Post by EmmaWoods007 on Jan 10, 2020 13:26:52 GMT
With scarcely a minute to go before the cameras would start rolling, the last members of the sold-out arena were beginning to settle down when…
CAN’T GO TO HELL
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c8tPJ740xA
…unexpectantly burst out over the loud speakers.
As it turned out, the FAWNatics were not the only ones surprised by the interruption; the Announcer also caught flat footed as he was still positioned outside the ring. There had scarcely been time for the live feed to kick in before the sound system had erupted into life and, believing that someone had evidently jumped their cue, the man with the microphone was momentarily uncertain as to whether or not he should dive beneath the ropes and make a hasty introduction.
After deciding that the hoarse had already bolted, he put such thoughts out of mind, choosing to remain where he was and see how things played out, which was just as well as the curtains parted a mere moment after to reveal the ‘Marvellous’ Marvela Marcille.
As frequently proved to be the case, the black sheep of wrestling returned to the stage whenever it suited her, and spurned the industry whenever it didn’t, the Purr-fect Princess swaggering into the limelight however, and whenever she desired, all five foot five and one-hundred and twenty pounds of her sublimely sculptured to purr-fection.
MARVELA MARCILLE
The FAWNatics didn’t miss a beat, reminding the ‘Original’ People’s Princess just how unhappy they remained with her general, poor behaviour, showering her with scorn.
Marcille did not recuperate in her usual manner, a scowl momentarily curling the lip of the lithe brunette as she stood with one hand on hip, the young woman positively seething from head to toe, her contempt almost palpable as it bled off her in waves.
With a disgusted shake of head, Marvela launched into a light stepped stride down the ramp, the saunter of hips and the swish of her shoulders full of self-assured swagger, her mane of chocolate brown immaculate and shimmering, her demeanour showing not even a hint of fallibility.
She spun in a one eighty spiral, sweeping out her arms to either side as she continued to saunter backwards, well aware that she knew that she was hot shit, and everyone else was just burned by it, her stride as infuriatingly confident in reverse as it was in going the right way. It was at this point she spotted one sign in particular, a message that was repeated several times over throughout the arena just in case she saw fit to make an appearance, and she barely even had to read the words to know what it said.
What it always said.
NOT “OUR” PRINCESS
She merely rolled her eyes once more and dismissed the heartbroken sentiment with a dismissive flick of her wrist, turning back to sauntering the right way as she reached the ring. She strode up the steel steps and slipped into the squared circle, wasting little time in striding to the opposite corner and positively glaring down at the Announcer who hadn’t moved from his position.
“You,” she pointed an accusatory finger in his direction, “you’re redundant, give me the microphone.”
He hesitated, which was evidently a mistake, the ire he received from Marvella’s glare alone enough for him to hand over his stick.
Marcille snatched it from his hand, dismissing him with scarcely contained contempt. She brought the microphone to her lips and, just before she could speak, the FAWNatics conspired to drown her out.
“NOT! OUR!! PRINCESS!!! NOT! OUR!! PRINCESS!!! NOT! OUR!! PRINCESS!!! NOT! OUR!! PRINCESS!!!”
“I AM THE ONLY PRINCESS!!” Marvela all but screamed back at them, doing so directly into her mic, the locales impressive sound system ensuring that she won that particular, auditory battle. Exhaling deeply, she would not be derailed from her incoming tirade, not here, not tonight, not by anyone.
“Vile, little cretins, each and every one of you!!” she went on to accuse, pacing about the ring and warming to her subject matter, months of thwarted ambitions and mounting frustrations boiling over. “You don’t deserve me!! You don’t remember what I am!! I, Marvela Marcille, I am the youngest, EVER, World Champion on this continent, ME!! I did that, I achieved what NO-ONE else could do, and then you filthy little vermin freaks TURNED ON ME!!”
The heckles that rained down on the squared circle confirmed that the audience in attendance tonight disagreed with her ‘reinvention of historical events.’
“I never lost my Title!!” she went on to explained, dismissively throwing up her palm to rebuff their protests. “No-one took it off me, I still have it, it’s MINE!! I am the longest reigning World Champion of ALL TIME!!”
The FAWNatics didn’t like the sound of that claim, and they let her know it, especially being as there were a whole mountain of reasons as to why that wasn’t even ‘technically’ true. Marcille would not be deterred from her chosen narrative, however, and she doubled down all the more in the face of their respective protests.
“And what respect has that brought me? NONE! I stand here, tonight, in front of backwater, inbred trash panders, forced, FORCED to voice my complaints publicly, to bring to light the myriad of injustices heaped upon me!! I deserve, I DEMAND to be a part of a programme of consequences, and I demand ANOTHER shot at…”
ONE OF A KIND
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5QMpw2Jt-c
It was Marcille’s turn to be cut off, and the ‘Original’ People’s Princess was by no means pleased about it, the viperous brunette spinning on the Announcer, who was still impotently outside the ring, and demanding that he explain the interruption. He did, of course, have no more answers to give than she did but, fortunately for all involved, the truth revealed herself swiftly enough.
The ‘One and Only’ Mickey Gold emerged out into the stage at a swift pace, pausing only to stand with her feet braced apart and one hand raised up high as she planted the other of her hip. The petitely packaged brunette was greeted heartily by the FAWNatics, the well-known work ethic of the ‘Hardest Working Woman in Wrestling’ particularly welcome in this specific locale, and when she lowered her upraised palm to point towards the squared circle, they encouraged her on with a fresh cheer.
