Post by alyadmirer on Jul 15, 2016 23:28:04 GMT
Another month, another pay per view extravaganza.
It might be a simple formula: two stunning, breathtaking warriors striding into battle with only one emerging victorious, but damn if it didn’t sell tickets and broadcast buys. Tonight had been no different so far, the denizens of Orlando treated to both moments of jubilation in their heroines’ victories and heartache in their defeats. Now, only a handful of matches remained before the title portion of the proceedings, which has the FAWNatics eager for more carnage...
... when suddenly, the arena's speakers roar into life, posing their own question for one and all:
"Do you wanna get rocked?"
”LET’S GET ROCKED:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO1Nae_EBvQ
The audience responds with a roar worthy the main event at Mania WHEN Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" begins to pump over the PA. At which point the British Bombshell herself, Sensational Shea London, strides from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful.
SHEA LONDON:
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returns to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presents a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms are primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that start at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image is broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads display the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
The gorgeous blonde makes a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Catching sight of one particular sign in the audience, Shea's grin grows even wider. Leaning over the railing, Shea swings her left arm around the shoulders of one fortunate fan, turning to the camera and pointing at the posterboard with her right. The placard reads, rather simply, “JANEL’S GONNA GET HERSELF (UNION) JACKED!!!”
Further making the fan's day, London gives him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes, and makes a beeline for the nearest corner. And as the Sensational One starts to stretch along the ropes, the Leppard begins to fade from the speakers, the arrival of a fellow former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion growing imminent.
With FAWN’s living legend having marched one more time onto the battlefield, the stirring guitar of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ ‘You Better Pray’ crashes over the arena. The FAWNatics turn as one to the upper stage to welcome back a former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion.
"YOU BETTER PRAY":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_WxsL5q3I4
But it’s hardly a hearty welcome for the Malevolent Mite as the assembled release their continued disdain on the former Olympian before she even appears. The ring announcer’s pronouncement only draws the decibels higher.
“And…her opponent…hailing from the hallowed halls of Iowa City, Iowa… standing a full 4 feet 11 inches tall and weighing 117 pounds… The Golden Mite herself…JAAANNNEEELLL MAAANNNNNNIIINNNGGG!!!!!”
JANEL MANNING:
With the introduction complete, the FAWNatics are made to wait for the Mite-y One, the arena falling into darkness. A red spotlight illuminates the stage from the right, before winking out. The process is followed by a white spot from directly overhead, then a blue one from the left. As the sequence began its second cycle, it provides the outline of a diminutive, muscular form. When the house lights rise, the tiny terror of vault, balance beam, and uneven bars, parades down the ramp and aisle.
Janel’s flaxen ponytail swishes from one side to the other as she rises up the steps, the champ in a skin-tight aquamarine leotard containing a leopard-spot pattern. The spandex has a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small neon green strips across the opposite number. She sports black wrist and ankle tape, pads and, as always, is without boots. Janel flexes her toes before flinging herself over the top cable without a hint of effort, dropping into a somersault, before popping gracefully to her feet.
The ferocious fireplug races across the ring and throws herself into a rebound off the cables, reacquainting herself with the ropes after a considerable time away. Last seen losing her title and consciousness at the hands of the Teutonic Terror Erika Eisenberg, it’s clear Janel is unconcerned about jumping back into the deep end of the pool after a long recovery period.
Manning moves to the middle and asks for a microphone, plucking one from the air after a toss from a FAWN flunky.
“Ssshhhh” the Mite hushes to no avail for a dozen seconds or more.
“It’s great to see you too,” she finally adds. “Just when you thought that Aryan Amazon had done me in I have to go and disappoint you by coming back and beating the tar out of your all-time heroine. Believe me when I say both you and she deserve what’s going to happen tonight.”
The Golden Mite tosses the microphone away and moves to her corner where she turns and casts an eye toward the Sensational One. It’s a long way from awe as Janel smirks and shakes her head. She waves toward the official to get the show on the road.
The referee wastes little time in complying, patting down first the FAWN Original and then the Golden Mite. Satisfied that both women were cleans, he calls for the bell, and Shea and Janel both push out of their corners and begin to circle. The veteran regards her foe with an appraising eye. It wasn't often that London enjoyed a height advantage, but calling it a SIZE advantage might be going a step too far--Janel packed A LOT of muscle into her diminutive frame, to go along with speed that, at the very least, matched the Briton's own. But it's speed and agility that Shea turns to first, dipping under Manning's arms as she surges forward, looking to avoid the lock-up, slip in behind the shorter blonde and apply a tight waistlock.
London swiftly sweeps by Janel, Manning perhaps showing some ring rust as London ends behind her foe and circles her arms around the blonde. The Brit tries to rip Janel off the mat and dump her to the canvas, likely planning to ride the former Olympian, but Manning settles into a low center of gravity with a well-balanced squat. She pries at London's interlocked fingers and slooowly begins to tear them apart, her biceps bulging. Manning starts to nod as Shea's grasp loosens by the second.
Sure enough, before long the Golden Mite not only manages to break London's clasp, she then whips around behind the Sensational One and slaps on a tight waistlock of her own. Now it's Shea's hands that go to Janel's wrists, the taller blonde looking to pry her way loose, but Manning's grasp seems a bit more ironclad. London's boots shuffle into a slightly broader stance as her efforts continue, but with BREAKING the waistlock looking less likely by the moment, Shea instead settles for trying to create enough slack to let her drop out and to a seat in front of the ex-gymnast. If she could surprise the Golden Mite going low, then perhaps she could take advantage of Janel being off balance to trip up those powerful legs and take Manning to the canvas...
London finds enough slack to drop to her taut bum to the deck. She reaches for an ankle when Manning leans forward, eyes widening with London's escape. The FAWN original twists the abbreviated stem of the former gymnast and Janel trips to the canvas. Shea scrambles aboard and by hook or by crook, London has the Mite down and is accumulating 'riding time'. The Iowan, knowing very well collegiate rules, growls at giving up the two-point reversal to the Manchester native. She tries to work her way out of the predicament but at every turn Shea remains on top in a controlling position. Finally, Janel works to the ropes and drops a leg over the bottom cable. "OFF," she demands.
"Come on, Shea," the ref chides her, barely even waiting to start his count. But the FAWN legend relents quickly, pulling back and raising her hands just on the other side of "ONE!" London quickly pushes back to her feet, a satisfied smirk creasing her lips--which only seems to broaden as Janel scowls and pulls herself up along the ropes. Round one to the Sensational One. Again, the American and British blonde begins to circle. Only this time, there appears to be no misdirection as London and Manning surge into a collar and elbow tie up, Shea aiming to walk her foe back into the near corner.
And to the surprise of many, she manages to put the muscular if vertically challenged blonde into retreat. London forces her foe nearly to the buckles behind Manning until, a step out, Janel swings the Brit by, exchanging positions. She tosses Shea into the buckles. London thumps into the corner and Manning lets loose with a rare set of fisticuffs Shea skillfully dodges and blocks. The Bombshell finally sends a knee up into Janel's chiseled tummy to end the parried combinations. The bony joint hits home. Manning looks down at her six-pack then at her foe with a gaze that screams 'You're kidding, right'. Janel grabs London by her dirty blonde locks, meaning to fling the living legend out to the middle like a shapely frisbee.
Two sets of fingers plunge into Shea's tresses, her two-handed grip abruptly yanking the Sensational One forward as she takes a step away from the corner. London gives a small, high pitched "YEEEP!!!" as she is ripped off her feet by the hair, Janel displaying her brawn by sending the Brit flying. Shea's body rotates through her flight, the FAWN Original crashing down face and chest first with the crown of her skull pointed toward her attacker--an attacker who doesn't hang back. Marching after her opponent, the Golden Mite stoops down and claims another helping of Shea's tresses, yanking London back to stooped feet before tossing her away for a second time.
Manning charges after her, crouching down to once again secure possession of the Sensational One's follicles. This time, Janel hoists Shea to her feet AND launches her into flight in one powerful, savage motion, the blonde Brit's form sweeping through two and a half revolutions before she crashes down. Round two to the Golden Mite. Suddenly, Janel shows little to no urgency as she saunters in behind a woozy, rising London, Shea clearly still dizzied as she swings around with a balled fist, hoping to catch the former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion across the jaw with a looping punch.
Showing fight Janel hadn't expected, the blow connects flush with Manning's jaw and sends her head snapping in the opposite direction. London delivers a left jab follow-up that bounces harmlessly off the blonde's abdomen. But when Manning's noggin wobbles back into range, London clips it again with a looping right that sends Janel down to one knee, the crowd roaring. A startled Manning massages her jaw and shakes out a growing number of cobwebs. With another Shea right shooting toward the cheek of the genuflecting gymnast, Janel manages to duck the swipe. But Shea simply pirouettes and returns after her 360 spin with a boot that connects with Janel's temple. Peepers going glassy instantly after impact, Manning pitches forward to a face first meeting with the mat.
As the Golden Mite hits the deck, Shea takes a moment to steady herself--which ends up requiring a half step of an adjustment on her part. But any lingering dizziness from Manning's earlier attack and London whirling countercharge quickly is rendered a thing of the past--as, unfortunately, is Janel's face-down posture. As the fireplug of a blonde starts to pick herself up, the Sensational One charges into the ropes behind Manning, allowing the rubber coated steel to shoot her back toward the straightening Golden Mite. Launching herself off her feet, Shea reaches a hand toward the back of Janel's noggin, hoping to re-introduce her foe's mug to the mat by way of a bulldog.
