Post by alyadmirer on Nov 26, 2015 3:35:34 GMT
As the houselights fall, an unnatural air of trepidation also falls about the arena, the slow creep of darkness summoning a chill that is uncommon. A slim slit of crimson red illuminates through the curtains, the identity of the arriving competitor not a mystery and yet, from reputation and history, a palpable sense of unease gathers amongst those watching.
”DEVIL”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxlaJQGve7s
ERIKA EISENBERG:
Erika Eisenberg emerges amongst the stark and piercing beat of that opening rhythm, the melody as unsettling as it is threatening, the curvaceous carnivore striding with purpose, with desire, her pace unceasing and her gaze entrancing, ice blue and calculating, alluring... perilous...
Attired in the skin of the dead, the blonde destroyer hugged tightly by the two piece, dark tan, snake skin top and slim line shorts, elbow long, fingerless gloves and knee high boots, she is every inch the Titan the FAWNatics feared her to be. Slowly, with cold, methodical, malicious intent, she circles the ring, refusing to acknowledge the shades that are the bystanders, moving like a predator pinning down her prey, that stare, that piercing, ravenous stare soaking in the ground upon which she would feed upon her volunteering challenger.
Suddenly, with a burst of speed, she all but leaps up onto the apron, proceeding to almost effortlessly lift one long, stunningly powerful leg over the top rope, followed quickly by the other, a slight, mirthless smile finally rising to her coldly intense features.
The Announcer, keeping his distance and finding his voice, cuts through the pervading silence to say...
“Ladies and Gentlemen, from Berlin, Germany, standing in at five feet nine inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and forty pounds, please welcome the Perfect Predator, ERRRIIIKKKAAA EIIISSSEEENNNBBBEEERRRGGG!!!!!”
That smallest of mirthless smiles remains upon her features as the houselights returned with agonizing slowness, finding her corner as though she owned it, her eyes unfaltering from their gaze of the curtains which had yet to flutter open. Perhaps mockingly, perhaps sincerely, she licked her lips, a long trailing of her tongue, as the viper could hardly wait to sink her teeth in...
Eisenberg takes the microphone from the ring announcer, which prompted an audible gasp from a few of the gathered FAWNatics. The Curvaceous Carnivore usually let her destructive abilities do her talking for her, but apparently tonight, she had something to say.
“I earned the right to challenge Janel Manning through taking on all would be opponents,” the towering German blonde hisses. “And now that I am Intercontinental champion, I see no reason why I should not continue to extend to every woman in this company... every woman in this WORLD... the opportunity to come down that aisle, and succumb to my... voracious... appetite. And so, ladies, consider this the beginning of the Erika Eisenberg Intercontinental Open Challenge. Let she who would be the first to fall step forward...”
The FAWNatics follow Erika’s gaze up the ramp, well aware of the torment and terror that Erika had sown in recent memory, unstoppable as she tore a ragged hole through their beloved favorites. Not in over a year had anyone pinned her, and still her challenge remains open--if evolved--her appetite for suffering refusing to be slaked. Even those who formed the crème of FAWN’s pedigree, the likes of Juliet Bloodwind and Becky Clayton, had been unable prevent the ongoing carnage, another pedestal for the ever more elaborate throne of ‘corpses’.
The silence lingers, the shadows lengthen, the torch that needed tendering going unheeded...
It almost became unbearable...
... until Taylor Swift’s “Style” begins to play over the sound system.
“STYLE”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDn5m9ZUVJI
And again, the FAWNatics gasp. After all, the Sublime Serpent had already laid waste to some of the best in the history of FAWN. Did a kid STILL working her way up through the developmental system REALLY stand a chance?
Whether she does or not, the announcer prepares to make things official.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he resumes, “introducing the challenger... She hails from Albuquerque, New Mexico by way of Spokane, Washington... She stands five feet two inches tall and weighs in tonight at one-hundred and twelve pounds... Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from Desert Divas, would you please give a warm Orlando welcome to... CHHHAAARRRLLLOOOTTTTTTEEE DAAAWWWSSSOOONNN!!!!!”