MICKEY GOLD
She beat a rapid and assured stride down towards the ring, curls bouncing atop her slender shoulders as she flashed both a winning and humble smile. At five foot five and one hundred and twenty-four pounds, the sublimely sculptured athlete had slipped into a shimmering singlet of golden hue which, with a generous cut to the rear, exposed much of her back to the FAWNatics watching, as well as her firm thighs. Shin high boots with white accents along with knee and elbow pads completed the ensemble and, as she deftly hopped up onto the apron with a self-assured stride, the longest reigning Queen of the Jungle looked every inch the Champion, even without her former, coveted Title still adorning her slim midriff.
She slipped between the top and middle ropes and, somewhere along the way she had secured for herself her own microphone, FAWN’s resident ‘Girl Next Door’ bringing it to her lips. She cut off Marvella before her irate counterpart had been able to do likewise, Mickey cutting right to the chase.
“First of all,” Gold began, the crowd granting her their undivided attention, “I don’t appreciate you hijacking my allotted airtime to fill this arena with hot air. For a start, its rude, and even it wasn’t, Marcille, I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but no-one cares.”
The FAWNatics agreed heartily with that, Marcille, however, was silently seething, her white knuckled grip of her microphone betraying her quite fury.
“But being as you bring it up, let’s cover all of the bases,” Mickey advanced, stopping scarcely a handspan apart from her crimson clad counterpart’s glare. “The youngest ever World Champion on this continent? Alright, I’ll give you that, it was quite the achievement, worthy of remembering,” Gold was gracious in admitting. “But longest reigning?”
Mickey stepped back, perking her brow in question, “Really?”
“Yes!” Marvela snapped before forcing herself to calm down, sticking her chin out petulantly as a smirk curled the corners of her lips. “I never lost my Title, it’s been over a decade, do the math.” She tilted her head slightly to the side, a mocking glint sparkling in her eyes, “I thought you were supposed to be smart?”
“Here’s the thing,” Mickey countered, warming to her subject, the audience eating out her hand, “you say you were never defeated, that you never lost your Title. True enough, from a certain point of view. But here’s my question, how many times have you defended it?”
Hastily, Marvela opened her mouth to snap out a reply, but the Marvellous one stopped herself, licking her lips as she successfully retained her composure. “I don’t recall,” she dismissed the question, forcing herself to look nonplussed.
“In that case, you won’t mind me reminding you,” the two time and longest reigning ‘Queen of the Jungle’ carried on undeterred. “Once. You defended your World Title once and then, when things didn’t go your way, when the world didn’t bow down to your desired narrative, you spat out your dummy before taking your ball and going home. You quit Marcille, you left, you gave up, Marvella, you ran away.”
Mickey stepped forwards once more to make her point, all amusement vanishing from her expression, “You. Ran. Away.”
Marcille’s lower jaw clenched, she said not a word.
The ‘One and Only’ Mickey Gold filled the silence for her.
“So you can take your pity party and you can shove it, ‘Princess’, because as far as I’m concerned, and as far as the thousands of people here are concerned, and as far as the millions of people watching at home are concerned, that ‘longest reigning World Title run’ you’re so proud of?” Mickey paused for effect.
“It’s null and void.”
If looks could kill, Mickey would have been incinerated on the spot, as it was, Marvela had to satisfy herself with dark fantasies as the FAWNatics rained down a fresh chant upon her with renewed gusto.
“NULL! AND!! VOID!!! NULL! AND!! VOID!!! NULL! AND!! VOID!!! NULL! AND!! VOID!!!
Marcille clenched her lower jaw until she forcibly calmed down, licking her lips with the tip of her tongue before she settled on a viperous, venomous smirk. With a tilt of her chin, she looked down her nose at the Hardest Working Women in Wrestling before seeing fit to not grace her with a reply. Marvella stepped back from the tension fuelled confrontation, choosing the better part of valour with a reverse strut, holding her arms out wide as though declaring that she was ‘hot sh*t’ and turning to leave…
…before she pivoted sharply on the spot and SMASHED!! her microphone into the side of Mickey’s unsuspecting noggin!! The CRACK was accompanied by a SQUEEL that was amplified by the sound system as the blindsided Gold dropped down heavily to one knee.
With her stick rendered generally useless by the sudden collision, Marcille spared it only the most passing of irritated glances before tossing the microphone away. Her first weapon of choice so discarded, the ‘Marvellous One’ took a quick step backwards before darting back forwards, snapping out with her athletic, right stem and STRIKING the forcibly penitent Mickey with a wicked Superkick to her cheek.
With a wet smack of boot leather cracking against an unprotected jaw, the Two Time Queen of the Jungle toppled sideways, soon cradling her head protectively as her ears wouldn’t stop ringing.
Marvela, pleased as could be, proceeded to take the scenic tour around the downed, blindsided brunette, strutting with a visible swish in her hips as she held her arms out wide to the FAWNatics, gloating with the most self-indulgent of expressions. Far from satisfied with the havoc she had wrought, however, Marcille peered over the back of her slender shoulder at the other young woman who was struggling to get back up, Marvela’s lip curling in annoyance as Mickey inadvertently pawed at her boot in her efforts to do so.
