Post by hawkeye on Feb 7, 2020 1:09:41 GMT
Nothing lasts forever, as much as Golden State Wrestling fans wished for the opposite to be true, particularly the biggest and most diehard faction, the Angel’s Choir. Through good times and bad, though in the case of the California Angel’s time at GSW it had been unquestionably more of the former, the masses supported their beloved redhead with adoration and, one could argue more importantly, dollars.
After showing the wrestling world she still has every bit of it in rebuffing the future of the organization in the Venezuelan phenom Luciana Lopez, the clamor is for the champion to bring a huge portion of the present to heel.
The Neon Demon Drusilla Foster is collecting souls at a frightening pace throughout GSW, her cold cruelty claiming Heaven Hughes at the most recent pay-per-view. Only through the grace and fortitude of the Angel had Heaven not been put in the hospital at the hands of the Demon, like several others before her.
With the next Golden State blockbuster fast approaching, logic and profit book the main event, a climax worthy of the sellout that would certainly come once confirmed.
Days out, the Angel in question, Colleen O’Neal, sits across from the GSW board of governors, a high falootin’ title for three graying, slightly paunchy white men who fancy themselves wrestling business geniuses.
COLLEEN O’NEAL
While those on either side of the table always made the most of each other’s efforts, each helping the other to considerable success through the years, there is a hint of nervousness in the room.
“Gentlemen,” Colleen breaks the ice. “As we’ve discussed, this month’s match will close things out for me at Golden State.”
There’s a hint of sadness in Colleen’s baby blues but no tremor in her voice.
“I feel like I’ve done all but one thing I can do here and I take care of that soon enough.”
The twinkle returns to her azure peepers thinking about one final curtain-closing triumph against the woman terrorizing her way up the ranks to rival her in stature.
“Discussed yes,” one of the governors retorts. “Agreed, no.”
“But my contract expires…”
O’Neal is interrupted by another of the powers that be.
“There’s a soft stop, but we have the right of renegotiation for a year. You cannot move to another organization during that time. That’s a long time for a woman of your…experience.”
There’s a flash of fury in the face of the redhead, but it’s quickly contained.
“I don’t plan on joining another organization. You know this. This is retirement.”
“You beat La-teena,” the third man interjects. “You just proved you’re as good as ever, better than someone half your age. We all know you’re more popular than Shea London in Cali, hell, west of the Mississippi probably.”
“So you’re the good cop I take it?” O’Neal asks with a hint of softness, an attempt to lessen the rising tension.
The third man shrugs, grin growing.
“You got me. It’s just we know you’re going to send the Neon Demon back to her glittery hellhole so we also know there are many more chapters of the Angel’s book to write beyond this match.
“Look we’re aware the dirt sheets are running the fight as the last match for GSW’s living legend, and believe me, we couldn’t ask for better hype, but we REALLY don’t want that to be the case. I believe the last raise of our offer for another three years has made that abundantly clear.”
“It has,” Colleen responds respectfully, “And it’s an deal that’s truly generous but win or lose, my fight with the Demon will be my last.”
“You know,” the first governor says, “Drusilla is requesting a ‘No DQ’ match. We can quash that idea right now, or not as the case may be.”
O’Neal shakes her head, sadness returning.
“Your choice. Any way you decide to put me in there with Foster, you know I’m not going to let her send me out of GSW on her terms. The Angel isn’t going to Hades at the end of her last battle.”
“Dru has a different idea for the ending,” the ‘good cop’ responds. “She’s publicly stated you’ll end in the Eight Level of Hell if she has to go with you. Sounds like someone who it might be better to face when she could be disqualified.”
The freckled face of GSW shrugs and nods.
“You know my position, gentlemen.”
O’Neal rises from her seat.
“You do what you feel best regarding this match. I’d hope our long history of making hay won’t end in a blaze, but if you want to end this relationship in fire, it’ll be one that lights the way to greener pastures for me and my fans.”
Colleen turns and strides confidently out of the board room, leaving see-no-evil, hear-no-evil and speak-no-evil in silent consternation, at least until the door slams behind her.
“Get the lawyers to work,” says the first. “If she won’t stay, we need Dru to pluck our Angel’s wings and leave her a distant memory even before she’s stretchered out of the building.”
+++
The LA Auditorium is packed to the rafters, waiting for the crescendo of another amazing card to be reached. Heaven Hughes bouncing back to claim an early-card upset victory, Luciana Lopez living up to her Blonde Killer moniker in the previous match, and the rest of tonight’s action is mere introduction to the night’s and a career’s pinnacle and conclusion.
The nervous excitement is turned to cascading boos when the arena goes black. Neon spotlights swirl through the bowl and the electronic beats of the Demon Dance rumble through the arena, signaling the imminent arrival of the GSK’s Neon Demon.
Demon Dance ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvUJsu5w8IU )
The hypnotizing pounding continues for a dozen seconds or more when an icy blonde emerges from behind the curtains with a white-hot spot on her. She absorbs the crowd’s disdain before striding to the ring.
Foster, though long and lean at 5’9” and 123 pounds, casts an oversized shadow with her unorthodox bearing. Living up to the Neon in her sobriquet, streaks of neon pink, green and orange course through her otherwise platinum mane. Her face is speckled with jewel-like multi-colored freckles placed on cheek, temple and forehead. Only her red and black latex two piece seem to conjure the demon-side of the equation, at least until she uses actions much more powerful than words.
DRUSILLA FOSTER
( i.ebayimg.com/00/s/MTU2MFgxMjAw/z/P0MAAOSwuTta856X/$_3.jpg )
The blonde moves up the steps without delay, slipping through the ropes and claiming the middle of the ring. She looks heavenward and spits neon pink mist high into the air above her, the curious cloud leaving minute speckles on the canvas when it returns to earth, the main arena illumination returning with it.
Dru returns her emotionless gaze to the crowd, straightens her rubberized miniskirt, letting her fingers trail down pale white gams toward black pads and boots below, then turns her gaze to the entrance above.
Foster doesn’t have to wait long as the Angel to her Demon bounces excitedly from backstage, accompanied by Katy Perry’s California Gurls. ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F57P9C4SAW4 )
COLLEEN O’NEAL
O’Neal takes a moment to savor her last entrance, waving to her adoring choir, then, in her classic style, races to the ring. The long-time Face of the Franchise dives in under the bottom rope, popping to her feet instantly as Drusilla carefully backpedals to her corner, showing no other response.
The relatively diminutive redheaded veteran looks over her final foe, nodding with respect, then turns her attention to the roaring crowd, appreciating the loud love one last time.
The Angel unclasps her championship hardware from around her waist and raises it high, lifting the decibels further. Garbed in her iconic tight spandex one-piece, halved in pink and sky blue with pink boots to mid-thigh and silver fingerless gloves, the Cali native is ready for her supreme performance.
Gear: ( www.dollskill.com/halloween-sexy-wrestling-champ-costume-set-pink-turquoise.html?gclid=Cj0KCQiAt_PuBRDcARIsAMNlBdr_8wE5qC_kyeTo6lFLvIAIVfi-oFHrA_YlWbDRyxEebaPXuRlroFIaAmIzEALw_wcB without the ‘belt’ ) .
The ring announcer breaks in to provide formal introductions as Colleen hands over her prize for safekeeping.
“Tonight’s final match is a NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH and is for the Golden State Wrestling championship! In the corner to my left from the location where you all will end…” The man suddenly looks very uncomfortable realizing what he’s just said to the sellout crowd. “…the Neon Demon…Drusilla Foster.”
Jeers fill the bowl at ear-splitting levels.
“And her opponent…”
The crowd doesn’t wait to erupt in a reverential standing ovation.
“From San Francisco, the California Angel and your Golden State Wrestling champion…Colleen O’Neal!”
The redhead, caught up in the emotion, has misty eyes as she waves to the masses, turning 360 degrees as she means to say good-bye to every single corner of the arena.
BUT she only gets to about 255 degrees before the Demon strikes from behind, racing forward and BURYING a double axhandle into the back of O’Neal’s skull. Colleen pitches forward, staggering into the buckles in front of her.
With no DQs, the official has nothing to do but call for the bell, which tolls as Drusilla races into a raised knee to the base of the champ’s spine, Colleen yelping in pain from the blonde’s vile sneak attack.