Still in a daze from London's previous attack, Manning wobbles on her knees, unaware of the Bombshell approaching from behind. With a sweet precision, the Brit snatches Janel's braincase on the way by and sits out. Shea spikes Janel's baby face into the deck with the bulldog, Manning's head bouncing off the canvas. The force nearly sends Janel back to her haunches but she timbers to her side before reaching that point then sprawls to her back in a wide starfish, or as wide as her abbreviated limbs allow.
London settles on her taut tush, but only for a moment. With the Golden Mite splattered and served up on a platter, Shea doesn't hesitate to roll over and drape herself across Manning's chest, reaching to hook one of those muscular stems and score the...
ONE...
TWO...
... and Manning kicks her way free, flopping to her side. The crowd groans as Janel escapes. But they perk up when they realize they'll likely see more legendary fireworks from London. The Mite is not ready for such a show however. She pushes to hands and knees and starts to crawl for the sidelines.
The Sensational One gives chase, and with London in pursuit, there aren't many who possess the speed to elude her. But, even on her hands and knees, Janel proves capable, dropping to roll under the bottom rope and drop out to the floor. The FAWNatics immediately let the former Lightweight and IC champion have it, unloading with boos, jeers and even a couple of clucks--which of course the Golden Mite has little option but to respond to with a number of choice words. But as Manning jaws with the audience, Shea races into the far ropes. Sprinting toward the unaware Janel with a full head of steam, the British blonde drops into a slide, intending to shoot under the bottom rope and blast her soles directly between Janel's shoulderblades.
Bitterly denying she's poultry, Manning defends herself against the non-Olympian rabble, pointing and boasting about her bona fides. Coming in from behind again, London shows perfect form. Shea slides under the lowest strand, sending her boots crashing into Manning's back. Janel lurches forward and SLAMS into the metal barricade, ending hung out to dry as she finishes draped over the top, half of the Mite in the crowd, the other left dangling on the other side, the blonde groaning.
With Manning left hung out to dry, Shea exchanges a couple of quick high fives with the fans with the fans in front of the suspended fireplug. London the pulls Janel back into the field of contact, spinning the American blonde so that her back rests against the guardrail. The Sensational One LIGHTS UP Manning's chest with a blistering open hand chop that would've made Juliet Bloodwind proud, then pulls the Golden Mite away from the barrier. Threading an arm through her foe's thighs, Shea scoops her up, only to deposit Manning to the floor with a slam, after which the living legend turns back to the crowd. The Sensational One climbs up onto the railing, an act which only makes the capacity crowd roar louder--even before London entreats them to increase the volume with a wave of her hands toward the rafters. As the FAWNatics scream themselves hoarse, Shea starts to tightwalk her way down the steel beam toward a rising Janel, intending to launch herself into a hurricarana that might prompt the audience to bring the roof crashing down.
But showing the survival skills that made her easily the most decorated Mite, far surpassing the original (Domi Daly), Janel manages to jerk her body off the thinly padded cement and throw herself at the barrier. She knocks it to the side and Shea loses her balance. Unfortunately for her legion of fans, London ends astride the steel tube at the top of the divider. Her face twists in agony, lips in a wide 'O', eyes wide as well from the pulsating pain in her privates, Shea grasps the piping and weakly tries to push her way off. Having found a second wind, Manning is beside the Sensational One. She slips her head under London's hear arm and seems a helpful little Mite by lifting her foe side-by-side off the barricade. But looks are most definitely deceiving. First looking like she means to drop the Brit into the crowd with a suplex, Janel starts to bring the raised London back the way she came, hoping to crotch-shot Shea atop the metal once more.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPHHHHH!!!!!!!"
That cry comes not from the Sensational One, but rather from London's Legions. For her part, Shea is left wide-eyed and slack-jawed, the British blonde left staring ahead in abject, silent agony. London's hands fall to the steel beam, her remaining strength 100% invested in a white knuckle grip that prevents her from either tumbling unceremoniously into the masses or crashing to the concrete on the other side. Unfortunately, that means her nearly obliterated nether regions remain in close contact with the cold steel, Shea's hips straining to push up from the metal but failing miserably.
Now it's Janel's turn to hop to the top of the barricade, her bare feet balancing the ex-gymnast with ease. She walks toward the frozen London, Shea still straddling the pipe. "This is how you balance, old woman." The ponytailed blonde tightropes (tightpipes) her way toward Shea, planning on leaping when in range to wrap her powerful thighs around the head of the Brit and rip her off the rail with a hurricarana.
With he Sensational One paralyzed by the double shot of steel to her most vulnerable of regions, there's nothing the blonde Briton can do to stop Manning from clamping down with those iron bands she calls legs around her noggin and whipping her body through the air. Janel's momentum pulls Shea from her perch, directing her first forward and then DOWN, abruptly. The crown of London's skull is sent crashing into the scarcely padded floor, a gasp running through the audience as the FAWN Original crumples to the deck, left face down and spasming violently.
Having somehow landed on her feet after the backflip that hurled London to her current wrecked state, Manning gazes out on the crowd while standing over the splayed Shea. "She could never do what I just did. But now she can't even do half as much." Janel turns her attention to London, sinking her right set of digits into Shea's dirty blonde mane, yanking a rattled London to her feet. "I'm sure I'm not the first one to say this, but you should really consider retirement."
Janel alters her grasp from Shea's hair to a wrist and aims her foe at the ringsteps . "Let me help you decide." The chipmunk-cheeked, spandex-covered bytch starts to buggywhip Shea on her way toward the mass of metal.
Following the meeting of London's cranium with the concrete, it's questionable how much of the Golden Mite's remarks London had understood. It's also highly debatable exactly how aware of what Janel has in mind for her Shea is when Janel launches her toward the steel ringsteps--certainly, the Sensational One offers no resistance against the whip. Only instinct compels the legend to swivel her back toward her target, skin and lycra meeting cold metal with a loud 'THAACK!' As the steps are sent skidding a couple of feet in one direction, Shea pitches in the other, once again landing face down--but this time pushing up slightly onto her knees as well, her left boot drumming the floor as the official's count nears its conclusion...
Manning notices the loud 'NINE' and rolls into the ring only to exit just as quickly. She collects what's left of London, the right amount with which she can make a show, and whips her fellow woman in white back into the squared circle. Instead of following, Manning hops to the apron and strolls to the nearest corner. She climbs the outside of the ringpost while the Brit struggles to her feet. Reaching the top, Janel waits patiently to spring out of her crouch and lift into the ether as high and as far as anyone on the roster. Her bare tootsies lead the way, Janel ready to blow up what's left of London with a missile dropkick.
Say this for Shea: it's hard to question the toughness of the Sensational One. For several women, what she had endured out on the floor would have kept them down for another five minutes, at a minimum. But the blonde Brit pushes her way up, little more than stubbornness allowing London to get her visibly trembling legs settled underneath her--Shea's back turned to the waiting Golden Mite. Those shapely if unsteady stems look ready to give out at practically any moment as Shea starts to turn, but they keep her upright until Manning's soles catch her chest. The British Bombshell tumbles backward, crashing to the canvas, at which point London's legs keep going, rising over her head and leading the FAWN Original into an ungainly backward roll. The Sensational One comes to rest in the far corner, her stems parted in a loose 'V', the back of her head resting on the bottom turnbuckle.
Janel pops to her feet and reviews the wreckage again, London turning into a chew toy. She skips to the opposite corner of Shea and turns to an all out sprint toward the reclining Englishwoman. Those thinking Janel is about to bust a bronco are seemingly disappointed when she goes airborne but only so she can snatch the top ropes on either side of the corner above the Brit and push into a handstand. Overturned and vertical above the gobsmacked Bombshell, Janel remains balanced, enjoying making the FAWNatics wait until the blonde finally swings her legs behind and down in an arc to deliver her very own personal busting that, with her added innovation and momentum, likely would only require one connection of undercarriage to chest to do the job.
But when had the Golden Mite EVER stopped with merely what was required? Sure, one impact of Janel's buns of steel with Shea's bosom forced a loud gust of an exhale out of the Sensational One, but the ex-gymnast doesn't relent. Lifting her hindquarters into the air, the American blonde rocks her pelvis forward a second time... and a third. Each collision of the Golden Mite's tush with London's chest forces out a louder gasp and sends the Brit's noggin swooping forward, getting the icon far more up close and personal with Janel's junk than no doubt she'd ever wanted. Finally, the former Lightweight and IC champion dismounts, allowing her foe to melt a little deeper into the corner in the wake of this Manning Run.
Finally happy with the level of destruction visited upon the face of FAWN, Janel wraps both palms around an ankle of London and drags the tanned ragdoll to the middle of the ring. Shea barely reacts, Manning having reduced London to deadweight, the Manchester native's limp arms trailing behind. Reaching center stage, the Mite drops Shea's limb and moves beside the starfished London. Janel genuflects atop the cleft of the Brit's bosom, wedging her knee between Shea's breasts, and raises her arms heavenward. "Consider me back and Shea gone!" The official slides next to the dominated and decimated Shea, slapping the mat for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOOOOOO....
London's balled left fist flies into the air, her arm lifting her shoulder off the canvas--even if it doesn't dislodge Janel's knee from her bosom. It was still enough to stave off defeat, if only temporarily.
