Post by dsb on Jun 14, 2019 0:46:57 GMT
The arena lights dim as t.A.T.u's rendition of "How Soon is Now?" begins to blast over the PA system. What comes next is a somewhat surreal moment that transports the fans in attendance back to halcyon early days of FAWN: the curtains part, and at the head of the ramp appear the Mitchell sisters, clad in their original ring togs...for Sophie, a forest green one-piece, scooped back, cut high on the hips, her taut midriff revealed by a cutout in the lycra; Cynthia is garbed in a royal purple bikini top and short, tight shorts that show off the entirety of her shapely legs. Complimenting both outfits are white boots.
CYNTHIA MITCHELL:
SOPHIE MITCHELL:
But this is not then, it's now, and thus there are distinct differences between the Mitchells of the past and the sister partners who now make their way down the long aisleway. In their early days, the older Sophie, both more experienced and worldly, led the way with a intense singlemindedness that demanded her full attention on the ring before her, allowing only scant recognition of the cheering fans she passed. Now however, she cheerfully reached out her arms to brush fingertips with as many outstretched hands as possible.
But if Soph had learned to be mellow, Cyn had in many ways become an entirely new woman. In her rookie days, she kept respectfully behind her sister as they walked, bouncing excitedly as she made her way to the ring, a beaming smile on her fresh-scrubbed face. She was, as one wag put it at the time, the perfect blend of Girl Next Door and Annoying Kid Sister. Now however, after tremendous personal and professional sea changes, she was no longer that fidgety teenager, but a supremely confident woman. That self-assurance was plain to see as she strode purposely down the walkway, smiling and winking at fans, and even blowing the occasional kiss to some. This time, it was Sophie who walked behind her younger sibling.
The ring announcer's voice pierces above the music: "Introducing first, hailing from the Queen City of North Carolina, Charlotte, they are both FAWN originals and the first-ever FAWN Tag Team Champions...they are Sophie and Cynthia, the MITCHELLLLLLLLLLLLLS!"
The offspring of Natalie Roberson...and despite the complicated relationships both sisters have with their mother, there's no denying that her championship blood runs through their veins...climb up the steps and slip between the ropes, raising their arms to acknowledge the deafening cheers of the fans. The Mitchells could be forgiven for thinking, if only for a few moments, that no time had passed since they first teamed together.
But their shared reverie is brought to an abrupt end as a new song intrudes through the public address speakers.
With the evil sisters in their witch’s squared circle, ‘Fancy’ by Iggy Azalea and Charli XCX pumps through the arena. The crowd shoots to its feet, unleashing its vitriol not on the standard issue Hot&Bothered but the kissing cousins’ edition.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
Behind the first chords of the hip-hop anthem and the ear-numbing jeers, the Pleasant Valley Pariah stalks onto the stage, snide smirk in place.
KYLIE SANDERS:
Chill strides to the center, Sanders sporting what had become her standard gear, a unique, multi-strapped yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
(https://www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
On the tron behind FAWN’s Most Hated, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Next to her, the Real Deal from the Twin Cities arrives. Once fussing and fighting relatives, Kristy raises a wrist of her fellow former fan favorite, the boos falling like a downpour on Team Sanders.
KRISTY SANDERS:
The Mitchells would not be the only former tag champs in the ring tonight, even if they the battling blondes aren’t nearly as celebrated as FAWN’s first. The Golden Gopher wears a maroon and metallic gold version of her kin’s wardrobe, Kristy shoulder to shoulder with Kylie, both staring down at the reformed Mitchell Sisters.
Vanilla Chill and Minnesota Not-so-nice show little interest in Orlando’s lowlife as the women head down the ramp and aisle together, Jasmine Washington conspicuously absent per Bethany Christian’s decree to keep things on the even steven, J-Dogg and Ivy banned from ringside.
Reaching the ring, the platinum pixie and her returning muscle ascend the steps, The Black Sheep opening the ropes wide for Kylie and the Pleasant Valley Pariah holding the back door for cuz when through.
The reformed Krazy K moves to the middle and Kylie can’t help but become agitated when ‘TROLL…TROLL…TROLL!’ begins to echo through the arena. Kristy provides ear muffs for the enraged Iowan from behind before giving up the attempt to cancel the noise from the crowd.
Kylie, stick already in hand, raises it to her cupid’s arrow lips, ignoring the continued jeers from the assembled. She focuses her gaze on the legendary team across the ring, Kristy menacingly beside her cousin.
“Big mistake, Soph,” Kylie informs. “I mean do you have the worst timing ever? Kris and I are getting all kinds of Krazy on your bytch of a sister and we’ve got plenty of leftovers for you.”
Sanders drops the stick with a loud ‘CLUNK’ and the FAWNatics let their disapproval bounce off the walls of the arena, the noise reaching ear-pounding decibels.
The ring announcer breaks in, having waited patiently, to add an introduction.
“And their opponents, weighing in at a combined 240 pounds. From Pleasant Valley, Iowa and Eden Prairie, Minnesota respectively, the kickin’ ass cousins, representing Hot&Bothered, Kylie and Kristy Sanders.”
Ky leads the Real Deal back to the H&B Mach II corner, the original Black Sheep of the Sanders’ clan stepping through the ropes and taking her place on the apron while Kylie turns to see who wants their ass kicked first.
Once it became known which member of the Midwestern malcontents would be kicking off the match, there was no debate among the Mitchells as to who would stand opposite her. Sophie gives Cynthia a high-five and then slips between the ropes to take her place on the apron.
The opening bell clangs and as the two combatants jauntily circle one another, Cyn can't repress a smirk. As the distance between the pair dwindles, they each suddenly lunge and go for a collar and elbow lock up. Their bodies straining against one another, neither gives an inch. Through gritted teeth Cynthia says, "Props to your partner for taking the win over Ivy. Must suck for you knowing you're the weak link on your team." Kylie's response is a fierce growl, matched by a sudden burst of adrenaline, allowing her to muscle the brunette backward until she's pressed against the ropes. The referee calls for a break, and Sanders cleanly complies...for at least a second-and-a-half, until she suddenly throws a sharp slap to Mitchell's face.
Now it's the Iowan’s turn to smirk as she backpedals to center ring. Cynthia brings her fingertips up to her now-stinging cheek, but her face bares a look of bemusement. The two women again circle, and again find themselves in a lock-up. But even as Kylie draws breath to unleash a taunt of her own, the Hellion suddenly roughly shoves her back, and now it's the blonde who finds herself pressed to the strands.
Again comes the call for a break, and Cyn complies; Kylie shields her face with her arms, certain that a retaliatory strike is imminent...but none comes. That leads the cautious Chill to lower her defenses a bit...which is all the opening that Mitchell needs. Her hand darting forward with cobra swiftness, Cynthia's thumb and index finger find Kylie's adorable nose, pinching it and giving it a sharp twist. Sanders lets loose with a yelp, her hands brought up to cover her sore nose as she turns away. Several heartbeats later, her face flushed red with anger, Ky lunges at her rival, but finds her left arm hooked by Cyn's right, followed by a hip toss that drop the Iowa Hawkeye on her keister.
Dropping to one knee behind her adversary, Mitchell applies a Kimura Lock to Kylie's left wing, agonizingly contorting the entrapped limb. "I don't precisely recall what the exact record for fastest submission in FAWN is," the brunette says matter-of-factly to her rival. "But I'm sure you could beat it tonight if you really, really tried, Chili bean!"
