Post by hawkeye on Mar 8, 2020 21:55:13 GMT
The LA Auditorium crowd enjoyed a jam-packed Golden State Wrestling event worthy of accolades, including the Neon Demon returning to her devilish victorious ways but there was no denying the feeling in the crowd it was all prelude to the night’s and perhaps GSW’s biggest ever event.
It’s a cross-promotional match for the ages, at least as far as the Angelenos in the audience are concerned. Add in it would be their Angel’s final flight, win or lose and the assembled are on edge, ready to let loose at a moment’s notice.
The moment comes when when Iggy Azalea’s ‘Fancy’ blasts through the auditorium’s sound system.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
The GSW faithful rise as one to let the invading interloper from Orlando have West Coast style, rattling the arena with their jeers before the guest of honor presents herself.
And when Vanilla Chill pushes through the curtain and strides toward the ring the atmosphere is reverberating with hate then, almost instantly, shock when they see who is accompanying the FAWN icon.
GSW’s own Venezuelan-born ‘Blonde Killer’ seems ready to have put her reputation aside for the night, Caracas Crazy entering just behind the Platinum Pixie before moving shoulder to shoulder with FAWN’s Most Hated as they circle the battlefield. Though not in silence, the crowd is stunned to see GSW’s La-teena phenom apparently in cahoots with the interloper. Lucy’s in a metallic silver tank, boy-cut trunks and boots, ready for a rumble.
Chill is in her familiar FAWN gear, Sanders sporting a multi-strapped, yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
(https://www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
The eclectic pairing stroll around the squared circle, each seemingly enjoying the dismayed faces in the front rows.
KYLIE SANDERS
LUCIANA LOPEZ
Reaching the ring steps, Sanders accedes to her new friend leading the way up and into the ring, the announcer taking the opportunity to introduce the challenger to their Angel.
“Tonight’s next match is an inter-organizational BATTLE FOR THE AGES.”
“Battle for the aged!” a smartass shouts from the front row, garnering a few laughs but more groans.
“And will be for the Golden State Wrestling championship!”
The crowd roars in excitement.
“First. Accompanied by the Silver Bullet, the Blonde Killer, Luciana Lopez. Hailing from Pleasant Valley, Iowa.”
Kylie angrily stops the man and whispers in his ear. He nods.
“From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Ky nods as the crowd loudly boos the elfin blonde and her new GSW cohort. She waits for a lull and grabs the microphone from the announcer.
“Hello losers,” Kylie ungraciously begins. “In case you were worried I was going to make GSW my home, let me put your mind at rest. I will be returning to FAWN after giving the redheaded stepchild the ending she deserves.”
The crowd seems to want to cheer the knowledge Sanders won’t be staying but can’t support the thought of Kylie winning against their beloved.
“After I claim the Golden State title, I will vacate the championship and present it to my friend Luciana for her to lead this organization to where to new heights it could not find under your current…what…leader?”
The multitude sees the dawn break on why Lopez is helping the Platinum Pixie.
“She is the only wrestler out here who deserves to wear gold around her waist.”
Lopez nods enthusiastically, kneading Kylie’s shoulders from behind. Sanders beams as the crowd fumes.
“and so, without further adieu. Let’s get Pippi Longcareerover out here and send her to the curb like she deserves.”
Chill drops the stick. She and Luciana move to Kylie’s assigned corner.
The crowd doesn’t even have time to jeer the Pleasant Valley Pariah as Katy Perry’s California Gurls erupts from the sound system sending the throng into hysterics. ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F57P9C4SAW4 )
COLLEEN O’NEAL
O’Neal emerges and takes a stance, hands on hips, admiring the growing ovation, perhaps trying to figure out how her last match would be against another icon from a fed across the country. She waves to her adoring choir, but before racing to the ring in her classic style. The long-time Face of the Franchise turns to from where she just appeared and motions for someone to join her.
The crowd moves to the edge of their proverbial seat and turns the volume higher when Colleen matches Kylie’s La-teena with one of her own. San Diego’s own Izzy Cortez (La Pequena Piloto) bounces excitedly next to her long-time hero.
The ‘Tiny Pilot’ wears her customary aviator cap and goggles, a leather bomber jacket above her full battle gear comprised of a unique magenta two piece with silver and gold trim with thigh high boots and pads of the same color finishing the eye-catching wardrobe.
IZZY CORTEZ
Gear: ( d3d71ba2asa5oz.cloudfront.net/12020848/images/93179fw-1.jpg )
Gear: ( www.wwe.com/f/styles/gallery_img_l/public/all/2018/08/004_VEGA_08072018jg_0049--2563ecf4057253442b1b7ab82370064e.jpg )
While Cortez hadn’t broken in with the fanfare or success of Luciana, her plucky outgoing nature and fearless flights had already won over the hearts of the Angelenos. O’Neal having taken the youngster under her wing doesn’t hurt her popularity either.
She and the redhead race to the ring in classic Angel-style and dive in under the bottom rope, both popping to her feet instantly as Sanders and Lopez watch with concern, Vanilla Chill more than the GSW phenom, Kylie surprised by the Golden State legend bringing Latina fire to meet her fire.
The redheaded veteran looks over her final foe, her REAL final foe. She shakes her head at the FAWN interloper and the Peruvian traitor. Izzy seems a bit overwhelmed by the moment, sharing the ring with not one but TWO icons and a woman that had beaten her on more than one occasion. Noticing, the Angel moves close.
“Calm down, Iz. You’re just here to keep Lucy in check. You’re ready or I wouldn’t have brought you out here.”
Cortez nods in response, gulping hard.
The Angel unclasps the GSW 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 surprise curtain call.
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.
“AND HER OPPONENT! Accompanied by La Pequena Piloto. From San Francisco, for the FINAL TIME, the California Angel and your Golden State Wrestling champion…Colleen O’Neal!”
