinking." Lockwood screams at a FAWN flunky to open the lid of the dumpster but the official demands the match at least start in the ring and a perturbed Polly ushers Nyssa toward the squared circle, flinging her in an Irish Whip toward the apron's edge.
The Nubile Navajo is sent sprinting toward the ring, instinct compelling Bloodwind to turn her back as she approached the ropes. Unfortunately, the ropes were quite a few feet ABOVE Nyssa, and so when she turns, the base of her spine crashes into the edge of plywood planks and their thin cover of canvas, the brunette again crashing to all fours with an anguished yelp. "Andheropponentpollylockwood," the announcer says from inside the ring, all in the quickest breath humanly possible, before he beats a hasty retreat to the timekeeper's station.
A good thing because the pint-sized blonde grabs a wincing, arched Bloodwind and throws her under the bottom rope. Nyssa rolls to the middle as Lockwood slides in behind, the bell making this Mania match official. Polly kneewalks to her Native American rival, ending in a straddle of the face-up Bloodwind. Not bothering with any pretense, her hands encircle Nyssa's throat, Polly intent on finishing Bloodwind in a hurry by choking the life from her.
"Hands off the throat, Polly," the official barks, instinctively raising HIS hand to start counting... but the TRUE American cuts him off.
"Weren't you paying attention, nitwit? Anything goes tonight! Including THIS BYTCH GOING RIGHT IN THAT DUMPSTER!"
Put in his place, the ref's arm reluctantly falls to his side, and he can only watch along with the FAWNatics as Nyssa's legs kick and thrash, her fist clubbing at Lockwood's forearms. Eventually, while Bloodwind keeps slugging away with her right hand, her left arm begins to rise, fingers seeking out flaxen tresses, hoping that she might be able to coax Polly to release her choke with some hairpulling.
Nyssa tugs the blonde's head from side to side with alternate pulls from left and right, finally convincing Lockwood to relent. But while Nyssa gasps in deep pulls of oxygen, Lockwood pops to her feet and begins putting the boots to any part of the golden skin of Nyssa she can find free. Having stomped her foe into a protective ball, Polly halts her mudhole-creating and grabs a wrist, launching Nyssa to her feet and shuffling Bloodwind into a backpedal that continues until her spine hits a set of buckles. There, Polly gives her right palm a long lollipop lick ready to steal some of Nyssa's thunder with a backhand chop to Bloodwind's chest.
'THWAAAAAAAACK!'
Polly's chop finds its mark with thunderous force, but the blow is more than loud, judging by the way Nyssa's eyes snap shut and her left leg rises into the air. Of course, ANY chop employed against the Bloodwind tribe is certain to earn an outraged gasp from Navajo Nation, but Lockwood regards them with a smirk and a shrug of her shoulders, bringing her choppin' hand up to her right eye and miming drying away a tear. She then prepares to unload a second chop... when the Nubile Navajo's hands grasp her at the shoulders. Nyssa snarls and Polly squeaks as the duo spin around, trading places, the TRUE American's back against the buckles as Bloodwind draws her hand back to answer the blonde's chop with one of her own.
And the professional shows the patriot how it's done with a SMACK that dwarfs Lockwood's, Polly rocking off her feet from the stinging force of the attack. But Nyssa's not done with one and she lights up Polly's chest with two, three, four, five. Each time Lockwood's legs fly out in front of her, the True American yelping from the reverberating blow. A sixth lifts Polly so high her grasp of the top rope on either side of the corner is loosened. Lockwood's ass drops to the canvas. Hands moving to her chest, Polly seems relieved to hit the deck and be out of the range of another wicked chop from the furious Bloodwind.
But Nyssa had more than chops to pay Polly back for, the Native American warrior driving stomp after stomp after stomp after stomp to Lockwood's chest. Stopping at ten, Bloodwind stoops forward, claiming a handful of hair and guiding a crawling TRUE American out of the corner. Not quite at center ring, the Nubile Navajo uses Polly's mane to tug the blonde up to her feet, and then dips, threading an arm through Lockwood's thighs. With a small grunt, Nyssa starts to scoop the former Lightweight champion up across her shoulder--with POLLY'S shoulder ticketed for a collision with Bloodwind's knee.
SHOULDERBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nD8ui2Sa4DQ
With Lockwood draped over Nyssa's right shoulder, Polly ready to be delivered to a joint-blasting impact, the True American instead squirms her way out of trouble and down the back of Bloodwind. The blonde's palms press into Nyssa's shoulderblades and Polly shoves her foe forward. The Navajo beauty takes off like a shot to the ropes in front of her, using the momentum to rebound toward the pocket hardbody. And as Nyssa closes in, Polly launches with a shoulderblock aimed for Nyssa's chest to knock the Nubile One to her back and let everyone know revenge would not be served warm or cold tonight.
That "pocket hardbody" moniker is much deserved, as demonstrated by what happens next. Even with a head of steam behind her from the ropes, Nyssa's feet fly out from under her when the TRUE American's shoulder SLAMS into her sternum. Bloodwind groans as she tumbles backward, hitting the mat with a dull thud... and a LOUDER groan when the back of her skull whiplashes into the canvas. While Navajo Nation expresses its displeasure, Nyssa rolls over to her belly, cradling her throbbing noggin with both arms.
Lockwood turns to the jeering crowd and offers a crisp salute that quickly turns into a one-fingered variety, only drawing more of the ire of the FAWNatics. Reaching down, Lockwood grabs Nyssa around the noggin and tugs the Navajo to her feet in a side headlock. She draws a staggering Nyssa with her in a victory lap of the ring before sprinting toward a far corner. Reaching the buckles with Nyssa in tow, Polly travels up the corner, ready to push her boot soles off the top and into a u-turn that would end with Bloodwind's face banging off the canvas with a bulldog if the True American has her way.
And she does, Polly landing on her taut little tush--and Nyssa's mug colliding with the mat just off the TRUE American's hip, with enough force to send the Nubile Navajo flopping to her back in a boneless starfish. Rolling to her side, Lockwood drapes herself across Bloodwind's chest, her left arm scooping up her opponent's outside leg. Polly right hand slaps off a totally unofficial...
ONE
TWO
THREE...
... and a considerably quicker than regulation one at that, earning FAWN's resident Benedict Arnold another helping of boos and insults. Sinking back on her haunches, Lockwood regards the crowd with the same open disdain she would an audience of undocumented workers.
"ANY TIME I WANT," the blonde shouts. "THIS MATCH IS OVER ANY TIME I WANT! BUT I'M NOT ENDING IT UNTIL THIS TRASH IS *BEGGING* ME TO CLOSE THAT LID!"
Polly hops to her feet and pushes Bloodwind off her side with a kick. With the Navajo still on her back and somewhat dazed, Polly positions herself in a standing straddle. "BEG!" Polly shouts. And when Nyssa only responds with a few confused blinks of her dark peepers, Lockwood launches into a jump above the chest of the Arizonan, planning to land her boot leather atop the faux deerskin and flatten Bloodwind's bounty with a vicious mushroom stomp.
Lockwood's heels mash down into the yielding, sensitive flesh and tissue underneath their imitation deerskin protection--which almost prompts Bloodwind's bosom to slip FREE of its covering as the TRUE American is propelled back into the air. As Polly lands on her feet, the Nubile Navajo rolls over to her chest... and howls in anguish, rising up onto her knees, her arms folding over her gurls in an 'X'. Bloodwind slumps forward, until her forehead touches down on the mat, Nyssa's rump wriggling as her Uggs drum the canvas.
Sidling behind Nyssa, Polly slides a set of fingers under the back side of Bloodwind's bottoms and YANKS up for an All-American wedgie that sends Nyssa's eyes bulging, her lips forming a silent 'O', as she straightens to her knees. "Got your attention, Pocahontas?" Polly asks. Lockwood dips her opposite hand into Nyssa's raven locks and tears the Native American to her feet. Pointing Bloodwind at a far corner, Polly starts to bum rush a dipped Nyssa toward the post, ready to send her head and shoulders between the buckles and introduce Nyssa to some unforgiving iron.
Fortunately for Bloodwind given the way her last match with Polly Lockwood had concluded, the brunette's skull misses the steel beam. Less fortunately for the Nubile Navajo, her shoulder does not, Nyssa screaming in pain, her eyes instantly beginning to well. Bloodwind's upper body remains hanging through the ropes, her belly resting on the middle turnbuckle as her feet raise into the air behind her. Most of the crowd continues to jeer, but some whistle in appreciation that Nyssa's impact with the ringpost had done little to realign her bottoms--and Bloodwind's hanging arms aren't in much state to do so, either.
