Post by dsb on Jan 22, 2019 0:08:04 GMT
This was were all too many so-called "experts" predicted the Halfmoons would never find themselves. 'Talented', they were labeled, 'but erratic'. Not so-called 'championship material'. Well to hell with the critics and the haters, because at this very moment, the Native American twins were on the precipice of championship glory.
The excited buzz among the fans grew to almost palpable levels when, at last, the house lights dim, and Winterhawk's “Fight” blares through the speakers.
"Introducing first the challengers," the announcer brays. "From the Standing Rock Reservation in North Dakota, and weighing a combined weight of two-hundred and forty pounds, they are Kasa and Kaya Halfmoon...the WAAAAAAAAAAAAR PAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRTYYYY!"
Tearing open the curtain, the Halfmoons march down the long aisle to the ring, each garbed in matching black one-pieces and dark red boots. A silver crescent moon is stitched to the right rear hip of Kasa's suit, while a nearly identical one appears on the left side of Kaya. Observant fans note that other than this, it's otherwise nigh-impossible to tell them apart.
Kasa and Kaya Halmoon
One of the many fan-held signs reads, TIME TO PUT COLLUSION ON THE TRAIL OF TEARS!, and that's just what the Sioux siblings intend to do.
Climbing up the steps, the exotic sisters slip between the ropes and shout at the crowd to increase the volume of their cacophony. It's a rare day indeed when Kaya and Kasa find themselves actually cheered by the idiots in the seats...but then, any team would be hard-pressed to be less popular with the fans than the newly-minted FAWN tag titleholders are.
To have to deport two Swedes from the FAWN tag title picture was one thing, as Collusion had done at Cold November Pain with the Bikini Team, but now forced to fight two so-called Native Americans?
Frankly, Polly Lockwood couldn’t understand. Sure. The Halfmoons weren’t as syrupy, sickeningly sweet as the Bloodwinds, but tonight’s foes had been born on a reservation and thus weren’t really Americans at all. She fidgets backstage next to the Red Menace, ready to once again prove herself the True American, the irony of a Putinista being employed to assure the world of this totally lost on Lockwood.
The arena’s speakers spark to life with the pounding of “America, Fuck Yeah” from Team America World Police, the crowd is brought to life as with shock therapy.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7R5A0pg4oN8 )
Blue America’s least favorite, little blonde antagonist strides to center stage. Beside her is the woman she’d introduced to the big time and who now stands with her as a champion, Kira Koslova. The Fox&Friendly blonde and her Russian redhead lord over the proletariat, golden championships slung over a shoulder.
Polly Lockwood
Kira Koslova
Each woman raises her trophy high and the increasing number of ‘Polly Patriots’ rise in delight, the Star Spangled Bytch collecting more of Trump’s base with each successive victory. Still in the significant minority, the Patriots salute their leader, her partner and their anthem. The far from silent majority make themselves known in completely different fashion, raining a cascade of boos toward the obnoxious Trumpeter and her Russian ruffian.
The flaxen-haired hardbody brings a crisp salute to her brow to signal her troops then lets the liberal snowflakes know what she thinks of them by fashioning the knife-edge into a salute of the middle finger variety.
The True American is in her own brand of battle fatigues, Polly proudly sporting her customary hot pants and bikini top. Lockwood alternates her country’s colors between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in the appropriate spots; and shimmering red and white-striped spandex below, the space age polymer barely covering her biscuit butt. She finishes the ensemble with gleaming white pads and boots.
Lockwood sports her customary cape, Old Glory draped over her shoulders.
She turns and accepts her new partner in a literal Russian bear hug. As the crowd’s jeers rise in volume, the duo separate and start down the ramp to defend their titles.
Kira throws off a full length grey fur coat and white wool hat to reveal a simple red one piece, with one unusual aspect — a cutout pattern displaying a portion of Kira’s tanned, toned abdomen in the form of a hammer and sickle, Koslova embracing her dictatorial roots even more forcefully than her hero, President Vlad. White pads and boots, the footwear with red hammer-and-sickles, complete the rookie’s attire.
Arm in arm, the international team march confidently to the ring, Polly occasionally jawing with the fans who’ve watched too much fake news and saluting those with enough common sense to understand she’s the best this country and thus the world has ever produced. Koslova is a picture of former Soviet stoicism, ignoring the hate emanating from the FAWNatics, steering clear of them altogether as she tramps to the squared circle.
Reaching the ring, Lockwood is energized next to her powerful ally, bouncing with nervous energy as she shouts threats at the Halfmoons. The Russian leads her teammate up the steps as the announcer makes their introduction official.
“And their opponents...hailing from Buffalo, New York and St. Petersburg, Russia, respectively, at a combined weight of two hundred and forty pounds…the FAWN tag team champions…Polly Lockwood and Kira Koslova, together they commit COLLUSION!”
Tonight, Koslova sits on the middle cable and pushes the top upward to make room for her fellow colluder. Polly dives through the opening, landing in a somersault, the momentum of which she uses to pop to her feet. Kira swings her legs through, climbs off the middle rope and strides to the Pernicious Patriot in less dramatic fashion.
Kira hands a microphone to Polly then relieves Lockwood of her banner/cape, neatly folding the Stars-n-Stripes and placing it in Collusion’s corner.
“Have you losers learned!” Polly shouts.
Apparently they’ve not, as the volume from the crowd proves Lockwood wouldn’t win the popular vote.
“When I said I wanted a challenge and that could only come from the U S of A, I didn’t mean that!”
Lockwood motions to the War Party in not so generous terms. From behind, Kira relieves her partner of tag gold and stacks it on her own, walking the titles to a FAWN attendant for safekeeping.
“But if you want to see how a True American responds when she’s been denied what she rightfully deserves,” Polly continues. “Watch what happens to these two very carefully.”
With Koslova back and massaging Polly’s shoulders, Collusion backpedals to their corner, Kira stepping through the ropes to leave the Star Spangled Bytch to open the warfare.
After a brief discussion between the Native Americans, it’s Kaya remaining in the ring to face off against the U.S. Circuit Court judge nominee as the bell brings the match to order. Each woman moves to the middle and, despite the approximately half-foot the little blonde hardbody gives up to the Sioux warrior, Lockwood chest bumps her rival in Kaya’s bronzed midriff. Halfmoon is moved maybe a half-step, looking down with the annoyance she might have from a mosquito bite.
She fashions a knife-edge and pivots to craaack it across Polly’s declotege, but the True American uses her lack of verticality to duck under the swipe and wrap her arms around the challenger’s thighs, dipping the limbs just under the curve of Kaya’s glutes. With the considerable strength packed into the short but solid frame of the Star Spangled Bytch, Lockwood lifts the wide-eyed War Partier then genuflects, splitting Kaya’s wicket with a modified, supercharged Inverted Atomic Drop.
Her crotch crashing against the plank of Lockwood’s upper leg, Kaya hops into the air, hands burying between her thighs when she lands, dark eyes slits from the pain coursing from her kitty.
Polly piefaces the frozen Halfmoon with her right palm, Kaya unable to respond with anything more than a throaty groan.