The Angelenos nearly bring the roof down as the roar they emit rivals LAX in its intensity. Colleen bows to her Choir. She gives Izzy some final advice and Cortez slips through the ropes and drops to the floor.
In the opposite corner a sneering Lopez, pointing at her fellow La-teena does the same without any words of wisdom from a focused Sanders.
The bell rings and Kylie strides to the middle, O’Neal joining the heralded and hated visitor.
“It’s a shame you decided to go out as a spectacular flop,” Ky informs. “Much the same as your FAWN career, but I suppose there’s some symmetry.”
“And maybe there’s symmetry in you being a second-level star, at best, in more than one organization,” Colleen responds, before getting her head swiveled by a stinging slap from the Platinum Pixie.
The Angel’s gaze returns to Chill, the baby blue lasers blasting a hole through the Hawkeye. Kylie throws up her hands plaintively, worried about what she may have unleashed in a foe who knows it’s her last match either way.
The redhead dips and wraps her arms around Kylie’s waist, lifting and carrying the startled Chill to a neutral corner, sandwiching her HARD into the buckles. Releasing, O’Neal climbs to the middle ropes, sinks a set of nails into Kylie’s silvery bob to pull back her noggin and pounds away with downward blasting right after right, the crowd chanting its way to ‘TEN”, immensely enjoying the start of their Angel’s Grande Finale.
But as the redhead reaches EIGHT, Kylie’s arms surround the alabaster thighs of the Angel and she lifts O’Neal off her perch, carrying a wide-eyed Colleen to the middle of the ring. Chill genuflects, parting the Angel’s thighs with an Atomic Drop that sends the GSW legend bouncing off bended knee and slowly waddling in a circle back to the waiting Sanders.
Kylie guts the former FAWN flop with a toe kick to the tummy, doubling Colleen at the waist, baby blues bugging. The Hawkeye tosses a limp arm of the champion over her neck and latches onto a handful of O’Neal’s wardrobe at her hip. The Platinum Pixie vaults Colleen into the air but stalls the title holder at vertical. Showing strength she rarely displays, Ky is able to walk the diminutive O’Neal to the ropes and drop her shins across the uppermost cables slingshotting the Cali icon up and over with a suplex THUMPING the beloved battler’s spine to the deck.
O’Neal arches in pain, grasping at her lower back. Meanwhile, Kylie kips to her feet and throws her arms high and wide, then pointing at the Angel.
“That’s your champion?!” Sanders shouts. She shakes her head and turns to collect the redhead, sinking her nails into O’Neal’s scalp.
Vanilla Chill RIPS the wincing Colleen to her feet, dips and ducks an arm between the champ’s legs, hupping O’Neal across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The Angelenos gasp with worry, fearing a Chilly Valley Driver, but Sanders’ silvery bob spins instead, taking Colleen for a ride with a classic Airplane Spin. The redheaded propeller turns faster and faster in Kylie’s grip until the Pleasant Valley Pariah lets her little birdie free, flinging the Angel off her shoulders. The San Fran native takes another half-turn on her own and SLAMS to the canvas on her chest.
With the champ hugging her bosom as she flops absently to her back, a dizzied Ky stumbles to the ropes, catching herself before she takes a tumble. Again, she plays to the Golden State crowd and Luciana does the same. The Venezuelan presents Sanders as a conquering hero despite her Blonde Killer moniker. In the opposite corner, Izzy encourages O’Neal to get to her feet. Colleen sits up but only in time for the Iowan to aim a soccer kick at the cleft of the freckled fighter’s bounty, PLANTING Colleen back to the canvas with the reverberating impact.
Spinning after the blow, Kylie stands in a straddle over the splayed redhead, addressing the audience…loudly.
“This is for all you T&A loving coastal elites!”
Chill launches into the air above Colleen and double stomps O’Neal’s breasts. She brutally grinds her heels into the flesh, drawing yelps of pain from the Cali native. Launching from her ‘pads’, Kylie lands another double stomp, this time turning 90 degrees and landing both boot soles into O’Neal’s abs, gutting the GSW legend. Sanders bows atop her foe, Colleen momentarily jackknifing around the impact point before fading back to horizontal.
Sanders steps off her ‘Welcome to Cali’ mat and moves to the nearest corner, leisurely climbing the buckles, reaching the top and peeking over her right shoulder. With the Angel still starfished, the Hawkeye launches from the penthouse, a relative rarity in Chill’s game. The crowd waits for their Angel to sprout her wings and fly out of the way, or at least get her knees up. BUT NO! The Platinum pixie soars through her back flip and CRASHES down across the Golden State icon in a perfect moonsault, the splash sending the breathless body of O’Neal up in a ‘V’ around the impaling blonde.
Remaining across Colleen as she wilts to the deck, Kylie doesn’t bother to hook a leg so demolished is the woman about to have her illustrious career ended in ignominy by FAWN’s Most Hated in short order. Chill raises the fingers of her right hand with the count…
ONE…
TWO…
O’Neal forcefully kicks free, rolling to her chest then pushing up to hands and knees. Beside her, the elfin blonde from Iowa rises and latches onto Colleen’s auburn locks, steadying her foe.
From the outside, Cortez pleads with her mentor to break free but instead a grinning Sanders sends knee after knee into the Angel’s temple, a despondent Izzy covering her face, so she doesn’t have to view the dismantling of her hero. Reaching ten strikes, Ky releases her grip and lets a dazed Colleen list to starboard and flop to shoulder and hip.
Beaming, Kylie takes a trip to her corner, motioning her newfound friend Luciana to hop to the apron for a hug. It’s an odd sight indeed, Lopez enveloping Sanders in an embrace from the other side of the ropes, the possible champ-in-waiting just as toothy in her grin as the traitorous Chill. Sanders whispers something to the Silver Bullet and wishes her well, Lucy dropping back to the floor at the official’s urging.