Manning shakes her head, seemingly knowing the effort would be coming but still in a measure of disbelief. "Fine," she grunts to no one in particular. Pushing to her feet, she rips Shea there as well and sends her off with an Irish Whip. As London rebounds toward her, Janel dips to pluck Shea off the deck and send her spinning around her body until she can catch the legend in a most compromising position then break the vertebrae of the Brit into a dozen pieces with her Delfin Backbreaker.
DELFIN BACKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsuY4pSNLvA
As the Golden Mite sends the Sensational One on her way with an Irish whip, London's Legion begin a rhythmic clap, desperately hoping to rouse their champion out of her stupor and spur her toward a comeback. But alas, any effort on Shea's part to turn the tide would remain a little ways off, at least. With ease, Janel scoops the slightly taller, somewhat slighter blonde off her feet, her right arm wrapping around the Brit's waist as she swings London's body around behind her head. With the back of Manning's head nestled against the small of Shea's back, the American ex-gymnast reaches up with her remaining hand, gathering her foe's calf before she drops to her knees and sends an electric jolt of agony through the length of London's spine.
The British Bombshell bounces off Janel's brawny shoulders, landing in front of the Golden Mite with a thud and a groan. Despite her anguish, London attempts to KEEP rolling, away from Janel and toward the ropes, hoping to claim a little recovery time out on the floor.
Janel watches in amusement. "You REALLY want to go out there again?" She follows on hands and knees and while London plops to the floor on her backside, Manning drops to her feet next to the forlorn, former three-time World Champion. Shea hardly looks the part at the moment. Manning bullies the blasted London back to her feet, forcing her foe's back against the edge of the mat. Looking the few inches up at her faltering foe, Janel balls her fists and starts to use Shea's chest as speed bag practice, pounding the Brit's gurls relentlessly with rights and lefts, finally forcing one to jump out of its cup. Janel turns to the crowd with an insincere 'oops' before spinning back with a clothesline aimed for London’s throat.
Manning wheels around, her scythe finding its mark and slamming into the Sensational One's upper chest. But the whirling clothesline does more than knock the air out of the FAWN Original and icon. Janel's momentum also drives the base of London's spine deeper into the harsh edge of the ring, Shea letting out a breathless moan as her legs betray her, the British blonde sinking to a seat on the floor. Her chest heaving as she gasps for air--yes, even that one breast now exposed to the elements--the Sensational One nevertheless manages to ball up her right fist, and sends a punch sweeping toward the Golden Mite's tummy.
Manning's face offers little more than a twinge when the balled fist connects. Janel responds with a couple tomahawk chops that wouldn't make the Bloodwinds proud but should embarrass the Sisters for their comparative weak sauce. Each chopping strike finds either nape of Shea's neck and she reacts if shot by a stun gun. Some of her Legion seem ready for the ref to call for the bell, but Janel hustles her bundle back into the ring and follows behind. She lays Shea out in front of a corner and hops to the bottom ropes, a foot on either side, before performing a sweet moonsault across the belly of the blasted Brit. Shea groans pitifully as she jackknifes around the glistening Janel. But the crowd knows Manning's not done. She rises, leaps to the middle ropes for another on her way to the Moonsault Trifecta from the top floor.
Janel's tootsies had barely settled on the second rope before she launches herself into exquisite flight, Shea's tawny tummy again providing an inviting landing pad for the Golden Mite's eight pack to crash down upon. With the Sensational One left gasping and wheezing, Manning pops up and vaults herself all the way to the top turnbuckle. Again, the American blonde doesn't dawdle before going airborne, and again, her British counterpart remains rooted to her spot at the base of the corner. But the increased elevation, both in regards to Janel's launching point and her trajectory, give London JUUUUUST enough time to summon the strength to draw her knees up toward her chest, creating far less friendly terrain for the Golden Mite to splash down upon this time.
This time it's Janel who releases a deep guttural groan, rolling away, one arm wrapped around her abdomen. She lies next to London for several seconds drawing in raspy breaths before cursing London's stubborn streak. The former gymnast somersaults across the mat to create some space and pushes to her knees. She brushes a hand across her midriff as if dusting off her six-pack, shaking her head, denying any pain was caused by the counter. Still, Manning winces when she uses the ropes to climb to her feet, staring daggers as Shea gets to her knees. Determined to keep the initiative, she races at London, her pace slowed slightly, ready to raise a knee toward the Englishwoman's right temple.
While things still don't look particularly great for the Sensational One, London's thwarting of the moonsault trifecta has injected new life into the crowd. The FAWNatics are on their feet, clapping and stomping, urging the blonde Briton to finish making it to hers as well as the Golden Mite rushes across the canvas, all but certain that a London Run just an instant away from commen...
'THOOONK!'
Kneecap DRIVES into skull, Janel catching London before she could fully right herself, the kneelift finishing the job for the FAWN icon. A groaning Shea is lifted to her tiptoes, and she spins away from the impact, stumbling forward a step before the ropes halt her advance, London's arms spilling over the top cable as she sags against the rubber coated steel.
Janel 'tsks' the crowd for thinking London would be making a comeback tonight. Watching as Shea puts herself on a platter of sorts, a beaming Manning waltzes over to the Brit and slips an abbreviated leg through the ropes and over Shea's right shoulder. The Mite leeeeans her bodyweight onto London's neck and back, forcing the dirty blonde's throat against the middle cable. Shea sputters for breath, her arms flailing as the official scolds the former Light and Intercontinental Champion. Janel throws her hands up at 'FOUR' as she dismounts. The former gymnast tugs Shea up and out of the ropes and sends her to the opposite strands with a heave. Waiting for the the Englishwoman to rebound, Janel takes off like a shot, planning to drop the old woman with a running crossbody.
RUNNING CROSSBODY:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYTsxkVi124
One hundred and seventeen pounds of sculpted gymnast smashes into Shea's chest with tremendous force, knocking the Sensational One off her feet and driving her down to the mat... maybe, as it turns out, with TOO MUCH force. Initially, it appears that London might simply be serving herself up to be pinned when her luscious legs sweep up into the air. But the Brit's legs KEEP rising, and soon the rest of London follows suit, allowing the blonde to roll through the impact. Suddenly, improbably, it's the Golden Mite herself who finds herself flat on her back, with Shea reaching to wrap an arm around a muscular thigh...
Pulled into a tight cradle, the startled Mite wriggles and squirms in Shea's surprising and stable grip for...
ONE...
TWO...
... and Janel finally finds a way out of the predicament, kicking free and rolling to her back. She turns a concerned look toward the zebra, breathing a sigh of relief when she sees only two fingers raised. Quickly, Manning scrambles up, reaching vertical simultaneous to London. She reaches for London's mop to force the Brit into a tight front facelock.
Janel's fingers slip into Shea's damp tresses, her grip tightening as she bends the British blonde over at the waist. But as she starts to pull London's head under her arm, Shea's fingers tighten as well-into a fist. The Sensational One sends a short right jab into the Golden Mite's abdomen with as much force as she can muster, hoping that her knees had done enough damage to those imposing muscles that she can punch her way out of Manning's grip--so that, if she could manage that, she can straighten up, slip an arm around Janel's neck, and plant the former Lightweight and IC champion with a DDT.
The first fist draws a wince from Manning but little more and Janel tightens her left bicep around London's head. "Be nice..UHH!" A following combo to the gut turns Janel's words into a grunt. The sound only encourages London to continue pounding away with meaty 'PWAKS' into the chiseled but increasingly yielding abdomen. Another half dozen loosen the Mite's grip and a final pair double over Janel with a gasp. Manning's lowered braincase lets Shea exchange escaping a front facelock for owning one. Before Janel can consider returning the favor, the veteran lays out and SPIKES Janel's skull into the canvas, Manning tumbling over in a somersault after the sickening sound of impact from the DDT. She spreads into a small but wide starfish.
Still looking a bit ragged herself, London nevertheless makes it back to her feet quickly, and with only minimal difficulty. Bending down, the Sensational One gathers up a helping of the American blonde's tresses, pulling Manning back to verticality as well before spinning the Golden Mite to face away from her. Nuzzling in against Janel's back, Shea wraps her arms around her opponent's waist, clasping her hands together just above Manning's navel. But the former Tag, Lightweight, IC *and* World champion's aim isn't to continue attacking Janel's midsection. Instead, the Sensational One pops her hips, hoping to rip Manning off her bare feet and plant her head and shoulders into the canvas with a bridging German suplex.
Pulled to vertical, Janel wobbles until the snuggling Shea steadies her from behind. But the helpful balance London provides the Mite doesn't remain helpful for long. With a crisp transfer of force and leverage that made Shea much stronger than she might have appeared to the untrained eye, the Manchester native lifts the fireplug off her soles and sends Janel into a an involuntary portion of a backflip. The mat reverberates as Janel's head and shoulders strike the canvas, Manning piled atop herself, her muscular backside pointed to the rafters. Shea in a bridge, if not a London's Bridge, holds a dazed Janel's shoulders flat to the deck for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
Manning throws her body to the side, breaking the bridge and the pinfall with a split second to spare.
This time, Shea rocks to her shoulders and deftly kips back to her feet, an act which earns a roar of support from London's Legions--a signal to them that their beloved was, indeed, beginning to catch her second wind. Hairhauling the Golden Mite up from the mat, the Sensational One shoves her back into the near corner before unloading with a couple of open hand chops to the chest. With Manning left to feel the sting in her bosom, the British Bombshell bodies in, grabs a wrist, and launches Janel on a sprint toward the opposite corner. The smaller blonde turns her back into the buckles, letting out a small groan as the collision rocks her spine. Meanwhile, Shea takes the opportunity to show off her own gymnastic prowess, launching a tumbling run toward the Golden Mite--one that would end in her driving a back elbow into Manning's chest, should everything go to plan.