CHARLIE DAWSON
Just a couple of moments later, the stunning, bedimpled young blonde who had been generating such a buzz bursts through the curtains. Once the beaming Dawson arrives, however, in spite of the crowd’s concerns, they remarkably manage to raise the decibel meter higher! And yet... despite outnumbering the FAWN Arena’s capacity dwarfing the left Turn by a factor of HUNDREDS to one, somehow their roar doesn’t feel QUITE as loud to Dawson. But that doesn’t stop the youngster from bringing her hands up to her ears, covering them as if the roar might be painful--but the smile that remained planted on Charlie’s lips illustrates just how much she’s enjoying the moment. Blushing, the blonde motioned downward with her hands...
But even in Orlando, the capacity crowd will have none of it.
Finally, Charlie shrugs her shoulders and takes off toward the ring.
Charlie might not be an expert in architecture, but it feels to her that the length of the aisle down to the FAWN ring might be longer than the whole BUILDING known as the Left Turn--and the number of waiting fans along either side of the railing might very nearly equal the developmental facility’s full capacity. But that doesn’t stop Dawson from trying to make sure she slaps EVERY single hand offered her way--and ESPECIALLY the younger ones.
Finally, the Darling of the Desert turns and darts to the ring. After sliding under the bottom rope, Dawson springs to her feet. After unzipping her hot pink hoodie, Charlie slips off the garment, revealing a light blue fightin’ two piece that, in spite of its somewhat modest and innocent cut still manages to raise the blood pressure of quite a few spectators. Charlotte moves to her corner, taking a moment to adjust her white pads before she started stretching, preparing to fight the biggest battle of her young life--in front of more eyes that had possibly watched her compete in her entire career to date.
As the referee inspects Dawson for foreign objects, one particularly blackhearted spectator gives voice to a not uncommon thought in the FAWN Arena and begins to chant, “ER-I-KA’S GON-NA KILL YOU!” That attempt at a chant is quickly drowned out by a torrent of jeers, especially when Charlie casts a wounded glance toward that pocket of the crowd. The younger blonde boots a couple of invisible rocks as she saunters out of the corner, a pout firmly planted on her lips--but it transforms into a broad smile as the audience begins to chant, “CHAR-LIE! CHAR-LIE!”
And then the bell sounds.
Dawson claps along with the rhythm of the chant, while Erika is utterly impassive as she steps away from her corner, the blondes navigating toward each other in ever-decreasing circles. Finally, Charlie shows no trepidation when she throws herself toward a collar-and-elbow...
... and Erika doesn’t budge an inch before she roughly THROWS the Darling of the Desert Southwest down to the mat.
Charlie utters a groan as she hits the canvas, but that doesn’t stop her from scurrying back to her feet and charging toward the Perfect Predator again...
... only to be dismissively tossed to the ground for a second time.
Still, it appears the rookie is a believer in the old saying that the third time is a charm as she rises and races toward the reigning and defending Intercontinental champion. Only this time, Dawson pulls up short, catching Erika flat-footed when she launches a boot that catches the German blonde right at the navel. As a gasping Eisenberg slumps forward, Charlie grabs two handfuls of hair, hops off her feet and extends her legs as far as she can in either direction. Erika is yanked down between, driven to the mat by a sitout facebuster.
Acting quickly, Charlie shovels the Curvaceous Carnivore over to her back and falls across her chest, reaching to hook a leg as the referee slaps off...
ONE...
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Erika doesn’t so much kick out of the pin attempt as she does launch Dawson toward the rafters, Charlie flying over the kneeling official before landing on the mat. It’s an awesome show of defiance, but the Darling of the Desert Southwest is back to her feet in a flash, sprinting toward the rising Eisenberg and launching herself into the air. Twisting her body to face the mat, Dawson’s legs snake around Erika’s hips, then begins to throw herself down between the champ’s luscious legs. The Casadora Victory Roll would leave Erika bound in a tight ball, where even if she could kick out before the three, it wouldn’t be quite such an impressive act...