Foster bounces away from her cheap shot, the crowd howling in revulsion at the assault. There’s not a hint of recognition from Dru. Instead, she closes in again with O’Neal’s head still turned. The blonde latches onto the top rope at the champ’s side with both hands and wheels kick after kick into the base of Colleen’s lower spine. She reaches five then lifts her ivory stem to send boot upon boot into the back of the redhead’s neck then skull.
The ref catches himself before asking Foster to get the match out of the corner and he likewise ignores Drusilla as she slips through the ropes and drops to the floor with a battered Angel slumping against the buckles like a drunk against a bar.
The Demon lifts the apron and peeks under. When she emerges with a steel folding chair, the only surprise is that her weapon of choice is so basic. But basic doesn’t mean it can’t be hugely damaging and Dru slides in under the bottom cable with her metal furniture.
The blonde pops to her feet and brandishes the chair like a batter, swinging and SMASHING the steel into Colleen’s backbone with a left-handed swipe that forces a cry out of the California Angel.
Drusilla next uses the top edge of the chair, RAMMING it into the lower spinal column of the GSW legend, O’Neal arching in agony.
“Never…ever…mess with what you don’t understand,” Foster warns, seemingly too late for the champ’s good.
“Heaven Hughes wasn’t yours to save,” the steely, blue-eyed blonde informs. “And now, you’re no one else’s to save.”
Drusilla wedges the chair between the top and middle ropes on either side of the corner, ‘locking’ Colleen between the steel and the buckles. Foster trots to the opposite corner, makes her u-turn, and races toward her target. She leaps high from several feet out, a dropkick pushing into the metal, forcing it forward, the chair CLANKING into Colleen’s vertebrae. The redhead yelps in pain, sliding down to end on her haunches, arm reaching around to try and salve her aching back.
Drusilla removes the bent chair from its confinement. She opens and sets it down, taking a seat behind the abused face of the fed.
“I’m going to bury you so deep, you’ll never think about coming back to the ring.”
Never one to shirk from a fight, O’Neal uses the ropes to pull to her feet. Still, the Neon Demon remains seated and unconcerned.
“You won’t be flying to the rest home, Angel,” she continues. “Your wings will be plucked tonight and you’ll be taking the bus.”
The Golden State champ vaults to the middle ropes and leaps into a 180-spin. She flies out of the buckles with a dropkick of her own, boot soles RAMMING into the chest of Foster. Drusilla is sent tipping over, crashing out of her chair and landing on her head and shoulders to the loud approval of the fans.
Back somersaulting to a kneeling position, Dru watches as Colleen scrambles to her feet and charges. O’Neal aims a soccer kick at the blonde’s chest, but Foster catches the boot in her hands before it can hit home. The Demon throws her foe’s right leg away in a violent pendulum-like movement and Colleen’s body flies forward, her face SMASHING into the steel seatpan of the discarded chair. The title holder absently flops to her back, splayed next to Dru. The challenger dives atop the splattered San Fran native in a lateral press, hooking a leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The stubborn veteran refuses to go out on her shield so quickly in her last battle, O’Neal throwing a shoulder up, rolling to her chest and pushing up to hands and knees. The after effects of her head colliding with the chair seem to catch up. She lists to her left and flops back to her side, blue eyes glazed.
Drusilla pushes to her feet and hovers over the reeling champ. Some unseen signal is given and she manically stomps the redhead into a auburn-haired puddle, the crowd letting the Demon know they want their heavenly host to finish her career on top.
The blonde wraps her palms around a wrist of the wilting California Angel, tugging O’Neal to her feet and aiming her at the distant corner. Drusilla lets fly with an Irish Whip and the diminutive redhead is sent racing to the buckles where she’s spent much of the match. Colleen turns and FLIES into the corner, ivory-skinned body rocked by the collision.
Foster, having plucked the mangled chair off the canvas, holds it tight in front of her chest and sprints toward the Golden State legend. She goes airborne from several steps away, flying toward the champ but finding the corner evacuated when she returns to earth, the Angel having flown the coop.
The Demon’s eyes widen slightly, enough to show the knowledge this result is not what she had in mind. And the CLANG of chair and Demon to empty buckles is loud and impactful. The blonde backpedals a few steps before collapsing to the canvas, chair still loosely gripped atop her.
Not missing a beat, O’Neal skies into the air above her would-be final victim, forward flipping into a perfectly placed senton. The landing of Colleen’s back to steel draws a howl of pain from the champ but the brunt of the blow is delivered to the Neon Demon beneath.
The Angel doesn’t bother dispensing with the chair. The wincing redhead ignores the aches and pains to slide atop both metal and Demon beneath in a crossbody pin for the win at…
ONE…
TWO…
Impassively and authoritatively, Drusilla shoves her smaller foe off. The chair quickly follows, though Colleen ducks out of the way and avoids further harm from the mangled metal.
The face of Golden State Wrestling tries not to be impressed, moving back to the seated and stationary blonde then hauling the seemingly dazed Demon to vertical. Wrapping up the blonde’s cranium in a side headlock, Colleen races forward with the Demon in tow. But as O’Neal lifts off to deliver a bulldog, Dru’s hands move to Colleen’s waist and the redhead’s shoved off. The startled champ lands on her feet. She spins and matrixes under a clothesline from the Demon, quite a show from someone of the Angel’s vintage.
When Drusilla skids and turns to O’Neal, Colleen has a toe kick at the ready, sending it deep into Foster’s gut. The Angel reacquires her side headlock and charges forward again, this time sitting out with the blonde still in her grasp and POUNDING the Demon’s face into the thinly-sheathed plywood with a completed bulldog.
Drusilla’s facial sends her back up to her haunches where she settles, chin drooping to her chest as she seems out on her knees. The Angel gives her backside a rub as she rises, the redhead’s tailbone sore from the landing. She thrusts a fist at the Angelenos and they respond with a loud roar, ready to make their icon’s finale one for the ages.
Colleen’s all about that as well as she wraps her hands around the head of the Neon Demon and lifts the blonde to rubbery stems. O’Neal pulls Dru into a front facelock, slipping her head under a limp arm of the challenger. She RIPS the Demon off her feet at warp speed, flipping her foe over and down with a snap suplex that POUNDS Foster’s spine into the canvas. The GSW legend never releases, instead pulling Dru up as she rises, guiding her into a repeat of the first, buggywhipping her through another snap suplex and finally the third of the amigos, hauling a flagging Demon over one more time, THUMPING he blonde into the deck.
Colleen climbs aboard for the schoolgirl pin, palms pressing down on the blonde’s shoulders as she leans forward, O’Neal’s sparkling blues staring into the Demon’s glazed versions for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Foster shoves a shoulder off the canvas, flopping to her side so O’Neal can’t press back down for another attempt. The California Angel casts a glance in the official’s direction. He can only shrug and hold two fingers aloft, the crowd grumbling at the man’s less than prompt count.
Colleen’s not one to hold a grudge when there’s a match to win and she turns her attention back to the rising Foster, sidling behind the dazed Demon. She wraps her alabaster arms around the tummy of the young blood, squeezing tight enough to draw a gasp from the Demon. The redhead lifts her taller, bigger challenger off the deck, but instead of going for another suplex, she holds the blonde aloft in a breathtaking bearhug, the Angel showing off with a little power play.
The champ leaves her feet, diving forward and taking Drusilla with her, flattening the blonde in a sinful sandwich with her Golden Bear splash, O’Neal landing on Drusilla’s back, the Demon’s chest and face smushed into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
The auburn-haired franchise shovels the reeling Demon to her back and layers herself on top in a crossbody pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Again, Foster shows she’s come to spoil the farewell party or at least extend it, shoving Colleen off enough to get a shoulder removed from the canvas.
O’Neal uses the momentum of the blonde’s push to launch to her feet and scurry to the nearest buckles. She climbs nimbly to the top, turning and balancing high above the slowly ascending Demon. The clueless challenger, eyes clouded, slowly turns toward the patient title holder. O’Neal launches from her penthouse pad, pulling her knees into a tuck, ready to rain down in a meteora across the chest and shoulders of Foster and ride her to the canvas.
But the Demon throws herself clear. Colleen crashes and burns, her kneecaps THUMPING into empty mat. O’Neal somersaults through the painful impact, rolling to a stop and cradling herself close, wincing through the pain in her aching stems.
The Neon Demon is already on her way out between the cables, dropping to the floor and searching for her next tool of torment. She slides a table out from under and even the Angel’s choir can’t help but get excited at the thought of introducing that hardware into Colleen’s swan song.