Shaken by the start of a London Run, Manning leans heavily into the corner, her arms thrown over the top rope to keep from having her bronco busted. But staying vertical prompts London to test out her own gymnasticity. The veteran bounds across the canvas with the energy of a twenty-something, flipping and handspringing her way into a piercing elbow that CRUNCHES into Janel's chest with violent force. Shea shoves a moaning Janel by and the former gymnast staggers toward the middle of the ring before taking a header after a few steps, the defibrillating shot to her heart causing her legs to give out in dramatic fashion.
London is on the smaller blonde in an instant, shoveling Janel over to her back. But instead of going for a cover, the Sensational One grabs a wrist and ankle, which she uses to pull Manning into the proper alignment with the corner she had just staggered out of. Shea then turns back to the buckles, apparently ready to engage in a little more one-upswomanship on the comeback trail. Vaulting to the top turnbuckle, the British blonde takes only the smallest of seconds to steady herself before launching into a graceful moonsault--one that hopefully would not end with her belly crashing down atop Janel's knees, as Manning's own had done with hers...
And her quick movement, London accustomed to not wasting a precious second of time when she grabs momentum, pays off in spades for the Sensational One. Her body not responding nearly fast enough for Shea's version of the moonsault, Manning has her midriff CRUSHED under the single but sensational sault. A bugeyed Janel jackknifes around the sounds of slapping tummies. She melts back to the canvas, breathless, the constant pounding breaking the steel bands in her abs. The tanned Brit snatches up a leg and rolls Janel into another cradle, continuing to test the willingness of her foe to escape before...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOO!
Janel passes one more time, if barely; ending on her side hugging her belly with a covering arm.
"Come onnnnnnnn," London sighs in exasperation at the official, but he only holds up two fingers. "Fine," Shea mutters, rising before hauling the Golden Mite up with a handful of hair. Taking a wrist, the Sensational One sets her feet and prepares to send Manning on her way toward the far ropes...
... or not. Instead, the British Bombshell abruptly pulls back on Janel's wrist, reeling the former Lightweight and IC champion back in, turning her back toward the Golden Mite as she does. Reaching back, London grabs at Janel's mane and begins to pull the American blonde's jaw over her shoulder, ready to kick out her feet and lay out, falling to the canvas... London was Calling.
LONDON CALLING @2:34:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCtNBQtj1_E
And it all goes according to plan until Manning manages to push London forward a split-second before she can drop to make her 'Call'. Shea staggers a few steps forward, but quickly spins and advances on the sweat-soaked Mite. Janel manages to stride toward Shea as well. When London dips for what seems a scoop and slam (and perhaps a Leg Drop of some note to follow), Janel launches in a spinning sweep around Shea's body, hoping to end across London's back, scissoring one arm while snatching the other, capturing the Brit in a signature octopus that could snatch victory from defeat with all eight legs.
OCTOPUS HOLD:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1AAFsLqXZU
In the blink of an eye, the Sensational One finds her head captured between Janel Manning's thighs of steel--which is probably somewhere in the Top Three places the women of FAWN least ever wanted to find themselves. And as the Golden Mite locks up and pulls back on London's right arm, all it takes is one pulse of those muscular bands to buckles the Britons own stems. And yet, somehow Shea manages to keep her footing underneath her... for now. But there was no guarantee how long she could hold out, the more time Manning's octopus had to work its magic. With her legs straining not to surrender, Shea only has her left arm free to react, and she desperately reaches out in hopes of finding the ropes--a task complicated by Janel's thighs both forcing her slumped forward and impairing her vision.
Manning tightens her body on either side, scissors and handholds. She waits for London to stumble to the mat where she can be finished; after all, Shea is not of the powerhouse ilk like Eisenberg of Matsumoto. But the Battling Brit doesn't genuflect before proceeding to canvas. She shakes her head in refusal as the crowd chants 'Please don't tap'.
London doesn't.
Instead, she latches onto the ropes, yelping for the ref to get Janel off. A frustrated Manning is peeled off the dirty blonde Bombshell by the man in stripes and he gently guides her bare feet to the canvas where she stumbles away to gain her bearings and breath, her signature maneuver having not erased the better part of a London Run quite so easily.
But even if they hadn't done much to rejuvenate the Golden Mite, those fearsome scissors apparently had put up something of a roadblock along this particular London Run, Shea finally dropping to one knee along the ropes once Manning had been pulled away. Fortunately for the Sensational One, the time Janel requires to catch her breath allows London to pull herself up along the ropes, but she still looks every bit as drained as her opponent...
... until the American blonde takes a step toward her. At that point, London pushes away from the cables, launching a sudden superkick toward Manning's jaw.
Shea's boot shoots upward in the flash of an eye and connects FLUSH with Janel, jacking her jaw. The diminutive but muscular Manning seems to have every single one of those muscles clench at once, her frame straightening like a board. And though it's a short distance to fall, she timbers like a tree to the canvas, ending flat on her back, an occasional twitch coursing through her otherwise motionless body.
Almost as soon as London's foot touched back down, the Sensational One turns toward and slips through the ropes, departing to the apron. Shea gives the leather padding of the top turnbuckle a couple of loud swats, which again brings just about every FAWNatic out of their chair as the British Bombshell scales her way into the high rent district. Since no one had been home to take her Call, apparently the Sensational One is ready to turn back the clock, Shea leaping into the heavens and extending both legs out in front of her--London's right gam targeted at the Golden Mite's throat, ready to put a Sensational end to tonight's proceedings.
Laid out beneath the soaring London, Janel presents an inviting target. Still, many in the crowd hold their collective breath as Shea goes 'old school' on the decked Mite. As the Brit plummets with legs extended, they fear the worst, but are treated to the best as Shea's right leg CRASHES across Janel's throat and her left BURIES into Manning's already aching abs. Her Legdrop, particularly Sensational with the two-front split-leg approach, sends the Mite into a sputtering wide-eyed spasm before she settles lifelessly to the canvas beneath Shea's outstretched legs. The FAWNatics roar in unison with the slaps on the mat as Shea presses her palms to the canvas to maintain a seated pin for...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!
There's not a hint of a kick from the demolished Janel as she remains limp and barely conscious, another notch in the FAWN legend's belt.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer declares as Shea rolls up to her knees, "your winner, via pinfall... SHHHEEEAAA LOOONNNDDDOOONNN!!!!!"
Sitting back, her glutes resting against the heels of her boots, London's chest heaves with each deep inhale as the official raises her arm in triumph. Janel might be one of the smallest women in FAWN, but she was also undoubtedly one of the toughest--of that, the Sensational One no longer has any doubts. But tonight, London still had enough in her to put the Golden Mite down. Pushing up to her feet, Shea marches to the far corner, mounting the middle rope and raising a triumphant fist to the rafters, basking in the roar of her adoring fans.
London doesn't notice as the pitch of the crowd changes. Pointing to the sky and thanking God for her win, she also can't see that the organization's least favorite flag-waver and Trumpeter sliding under the bottom rope and popping to her feet.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
Another hated Prodigal Daughter returned, this one in red-white-and-blue, Polly Lockwood races in from Shea's six o'clock, skipping over the carcass of Janel Manning and maneuvering between Shea's legs. Turning, she starts to pull London off her perch and into a ready-made powerbomb position, the patriot preparing to make a HUGE point by sending the victor plummeting onto the defeated and leaving both a pile of broken flesh beneath her.
The advantage of surprise buys the TRUE American juuuuust enough time to carry the Sensational One out of the corner and back into range of the downed Manning. By the time London has found her wits and managed to ball a fist, it's too late, Polly pulling down on the Briton's waist and sweeping her cargo down toward the prone form of the Golden Mite. London's back SLAMS into the chiseled torso of the former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion, Janel letting out a dull moan as she is crushed underneath one hundred and twenty pounds of FAWN legend. But ultimately, Shea herself might have taken the worst of the impact, London choking back a small sob as she tries to roll over to one hip, at least as much as she can with Lockwood seated between her legs.
Lockwood pushes to her feet and enjoys the view as the fans' hate washes over her. She raises her arms high and wide, backpedaling to the ropes as she does. But those hoping this is a simple hit-and-run are in for a disappointment. For when Shea starts to rise from the wreckage that is Manning, Polly has the Brit in a window made of her thumbs and forefingers. Off like a rocket's red glare, Polly sprints at the bewildered Shea, hoping to knock London's head off her shoulders with her Bytchkilla finisher.
BYTCHKILLA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wrn-k3TPel4
Lockwood takes flight, her knee rising up and RAMMING directly into the bridge of Shea's nose. Perhaps somewhat improbably, London's noggin remains attached to her neck, but her head does whip to the left, the rest of her body drunkenly following. Possibly some of the more observant members of the audience catch sight of the Sensational One's eyes crossing as she pitches forward, Shea collapsing onto Janel's chest, this time belly first--almost as if attempting another pin. Never mind that the British Bombshell very likely had little remaining knowledge of her surroundings or her current condition.
Lockwood kips to her feet, mocking London and the fans, and strides to the stacked competitors. The sneering Polly places a boot atop the pile and flexes her biceps, shouting out at the jeering throngs "I'M GOING TO MAKE FAWN GREAT AGAIN...BYTCHES!"