“I know how devious you two are,” Polly chuckles. “But like a True American, I’m always prepared. Now I’ll recognize you from your sister by your waddle. And just to make sure…”
Polly kicks the inner calf of Kaya’s legs one after the other to widen her foe’s stance then brings her right leg back like a pendulum to punt pussy to make the shuffle more pronounced. But a growling Kaya grits through the pain enough to pull her hands from her privates and catch Lockwood’s leg around the ankle before her boot reaches the target. Kaya lifts the blonde’s abbreviated stem high, making the Pernicious Patriot hop on her left to keep her balance.
Not anywhere near feeling like she can take full advantage, Halfmoon has the wherewithal to throw Polly’s captured leg forward and the Fox&Friendly blonde is sent into a set of splits for her landing, Polly shrieking in pain, grasping at her groin when her legs spread wide, forward and back. Lockwood rolls out of her single file and into a mewling ball while Kaya works the throbbing out of her undercarriage with a slow circuit of the ring. Halfmoon finally limps back to Lockwood and sinks a set of nails into Polly’s shoulder-length flaxen strands, pulling the champion to a kneeling position.
Kaya creates a tomahawk out of her right hand, raises it above the penitent Polly, and STRIKES dead center on the forehead of the future Mueller witness. Polly goes limp, settling on her haunches as her baby blues cross, arms falling leaden to her side.
Kaya, still with a handful of golden mane, pulls Lockwood back to a full kneel.
“Bytch, don’t think we’re the Bloodwinds,” Kaya informs. “We fight fire with fire.”
Halfmoon releases her grip long enough to take a step back from her target and swing a scythe-like kick into the Flag-waver’s left temple, sending the blonde toppling to her right hip and shoulder. Kaya grabs a wrist and drags Lockwood cavewoman-style to the War Party corner where Halfmoon tags her twin.
Kasa shoots through the cables quickly. Conspicuously, Kaya remains and both Sioux warriors pull the wobbly Lockwood to her feet. They draw her down the ropes and push her deep into the strands to gather as much momentum as possible before thrusting their foe to the opposite ropes with a double Irish Whip.
Moving to the center, the Halfmoons dip as Polly returns. They catch her around the upper thighs and POP the blonde HIGH into the air, Lockwood flipping over with the combined back body drop to land on her spine. Backbone bruised, Lockwood writhes on the mat, reaching beneath herself to massage her lower vertebrae. With Lockwood distracted, the twins, standing at each of Polly’s sides, timber from their perpendicular positions, one head-butts Polly’s unguarded, tanned tummy from the left, the other from the right.
The stereo collisions send Lockwood gasping and gagging to a seated position where the Halfmoons, now on their knees, backhand a pair of wicked, echoing knife-edge chops into Polly’s chest. Lockwood rolls to her bruised belly and blistered bosom to protect the recent attack points, and while Kaya moves toward her legal station outside the ropes, Kasa mounts Polly when Lockwood reaches all fours.
She laces her fingers and cups them under the blonde’s chin, then YANKS back on Lockwood, testing the neck and back of the Pernicious Patriot. Polly grimaces and groans, but the vertically challenged hardbody still carries her Native rider toward the Collusion corner.
Not wanting the Red Menace to enter and spoil the Party, Kasa rises and drives her backside into the lower spine of the Trumpeter, sending Polly crashing flat to the canvas, face etched in pain. Kasa stares into the crystal blue eyes of the rested Russian.
“Take the night off, Natasha,” Halfmoon bristles. “It’s our manifest destiny to take the gold from this radical right wingslut. Just bad luck yours comes with it.”
Kasa turns her attention back to a rising Polly and Halfmoon helps the blonde up the rest of the way with a tug of her golden mop. But with Lockwood vertical, Polly manages to shoot her palms to Halfmoon’s shoulders and shove the Sioux warrior into the Collusion corner.
Koslova’s right arm wraps around the throat of the Dakota Lakota and keeps Kasa glued in place while a growling Polly lowers a shoulder and GUTS the twin with a spear. Bouncing out of the attack to her foe’s bronzed midriff, the True American leaves it to her Putinista partner to keep Kasa in place while she races to center stage, turns and sprints back to the trapped Native beauty.
Lockwood’s short but powerpacked frame launches form a few feet out. The champ skies into a pretty damn solid splash considering the size advantage Kasa has over the title-holder. Trampolining away from the smooshed Native American grappler, Polly watches as Kira releases her grip and pushes Halfmoon into a drunken stumble that Lockwood meets with a toe kick to the tummy that doubles Kasa at the waist, a sizable exhale escaping from the challenger.
The Star Spangled Bytch collects Kasa in a tight front facelock and immediately lays out, SPIKING Halfmoon’s skull into the deck with a snap DDT sending Kasa flipping to her back and skidding a couple feet across the canvas, ending in a shuddering spreadeagle.
Polly dives into a crossbody pin atop her challenger, hooking a leg and getting the…
ONE…
TWO…
At the last possible moment, Kasa's body spasms with an absolute lack of grace, but with enough power to break the pin. Polly pushes up on her palms and blows a short burst of air to sweep flaxen strands from her forehead. With a wry half-smirk she says, "Just as well. It's so much more fun making bitches squeal their surrender instead."
To accomplish this end, she grabs Halfmoon by the hair and pulls her up to a seated position. Kneeling behind that Native American, the One True American (Self-Declared) applies a Stretch Plum, one knee pressing sharply against Kasa's spine while with her left arm she pulls back the embattled brunette's head. Since her right hand is unemployed at the moment, Lockwood seductively licks her tongue up her palm, then starts to deliver some palm strikes to her opponent's chest, Kasa's red skin turning even redder with every stinging slap.
"Forget about Wounded Knee," the blonde purrs. "I'm gonna bury your ass out back in the dumpster!"
The referee crouches down and starts to ask, "How about it, Kasa...ready to give?"
Halfmoon emits a noise that's half growl and half whine, and gruffly rasps back, "Go to hell!"
Her hands clutch at the arm wrapped tight across her neck, but to no avail. It becomes more and more apparent that, in due time, the challenger will either have to submit or face unconsciousness. It's only a matter of time.
Fortunately for Kasa, patience was never one of Polly's virtues. Swiftly growing bored waiting for her victim to accept the inevitable and give up, Lockwood suddenly releases her hold and Halfmoon puddles to the canvas. She doesn't get to enjoy the respite for long however, as the blonde seeks to MAGA her way to another triumph; once more taking her adversary by her long, raven tresses. Polly hair hauls the Indian back up to her feet. Then her arms move toward wrapping themselves around the waist of Kasa, doubtless in preparation for some manner of lifting maneuver.
But Lockwood's intentions go unrevealed, as Halfmoon suddenly brings her own hands up, grabs her oppressor tightly around the head and pulls her chin down to the brunette's right shoulder. Then Kasa lets gravity do its work, letting herself drop to her derriere, pulling her opponent down with her.
Polly's head snaps back sharply as the impact of deck to derriere runs up Kasa's spine to her shoulder and fully into the Tag Champ's jaw. Lockwood flies backward, flopping to the mat, her eyes glazed as she moans.