The Platinum Pixie’s features are twisted in pain, the agony only increased by the despised individual trying to break her arm. Sanders shakes her head emphatically when Castle asks if she wants to give in. Her nemesis bends the arm back just that much more to force a fevered yelp from between Kylie’s bow-and-arrow lips.
“No, no, no,” she howls, in case Nick asks again.
The FAWN original manages to duck under Cynthia’s grip and do-si-do her way out of the submission, though Mitchell ends with possession of her foe’s extended arm at the wrist when the Hawkeye dips her way out of immediate trouble. Or so Kylie believes until Cynthia turns the limb into a buggywhip. Kylie drops to her haunches in anguish and the crafty Carolinian steps over the aching limb. She rams her backside into Sanders’ left shoulder, forcing Vanilla Chill to lose her cool, crying out and reaching toward home base with her free arm despite J-Dogg’s paw being several feet removed from her hand.
Mitchell wrenches the captured limb, forcing Ky to bite her lower lip so she can keep another squeal from slipping. The veteran pivots on her knees and pulls her injured wing toward her, enough to trip the brunette up, Cyn tumbling to the canvas and suddenly caught in a small package.
Mitchell writhes within the confines of Kylie’s counter for…
ONE…
TWO…
…before breaking free, shoving her shoulders off the canvas and scrambling to her feet, taking a worried glance at Castle to see him hold up only two fingers. The Hellion breathes a sigh of relief and turns her attention back to Sanders who’s on her feet and cradling her left wing close.
Cynthia stalks her prey, Kylie trying to skirt around the edges of the confines to her cousin. Mitchell cuts her off, smirk firmly planted.
“You wouldn’t want to leave early, would ya Chili Bean?”
Kylie scowls, rolling her left shoulder.
“You are so…”
Sanders cuts herself off with a toe kick toward Mitchell’s ivory tummy but Cynthia catches the effort before it can dig into her abs and she has FAWN’s Most Hated hopping on her left leg, cursing at the second-generation superstar.
“I’m so?” Cyn asks.
Mitchell sweeps Sanders remaining planted stem, dropping the Platinum Pixie to the deck where she deftly snatches up Kylie’s opposite ankle, to control both. She spreads Sanders’ legs wide. An apprehensive Chill ‘washes windows’ with her extended palms, pleading for a little peace and understanding, but the Hellion isn’t interested when it comes to the Hawkeye.
Cynthia leaps, legs extended within those of the blonde, dropping her stems on the alabaster thighs of Kylie, not only pounding the meat but stretching out Ky’s groin. Sanders jerks to a seated position, hands pressed against her inner thighs.
With Kylie rightly distracted, Cynthia folds one of her legs and shoots it into Kylie’s sternum, flattening Chill to the deck.
“Why should I get all the fun?” Mitchell asks no one in particular as she rises.
Snatching a limb, she drags Kylie far enough to slap hands with her big sis and, perhaps surprisingly, exits without a requisite double-team on the hapless Sanders.
Ky drunkenly ascends to wobbly feet, unaware of the transition to the Mitchells’ powerhouse. She turns toward the entering Sophie, the elder Mitchell grabbing both of Chill’s wrists to both steady and keep her foe in place. Mitchell raises a big right boot to Kylie’s jaw and drops to her back, tugging the Pleasant Valley Pariah along and jaw-jacking Sanders with a Stomp Facebreaker.
Stomp Facebreaker (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uedUC908hNI ) @ 00:50
Kylie is briefly airborne before flopping to a motionless spreadeagle. Sophie collects both limp legs as she crawls toward the demolished Hawkeye, Soph folding up the Platinum Pixie in front of her for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Sanders kicks her way free before the third slap from Castle and frankly the elder Mitchell doesn’t seem a bit perturbed, enjoying the return to her stomping grounds.
As Kylie rolls to her chest and slithers toward the outstretched arm of Kristy, Sophie snatches Sanders’ left leg and pulls it high off the deck, dipping to one knee next to the limb as she does. Sophie folds Ky’s lower limb in a modified Stretch Muffler that has Kylie crying in agony.
Modified Stretch Muffler (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uedUC908hNI )
Soph doesn’t ask for Kylie to quit but Nick provides the way out if Sanders is interested. Chill growls between gnashing teeth and begins pulling her way on her forearms to the nearest set of cables. After a half-dozen harrowing seconds, she wraps a palm around the rubber-coated steel and wails for a break that Mitchell provides inside a count of TWO.
With five inches and more than 15 pounds on the Hawkeye, Sophie seems comfortable waiting for the mewling, sweat-soaked Sanders to reach her feet with the help of the cables. As Ky does and Nick removes himself from between, Sanders dips through the ropes and drops to the floor, waving off any more action with the powerhouse of the Mitchell clan.
Kylie limps around the ring, taking the longer if safer trip to her partner, but Mitchell isn’t about to let the getaway be that smooth. She baseball slides out of the ring a step behind Sanders, forcing Chill to pick up her hobbling pace. Soph is about to catch Kylie from behind when a charging Kristy curls a clothesline toward her cousin, Kylie deftly ducks where Mitchell does not. Kristy’s outstretched arm SLAMS into the blonde’s clavicle and drops Mitchell to her back at the feet of the Real Deal.
Plucking Sophie off the thinly padded cement, Part Deux tosses Cynthia’s sister back into the squared circle then takes her position on the outside only long enough to take a legal tag from Kylie.
The rising Sophie isn’t quite sure where to turn but eventually finds herself pointed toward the Black Sheep. Sanders wraps both palms around the uppermost cable from the outside, launches to the top rope and springboards off, flipping over the wide-eyed Sophie, RIPPING Soph off her boot leather and PLANTING the back of her skull into the deck with a Blockbuster.
Springboard Blockbuster (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aGoxWk4MS0 )
Kristy pops to her knees and raises her arms high and wide, then slaps her chest as if to announce her arrival and the arrival of a version of Hot&Bothered that can win the big one.
Kipping up to her feet, the Minnesotan One Woman Wrecking Crew looks down at her groaning adversary, and then begins to stomp at her, the soles of her boot slamming mercilessly upon Soph's belly and chest, further winding and stunning her.
"Second generation star?" Kristy sneers. "More like second rate."
Sanders then peels Mitchell up from the canvas and stands her upright. Suddenly pirouetting a full 180 degrees, she pulls up her right legs and snap her foot back, landing it flush into the pit of her foe’s stomach, doubling Sophie over with a sharp gasp. Kristy then dashes for the ropes, bounds off of them, and rushes back toward her opponent. As she nears, she leaps into the air, snaring her thighs around the embattled North Carolina beauty's skull for a good old fashioned flying headscissors, snapping Sophie hard to the mat.
Rather than keeping the headscissors, Sanders releases her hold and gets to her knees, pulling Mitchell up to a seated position, placing herself behind her foe. Grinding her right knee into her victim's spine, Kristy wraps her right arm across Sophie's throat, yanking her head back. So that the rubes could fully appreciate her dominance, Sanders flexes her left arm and kisses her bicep. Soph grunts and groans, her hands pawing at the offending limb across her neck.
Opting for a slight variation, Kristy now places both of her hands beneath her adversary's chin, lacing her fingers and yanking Mitchell's head back until she's staring straight up at the rafters. Pulling her right hand free, Sanders raises her arm, then drives an elbow smash squarely between the eyes of mauled Mid-Atlantic maiden, leaving those blue-gray orbs glazed and spinning in their sockets.