The young Demon raises it to the apron’s edge and slides it in, but she dips again and hauls a kendo stick out as well, rolling back in just as the redhead’s reached her feet. This time it’s GSW’s best ever ignorant to the prowling Demon. O’Neal turns to find Drusilla with the stick raised high, ready to crown the champ atop her cranium. But the veteran gets her hands up in a tight ‘V’ shape and catches the hardened bamboo in between before Drusilla can reach her target.
Unfortunately for the San Francisco treat, Foster follows with a raised boot to her midriff, doubling the champ over, Colleen groaning, her arms moving to swaddle her tummy after she releases her grasp on the stick. For the first time, an almost imperceptible grin slightly creases the Demon’s lips and she raises the kendo stick high before sending it CRASHING across Colleen’s back.
O’Neal howls in pain, her spine arching. But the Demon isn’t done, THRASHING the wicked bamboo across the legend’s vertebrae time and time again until the Angel’s brought to her knees. Drusilla raises the weapon high once more and brings it down like a hammer atop the skull of the redhead, snapping the stick and possibly creasing Colleen’s cranium. As her baby blues cross, O’Neal timbers forward, planting face first into the deck, out cold.
Dru tosses the broken bamboo aside and rolls the insensate Angel to her back, Colleen flopping into a wide spreadeagle, the fans groaning at the sight of their beloved going out like this. Dru takes to the air above her foe, landing in a meaty senton across her smaller foe.
Back across the redhead’s chest, Drusilla cradles her left arm behind both legs of the Angel and pulls them toward her, curling the blasted legend into a ball, shoulders planted firmly for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
To the huge relief of the Golden State faithful, a spasm rocks the Angel’s frame and she flops out of the pinning predicament, ending on her chest, a disconcerted Demon seated no more than a step away, wondering how a woman on her last legs could survive such a bad ‘knighthood’.
Rising to her feet, Dru sinks her nails into the auburn locks of the Golden State heroine and yanks the gobsmacked champ to her feet. She hairmares the Angel to a corner, Colleen sliding to a stop not far from the ring post.
Foster is upon her foe quickly, snatching an ankle, dropping to the canvas, and sliding out with the ivory limb in tow. The Demon shows the true depth of her evil by tugging the stirring redhead close enough to the steel to latch onto O’Neal’s opposite leg on the other side.
With Colleen’s legs in a ‘V’, the post in between, the Angel realizes her predicament. She raises her palms and ‘washes windows’, frantically pleading out of instinct, for O’Neal has to realize there’s no mercy in the eyes of the Neon Demon. Sure enough, with both ankles of the champ hers, Drusilla backpedals at full speed and RAMS the crotch of the California Angel into the unforgiving steel of the post.
Colleen cries out, but the worst hasn’t come yet. Foster continues to jerk the legend’s legs toward her, grinding the privates of O’Neal against the metal pole. Finally relenting, Dru moves closer to the post so she can cross her foe’s legs around the upright and lock in a cruel figure-four around the post. The blonde hangs off the screaming icon. Colleen tears into her auburn locks, trying futilely to spread the anguish.
“Give up before they break,” the Demon hisses.
“AWGAWWWWD…NOOOO!”
Colleen is sobbing, tears streaming as she tries to hold on against the malevolence of the Demon, seconds feeling like hours in the torture, until the blonde unhooks her legs, breaking the lock around which Colleen’s gams are bent about the steel.
A weeping O’Neal butt scoots away from the corner so the cruel Drusilla can’t apply the heinous submission a second time. She skids on her thin layer of spandex to center stage where she works at her throbbing lower limbs, hoping to get them in something approximating working order before the Demon returns for her due.
The redhead has a bit of time as Drusilla’s pulls a table out from under the ring and slides it in. Foster rolls in under the bottom rope behind her new utensil. She slowly rises, lioness to Colleen’s wounded gazelle.
O’Neal, baby blues widening, pushes up to her feet as the Demon works at setting up the table, leaning it into a corner instead if setting it fully upright. By the time the blonde, turns to her next victim, the Golden State legend is on her feet, if wobbling. Defiantly, she motions her final foe forward.
Dru doesn’t need to be offered the invitation twice. She advances on her prey carefully, apparently willing to concede the California Angel is dangerous when cornered. The two come together in a collar-and-elbow that Drusilla quickly turns into a side headlock, O’Neal’s weakened base unable to contend with the Foster’s superior leverage.
Pointing the crown of Colleen’s skull at the table several yards distant, the Neon Demon raises her free arm, letting the LA crowd know this is the ultimate end for their Angel. The blonde charges across the ring with the face of GSW in tow, the crowd pleading with Colleen to escape before she’s bulldogged through the table.
As Foster leaves her feet to lead the Angel to her final departure, the redhead gets her hands up on Dru’s hips and shoves her off sending the Demon CRASHING through the wood alone and instead of Colleen’s head leading the way, Drusilla partially flipped into a senton-like splash into the tabletop, splintering the furniture to pieces with her collision and leaving the Demon demolished within the wreckage.
Having fallen to hands and knees, Colleen surveys the rubble wearily, looking every bit like she’s been put through the wringer not only in this war but years and years of the same throughout her Golden State, FAWN and indy careers. She pushes to her feet and snatches an ankle of her foe, pulling the Demon free of the clutter.
The veteran considers going for the pin but instead heads for the ropes at Drusilla’s right side. She leaps into the middle rope, momentarily wrapping her hands around the top, then springboarding away in a u-turn and dropping her legs across the chest and throat of the challenger.
Drusilla’s body shudders beneath then falls still, the Angel’s stems draped across as the official slides down to count off the glorious victory with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Neon Demon lives!
Drusilla pushes a shoulder up and rolls to her side. The crowd groans in disappointment and the drained Angel seems less than thrilled at the blonde’s escape as well.
Rising, O’Neal moves to the nearby corner, climbing to the middle ropes and taking a seat on the top buckle. She draws in deep breaths as the Demon shoves to hands and knees in front of her, Drusilla pointed in the opposite direction of the champion.
Colleen rises and sets for her trademark leap to victory, namely her iconic California Dreamin’ finish, a flipping cutter that ended the night for countless opponents through her Golden State dominance. Now, there’s a Demon to put to sleep to finish the parade.
California Dreamin’ ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SqoXOORyrQ ) @00:51
But before the Angel can take wing and end things, the oblivious Foster pushes to her feet, unknowingly saving herself. Colleen calls an audible, lacing her fingers and lifting a double axhandle high. She launches from her perch toward a turning Drusilla.
But in the moment the flash of red, pink and blue soars into view, the Demon’s right hand shoots outward and wraps around the Angel’s throat. Colleen gets only a moment on the ground before she is sent HIGH into the air, legs flailing, before a rapid descent to the deck, a hellish powerslam nearly putting O’Neal through the canvas.
Colleen avoids further disaster, namely a career-ending loss, by rolling limply out under the bottom rope, plopping to the arena floor and ending in a demolished heap.
Drusilla, showing some wear and tear of her own, crawls out after the champion. She plucks what’s left of the redhead off the thinly-padded cement and leads the flaccid Angel to the steel barricade, showing Colleen off like a trophy she’s about to bag.
The crowd is torn between booing the Demon’s arrogance and chanting ‘This is awesome’. The latter wins out, the Angelenos signaling their appreciation for both wrestlers on this momentous night.
Moving to the hip of the champion, Dru dips her hands to the backside of the Angel and swings Colleen heavenward, O’Neal’s legs shooting in front of her as she’s lifted and BRUTALLY deposited on the steel pole atop the barricade, one leg on either side, victim of a 100-megaton Atomic Drop.
The post THUMPS deep into O’Neal’s crotch. Her eyes go wide and white, mouth forming a silent ‘O’ as the ruthlessness of the Demon rears. Grasping the metal in front of her, a squeaking Colleen tries to push off the invading pipe, but Drusilla won’t allow it. She not only forces her foe to continue her agonizing ride but wraps her right arm around the throat of the Angel in a backhanded grip, pulling O’Neal into a backward arch, a modified Dragon Sleeper crafted by the vile Neon Demon.
The legend’s arms flail wildly above her, the no DQ rules being worked to perfection by the challenger, the crowd’s complaints meaningless not only to the blonde but the official, who’s joined to women on the outside.
“Do you give,” the man asks the Angel on her last flight.
She croaks out a soft guttural ‘no’ and the ref waves off any immediate end to the assault.