Marvela pulled her foot away sharply, and as Gold struggled to retain her equilibrium, she reached down to grab the other athlete by her proud lochs. Yanking on Mickey’s mane, she convinced her to get back up to standing, bullying the Girl Next Door back up to her feet before grasping her wrist. A swift pivot and tug later, Marcille sent her counterpart sprinting across the ring by way of Irish Whip.
So prompted, Gold did as she was bid, dashing towards the furthest set of ring ropes, her vision still blurry as she raced towards them. Something deep within Mickey, however, responded at that moment and, as she collided with the rubber coated steel, she wrapped both her arms about the uppermost rope, halting her own momentum before she could be catapulted right back across the canvas beyond her control.
The FAWNatics responded in the positive to that, a cheer rising from the…
…Marvela was on her in a second, racing across the canvas behind Gold and, even as she had been ready to secure her feet, Marcille leapt into the air. A disheartening CRACK echoed out across the first three rows of the arena as her posted knee connected with the crowd sweethearts exposed temple, yet another blunt force impact to Mickey’s noggin further rattling her senses.
Not only that, but the impact, in conjunction with momentum and no small amount of leverage, tipped the shellshocked Gold right on over the top rope, not stopping until she had tumbled head over heels and began the long descent to the concrete outside. To add insult to injury, with a dull THUNK and hollow grunt, Mickey bounced off the apron on the way down to her crash landing, arriving at her destination in a heap of quivering limbs and mounting pain.
Marvella, having made her own journey to the outside of the ring under her own power, was looking far smugger about proceedings, strutting to the barricades and mimicking a ‘cry face’ to a poor young spectator sat in the front row, one sporting one of Mickey’s T-Shirts. Dismissing the heckles that were raining down in her general direction with a half-hearted, dismissive swish of her hands as she turned about, Marcille got back to business, collecting Gold even as she was, once again, defiantly pushing her way back up to her hands and feet.
“This is what you get,” Marcille sneered, hissing in Mickey’s ear as she pulled the young woman’s head back by her hair. “For accusing me of steeling airtime,” she spat further, exchanging her grip for one of her opponent’s wrist and, with a practiced pivot, launched her into a second Irish Whip.
This trip proved to be far more tragic than the first, as often proved to be the case when one was outside the comparative comfort of the squared circle, and even though Gold was able to turn herself about, she still SLAMMED bodily into the steel steps! The FAWNatics winced in sympathy as the CLANG filled the arena, and the brunette released a pain laced yelp, grimacing with an arched back before she slumped down to sitting, the side of her head tipped against the apron.
Pausing for effect, Marvela found the hard camera and jutted out her hip just so, raising both of hands to above her head before, with thumbs extended, she took her time in pointing down towards her own noggin not once, not twice, but three times, mouthing her favourite boast as she did so.
“IT’S! MY!! TIME!!!”
Mickey tried to get back up, defiant to her core, but when her athletic stems just wouldn’t co-operate, she slumped back down to sitting, the starch seeming to flood out of her sculptured physique as she exhaled deeply.
With a fresh sneer, Marvela rolled her eyes and shook her head. If nothing else, her renewed path towards the EuroAsia Title had just become all the clearer, so at least this irritation had been good for something. Utterly unsympathetic, the Purr-Fect Princess set off at a sprint, the FAWNatics protesting her every step of the way and, leading with her favoured knee joint, prepared to FLATTEN the One and Only Mickey Gold’s already abused noggin between unyielding steel and wicked limb…
…only her opponent had something different in mind and, with a flash in her eyes that suggested that she wasn’t quite as out of it as Marvela would certainly like, Mickey rolled herself to the side to evade danger!! Marvela, however, fully committed to the charge as she was, could to nothing to prevent her athletic limb from SMASHING!! against the steel steps, her panicked cry of denial immediately transforming into a YELP of pain as she tumbled away and crashed down onto the concrete!!
Rolling over onto her side, Marvela released a further wail before she could clamp down on such protests, clutching as her throbbing joint as her thigh twitched sporadically in recoil. She hissed and cursed a venomous blue streak, first rolling over and demanding that her leg attempt to recover, scrambling away across the floor to create some distance from her counterpart before hopping up into pained stumbles. With a shout, she managed to grasp onto the apron and drag herself back into the ring, her right leg still refusing to do as it was told.
Mickey, in contrast, was doing likewise in scraping herself up off the concrete, albeit with a great deal less complaining as the FAWNatics, in much fuller voice now following the turn of events, willed her on. As Gold found one knee and clutched the apron with one hand to help her regain balance, a shake of her head not only cleared her senses, but also confirmed that she was not imagining a chant that was forming from the audience, one that was finding focus with each alliteration, until the whole crowd was soon on the same page.
“BET! ON!! GOLD!!! BET! ON!! GOLD!!! BET! ON!! GOLD!!! BET! ON!! GOLD!!!”
With a deep exhale, Mickey forced herself back to standing with sheer grit and visible determination, never say die attitude rising to the fore as she nodded a few times in acknowledgment of her supporters, turning herself about to brace both of her palms down against the apron. So stabilised, she turned her baby browns to gaze back into the squared circle, pretty peepers momentarily locking with those of Marcille not ten feet from her, the crimson clad grappler pausing as she remained clutching at her wounded knee.