From her corner, Cynthia runs her fingers through her scalp, anxious concern etched upon her features. Across the abyss, a revitalized Kylie whoops and hollers, clapping her hands to cheer her cantankerous kin on.
Kristy does not aim to disappoint.
Two fistfuls of flaxen mane drag the mewling Mitchell up from the deck. A grasp of a wrist sets her up for an Irish Whip. However, even as Kristy releases her hold, Sophie has the wherewithal to grab the Minnesotan's own wrist with her hand; Mitchell instantly ricochets back toward her rival, her other arm at the ready to deliver a short-arm lariat across Kristy's throat. The impact isn't enough to drop her to the canvas, but as she clutches her neck she doubles over. Mitchell wraps her arms around Sanders's waist from above, dips her knees, and with a grunt executes a suplex, with Kristy taking the full brunt of the impact with both of their weights behind it.
But Sophie does not release her grasp, and instead flips herself over Sanders onto her knees, pushes up to her feet, and pulls Kristy up for a second suplex...and then a third! The crowd pops big at this sudden turning of the tide. But this burst of adrenaline seems to fade as quickly as it rose, and Sophie releases her hold and drop to her knees, swooning as if she is struggling against passing out. Kristy lay alongside her, dazed and moaning. Realizing she needs time to recover, Sophie begins to slowly crawl on all fours across the expanse of the ring toward her eagerly-awaiting sister, as Kylie frantically urges her cousin to snap out of it and put a halt to her opponent's tactical retreat.
The elder Mitchell has the head start on Part Deux and the crowd’s backing as she slowly makes her way. But as she does, Kristy rolls to her chest at her cousin’s loud urging and begins to wriggle on her belly toward the Pleasant Valley Pariah, FAWN’s Most Hated gritting her teeth as the Black Sheep struggles toward her. The only advantage for Team Sanders is Kristy starts with a shorter journey to her partner.
The race between the blondes has the mob captivated and, needless to say, the FAWN legends awaiting their respective tags. Sophie is slow and steady and wins the race, tickling fingers with little sis, but Kristy explodes off the deck in a final leap to touch hands with Vanilla Chill no more than a second behind.
The long-time rivals enter and race at each other, Cynthia finding her offense first, leveling Sanders with a double axehandle of a clothesline. Kylie scurries back to her feet and spins into another charge, but Mitchell is ready and decks her again with the same attack. The brunette has a little more margin for error after the next trip to vertical, beating Chill there by a couple seconds. Cynthia moves close to the rising Ky, lacing her fingers and wrapping them across the back of her foe’s neck then throwing her body to the canvas, laying out and playing some of the most hurtful chords of Carolina Blues ever seen.
Carolina Blues (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tXjmTPxmUo ) @ 00:18
The crown of Kylie’s skull is SPIKED into the mat and she flips the rest of the way to a wide starfish, the FAWNatics cheering wildly as they watch the Platinum Pixie get shut down by a woman who’s plagued her throughout their long careers. Knowing Sanders’ recuperative powers, Mitchell scrambles to Kylie’s side, scoops an arm under both lifeless alabaster stems and curls Kylie into a tight cradle for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
With Kristy in no condition to make a save, the Hawkeye has to show her toughness and does, edging a shoulder off the canvas just before the third slap of the mat. Ky rolls to her chest and stares blankly at a neutral corner, Mitchell next to her.
Someone with less history with Sanders might have shown surprise by the escape but the Hellion knows better and she’s ready to take the further measures that’ll assure this second incarnation of Hot&Bothered will crash and burn like the first.
The brunette scrambles to a seated position toward Chill’s head, brining one of Kylie’s legs along as she settles. Almost gently, she cups the Platinum Pixie’s chin off the canvas and places it on the purple spandex tightly covering the very lower reaches of her abdomen. The Cynful One wraps her ivory-skinned stems around either trapezius, pressing into the jugular on each side. Mitchell tugs the curled leg of Kylie toward her while cinching tight on her scissors. She locks down a free arm of Chill’s with her opposite hand and the deadly Mortal Cyn is locked in tight.
Mortal Cyn (https://i.imgur.com/k4tEriy.jpg )
The crowd’s cheers reverberate through the arena, the masses knowing even Sanders’ well-known ability to take punishment wouldn’t likely survive the Mortal Cyn. The maneuver had once been placed double-decker-style on both Kylie and Shea London and neither legend could take the skull-pounding pressure and terrible torture of back and leg, both women tapping.
The video would forever be placed in any FAWN montage of the greatest moments and though dispatching Chill with it tonight wouldn’t reach that pantheon, Mitchell already has a look of supreme satisfaction.
Nick Castle drops to hands and knees next to Kylie’s face and Mitchell’s crotch, Sanders grimacing into the patch of purple lycra, turning her head the little she can.
“Whaddya say, Kylie?” the man asks.
“Hold on,” Cynthia dares Sanders, delighting in the dominance. “I want to burn this picture into my brain.”
Sanders has become a whole new woman to FAWNatics, one to be despised. But to Cynthia, she remains a chew toy. A wrestler with galling stubbornness but without ten percent of the natural ability Cynthia or Ivy or Sophie maintains. And no matter how many times she would teach it to Girl Scout or Vanilla Chill or anything in between, it would NEVER get old.
“All you have to do is say the word,” Nick assures JUST BEFORE he’s violently snatched by an ankle and pulled out under the bottom rope by the partially recovered Kristy. Part Deux and Castle land in a heap on the arena floor.
Inside the ring, a furious Cyn takes it out on the only person she can, tightening her scissors and tapping a toe of Kylie’s boot against her braincase. It’s all too much for Chill. Oblivious to Castle’s departure, KYLIE TAPS FERVENTLY on the canvas, wanting nothing more than be set free.
“PLEEEEASE. I GIVE. I GIVE,” she sobs.
But as Sanders surrenders, there’s no one to end the match and Kristy dives clumsily atop Nick to make sure he can’t rise to see what’s obvious to everyone else in the building, that Cynthia had made her point.
From her corner, a recovering Sophie protests, but there’s no official to hear her complaint. Inside, Cynthia finally releases Sanders’ stem, letting it drop in leaden fashion. She unfastens her scissors as well, scooting from beneath the semiconscious and drooling Kylie, Ky’s tapping having ended with a partial slip into dreamland.
With Minnesota Not-so-nice still lying across a squirming Castle, Nick finally threatening a DQ, Cynthia slides through the ropes, drops to the floor and peels Kristy off the striped-shirt.
“You can’t save her or yourself,” a growling Mitchell informs, balling a right and pivoting to deliver.
Kristy throws her arms up in front of her head and screeches "NOT THE FACE! NOT THE FACE!" Cynthia halts her blow, looking at the cowering blonde with pure disgust. "Pathetic," the brunette sneers. "You're not worth bruising my knuckles on." She releases her handhold on Sanders, who puddles to the floor whimpering, "Thankyouthankyouthankyou", and turns to help the referee back into the ring so that she can get her pin and end this farce.
But as she does so, Kristy suddenly tilts her head up, and what had been a visage of frightened wretchedness has now been replaced with one of malevolent intent. Scampering forward on all fours, the blonde stealthily approaches the unwary Mitchell. Up on her knees, the Minnesotan balls her right fist and suddenly swings her right up, straight between the brunette's thighs, her forearm smashing into Cynthia's unprotected womanhood with such force, the impact can be easily heard several rows deep. The fans recoil as one in sympathy pain as the Hellion is lifted up on tip-toes, then doubles over, hands clutching her throbbing groin, knees bent as her legs struggle to keep her upright, her face twisted into a mask of anguish.