Colleen’s fight slowly ebbs to uncoordinated spasms until Foster pulls a flaccid O’Neal off her uncomfortable ‘seat’. Keeping the sagging Angel in her dragon grip, she walks the doomed legend to the announcer’s table, warning the occupants to clear off.
Slowly, she pulls what’s left of the redhead onto the table, huffing at the effort necessary to lay Colleen on what’s likely the last resting place for her career. Rising to a stance on the table, the blonde pulls a frail O’Neal to her feet, pulling her into a front facelock.
Dru dips her head under a limp arm of the California Angel and latches onto some spandex on her foe’s hip, ready to launch O’Neal up and over with a suplex that would no doubt leave the champion in the rubble, signifying the end of her reign.
Foster launches the champ but gets her only halfway to vertical, the San Francisco native’s legs bicycling as she tries to keep her boot soles from pointing to the rafters. O’Neal returns to the table feet-first instead of landing on her spine. The Demon is not deterred, sending her foe up again only for the freckled warrior to deny her challenger once more. But this time when Colleen’s feet return to the elevated stage of the tabletop, she lands a thrusting right fist into the tummy of the blonde. A second and a third quickly follow and Colleen slips out of the facelock to the increasing roar of the assembled.
Loose in front of a slightly bent and shocked Dru, O’Neal lifts a knee, CRACKING it right between the eyes of the challenger. Drusilla’s head snaps back from the impact, body pirouetting 180 degrees, though the heartless blonde retains her balance enough to stay upright.
The Angel quickly fixes that problem. Her arms surround the midriff of the rocked and reeling Drusilla from behind, lifting the blonde a few inches off the table with a breathtaking bearhug. Colleen leaps forward bringing the wide-eyed Demon down with her Golden Bear splash.
Foster is pancaked beneath the redhead and the table gives way, collapsing into splinters, the women grunting heavily as they pound into the floor, Dru crushed in a brutal splash, an enhanced version of the redhead’s signature.
With the crowd chanting “AYN-GEL. AYN-GEL”, the Golden State legend slowly pushes to her feet, wearily acknowledging her Choir. O’Neal sinks a set of fingers into the platinum mane of the Demon and leads a crawling Foster out of the wreckage. She pulls the Demon to her feet, then lifts and drops her on the apron, leaving her outside the ropes, the official having slid back in a step ahead of the combatants.
Backpedaling to a corner post, the face of GSW waits patiently for Dru to use the ropes to pull up to her knees. The redhead races into action. She snatches Foster in a headlock from behind, simultaneously front flipping off the apron to her challenger’s side, sending Drusilla’s features THUMPING into the hardest part of the mat with her iconic California Dreamin’ finish.
California Dreamin’ ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SqoXOORyrQ ) @ 00:48
As the legend lands on her feet on the arena floor, the obliterated Demon absently flops to her back after impact, the crowd unable to contain a sympathetic groan, even though sympathy for the evil blonde is the last thing on their mind.
Spread out under the ropes, Dru is shoved through a barrel roll by the champ and Colleen throws herself back into the squared circle. With the crowd roaring for a cover, the California Angel has something else in mind.
She wraps both hands around the head of the dazed Dru and pulls the gobsmacked Foster to her feet, leading the barely aware blonde to the nearest corner. Reaching the buckles, Colleen throws the dazed Demon’s spine into them, again shaking the challenger to her core. O’Neal slips through the ropes and climbs from the outside.
The Angelenos rise to their feet, realizing what their beloved icon has in mind and the Angel does not disappoint in the least, diving from her perch, catching Dru’s head mid-flip to the canvas and PLANTING Foster’s face into the deck with a CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ FROM THE TOP BUCKLE!
California Dreamin’ ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SqoXOORyrQ ) @00:51
The force of the impact reverberates through the arena and the Angel’s Choir sings to the high heavens in their own way, giving the redhead a standing ovation as she crawls to Drusilla, draping her body across the slain Demon for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
The arena threatens to collapse from the decibels, the Angel ending with a victorious final flight. Slowly, Colleen struggles to her haunches. Tears forming, her head drops into her hands and she sobs in joy at the perfect ending to an amazing run of Cali-based dominance. O’Neal finally pushes to her feet and shoves the lifeless Neon Demon out of the ring with a boot, Drusilla rolling under the ropes and plopping to the floor, out of sight and out of mind.
The official, having collected the Golden State title belt, hands it to its most famous owner and raises her opposite hand as the victor. The tableless announcer makes O’Neal’s final verdict official.
“Your winner and FOREVER GOLDEN STATE WRESTLING CHAMPION…THE CALIFORNIA ANGEL…COLLEEN O’NEAL!”
The redhead’s corny if apropos theme blares from the speakers as she takes a lap of the ring, some attendants helping the demolished Demon to backstage hell.
Katy Perry’s California Gurls. ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F57P9C4SAW4 )
After a trip up each corner to celebrate with her Choir, Colleen moves to center stage, the ref handing over a microphone, O’Neal’s music cutting out as the crowd shouts “SPEECH…SPEECH”.
A giggling, misty-eyed Colleen motions for quiet and draws the stick to her lips…
…when Iggy Azalea’s ‘Fancy’ blasts through the auditorium’s sound system.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
It takes a moment for reality to sink in and even then the Angelenos are not ready to believe, but when VANILA FUCKIN CHILL pushes through the curtain and strides toward the ring in her black-and-gold battle gear, the crowd is already mid ‘HOLY SHIT’.
KYLIE SANDERS
A sneering Sanders, hops to the apron and slides through. She walks to the bewildered Angel and snatches the microphone from Colleen’s hand.
“You’re lucky I don’t just take that belt from you too.”
A sly grin emerges on the Platinum Pixie.
“I want to make clear I’m not hear to steal your thunder because you’ve got none to steal.”
The crowd instantly sounds like a rabid set of FAWNatics, trying to boo the Pleasant Valley Pariah out of the building. Mouth agape, O’Neal is still unable to come close to understanding or responding.
“For those of you too clueless to understand, I’ll spell it out for you.”
Kylie turns and goes nose to nose with the Angel.
“The Golden State Wrestling Board of Governors wasn’t very happy with the way you’ve treated the organization that’s made you what you are. God knows why, but they made you an outstanding offer to stay and entertain these Cali trash heaps for another two years. And you shot ‘em down. So they sent the La-teena Sensation and the Neon Demon to destroy you and send you out on your knees.”
“Lo and behold, you somehow scraped by both. But these gentlemen aren’t stupid. They put bitcoin on the barrelhead to Bethany and my agent after their lawyers confirmed the small print in your contract indicates you need to fulfill one more showcase at the end of your contract when there’s a dispute.”
Colleen looks hurt, blue eyes darting through the crowd to find GSW execs, but they’ve migrated from ringside to their suites since the end of her match.
“And guess what,” Chill continues. “Facing the biggest star FAWN’s ever produced will be your sad swan song.”
Giving up on her search, O’Neal calls for a microphone of her own, receiving one quickly and returning to Kylie’s grill.
“Biggest star?” the redhead asks. Colleen moves a set of fingers to her brow and hunts the arena.
“My sight’s not the best. Tell me where is Sue Burlingame, or Portia, or Shea?”
The GSW crowd roars at the sound of London’s name, the Sensational One an icon with any wrestling audience.
“I beat Shea, bytch,” a furious Sanders reacts, stomping her feet. “And now I’m going to beat another so-called legend into a pool of redheaded stepchild, letting every wrestler and fan out here on the Left Coast know it’s time to recognize FAWN and Kylie as the best or be left behind.”
The assembled don’t care to hear the organization they love treated as second class and jeer the Platinum Pixie loud and strong.
“Fair enough, Miss Vanilla,” the GSW legend responds. “Let’s start right now.”
Colleen tosses the stick aside, insisting on another match immediately. The avenging Angel tries to attack but the official intercedes. Kylie turns and hightails to the outside, leaping through the cables and stumbling as she drops to the floor, keeping her balance only when she meets the steel barricade.
“How dare you?” Sanders shouts.
Chants of “LET…THEM…FIGHT!” emerge from the crowd.
But Kylie’s not having it, her elfin features turn sour as she shakes her head.
“Oh no. That’s next month, losers,” she screams at the Angelenos. “That’s when the Chill comes to Cali in full force and puts your champ into permanent hibernation.”
Ky drops her mic and heads for the exit.
Inside the ring, Colleen climbs the corner nearest the woman who has apparently become her new final GSW foe and shouts after her.