CASADORA VICTORY ROLL:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7QSgqm9Ge8
... only Erika ISN’T rolled up.
Oh, Charlie swings down--but the Perfect Predator retains her footing, the younger blonde left hanging for a split second before Eisenberg muscled the rookie into reverse with nary a grunt of effort. Dawson swings back into the air, left looking down at the mat in alarm before Erika sits out, SLAMMING the Darling of the Desert Southwest down face and chest first.
Rising, Erika yanks Charlie up to her feet by the hair before roughly stuffing a hand between her thighs. Releasing Dawson’s locks, the German’s newly freed hand moves to the youngster’s bust, and the German puts her might on impressive display once again as she hoists a writhing Charlie high over her head in a gorilla press. Dawson’s legs kick as she clubs at Eisenberg’s arms, but the worst is yet to come as Erika charges toward the ropes...
... AND SENDS CHARLIE CRASHING ALL THE WAY TO THE FLOOR!!!!
The referee starts to count the brave but overmatched rookie out, but he doesn’t get as far as two before the Perfect Predator slips through the ropes and jumps down to the floor. As Eisenberg stalks her pray, a mewling Dawson struggling to push her way up to her hands and knees, the FAWNatics attempt to start another chant of “CHAR-LIE! CHAR-LIE!” The newly crowned Intercontinental champion just smirks in response to their efforts, tugging the youngster back to verticality.
With Charlie leaning against her for support, Erika whispers into her ear, “Do you hear them? Do you hear your people? Perhaps you would like to join them?” Taking hold of the rookie’s wrist, the Sublime Serpent plants her feet and LAUNCHES Dawson toward the far railing. The Darling of the Desert Southwest turns her back into the steel, letting out a piercing cry as she bounces off the barrier and drops to her knee, spine arched.
Eisenberg hauls her up, then sends Charlie sprinting toward the next section of security railing with a mighty, mighty whip. This time, Dawson only just manages to turn her back into the collision in time--and the impact sends the young blonde spilling to her chest. Apparently less than satisfied, Erika scrapes her opponent off the floor and sends her off to the races for a THIRD time, toward the NEXT section of steel...
... and this time, the railing catches Charlie at stomach level, Dawson having proven unable to turn. Her momentum lifts the youngster off her feet and very nearly sends her toppling into the crowd before she rocks backward, dropping to the floor and reclining against the barrier. Advancing on her challenger, Erika pulls her up with one more handful of hair and whips her off again. Only this time, instead of sending her toward the railing, the Curvaceous Carnivore sends Charlie CRASHING into the steel ringsteps, Dawson crumpling into a puddled tangle of limbs as the steps are sent skidding about six inches out of alignment.
Cognizant of the official’s increasing count, Eisenberg hauls Charlie up and stuffs her under the bottom rope, sending her back into the ring with a shove. She then climbs back onto the apron before stepping over the top rope, sauntering over to her writhing, crawling foe. Pulling Dawson up, the Perfect Predator slips her arms underneath the rookie’s, lacing her fingers together behind Charlie’s head and cinching in a full nelson.
Then, just because she can, Erika straightens up--and when a five foot nine inch woman locks a youngster seven inches shorter in a full nelson, Charlie finds herself lifted OFF her feet, the smaller blonde’s legs kicking, especially when the powerful German starts swinging her left and right. Finally, Eisenberg adds a new direction--UP! Which, naturally, is followed quickly--and painfully--by down, as the Curvaceous Carnivore SLAMS her opponent to the canvas.
SWINGING FULL NELSON SLAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=51iWdVXPpIE
Snatching a handful of hair, Erika hauls Charlie up, then scoops the Darling of the Desert Southwest up and leaves Dawson draped with her belly across the Sublime Serpent’s shoulder in an almost effortless display. She then locks her hands together behind a squirming Charlie’s back, jostling the smaller blonde for just a moment. But then Eisenberg falls to her knees, the Dropdown Gutbuster sending Dawson spilling to the mat. The rookie rolls up to her knees, then slumps forward, until her forehead comes to rest against the canvas, who boots pounding the mat as her arm hug her impaled belly.