As he was busy rolling back into the ring at the moment, the referee missed the dastardly attack altogether. Standing up and portraying the very essence of innocence, Kristy calls up to him, "Start your count, sir!" The official is baffled as to why Mitchell is staggering in obvious discomfort at ringside, but his only responsibility now is to begin the long count to twenty. "One...two...three...."
As tempted as she may be to take another swing at the wobbly Carolinian, Sanders steps back. Attacking in full view of the zebra would only result in a disqualification, and a DQ wasn't in the playbook for the Midwestern kinswomen. She can only hope that her cousin can make the most of this opportunity to rally what forces she has left.
From her corner across the ring, Sophie can only tighten her grip around the top rope and grind her teeth. From her vantage point she couldn't see what Kristy had done, but there's no doubt that the conniving bltch struck an illegal blow, and her sister was paying the cost for it now. Raising her arms above her head to clap while rhythmically stomping her foot to the apron, the elder Mitchell sparks a "LET'S GO CYN-THI-A!" chant among the fans, hoping the encouragement will help empower her sibling.
Finally, as the ref passes the count of seventeen, the brunette crawls into the ring, clearly still hurting. Grasping the ropes to steady herself she gets back up to her feet. In center ring, the bedraggled Kylie is just pushing herself up from one knee. The two rivals stand there, narrowing eyes locking together, nostrils flaring as each sucks in precious air. And then they lurch toward one another, leaden arms raised, fists balled.
Mitchell slams a belt to the jaw of Sanders, and is met with a blow to her own chin. The two disarrayed damsels trade wildly-thrown punches again and again, the referee not even bothering to warn them about the use of closed fists. They slug it out in a stalemate for what to them seems like an eternity, but to the outside world is barely fifteen seconds. And then Cynthia begins to land two punches for every one that Kylie does...then three...and then she unleashes a flurry that is unmet by pugilistic response.
Swaying glassy-eyed, the Iowan appears for all the world to be dead on her feet. Mitchell takes a step back, cocks her right arm, and unleashes a Sunday punch aimed at her opponent's kisser that, if result matches intent, will send her sailing through the ropes and into the third row.
In the hours and days to come, observers will argue whether Kylie dropping to her knees at the last possible instant, thus avoiding the finishing blow, was a brilliant stratagem on the part of the Hawkeye blonde, or if in fact her quivering gams simply gave out on her, and she dropped like a sack of feed. But the question is moot, because the conclusion is the same either way: Cyn's fist sails through empty air, the momentum spinning the confused brunette around a full 180 degrees. With a sudden burst of the last dregs of her adrenaline, Sanders lunges up from her kneeling position, wrapping her arms around the waist of her adversary and digging her boots into the canvas as she pushes Mitchell forward into the ropes. The Carolinian's chest takes the brunt as she's driven into the steel cables, and she rebounds off of the strands. Still holding fast around the Hellion's waist, Kylie lifts her up and over, using the momentum to its fullest, and executes a crude yet devastatingly effective suplex. Cynthia takes the impact to the back of the skull, leaving her goggle-eyed, her body limp other than a spasmodic twitching of her left leg.
Scrambling atop her foe with all of the haste her debilitated body can muster, Kylie goes for the pin, lying across Cyn like deadweight. The official drops to her knees and starts to slap the canvas...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOO!
With nary a split-second to spare, the brunette manages to narrowly kick out of the pinfall. Thrown off of her victim, Sanders in frustration slams both palms to the mat, then jerks her head toward the zebra and rasps in an exhausted voice, "Try finishing the count in under sixty seconds next time!" Ignoring the jibe, the ref simply instructs the belligerent blonde to "Keep wrestling, Kylie."
Her face darkening with fury and vexation, the blonde struggles back up to her feet, but instead of resuming her attack on her opponent, she stalks over to the nearest corner. There, her fingers go to work on the lace holding the pad on the top turnbuckle. After several moments she is able to yank the pad off and throw it aside. Only now does she return her attention to the harried Hellion, grabbing Cynthia by her damp and tangled chestnut mane and with a groaning effort on the blonde's part, hauling her up to uncertain verticalness. She then drags Mitchell stumbling over to the corner, still holding tight to her hair.
Pulling Cyn's head back, Sanders then slams her face-first into the unpadded steel buckle. The Carolinian gives a sharp gasp mixed with a pained moan, her whole body trembling. Kylie hauls her backward and then smashes her again...and again...and again. By the fifth impact, Cynthia's arms splay over the top ropes, and that's all that keeps her upright as her body goes limp. Her head yanked back from the turnbuckle, the FAWN cameras close in to reveal the gash to her forehead that results in a steady flow of crimson down her face, blood and sweat blending to blind Mitchell.
The sight of the blood seems to invigorate Kylie, stirring a bloodlust that twists her ordinarily (deceptively) angelic features into a mask of sadistic fury. With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she bends down at the knees and pulls the supple, listless body of her rival backward across the blonde's shoulders. Sanders then regains her full height and, staggering under the weight, slowly makes her way to center ring. And there, with a bellow of sheer doggedness, Vanilla Chill tries to lift Mitchell's body up over her head in a gorilla press. She makes it about halfway, holding her foe aloft for a few heartbeats, limbs quaking, before realizing she won’t make it all the way and releasing, letting gravity send Cynthia crashing in a heap to the mat, the brunette absently rolling to her back.
Then, like a marionette whose strings have been cut, Ky falls prey to that same gravity, collapsing upon the Hellion's body. Clearly struggling to not pass out from exhaustion, Sanders slowly moves to grab her adversary's right leg, lifting it in order to hook her for the pin. The referee begins to count...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!!!!
The bell tolls and the crowd erupts in shock and fury. Sophie is also in a state of disbelief. However, after several seconds, she snaps out of it and darts through the ropes, furiously charging at Kylie who remains splayed across the unmoving figure of Cynthia.
Her blitz is thwarted for a few moments by the referee, who throws himself in her path, but she manages to push him aside. Luckily for Kylie however, that delay has given Kristy the time she needs to rush into the ring and, before the elder Mitchell can avenge her fallen sibling, Sophie finds herself trading blows with the Minnesotan.
The timekeeper continues to toll the bell in a fruitless effort to bring a halt to the melee, but no one pays him any heed. Then, to add to the confusion, a gasp is heard among some spectators, followed immediately by cheering, as Ivy Armstrong bursts through the curtain at the head of the runway and tears down the aisle, determined to give aid and comfort to the Mitchells.
IVY ARMSTRONG:
But unknown to the 'Bama Slamma, she is followed just a few steps behind by Jasmine Washington, who puts on a burst of speed and leaps forward, wrapping her arms around the redhead's legs and tacking her to the arena floor at ringside. The two are a tangle of limbs as they roll back and forth, punching clawing and snarling at one another in a veritable catfight.