It might be a simple formula: two stunning, breathtaking warriors striding into battle with only one emerging victorious, but damn if it didn’t sell tickets and broadcast buys. Tonight had been no different so far, the denizens of Orlando treated to both moments of jubilation in their heroines’ victories and heartache in their defeats. Now, only a handful of matches remained before the title portion of the proceedings, which has the FAWNatics eager for more carnage...
... when suddenly, the arena's speakers roar into life, posing their own question for one and all:
"Do you wanna get rocked?"
”LET’S GET ROCKED:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO1Nae_EBvQ
The audience responds with a roar worthy the main event at Mania WHEN Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" begins to pump over the PA. At which point the British Bombshell herself, Sensational Shea London, strides from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful.
SHEA LONDON:
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returns to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presents a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms are primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that start at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image is broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads display the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
The gorgeous blonde makes a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Catching sight of one particular sign in the audience, Shea's grin grows even wider. Leaning over the railing, Shea swings her left arm around the shoulders of one fortunate fan, turning to the camera and pointing at the posterboard with her right. The placard reads, rather simply, “JANEL’S GONNA GET HERSELF (UNION) JACKED!!!”
Further making the fan's day, London gives him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes, and makes a beeline for the nearest corner. And as the Sensational One starts to stretch along the ropes, the Leppard begins to fade from the speakers, the arrival of a fellow former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion growing imminent.
With FAWN’s living legend having marched one more time onto the battlefield, the stirring guitar of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ ‘You Better Pray’ crashes over the arena. The FAWNatics turn as one to the upper stage to welcome back a former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion.
"YOU BETTER PRAY":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_WxsL5q3I4
But it’s hardly a hearty welcome for the Malevolent Mite as the assembled release their continued disdain on the former Olympian before she even appears. The ring announcer’s pronouncement only draws the decibels higher.
“And…her opponent…hailing from the hallowed halls of Iowa City, Iowa… standing a full 4 feet 11 inches tall and weighing 117 pounds… The Golden Mite herself…JAAANNNEEELLL MAAANNNNNNIIINNNGGG!!!!!”
JANEL MANNING:
With the introduction complete, the FAWNatics are made to wait for the Mite-y One, the arena falling into darkness. A red spotlight illuminates the stage from the right, before winking out. The process is followed by a white spot from directly overhead, then a blue one from the left. As the sequence began its second cycle, it provides the outline of a diminutive, muscular form. When the house lights rise, the tiny terror of vault, balance beam, and uneven bars, parades down the ramp and aisle.
Janel’s flaxen ponytail swishes from one side to the other as she rises up the steps, the champ in a skin-tight aquamarine leotard containing a leopard-spot pattern. The spandex has a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small neon green strips across the opposite number. She sports black wrist and ankle tape, pads and, as always, is without boots. Janel flexes her toes before flinging herself over the top cable without a hint of effort, dropping into a somersault, before popping gracefully to her feet.
The ferocious fireplug races across the ring and throws herself into a rebound off the cables, reacquainting herself with the ropes after a considerable time away. Last seen losing her title and consciousness at the hands of the Teutonic Terror Erika Eisenberg, it’s clear Janel is unconcerned about jumping back into the deep end of the pool after a long recovery period.
Manning moves to the middle and asks for a microphone, plucking one from the air after a toss from a FAWN flunky.
“Ssshhhh” the Mite hushes to no avail for a dozen seconds or more.
“It’s great to see you too,” she finally adds. “Just when you thought that Aryan Amazon had done me in I have to go and disappoint you by coming back and beating the tar out of your all-time heroine. Believe me when I say both you and she deserve what’s going to happen tonight.”
The Golden Mite tosses the microphone away and moves to her corner where she turns and casts an eye toward the Sensational One. It’s a long way from awe as Janel smirks and shakes her head. She waves toward the official to get the show on the road.
The referee wastes little time in complying, patting down first the FAWN Original and then the Golden Mite. Satisfied that both women were cleans, he calls for the bell, and Shea and Janel both push out of their corners and begin to circle. The veteran regards her foe with an appraising eye. It wasn't often that London enjoyed a height advantage, but calling it a SIZE advantage might be going a step too far--Janel packed A LOT of muscle into her diminutive frame, to go along with speed that, at the very least, matched the Briton's own. But it's speed and agility that Shea turns to first, dipping under Manning's arms as she surges forward, looking to avoid the lock-up, slip in behind the shorter blonde and apply a tight waistlock.
London swiftly sweeps by Janel, Manning perhaps showing some ring rust as London ends behind her foe and circles her arms around the blonde. The Brit tries to rip Janel off the mat and dump her to the canvas, likely planning to ride the former Olympian, but Manning settles into a low center of gravity with a well-balanced squat. She pries at London's interlocked fingers and slooowly begins to tear them apart, her biceps bulging. Manning starts to nod as Shea's grasp loosens by the second.
Sure enough, before long the Golden Mite not only manages to break London's clasp, she then whips around behind the Sensational One and slaps on a tight waistlock of her own. Now it's Shea's hands that go to Janel's wrists, the taller blonde looking to pry her way loose, but Manning's grasp seems a bit more ironclad. London's boots shuffle into a slightly broader stance as her efforts continue, but with BREAKING the waistlock looking less likely by the moment, Shea instead settles for trying to create enough slack to let her drop out and to a seat in front of the ex-gymnast. If she could surprise the Golden Mite going low, then perhaps she could take advantage of Janel being off balance to trip up those powerful legs and take Manning to the canvas...
London finds enough slack to drop to her taut bum to the deck. She reaches for an ankle when Manning leans forward, eyes widening with London's escape. The FAWN original twists the abbreviated stem of the former gymnast and Janel trips to the canvas. Shea scrambles aboard and by hook or by crook, London has the Mite down and is accumulating 'riding time'. The Iowan, knowing very well collegiate rules, growls at giving up the two-point reversal to the Manchester native. She tries to work her way out of the predicament but at every turn Shea remains on top in a controlling position. Finally, Janel works to the ropes and drops a leg over the bottom cable. "OFF," she demands.
"Come on, Shea," the ref chides her, barely even waiting to start his count. But the FAWN legend relents quickly, pulling back and raising her hands just on the other side of "ONE!" London quickly pushes back to her feet, a satisfied smirk creasing her lips--which only seems to broaden as Janel scowls and pulls herself up along the ropes. Round one to the Sensational One. Again, the American and British blonde begins to circle. Only this time, there appears to be no misdirection as London and Manning surge into a collar and elbow tie up, Shea aiming to walk her foe back into the near corner.
And to the surprise of many, she manages to put the muscular if vertically challenged blonde into retreat. London forces her foe nearly to the buckles behind Manning until, a step out, Janel swings the Brit by, exchanging positions. She tosses Shea into the buckles. London thumps into the corner and Manning lets loose with a rare set of fisticuffs Shea skillfully dodges and blocks. The Bombshell finally sends a knee up into Janel's chiseled tummy to end the parried combinations. The bony joint hits home. Manning looks down at her six-pack then at her foe with a gaze that screams 'You're kidding, right'. Janel grabs London by her dirty blonde locks, meaning to fling the living legend out to the middle like a shapely frisbee.
Two sets of fingers plunge into Shea's tresses, her two-handed grip abruptly yanking the Sensational One forward as she takes a step away from the corner. London gives a small, high pitched "YEEEP!!!" as she is ripped off her feet by the hair, Janel displaying her brawn by sending the Brit flying. Shea's body rotates through her flight, the FAWN Original crashing down face and chest first with the crown of her skull pointed toward her attacker--an attacker who doesn't hang back. Marching after her opponent, the Golden Mite stoops down and claims another helping of Shea's tresses, yanking London back to stooped feet before tossing her away for a second time.
Manning charges after her, crouching down to once again secure possession of the Sensational One's follicles. This time, Janel hoists Shea to her feet AND launches her into flight in one powerful, savage motion, the blonde Brit's form sweeping through two and a half revolutions before she crashes down. Round two to the Golden Mite. Suddenly, Janel shows little to no urgency as she saunters in behind a woozy, rising London, Shea clearly still dizzied as she swings around with a balled fist, hoping to catch the former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion across the jaw with a looping punch.
Showing fight Janel hadn't expected, the blow connects flush with Manning's jaw and sends her head snapping in the opposite direction. London delivers a left jab follow-up that bounces harmlessly off the blonde's abdomen. But when Manning's noggin wobbles back into range, London clips it again with a looping right that sends Janel down to one knee, the crowd roaring. A startled Manning massages her jaw and shakes out a growing number of cobwebs. With another Shea right shooting toward the cheek of the genuflecting gymnast, Janel manages to duck the swipe. But Shea simply pirouettes and returns after her 360 spin with a boot that connects with Janel's temple. Peepers going glassy instantly after impact, Manning pitches forward to a face first meeting with the mat.
As the Golden Mite hits the deck, Shea takes a moment to steady herself--which ends up requiring a half step of an adjustment on her part. But any lingering dizziness from Manning's earlier attack and London whirling countercharge quickly is rendered a thing of the past--as, unfortunately, is Janel's face-down posture. As the fireplug of a blonde starts to pick herself up, the Sensational One charges into the ropes behind Manning, allowing the rubber coated steel to shoot her back toward the straightening Golden Mite. Launching herself off her feet, Shea reaches a hand toward the back of Janel's noggin, hoping to re-introduce her foe's mug to the mat by way of a bulldog.