DROPDOWN GUTBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwQclGiyZZ0
Climbing back to her feet, the Python Powerhouse methodically advances on the fading challenger, and stuffs Charlie’s head between her thighs. Clamping down with the standing headscissors, Eisenberg’s arms engulf Dawson’s waist, the bigger blonde promptly powering the Darling of the Desert Southwest up onto her shoulders and into the stall position. Then, just as she starts to swing Charlie back down to earth, Erika hops into the air and falls back, tucking her knees up toward her chest. Dawson’s back SLAMS into the rocky joints at about the same time Erika’s back meets the canvas. And then, the youngster flops to her side, landing in an ungainly, motionless, face down heap--the Silencer having claimed one more victim.
THE SILENCER @1:15:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bevdRipdhY8
The pinfall is just a formality now--only instead, Erika peels the all but senseless, glistening, sweat-drenched form of Charlie Dawson off the mat and up onto rubbery legs. “Come on, Eisenberg,” the official chides her, but the champ is undeterred from hupping Charlie off her feet and into her arms, the rookie locked into a rib-crushing bearhug!
“GNNNNYYYyyyyyyuuuuuuunnnnnngggggghhhhhh!” the Darling of the Desert Southwest moans, brought out of her stupor by a sudden and alarming lack of air. Her legs snake around the hips of the Curvaceous Carnivore, in an utterly futile effort to ease some of the pressure being exerted upon her own torso.
“Beg,” the German orders, simply, icily, her voice calm and measured. “Surrender this match. Surrender this dream of being in this company, a place you clearly do NOT belong. Surrender, and PERHAPS I will take mercy on you.”
“Come on, Charlie,” the referee pleads with her. “Say the word, and I’ll ring the bell.”
“NeeeeeeeeEEEAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHhhhhhhuuuuuuuhhhhhh...” Dawson attempts to protest, until a constriction of Erika’s pythons strangles her defiance into a plaintive wail. Not content to simply squeeze the fight out of the rookie, Erika begins to bounce on her heels, throttling Charlie as she continues to crush her ribs. Dawson’s hands ball into fists... but the force of Eisenberg’s jostling keeps the youngster from being able to find them. Soon, Charlie’s fingers visibly relax as her arms start to flail...
A few moments later, despite all of Erika’s motion, Dawson’s head slumps to leave her cheek resting on Eisenberg’s shoulder...
And when the Perfect Predator feels the saliva dribble from Charlie’s lips onto her shoulder, she knows that the Darling of the Desert Southwest has surrendered utterly, whether she wanted to or not.
The official, observing Charlie’s sealed shut eyes and pursed lips, gently takes the rookie’s wrist...
It falls ONCE...
It falls TWICE...
It falls THREE TIMES!!!
DING! DING! DING!
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer declares, while Erika CONTINUES to hold the now slumbering Dawson in her arms, “your winner, via knockout, and STILL Intercontinental champion... ERRRIIIKKKAAA EIIISSSEEENNNBBBEEERRRGGG!!!!!”
“Alright, Erika,” the referee says, “the match is over. Let her go.”
Eisenberg complies... to a point. The domineering blonde lets her left arm fall away from Charlie’s back, while the right continues to keep the Darling of the Desert Southwest pressed against her. “You haven’t raised my hand yet.”
“Let. Her. GO, Erika!” the official says, a little more sternly, but the Curvaceous Carnivore is unmoved.
“Raise. My. HAND,” the German replies. “Then, I will release her.”
Letting out a ginormous sigh, he nods and takes Erika’s wrist, the crowd UNLOADING with boos and whistles as the ref lifts Eisenberg’s hand high in triumph. But when he releases her arm, the Perfect Predator shuffles Charlie’s insensate form up across her shoulder, holding her there like a sack of potatoes. “Dammit, Erika!” the ref barks. “You said...”
“I said I’d release her,” Eisenberg says simply. “I didn’t say it would be HERE.”