Marvela narrowed her gaze, lip curling in warning, “Don’t you d…”
Mickey did, she dared so much that she didn’t even wait for Marcille to finish her threat, the Longest Reigning Queen of the Jungle diving beneath the bottom rope and taking the fight right back to Marcille!
The ‘Original’ People’s Princess reacted at a scamper, momentarily unable to disguise the panic on her features as she scrambled to return to vertical. Her wounded stem protested like a proverbial mother f*cker; she buried such discomfort deep as danger was approaching all too quickly. Marvela was back on her feet swiftly enough to meet her foe head on, but it was Gold’s reactions that were swifter this time about, collecting the wide eyed Marcille about her thighs and lifting her up high.
With a deft spin and turn, and her unwilling cargo crying out in protest, Mickey utilised every inch of momentum at her disposal to PLANT Marvela to the deck with a beautiful, Spinning Spinebuster!!
SPINNING SPINEBUSTER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLpgS6SKqUE
The plywood flexed with a THUD that was audible as Marcille bounced from the impact with a heady and pained groan, Gold popping back up onto her knees as her adversary did her best to roll away, no longer enjoying the conflict she had started.
The FAWNatics were in full voice, loving every second of it now that Mickey was in the ascendency. So caught up in the moment, were they, that most had forgotten that this wasn’t actually a match…
ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGfKi6kpdTQ
…the sound system cut through the pandemonium like a knife through butter, all eyes turning to the stage when the Monday Night Commissioner, Susan Style, strode out into view. She paused for just a moment, standing at the top of the ramp, the cross-media icon standing with her arms outstretched and one foot placed just so in front of the other, flashing her million-dollar, megawatt smile as, without a word, she already had the FAWNatics eating out of her palm.
SUSAN STYLE
With a shimmy in her stride that was hypnotic, the Social Media Sensation set off towards the squared circle as though she were parting the red sea, golden curls bouncing about her slender shoulders as she effortlessly demanded attention. She strode up the steel steps and, along the way, procured for herself a microphone, pausing at the top only to point out the excitable masses in salute.
She slipped effortlessly into the ring, the hard camera (one can only assume deliberately) capturing a terrific shot of her firm buttocks as she ducked low, the words stencilled in girlish script across those taunt cheeks declaring ‘You Wish!!’ for all to appreciate.
Once Susan had reached centre ring, Marvela had been able to find her own feet, Mickey likewise already vertical, both warily eyeing the Monday Night Commissioner within their midst to see where this was going.
Style raised her stick up to her lips and then, as if a thought had just occurred to her, she hesitated for just a moment. Edging her shades forwards to the tip of her nose, she peeked her baby blues at both Mickey and Marvela in turn, sparing for everyone in attendance just four words…
“I didn’t say stop…”
Mickey was by far the first to catch on, and so it was Gold who reaped the rewards, the eyes of the Hardest Working Woman in Wrestling lighting up in opportunity, kicking out just as Style was calling for the bell. Booting Marvela in her well-toned tummy, the brunette was unceremoniously folded forwards into a textbook forward headlock, one that was swiftly transitioned into a smart, sleek, perfectly executed Suplex, one that would make Wendy Smith herself proud.
Up and over Marvela was flipped, yelping all the way before her back collided with the plywood, grimacing following the guff of escaping air from her lithe physique. Rattled by the unexpected impact, she was little more than a spectator as Mickey rolled on through her own bridge, flipping up and over herself to land back on feet.
Arriving almost back to start, headlock still secured, Mickey pooled her reserves as she tensed her back and thighs and, with a small grunt, began to muscle the winded, deadweight of her new adversary off the deck. Already rubber limbed, Marcille made remarkably little protest as she was hefted up into the air, the tips of her boots momentarily pointing skywards as she was suspended upside down and vertical to the mat.
She wasn’t held aloft for too long, Gold turning her about and then, with a fresh pivot, SPIKED her back down into the canvas for the second time in quick succession by way of a Falcon’s Arrow!!
GOING FOR GOLD!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=upH4ocCjvpA
Marcille puddled into a heap after her legs had kicked out in disarray, her own peeper’s half lidded as Gold rolled atop her and hooked one, compliant stem to secure a pinfall.
Fortunately for Mickey, being as Susan had brought no Official out with her, the Monday Night Commissioner had decided to pull double duty this evening, hitting the deck and beginning her count.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
As unorthodox as the match was, the FAWNatics watching found that they didn’t much care, erupting in the positive as Mickey popped up onto feet and Susan held up her hand in victory. Her theme song soon joined in…
ONE OF A KIND
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5QMpw2Jt-c
…bursting out over the loud speakers, and adding an exclamation point to her evening.
Point made, the Two Time Queen of the Jungle left the shellshocked Marvela in her rear-view mirror, heading on over to the closest set of turnbuckles and climbing them quickly, settling on a perch on the second. Eschewing the use of a mic (lord knows where hers went in the kafuffle), she brought her hands up to cup her mouth, and she shouted to one and all…
“WHEN GOLD IS ON THE LINE…”
The FAWNatics were ready to jump in and finish for her, Mickey saluting the masses as they raised the roof in answer.