Still in a daze from London's previous attack, Manning wobbles on her knees, unaware of the Bombshell approaching from behind. With a sweet precision, the Brit snatches Janel's braincase on the way by and sits out. Shea spikes Janel's baby face into the deck with the bulldog, Manning's head bouncing off the canvas. The force nearly sends Janel back to her haunches but she timbers to her side before reaching that point then sprawls to her back in a wide starfish, or as wide as her abbreviated limbs allow.
London settles on her taut tush, but only for a moment. With the Golden Mite splattered and served up on a platter, Shea doesn't hesitate to roll over and drape herself across Manning's chest, reaching to hook one of those muscular stems and score the...
ONE...
TWO...
... and Manning kicks her way free, flopping to her side. The crowd groans as Janel escapes. But they perk up when they realize they'll likely see more legendary fireworks from London. The Mite is not ready for such a show however. She pushes to hands and knees and starts to crawl for the sidelines.
The Sensational One gives chase, and with London in pursuit, there aren't many who possess the speed to elude her. But, even on her hands and knees, Janel proves capable, dropping to roll under the bottom rope and drop out to the floor. The FAWNatics immediately let the former Lightweight and IC champion have it, unloading with boos, jeers and even a couple of clucks--which of course the Golden Mite has little option but to respond to with a number of choice words. But as Manning jaws with the audience, Shea races into the far ropes. Sprinting toward the unaware Janel with a full head of steam, the British blonde drops into a slide, intending to shoot under the bottom rope and blast her soles directly between Janel's shoulderblades.
Bitterly denying she's poultry, Manning defends herself against the non-Olympian rabble, pointing and boasting about her bona fides. Coming in from behind again, London shows perfect form. Shea slides under the lowest strand, sending her boots crashing into Manning's back. Janel lurches forward and SLAMS into the metal barricade, ending hung out to dry as she finishes draped over the top, half of the Mite in the crowd, the other left dangling on the other side, the blonde groaning.
With Manning left hung out to dry, Shea exchanges a couple of quick high fives with the fans with the fans in front of the suspended fireplug. London the pulls Janel back into the field of contact, spinning the American blonde so that her back rests against the guardrail. The Sensational One LIGHTS UP Manning's chest with a blistering open hand chop that would've made Juliet Bloodwind proud, then pulls the Golden Mite away from the barrier. Threading an arm through her foe's thighs, Shea scoops her up, only to deposit Manning to the floor with a slam, after which the living legend turns back to the crowd. The Sensational One climbs up onto the railing, an act which only makes the capacity crowd roar louder--even before London entreats them to increase the volume with a wave of her hands toward the rafters. As the FAWNatics scream themselves hoarse, Shea starts to tightwalk her way down the steel beam toward a rising Janel, intending to launch herself into a hurricarana that might prompt the audience to bring the roof crashing down.
But showing the survival skills that made her easily the most decorated Mite, far surpassing the original (Domi Daly), Janel manages to jerk her body off the thinly padded cement and throw herself at the barrier. She knocks it to the side and Shea loses her balance. Unfortunately for her legion of fans, London ends astride the steel tube at the top of the divider. Her face twists in agony, lips in a wide 'O', eyes wide as well from the pulsating pain in her privates, Shea grasps the piping and weakly tries to push her way off. Having found a second wind, Manning is beside the Sensational One. She slips her head under London's hear arm and seems a helpful little Mite by lifting her foe side-by-side off the barricade. But looks are most definitely deceiving. First looking like she means to drop the Brit into the crowd with a suplex, Janel starts to bring the raised London back the way she came, hoping to crotch-shot Shea atop the metal once more.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPHHHHH!!!!!!!"
That cry comes not from the Sensational One, but rather from London's Legions. For her part, Shea is left wide-eyed and slack-jawed, the British blonde left staring ahead in abject, silent agony. London's hands fall to the steel beam, her remaining strength 100% invested in a white knuckle grip that prevents her from either tumbling unceremoniously into the masses or crashing to the concrete on the other side. Unfortunately, that means her nearly obliterated nether regions remain in close contact with the cold steel, Shea's hips straining to push up from the metal but failing miserably.
Now it's Janel's turn to hop to the top of the barricade, her bare feet balancing the ex-gymnast with ease. She walks toward the frozen London, Shea still straddling the pipe. "This is how you balance, old woman." The ponytailed blonde tightropes (tightpipes) her way toward Shea, planning on leaping when in range to wrap her powerful thighs around the head of the Brit and rip her off the rail with a hurricarana.
With he Sensational One paralyzed by the double shot of steel to her most vulnerable of regions, there's nothing the blonde Briton can do to stop Manning from clamping down with those iron bands she calls legs around her noggin and whipping her body through the air. Janel's momentum pulls Shea from her perch, directing her first forward and then DOWN, abruptly. The crown of London's skull is sent crashing into the scarcely padded floor, a gasp running through the audience as the FAWN Original crumples to the deck, left face down and spasming violently.
Having somehow landed on her feet after the backflip that hurled London to her current wrecked state, Manning gazes out on the crowd while standing over the splayed Shea. "She could never do what I just did. But now she can't even do half as much." Janel turns her attention to London, sinking her right set of digits into Shea's dirty blonde mane, yanking a rattled London to her feet. "I'm sure I'm not the first one to say this, but you should really consider retirement."
Janel alters her grasp from Shea's hair to a wrist and aims her foe at the ringsteps . "Let me help you decide." The chipmunk-cheeked, spandex-covered bytch starts to buggywhip Shea on her way toward the mass of metal.
Following the meeting of London's cranium with the concrete, it's questionable how much of the Golden Mite's remarks London had understood. It's also highly debatable exactly how aware of what Janel has in mind for her Shea is when Janel launches her toward the steel ringsteps--certainly, the Sensational One offers no resistance against the whip. Only instinct compels the legend to swivel her back toward her target, skin and lycra meeting cold metal with a loud 'THAACK!' As the steps are sent skidding a couple of feet in one direction, Shea pitches in the other, once again landing face down--but this time pushing up slightly onto her knees as well, her left boot drumming the floor as the official's count nears its conclusion...
Manning notices the loud 'NINE' and rolls into the ring only to exit just as quickly. She collects what's left of London, the right amount with which she can make a show, and whips her fellow woman in white back into the squared circle. Instead of following, Manning hops to the apron and strolls to the nearest corner. She climbs the outside of the ringpost while the Brit struggles to her feet. Reaching the top, Janel waits patiently to spring out of her crouch and lift into the ether as high and as far as anyone on the roster. Her bare tootsies lead the way, Janel ready to blow up what's left of London with a missile dropkick.
Say this for Shea: it's hard to question the toughness of the Sensational One. For several women, what she had endured out on the floor would have kept them down for another five minutes, at a minimum. But the blonde Brit pushes her way up, little more than stubbornness allowing London to get her visibly trembling legs settled underneath her--Shea's back turned to the waiting Golden Mite. Those shapely if unsteady stems look ready to give out at practically any moment as Shea starts to turn, but they keep her upright until Manning's soles catch her chest. The British Bombshell tumbles backward, crashing to the canvas, at which point London's legs keep going, rising over her head and leading the FAWN Original into an ungainly backward roll. The Sensational One comes to rest in the far corner, her stems parted in a loose 'V', the back of her head resting on the bottom turnbuckle.
Janel pops to her feet and reviews the wreckage again, London turning into a chew toy. She skips to the opposite corner of Shea and turns to an all out sprint toward the reclining Englishwoman. Those thinking Janel is about to bust a bronco are seemingly disappointed when she goes airborne but only so she can snatch the top ropes on either side of the corner above the Brit and push into a handstand. Overturned and vertical above the gobsmacked Bombshell, Janel remains balanced, enjoying making the FAWNatics wait until the blonde finally swings her legs behind and down in an arc to deliver her very own personal busting that, with her added innovation and momentum, likely would only require one connection of undercarriage to chest to do the job.
But when had the Golden Mite EVER stopped with merely what was required? Sure, one impact of Janel's buns of steel with Shea's bosom forced a loud gust of an exhale out of the Sensational One, but the ex-gymnast doesn't relent. Lifting her hindquarters into the air, the American blonde rocks her pelvis forward a second time... and a third. Each collision of the Golden Mite's tush with London's chest forces out a louder gasp and sends the Brit's noggin swooping forward, getting the icon far more up close and personal with Janel's junk than no doubt she'd ever wanted. Finally, the former Lightweight and IC champion dismounts, allowing her foe to melt a little deeper into the corner in the wake of this Manning Run.
Finally happy with the level of destruction visited upon the face of FAWN, Janel wraps both palms around an ankle of London and drags the tanned ragdoll to the middle of the ring. Shea barely reacts, Manning having reduced London to deadweight, the Manchester native's limp arms trailing behind. Reaching center stage, the Mite drops Shea's limb and moves beside the starfished London. Janel genuflects atop the cleft of the Brit's bosom, wedging her knee between Shea's breasts, and raises her arms heavenward. "Consider me back and Shea gone!" The official slides next to the dominated and decimated Shea, slapping the mat for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOOOOOO....
London's balled left fist flies into the air, her arm lifting her shoulder off the canvas--even if it doesn't dislodge Janel's knee from her bosom. It was still enough to stave off defeat, if only temporarily.