Kylie returns to the Angel, who’s made it to her haunches, seemingly stopped by her swimming senses. Sanders claims the champ, yanking Colleen to her feet and whipping the redhead to Chill’s corner. O’Neal’s back takes the brunt, the legend spinning into the collision with the buckles. Her ivory stems give out and she plops to her backside, gams extended, her head bobbling.
Watching with glee, Sanders seems ready to bust her auburn-maned bronco when she catches something out of the corner of her eye. She spins and moves toward Izzy, leaning over the cables and badgering the woman half her age.
“Keep your mouth shut pipsqueak. Or I’ll come down there and close it for you!”
For a moment, the cheeky little pilot of GSW’s skies seems unable to grasp the idea the most hated wrestler in the business is spilling bile towards her. The ref tries to get in between the challenger and the ropes, begging for Sanders to turn her attention back to O’Neal.
Unbeknownst to him, Luciana already is. Lopez has an arm wrapped around the throat of her hated enemy, choking the life from a bug-eyed Colleen. Suddenly, it all makes sense for the adorable Izzy and the teenager screams at the official to turn around. When that fails, she hops to the apron and tries to force her way through.
At Chill’s insistent urging, the man intercepts Cortez when she enters, holding back the little Lateena. Behind the zebra, Kylie waves over the man’s shoulder at Cortez, grinning from ear to ear. She reaches forward and slaps Izzy on the top of the head, petting the rookie, and infuriating her. As Cortez struggles to free herself, Kylie turns and heads back to the trapped and redfaced Angel, Lopez only relenting on her chokehold until Sanders reaches her target.
The Platinum Pixie reclaims her victim, pulling the breathless GSW icon to vertical and leaning her deep into the corner, the ref finally getting Izzy back in her place on the floor and returning his attention to the legal combatants.
“I’d say this is gimmick infringement,” Kylie grunts, “but Portia VanBytchface isn’t in these parts and I’ll beat the shit out of her if she opens her mouth anyway.”
Turning her back to the waylaid title holder, Ky hops to the middle ropes and peels down her black spandex to show off a pearly white moon. She stuffs her bared bottom into the face of the California Angel, scrubbing it into the drowsy features of Colleen, Kylie creating her own West Coast version of Baby’s Bare Ass Market.
The Angelenos seem ready to tear the interloper limb from limb if they could get their hands on her and a smirking Sanders is eating it up while a weakened O’Neal presses her palms fruitlessly against the domineering hips of the Hawkeye.
“O’Neal’s spending too much time smoking weed out here,” Ky shouts. “She’s too mellow for a real fight with a real fighter. Better to give her a taste of reality.”
Chill provides the champ another figure-eight sweep full of Vanilla cheeks before dismounting and tugging her trunks back into proper coverage.
The furious Pequena Piloto shouts Spanish-spiced threats at Sanders, Izzy quickly losing her wonder for the occasion, replacing it with anger toward the malicious Chill. Kylie waves cheerily and strides toward Cortez. She motions Izzy into the ring, but the youngster won’t fall for the same trick a second time.
“What I thought. Scare,” Ky snarks.
Kylie spins and sprints toward the dazed and drooping Angel, greasy-faced from Sanders’ humiliating display.
Sanders turns and races at the dilapidated O’Neal, the champ leaning heavily into the buckles, her finale turning into a disaster. Chill races across the canvas. The redhead tries to stagger out of harm’s way, but Luciana has an arm encircling one of the Angel’s ankles. Kylie launches and SPLASHES the Golden State legend with all her slender form can provide, the crowd groaning with growing disappointment.
A chuckling Sanders bounces off her wilting target, Colleen dropping to her ass, legs extended, unable to keep upright after the battering. The Platinum Pixie jogs to the opposite set of buckles, again waving at a steaming Izzy, then u-turns and sprints toward O’Neal. The blonde takes to the skies from a few feet out, spread ivory legs leading the way.
BUT THIS TIME, without being bound by Lopez, The California Angel’s able to drop to a shoulder. Already airborne, Kylie’s hazel eyes shoot wide and, with her crash pad gone, Sanders’ wickets are split by the steel ring post!
The LA crowd roars its approval at Sanders’ disaster, Kylie’s eyes rolling white, her mouth agape from the cascading agony pulsating from her racked crotch. The mewling Chill’s hands slowly move to the metal upright, pushing against it, eyes welling.
Meanwhile, the Angel isn’t suddenly gathering her second wind. She absently rolls under the ropes, unaware of the dire straits in which the challenger’s placed herself. As the wincing official helps extricate the frozen Chill from her predicament, Luciana tugs Colleen off the apron then leans the icon against it to line up a series of backhand chops to the chest of the champ.
The jeering crowd counts them for the Silver Bullet, getting to ‘FIVE’ before the cavalry arrives, or in the case of La Pequena Piloto, the air force. Having sped around a corner, the little lucha from San Diego hops to the mat, sprints down the length of the ring and FLIES into a front flip, diving into a senton that CRASHES into her fellow Lateena, both ending in a jumble of golden-brown limbs and torsos.
The slowly recovering Angel watches with glazed blue eyes that only gain focus when a wincing Sanders reaches through the ropes and sinks a set of nails into the redhead’s scalp from behind. The vile Chill pulls the Angeleno’s icon up to the apron by her hair. But when she does, Colleen reaches behind her with both hands, cupping them behind Kylie’s noggin, then drops to the floor, hotshotting the throat of the Pleasant Valley Pariah across the top rope.
As the FAWN gatecrasher stumbles away, grasping at her reddened neck, Colleen helps Izzy gain control of the GSW phenom. Together, Isabella in the infancy of her Golden State career and Colleen at the end and perhaps pinnacle of hers, gut Luciana with stereo toe kicks. Each ducks their head under a limp arm of Lopez and takes her up and over with dual suplexes sending the Silber Bullet flying then crashing to the thinly-padded cement of the arena floor.