“…BET ON GOLD EVERY TIME!!”
And this time, she promised, she would ride that bet all the way.
CAN’T GO TO HELL
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c8tPJ740xA
…unexpectantly burst out over the loud speakers.
As it turned out, the FAWNatics were not the only ones surprised by the interruption; the Announcer also caught flat footed as he was still positioned outside the ring. There had scarcely been time for the live feed to kick in before the sound system had erupted into life and, believing that someone had evidently jumped their cue, the man with the microphone was momentarily uncertain as to whether or not he should dive beneath the ropes and make a hasty introduction.
After deciding that the hoarse had already bolted, he put such thoughts out of mind, choosing to remain where he was and see how things played out, which was just as well as the curtains parted a mere moment after to reveal the ‘Marvellous’ Marvela Marcille.
As frequently proved to be the case, the black sheep of wrestling returned to the stage whenever it suited her, and spurned the industry whenever it didn’t, the Purr-fect Princess swaggering into the limelight however, and whenever she desired, all five foot five and one-hundred and twenty pounds of her sublimely sculptured to purr-fection.
MARVELA MARCILLE
The FAWNatics didn’t miss a beat, reminding the ‘Original’ People’s Princess just how unhappy they remained with her general, poor behaviour, showering her with scorn.
Marcille did not recuperate in her usual manner, a scowl momentarily curling the lip of the lithe brunette as she stood with one hand on hip, the young woman positively seething from head to toe, her contempt almost palpable as it bled off her in waves.
With a disgusted shake of head, Marvela launched into a light stepped stride down the ramp, the saunter of hips and the swish of her shoulders full of self-assured swagger, her mane of chocolate brown immaculate and shimmering, her demeanour showing not even a hint of fallibility.
She spun in a one eighty spiral, sweeping out her arms to either side as she continued to saunter backwards, well aware that she knew that she was hot shit, and everyone else was just burned by it, her stride as infuriatingly confident in reverse as it was in going the right way. It was at this point she spotted one sign in particular, a message that was repeated several times over throughout the arena just in case she saw fit to make an appearance, and she barely even had to read the words to know what it said.
What it always said.
NOT “OUR” PRINCESS
She merely rolled her eyes once more and dismissed the heartbroken sentiment with a dismissive flick of her wrist, turning back to sauntering the right way as she reached the ring. She strode up the steel steps and slipped into the squared circle, wasting little time in striding to the opposite corner and positively glaring down at the Announcer who hadn’t moved from his position.
“You,” she pointed an accusatory finger in his direction, “you’re redundant, give me the microphone.”
He hesitated, which was evidently a mistake, the ire he received from Marvella’s glare alone enough for him to hand over his stick.
Marcille snatched it from his hand, dismissing him with scarcely contained contempt. She brought the microphone to her lips and, just before she could speak, the FAWNatics conspired to drown her out.
“NOT! OUR!! PRINCESS!!! NOT! OUR!! PRINCESS!!! NOT! OUR!! PRINCESS!!! NOT! OUR!! PRINCESS!!!”
“I AM THE ONLY PRINCESS!!” Marvela all but screamed back at them, doing so directly into her mic, the locales impressive sound system ensuring that she won that particular, auditory battle. Exhaling deeply, she would not be derailed from her incoming tirade, not here, not tonight, not by anyone.
“Vile, little cretins, each and every one of you!!” she went on to accuse, pacing about the ring and warming to her subject matter, months of thwarted ambitions and mounting frustrations boiling over. “You don’t deserve me!! You don’t remember what I am!! I, Marvela Marcille, I am the youngest, EVER, World Champion on this continent, ME!! I did that, I achieved what NO-ONE else could do, and then you filthy little vermin freaks TURNED ON ME!!”
The heckles that rained down on the squared circle confirmed that the audience in attendance tonight disagreed with her ‘reinvention of historical events.’
“I never lost my Title!!” she went on to explained, dismissively throwing up her palm to rebuff their protests. “No-one took it off me, I still have it, it’s MINE!! I am the longest reigning World Champion of ALL TIME!!”
The FAWNatics didn’t like the sound of that claim, and they let her know it, especially being as there were a whole mountain of reasons as to why that wasn’t even ‘technically’ true. Marcille would not be deterred from her chosen narrative, however, and she doubled down all the more in the face of their respective protests.
“And what respect has that brought me? NONE! I stand here, tonight, in front of backwater, inbred trash panders, forced, FORCED to voice my complaints publicly, to bring to light the myriad of injustices heaped upon me!! I deserve, I DEMAND to be a part of a programme of consequences, and I demand ANOTHER shot at…”
ONE OF A KIND
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5QMpw2Jt-c
It was Marcille’s turn to be cut off, and the ‘Original’ People’s Princess was by no means pleased about it, the viperous brunette spinning on the Announcer, who was still impotently outside the ring, and demanding that he explain the interruption. He did, of course, have no more answers to give than she did but, fortunately for all involved, the truth revealed herself swiftly enough.
The ‘One and Only’ Mickey Gold emerged out into the stage at a swift pace, pausing only to stand with her feet braced apart and one hand raised up high as she planted the other of her hip. The petitely packaged brunette was greeted heartily by the FAWNatics, the well-known work ethic of the ‘Hardest Working Woman in Wrestling’ particularly welcome in this specific locale, and when she lowered her upraised palm to point towards the squared circle, they encouraged her on with a fresh cheer.