Lockwood stands behind the blasted Bloodwind nodding knowingly before delivering a cheeky swat to Nyssa's exposed derriere. Plucking Nyssa out of her predicament by the same wedged faux deerskin and a shoulder, Polly spins Bloodwind toward her and dips to scoop her off the canvas. Lifting Nyssa to a place on her right shoulder, Polly starts to drop the crook of either knee onto the top rope on either side of the corner. With Nyssa so placed, the blonde starts to fold the lower leg of the Navajo so the tip of her boots catch on the middle cable and place the beleaguered Bloodwind in a Tree of Woe, Lockwood planning to use it as the perfect excuse to steal Nyssa's tomahawk chop in a most unsavory manner.
Uggs hooked underneath the wiring mooring the turnbuckles to the post, Nyssa starts to crunch up... until she sees Polly's knife-edge swooping downward. Bloodwind's upper body immediately falls back, her eyes snapping shut as the Nubile Navajo braces herself against the blow. A blow that doesn't come, Lockwood's hand pulling up a little less than an inch short. Nyssa opens her eyes, only to find herself staring up at the smirking features of the TRUE American, Lockwood dropping her hand to possessively pat Bloodwind's nether regions. But then, the bronzed blonde raises her hand again, Nyssa unable to keep from whimpering a soft "Please" when Lockwood reverses course... and this time, the tomahawk connects, ripping a high pitched shriek from the Nubile Navajo's lungs.
A delighted Polly unhooks Nyssa's Uggs and lets Bloodwind pool at her feet in a whimpering ball. "You all thought Sacajawea here was going to roll me, didn't you?" The crowd jeers at the arrogant star-spangled bytch. "These colors don't run...and they fly especially high at Mania."
Polly scrapes Nyssa off the canvas, Bloodwind never having been able to get in gear, and already the pocket hardbody is ushering her through the ropes and onto the apron above the half-filled, aromatic dumpster. "Open it!" Polly demands and a flunky does as he's told. Lockwood cups a hand under Nyssa's chin to lift her head, but only to provide herself a target for the dropkick that would send the droopy trash into her proper location. Stepping back a few steps, the blonde launches to send boot to chin and send Nyssa tumbling in.
Polly's soles find their mark, connecting with Nyssa's chin and sending the Native American beauty pivoting as she tumbles off the edge of the ring. Navajo Nation draws in its collective breath in a loud gasp, holding it in as Bloodwind flies through the air and toward the garbage receptacle. The FAWNatics, at least, catch a break--Nyssa, not so much--when she comes up just short of Lockwood's intended destination, the brunette's chest slamming into the dumpster's edge and her arms momentarily falling within its confines. But the rest of Bloodwind collapses to the floor, gathering in a heap at the base of bin.
Polly looks down on the ruined Bloodwind in disgust. "Can't you do anything, right? Trash like you belongs on the inside." Lockwood drops to her side and rolls off the apron, planting her boot soles next to the splayed Nyssa. As the stubborn Navajo struggles up to all fours, the star-spangled bytch strides away from the sweaty mess at her feet only to turn and race back at Bloodwind, intending to punt her foe in the ribs and drive whatever wind remains clean out of the overmatched Nyssa.
The loud 'THWUMP' of bootleather meeting imitation deerskin is followed by an even louder "NYYYYUUUUUNNNNNNHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" from the Nubile Navajo, the impact of Lockwood's kick lifting Nyssa off her hands and knees for just a moment. Bloodwind settles back down on her right hip, her back pressed against the cold steel of the dumpster, Nyssa sputtering as her left arm falls across her blasted abdomen. While the Native American warrior desperately tries to catch her breath, the FAWNatics unload on Polly with both barrels, thoroughly disgusted with the TRUE American's Pearl Harbor act.
With Bloodwind groaning at her feet, Polly sidles over to the barricade and borrows a miniature American flag held by one of the few Polly Patriots in the audience, perhaps the only one in the front row. Snatching it from him, she moves to Nyssa and plants the pencil-sized staff into the raven locks of Nyssa behind an ear. "I claim this bytch as mine. And as such I get to do what I want with her."