The conquering heroes share a high-five, but the sounds of concern from the crowd breaks up the celebration. The Pilot notices a racing Kylie, ready to launch for a suicide dive through the ropes to take them out. Izzy leaps to the canvas and NAILS the silver-bobbed crown of the Hawkeye’s head with a knee, garnering a healthy dose of payback for Kylie’s earlier taunting.
As Sanders stumbles drunkenly away, Izzy grabs the top rope with both hands, ready to springboard herself into the ring, but both a threat from the zebra and a peek over her shoulder alters her course. She hops to the middle rope instead and spins into a flying crossbody of the rising Luciana, taking the Venezuelan phenom out once more.
O’Neal climbs back into the ring, quickly pushing to her feet and racing toward the wobbly Sanders. Kylie turns back in the redhead’s direction just in time to have an airborne Angel wrap her legs around the head of FAWN’s Most Hated and deliver Ky to the mat in flipping fashion with a headscissors takedown.
Kylie uses the momentum to reach her feet, but she’s remains on tilt from the journey, wobbling toward the risen redhead and swinging a frail clothesline the champion easily ducks. The swing and miss turns Ky’s back to the Angel, Colleen quickly embracing her foe, cinching her arms tight around the midriff of the Platinum Pixie, locking her hands against Chill’s navel. In signature fashion, she forces the air from Sanders with a squeeze then lifts Kylie off the canvas and dives forward, sending Sanders CRASHING to the deck, sandwiched under the SPLASHING redhead, the Golden Bear hug driving out any breath remaining.
Colleen rolls a blasted Sanders to her back to the roar of the crowd, pressing in tight with a crossbody pin, hooking both legs for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Vanilla Chill shoves a shoulder off the mat, denying the Golden State legend her happy ending, but O’Neal pops to her feet instantly and, seeing Kylie’s still spread-eagled. She races to the ropes, leaps to the middle while grabbing the top and springboards into a u-turn, extending her ivory stems to SLAM down across Kylie’s throat and chest. The champ keeps the lower limbs draped across as she sits next to the trespassing challenger for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Again, Kylie pushes her way clear of a loss, rolling to her chest, away from O’Neal. In Ky’s corner, a recovering Luciana screams at Sanders to get her gringa ass up, but Ky isn’t yet in condition and a risen Colleen ‘helps’ the flagging Chill to rubbery legs.
The Angel draws a dipped Kylie close, slipping her head beneath a limp arm of the Hawkeye. Grabbing a handful of black spandex on Ky’s hip, Colleen RIPS Sanders up and over in a snap suplex that makes the blonde a blur. Chill’s spine SLAMS into the deck, the ring reverberating from the impact. But the challenger doesn’t stay there long, O’Neal drawing her foe up again and repeating the process a second time. The third time is a charmer, the California Angel making sure she’s close to a neutral corner so when number three sends Kylie flipping forward, her vertebrae CRASH into the buckles on a vertical plane, head and shoulders impacting the mat a split-second after, leaving Kylie an overturned, stacked pile of insensate Iowan.
Colleen is quickly on her feet, not taking time to bask in the crowd’s ardor. She tugs Sanders out of the near Tree of Woe, pulling the challenger to her feet. O’Neal turns the pliant Sanders to face the crowd then scoops her up from behind, lifting Chill to a stance on the middle ropes. The redhead ducks between the quaking alabaster stems of the FAWN intruder and wraps her arms around Sanders’ legs, pulling Kylie off the cables and onto the redhead’s shoulders.
Unsteadily, the champ climbs to the bottom ropes. From there, the GSW icon lets gravity do the rest, laying out from her elevated location and delivering the already dazed Kylie to the canvas with her California Redwood electric chair drop.
California Redwood (no table) ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQUTT3BIks8 ) @00:18
With Izzy and the crowd cheering her on to final victory, Colleen spins off her back and crawls to Kylie, throwing her body on top for the monumental victory with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOO!
The disappointed sigh of the redhead is swallowed by the reverberating groan of the assembled Angelenos. Kylie’s one true outstanding ability, taking punishment and surviving like a cockroach after a nuclear war, shows itself at the least opportune time for Colleen, Sanders eeking a shoulder off the canvas by no more than an inch to persist if precariously.
Colleen rises to her haunches and runs her fingers through her long auburn locks in a state of disbelief. She shakes her head as Sanders rolls to her chest and pushes to hands and knees.
“I’m not leaving with you as Golden State champ, Sanders,” the Angel informs her foe.
“Then you better cancel the retirement party, Artemis,” Chill huffs, apparently hoping using the name of O’Neal’s less than successful FAWN incarnation will cause some grief.
Colleen bites her lip to end her portion of the conversation. She pushes to her feet then pops to a handstand, remaining there a split second only before turning 180 degrees and dropping her knees across the spinal column of the blonde, flattening Kylie to the canvas, the Hawkeye mewling as she reaches for the base of her backbone.
The glistening, ivory-skinned redhead elevates her boots toward the rafters once more, holding on her ands and shifting to drop another set of knees, which she does with haste. But this time, Ky rolls from under and the California Angel spikes her bony joints into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Grimacing, Colleen rolls several feet away, legs tucked in tight. She rubs at her aching caps, slowly unfolding her lower limbs to rise to her feet and is NEARLY SPLIT IN TWO by a savage Sanders. Finding her third wind, Kylie lowers a shoulder and GORES the San Francisco Treat through, O’Neal ripped off her feet and PLANTED into the canvas with authority.
Chill doesn’t go for the pin on the splayed champion. Instead, she buries a set of fingers into the icon’s auburn mane and hauls the gutted title holder to her feet, Colleen still bent at the waist, unable to straighten from the ab-busting tackle. With her foe frozen in place, Kylie dips an arm between the quaking gams of the departing legend and easily ‘hups’ the Angel onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
Izzy and the Angelenos plead with their Angel to escape but there is none!
Kylie pivots and lays out, dumping her cargo off her right shoulder, Colleen PLOWING into the deck courtesy Kylie’s calling card, the Chilly Valley Driver.