“You want to be the last one to see how high the California Angel flies?! Be my guest!”
The ovation of the Golden State crowd reaches ear-splitting levels as the icon raises her belt high.
After showing the wrestling world she still has every bit of it in rebuffing the future of the organization in the Venezuelan phenom Luciana Lopez, the clamor is for the champion to bring a huge portion of the present to heel.
The Neon Demon Drusilla Foster is collecting souls at a frightening pace throughout GSW, her cold cruelty claiming Heaven Hughes at the most recent pay-per-view. Only through the grace and fortitude of the Angel had Heaven not been put in the hospital at the hands of the Demon, like several others before her.
With the next Golden State blockbuster fast approaching, logic and profit book the main event, a climax worthy of the sellout that would certainly come once confirmed.
Days out, the Angel in question, Colleen O’Neal, sits across from the GSW board of governors, a high falootin’ title for three graying, slightly paunchy white men who fancy themselves wrestling business geniuses.
COLLEEN O’NEAL
While those on either side of the table always made the most of each other’s efforts, each helping the other to considerable success through the years, there is a hint of nervousness in the room.
“Gentlemen,” Colleen breaks the ice. “As we’ve discussed, this month’s match will close things out for me at Golden State.”
There’s a hint of sadness in Colleen’s baby blues but no tremor in her voice.
“I feel like I’ve done all but one thing I can do here and I take care of that soon enough.”
The twinkle returns to her azure peepers thinking about one final curtain-closing triumph against the woman terrorizing her way up the ranks to rival her in stature.
“Discussed yes,” one of the governors retorts. “Agreed, no.”
“But my contract expires…”
O’Neal is interrupted by another of the powers that be.
“There’s a soft stop, but we have the right of renegotiation for a year. You cannot move to another organization during that time. That’s a long time for a woman of your…experience.”
There’s a flash of fury in the face of the redhead, but it’s quickly contained.
“I don’t plan on joining another organization. You know this. This is retirement.”
“You beat La-teena,” the third man interjects. “You just proved you’re as good as ever, better than someone half your age. We all know you’re more popular than Shea London in Cali, hell, west of the Mississippi probably.”
“So you’re the good cop I take it?” O’Neal asks with a hint of softness, an attempt to lessen the rising tension.
The third man shrugs, grin growing.
“You got me. It’s just we know you’re going to send the Neon Demon back to her glittery hellhole so we also know there are many more chapters of the Angel’s book to write beyond this match.
“Look we’re aware the dirt sheets are running the fight as the last match for GSW’s living legend, and believe me, we couldn’t ask for better hype, but we REALLY don’t want that to be the case. I believe the last raise of our offer for another three years has made that abundantly clear.”
“It has,” Colleen responds respectfully, “And it’s an deal that’s truly generous but win or lose, my fight with the Demon will be my last.”
“You know,” the first governor says, “Drusilla is requesting a ‘No DQ’ match. We can quash that idea right now, or not as the case may be.”
O’Neal shakes her head, sadness returning.
“Your choice. Any way you decide to put me in there with Foster, you know I’m not going to let her send me out of GSW on her terms. The Angel isn’t going to Hades at the end of her last battle.”
“Dru has a different idea for the ending,” the ‘good cop’ responds. “She’s publicly stated you’ll end in the Eight Level of Hell if she has to go with you. Sounds like someone who it might be better to face when she could be disqualified.”
The freckled face of GSW shrugs and nods.
“You know my position, gentlemen.”
O’Neal rises from her seat.
“You do what you feel best regarding this match. I’d hope our long history of making hay won’t end in a blaze, but if you want to end this relationship in fire, it’ll be one that lights the way to greener pastures for me and my fans.”
Colleen turns and strides confidently out of the board room, leaving see-no-evil, hear-no-evil and speak-no-evil in silent consternation, at least until the door slams behind her.
“Get the lawyers to work,” says the first. “If she won’t stay, we need Dru to pluck our Angel’s wings and leave her a distant memory even before she’s stretchered out of the building.”
+++
The LA Auditorium is packed to the rafters, waiting for the crescendo of another amazing card to be reached. Heaven Hughes bouncing back to claim an early-card upset victory, Luciana Lopez living up to her Blonde Killer moniker in the previous match, and the rest of tonight’s action is mere introduction to the night’s and a career’s pinnacle and conclusion.
The nervous excitement is turned to cascading boos when the arena goes black. Neon spotlights swirl through the bowl and the electronic beats of the Demon Dance rumble through the arena, signaling the imminent arrival of the GSK’s Neon Demon.
Demon Dance ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvUJsu5w8IU )
The hypnotizing pounding continues for a dozen seconds or more when an icy blonde emerges from behind the curtains with a white-hot spot on her. She absorbs the crowd’s disdain before striding to the ring.
Foster, though long and lean at 5’9” and 123 pounds, casts an oversized shadow with her unorthodox bearing. Living up to the Neon in her sobriquet, streaks of neon pink, green and orange course through her otherwise platinum mane. Her face is speckled with jewel-like multi-colored freckles placed on cheek, temple and forehead. Only her red and black latex two piece seem to conjure the demon-side of the equation, at least until she uses actions much more powerful than words.
DRUSILLA FOSTER
( i.ebayimg.com/00/s/MTU2MFgxMjAw/z/P0MAAOSwuTta856X/$_3.jpg )
The blonde moves up the steps without delay, slipping through the ropes and claiming the middle of the ring. She looks heavenward and spits neon pink mist high into the air above her, the curious cloud leaving minute speckles on the canvas when it returns to earth, the main arena illumination returning with it.
Dru returns her emotionless gaze to the crowd, straightens her rubberized miniskirt, letting her fingers trail down pale white gams toward black pads and boots below, then turns her gaze to the entrance above.
Foster doesn’t have to wait long as the Angel to her Demon bounces excitedly from backstage, accompanied by Katy Perry’s California Gurls. ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F57P9C4SAW4 )
COLLEEN O’NEAL
O’Neal takes a moment to savor her last entrance, waving to her adoring choir, then, in her classic style, races to the ring. The long-time Face of the Franchise dives in under the bottom rope, popping to her feet instantly as Drusilla carefully backpedals to her corner, showing no other response.
The relatively diminutive redheaded veteran looks over her final foe, nodding with respect, then turns her attention to the roaring crowd, appreciating the loud love one last time.
The Angel unclasps her championship hardware from around her waist and raises it high, lifting the decibels further. Garbed in her iconic tight spandex one-piece, halved in pink and sky blue with pink boots to mid-thigh and silver fingerless gloves, the Cali native is ready for her supreme performance.
Gear: ( www.dollskill.com/halloween-sexy-wrestling-champ-costume-set-pink-turquoise.html?gclid=Cj0KCQiAt_PuBRDcARIsAMNlBdr_8wE5qC_kyeTo6lFLvIAIVfi-oFHrA_YlWbDRyxEebaPXuRlroFIaAmIzEALw_wcB without the ‘belt’ ) .
The ring announcer breaks in to provide formal introductions as Colleen hands over her prize for safekeeping.
“Tonight’s final match is a NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH and is for the Golden State Wrestling championship! In the corner to my left from the location where you all will end…” The man suddenly looks very uncomfortable realizing what he’s just said to the sellout crowd. “…the Neon Demon…Drusilla Foster.”
Jeers fill the bowl at ear-splitting levels.
“And her opponent…”
The crowd doesn’t wait to erupt in a reverential standing ovation.
“From San Francisco, the California Angel and your Golden State Wrestling champion…Colleen O’Neal!”
The redhead, caught up in the emotion, has misty eyes as she waves to the masses, turning 360 degrees as she means to say good-bye to every single corner of the arena.
BUT she only gets to about 255 degrees before the Demon strikes from behind, racing forward and BURYING a double axhandle into the back of O’Neal’s skull. Colleen pitches forward, staggering into the buckles in front of her.
With no DQs, the official has nothing to do but call for the bell, which tolls as Drusilla races into a raised knee to the base of the champ’s spine, Colleen yelping in pain from the blonde’s vile sneak attack.
Foster bounces away from her cheap shot, the crowd howling in revulsion at the assault. There’s not a hint of recognition from Dru. Instead, she closes in again with O’Neal’s head still turned. The blonde latches onto the top rope at the champ’s side with both hands and wheels kick after kick into the base of Colleen’s lower spine. She reaches five then lifts her ivory stem to send boot upon boot into the back of the redhead’s neck then skull.