Without another word, Erika heads to the ropes, stepping over them before dropping to the floor and sauntering back up the ramp--with Charlie remaining slung over her shoulder the entire way.
”DEVIL”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxlaJQGve7s
ERIKA EISENBERG:
Erika Eisenberg emerges amongst the stark and piercing beat of that opening rhythm, the melody as unsettling as it is threatening, the curvaceous carnivore striding with purpose, with desire, her pace unceasing and her gaze entrancing, ice blue and calculating, alluring... perilous...
Attired in the skin of the dead, the blonde destroyer hugged tightly by the two piece, dark tan, snake skin top and slim line shorts, elbow long, fingerless gloves and knee high boots, she is every inch the Titan the FAWNatics feared her to be. Slowly, with cold, methodical, malicious intent, she circles the ring, refusing to acknowledge the shades that are the bystanders, moving like a predator pinning down her prey, that stare, that piercing, ravenous stare soaking in the ground upon which she would feed upon her volunteering challenger.
Suddenly, with a burst of speed, she all but leaps up onto the apron, proceeding to almost effortlessly lift one long, stunningly powerful leg over the top rope, followed quickly by the other, a slight, mirthless smile finally rising to her coldly intense features.
The Announcer, keeping his distance and finding his voice, cuts through the pervading silence to say...
“Ladies and Gentlemen, from Berlin, Germany, standing in at five feet nine inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and forty pounds, please welcome the Perfect Predator, ERRRIIIKKKAAA EIIISSSEEENNNBBBEEERRRGGG!!!!!”
That smallest of mirthless smiles remains upon her features as the houselights returned with agonizing slowness, finding her corner as though she owned it, her eyes unfaltering from their gaze of the curtains which had yet to flutter open. Perhaps mockingly, perhaps sincerely, she licked her lips, a long trailing of her tongue, as the viper could hardly wait to sink her teeth in...
Eisenberg takes the microphone from the ring announcer, which prompted an audible gasp from a few of the gathered FAWNatics. The Curvaceous Carnivore usually let her destructive abilities do her talking for her, but apparently tonight, she had something to say.
“I earned the right to challenge Janel Manning through taking on all would be opponents,” the towering German blonde hisses. “And now that I am Intercontinental champion, I see no reason why I should not continue to extend to every woman in this company... every woman in this WORLD... the opportunity to come down that aisle, and succumb to my... voracious... appetite. And so, ladies, consider this the beginning of the Erika Eisenberg Intercontinental Open Challenge. Let she who would be the first to fall step forward...”
The FAWNatics follow Erika’s gaze up the ramp, well aware of the torment and terror that Erika had sown in recent memory, unstoppable as she tore a ragged hole through their beloved favorites. Not in over a year had anyone pinned her, and still her challenge remains open--if evolved--her appetite for suffering refusing to be slaked. Even those who formed the crème of FAWN’s pedigree, the likes of Juliet Bloodwind and Becky Clayton, had been unable prevent the ongoing carnage, another pedestal for the ever more elaborate throne of ‘corpses’.
The silence lingers, the shadows lengthen, the torch that needed tendering going unheeded...
It almost became unbearable...
... until Taylor Swift’s “Style” begins to play over the sound system.
“STYLE”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDn5m9ZUVJI
And again, the FAWNatics gasp. After all, the Sublime Serpent had already laid waste to some of the best in the history of FAWN. Did a kid STILL working her way up through the developmental system REALLY stand a chance?
Whether she does or not, the announcer prepares to make things official.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he resumes, “introducing the challenger... She hails from Albuquerque, New Mexico by way of Spokane, Washington... She stands five feet two inches tall and weighs in tonight at one-hundred and twelve pounds... Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from Desert Divas, would you please give a warm Orlando welcome to... CHHHAAARRRLLLOOOTTTTTTEEE DAAAWWWSSSOOONNN!!!!!”