Chilly Valley Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=96YGwFdN9K8 ) @ 00:14
Sanders lands atop of the demolished legend just as the redhead hits canvas and the Platinum Princess spins on the spread-eagled and now lost Angel for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOO!
Gawd almighty. The Heavenly One kicks free, extricating herself from Ky’s Driver, ending on her side, dazed but momentarily saved.
On all fours next to her foe, Sanders’ hazel eyes are saucers. The adoring crowd is slow to react, in a state of shock the Angel survived Chill’s freezing finisher, but they roar as the dazed legend matches Kylie on hands and knees before listing and tumbling to her back in a stupor.
On the other hand, the incredulous Hawkeye hops to her feet and hovers. Unsure what she can do to end the Golden State warrior if that didn’t work. Finally, anger overwhelms amazement. The silver-bobbed brat double-stomps the canvas, swinging her arms in a safe sign to signal the redheaded stepchild is done.
Kylie digs her nails into Colleen’s scalp and slowly pulls O’Neal to rubbery legs, the Angel drawn up to meet her final fate. Chill vaults the redhead across her shoulders one last time for a crippling second CVD. But before Sanders can secure the GSW legend, O’Neal slips down the back of the blonde. Colleen leaps into a tuck, pressing her knees into Kylie’s back as she digs her digits into the Hawkeye’s shoulders.
The Angel RIPS FAWN’s Most Hated off her feet and lays out, blowing Ky’s lungs clean out of her chest with a brutal backstabber.
Backstabber ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzFqLSfWqZY )
Sanders momentarily pops back into the air from the ferocious force of the counter, ending splayed in a spreadeagle next to O’Neal. Colleen looks a bit startled how she’s spun the match on a dime. Ignoring the pleas of the crowd to go for the cover, the Cali icon pulls a stunned Chill to her feet and Irish whips her foe to the corner in front of Isabella. Sanders turns and CRASHES into the buckles, perhaps only remaining upright because Colleen is so quick to follow her in, SPLASHING the suddenly worn Platinum Pixie.
Sliding between the ropes, the Angel climbs to the clouds from the outside with Kylie still floundering in the corner, out on her feet. Reaching the top, O’Neal latches onto Sanders’ noggin and flips forward THUMPING Kylie face and chest-first into the deck with her sleep-inducing California Dreamin’ (Natural Selection from the top rope).
California Dreamin’ ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SqoXOORyrQ ) @ 00:51
A demolished Kylie absently flops to her back, the Angelenos threatening to blow the roof off, Izzy hopping excitedly while Luciana, across the way, pounds the canvas in a fury.
Colleen drops in front of the limp, lethargic Sanders. She slips an ivory stem beneath the blonde’s chin wrapping the opposite number over the crown. O’Neal pushes up on one hand while tightening her scissors and rolling the trapped Kylie into a makeshift, leggy clutch position. As the crowd roars for the closing of the Golden Gate, the California Angel curls her free hand around the top of her boot, adding the finishing touch to her classic submission.
Golden Gate ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jwwoUadYF0 ) @ 5:47
Kylie writhes in agony as Cortez starts a ‘TAP…TAP...TAP’ chant that’s deafening within seconds. From the opposite corner, Lucy throws her hands up in disgust and heads for the exit, leaving the intruder from Orlando on her own.
It doesn’t take long for Vanilla Chill to melt under the wrenching scissors, spastically tapping the Angel’s calf, prompting an audible eruption from the fans.
The official calls for the bell and, as it tolls for the final and perhaps most memorable victory in the Angel’s long run with Golden State, the ref calls for Colleen to give up her ‘Gate’.
O’Neal releases, rolls out of the maneuver, leaving Kylie to flop face-down to the canvas a silver-bobbed shell. She pops to her feet, adrenaline feeding the veteran as an entering La Pequena Piloto leaps into her idol’s arms. Izzy nearly knocks the redhead over, but a beaming O’Neal remains upright, depositing Cortez back to earth as the announcer makes the Angel’s last victorious flight official.
“Your winner and STILL Golden State Wrestling champion… the California Angel…Colleen O’Neal.”
Isabella raises the legend’s left arm at the wrist while the official hands over Colleen’s gold for the final time, O’Neal raising it high, the beaten Sanders at her feet. Colleen gets a little cheeky, placing a boot sole atop the lower spine of the blonde, keeping the Hawkeye flattened, the mercenary mewling in a pained fog.
Izzy lowers the legend’s hand and O’Neal is presented a microphone, the crowd hushing slowly but surely, allowing Colleen her final address.
“I’m going to keep it short and sweet. Like myself.”
O’Neal giggles adorably.
“Thanks for everything tonight and for all the years I’ve been here. You’ve taken me under your wing, it seems like since the first day, and I would have never reached the heights without you.”
Kylie tries to push to hands and knees and gets halfway there before Colleen flattens the drained Hawkeye to the deck.
“But as I’m sure you know all good things must come to an end.”
The boos ring out, echoing through the arena, a grinning Izzy leading them. O’Neal cheerfully scolds her protégé, shushing her. The redhead carefully lays the belt at her feet.
“I expect this little dervish to pick up my mantle and put this belt around her waist soon enough.”
The mood of the crowd recovers, cheering the thought of the Lateena following in Colleen’s huge footprints.
“And while she does that, getting a taste of kicking Chilly’s ass has made me consider that maybe there’s one final flight for the Angel to take. It might be time I spread my wings over the Sunshine State, go back to FAWN and show that roster I’m no longer some false goddess.”
The crowd roars back to life, particularly when Colleen hands the mic to Izzy, pulls a still listless Kylie to her feet, bum-rushes Sanders to the ropes and tosses her over, the Platinum Princess crashing to the floor.
The legend returns to a grinning Cortez and reclaims her stick.
“Kylie may have mistakenly opened a door to that opportunity, but all of you have let me fly high enough to get that chance. You’ve helped make me California’s everlasting Angel and one who’s ready to tackle one last huge challenge before I take my wings off forever. THANK YOU!”