Lockwood scoops Nyssa off her knees and into a fireman's carry. She turns her back to the dumpster and leans a wriggling Nyssa over the side, ready to toss her tawny cargo in and shut the lid, the trash man hopefully taking the Nubile Navajo back to Arizona forever more.
Only as Lockwood starts to tilt Bloodwind over the edge, Nyssa starts firing elbows into the side of her rival's skull. It takes a good five before Nyssa manages to land the right blow to the temple that slackens the TRUE American's arms, Polly shaking her head as she staggers away...
... leaving the Nubile Navajo to cling to the rim of the bin.
Just as it looks like gravity might pull the Native American into the pit of refuse, Nyssa manages to reverse course, falling the other way and landing on her feet on the floor. She still leans against the bin as Lockwood turns back toward her, loading up a forearm... but Nyssa ducks the shiver, which instead connects with the side of of the dumpster. Again, the diminutive blonde staggers away, this time shaking out her elbow while Nyssa turns toward the announcer's table. Hoping to its surface, Bloodwind turns and makes one more leap, landing on the dumpster's rim. The Nubile Navajo then displays impressive agility in the face of the pounding she's taken, tight-roping the edge as she races toward Lockwood. Leaping one last time, Bloodwind extends an arm, hoping to capture Polly's skull and treat Navajo Nation to perhaps the most improbable and remarkable tornado DDT they had ever witnessed.
Nyssa leaps off the wobbling dumpster, somehow retaining enough balance to find the head of the pint-sized hardbody, Nyssa's left arm encircling the blonde's braincase. The Navajo swings her body around in a violent whipping loop that rips Lockwood's boot leather off the floor and her frame with it. And while Bloodwind's back and derriere smack against the thinly-padded cement, it's the crown of Polly's head that finds the unyielding surface. A reflexive groan emerges from the crowd, though when the True American somersaults over to a semiconscious spreadeagle that quickly changes to celebratory applause.
As Lockwood tumbles over (clearly not posing any threat to either Daly or Manning in the floor routine) Nyssa rockets up to a seated position... but then she topples herself, landing on her back with her arms sprawled overhead, blinking up at the lights. Fortunately, neither woman has to worry about the prospect of a countout, as the referee almost certainly would have been nearing "TEN!" when Bloodwind finally manages to sit up of her own accord. Climbing to her feet, Bloodwind grabs a handful of Polly's golden tresses, tugging the pocket hardbody up to her feet. The Native American beauty casts a brief glance toward the dumpster... but then shakes her head.
"Six. Months," Bloodwind mutters, dragging her foe back toward the ring. "I haven't even BEGUN collecting yet." The Nubile Navajo SLAMS Polly's forehead into the apron, before shoveling the blonde up onto the canvas and pushing her under the bottom rope. Instead of following her in, Nyssa shuffles over to the timekeeper's area, grabbing and folding up a steel chair. Returning to the ring, Bloodwind tosses that chair in before hopping onto the apron and making her way to the near ringpost. The Nubile Navajo starts to scale her way to the top turnbuckle right as a woozy TRUE American begins to rise, her back to Bloodwind. Nyssa draws her attention with a whistle, then takes to the skies, aiming a tomahawk chop at the crown of her skull.
The dazed blonde stumbles drunkenly through a wide arc, reacting to the whistle in slow motion. Lockwood's ears don't fail her, but it turns out to be an unfortunate success. Polly spins toward the already launching Bloodwind who has her knife-edge poised. Polly's glazed eyes manage to widen at the sight of the soaring Navajo. The blonde tries to get her arms up to block, but the limbs only reach halfway before Nyssa's tomahawk cleaves into Polly's forehead and the tanned patriot drops as if shot, her spine and the back of her head THUMPING into the deck with incredible force, making for a disastrous one-two blow to the cranium.
Having chopped down a rather short, blonde tree, Nyssa turns her attention to the steel chair. Picking it up, the Nubile Navajo pulls it tight to her chest, holding it there as she takes a step toward the fallen Lockwood. Springing off her feet, Bloodwind navigates the air with grace and aplomb, planning to land her standing shooting star press--only this one with a little metallic reinforcement.