Manning shakes her head, seemingly knowing the effort would be coming but still in a measure of disbelief. "Fine," she grunts to no one in particular. Pushing to her feet, she rips Shea there as well and sends her off with an Irish Whip. As London rebounds toward her, Janel dips to pluck Shea off the deck and send her spinning around her body until she can catch the legend in a most compromising position then break the vertebrae of the Brit into a dozen pieces with her Delfin Backbreaker.
DELFIN BACKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsuY4pSNLvA
As the Golden Mite sends the Sensational One on her way with an Irish whip, London's Legion begin a rhythmic clap, desperately hoping to rouse their champion out of her stupor and spur her toward a comeback. But alas, any effort on Shea's part to turn the tide would remain a little ways off, at least. With ease, Janel scoops the slightly taller, somewhat slighter blonde off her feet, her right arm wrapping around the Brit's waist as she swings London's body around behind her head. With the back of Manning's head nestled against the small of Shea's back, the American ex-gymnast reaches up with her remaining hand, gathering her foe's calf before she drops to her knees and sends an electric jolt of agony through the length of London's spine.
The British Bombshell bounces off Janel's brawny shoulders, landing in front of the Golden Mite with a thud and a groan. Despite her anguish, London attempts to KEEP rolling, away from Janel and toward the ropes, hoping to claim a little recovery time out on the floor.
Janel watches in amusement. "You REALLY want to go out there again?" She follows on hands and knees and while London plops to the floor on her backside, Manning drops to her feet next to the forlorn, former three-time World Champion. Shea hardly looks the part at the moment. Manning bullies the blasted London back to her feet, forcing her foe's back against the edge of the mat. Looking the few inches up at her faltering foe, Janel balls her fists and starts to use Shea's chest as speed bag practice, pounding the Brit's gurls relentlessly with rights and lefts, finally forcing one to jump out of its cup. Janel turns to the crowd with an insincere 'oops' before spinning back with a clothesline aimed for London’s throat.
Manning wheels around, her scythe finding its mark and slamming into the Sensational One's upper chest. But the whirling clothesline does more than knock the air out of the FAWN Original and icon. Janel's momentum also drives the base of London's spine deeper into the harsh edge of the ring, Shea letting out a breathless moan as her legs betray her, the British blonde sinking to a seat on the floor. Her chest heaving as she gasps for air--yes, even that one breast now exposed to the elements--the Sensational One nevertheless manages to ball up her right fist, and sends a punch sweeping toward the Golden Mite's tummy.
Manning's face offers little more than a twinge when the balled fist connects. Janel responds with a couple tomahawk chops that wouldn't make the Bloodwinds proud but should embarrass the Sisters for their comparative weak sauce. Each chopping strike finds either nape of Shea's neck and she reacts if shot by a stun gun. Some of her Legion seem ready for the ref to call for the bell, but Janel hustles her bundle back into the ring and follows behind. She lays Shea out in front of a corner and hops to the bottom ropes, a foot on either side, before performing a sweet moonsault across the belly of the blasted Brit. Shea groans pitifully as she jackknifes around the glistening Janel. But the crowd knows Manning's not done. She rises, leaps to the middle ropes for another on her way to the Moonsault Trifecta from the top floor.
Janel's tootsies had barely settled on the second rope before she launches herself into exquisite flight, Shea's tawny tummy again providing an inviting landing pad for the Golden Mite's eight pack to crash down upon. With the Sensational One left gasping and wheezing, Manning pops up and vaults herself all the way to the top turnbuckle. Again, the American blonde doesn't dawdle before going airborne, and again, her British counterpart remains rooted to her spot at the base of the corner. But the increased elevation, both in regards to Janel's launching point and her trajectory, give London JUUUUUST enough time to summon the strength to draw her knees up toward her chest, creating far less friendly terrain for the Golden Mite to splash down upon this time.
This time it's Janel who releases a deep guttural groan, rolling away, one arm wrapped around her abdomen. She lies next to London for several seconds drawing in raspy breaths before cursing London's stubborn streak. The former gymnast somersaults across the mat to create some space and pushes to her knees. She brushes a hand across her midriff as if dusting off her six-pack, shaking her head, denying any pain was caused by the counter. Still, Manning winces when she uses the ropes to climb to her feet, staring daggers as Shea gets to her knees. Determined to keep the initiative, she races at London, her pace slowed slightly, ready to raise a knee toward the Englishwoman's right temple.
While things still don't look particularly great for the Sensational One, London's thwarting of the moonsault trifecta has injected new life into the crowd. The FAWNatics are on their feet, clapping and stomping, urging the blonde Briton to finish making it to hers as well as the Golden Mite rushes across the canvas, all but certain that a London Run just an instant away from commen...
'THOOONK!'
Kneecap DRIVES into skull, Janel catching London before she could fully right herself, the kneelift finishing the job for the FAWN icon. A groaning Shea is lifted to her tiptoes, and she spins away from the impact, stumbling forward a step before the ropes halt her advance, London's arms spilling over the top cable as she sags against the rubber coated steel.
Janel 'tsks' the crowd for thinking London would be making a comeback tonight. Watching as Shea puts herself on a platter of sorts, a beaming Manning waltzes over to the Brit and slips an abbreviated leg through the ropes and over Shea's right shoulder. The Mite leeeeans her bodyweight onto London's neck and back, forcing the dirty blonde's throat against the middle cable. Shea sputters for breath, her arms flailing as the official scolds the former Light and Intercontinental Champion. Janel throws her hands up at 'FOUR' as she dismounts. The former gymnast tugs Shea up and out of the ropes and sends her to the opposite strands with a heave. Waiting for the the Englishwoman to rebound, Janel takes off like a shot, planning to drop the old woman with a running crossbody.
RUNNING CROSSBODY:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYTsxkVi124
One hundred and seventeen pounds of sculpted gymnast smashes into Shea's chest with tremendous force, knocking the Sensational One off her feet and driving her down to the mat... maybe, as it turns out, with TOO MUCH force. Initially, it appears that London might simply be serving herself up to be pinned when her luscious legs sweep up into the air. But the Brit's legs KEEP rising, and soon the rest of London follows suit, allowing the blonde to roll through the impact. Suddenly, improbably, it's the Golden Mite herself who finds herself flat on her back, with Shea reaching to wrap an arm around a muscular thigh...
Pulled into a tight cradle, the startled Mite wriggles and squirms in Shea's surprising and stable grip for...
ONE...
TWO...
... and Janel finally finds a way out of the predicament, kicking free and rolling to her back. She turns a concerned look toward the zebra, breathing a sigh of relief when she sees only two fingers raised. Quickly, Manning scrambles up, reaching vertical simultaneous to London. She reaches for London's mop to force the Brit into a tight front facelock.
Janel's fingers slip into Shea's damp tresses, her grip tightening as she bends the British blonde over at the waist. But as she starts to pull London's head under her arm, Shea's fingers tighten as well-into a fist. The Sensational One sends a short right jab into the Golden Mite's abdomen with as much force as she can muster, hoping that her knees had done enough damage to those imposing muscles that she can punch her way out of Manning's grip--so that, if she could manage that, she can straighten up, slip an arm around Janel's neck, and plant the former Lightweight and IC champion with a DDT.
The first fist draws a wince from Manning but little more and Janel tightens her left bicep around London's head. "Be nice..UHH!" A following combo to the gut turns Janel's words into a grunt. The sound only encourages London to continue pounding away with meaty 'PWAKS' into the chiseled but increasingly yielding abdomen. Another half dozen loosen the Mite's grip and a final pair double over Janel with a gasp. Manning's lowered braincase lets Shea exchange escaping a front facelock for owning one. Before Janel can consider returning the favor, the veteran lays out and SPIKES Janel's skull into the canvas, Manning tumbling over in a somersault after the sickening sound of impact from the DDT. She spreads into a small but wide starfish.
Still looking a bit ragged herself, London nevertheless makes it back to her feet quickly, and with only minimal difficulty. Bending down, the Sensational One gathers up a helping of the American blonde's tresses, pulling Manning back to verticality as well before spinning the Golden Mite to face away from her. Nuzzling in against Janel's back, Shea wraps her arms around her opponent's waist, clasping her hands together just above Manning's navel. But the former Tag, Lightweight, IC *and* World champion's aim isn't to continue attacking Janel's midsection. Instead, the Sensational One pops her hips, hoping to rip Manning off her bare feet and plant her head and shoulders into the canvas with a bridging German suplex.
Pulled to vertical, Janel wobbles until the snuggling Shea steadies her from behind. But the helpful balance London provides the Mite doesn't remain helpful for long. With a crisp transfer of force and leverage that made Shea much stronger than she might have appeared to the untrained eye, the Manchester native lifts the fireplug off her soles and sends Janel into a an involuntary portion of a backflip. The mat reverberates as Janel's head and shoulders strike the canvas, Manning piled atop herself, her muscular backside pointed to the rafters. Shea in a bridge, if not a London's Bridge, holds a dazed Janel's shoulders flat to the deck for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
Manning throws her body to the side, breaking the bridge and the pinfall with a split second to spare.
This time, Shea rocks to her shoulders and deftly kips back to her feet, an act which earns a roar of support from London's Legions--a signal to them that their beloved was, indeed, beginning to catch her second wind. Hairhauling the Golden Mite up from the mat, the Sensational One shoves her back into the near corner before unloading with a couple of open hand chops to the chest. With Manning left to feel the sting in her bosom, the British Bombshell bodies in, grabs a wrist, and launches Janel on a sprint toward the opposite corner. The smaller blonde turns her back into the buckles, letting out a small groan as the collision rocks her spine. Meanwhile, Shea takes the opportunity to show off her own gymnastic prowess, launching a tumbling run toward the Golden Mite--one that would end in her driving a back elbow into Manning's chest, should everything go to plan.