CHARLIE DAWSON
Just a couple of moments later, the stunning, bedimpled young blonde who had been generating such a buzz bursts through the curtains. Once the beaming Dawson arrives, however, in spite of the crowd’s concerns, they remarkably manage to raise the decibel meter higher! And yet... despite outnumbering the FAWN Arena’s capacity dwarfing the left Turn by a factor of HUNDREDS to one, somehow their roar doesn’t feel QUITE as loud to Dawson. But that doesn’t stop the youngster from bringing her hands up to her ears, covering them as if the roar might be painful--but the smile that remained planted on Charlie’s lips illustrates just how much she’s enjoying the moment. Blushing, the blonde motioned downward with her hands...
But even in Orlando, the capacity crowd will have none of it.
Finally, Charlie shrugs her shoulders and takes off toward the ring.
Charlie might not be an expert in architecture, but it feels to her that the length of the aisle down to the FAWN ring might be longer than the whole BUILDING known as the Left Turn--and the number of waiting fans along either side of the railing might very nearly equal the developmental facility’s full capacity. But that doesn’t stop Dawson from trying to make sure she slaps EVERY single hand offered her way--and ESPECIALLY the younger ones.
Finally, the Darling of the Desert turns and darts to the ring. After sliding under the bottom rope, Dawson springs to her feet. After unzipping her hot pink hoodie, Charlie slips off the garment, revealing a light blue fightin’ two piece that, in spite of its somewhat modest and innocent cut still manages to raise the blood pressure of quite a few spectators. Charlotte moves to her corner, taking a moment to adjust her white pads before she started stretching, preparing to fight the biggest battle of her young life--in front of more eyes that had possibly watched her compete in her entire career to date.
As the referee inspects Dawson for foreign objects, one particularly blackhearted spectator gives voice to a not uncommon thought in the FAWN Arena and begins to chant, “ER-I-KA’S GON-NA KILL YOU!” That attempt at a chant is quickly drowned out by a torrent of jeers, especially when Charlie casts a wounded glance toward that pocket of the crowd. The younger blonde boots a couple of invisible rocks as she saunters out of the corner, a pout firmly planted on her lips--but it transforms into a broad smile as the audience begins to chant, “CHAR-LIE! CHAR-LIE!”
And then the bell sounds.
Dawson claps along with the rhythm of the chant, while Erika is utterly impassive as she steps away from her corner, the blondes navigating toward each other in ever-decreasing circles. Finally, Charlie shows no trepidation when she throws herself toward a collar-and-elbow...
... and Erika doesn’t budge an inch before she roughly THROWS the Darling of the Desert Southwest down to the mat.
Charlie utters a groan as she hits the canvas, but that doesn’t stop her from scurrying back to her feet and charging toward the Perfect Predator again...
... only to be dismissively tossed to the ground for a second time.
Still, it appears the rookie is a believer in the old saying that the third time is a charm as she rises and races toward the reigning and defending Intercontinental champion. Only this time, Dawson pulls up short, catching Erika flat-footed when she launches a boot that catches the German blonde right at the navel. As a gasping Eisenberg slumps forward, Charlie grabs two handfuls of hair, hops off her feet and extends her legs as far as she can in either direction. Erika is yanked down between, driven to the mat by a sitout facebuster.
Acting quickly, Charlie shovels the Curvaceous Carnivore over to her back and falls across her chest, reaching to hook a leg as the referee slaps off...
ONE...
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Erika doesn’t so much kick out of the pin attempt as she does launch Dawson toward the rafters, Charlie flying over the kneeling official before landing on the mat. It’s an awesome show of defiance, but the Darling of the Desert Southwest is back to her feet in a flash, sprinting toward the rising Eisenberg and launching herself into the air. Twisting her body to face the mat, Dawson’s legs snake around Erika’s hips, then begins to throw herself down between the champ’s luscious legs. The Casadora Victory Roll would leave Erika bound in a tight ball, where even if she could kick out before the three, it wouldn’t be quite such an impressive act...
CASADORA VICTORY ROLL:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7QSgqm9Ge8
... only Erika ISN’T rolled up.