The ref catches himself before asking Foster to get the match out of the corner and he likewise ignores Drusilla as she slips through the ropes and drops to the floor with a battered Angel slumping against the buckles like a drunk against a bar.
The Demon lifts the apron and peeks under. When she emerges with a steel folding chair, the only surprise is that her weapon of choice is so basic. But basic doesn’t mean it can’t be hugely damaging and Dru slides in under the bottom cable with her metal furniture.
The blonde pops to her feet and brandishes the chair like a batter, swinging and SMASHING the steel into Colleen’s backbone with a left-handed swipe that forces a cry out of the California Angel.
Drusilla next uses the top edge of the chair, RAMMING it into the lower spinal column of the GSW legend, O’Neal arching in agony.
“Never…ever…mess with what you don’t understand,” Foster warns, seemingly too late for the champ’s good.
“Heaven Hughes wasn’t yours to save,” the steely, blue-eyed blonde informs. “And now, you’re no one else’s to save.”
Drusilla wedges the chair between the top and middle ropes on either side of the corner, ‘locking’ Colleen between the steel and the buckles. Foster trots to the opposite corner, makes her u-turn, and races toward her target. She leaps high from several feet out, a dropkick pushing into the metal, forcing it forward, the chair CLANKING into Colleen’s vertebrae. The redhead yelps in pain, sliding down to end on her haunches, arm reaching around to try and salve her aching back.
Drusilla removes the bent chair from its confinement. She opens and sets it down, taking a seat behind the abused face of the fed.
“I’m going to bury you so deep, you’ll never think about coming back to the ring.”
Never one to shirk from a fight, O’Neal uses the ropes to pull to her feet. Still, the Neon Demon remains seated and unconcerned.
“You won’t be flying to the rest home, Angel,” she continues. “Your wings will be plucked tonight and you’ll be taking the bus.”
The Golden State champ vaults to the middle ropes and leaps into a 180-spin. She flies out of the buckles with a dropkick of her own, boot soles RAMMING into the chest of Foster. Drusilla is sent tipping over, crashing out of her chair and landing on her head and shoulders to the loud approval of the fans.
Back somersaulting to a kneeling position, Dru watches as Colleen scrambles to her feet and charges. O’Neal aims a soccer kick at the blonde’s chest, but Foster catches the boot in her hands before it can hit home. The Demon throws her foe’s right leg away in a violent pendulum-like movement and Colleen’s body flies forward, her face SMASHING into the steel seatpan of the discarded chair. The title holder absently flops to her back, splayed next to Dru. The challenger dives atop the splattered San Fran native in a lateral press, hooking a leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The stubborn veteran refuses to go out on her shield so quickly in her last battle, O’Neal throwing a shoulder up, rolling to her chest and pushing up to hands and knees. The after effects of her head colliding with the chair seem to catch up. She lists to her left and flops back to her side, blue eyes glazed.
Drusilla pushes to her feet and hovers over the reeling champ. Some unseen signal is given and she manically stomps the redhead into a auburn-haired puddle, the crowd letting the Demon know they want their heavenly host to finish her career on top.
The blonde wraps her palms around a wrist of the wilting California Angel, tugging O’Neal to her feet and aiming her at the distant corner. Drusilla lets fly with an Irish Whip and the diminutive redhead is sent racing to the buckles where she’s spent much of the match. Colleen turns and FLIES into the corner, ivory-skinned body rocked by the collision.
Foster, having plucked the mangled chair off the canvas, holds it tight in front of her chest and sprints toward the Golden State legend. She goes airborne from several steps away, flying toward the champ but finding the corner evacuated when she returns to earth, the Angel having flown the coop.
The Demon’s eyes widen slightly, enough to show the knowledge this result is not what she had in mind. And the CLANG of chair and Demon to empty buckles is loud and impactful. The blonde backpedals a few steps before collapsing to the canvas, chair still loosely gripped atop her.
Not missing a beat, O’Neal skies into the air above her would-be final victim, forward flipping into a perfectly placed senton. The landing of Colleen’s back to steel draws a howl of pain from the champ but the brunt of the blow is delivered to the Neon Demon beneath.
The Angel doesn’t bother dispensing with the chair. The wincing redhead ignores the aches and pains to slide atop both metal and Demon beneath in a crossbody pin for the win at…
ONE…
TWO…
Impassively and authoritatively, Drusilla shoves her smaller foe off. The chair quickly follows, though Colleen ducks out of the way and avoids further harm from the mangled metal.
The face of Golden State Wrestling tries not to be impressed, moving back to the seated and stationary blonde then hauling the seemingly dazed Demon to vertical. Wrapping up the blonde’s cranium in a side headlock, Colleen races forward with the Demon in tow. But as O’Neal lifts off to deliver a bulldog, Dru’s hands move to Colleen’s waist and the redhead’s shoved off. The startled champ lands on her feet. She spins and matrixes under a clothesline from the Demon, quite a show from someone of the Angel’s vintage.
When Drusilla skids and turns to O’Neal, Colleen has a toe kick at the ready, sending it deep into Foster’s gut. The Angel reacquires her side headlock and charges forward again, this time sitting out with the blonde still in her grasp and POUNDING the Demon’s face into the thinly-sheathed plywood with a completed bulldog.
Drusilla’s facial sends her back up to her haunches where she settles, chin drooping to her chest as she seems out on her knees. The Angel gives her backside a rub as she rises, the redhead’s tailbone sore from the landing. She thrusts a fist at the Angelenos and they respond with a loud roar, ready to make their icon’s finale one for the ages.
Colleen’s all about that as well as she wraps her hands around the head of the Neon Demon and lifts the blonde to rubbery stems. O’Neal pulls Dru into a front facelock, slipping her head under a limp arm of the challenger. She RIPS the Demon off her feet at warp speed, flipping her foe over and down with a snap suplex that POUNDS Foster’s spine into the canvas. The GSW legend never releases, instead pulling Dru up as she rises, guiding her into a repeat of the first, buggywhipping her through another snap suplex and finally the third of the amigos, hauling a flagging Demon over one more time, THUMPING he blonde into the deck.
Colleen climbs aboard for the schoolgirl pin, palms pressing down on the blonde’s shoulders as she leans forward, O’Neal’s sparkling blues staring into the Demon’s glazed versions for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Foster shoves a shoulder off the canvas, flopping to her side so O’Neal can’t press back down for another attempt. The California Angel casts a glance in the official’s direction. He can only shrug and hold two fingers aloft, the crowd grumbling at the man’s less than prompt count.
Colleen’s not one to hold a grudge when there’s a match to win and she turns her attention back to the rising Foster, sidling behind the dazed Demon. She wraps her alabaster arms around the tummy of the young blood, squeezing tight enough to draw a gasp from the Demon. The redhead lifts her taller, bigger challenger off the deck, but instead of going for another suplex, she holds the blonde aloft in a breathtaking bearhug, the Angel showing off with a little power play.
The champ leaves her feet, diving forward and taking Drusilla with her, flattening the blonde in a sinful sandwich with her Golden Bear splash, O’Neal landing on Drusilla’s back, the Demon’s chest and face smushed into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
The auburn-haired franchise shovels the reeling Demon to her back and layers herself on top in a crossbody pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Again, Foster shows she’s come to spoil the farewell party or at least extend it, shoving Colleen off enough to get a shoulder removed from the canvas.
O’Neal uses the momentum of the blonde’s push to launch to her feet and scurry to the nearest buckles. She climbs nimbly to the top, turning and balancing high above the slowly ascending Demon. The clueless challenger, eyes clouded, slowly turns toward the patient title holder. O’Neal launches from her penthouse pad, pulling her knees into a tuck, ready to rain down in a meteora across the chest and shoulders of Foster and ride her to the canvas.
But the Demon throws herself clear. Colleen crashes and burns, her kneecaps THUMPING into empty mat. O’Neal somersaults through the painful impact, rolling to a stop and cradling herself close, wincing through the pain in her aching stems.
The Neon Demon is already on her way out between the cables, dropping to the floor and searching for her next tool of torment. She slides a table out from under and even the Angel’s choir can’t help but get excited at the thought of introducing that hardware into Colleen’s swan song.
The young Demon raises it to the apron’s edge and slides it in, but she dips again and hauls a kendo stick out as well, rolling back in just as the redhead’s reached her feet. This time it’s GSW’s best ever ignorant to the prowling Demon. O’Neal turns to find Drusilla with the stick raised high, ready to crown the champ atop her cranium. But the veteran gets her hands up in a tight ‘V’ shape and catches the hardened bamboo in between before Drusilla can reach her target.