Shaken by the start of a London Run, Manning leans heavily into the corner, her arms thrown over the top rope to keep from having her bronco busted. But staying vertical prompts London to test out her own gymnasticity. The veteran bounds across the canvas with the energy of a twenty-something, flipping and handspringing her way into a piercing elbow that CRUNCHES into Janel's chest with violent force. Shea shoves a moaning Janel by and the former gymnast staggers toward the middle of the ring before taking a header after a few steps, the defibrillating shot to her heart causing her legs to give out in dramatic fashion.
London is on the smaller blonde in an instant, shoveling Janel over to her back. But instead of going for a cover, the Sensational One grabs a wrist and ankle, which she uses to pull Manning into the proper alignment with the corner she had just staggered out of. Shea then turns back to the buckles, apparently ready to engage in a little more one-upswomanship on the comeback trail. Vaulting to the top turnbuckle, the British blonde takes only the smallest of seconds to steady herself before launching into a graceful moonsault--one that hopefully would not end with her belly crashing down atop Janel's knees, as Manning's own had done with hers...
And her quick movement, London accustomed to not wasting a precious second of time when she grabs momentum, pays off in spades for the Sensational One. Her body not responding nearly fast enough for Shea's version of the moonsault, Manning has her midriff CRUSHED under the single but sensational sault. A bugeyed Janel jackknifes around the sounds of slapping tummies. She melts back to the canvas, breathless, the constant pounding breaking the steel bands in her abs. The tanned Brit snatches up a leg and rolls Janel into another cradle, continuing to test the willingness of her foe to escape before...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOO!
Janel passes one more time, if barely; ending on her side hugging her belly with a covering arm.
"Come onnnnnnnn," London sighs in exasperation at the official, but he only holds up two fingers. "Fine," Shea mutters, rising before hauling the Golden Mite up with a handful of hair. Taking a wrist, the Sensational One sets her feet and prepares to send Manning on her way toward the far ropes...
... or not. Instead, the British Bombshell abruptly pulls back on Janel's wrist, reeling the former Lightweight and IC champion back in, turning her back toward the Golden Mite as she does. Reaching back, London grabs at Janel's mane and begins to pull the American blonde's jaw over her shoulder, ready to kick out her feet and lay out, falling to the canvas... London was Calling.
LONDON CALLING @2:34:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCtNBQtj1_E
And it all goes according to plan until Manning manages to push London forward a split-second before she can drop to make her 'Call'. Shea staggers a few steps forward, but quickly spins and advances on the sweat-soaked Mite. Janel manages to stride toward Shea as well. When London dips for what seems a scoop and slam (and perhaps a Leg Drop of some note to follow), Janel launches in a spinning sweep around Shea's body, hoping to end across London's back, scissoring one arm while snatching the other, capturing the Brit in a signature octopus that could snatch victory from defeat with all eight legs.
OCTOPUS HOLD:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1AAFsLqXZU
In the blink of an eye, the Sensational One finds her head captured between Janel Manning's thighs of steel--which is probably somewhere in the Top Three places the women of FAWN least ever wanted to find themselves. And as the Golden Mite locks up and pulls back on London's right arm, all it takes is one pulse of those muscular bands to buckles the Britons own stems. And yet, somehow Shea manages to keep her footing underneath her... for now. But there was no guarantee how long she could hold out, the more time Manning's octopus had to work its magic. With her legs straining not to surrender, Shea only has her left arm free to react, and she desperately reaches out in hopes of finding the ropes--a task complicated by Janel's thighs both forcing her slumped forward and impairing her vision.
Manning tightens her body on either side, scissors and handholds. She waits for London to stumble to the mat where she can be finished; after all, Shea is not of the powerhouse ilk like Eisenberg of Matsumoto. But the Battling Brit doesn't genuflect before proceeding to canvas. She shakes her head in refusal as the crowd chants 'Please don't tap'.
London doesn't.
Instead, she latches onto the ropes, yelping for the ref to get Janel off. A frustrated Manning is peeled off the dirty blonde Bombshell by the man in stripes and he gently guides her bare feet to the canvas where she stumbles away to gain her bearings and breath, her signature maneuver having not erased the better part of a London Run quite so easily.
But even if they hadn't done much to rejuvenate the Golden Mite, those fearsome scissors apparently had put up something of a roadblock along this particular London Run, Shea finally dropping to one knee along the ropes once Manning had been pulled away. Fortunately for the Sensational One, the time Janel requires to catch her breath allows London to pull herself up along the ropes, but she still looks every bit as drained as her opponent...
... until the American blonde takes a step toward her. At that point, London pushes away from the cables, launching a sudden superkick toward Manning's jaw.
Shea's boot shoots upward in the flash of an eye and connects FLUSH with Janel, jacking her jaw. The diminutive but muscular Manning seems to have every single one of those muscles clench at once, her frame straightening like a board. And though it's a short distance to fall, she timbers like a tree to the canvas, ending flat on her back, an occasional twitch coursing through her otherwise motionless body.
Almost as soon as London's foot touched back down, the Sensational One turns toward and slips through the ropes, departing to the apron. Shea gives the leather padding of the top turnbuckle a couple of loud swats, which again brings just about every FAWNatic out of their chair as the British Bombshell scales her way into the high rent district. Since no one had been home to take her Call, apparently the Sensational One is ready to turn back the clock, Shea leaping into the heavens and extending both legs out in front of her--London's right gam targeted at the Golden Mite's throat, ready to put a Sensational end to tonight's proceedings.
Laid out beneath the soaring London, Janel presents an inviting target. Still, many in the crowd hold their collective breath as Shea goes 'old school' on the decked Mite. As the Brit plummets with legs extended, they fear the worst, but are treated to the best as Shea's right leg CRASHES across Janel's throat and her left BURIES into Manning's already aching abs. Her Legdrop, particularly Sensational with the two-front split-leg approach, sends the Mite into a sputtering wide-eyed spasm before she settles lifelessly to the canvas beneath Shea's outstretched legs. The FAWNatics roar in unison with the slaps on the mat as Shea presses her palms to the canvas to maintain a seated pin for...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!
There's not a hint of a kick from the demolished Janel as she remains limp and barely conscious, another notch in the FAWN legend's belt.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer declares as Shea rolls up to her knees, "your winner, via pinfall... SHHHEEEAAA LOOONNNDDDOOONNN!!!!!"
Sitting back, her glutes resting against the heels of her boots, London's chest heaves with each deep inhale as the official raises her arm in triumph. Janel might be one of the smallest women in FAWN, but she was also undoubtedly one of the toughest--of that, the Sensational One no longer has any doubts. But tonight, London still had enough in her to put the Golden Mite down. Pushing up to her feet, Shea marches to the far corner, mounting the middle rope and raising a triumphant fist to the rafters, basking in the roar of her adoring fans.
London doesn't notice as the pitch of the crowd changes. Pointing to the sky and thanking God for her win, she also can't see that the organization's least favorite flag-waver and Trumpeter sliding under the bottom rope and popping to her feet.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
Another hated Prodigal Daughter returned, this one in red-white-and-blue, Polly Lockwood races in from Shea's six o'clock, skipping over the carcass of Janel Manning and maneuvering between Shea's legs. Turning, she starts to pull London off her perch and into a ready-made powerbomb position, the patriot preparing to make a HUGE point by sending the victor plummeting onto the defeated and leaving both a pile of broken flesh beneath her.
The advantage of surprise buys the TRUE American juuuuust enough time to carry the Sensational One out of the corner and back into range of the downed Manning. By the time London has found her wits and managed to ball a fist, it's too late, Polly pulling down on the Briton's waist and sweeping her cargo down toward the prone form of the Golden Mite. London's back SLAMS into the chiseled torso of the former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion, Janel letting out a dull moan as she is crushed underneath one hundred and twenty pounds of FAWN legend. But ultimately, Shea herself might have taken the worst of the impact, London choking back a small sob as she tries to roll over to one hip, at least as much as she can with Lockwood seated between her legs.
Lockwood pushes to her feet and enjoys the view as the fans' hate washes over her. She raises her arms high and wide, backpedaling to the ropes as she does. But those hoping this is a simple hit-and-run are in for a disappointment. For when Shea starts to rise from the wreckage that is Manning, Polly has the Brit in a window made of her thumbs and forefingers. Off like a rocket's red glare, Polly sprints at the bewildered Shea, hoping to knock London's head off her shoulders with her Bytchkilla finisher.
BYTCHKILLA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wrn-k3TPel4
Lockwood takes flight, her knee rising up and RAMMING directly into the bridge of Shea's nose. Perhaps somewhat improbably, London's noggin remains attached to her neck, but her head does whip to the left, the rest of her body drunkenly following. Possibly some of the more observant members of the audience catch sight of the Sensational One's eyes crossing as she pitches forward, Shea collapsing onto Janel's chest, this time belly first--almost as if attempting another pin. Never mind that the British Bombshell very likely had little remaining knowledge of her surroundings or her current condition.
Lockwood kips to her feet, mocking London and the fans, and strides to the stacked competitors. The sneering Polly places a boot atop the pile and flexes her biceps, shouting out at the jeering throngs "I'M GOING TO MAKE FAWN GREAT AGAIN...BYTCHES!"