The crowd starts to chant "KA-SA! KA-SA! KA-SA!", urging her on as she painfully rolls over to her stomach and begins to drag herself across the canvas with all the haste her battered body can muster...which isn't much.
In her corner, Kira stands silent and stoic as she watches the tableau unfold. Finally Polly stirs and manages to roll over to her hands and knees and on all fours crawls toward her comrade. Halfmoon had the head start toward her salvation, but she has a greater distance to traverse, and as a result it is the Colluder who reaches her partner first. With a quick brush of their fingertips, Koslova fairly explodes through the ropes and rushes toward the challengers' corner.
However, rather than grabbing Kasa to halt her exodus, Kira runs right over her, using the Native American's back as a launching pad (and flattening Halfmoon face-first into the mat in the process) toward the startled Kaya. A fraction of an instant later, the Russian lands a powerful right hook to her target's jawline, sending Kaya flying backward from the ring apron and crashing with a heavy thud to the arena floor, where she lays spreadeagled and glassy-eyes, an absolute non-factor in the match for the foreseeable future.
The Putinista slowly turns to look at Kasa, who’s struggling to push herself up from the canvas. From the opposite side of the ring, the sweat-soaked Polly pants out, "Ruin her!"
Koslova aims to oblige.
The Russian redhead marches to Halfmoon impassively. Though slightly smaller than the Native American by the tale of the tape, she looks larger over a hunched Kasa. Koslova spins her rubber-legged foe in her direction, scooping her left palm under Kasa’s chin to lift the challenger’s head. Kira’s right hand rises, fingers curling into talons she shoots into the face of the Sioux warrior.
Iron claw digging DEEP into cheeks and forehead, the Red Menace uses her left hand to curl behind Halfmoon’s noggin to keep it steady and upright, all the better to dig in her five-fingered set of sickles. Kasa’s stems give a shimmy as her arms flail wildly, upper torso twisting for an escape. The challenger’s palms wrap around the wrist of her tormentor, but Kasa’s unable to pull the hooks free.
Kira backs her foe to the Collusion corner, leaning Kasa deep into the buckles and forcing her braincase back until Halfmoon’s partially covered features are pointed to the rafters.
But while Kasa’s eyes roll white and her lids flutter, she’s also leans against the ropes and the ref starts his count accordingly. The Russian redhead doesn’t wait for it to accumulate, removing her tines immediately then dismissively paintbrushing the Native American beauty’s cheek before doing so with her partner’s palm, bringing the True American back into the match.
Kira leans a forearm under Kasa’s chin, pressing her body in tight so there’s no escape for the flagging Sioux warrior while the Star Spangled Bytch prepares to enter. Feeling safe as a babe behind a huge beautiful border wall along the Rio Grande, Lockwood waves Koslova off. The Putinista nods and exits without so much as a flick of Kasa’s nose. The Fox&Friendly blonde arrives without a care in the world. She sweeps Halfmoon’s legs out from under her, the twin plopping to her caboose, tawny legs extended in front of her, head lolling.
Lockwood pulls a tiny American flag out from the waistband of her shorts and waves it enthusiastically in front of the nose of the Native. Placing the 4-inch ‘flagpole’ in her cleavage, Polly turns and strides to the opposite corner. She slaps the top buckle, taking a moment to glance down on the rising Kaya, then spins into a sprint toward her sister.
Leaping from a few feet out, Polly flies with abbreviated gams extended and SLAMS her undercarriage into Halfmoon’s chest. Grabbing the middle ropes on either side of the post, Polly thrusts herself forward time and time again, busting her Sioux bronco, Kasa sagging further with each battering impact until she’s forcefed Polly’s patriotic crotch with Lockwood’s base booming out ‘EIGHT…NINE…TEN.’
Polly dismounts with the Native beauty nearly horizontal, the back of her head lying on the bottom buckle, the only thing keeping her from that position. Lockwood shakes her head and shrugs.
“This is why they’re on reservations!” she shouts, drawing a chorus of boos from the FAWNatics.
“Really? Too real for you?”
Polly sinks her nails into Kasa’s scalp and pulls her up to a flaccid seat in front of the corner. Mockingly, she folds Halfmoon’s legs Indian-style and jogs back to the far buckles, ready to repeat the process. Kaya’s back in position and takes a frazzled swipe at the True American but comes up empty and the Pernicious Patriot blazes across the canvas, leaps with legs stretched.
Whether through fate or determination, Kasa flops to her shoulder and hip and Polly zooms by, baby blues bulging wide as her target is gone. With nothing to stop her, Lockwood’s legs sail between the top and middle ropes and buckles and her kitty CRUNCHES against the steel ring post.
The crowd reflexively groans in sympathy even though few have any for the Ugly American colluder. Jaw dropping open, Polly’s right hand shoot to her bashed privates, Lockwood sitting on the middle ropes and grabbing the top with her left hand to prevent herself from collapsing into an agonized ball.
A bedraggled Kasa uses the cables to climb to her feet and vault into a clipping kick to Kira’s temple, the Red Menace caught rubbernecking at Polly’s mistake instead of immediately tagging her. Koslova tumbles off the apron, crashing to the floor below. With Kira eliminated from taking the place of the moaning MAGAlicious blonde, Halfmoon staggers to the War Party corner and tags a recovered Kaya. The Sioux warrior clambers through the ropes and races toward Polly’s six, Lockwood still frozen in place. The challenger springs into a dropkick to the base of the colluder’s spine, in turn rocketing Polly’s crotch forward, the tenderized junk again THUMPING into the unforgiving steel rod.
A loud guttural groan escapes Lockwood’s lips and she flops back into a sort of half Tree of Woe, a Bush of Woe?, the blonde hardbody’s stems folded over the middle ropes instead of the top. It suits a genuflecting Kaya fine as she fashions her right hand into a blade and wickedly CROTCHCHOPS the Trumpeter not in a ‘V’ shape but with an edge right to her foe’s patriotic pussy.
Polly howls in pain from the third vicious impact against her sweetspot. She finally tumbles free of the Collusion corner, curling into a whimpering fetal ball, just out of reach of a returning Red Menace.
A beaming Kaya grabs a wrist and pulls the busted blonde to the middle then sets about stomping the champ into a flaxen-haired mudhole. After blasting the champ, Kaya takes a moment to dance around the demolished Polly like a Sioux brave, Lockwood chest and face down and unmoving.
Settling in a reverse-facing seat atop Polly’s bubble butt, Kaya places her left boot between the thighs of the future Circuit Court of Appeals jurist and folds Lockwood’s lower limbs around Halfmoon’s posted stem. With the legs locked, Kaya reaches behind her and plucks a strap of Polly’s star-spangled top, pulling it back to raise the weathered champion upper half.
With Polly properly situated, Kaya lays out, brutally testing Lockwood’s lower limbs, once, twice, thrice. Finally, Halfmoon leans back atop Lockwood, snatches up the yelping Polly’s arms, one by one, then arm bars each, completely capturing the title holder in an inescapable Indian Deathlock.
Indian Deathlock Combo (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTIgMTVCKTw )
“Ask her,” the Native American grappler demands. “Let’s find out of those colors run!”