Oh, Charlie swings down--but the Perfect Predator retains her footing, the younger blonde left hanging for a split second before Eisenberg muscled the rookie into reverse with nary a grunt of effort. Dawson swings back into the air, left looking down at the mat in alarm before Erika sits out, SLAMMING the Darling of the Desert Southwest down face and chest first.
Rising, Erika yanks Charlie up to her feet by the hair before roughly stuffing a hand between her thighs. Releasing Dawson’s locks, the German’s newly freed hand moves to the youngster’s bust, and the German puts her might on impressive display once again as she hoists a writhing Charlie high over her head in a gorilla press. Dawson’s legs kick as she clubs at Eisenberg’s arms, but the worst is yet to come as Erika charges toward the ropes...
... AND SENDS CHARLIE CRASHING ALL THE WAY TO THE FLOOR!!!!
The referee starts to count the brave but overmatched rookie out, but he doesn’t get as far as two before the Perfect Predator slips through the ropes and jumps down to the floor. As Eisenberg stalks her pray, a mewling Dawson struggling to push her way up to her hands and knees, the FAWNatics attempt to start another chant of “CHAR-LIE! CHAR-LIE!” The newly crowned Intercontinental champion just smirks in response to their efforts, tugging the youngster back to verticality.
With Charlie leaning against her for support, Erika whispers into her ear, “Do you hear them? Do you hear your people? Perhaps you would like to join them?” Taking hold of the rookie’s wrist, the Sublime Serpent plants her feet and LAUNCHES Dawson toward the far railing. The Darling of the Desert Southwest turns her back into the steel, letting out a piercing cry as she bounces off the barrier and drops to her knee, spine arched.
Eisenberg hauls her up, then sends Charlie sprinting toward the next section of security railing with a mighty, mighty whip. This time, Dawson only just manages to turn her back into the collision in time--and the impact sends the young blonde spilling to her chest. Apparently less than satisfied, Erika scrapes her opponent off the floor and sends her off to the races for a THIRD time, toward the NEXT section of steel...
... and this time, the railing catches Charlie at stomach level, Dawson having proven unable to turn. Her momentum lifts the youngster off her feet and very nearly sends her toppling into the crowd before she rocks backward, dropping to the floor and reclining against the barrier. Advancing on her challenger, Erika pulls her up with one more handful of hair and whips her off again. Only this time, instead of sending her toward the railing, the Curvaceous Carnivore sends Charlie CRASHING into the steel ringsteps, Dawson crumpling into a puddled tangle of limbs as the steps are sent skidding about six inches out of alignment.
Cognizant of the official’s increasing count, Eisenberg hauls Charlie up and stuffs her under the bottom rope, sending her back into the ring with a shove. She then climbs back onto the apron before stepping over the top rope, sauntering over to her writhing, crawling foe. Pulling Dawson up, the Perfect Predator slips her arms underneath the rookie’s, lacing her fingers together behind Charlie’s head and cinching in a full nelson.
Then, just because she can, Erika straightens up--and when a five foot nine inch woman locks a youngster seven inches shorter in a full nelson, Charlie finds herself lifted OFF her feet, the smaller blonde’s legs kicking, especially when the powerful German starts swinging her left and right. Finally, Eisenberg adds a new direction--UP! Which, naturally, is followed quickly--and painfully--by down, as the Curvaceous Carnivore SLAMS her opponent to the canvas.
SWINGING FULL NELSON SLAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=51iWdVXPpIE
Snatching a handful of hair, Erika hauls Charlie up, then scoops the Darling of the Desert Southwest up and leaves Dawson draped with her belly across the Sublime Serpent’s shoulder in an almost effortless display. She then locks her hands together behind a squirming Charlie’s back, jostling the smaller blonde for just a moment. But then Eisenberg falls to her knees, the Dropdown Gutbuster sending Dawson spilling to the mat. The rookie rolls up to her knees, then slumps forward, until her forehead comes to rest against the canvas, who boots pounding the mat as her arm hug her impaled belly.