MICKEY GOLD
She beat a rapid and assured stride down towards the ring, curls bouncing atop her slender shoulders as she flashed both a winning and humble smile. At five foot five and one hundred and twenty-four pounds, the sublimely sculptured athlete had slipped into a shimmering singlet of golden hue which, with a generous cut to the rear, exposed much of her back to the FAWNatics watching, as well as her firm thighs. Shin high boots with white accents along with knee and elbow pads completed the ensemble and, as she deftly hopped up onto the apron with a self-assured stride, the longest reigning Queen of the Jungle looked every inch the Champion, even without her former, coveted Title still adorning her slim midriff.
She slipped between the top and middle ropes and, somewhere along the way she had secured for herself her own microphone, FAWN’s resident ‘Girl Next Door’ bringing it to her lips. She cut off Marvella before her irate counterpart had been able to do likewise, Mickey cutting right to the chase.
“First of all,” Gold began, the crowd granting her their undivided attention, “I don’t appreciate you hijacking my allotted airtime to fill this arena with hot air. For a start, its rude, and even it wasn’t, Marcille, I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but no-one cares.”
The FAWNatics agreed heartily with that, Marcille, however, was silently seething, her white knuckled grip of her microphone betraying her quite fury.
“But being as you bring it up, let’s cover all of the bases,” Mickey advanced, stopping scarcely a handspan apart from her crimson clad counterpart’s glare. “The youngest ever World Champion on this continent? Alright, I’ll give you that, it was quite the achievement, worthy of remembering,” Gold was gracious in admitting. “But longest reigning?”
Mickey stepped back, perking her brow in question, “Really?”
“Yes!” Marvela snapped before forcing herself to calm down, sticking her chin out petulantly as a smirk curled the corners of her lips. “I never lost my Title, it’s been over a decade, do the math.” She tilted her head slightly to the side, a mocking glint sparkling in her eyes, “I thought you were supposed to be smart?”
“Here’s the thing,” Mickey countered, warming to her subject, the audience eating out her hand, “you say you were never defeated, that you never lost your Title. True enough, from a certain point of view. But here’s my question, how many times have you defended it?”
Hastily, Marvela opened her mouth to snap out a reply, but the Marvellous one stopped herself, licking her lips as she successfully retained her composure. “I don’t recall,” she dismissed the question, forcing herself to look nonplussed.
“In that case, you won’t mind me reminding you,” the two time and longest reigning ‘Queen of the Jungle’ carried on undeterred. “Once. You defended your World Title once and then, when things didn’t go your way, when the world didn’t bow down to your desired narrative, you spat out your dummy before taking your ball and going home. You quit Marcille, you left, you gave up, Marvella, you ran away.”
Mickey stepped forwards once more to make her point, all amusement vanishing from her expression, “You. Ran. Away.”
Marcille’s lower jaw clenched, she said not a word.
The ‘One and Only’ Mickey Gold filled the silence for her.
“So you can take your pity party and you can shove it, ‘Princess’, because as far as I’m concerned, and as far as the thousands of people here are concerned, and as far as the millions of people watching at home are concerned, that ‘longest reigning World Title run’ you’re so proud of?” Mickey paused for effect.
“It’s null and void.”
If looks could kill, Mickey would have been incinerated on the spot, as it was, Marvela had to satisfy herself with dark fantasies as the FAWNatics rained down a fresh chant upon her with renewed gusto.
“NULL! AND!! VOID!!! NULL! AND!! VOID!!! NULL! AND!! VOID!!! NULL! AND!! VOID!!!
Marcille clenched her lower jaw until she forcibly calmed down, licking her lips with the tip of her tongue before she settled on a viperous, venomous smirk. With a tilt of her chin, she looked down her nose at the Hardest Working Women in Wrestling before seeing fit to not grace her with a reply. Marvella stepped back from the tension fuelled confrontation, choosing the better part of valour with a reverse strut, holding her arms out wide as though declaring that she was ‘hot sh*t’ and turning to leave…
…before she pivoted sharply on the spot and SMASHED!! her microphone into the side of Mickey’s unsuspecting noggin!! The CRACK was accompanied by a SQUEEL that was amplified by the sound system as the blindsided Gold dropped down heavily to one knee.
With her stick rendered generally useless by the sudden collision, Marcille spared it only the most passing of irritated glances before tossing the microphone away. Her first weapon of choice so discarded, the ‘Marvellous One’ took a quick step backwards before darting back forwards, snapping out with her athletic, right stem and STRIKING the forcibly penitent Mickey with a wicked Superkick to her cheek.
With a wet smack of boot leather cracking against an unprotected jaw, the Two Time Queen of the Jungle toppled sideways, soon cradling her head protectively as her ears wouldn’t stop ringing.
Marvela, pleased as could be, proceeded to take the scenic tour around the downed, blindsided brunette, strutting with a visible swish in her hips as she held her arms out wide to the FAWNatics, gloating with the most self-indulgent of expressions. Far from satisfied with the havoc she had wrought, however, Marcille peered over the back of her slender shoulder at the other young woman who was struggling to get back up, Marvela’s lip curling in annoyance as Mickey inadvertently pawed at her boot in her efforts to do so.