Lockwood doesn't even wait for the ref to put the question to her before she starts to say "NUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH" in a voice that's part wailing, part blubbering. Kaya merely smiles and tugs tighter on the quivering limbs in her grasp, confident that a red, white and bruised submission was just around the bend.
Astonishingly however, despite her obvious anguish, Polly demonstrates that the hours she puts in the gym, staring at Fox News while working out, paid off. Her taut, muscular body defies the near-blinding pain being inflicted upon it. Clearly, she can't hold out forever, but now it becomes a race to see who can outlast the other, and with neither Halfmoon known for possessing the virtue of patience, it perhaps comes as little surprise that Kaya, growing bored waiting for her inevitable victory, elects to release the hold and find another way to get it through the blonde's thick skull that she's lost.
Climbing up off of her opponent, Kaya gets to her feet. After a quick little stomp to the small of Lockwood's back, which elicits a sharp "YEEP!" from the face-down blonde, the Native American warrior bends down to grab Polly by the tangled, damp mop that is her hair, and begins to haul her back to her boots.
Perhaps it's the sudden sharp pain to her scalp, or maybe it's the silent disapproving glare of her Kremlin comrade, but the Fox & Friendly blonde suddenly roars to life, swinging her left arm up as she's pulled upright, the limb striking hard and true squarely between the Sioux siren's thighs. Halfmoon's eyes go wide as saucers, and now it's her turn to make a pained squeal. Kaya stumbles backward knock-kneed, her hands clutching her womanhood as she bites her lower lip against the throbbing agony. Polly drops to her knees and, heeding the snarled command of "Tag!" from her partner, she scampers on all fours over to her corner. A slap of hands, and in a heartbeat Koslova bursts through the ropes and rushes toward the still-staggered Native American. As she nears her target, Kira leaps up, her bent knee drilling hard into the side of Kaya's skull, dropping her like a sack of potatoes to the canvas.
"Now," the sultry Soviet menacingly purrs, "I show you what true war dance is."
Kira proceeds to stomp every open bit of Halfmoon’s frame, Kaya collapsing into a ball to protect herself as best she can. Her right shoulder, ribs and thigh pay the price as the Red Menace waltzes all over the challenger, leaving her foe a battered beauty.
Snatching Kaya’s ebony locks, Koslova pulls Halfmoon to her feet, the Sioux warrior stooped and mewling. With one set of fingers till buried in the challenger’s locks, the Russian charges to the ropes at her foe’s side. Kira hops to the middle ropes then springboards back toward the middle of the ring. She lands on her knees, ECLIPSING Halfmoon’s mug into the thinly-sheathed plywood. Kaya’s head ricochets off the mat, Halfmoon flopping to her back. The challenger ends in a wide starfish, staring bleary-eyed at the rafters above.
Springboard Facebuster (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9Fm2mN_Nzw )
Having recovered enough to kneel on the sidelines, Lockwood hoarsely shouts from the Collusion corner.
“Hey. Look. It’s Chief Spreadeagle!”
The FAWNatics mostly groan, though a few of the Polly Patriots chuckle at the lack of witticism.
Still not ready to reenter, even with Kaya in dire straits, Lockwood encourages the Putinista to bring this defense home. Kira nods but doesn’t go for the pin. Instead, she drags the beleaguered Native American back to her feet, Halfmoon wobbling as Koslova secures a side headlock around the long, straight ebony strands. She races toward the War Party’s corner with Kaya in tow.
Within a few feet, Polly’s fellow colluder shoots her boots between the middle and upper ropes with a dropkick toward the side Kasa inhabits, while simultaneously POUNDING Kaya’s forehead into the middle buckle with an outrageous turnbuckle bulldog.
Turnbuckle bulldog (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RhIIQ65-QFU )
The planned portion of the maneuver is perfection, Kaya’s noggin snapping back from the collision, the challenger on the mat moaning and barely aware. The improvised dropkick to Kasa isn’t as successful for the Red Menace. The nimble Native avoids the boots with a fall to the floor. With Koslova still as much out of the ring as in, Kasa snatches the ankles of the Russian, pulls her toward the crowd then DROPS to her knees, HOTSHOTTING the champ into the lower side of the top cable, Kira’s throat gouged by the rubber-coated steel.
Baby blues bulging and grasping at her reddened neck, Kira’s yanked to the floor by Kasa where the two end in a jumble on the thinly padded cement.
The ref slips through the ropes, remaining on the apron. He stares down at Halfmoon and her prize catch of red herring, Kasa up to her knees and glaring menacingly into the crystal pools of the choking Russian. She fashions a knife-edge out of her right hand and raises it high, bringing it down in a tomahawk chop right between the eyes of the champion. Kira’s head rockets back and when it returns, eyes are rolling white, braincase lolling.
“Our land and our titles,” Kasa informs sternly. “Now and forever.”
Forever doesn’t last long as Halfmoon would like. Polly brushes by the irritable ref’s shoulder and dives from the apron with a Shining Wizard of a right shin to Kasa’s left temple, turning out the light of the Halfmoon, Kasa flopping face first atop the dazed Russian.
The Fox&Friendly blonde peels the Sioux warrior off her partner but doesn’t have time to do more than toss her to the side. The Star Spangled Bytch clambers to the apron, facing inside the ring, grabs the top ropes with both hands, and launches as a staggering, bewildered Kaya turns toward her.
Polly’s boot soles land precariously on the uppermost cable and the flaxen-haired hardbody springboards toward her target. Reaching Kaya, she deftly pulls the Native American into a front facelock before she touches ground and throws her weight back, laying out and SPIKING Kaya’s skull into the deck like a lawn dart, courtesy her Polly Rocket.
Polly Rocket (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I )
The red glare is everywhere for the demolished Halfmoon, Kaya somersaulting through the impact and sliding to a stop, utterly unconscious from Lockwood’s famous finisher.
Before the entering official can open his mouth to let Lockwood know she can’t make the pin, the True American is sliding out under the ropes and scooping Kira up from behind, her arms under the Russian’s. It’s far from easy as the Rooskie is mostly deadweight, but the determined ‘patriot’ gets her partner up and STUFFS her back in.
The sight of a splayed Halfmoon seems to warm the St. Petersburg native to the task and she slowly crawls to the shattered challenger, finally throwing her alabaster body atop the tawny-skinned warrior in a lateral press for the academic…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!!!
As Kasa reaches her all fours on the outside, a lurking Polly punts her in the chin, sending the Sioux to sleep much as her sister is in the ring. Lockwood turns away from the wreckage under a cascade of boos and demands the titles. A flunky arrives post haste with the symbols of tag dominance and a microphone. Lockwood snatches all three then rolls in under the bottom rope and works to her feet.
Polly reaches the scene of the crime and Kira uses the tanned stems of her partner to drag up to her haunches beside the snoozing Sioux. Koslova swipes some tangled auburn locks off her forehead and takes an offered hand from Lockwood, the Trumpeter tugging her gassed ally to vertical. Polly hands over a share of the gold to the Red Menace then raises her partner’s near hand high to the reverberating jeers of the significant majority. She draws the microphone to her sneering lips.