DROPDOWN GUTBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwQclGiyZZ0
Climbing back to her feet, the Python Powerhouse methodically advances on the fading challenger, and stuffs Charlie’s head between her thighs. Clamping down with the standing headscissors, Eisenberg’s arms engulf Dawson’s waist, the bigger blonde promptly powering the Darling of the Desert Southwest up onto her shoulders and into the stall position. Then, just as she starts to swing Charlie back down to earth, Erika hops into the air and falls back, tucking her knees up toward her chest. Dawson’s back SLAMS into the rocky joints at about the same time Erika’s back meets the canvas. And then, the youngster flops to her side, landing in an ungainly, motionless, face down heap--the Silencer having claimed one more victim.
THE SILENCER @1:15:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bevdRipdhY8
The pinfall is just a formality now--only instead, Erika peels the all but senseless, glistening, sweat-drenched form of Charlie Dawson off the mat and up onto rubbery legs. “Come on, Eisenberg,” the official chides her, but the champ is undeterred from hupping Charlie off her feet and into her arms, the rookie locked into a rib-crushing bearhug!
“GNNNNYYYyyyyyyuuuuuuunnnnnngggggghhhhhh!” the Darling of the Desert Southwest moans, brought out of her stupor by a sudden and alarming lack of air. Her legs snake around the hips of the Curvaceous Carnivore, in an utterly futile effort to ease some of the pressure being exerted upon her own torso.
“Beg,” the German orders, simply, icily, her voice calm and measured. “Surrender this match. Surrender this dream of being in this company, a place you clearly do NOT belong. Surrender, and PERHAPS I will take mercy on you.”
“Come on, Charlie,” the referee pleads with her. “Say the word, and I’ll ring the bell.”
“NeeeeeeeeEEEAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHhhhhhhuuuuuuuhhhhhh...” Dawson attempts to protest, until a constriction of Erika’s pythons strangles her defiance into a plaintive wail. Not content to simply squeeze the fight out of the rookie, Erika begins to bounce on her heels, throttling Charlie as she continues to crush her ribs. Dawson’s hands ball into fists... but the force of Eisenberg’s jostling keeps the youngster from being able to find them. Soon, Charlie’s fingers visibly relax as her arms start to flail...
A few moments later, despite all of Erika’s motion, Dawson’s head slumps to leave her cheek resting on Eisenberg’s shoulder...
And when the Perfect Predator feels the saliva dribble from Charlie’s lips onto her shoulder, she knows that the Darling of the Desert Southwest has surrendered utterly, whether she wanted to or not.
The official, observing Charlie’s sealed shut eyes and pursed lips, gently takes the rookie’s wrist...
It falls ONCE...
It falls TWICE...
It falls THREE TIMES!!!
DING! DING! DING!
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer declares, while Erika CONTINUES to hold the now slumbering Dawson in her arms, “your winner, via knockout, and STILL Intercontinental champion... ERRRIIIKKKAAA EIIISSSEEENNNBBBEEERRRGGG!!!!!”
“Alright, Erika,” the referee says, “the match is over. Let her go.”
Eisenberg complies... to a point. The domineering blonde lets her left arm fall away from Charlie’s back, while the right continues to keep the Darling of the Desert Southwest pressed against her. “You haven’t raised my hand yet.”
“Let. Her. GO, Erika!” the official says, a little more sternly, but the Curvaceous Carnivore is unmoved.
“Raise. My. HAND,” the German replies. “Then, I will release her.”
Letting out a ginormous sigh, he nods and takes Erika’s wrist, the crowd UNLOADING with boos and whistles as the ref lifts Eisenberg’s hand high in triumph. But when he releases her arm, the Perfect Predator shuffles Charlie’s insensate form up across her shoulder, holding her there like a sack of potatoes. “Dammit, Erika!” the ref barks. “You said...”
“I said I’d release her,” Eisenberg says simply. “I didn’t say it would be HERE.”
Without another word, Erika heads to the ropes, stepping over them before dropping to the floor and sauntering back up the ramp--with Charlie remaining slung over her shoulder the entire way.