JASMINE WASHINGTON:
At this point the referee waves in reinforcements, and ten additional officials dash in, half of them struggling to pull Jasmine and Ivy apart, the rest trying to separate Sophie and Kristy...and all meeting with just middling success at first. But eventually the weight of sheer numbers prevails, and the combatants are pried apart. Only now can the medics get into the ring to do their work, transporting both Cynthia and Kylie, now each barely conscious, out of the squared circle and up the aisleway on stretchers, and from there taken to (separate rooms) in the arena's infirmary to start the recovery for what Bethany Christian is moments later touting as the final battle of these two legends’ final war.
CYNTHIA MITCHELL:
SOPHIE MITCHELL:
But this is not then, it's now, and thus there are distinct differences between the Mitchells of the past and the sister partners who now make their way down the long aisleway. In their early days, the older Sophie, both more experienced and worldly, led the way with a intense singlemindedness that demanded her full attention on the ring before her, allowing only scant recognition of the cheering fans she passed. Now however, she cheerfully reached out her arms to brush fingertips with as many outstretched hands as possible.
But if Soph had learned to be mellow, Cyn had in many ways become an entirely new woman. In her rookie days, she kept respectfully behind her sister as they walked, bouncing excitedly as she made her way to the ring, a beaming smile on her fresh-scrubbed face. She was, as one wag put it at the time, the perfect blend of Girl Next Door and Annoying Kid Sister. Now however, after tremendous personal and professional sea changes, she was no longer that fidgety teenager, but a supremely confident woman. That self-assurance was plain to see as she strode purposely down the walkway, smiling and winking at fans, and even blowing the occasional kiss to some. This time, it was Sophie who walked behind her younger sibling.
The ring announcer's voice pierces above the music: "Introducing first, hailing from the Queen City of North Carolina, Charlotte, they are both FAWN originals and the first-ever FAWN Tag Team Champions...they are Sophie and Cynthia, the MITCHELLLLLLLLLLLLLS!"
The offspring of Natalie Roberson...and despite the complicated relationships both sisters have with their mother, there's no denying that her championship blood runs through their veins...climb up the steps and slip between the ropes, raising their arms to acknowledge the deafening cheers of the fans. The Mitchells could be forgiven for thinking, if only for a few moments, that no time had passed since they first teamed together.
But their shared reverie is brought to an abrupt end as a new song intrudes through the public address speakers.
With the evil sisters in their witch’s squared circle, ‘Fancy’ by Iggy Azalea and Charli XCX pumps through the arena. The crowd shoots to its feet, unleashing its vitriol not on the standard issue Hot&Bothered but the kissing cousins’ edition.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
Behind the first chords of the hip-hop anthem and the ear-numbing jeers, the Pleasant Valley Pariah stalks onto the stage, snide smirk in place.
KYLIE SANDERS:
Chill strides to the center, Sanders sporting what had become her standard gear, a unique, multi-strapped yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
(https://www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
On the tron behind FAWN’s Most Hated, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Next to her, the Real Deal from the Twin Cities arrives. Once fussing and fighting relatives, Kristy raises a wrist of her fellow former fan favorite, the boos falling like a downpour on Team Sanders.
KRISTY SANDERS:
The Mitchells would not be the only former tag champs in the ring tonight, even if they the battling blondes aren’t nearly as celebrated as FAWN’s first. The Golden Gopher wears a maroon and metallic gold version of her kin’s wardrobe, Kristy shoulder to shoulder with Kylie, both staring down at the reformed Mitchell Sisters.
Vanilla Chill and Minnesota Not-so-nice show little interest in Orlando’s lowlife as the women head down the ramp and aisle together, Jasmine Washington conspicuously absent per Bethany Christian’s decree to keep things on the even steven, J-Dogg and Ivy banned from ringside.
Reaching the ring, the platinum pixie and her returning muscle ascend the steps, The Black Sheep opening the ropes wide for Kylie and the Pleasant Valley Pariah holding the back door for cuz when through.
The reformed Krazy K moves to the middle and Kylie can’t help but become agitated when ‘TROLL…TROLL…TROLL!’ begins to echo through the arena. Kristy provides ear muffs for the enraged Iowan from behind before giving up the attempt to cancel the noise from the crowd.
Kylie, stick already in hand, raises it to her cupid’s arrow lips, ignoring the continued jeers from the assembled. She focuses her gaze on the legendary team across the ring, Kristy menacingly beside her cousin.
“Big mistake, Soph,” Kylie informs. “I mean do you have the worst timing ever? Kris and I are getting all kinds of Krazy on your bytch of a sister and we’ve got plenty of leftovers for you.”
Sanders drops the stick with a loud ‘CLUNK’ and the FAWNatics let their disapproval bounce off the walls of the arena, the noise reaching ear-pounding decibels.
The ring announcer breaks in, having waited patiently, to add an introduction.
“And their opponents, weighing in at a combined 240 pounds. From Pleasant Valley, Iowa and Eden Prairie, Minnesota respectively, the kickin’ ass cousins, representing Hot&Bothered, Kylie and Kristy Sanders.”
Ky leads the Real Deal back to the H&B Mach II corner, the original Black Sheep of the Sanders’ clan stepping through the ropes and taking her place on the apron while Kylie turns to see who wants their ass kicked first.
Once it became known which member of the Midwestern malcontents would be kicking off the match, there was no debate among the Mitchells as to who would stand opposite her. Sophie gives Cynthia a high-five and then slips between the ropes to take her place on the apron.
The opening bell clangs and as the two combatants jauntily circle one another, Cyn can't repress a smirk. As the distance between the pair dwindles, they each suddenly lunge and go for a collar and elbow lock up. Their bodies straining against one another, neither gives an inch. Through gritted teeth Cynthia says, "Props to your partner for taking the win over Ivy. Must suck for you knowing you're the weak link on your team." Kylie's response is a fierce growl, matched by a sudden burst of adrenaline, allowing her to muscle the brunette backward until she's pressed against the ropes. The referee calls for a break, and Sanders cleanly complies...for at least a second-and-a-half, until she suddenly throws a sharp slap to Mitchell's face.
Now it's the Iowan’s turn to smirk as she backpedals to center ring. Cynthia brings her fingertips up to her now-stinging cheek, but her face bares a look of bemusement. The two women again circle, and again find themselves in a lock-up. But even as Kylie draws breath to unleash a taunt of her own, the Hellion suddenly roughly shoves her back, and now it's the blonde who finds herself pressed to the strands.
Again comes the call for a break, and Cyn complies; Kylie shields her face with her arms, certain that a retaliatory strike is imminent...but none comes. That leads the cautious Chill to lower her defenses a bit...which is all the opening that Mitchell needs. Her hand darting forward with cobra swiftness, Cynthia's thumb and index finger find Kylie's adorable nose, pinching it and giving it a sharp twist. Sanders lets loose with a yelp, her hands brought up to cover her sore nose as she turns away. Several heartbeats later, her face flushed red with anger, Ky lunges at her rival, but finds her left arm hooked by Cyn's right, followed by a hip toss that drop the Iowa Hawkeye on her keister.
Dropping to one knee behind her adversary, Mitchell applies a Kimura Lock to Kylie's left wing, agonizingly contorting the entrapped limb. "I don't precisely recall what the exact record for fastest submission in FAWN is," the brunette says matter-of-factly to her rival. "But I'm sure you could beat it tonight if you really, really tried, Chili bean!"
The Platinum Pixie’s features are twisted in pain, the agony only increased by the despised individual trying to break her arm. Sanders shakes her head emphatically when Castle asks if she wants to give in. Her nemesis bends the arm back just that much more to force a fevered yelp from between Kylie’s bow-and-arrow lips.