Unfortunately for the San Francisco treat, Foster follows with a raised boot to her midriff, doubling the champ over, Colleen groaning, her arms moving to swaddle her tummy after she releases her grasp on the stick. For the first time, an almost imperceptible grin slightly creases the Demon’s lips and she raises the kendo stick high before sending it CRASHING across Colleen’s back.
O’Neal howls in pain, her spine arching. But the Demon isn’t done, THRASHING the wicked bamboo across the legend’s vertebrae time and time again until the Angel’s brought to her knees. Drusilla raises the weapon high once more and brings it down like a hammer atop the skull of the redhead, snapping the stick and possibly creasing Colleen’s cranium. As her baby blues cross, O’Neal timbers forward, planting face first into the deck, out cold.
Dru tosses the broken bamboo aside and rolls the insensate Angel to her back, Colleen flopping into a wide spreadeagle, the fans groaning at the sight of their beloved going out like this. Dru takes to the air above her foe, landing in a meaty senton across her smaller foe.
Back across the redhead’s chest, Drusilla cradles her left arm behind both legs of the Angel and pulls them toward her, curling the blasted legend into a ball, shoulders planted firmly for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
To the huge relief of the Golden State faithful, a spasm rocks the Angel’s frame and she flops out of the pinning predicament, ending on her chest, a disconcerted Demon seated no more than a step away, wondering how a woman on her last legs could survive such a bad ‘knighthood’.
Rising to her feet, Dru sinks her nails into the auburn locks of the Golden State heroine and yanks the gobsmacked champ to her feet. She hairmares the Angel to a corner, Colleen sliding to a stop not far from the ring post.
Foster is upon her foe quickly, snatching an ankle, dropping to the canvas, and sliding out with the ivory limb in tow. The Demon shows the true depth of her evil by tugging the stirring redhead close enough to the steel to latch onto O’Neal’s opposite leg on the other side.
With Colleen’s legs in a ‘V’, the post in between, the Angel realizes her predicament. She raises her palms and ‘washes windows’, frantically pleading out of instinct, for O’Neal has to realize there’s no mercy in the eyes of the Neon Demon. Sure enough, with both ankles of the champ hers, Drusilla backpedals at full speed and RAMS the crotch of the California Angel into the unforgiving steel of the post.
Colleen cries out, but the worst hasn’t come yet. Foster continues to jerk the legend’s legs toward her, grinding the privates of O’Neal against the metal pole. Finally relenting, Dru moves closer to the post so she can cross her foe’s legs around the upright and lock in a cruel figure-four around the post. The blonde hangs off the screaming icon. Colleen tears into her auburn locks, trying futilely to spread the anguish.
“Give up before they break,” the Demon hisses.
“AWGAWWWWD…NOOOO!”
Colleen is sobbing, tears streaming as she tries to hold on against the malevolence of the Demon, seconds feeling like hours in the torture, until the blonde unhooks her legs, breaking the lock around which Colleen’s gams are bent about the steel.
A weeping O’Neal butt scoots away from the corner so the cruel Drusilla can’t apply the heinous submission a second time. She skids on her thin layer of spandex to center stage where she works at her throbbing lower limbs, hoping to get them in something approximating working order before the Demon returns for her due.
The redhead has a bit of time as Drusilla’s pulls a table out from under the ring and slides it in. Foster rolls in under the bottom rope behind her new utensil. She slowly rises, lioness to Colleen’s wounded gazelle.
O’Neal, baby blues widening, pushes up to her feet as the Demon works at setting up the table, leaning it into a corner instead if setting it fully upright. By the time the blonde, turns to her next victim, the Golden State legend is on her feet, if wobbling. Defiantly, she motions her final foe forward.
Dru doesn’t need to be offered the invitation twice. She advances on her prey carefully, apparently willing to concede the California Angel is dangerous when cornered. The two come together in a collar-and-elbow that Drusilla quickly turns into a side headlock, O’Neal’s weakened base unable to contend with the Foster’s superior leverage.
Pointing the crown of Colleen’s skull at the table several yards distant, the Neon Demon raises her free arm, letting the LA crowd know this is the ultimate end for their Angel. The blonde charges across the ring with the face of GSW in tow, the crowd pleading with Colleen to escape before she’s bulldogged through the table.
As Foster leaves her feet to lead the Angel to her final departure, the redhead gets her hands up on Dru’s hips and shoves her off sending the Demon CRASHING through the wood alone and instead of Colleen’s head leading the way, Drusilla partially flipped into a senton-like splash into the tabletop, splintering the furniture to pieces with her collision and leaving the Demon demolished within the wreckage.
Having fallen to hands and knees, Colleen surveys the rubble wearily, looking every bit like she’s been put through the wringer not only in this war but years and years of the same throughout her Golden State, FAWN and indy careers. She pushes to her feet and snatches an ankle of her foe, pulling the Demon free of the clutter.
The veteran considers going for the pin but instead heads for the ropes at Drusilla’s right side. She leaps into the middle rope, momentarily wrapping her hands around the top, then springboarding away in a u-turn and dropping her legs across the chest and throat of the challenger.
Drusilla’s body shudders beneath then falls still, the Angel’s stems draped across as the official slides down to count off the glorious victory with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Neon Demon lives!
Drusilla pushes a shoulder up and rolls to her side. The crowd groans in disappointment and the drained Angel seems less than thrilled at the blonde’s escape as well.
Rising, O’Neal moves to the nearby corner, climbing to the middle ropes and taking a seat on the top buckle. She draws in deep breaths as the Demon shoves to hands and knees in front of her, Drusilla pointed in the opposite direction of the champion.
Colleen rises and sets for her trademark leap to victory, namely her iconic California Dreamin’ finish, a flipping cutter that ended the night for countless opponents through her Golden State dominance. Now, there’s a Demon to put to sleep to finish the parade.
California Dreamin’ ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SqoXOORyrQ ) @00:51
But before the Angel can take wing and end things, the oblivious Foster pushes to her feet, unknowingly saving herself. Colleen calls an audible, lacing her fingers and lifting a double axhandle high. She launches from her perch toward a turning Drusilla.
But in the moment the flash of red, pink and blue soars into view, the Demon’s right hand shoots outward and wraps around the Angel’s throat. Colleen gets only a moment on the ground before she is sent HIGH into the air, legs flailing, before a rapid descent to the deck, a hellish powerslam nearly putting O’Neal through the canvas.
Colleen avoids further disaster, namely a career-ending loss, by rolling limply out under the bottom rope, plopping to the arena floor and ending in a demolished heap.
Drusilla, showing some wear and tear of her own, crawls out after the champion. She plucks what’s left of the redhead off the thinly-padded cement and leads the flaccid Angel to the steel barricade, showing Colleen off like a trophy she’s about to bag.
The crowd is torn between booing the Demon’s arrogance and chanting ‘This is awesome’. The latter wins out, the Angelenos signaling their appreciation for both wrestlers on this momentous night.
Moving to the hip of the champion, Dru dips her hands to the backside of the Angel and swings Colleen heavenward, O’Neal’s legs shooting in front of her as she’s lifted and BRUTALLY deposited on the steel pole atop the barricade, one leg on either side, victim of a 100-megaton Atomic Drop.
The post THUMPS deep into O’Neal’s crotch. Her eyes go wide and white, mouth forming a silent ‘O’ as the ruthlessness of the Demon rears. Grasping the metal in front of her, a squeaking Colleen tries to push off the invading pipe, but Drusilla won’t allow it. She not only forces her foe to continue her agonizing ride but wraps her right arm around the throat of the Angel in a backhanded grip, pulling O’Neal into a backward arch, a modified Dragon Sleeper crafted by the vile Neon Demon.
The legend’s arms flail wildly above her, the no DQ rules being worked to perfection by the challenger, the crowd’s complaints meaningless not only to the blonde but the official, who’s joined to women on the outside.
“Do you give,” the man asks the Angel on her last flight.
She croaks out a soft guttural ‘no’ and the ref waves off any immediate end to the assault.
Colleen’s fight slowly ebbs to uncoordinated spasms until Foster pulls a flaccid O’Neal off her uncomfortable ‘seat’. Keeping the sagging Angel in her dragon grip, she walks the doomed legend to the announcer’s table, warning the occupants to clear off.