The Angelenos rise as one to their feet in a standing ‘O’, a shocked but delighted Isabella swallowing the redhead in an embrace.
“Kick their asses, Angel,” she shouts in Colleen’s ear, needing to raise her decibels over the assembled.
“I’ll damn well try,” the teary-eyed icon responds.
The women, shoulder to shoulder, wave to each side of the arena, providing the Angel’s Choir one last glorious moment to store in their memories.
It’s a cross-promotional match for the ages, at least as far as the Angelenos in the audience are concerned. Add in it would be their Angel’s final flight, win or lose and the assembled are on edge, ready to let loose at a moment’s notice.
The moment comes when when Iggy Azalea’s ‘Fancy’ blasts through the auditorium’s sound system.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
The GSW faithful rise as one to let the invading interloper from Orlando have West Coast style, rattling the arena with their jeers before the guest of honor presents herself.
And when Vanilla Chill pushes through the curtain and strides toward the ring the atmosphere is reverberating with hate then, almost instantly, shock when they see who is accompanying the FAWN icon.
GSW’s own Venezuelan-born ‘Blonde Killer’ seems ready to have put her reputation aside for the night, Caracas Crazy entering just behind the Platinum Pixie before moving shoulder to shoulder with FAWN’s Most Hated as they circle the battlefield. Though not in silence, the crowd is stunned to see GSW’s La-teena phenom apparently in cahoots with the interloper. Lucy’s in a metallic silver tank, boy-cut trunks and boots, ready for a rumble.
Chill is in her familiar FAWN gear, Sanders sporting a multi-strapped, yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
(https://www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
The eclectic pairing stroll around the squared circle, each seemingly enjoying the dismayed faces in the front rows.
KYLIE SANDERS
LUCIANA LOPEZ
Reaching the ring steps, Sanders accedes to her new friend leading the way up and into the ring, the announcer taking the opportunity to introduce the challenger to their Angel.
“Tonight’s next match is an inter-organizational BATTLE FOR THE AGES.”
“Battle for the aged!” a smartass shouts from the front row, garnering a few laughs but more groans.
“And will be for the Golden State Wrestling championship!”
The crowd roars in excitement.
“First. Accompanied by the Silver Bullet, the Blonde Killer, Luciana Lopez. Hailing from Pleasant Valley, Iowa.”
Kylie angrily stops the man and whispers in his ear. He nods.
“From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Ky nods as the crowd loudly boos the elfin blonde and her new GSW cohort. She waits for a lull and grabs the microphone from the announcer.
“Hello losers,” Kylie ungraciously begins. “In case you were worried I was going to make GSW my home, let me put your mind at rest. I will be returning to FAWN after giving the redheaded stepchild the ending she deserves.”
The crowd seems to want to cheer the knowledge Sanders won’t be staying but can’t support the thought of Kylie winning against their beloved.
“After I claim the Golden State title, I will vacate the championship and present it to my friend Luciana for her to lead this organization to where to new heights it could not find under your current…what…leader?”
The multitude sees the dawn break on why Lopez is helping the Platinum Pixie.
“She is the only wrestler out here who deserves to wear gold around her waist.”
Lopez nods enthusiastically, kneading Kylie’s shoulders from behind. Sanders beams as the crowd fumes.
“and so, without further adieu. Let’s get Pippi Longcareerover out here and send her to the curb like she deserves.”
Chill drops the stick. She and Luciana move to Kylie’s assigned corner.
The crowd doesn’t even have time to jeer the Pleasant Valley Pariah as Katy Perry’s California Gurls erupts from the sound system sending the throng into hysterics. ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F57P9C4SAW4 )
COLLEEN O’NEAL
O’Neal emerges and takes a stance, hands on hips, admiring the growing ovation, perhaps trying to figure out how her last match would be against another icon from a fed across the country. She waves to her adoring choir, but before racing to the ring in her classic style. The long-time Face of the Franchise turns to from where she just appeared and motions for someone to join her.
The crowd moves to the edge of their proverbial seat and turns the volume higher when Colleen matches Kylie’s La-teena with one of her own. San Diego’s own Izzy Cortez (La Pequena Piloto) bounces excitedly next to her long-time hero.
The ‘Tiny Pilot’ wears her customary aviator cap and goggles, a leather bomber jacket above her full battle gear comprised of a unique magenta two piece with silver and gold trim with thigh high boots and pads of the same color finishing the eye-catching wardrobe.
IZZY CORTEZ
Gear: ( d3d71ba2asa5oz.cloudfront.net/12020848/images/93179fw-1.jpg )
Gear: ( www.wwe.com/f/styles/gallery_img_l/public/all/2018/08/004_VEGA_08072018jg_0049--2563ecf4057253442b1b7ab82370064e.jpg )
While Cortez hadn’t broken in with the fanfare or success of Luciana, her plucky outgoing nature and fearless flights had already won over the hearts of the Angelenos. O’Neal having taken the youngster under her wing doesn’t hurt her popularity either.
She and the redhead race to the ring in classic Angel-style and dive in under the bottom rope, both popping to her feet instantly as Sanders and Lopez watch with concern, Vanilla Chill more than the GSW phenom, Kylie surprised by the Golden State legend bringing Latina fire to meet her fire.
The redheaded veteran looks over her final foe, her REAL final foe. She shakes her head at the FAWN interloper and the Peruvian traitor. Izzy seems a bit overwhelmed by the moment, sharing the ring with not one but TWO icons and a woman that had beaten her on more than one occasion. Noticing, the Angel moves close.
“Calm down, Iz. You’re just here to keep Lucy in check. You’re ready or I wouldn’t have brought you out here.”
Cortez nods in response, gulping hard.
The Angel unclasps the GSW 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 surprise curtain call.
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.
“AND HER OPPONENT! Accompanied by La Pequena Piloto. From San Francisco, for the FINAL TIME, the California Angel and your Golden State Wrestling champion…Colleen O’Neal!”