“No, no, no,” she howls, in case Nick asks again.
The FAWN original manages to duck under Cynthia’s grip and do-si-do her way out of the submission, though Mitchell ends with possession of her foe’s extended arm at the wrist when the Hawkeye dips her way out of immediate trouble. Or so Kylie believes until Cynthia turns the limb into a buggywhip. Kylie drops to her haunches in anguish and the crafty Carolinian steps over the aching limb. She rams her backside into Sanders’ left shoulder, forcing Vanilla Chill to lose her cool, crying out and reaching toward home base with her free arm despite J-Dogg’s paw being several feet removed from her hand.
Mitchell wrenches the captured limb, forcing Ky to bite her lower lip so she can keep another squeal from slipping. The veteran pivots on her knees and pulls her injured wing toward her, enough to trip the brunette up, Cyn tumbling to the canvas and suddenly caught in a small package.
Mitchell writhes within the confines of Kylie’s counter for…
ONE…
TWO…
…before breaking free, shoving her shoulders off the canvas and scrambling to her feet, taking a worried glance at Castle to see him hold up only two fingers. The Hellion breathes a sigh of relief and turns her attention back to Sanders who’s on her feet and cradling her left wing close.
Cynthia stalks her prey, Kylie trying to skirt around the edges of the confines to her cousin. Mitchell cuts her off, smirk firmly planted.
“You wouldn’t want to leave early, would ya Chili Bean?”
Kylie scowls, rolling her left shoulder.
“You are so…”
Sanders cuts herself off with a toe kick toward Mitchell’s ivory tummy but Cynthia catches the effort before it can dig into her abs and she has FAWN’s Most Hated hopping on her left leg, cursing at the second-generation superstar.
“I’m so?” Cyn asks.
Mitchell sweeps Sanders remaining planted stem, dropping the Platinum Pixie to the deck where she deftly snatches up Kylie’s opposite ankle, to control both. She spreads Sanders’ legs wide. An apprehensive Chill ‘washes windows’ with her extended palms, pleading for a little peace and understanding, but the Hellion isn’t interested when it comes to the Hawkeye.
Cynthia leaps, legs extended within those of the blonde, dropping her stems on the alabaster thighs of Kylie, not only pounding the meat but stretching out Ky’s groin. Sanders jerks to a seated position, hands pressed against her inner thighs.
With Kylie rightly distracted, Cynthia folds one of her legs and shoots it into Kylie’s sternum, flattening Chill to the deck.
“Why should I get all the fun?” Mitchell asks no one in particular as she rises.
Snatching a limb, she drags Kylie far enough to slap hands with her big sis and, perhaps surprisingly, exits without a requisite double-team on the hapless Sanders.
Ky drunkenly ascends to wobbly feet, unaware of the transition to the Mitchells’ powerhouse. She turns toward the entering Sophie, the elder Mitchell grabbing both of Chill’s wrists to both steady and keep her foe in place. Mitchell raises a big right boot to Kylie’s jaw and drops to her back, tugging the Pleasant Valley Pariah along and jaw-jacking Sanders with a Stomp Facebreaker.
Stomp Facebreaker (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uedUC908hNI ) @ 00:50
Kylie is briefly airborne before flopping to a motionless spreadeagle. Sophie collects both limp legs as she crawls toward the demolished Hawkeye, Soph folding up the Platinum Pixie in front of her for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Sanders kicks her way free before the third slap from Castle and frankly the elder Mitchell doesn’t seem a bit perturbed, enjoying the return to her stomping grounds.
As Kylie rolls to her chest and slithers toward the outstretched arm of Kristy, Sophie snatches Sanders’ left leg and pulls it high off the deck, dipping to one knee next to the limb as she does. Sophie folds Ky’s lower limb in a modified Stretch Muffler that has Kylie crying in agony.
Modified Stretch Muffler (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uedUC908hNI )
Soph doesn’t ask for Kylie to quit but Nick provides the way out if Sanders is interested. Chill growls between gnashing teeth and begins pulling her way on her forearms to the nearest set of cables. After a half-dozen harrowing seconds, she wraps a palm around the rubber-coated steel and wails for a break that Mitchell provides inside a count of TWO.
With five inches and more than 15 pounds on the Hawkeye, Sophie seems comfortable waiting for the mewling, sweat-soaked Sanders to reach her feet with the help of the cables. As Ky does and Nick removes himself from between, Sanders dips through the ropes and drops to the floor, waving off any more action with the powerhouse of the Mitchell clan.
Kylie limps around the ring, taking the longer if safer trip to her partner, but Mitchell isn’t about to let the getaway be that smooth. She baseball slides out of the ring a step behind Sanders, forcing Chill to pick up her hobbling pace. Soph is about to catch Kylie from behind when a charging Kristy curls a clothesline toward her cousin, Kylie deftly ducks where Mitchell does not. Kristy’s outstretched arm SLAMS into the blonde’s clavicle and drops Mitchell to her back at the feet of the Real Deal.
Plucking Sophie off the thinly padded cement, Part Deux tosses Cynthia’s sister back into the squared circle then takes her position on the outside only long enough to take a legal tag from Kylie.
The rising Sophie isn’t quite sure where to turn but eventually finds herself pointed toward the Black Sheep. Sanders wraps both palms around the uppermost cable from the outside, launches to the top rope and springboards off, flipping over the wide-eyed Sophie, RIPPING Soph off her boot leather and PLANTING the back of her skull into the deck with a Blockbuster.
Springboard Blockbuster (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aGoxWk4MS0 )
Kristy pops to her knees and raises her arms high and wide, then slaps her chest as if to announce her arrival and the arrival of a version of Hot&Bothered that can win the big one.
Kipping up to her feet, the Minnesotan One Woman Wrecking Crew looks down at her groaning adversary, and then begins to stomp at her, the soles of her boot slamming mercilessly upon Soph's belly and chest, further winding and stunning her.
"Second generation star?" Kristy sneers. "More like second rate."
Sanders then peels Mitchell up from the canvas and stands her upright. Suddenly pirouetting a full 180 degrees, she pulls up her right legs and snap her foot back, landing it flush into the pit of her foe’s stomach, doubling Sophie over with a sharp gasp. Kristy then dashes for the ropes, bounds off of them, and rushes back toward her opponent. As she nears, she leaps into the air, snaring her thighs around the embattled North Carolina beauty's skull for a good old fashioned flying headscissors, snapping Sophie hard to the mat.
Rather than keeping the headscissors, Sanders releases her hold and gets to her knees, pulling Mitchell up to a seated position, placing herself behind her foe. Grinding her right knee into her victim's spine, Kristy wraps her right arm across Sophie's throat, yanking her head back. So that the rubes could fully appreciate her dominance, Sanders flexes her left arm and kisses her bicep. Soph grunts and groans, her hands pawing at the offending limb across her neck.
Opting for a slight variation, Kristy now places both of her hands beneath her adversary's chin, lacing her fingers and yanking Mitchell's head back until she's staring straight up at the rafters. Pulling her right hand free, Sanders raises her arm, then drives an elbow smash squarely between the eyes of mauled Mid-Atlantic maiden, leaving those blue-gray orbs glazed and spinning in their sockets.
From her corner, Cynthia runs her fingers through her scalp, anxious concern etched upon her features. Across the abyss, a revitalized Kylie whoops and hollers, clapping her hands to cheer her cantankerous kin on.