Marvela pulled her foot away sharply, and as Gold struggled to retain her equilibrium, she reached down to grab the other athlete by her proud lochs. Yanking on Mickey’s mane, she convinced her to get back up to standing, bullying the Girl Next Door back up to her feet before grasping her wrist. A swift pivot and tug later, Marcille sent her counterpart sprinting across the ring by way of Irish Whip.
So prompted, Gold did as she was bid, dashing towards the furthest set of ring ropes, her vision still blurry as she raced towards them. Something deep within Mickey, however, responded at that moment and, as she collided with the rubber coated steel, she wrapped both her arms about the uppermost rope, halting her own momentum before she could be catapulted right back across the canvas beyond her control.
The FAWNatics responded in the positive to that, a cheer rising from the…
…Marvela was on her in a second, racing across the canvas behind Gold and, even as she had been ready to secure her feet, Marcille leapt into the air. A disheartening CRACK echoed out across the first three rows of the arena as her posted knee connected with the crowd sweethearts exposed temple, yet another blunt force impact to Mickey’s noggin further rattling her senses.
Not only that, but the impact, in conjunction with momentum and no small amount of leverage, tipped the shellshocked Gold right on over the top rope, not stopping until she had tumbled head over heels and began the long descent to the concrete outside. To add insult to injury, with a dull THUNK and hollow grunt, Mickey bounced off the apron on the way down to her crash landing, arriving at her destination in a heap of quivering limbs and mounting pain.
Marvella, having made her own journey to the outside of the ring under her own power, was looking far smugger about proceedings, strutting to the barricades and mimicking a ‘cry face’ to a poor young spectator sat in the front row, one sporting one of Mickey’s T-Shirts. Dismissing the heckles that were raining down in her general direction with a half-hearted, dismissive swish of her hands as she turned about, Marcille got back to business, collecting Gold even as she was, once again, defiantly pushing her way back up to her hands and feet.
“This is what you get,” Marcille sneered, hissing in Mickey’s ear as she pulled the young woman’s head back by her hair. “For accusing me of steeling airtime,” she spat further, exchanging her grip for one of her opponent’s wrist and, with a practiced pivot, launched her into a second Irish Whip.
This trip proved to be far more tragic than the first, as often proved to be the case when one was outside the comparative comfort of the squared circle, and even though Gold was able to turn herself about, she still SLAMMED bodily into the steel steps! The FAWNatics winced in sympathy as the CLANG filled the arena, and the brunette released a pain laced yelp, grimacing with an arched back before she slumped down to sitting, the side of her head tipped against the apron.
Pausing for effect, Marvela found the hard camera and jutted out her hip just so, raising both of hands to above her head before, with thumbs extended, she took her time in pointing down towards her own noggin not once, not twice, but three times, mouthing her favourite boast as she did so.
“IT’S! MY!! TIME!!!”
Mickey tried to get back up, defiant to her core, but when her athletic stems just wouldn’t co-operate, she slumped back down to sitting, the starch seeming to flood out of her sculptured physique as she exhaled deeply.
With a fresh sneer, Marvela rolled her eyes and shook her head. If nothing else, her renewed path towards the EuroAsia Title had just become all the clearer, so at least this irritation had been good for something. Utterly unsympathetic, the Purr-Fect Princess set off at a sprint, the FAWNatics protesting her every step of the way and, leading with her favoured knee joint, prepared to FLATTEN the One and Only Mickey Gold’s already abused noggin between unyielding steel and wicked limb…
…only her opponent had something different in mind and, with a flash in her eyes that suggested that she wasn’t quite as out of it as Marvela would certainly like, Mickey rolled herself to the side to evade danger!! Marvela, however, fully committed to the charge as she was, could to nothing to prevent her athletic limb from SMASHING!! against the steel steps, her panicked cry of denial immediately transforming into a YELP of pain as she tumbled away and crashed down onto the concrete!!
Rolling over onto her side, Marvela released a further wail before she could clamp down on such protests, clutching as her throbbing joint as her thigh twitched sporadically in recoil. She hissed and cursed a venomous blue streak, first rolling over and demanding that her leg attempt to recover, scrambling away across the floor to create some distance from her counterpart before hopping up into pained stumbles. With a shout, she managed to grasp onto the apron and drag herself back into the ring, her right leg still refusing to do as it was told.
Mickey, in contrast, was doing likewise in scraping herself up off the concrete, albeit with a great deal less complaining as the FAWNatics, in much fuller voice now following the turn of events, willed her on. As Gold found one knee and clutched the apron with one hand to help her regain balance, a shake of her head not only cleared her senses, but also confirmed that she was not imagining a chant that was forming from the audience, one that was finding focus with each alliteration, until the whole crowd was soon on the same page.
“BET! ON!! GOLD!!! BET! ON!! GOLD!!! BET! ON!! GOLD!!! BET! ON!! GOLD!!!”
With a deep exhale, Mickey forced herself back to standing with sheer grit and visible determination, never say die attitude rising to the fore as she nodded a few times in acknowledgment of her supporters, turning herself about to brace both of her palms down against the apron. So stabilised, she turned her baby browns to gaze back into the squared circle, pretty peepers momentarily locking with those of Marcille not ten feet from her, the crimson clad grappler pausing as she remained clutching at her wounded knee.