“WE! KIRA AND I ARE WHAT MAKES FAWN GREAT AND AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!”
Both women raise their gold.
“IMPEACH THAT MOTHERFUCKERS!”
The excited buzz among the fans grew to almost palpable levels when, at last, the house lights dim, and Winterhawk's “Fight” blares through the speakers.
"Introducing first the challengers," the announcer brays. "From the Standing Rock Reservation in North Dakota, and weighing a combined weight of two-hundred and forty pounds, they are Kasa and Kaya Halfmoon...the WAAAAAAAAAAAAR PAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRTYYYY!"
Tearing open the curtain, the Halfmoons march down the long aisle to the ring, each garbed in matching black one-pieces and dark red boots. A silver crescent moon is stitched to the right rear hip of Kasa's suit, while a nearly identical one appears on the left side of Kaya. Observant fans note that other than this, it's otherwise nigh-impossible to tell them apart.
Kasa and Kaya Halmoon
One of the many fan-held signs reads, TIME TO PUT COLLUSION ON THE TRAIL OF TEARS!, and that's just what the Sioux siblings intend to do.
Climbing up the steps, the exotic sisters slip between the ropes and shout at the crowd to increase the volume of their cacophony. It's a rare day indeed when Kaya and Kasa find themselves actually cheered by the idiots in the seats...but then, any team would be hard-pressed to be less popular with the fans than the newly-minted FAWN tag titleholders are.
To have to deport two Swedes from the FAWN tag title picture was one thing, as Collusion had done at Cold November Pain with the Bikini Team, but now forced to fight two so-called Native Americans?
Frankly, Polly Lockwood couldn’t understand. Sure. The Halfmoons weren’t as syrupy, sickeningly sweet as the Bloodwinds, but tonight’s foes had been born on a reservation and thus weren’t really Americans at all. She fidgets backstage next to the Red Menace, ready to once again prove herself the True American, the irony of a Putinista being employed to assure the world of this totally lost on Lockwood.
The arena’s speakers spark to life with the pounding of “America, Fuck Yeah” from Team America World Police, the crowd is brought to life as with shock therapy.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7R5A0pg4oN8 )
Blue America’s least favorite, little blonde antagonist strides to center stage. Beside her is the woman she’d introduced to the big time and who now stands with her as a champion, Kira Koslova. The Fox&Friendly blonde and her Russian redhead lord over the proletariat, golden championships slung over a shoulder.
Polly Lockwood
Kira Koslova
Each woman raises her trophy high and the increasing number of ‘Polly Patriots’ rise in delight, the Star Spangled Bytch collecting more of Trump’s base with each successive victory. Still in the significant minority, the Patriots salute their leader, her partner and their anthem. The far from silent majority make themselves known in completely different fashion, raining a cascade of boos toward the obnoxious Trumpeter and her Russian ruffian.
The flaxen-haired hardbody brings a crisp salute to her brow to signal her troops then lets the liberal snowflakes know what she thinks of them by fashioning the knife-edge into a salute of the middle finger variety.
The True American is in her own brand of battle fatigues, Polly proudly sporting her customary hot pants and bikini top. Lockwood alternates her country’s colors between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in the appropriate spots; and shimmering red and white-striped spandex below, the space age polymer barely covering her biscuit butt. She finishes the ensemble with gleaming white pads and boots.
Lockwood sports her customary cape, Old Glory draped over her shoulders.
She turns and accepts her new partner in a literal Russian bear hug. As the crowd’s jeers rise in volume, the duo separate and start down the ramp to defend their titles.
Kira throws off a full length grey fur coat and white wool hat to reveal a simple red one piece, with one unusual aspect — a cutout pattern displaying a portion of Kira’s tanned, toned abdomen in the form of a hammer and sickle, Koslova embracing her dictatorial roots even more forcefully than her hero, President Vlad. White pads and boots, the footwear with red hammer-and-sickles, complete the rookie’s attire.
Arm in arm, the international team march confidently to the ring, Polly occasionally jawing with the fans who’ve watched too much fake news and saluting those with enough common sense to understand she’s the best this country and thus the world has ever produced. Koslova is a picture of former Soviet stoicism, ignoring the hate emanating from the FAWNatics, steering clear of them altogether as she tramps to the squared circle.
Reaching the ring, Lockwood is energized next to her powerful ally, bouncing with nervous energy as she shouts threats at the Halfmoons. The Russian leads her teammate up the steps as the announcer makes their introduction official.
“And their opponents...hailing from Buffalo, New York and St. Petersburg, Russia, respectively, at a combined weight of two hundred and forty pounds…the FAWN tag team champions…Polly Lockwood and Kira Koslova, together they commit COLLUSION!”
Tonight, Koslova sits on the middle cable and pushes the top upward to make room for her fellow colluder. Polly dives through the opening, landing in a somersault, the momentum of which she uses to pop to her feet. Kira swings her legs through, climbs off the middle rope and strides to the Pernicious Patriot in less dramatic fashion.
Kira hands a microphone to Polly then relieves Lockwood of her banner/cape, neatly folding the Stars-n-Stripes and placing it in Collusion’s corner.
“Have you losers learned!” Polly shouts.
Apparently they’ve not, as the volume from the crowd proves Lockwood wouldn’t win the popular vote.
“When I said I wanted a challenge and that could only come from the U S of A, I didn’t mean that!”
Lockwood motions to the War Party in not so generous terms. From behind, Kira relieves her partner of tag gold and stacks it on her own, walking the titles to a FAWN attendant for safekeeping.
“But if you want to see how a True American responds when she’s been denied what she rightfully deserves,” Polly continues. “Watch what happens to these two very carefully.”
With Koslova back and massaging Polly’s shoulders, Collusion backpedals to their corner, Kira stepping through the ropes to leave the Star Spangled Bytch to open the warfare.
After a brief discussion between the Native Americans, it’s Kaya remaining in the ring to face off against the U.S. Circuit Court judge nominee as the bell brings the match to order. Each woman moves to the middle and, despite the approximately half-foot the little blonde hardbody gives up to the Sioux warrior, Lockwood chest bumps her rival in Kaya’s bronzed midriff. Halfmoon is moved maybe a half-step, looking down with the annoyance she might have from a mosquito bite.
She fashions a knife-edge and pivots to craaack it across Polly’s declotege, but the True American uses her lack of verticality to duck under the swipe and wrap her arms around the challenger’s thighs, dipping the limbs just under the curve of Kaya’s glutes. With the considerable strength packed into the short but solid frame of the Star Spangled Bytch, Lockwood lifts the wide-eyed War Partier then genuflects, splitting Kaya’s wicket with a modified, supercharged Inverted Atomic Drop.
Her crotch crashing against the plank of Lockwood’s upper leg, Kaya hops into the air, hands burying between her thighs when she lands, dark eyes slits from the pain coursing from her kitty.
Polly piefaces the frozen Halfmoon with her right palm, Kaya unable to respond with anything more than a throaty groan.