STANDING SHOOTING STAR PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQ-dKtZnIyE
Blasted by the tomahawks of tomahawks, Lockwood's head bobbles from side to side as she lies flat to the mat. The movement shakes some senses into place, but only enough to realize what Nyssa has in mind. Polly's boots push vainly and weakly against the canvas, trying to push Nyssa's target out of the way. But she scantly moves and Bloodwind SPLASHES across Lockwood's open midriff with a metallic THWANK that seems to hurt the giver but takes so much more from the taker. Polly folds around the Shooting Star likes she's been ripped in half, gasping and hyperventilating when she recedes to the canvas.
The Nubile Navajo rolls to her back, still hugging the chair to her belly even as her Uggs stomp at the mat. Finally regaining a bit of her own breath, Nyssa lightly tosses the chair to the side before she begins to pick herself up. Toeing the steel with one boot, Bloodwind guides it over to Polly's left flank, then stoops down to roll the TRUE American over. Pulling Lockwood up to her knees, the pocket hardbody's left ankle slipping atop the back of her right calf. Locking Polly into a standing headscissors, Nyssa leans forward, reaching to secure a grip on her opponent's right ankle--and use that to hoist the TRUE American up for one hellacious Indian deathlock piledriver, onto the steel chair.
INDIAN DEATHLOCK PILEDRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bXcN8fXiktE
Having absorbed colossal blows to head and gut, Lockwood manages little in response to being brought to her knees, her legs folded, and her still swimming head pressed tight between Nyssa's flexing thighs. Leaned forward, her arms wrap around Bloodwind's hammies. But with her lower limbs locked up, there's no leverage available for any counter. And quickly enough, Nyssa uses the 'handle' of the True American's boot to haul her off the deck, the crown of her head hovering over the metal seat pan of the chair. There's a hint of a wriggle from the patriot and a chirpy, pleading 'no' escaping her lips before Nyssa lowers the boom and Polly's skull into the steel. Lockwood pops up to a glassy-eyed kneel from the impact before her head and torso fold backward, thighs ending atop calves.
Rising, Nyssa smirks down at the blasted blonde... and whether it's a response to Polly's earlier "cover", an answer to the manner in which Lockwood had taken the Lightweight belt off of Bloodwind, or all of the above, the Nubile Navajo plants an Ugg on Lockwood's bosom. The FAWNatics are more than delighted to shout out a...
"ONE!
TWO!
THREE!"
... for the Native American--and, when Nyssa gives the fans an accusatory eye, a...
"FOUR!"
...and...
"FIVE!"
... as well. Grinning in satisfaction, Bloodwind steps off, gathering up the chair before sauntering into the far corner. The brunette stuffs the chair into the gap between the middle and top turnbuckle before turning and making her way back to the TRUE American. Peeling Polly off the mat, Nyssa lines her up with the corner, preparing to launch her on her way with an Irish whip--and follow her in with a splash.
Lockwood is whipped toward the troublesome folding furniture but manages to hold on and do-si-do through a reversal that looks like it will send Bloodwind to her first meeting with the steel. Unfortunately for the Polly Patriots in the arena, Bloodwind matches reversal for reversal. With the distance to the chair halved by the winding waltz between the foes, Lockwood is racing to the steel with nary the time to turn her back to the chair. Instead, she CRASHES in chest-first, another metallic CLANK accompanying her impact. Arms splayed over either side of the corner, the blonde remains vertical and a blind target to the Navajo racing at her from behind. Nyssa leaps into a crushing nubile avalanche of the blonde's spine, SLAMMING her tight to the fortified corner, a loud 'GUHHH' bursting from the pancaked Polly.
When Bloodwind takes a step back, Lockwood crashes to her knees, slumping into leather padding and now dented steel. A few stomps to the back and shoulders put the pocket hardbody on her taut little bum, and a few more still leave her lying on her side. From there, stomps turn to kicks, sending Polly spilling under the bottom rope and down to the floor. The Nubile Navajo slips through the ropes, then hops down beside the battered blonde. Yanking her up with a handful of hair, Nyssa takes her opponent's wrist, readying to administer another whip--one which would send the TRUE American racing toward the dumpster.