The Angelenos nearly bring the roof down as the roar they emit rivals LAX in its intensity. Colleen bows to her Choir. She gives Izzy some final advice and Cortez slips through the ropes and drops to the floor.
In the opposite corner a sneering Lopez, pointing at her fellow La-teena does the same without any words of wisdom from a focused Sanders.
The bell rings and Kylie strides to the middle, O’Neal joining the heralded and hated visitor.
“It’s a shame you decided to go out as a spectacular flop,” Ky informs. “Much the same as your FAWN career, but I suppose there’s some symmetry.”
“And maybe there’s symmetry in you being a second-level star, at best, in more than one organization,” Colleen responds, before getting her head swiveled by a stinging slap from the Platinum Pixie.
The Angel’s gaze returns to Chill, the baby blue lasers blasting a hole through the Hawkeye. Kylie throws up her hands plaintively, worried about what she may have unleashed in a foe who knows it’s her last match either way.
The redhead dips and wraps her arms around Kylie’s waist, lifting and carrying the startled Chill to a neutral corner, sandwiching her HARD into the buckles. Releasing, O’Neal climbs to the middle ropes, sinks a set of nails into Kylie’s silvery bob to pull back her noggin and pounds away with downward blasting right after right, the crowd chanting its way to ‘TEN”, immensely enjoying the start of their Angel’s Grande Finale.
But as the redhead reaches EIGHT, Kylie’s arms surround the alabaster thighs of the Angel and she lifts O’Neal off her perch, carrying a wide-eyed Colleen to the middle of the ring. Chill genuflects, parting the Angel’s thighs with an Atomic Drop that sends the GSW legend bouncing off bended knee and slowly waddling in a circle back to the waiting Sanders.
Kylie guts the former FAWN flop with a toe kick to the tummy, doubling Colleen at the waist, baby blues bugging. The Hawkeye tosses a limp arm of the champion over her neck and latches onto a handful of O’Neal’s wardrobe at her hip. The Platinum Pixie vaults Colleen into the air but stalls the title holder at vertical. Showing strength she rarely displays, Ky is able to walk the diminutive O’Neal to the ropes and drop her shins across the uppermost cables slingshotting the Cali icon up and over with a suplex THUMPING the beloved battler’s spine to the deck.
O’Neal arches in pain, grasping at her lower back. Meanwhile, Kylie kips to her feet and throws her arms high and wide, then pointing at the Angel.
“That’s your champion?!” Sanders shouts. She shakes her head and turns to collect the redhead, sinking her nails into O’Neal’s scalp.
Vanilla Chill RIPS the wincing Colleen to her feet, dips and ducks an arm between the champ’s legs, hupping O’Neal across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The Angelenos gasp with worry, fearing a Chilly Valley Driver, but Sanders’ silvery bob spins instead, taking Colleen for a ride with a classic Airplane Spin. The redheaded propeller turns faster and faster in Kylie’s grip until the Pleasant Valley Pariah lets her little birdie free, flinging the Angel off her shoulders. The San Fran native takes another half-turn on her own and SLAMS to the canvas on her chest.
With the champ hugging her bosom as she flops absently to her back, a dizzied Ky stumbles to the ropes, catching herself before she takes a tumble. Again, she plays to the Golden State crowd and Luciana does the same. The Venezuelan presents Sanders as a conquering hero despite her Blonde Killer moniker. In the opposite corner, Izzy encourages O’Neal to get to her feet. Colleen sits up but only in time for the Iowan to aim a soccer kick at the cleft of the freckled fighter’s bounty, PLANTING Colleen back to the canvas with the reverberating impact.
Spinning after the blow, Kylie stands in a straddle over the splayed redhead, addressing the audience…loudly.
“This is for all you T&A loving coastal elites!”
Chill launches into the air above Colleen and double stomps O’Neal’s breasts. She brutally grinds her heels into the flesh, drawing yelps of pain from the Cali native. Launching from her ‘pads’, Kylie lands another double stomp, this time turning 90 degrees and landing both boot soles into O’Neal’s abs, gutting the GSW legend. Sanders bows atop her foe, Colleen momentarily jackknifing around the impact point before fading back to horizontal.
Sanders steps off her ‘Welcome to Cali’ mat and moves to the nearest corner, leisurely climbing the buckles, reaching the top and peeking over her right shoulder. With the Angel still starfished, the Hawkeye launches from the penthouse, a relative rarity in Chill’s game. The crowd waits for their Angel to sprout her wings and fly out of the way, or at least get her knees up. BUT NO! The Platinum pixie soars through her back flip and CRASHES down across the Golden State icon in a perfect moonsault, the splash sending the breathless body of O’Neal up in a ‘V’ around the impaling blonde.
Remaining across Colleen as she wilts to the deck, Kylie doesn’t bother to hook a leg so demolished is the woman about to have her illustrious career ended in ignominy by FAWN’s Most Hated in short order. Chill raises the fingers of her right hand with the count…
ONE…
TWO…
O’Neal forcefully kicks free, rolling to her chest then pushing up to hands and knees. Beside her, the elfin blonde from Iowa rises and latches onto Colleen’s auburn locks, steadying her foe.
From the outside, Cortez pleads with her mentor to break free but instead a grinning Sanders sends knee after knee into the Angel’s temple, a despondent Izzy covering her face, so she doesn’t have to view the dismantling of her hero. Reaching ten strikes, Ky releases her grip and lets a dazed Colleen list to starboard and flop to shoulder and hip.
Beaming, Kylie takes a trip to her corner, motioning her newfound friend Luciana to hop to the apron for a hug. It’s an odd sight indeed, Lopez enveloping Sanders in an embrace from the other side of the ropes, the possible champ-in-waiting just as toothy in her grin as the traitorous Chill. Sanders whispers something to the Silver Bullet and wishes her well, Lucy dropping back to the floor at the official’s urging.