“I know how devious you two are,” Polly chuckles. “But like a True American, I’m always prepared. Now I’ll recognize you from your sister by your waddle. And just to make sure…”
Polly kicks the inner calf of Kaya’s legs one after the other to widen her foe’s stance then brings her right leg back like a pendulum to punt pussy to make the shuffle more pronounced. But a growling Kaya grits through the pain enough to pull her hands from her privates and catch Lockwood’s leg around the ankle before her boot reaches the target. Kaya lifts the blonde’s abbreviated stem high, making the Pernicious Patriot hop on her left to keep her balance.
Not anywhere near feeling like she can take full advantage, Halfmoon has the wherewithal to throw Polly’s captured leg forward and the Fox&Friendly blonde is sent into a set of splits for her landing, Polly shrieking in pain, grasping at her groin when her legs spread wide, forward and back. Lockwood rolls out of her single file and into a mewling ball while Kaya works the throbbing out of her undercarriage with a slow circuit of the ring. Halfmoon finally limps back to Lockwood and sinks a set of nails into Polly’s shoulder-length flaxen strands, pulling the champion to a kneeling position.
Kaya creates a tomahawk out of her right hand, raises it above the penitent Polly, and STRIKES dead center on the forehead of the future Mueller witness. Polly goes limp, settling on her haunches as her baby blues cross, arms falling leaden to her side.
Kaya, still with a handful of golden mane, pulls Lockwood back to a full kneel.
“Bytch, don’t think we’re the Bloodwinds,” Kaya informs. “We fight fire with fire.”
Halfmoon releases her grip long enough to take a step back from her target and swing a scythe-like kick into the Flag-waver’s left temple, sending the blonde toppling to her right hip and shoulder. Kaya grabs a wrist and drags Lockwood cavewoman-style to the War Party corner where Halfmoon tags her twin.
Kasa shoots through the cables quickly. Conspicuously, Kaya remains and both Sioux warriors pull the wobbly Lockwood to her feet. They draw her down the ropes and push her deep into the strands to gather as much momentum as possible before thrusting their foe to the opposite ropes with a double Irish Whip.
Moving to the center, the Halfmoons dip as Polly returns. They catch her around the upper thighs and POP the blonde HIGH into the air, Lockwood flipping over with the combined back body drop to land on her spine. Backbone bruised, Lockwood writhes on the mat, reaching beneath herself to massage her lower vertebrae. With Lockwood distracted, the twins, standing at each of Polly’s sides, timber from their perpendicular positions, one head-butts Polly’s unguarded, tanned tummy from the left, the other from the right.
The stereo collisions send Lockwood gasping and gagging to a seated position where the Halfmoons, now on their knees, backhand a pair of wicked, echoing knife-edge chops into Polly’s chest. Lockwood rolls to her bruised belly and blistered bosom to protect the recent attack points, and while Kaya moves toward her legal station outside the ropes, Kasa mounts Polly when Lockwood reaches all fours.
She laces her fingers and cups them under the blonde’s chin, then YANKS back on Lockwood, testing the neck and back of the Pernicious Patriot. Polly grimaces and groans, but the vertically challenged hardbody still carries her Native rider toward the Collusion corner.
Not wanting the Red Menace to enter and spoil the Party, Kasa rises and drives her backside into the lower spine of the Trumpeter, sending Polly crashing flat to the canvas, face etched in pain. Kasa stares into the crystal blue eyes of the rested Russian.
“Take the night off, Natasha,” Halfmoon bristles. “It’s our manifest destiny to take the gold from this radical right wingslut. Just bad luck yours comes with it.”
Kasa turns her attention back to a rising Polly and Halfmoon helps the blonde up the rest of the way with a tug of her golden mop. But with Lockwood vertical, Polly manages to shoot her palms to Halfmoon’s shoulders and shove the Sioux warrior into the Collusion corner.
Koslova’s right arm wraps around the throat of the Dakota Lakota and keeps Kasa glued in place while a growling Polly lowers a shoulder and GUTS the twin with a spear. Bouncing out of the attack to her foe’s bronzed midriff, the True American leaves it to her Putinista partner to keep Kasa in place while she races to center stage, turns and sprints back to the trapped Native beauty.
Lockwood’s short but powerpacked frame launches form a few feet out. The champ skies into a pretty damn solid splash considering the size advantage Kasa has over the title-holder. Trampolining away from the smooshed Native American grappler, Polly watches as Kira releases her grip and pushes Halfmoon into a drunken stumble that Lockwood meets with a toe kick to the tummy that doubles Kasa at the waist, a sizable exhale escaping from the challenger.
The Star Spangled Bytch collects Kasa in a tight front facelock and immediately lays out, SPIKING Halfmoon’s skull into the deck with a snap DDT sending Kasa flipping to her back and skidding a couple feet across the canvas, ending in a shuddering spreadeagle.
Polly dives into a crossbody pin atop her challenger, hooking a leg and getting the…
ONE…
TWO…
At the last possible moment, Kasa's body spasms with an absolute lack of grace, but with enough power to break the pin. Polly pushes up on her palms and blows a short burst of air to sweep flaxen strands from her forehead. With a wry half-smirk she says, "Just as well. It's so much more fun making bitches squeal their surrender instead."
To accomplish this end, she grabs Halfmoon by the hair and pulls her up to a seated position. Kneeling behind that Native American, the One True American (Self-Declared) applies a Stretch Plum, one knee pressing sharply against Kasa's spine while with her left arm she pulls back the embattled brunette's head. Since her right hand is unemployed at the moment, Lockwood seductively licks her tongue up her palm, then starts to deliver some palm strikes to her opponent's chest, Kasa's red skin turning even redder with every stinging slap.
"Forget about Wounded Knee," the blonde purrs. "I'm gonna bury your ass out back in the dumpster!"
The referee crouches down and starts to ask, "How about it, Kasa...ready to give?"
Halfmoon emits a noise that's half growl and half whine, and gruffly rasps back, "Go to hell!"
Her hands clutch at the arm wrapped tight across her neck, but to no avail. It becomes more and more apparent that, in due time, the challenger will either have to submit or face unconsciousness. It's only a matter of time.
Fortunately for Kasa, patience was never one of Polly's virtues. Swiftly growing bored waiting for her victim to accept the inevitable and give up, Lockwood suddenly releases her hold and Halfmoon puddles to the canvas. She doesn't get to enjoy the respite for long however, as the blonde seeks to MAGA her way to another triumph; once more taking her adversary by her long, raven tresses. Polly hair hauls the Indian back up to her feet. Then her arms move toward wrapping themselves around the waist of Kasa, doubtless in preparation for some manner of lifting maneuver.
But Lockwood's intentions go unrevealed, as Halfmoon suddenly brings her own hands up, grabs her oppressor tightly around the head and pulls her chin down to the brunette's right shoulder. Then Kasa lets gravity do its work, letting herself drop to her derriere, pulling her opponent down with her.
Polly's head snaps back sharply as the impact of deck to derriere runs up Kasa's spine to her shoulder and fully into the Tag Champ's jaw. Lockwood flies backward, flopping to the mat, her eyes glazed as she moans.
The crowd starts to chant "KA-SA! KA-SA! KA-SA!", urging her on as she painfully rolls over to her stomach and begins to drag herself across the canvas with all the haste her battered body can muster...which isn't much.