Having used her chair in nearly as many ways as the Sioux use a buffalo, Bloodwind has the bite-sized, flaxen-haired hardbody reeling. Nyssa wraps both palms around Lockwood's left wrist, lining her up with another steel finish line. Bloodwind whips her foe off into a sprint down the floor, the beleaguered Polly stumbling as she scurries toward the receptacle one woman would find as her resting place for the night. Polly starts to lose her balance as she tries to put on the brakes and the result is not a skidding stop, but a lowered head, the crown of which CLANGS into the dumpster. A dent is carved into the metal as Lockwood melts to her haunches, settling there beside the steel container.
Bloodwind strolls toward the quite possibly concussed Polly, Nyssa's head bobbing along with the increasing chant of "NU-BILE NAV-A-JO!" Snatching one more handful of hair, the raven haired Native American pulls Lockwood up to her knees, forcing the pocket hardbody to kneewalk toward the announcer's table. Reaching their destination, Nyssa climbs onto the table's surface, hairhauling Lockwood up onto the same, Polly's gams visibly trembling as the Native American releases her tresses to wrap that arm around Polly's neck. Claiming a handful of hotpants, Bloodwind shouts, "NEVER HAS THIS SENTIMENT BEEN SO JUSTIFIED. POLLY... WHY DON'T YOU GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM???"
Popping her hips, the Nubile Navajo starts to muscle Lockwood airborne, intending to take a page out of Big Sister's book by sending Polly plummeting into the dumpster via a gourdbuster.
GOURDBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJDX1rbwZyQ
With a rubber-legged Polly trying but failing to snake one of her tanned limbs around Nyssa's, the True American is vaulted into the air to meet her last stand. Nyssa keeps her former tormentor and title-taker vertical for long moments, teasing both Polly and the FAWNatics, everyone in the arena with baited breath. That is until, Bloodwind pivots toward the open dumpster and sends the compliant and steamrolled Polly in.
The microphones inside pick up more of a SQUERSH than the metallic thunder the fans had happily grown accustomed to for the last several minutes. The stench-ridden padding may have lessened the impact to her chest and abdomen, but the garbage acts as grimy smelling salts to the True American, a scream of discontent echoing from inside. A second later, Polly's head emerges over the rim, her golden hair soaked and matted, a line of yellow mustard running in a line between her cleavage, empty ketchup packet glued to her cheek. “You b…buh…bytch,” Lockwood stammers from a combination of anger and a battered braincase.
Nyssa chuckles harshly, her lips curling into a cold smile. "Me bytch," the Navajo warrior says, reaching for the lid of the dumpster.
"You LOSER!"
Securing her grip, Bloodwind sends the hood of the dumpster crashing downward with a savage swing, certain that its impact with Polly's cranium would send the TRUE American back into her richly deserved confines. And as the lid closes, the Nubile Navajo adds a fully ironic, "How..."
The metal covering finishes off the steel symphony Bloodwind performed on Polly's demolished frame, one last CLANK of steel to skull sending the blonde SPLORSHING into the wretched refuse, this time likely unconscious as there's not a peep from inside. Outside, the crowd erupts. After a slow start, Nyssa dominated her fellow two-time lightweight champ in a manner which made it clear Polly and perhaps even Nyssa's fans weren't prepared for.
The results speak for themselves as the ring announcer makes it official. "With Polly Lockwood sealed in the dumpster...your winner, NYYYSSSSSSAAA BLLLOOOOOODDDWWWIIINNNDDD!!!!!"
Navajo Nation explodes into raucous cheers--even more so when Nyssa climbs from the announcer's table onto the lid. She makes her way to the edge of the dumpster cautiously, wary of either slipping on the slope on collapsing the lid. But she manages to get there without incident, taking a seat and letting her legs dangle over the edge. Bloodwind's feet absently kick at the air as the referee rises to his tiptoes--necessary with their current positioning to raise her hand.
After a few moments, the Nubile Navajo is jostled, the surface beneath her hindquarters receiving a push--but it's not strong enough to dislodge her. A second follows... with much the same result. As one cameraman approaches, the mic on his device picks up some muffled, unintelligible protests... but Nyssa's words are perfectly clear.
"I beat this bytch," the Native American beauty remarks. "Now I'm coming to take what she stole off me. Hope you're ready, Lily."