Slowly, she pulls what’s left of the redhead onto the table, huffing at the effort necessary to lay Colleen on what’s likely the last resting place for her career. Rising to a stance on the table, the blonde pulls a frail O’Neal to her feet, pulling her into a front facelock.
Dru dips her head under a limp arm of the California Angel and latches onto some spandex on her foe’s hip, ready to launch O’Neal up and over with a suplex that would no doubt leave the champion in the rubble, signifying the end of her reign.
Foster launches the champ but gets her only halfway to vertical, the San Francisco native’s legs bicycling as she tries to keep her boot soles from pointing to the rafters. O’Neal returns to the table feet-first instead of landing on her spine. The Demon is not deterred, sending her foe up again only for the freckled warrior to deny her challenger once more. But this time when Colleen’s feet return to the elevated stage of the tabletop, she lands a thrusting right fist into the tummy of the blonde. A second and a third quickly follow and Colleen slips out of the facelock to the increasing roar of the assembled.
Loose in front of a slightly bent and shocked Dru, O’Neal lifts a knee, CRACKING it right between the eyes of the challenger. Drusilla’s head snaps back from the impact, body pirouetting 180 degrees, though the heartless blonde retains her balance enough to stay upright.
The Angel quickly fixes that problem. Her arms surround the midriff of the rocked and reeling Drusilla from behind, lifting the blonde a few inches off the table with a breathtaking bearhug. Colleen leaps forward bringing the wide-eyed Demon down with her Golden Bear splash.
Foster is pancaked beneath the redhead and the table gives way, collapsing into splinters, the women grunting heavily as they pound into the floor, Dru crushed in a brutal splash, an enhanced version of the redhead’s signature.
With the crowd chanting “AYN-GEL. AYN-GEL”, the Golden State legend slowly pushes to her feet, wearily acknowledging her Choir. O’Neal sinks a set of fingers into the platinum mane of the Demon and leads a crawling Foster out of the wreckage. She pulls the Demon to her feet, then lifts and drops her on the apron, leaving her outside the ropes, the official having slid back in a step ahead of the combatants.
Backpedaling to a corner post, the face of GSW waits patiently for Dru to use the ropes to pull up to her knees. The redhead races into action. She snatches Foster in a headlock from behind, simultaneously front flipping off the apron to her challenger’s side, sending Drusilla’s features THUMPING into the hardest part of the mat with her iconic California Dreamin’ finish.
California Dreamin’ ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SqoXOORyrQ ) @ 00:48
As the legend lands on her feet on the arena floor, the obliterated Demon absently flops to her back after impact, the crowd unable to contain a sympathetic groan, even though sympathy for the evil blonde is the last thing on their mind.
Spread out under the ropes, Dru is shoved through a barrel roll by the champ and Colleen throws herself back into the squared circle. With the crowd roaring for a cover, the California Angel has something else in mind.
She wraps both hands around the head of the dazed Dru and pulls the gobsmacked Foster to her feet, leading the barely aware blonde to the nearest corner. Reaching the buckles, Colleen throws the dazed Demon’s spine into them, again shaking the challenger to her core. O’Neal slips through the ropes and climbs from the outside.
The Angelenos rise to their feet, realizing what their beloved icon has in mind and the Angel does not disappoint in the least, diving from her perch, catching Dru’s head mid-flip to the canvas and PLANTING Foster’s face into the deck with a CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ FROM THE TOP BUCKLE!
California Dreamin’ ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SqoXOORyrQ ) @00:51
The force of the impact reverberates through the arena and the Angel’s Choir sings to the high heavens in their own way, giving the redhead a standing ovation as she crawls to Drusilla, draping her body across the slain Demon for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
The arena threatens to collapse from the decibels, the Angel ending with a victorious final flight. Slowly, Colleen struggles to her haunches. Tears forming, her head drops into her hands and she sobs in joy at the perfect ending to an amazing run of Cali-based dominance. O’Neal finally pushes to her feet and shoves the lifeless Neon Demon out of the ring with a boot, Drusilla rolling under the ropes and plopping to the floor, out of sight and out of mind.
The official, having collected the Golden State title belt, hands it to its most famous owner and raises her opposite hand as the victor. The tableless announcer makes O’Neal’s final verdict official.
“Your winner and FOREVER GOLDEN STATE WRESTLING CHAMPION…THE CALIFORNIA ANGEL…COLLEEN O’NEAL!”
The redhead’s corny if apropos theme blares from the speakers as she takes a lap of the ring, some attendants helping the demolished Demon to backstage hell.
Katy Perry’s California Gurls. ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F57P9C4SAW4 )
After a trip up each corner to celebrate with her Choir, Colleen moves to center stage, the ref handing over a microphone, O’Neal’s music cutting out as the crowd shouts “SPEECH…SPEECH”.
A giggling, misty-eyed Colleen motions for quiet and draws the stick to her lips…
…when Iggy Azalea’s ‘Fancy’ blasts through the auditorium’s sound system.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
It takes a moment for reality to sink in and even then the Angelenos are not ready to believe, but when VANILA FUCKIN CHILL pushes through the curtain and strides toward the ring in her black-and-gold battle gear, the crowd is already mid ‘HOLY SHIT’.
KYLIE SANDERS
A sneering Sanders, hops to the apron and slides through. She walks to the bewildered Angel and snatches the microphone from Colleen’s hand.
“You’re lucky I don’t just take that belt from you too.”
A sly grin emerges on the Platinum Pixie.
“I want to make clear I’m not hear to steal your thunder because you’ve got none to steal.”
The crowd instantly sounds like a rabid set of FAWNatics, trying to boo the Pleasant Valley Pariah out of the building. Mouth agape, O’Neal is still unable to come close to understanding or responding.
“For those of you too clueless to understand, I’ll spell it out for you.”
Kylie turns and goes nose to nose with the Angel.
“The Golden State Wrestling Board of Governors wasn’t very happy with the way you’ve treated the organization that’s made you what you are. God knows why, but they made you an outstanding offer to stay and entertain these Cali trash heaps for another two years. And you shot ‘em down. So they sent the La-teena Sensation and the Neon Demon to destroy you and send you out on your knees.”
“Lo and behold, you somehow scraped by both. But these gentlemen aren’t stupid. They put bitcoin on the barrelhead to Bethany and my agent after their lawyers confirmed the small print in your contract indicates you need to fulfill one more showcase at the end of your contract when there’s a dispute.”
Colleen looks hurt, blue eyes darting through the crowd to find GSW execs, but they’ve migrated from ringside to their suites since the end of her match.
“And guess what,” Chill continues. “Facing the biggest star FAWN’s ever produced will be your sad swan song.”
Giving up on her search, O’Neal calls for a microphone of her own, receiving one quickly and returning to Kylie’s grill.
“Biggest star?” the redhead asks. Colleen moves a set of fingers to her brow and hunts the arena.
“My sight’s not the best. Tell me where is Sue Burlingame, or Portia, or Shea?”
The GSW crowd roars at the sound of London’s name, the Sensational One an icon with any wrestling audience.
“I beat Shea, bytch,” a furious Sanders reacts, stomping her feet. “And now I’m going to beat another so-called legend into a pool of redheaded stepchild, letting every wrestler and fan out here on the Left Coast know it’s time to recognize FAWN and Kylie as the best or be left behind.”
The assembled don’t care to hear the organization they love treated as second class and jeer the Platinum Pixie loud and strong.
“Fair enough, Miss Vanilla,” the GSW legend responds. “Let’s start right now.”
Colleen tosses the stick aside, insisting on another match immediately. The avenging Angel tries to attack but the official intercedes. Kylie turns and hightails to the outside, leaping through the cables and stumbling as she drops to the floor, keeping her balance only when she meets the steel barricade.
“How dare you?” Sanders shouts.
Chants of “LET…THEM…FIGHT!” emerge from the crowd.
But Kylie’s not having it, her elfin features turn sour as she shakes her head.
“Oh no. That’s next month, losers,” she screams at the Angelenos. “That’s when the Chill comes to Cali in full force and puts your champ into permanent hibernation.”
Ky drops her mic and heads for the exit.
Inside the ring, Colleen climbs the corner nearest the woman who has apparently become her new final GSW foe and shouts after her.
“You want to be the last one to see how high the California Angel flies?! Be my guest!”
The ovation of the Golden State crowd reaches ear-splitting levels as the icon raises her belt high.