In her corner, Kira stands silent and stoic as she watches the tableau unfold. Finally Polly stirs and manages to roll over to her hands and knees and on all fours crawls toward her comrade. Halfmoon had the head start toward her salvation, but she has a greater distance to traverse, and as a result it is the Colluder who reaches her partner first. With a quick brush of their fingertips, Koslova fairly explodes through the ropes and rushes toward the challengers' corner.
However, rather than grabbing Kasa to halt her exodus, Kira runs right over her, using the Native American's back as a launching pad (and flattening Halfmoon face-first into the mat in the process) toward the startled Kaya. A fraction of an instant later, the Russian lands a powerful right hook to her target's jawline, sending Kaya flying backward from the ring apron and crashing with a heavy thud to the arena floor, where she lays spreadeagled and glassy-eyes, an absolute non-factor in the match for the foreseeable future.
The Putinista slowly turns to look at Kasa, who’s struggling to push herself up from the canvas. From the opposite side of the ring, the sweat-soaked Polly pants out, "Ruin her!"
Koslova aims to oblige.
The Russian redhead marches to Halfmoon impassively. Though slightly smaller than the Native American by the tale of the tape, she looks larger over a hunched Kasa. Koslova spins her rubber-legged foe in her direction, scooping her left palm under Kasa’s chin to lift the challenger’s head. Kira’s right hand rises, fingers curling into talons she shoots into the face of the Sioux warrior.
Iron claw digging DEEP into cheeks and forehead, the Red Menace uses her left hand to curl behind Halfmoon’s noggin to keep it steady and upright, all the better to dig in her five-fingered set of sickles. Kasa’s stems give a shimmy as her arms flail wildly, upper torso twisting for an escape. The challenger’s palms wrap around the wrist of her tormentor, but Kasa’s unable to pull the hooks free.
Kira backs her foe to the Collusion corner, leaning Kasa deep into the buckles and forcing her braincase back until Halfmoon’s partially covered features are pointed to the rafters.
But while Kasa’s eyes roll white and her lids flutter, she’s also leans against the ropes and the ref starts his count accordingly. The Russian redhead doesn’t wait for it to accumulate, removing her tines immediately then dismissively paintbrushing the Native American beauty’s cheek before doing so with her partner’s palm, bringing the True American back into the match.
Kira leans a forearm under Kasa’s chin, pressing her body in tight so there’s no escape for the flagging Sioux warrior while the Star Spangled Bytch prepares to enter. Feeling safe as a babe behind a huge beautiful border wall along the Rio Grande, Lockwood waves Koslova off. The Putinista nods and exits without so much as a flick of Kasa’s nose. The Fox&Friendly blonde arrives without a care in the world. She sweeps Halfmoon’s legs out from under her, the twin plopping to her caboose, tawny legs extended in front of her, head lolling.
Lockwood pulls a tiny American flag out from the waistband of her shorts and waves it enthusiastically in front of the nose of the Native. Placing the 4-inch ‘flagpole’ in her cleavage, Polly turns and strides to the opposite corner. She slaps the top buckle, taking a moment to glance down on the rising Kaya, then spins into a sprint toward her sister.
Leaping from a few feet out, Polly flies with abbreviated gams extended and SLAMS her undercarriage into Halfmoon’s chest. Grabbing the middle ropes on either side of the post, Polly thrusts herself forward time and time again, busting her Sioux bronco, Kasa sagging further with each battering impact until she’s forcefed Polly’s patriotic crotch with Lockwood’s base booming out ‘EIGHT…NINE…TEN.’
Polly dismounts with the Native beauty nearly horizontal, the back of her head lying on the bottom buckle, the only thing keeping her from that position. Lockwood shakes her head and shrugs.
“This is why they’re on reservations!” she shouts, drawing a chorus of boos from the FAWNatics.
“Really? Too real for you?”
Polly sinks her nails into Kasa’s scalp and pulls her up to a flaccid seat in front of the corner. Mockingly, she folds Halfmoon’s legs Indian-style and jogs back to the far buckles, ready to repeat the process. Kaya’s back in position and takes a frazzled swipe at the True American but comes up empty and the Pernicious Patriot blazes across the canvas, leaps with legs stretched.
Whether through fate or determination, Kasa flops to her shoulder and hip and Polly zooms by, baby blues bulging wide as her target is gone. With nothing to stop her, Lockwood’s legs sail between the top and middle ropes and buckles and her kitty CRUNCHES against the steel ring post.
The crowd reflexively groans in sympathy even though few have any for the Ugly American colluder. Jaw dropping open, Polly’s right hand shoot to her bashed privates, Lockwood sitting on the middle ropes and grabbing the top with her left hand to prevent herself from collapsing into an agonized ball.
A bedraggled Kasa uses the cables to climb to her feet and vault into a clipping kick to Kira’s temple, the Red Menace caught rubbernecking at Polly’s mistake instead of immediately tagging her. Koslova tumbles off the apron, crashing to the floor below. With Kira eliminated from taking the place of the moaning MAGAlicious blonde, Halfmoon staggers to the War Party corner and tags a recovered Kaya. The Sioux warrior clambers through the ropes and races toward Polly’s six, Lockwood still frozen in place. The challenger springs into a dropkick to the base of the colluder’s spine, in turn rocketing Polly’s crotch forward, the tenderized junk again THUMPING into the unforgiving steel rod.
A loud guttural groan escapes Lockwood’s lips and she flops back into a sort of half Tree of Woe, a Bush of Woe?, the blonde hardbody’s stems folded over the middle ropes instead of the top. It suits a genuflecting Kaya fine as she fashions her right hand into a blade and wickedly CROTCHCHOPS the Trumpeter not in a ‘V’ shape but with an edge right to her foe’s patriotic pussy.
Polly howls in pain from the third vicious impact against her sweetspot. She finally tumbles free of the Collusion corner, curling into a whimpering fetal ball, just out of reach of a returning Red Menace.
A beaming Kaya grabs a wrist and pulls the busted blonde to the middle then sets about stomping the champ into a flaxen-haired mudhole. After blasting the champ, Kaya takes a moment to dance around the demolished Polly like a Sioux brave, Lockwood chest and face down and unmoving.
Settling in a reverse-facing seat atop Polly’s bubble butt, Kaya places her left boot between the thighs of the future Circuit Court of Appeals jurist and folds Lockwood’s lower limbs around Halfmoon’s posted stem. With the legs locked, Kaya reaches behind her and plucks a strap of Polly’s star-spangled top, pulling it back to raise the weathered champion upper half.
With Polly properly situated, Kaya lays out, brutally testing Lockwood’s lower limbs, once, twice, thrice. Finally, Halfmoon leans back atop Lockwood, snatches up the yelping Polly’s arms, one by one, then arm bars each, completely capturing the title holder in an inescapable Indian Deathlock.
Indian Deathlock Combo (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTIgMTVCKTw )
“Ask her,” the Native American grappler demands. “Let’s find out of those colors run!”
Lockwood doesn't even wait for the ref to put the question to her before she starts to say "NUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH" in a voice that's part wailing, part blubbering. Kaya merely smiles and tugs tighter on the quivering limbs in her grasp, confident that a red, white and bruised submission was just around the bend.