Kristy does not aim to disappoint.
Two fistfuls of flaxen mane drag the mewling Mitchell up from the deck. A grasp of a wrist sets her up for an Irish Whip. However, even as Kristy releases her hold, Sophie has the wherewithal to grab the Minnesotan's own wrist with her hand; Mitchell instantly ricochets back toward her rival, her other arm at the ready to deliver a short-arm lariat across Kristy's throat. The impact isn't enough to drop her to the canvas, but as she clutches her neck she doubles over. Mitchell wraps her arms around Sanders's waist from above, dips her knees, and with a grunt executes a suplex, with Kristy taking the full brunt of the impact with both of their weights behind it.
But Sophie does not release her grasp, and instead flips herself over Sanders onto her knees, pushes up to her feet, and pulls Kristy up for a second suplex...and then a third! The crowd pops big at this sudden turning of the tide. But this burst of adrenaline seems to fade as quickly as it rose, and Sophie releases her hold and drop to her knees, swooning as if she is struggling against passing out. Kristy lay alongside her, dazed and moaning. Realizing she needs time to recover, Sophie begins to slowly crawl on all fours across the expanse of the ring toward her eagerly-awaiting sister, as Kylie frantically urges her cousin to snap out of it and put a halt to her opponent's tactical retreat.
The elder Mitchell has the head start on Part Deux and the crowd’s backing as she slowly makes her way. But as she does, Kristy rolls to her chest at her cousin’s loud urging and begins to wriggle on her belly toward the Pleasant Valley Pariah, FAWN’s Most Hated gritting her teeth as the Black Sheep struggles toward her. The only advantage for Team Sanders is Kristy starts with a shorter journey to her partner.
The race between the blondes has the mob captivated and, needless to say, the FAWN legends awaiting their respective tags. Sophie is slow and steady and wins the race, tickling fingers with little sis, but Kristy explodes off the deck in a final leap to touch hands with Vanilla Chill no more than a second behind.
The long-time rivals enter and race at each other, Cynthia finding her offense first, leveling Sanders with a double axehandle of a clothesline. Kylie scurries back to her feet and spins into another charge, but Mitchell is ready and decks her again with the same attack. The brunette has a little more margin for error after the next trip to vertical, beating Chill there by a couple seconds. Cynthia moves close to the rising Ky, lacing her fingers and wrapping them across the back of her foe’s neck then throwing her body to the canvas, laying out and playing some of the most hurtful chords of Carolina Blues ever seen.
Carolina Blues (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tXjmTPxmUo ) @ 00:18
The crown of Kylie’s skull is SPIKED into the mat and she flips the rest of the way to a wide starfish, the FAWNatics cheering wildly as they watch the Platinum Pixie get shut down by a woman who’s plagued her throughout their long careers. Knowing Sanders’ recuperative powers, Mitchell scrambles to Kylie’s side, scoops an arm under both lifeless alabaster stems and curls Kylie into a tight cradle for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
With Kristy in no condition to make a save, the Hawkeye has to show her toughness and does, edging a shoulder off the canvas just before the third slap of the mat. Ky rolls to her chest and stares blankly at a neutral corner, Mitchell next to her.
Someone with less history with Sanders might have shown surprise by the escape but the Hellion knows better and she’s ready to take the further measures that’ll assure this second incarnation of Hot&Bothered will crash and burn like the first.
The brunette scrambles to a seated position toward Chill’s head, brining one of Kylie’s legs along as she settles. Almost gently, she cups the Platinum Pixie’s chin off the canvas and places it on the purple spandex tightly covering the very lower reaches of her abdomen. The Cynful One wraps her ivory-skinned stems around either trapezius, pressing into the jugular on each side. Mitchell tugs the curled leg of Kylie toward her while cinching tight on her scissors. She locks down a free arm of Chill’s with her opposite hand and the deadly Mortal Cyn is locked in tight.
Mortal Cyn (https://i.imgur.com/k4tEriy.jpg )
The crowd’s cheers reverberate through the arena, the masses knowing even Sanders’ well-known ability to take punishment wouldn’t likely survive the Mortal Cyn. The maneuver had once been placed double-decker-style on both Kylie and Shea London and neither legend could take the skull-pounding pressure and terrible torture of back and leg, both women tapping.
The video would forever be placed in any FAWN montage of the greatest moments and though dispatching Chill with it tonight wouldn’t reach that pantheon, Mitchell already has a look of supreme satisfaction.
Nick Castle drops to hands and knees next to Kylie’s face and Mitchell’s crotch, Sanders grimacing into the patch of purple lycra, turning her head the little she can.
“Whaddya say, Kylie?” the man asks.
“Hold on,” Cynthia dares Sanders, delighting in the dominance. “I want to burn this picture into my brain.”
Sanders has become a whole new woman to FAWNatics, one to be despised. But to Cynthia, she remains a chew toy. A wrestler with galling stubbornness but without ten percent of the natural ability Cynthia or Ivy or Sophie maintains. And no matter how many times she would teach it to Girl Scout or Vanilla Chill or anything in between, it would NEVER get old.
“All you have to do is say the word,” Nick assures JUST BEFORE he’s violently snatched by an ankle and pulled out under the bottom rope by the partially recovered Kristy. Part Deux and Castle land in a heap on the arena floor.
Inside the ring, a furious Cyn takes it out on the only person she can, tightening her scissors and tapping a toe of Kylie’s boot against her braincase. It’s all too much for Chill. Oblivious to Castle’s departure, KYLIE TAPS FERVENTLY on the canvas, wanting nothing more than be set free.
“PLEEEEASE. I GIVE. I GIVE,” she sobs.
But as Sanders surrenders, there’s no one to end the match and Kristy dives clumsily atop Nick to make sure he can’t rise to see what’s obvious to everyone else in the building, that Cynthia had made her point.
From her corner, a recovering Sophie protests, but there’s no official to hear her complaint. Inside, Cynthia finally releases Sanders’ stem, letting it drop in leaden fashion. She unfastens her scissors as well, scooting from beneath the semiconscious and drooling Kylie, Ky’s tapping having ended with a partial slip into dreamland.
With Minnesota Not-so-nice still lying across a squirming Castle, Nick finally threatening a DQ, Cynthia slides through the ropes, drops to the floor and peels Kristy off the striped-shirt.
“You can’t save her or yourself,” a growling Mitchell informs, balling a right and pivoting to deliver.
Kristy throws her arms up in front of her head and screeches "NOT THE FACE! NOT THE FACE!" Cynthia halts her blow, looking at the cowering blonde with pure disgust. "Pathetic," the brunette sneers. "You're not worth bruising my knuckles on." She releases her handhold on Sanders, who puddles to the floor whimpering, "Thankyouthankyouthankyou", and turns to help the referee back into the ring so that she can get her pin and end this farce.
But as she does so, Kristy suddenly tilts her head up, and what had been a visage of frightened wretchedness has now been replaced with one of malevolent intent. Scampering forward on all fours, the blonde stealthily approaches the unwary Mitchell. Up on her knees, the Minnesotan balls her right fist and suddenly swings her right up, straight between the brunette's thighs, her forearm smashing into Cynthia's unprotected womanhood with such force, the impact can be easily heard several rows deep. The fans recoil as one in sympathy pain as the Hellion is lifted up on tip-toes, then doubles over, hands clutching her throbbing groin, knees bent as her legs struggle to keep her upright, her face twisted into a mask of anguish.