Marvela narrowed her gaze, lip curling in warning, “Don’t you d…”
Mickey did, she dared so much that she didn’t even wait for Marcille to finish her threat, the Longest Reigning Queen of the Jungle diving beneath the bottom rope and taking the fight right back to Marcille!
The ‘Original’ People’s Princess reacted at a scamper, momentarily unable to disguise the panic on her features as she scrambled to return to vertical. Her wounded stem protested like a proverbial mother f*cker; she buried such discomfort deep as danger was approaching all too quickly. Marvela was back on her feet swiftly enough to meet her foe head on, but it was Gold’s reactions that were swifter this time about, collecting the wide eyed Marcille about her thighs and lifting her up high.
With a deft spin and turn, and her unwilling cargo crying out in protest, Mickey utilised every inch of momentum at her disposal to PLANT Marvela to the deck with a beautiful, Spinning Spinebuster!!
SPINNING SPINEBUSTER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLpgS6SKqUE
The plywood flexed with a THUD that was audible as Marcille bounced from the impact with a heady and pained groan, Gold popping back up onto her knees as her adversary did her best to roll away, no longer enjoying the conflict she had started.
The FAWNatics were in full voice, loving every second of it now that Mickey was in the ascendency. So caught up in the moment, were they, that most had forgotten that this wasn’t actually a match…
ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGfKi6kpdTQ
…the sound system cut through the pandemonium like a knife through butter, all eyes turning to the stage when the Monday Night Commissioner, Susan Style, strode out into view. She paused for just a moment, standing at the top of the ramp, the cross-media icon standing with her arms outstretched and one foot placed just so in front of the other, flashing her million-dollar, megawatt smile as, without a word, she already had the FAWNatics eating out of her palm.
SUSAN STYLE
With a shimmy in her stride that was hypnotic, the Social Media Sensation set off towards the squared circle as though she were parting the red sea, golden curls bouncing about her slender shoulders as she effortlessly demanded attention. She strode up the steel steps and, along the way, procured for herself a microphone, pausing at the top only to point out the excitable masses in salute.
She slipped effortlessly into the ring, the hard camera (one can only assume deliberately) capturing a terrific shot of her firm buttocks as she ducked low, the words stencilled in girlish script across those taunt cheeks declaring ‘You Wish!!’ for all to appreciate.
Once Susan had reached centre ring, Marvela had been able to find her own feet, Mickey likewise already vertical, both warily eyeing the Monday Night Commissioner within their midst to see where this was going.
Style raised her stick up to her lips and then, as if a thought had just occurred to her, she hesitated for just a moment. Edging her shades forwards to the tip of her nose, she peeked her baby blues at both Mickey and Marvela in turn, sparing for everyone in attendance just four words…
“I didn’t say stop…”
Mickey was by far the first to catch on, and so it was Gold who reaped the rewards, the eyes of the Hardest Working Woman in Wrestling lighting up in opportunity, kicking out just as Style was calling for the bell. Booting Marvela in her well-toned tummy, the brunette was unceremoniously folded forwards into a textbook forward headlock, one that was swiftly transitioned into a smart, sleek, perfectly executed Suplex, one that would make Wendy Smith herself proud.
Up and over Marvela was flipped, yelping all the way before her back collided with the plywood, grimacing following the guff of escaping air from her lithe physique. Rattled by the unexpected impact, she was little more than a spectator as Mickey rolled on through her own bridge, flipping up and over herself to land back on feet.
Arriving almost back to start, headlock still secured, Mickey pooled her reserves as she tensed her back and thighs and, with a small grunt, began to muscle the winded, deadweight of her new adversary off the deck. Already rubber limbed, Marcille made remarkably little protest as she was hefted up into the air, the tips of her boots momentarily pointing skywards as she was suspended upside down and vertical to the mat.
She wasn’t held aloft for too long, Gold turning her about and then, with a fresh pivot, SPIKED her back down into the canvas for the second time in quick succession by way of a Falcon’s Arrow!!
GOING FOR GOLD!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=upH4ocCjvpA
Marcille puddled into a heap after her legs had kicked out in disarray, her own peeper’s half lidded as Gold rolled atop her and hooked one, compliant stem to secure a pinfall.
Fortunately for Mickey, being as Susan had brought no Official out with her, the Monday Night Commissioner had decided to pull double duty this evening, hitting the deck and beginning her count.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
As unorthodox as the match was, the FAWNatics watching found that they didn’t much care, erupting in the positive as Mickey popped up onto feet and Susan held up her hand in victory. Her theme song soon joined in…
ONE OF A KIND
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5QMpw2Jt-c
…bursting out over the loud speakers, and adding an exclamation point to her evening.
Point made, the Two Time Queen of the Jungle left the shellshocked Marvela in her rear-view mirror, heading on over to the closest set of turnbuckles and climbing them quickly, settling on a perch on the second. Eschewing the use of a mic (lord knows where hers went in the kafuffle), she brought her hands up to cup her mouth, and she shouted to one and all…
“WHEN GOLD IS ON THE LINE…”
The FAWNatics were ready to jump in and finish for her, Mickey saluting the masses as they raised the roof in answer.
“…BET ON GOLD EVERY TIME!!”
And this time, she promised, she would ride that bet all the way.