Astonishingly however, despite her obvious anguish, Polly demonstrates that the hours she puts in the gym, staring at Fox News while working out, paid off. Her taut, muscular body defies the near-blinding pain being inflicted upon it. Clearly, she can't hold out forever, but now it becomes a race to see who can outlast the other, and with neither Halfmoon known for possessing the virtue of patience, it perhaps comes as little surprise that Kaya, growing bored waiting for her inevitable victory, elects to release the hold and find another way to get it through the blonde's thick skull that she's lost.
Climbing up off of her opponent, Kaya gets to her feet. After a quick little stomp to the small of Lockwood's back, which elicits a sharp "YEEP!" from the face-down blonde, the Native American warrior bends down to grab Polly by the tangled, damp mop that is her hair, and begins to haul her back to her boots.
Perhaps it's the sudden sharp pain to her scalp, or maybe it's the silent disapproving glare of her Kremlin comrade, but the Fox & Friendly blonde suddenly roars to life, swinging her left arm up as she's pulled upright, the limb striking hard and true squarely between the Sioux siren's thighs. Halfmoon's eyes go wide as saucers, and now it's her turn to make a pained squeal. Kaya stumbles backward knock-kneed, her hands clutching her womanhood as she bites her lower lip against the throbbing agony. Polly drops to her knees and, heeding the snarled command of "Tag!" from her partner, she scampers on all fours over to her corner. A slap of hands, and in a heartbeat Koslova bursts through the ropes and rushes toward the still-staggered Native American. As she nears her target, Kira leaps up, her bent knee drilling hard into the side of Kaya's skull, dropping her like a sack of potatoes to the canvas.
"Now," the sultry Soviet menacingly purrs, "I show you what true war dance is."
Kira proceeds to stomp every open bit of Halfmoon’s frame, Kaya collapsing into a ball to protect herself as best she can. Her right shoulder, ribs and thigh pay the price as the Red Menace waltzes all over the challenger, leaving her foe a battered beauty.
Snatching Kaya’s ebony locks, Koslova pulls Halfmoon to her feet, the Sioux warrior stooped and mewling. With one set of fingers till buried in the challenger’s locks, the Russian charges to the ropes at her foe’s side. Kira hops to the middle ropes then springboards back toward the middle of the ring. She lands on her knees, ECLIPSING Halfmoon’s mug into the thinly-sheathed plywood. Kaya’s head ricochets off the mat, Halfmoon flopping to her back. The challenger ends in a wide starfish, staring bleary-eyed at the rafters above.
Springboard Facebuster (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9Fm2mN_Nzw )
Having recovered enough to kneel on the sidelines, Lockwood hoarsely shouts from the Collusion corner.
“Hey. Look. It’s Chief Spreadeagle!”
The FAWNatics mostly groan, though a few of the Polly Patriots chuckle at the lack of witticism.
Still not ready to reenter, even with Kaya in dire straits, Lockwood encourages the Putinista to bring this defense home. Kira nods but doesn’t go for the pin. Instead, she drags the beleaguered Native American back to her feet, Halfmoon wobbling as Koslova secures a side headlock around the long, straight ebony strands. She races toward the War Party’s corner with Kaya in tow.
Within a few feet, Polly’s fellow colluder shoots her boots between the middle and upper ropes with a dropkick toward the side Kasa inhabits, while simultaneously POUNDING Kaya’s forehead into the middle buckle with an outrageous turnbuckle bulldog.
Turnbuckle bulldog (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RhIIQ65-QFU )
The planned portion of the maneuver is perfection, Kaya’s noggin snapping back from the collision, the challenger on the mat moaning and barely aware. The improvised dropkick to Kasa isn’t as successful for the Red Menace. The nimble Native avoids the boots with a fall to the floor. With Koslova still as much out of the ring as in, Kasa snatches the ankles of the Russian, pulls her toward the crowd then DROPS to her knees, HOTSHOTTING the champ into the lower side of the top cable, Kira’s throat gouged by the rubber-coated steel.
Baby blues bulging and grasping at her reddened neck, Kira’s yanked to the floor by Kasa where the two end in a jumble on the thinly padded cement.
The ref slips through the ropes, remaining on the apron. He stares down at Halfmoon and her prize catch of red herring, Kasa up to her knees and glaring menacingly into the crystal pools of the choking Russian. She fashions a knife-edge out of her right hand and raises it high, bringing it down in a tomahawk chop right between the eyes of the champion. Kira’s head rockets back and when it returns, eyes are rolling white, braincase lolling.
“Our land and our titles,” Kasa informs sternly. “Now and forever.”
Forever doesn’t last long as Halfmoon would like. Polly brushes by the irritable ref’s shoulder and dives from the apron with a Shining Wizard of a right shin to Kasa’s left temple, turning out the light of the Halfmoon, Kasa flopping face first atop the dazed Russian.
The Fox&Friendly blonde peels the Sioux warrior off her partner but doesn’t have time to do more than toss her to the side. The Star Spangled Bytch clambers to the apron, facing inside the ring, grabs the top ropes with both hands, and launches as a staggering, bewildered Kaya turns toward her.
Polly’s boot soles land precariously on the uppermost cable and the flaxen-haired hardbody springboards toward her target. Reaching Kaya, she deftly pulls the Native American into a front facelock before she touches ground and throws her weight back, laying out and SPIKING Kaya’s skull into the deck like a lawn dart, courtesy her Polly Rocket.
Polly Rocket (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I )
The red glare is everywhere for the demolished Halfmoon, Kaya somersaulting through the impact and sliding to a stop, utterly unconscious from Lockwood’s famous finisher.
Before the entering official can open his mouth to let Lockwood know she can’t make the pin, the True American is sliding out under the ropes and scooping Kira up from behind, her arms under the Russian’s. It’s far from easy as the Rooskie is mostly deadweight, but the determined ‘patriot’ gets her partner up and STUFFS her back in.
The sight of a splayed Halfmoon seems to warm the St. Petersburg native to the task and she slowly crawls to the shattered challenger, finally throwing her alabaster body atop the tawny-skinned warrior in a lateral press for the academic…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!!!
As Kasa reaches her all fours on the outside, a lurking Polly punts her in the chin, sending the Sioux to sleep much as her sister is in the ring. Lockwood turns away from the wreckage under a cascade of boos and demands the titles. A flunky arrives post haste with the symbols of tag dominance and a microphone. Lockwood snatches all three then rolls in under the bottom rope and works to her feet.
Polly reaches the scene of the crime and Kira uses the tanned stems of her partner to drag up to her haunches beside the snoozing Sioux. Koslova swipes some tangled auburn locks off her forehead and takes an offered hand from Lockwood, the Trumpeter tugging her gassed ally to vertical. Polly hands over a share of the gold to the Red Menace then raises her partner’s near hand high to the reverberating jeers of the significant majority. She draws the microphone to her sneering lips.
“WE! KIRA AND I ARE WHAT MAKES FAWN GREAT AND AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!”
Both women raise their gold.
“IMPEACH THAT MOTHERFUCKERS!”