As he was busy rolling back into the ring at the moment, the referee missed the dastardly attack altogether. Standing up and portraying the very essence of innocence, Kristy calls up to him, "Start your count, sir!" The official is baffled as to why Mitchell is staggering in obvious discomfort at ringside, but his only responsibility now is to begin the long count to twenty. "One...two...three...."
As tempted as she may be to take another swing at the wobbly Carolinian, Sanders steps back. Attacking in full view of the zebra would only result in a disqualification, and a DQ wasn't in the playbook for the Midwestern kinswomen. She can only hope that her cousin can make the most of this opportunity to rally what forces she has left.
From her corner across the ring, Sophie can only tighten her grip around the top rope and grind her teeth. From her vantage point she couldn't see what Kristy had done, but there's no doubt that the conniving bltch struck an illegal blow, and her sister was paying the cost for it now. Raising her arms above her head to clap while rhythmically stomping her foot to the apron, the elder Mitchell sparks a "LET'S GO CYN-THI-A!" chant among the fans, hoping the encouragement will help empower her sibling.
Finally, as the ref passes the count of seventeen, the brunette crawls into the ring, clearly still hurting. Grasping the ropes to steady herself she gets back up to her feet. In center ring, the bedraggled Kylie is just pushing herself up from one knee. The two rivals stand there, narrowing eyes locking together, nostrils flaring as each sucks in precious air. And then they lurch toward one another, leaden arms raised, fists balled.
Mitchell slams a belt to the jaw of Sanders, and is met with a blow to her own chin. The two disarrayed damsels trade wildly-thrown punches again and again, the referee not even bothering to warn them about the use of closed fists. They slug it out in a stalemate for what to them seems like an eternity, but to the outside world is barely fifteen seconds. And then Cynthia begins to land two punches for every one that Kylie does...then three...and then she unleashes a flurry that is unmet by pugilistic response.
Swaying glassy-eyed, the Iowan appears for all the world to be dead on her feet. Mitchell takes a step back, cocks her right arm, and unleashes a Sunday punch aimed at her opponent's kisser that, if result matches intent, will send her sailing through the ropes and into the third row.
In the hours and days to come, observers will argue whether Kylie dropping to her knees at the last possible instant, thus avoiding the finishing blow, was a brilliant stratagem on the part of the Hawkeye blonde, or if in fact her quivering gams simply gave out on her, and she dropped like a sack of feed. But the question is moot, because the conclusion is the same either way: Cyn's fist sails through empty air, the momentum spinning the confused brunette around a full 180 degrees. With a sudden burst of the last dregs of her adrenaline, Sanders lunges up from her kneeling position, wrapping her arms around the waist of her adversary and digging her boots into the canvas as she pushes Mitchell forward into the ropes. The Carolinian's chest takes the brunt as she's driven into the steel cables, and she rebounds off of the strands. Still holding fast around the Hellion's waist, Kylie lifts her up and over, using the momentum to its fullest, and executes a crude yet devastatingly effective suplex. Cynthia takes the impact to the back of the skull, leaving her goggle-eyed, her body limp other than a spasmodic twitching of her left leg.
Scrambling atop her foe with all of the haste her debilitated body can muster, Kylie goes for the pin, lying across Cyn like deadweight. The official drops to her knees and starts to slap the canvas...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOO!
With nary a split-second to spare, the brunette manages to narrowly kick out of the pinfall. Thrown off of her victim, Sanders in frustration slams both palms to the mat, then jerks her head toward the zebra and rasps in an exhausted voice, "Try finishing the count in under sixty seconds next time!" Ignoring the jibe, the ref simply instructs the belligerent blonde to "Keep wrestling, Kylie."
Her face darkening with fury and vexation, the blonde struggles back up to her feet, but instead of resuming her attack on her opponent, she stalks over to the nearest corner. There, her fingers go to work on the lace holding the pad on the top turnbuckle. After several moments she is able to yank the pad off and throw it aside. Only now does she return her attention to the harried Hellion, grabbing Cynthia by her damp and tangled chestnut mane and with a groaning effort on the blonde's part, hauling her up to uncertain verticalness. She then drags Mitchell stumbling over to the corner, still holding tight to her hair.
Pulling Cyn's head back, Sanders then slams her face-first into the unpadded steel buckle. The Carolinian gives a sharp gasp mixed with a pained moan, her whole body trembling. Kylie hauls her backward and then smashes her again...and again...and again. By the fifth impact, Cynthia's arms splay over the top ropes, and that's all that keeps her upright as her body goes limp. Her head yanked back from the turnbuckle, the FAWN cameras close in to reveal the gash to her forehead that results in a steady flow of crimson down her face, blood and sweat blending to blind Mitchell.
The sight of the blood seems to invigorate Kylie, stirring a bloodlust that twists her ordinarily (deceptively) angelic features into a mask of sadistic fury. With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she bends down at the knees and pulls the supple, listless body of her rival backward across the blonde's shoulders. Sanders then regains her full height and, staggering under the weight, slowly makes her way to center ring. And there, with a bellow of sheer doggedness, Vanilla Chill tries to lift Mitchell's body up over her head in a gorilla press. She makes it about halfway, holding her foe aloft for a few heartbeats, limbs quaking, before realizing she won’t make it all the way and releasing, letting gravity send Cynthia crashing in a heap to the mat, the brunette absently rolling to her back.
Then, like a marionette whose strings have been cut, Ky falls prey to that same gravity, collapsing upon the Hellion's body. Clearly struggling to not pass out from exhaustion, Sanders slowly moves to grab her adversary's right leg, lifting it in order to hook her for the pin. The referee begins to count...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!!!!
The bell tolls and the crowd erupts in shock and fury. Sophie is also in a state of disbelief. However, after several seconds, she snaps out of it and darts through the ropes, furiously charging at Kylie who remains splayed across the unmoving figure of Cynthia.
Her blitz is thwarted for a few moments by the referee, who throws himself in her path, but she manages to push him aside. Luckily for Kylie however, that delay has given Kristy the time she needs to rush into the ring and, before the elder Mitchell can avenge her fallen sibling, Sophie finds herself trading blows with the Minnesotan.
The timekeeper continues to toll the bell in a fruitless effort to bring a halt to the melee, but no one pays him any heed. Then, to add to the confusion, a gasp is heard among some spectators, followed immediately by cheering, as Ivy Armstrong bursts through the curtain at the head of the runway and tears down the aisle, determined to give aid and comfort to the Mitchells.
IVY ARMSTRONG:
But unknown to the 'Bama Slamma, she is followed just a few steps behind by Jasmine Washington, who puts on a burst of speed and leaps forward, wrapping her arms around the redhead's legs and tacking her to the arena floor at ringside. The two are a tangle of limbs as they roll back and forth, punching clawing and snarling at one another in a veritable catfight.
JASMINE WASHINGTON:
At this point the referee waves in reinforcements, and ten additional officials dash in, half of them struggling to pull Jasmine and Ivy apart, the rest trying to separate Sophie and Kristy...and all meeting with just middling success at first. But eventually the weight of sheer numbers prevails, and the combatants are pried apart. Only now can the medics get into the ring to do their work, transporting both Cynthia and Kylie, now each barely conscious, out of the squared circle and up the aisleway on stretchers, and from there taken to (separate rooms) in the arena's infirmary to start the recovery for what Bethany Christian is moments later touting as the final battle of these two legends’ final war.