Kylie returns to the Angel, who’s made it to her haunches, seemingly stopped by her swimming senses. Sanders claims the champ, yanking Colleen to her feet and whipping the redhead to Chill’s corner. O’Neal’s back takes the brunt, the legend spinning into the collision with the buckles. Her ivory stems give out and she plops to her backside, gams extended, her head bobbling.
Watching with glee, Sanders seems ready to bust her auburn-maned bronco when she catches something out of the corner of her eye. She spins and moves toward Izzy, leaning over the cables and badgering the woman half her age.
“Keep your mouth shut pipsqueak. Or I’ll come down there and close it for you!”
For a moment, the cheeky little pilot of GSW’s skies seems unable to grasp the idea the most hated wrestler in the business is spilling bile towards her. The ref tries to get in between the challenger and the ropes, begging for Sanders to turn her attention back to O’Neal.
Unbeknownst to him, Luciana already is. Lopez has an arm wrapped around the throat of her hated enemy, choking the life from a bug-eyed Colleen. Suddenly, it all makes sense for the adorable Izzy and the teenager screams at the official to turn around. When that fails, she hops to the apron and tries to force her way through.
At Chill’s insistent urging, the man intercepts Cortez when she enters, holding back the little Lateena. Behind the zebra, Kylie waves over the man’s shoulder at Cortez, grinning from ear to ear. She reaches forward and slaps Izzy on the top of the head, petting the rookie, and infuriating her. As Cortez struggles to free herself, Kylie turns and heads back to the trapped and redfaced Angel, Lopez only relenting on her chokehold until Sanders reaches her target.
The Platinum Pixie reclaims her victim, pulling the breathless GSW icon to vertical and leaning her deep into the corner, the ref finally getting Izzy back in her place on the floor and returning his attention to the legal combatants.
“I’d say this is gimmick infringement,” Kylie grunts, “but Portia VanBytchface isn’t in these parts and I’ll beat the shit out of her if she opens her mouth anyway.”
Turning her back to the waylaid title holder, Ky hops to the middle ropes and peels down her black spandex to show off a pearly white moon. She stuffs her bared bottom into the face of the California Angel, scrubbing it into the drowsy features of Colleen, Kylie creating her own West Coast version of Baby’s Bare Ass Market.
The Angelenos seem ready to tear the interloper limb from limb if they could get their hands on her and a smirking Sanders is eating it up while a weakened O’Neal presses her palms fruitlessly against the domineering hips of the Hawkeye.
“O’Neal’s spending too much time smoking weed out here,” Ky shouts. “She’s too mellow for a real fight with a real fighter. Better to give her a taste of reality.”
Chill provides the champ another figure-eight sweep full of Vanilla cheeks before dismounting and tugging her trunks back into proper coverage.
The furious Pequena Piloto shouts Spanish-spiced threats at Sanders, Izzy quickly losing her wonder for the occasion, replacing it with anger toward the malicious Chill. Kylie waves cheerily and strides toward Cortez. She motions Izzy into the ring, but the youngster won’t fall for the same trick a second time.
“What I thought. Scare,” Ky snarks.
Kylie spins and sprints toward the dazed and drooping Angel, greasy-faced from Sanders’ humiliating display.
Sanders turns and races at the dilapidated O’Neal, the champ leaning heavily into the buckles, her finale turning into a disaster. Chill races across the canvas. The redhead tries to stagger out of harm’s way, but Luciana has an arm encircling one of the Angel’s ankles. Kylie launches and SPLASHES the Golden State legend with all her slender form can provide, the crowd groaning with growing disappointment.
A chuckling Sanders bounces off her wilting target, Colleen dropping to her ass, legs extended, unable to keep upright after the battering. The Platinum Pixie jogs to the opposite set of buckles, again waving at a steaming Izzy, then u-turns and sprints toward O’Neal. The blonde takes to the skies from a few feet out, spread ivory legs leading the way.
BUT THIS TIME, without being bound by Lopez, The California Angel’s able to drop to a shoulder. Already airborne, Kylie’s hazel eyes shoot wide and, with her crash pad gone, Sanders’ wickets are split by the steel ring post!
The LA crowd roars its approval at Sanders’ disaster, Kylie’s eyes rolling white, her mouth agape from the cascading agony pulsating from her racked crotch. The mewling Chill’s hands slowly move to the metal upright, pushing against it, eyes welling.
Meanwhile, the Angel isn’t suddenly gathering her second wind. She absently rolls under the ropes, unaware of the dire straits in which the challenger’s placed herself. As the wincing official helps extricate the frozen Chill from her predicament, Luciana tugs Colleen off the apron then leans the icon against it to line up a series of backhand chops to the chest of the champ.
The jeering crowd counts them for the Silver Bullet, getting to ‘FIVE’ before the cavalry arrives, or in the case of La Pequena Piloto, the air force. Having sped around a corner, the little lucha from San Diego hops to the mat, sprints down the length of the ring and FLIES into a front flip, diving into a senton that CRASHES into her fellow Lateena, both ending in a jumble of golden-brown limbs and torsos.
The slowly recovering Angel watches with glazed blue eyes that only gain focus when a wincing Sanders reaches through the ropes and sinks a set of nails into the redhead’s scalp from behind. The vile Chill pulls the Angeleno’s icon up to the apron by her hair. But when she does, Colleen reaches behind her with both hands, cupping them behind Kylie’s noggin, then drops to the floor, hotshotting the throat of the Pleasant Valley Pariah across the top rope.
As the FAWN gatecrasher stumbles away, grasping at her reddened neck, Colleen helps Izzy gain control of the GSW phenom. Together, Isabella in the infancy of her Golden State career and Colleen at the end and perhaps pinnacle of hers, gut Luciana with stereo toe kicks. Each ducks their head under a limp arm of Lopez and takes her up and over with dual suplexes sending the Silber Bullet flying then crashing to the thinly-padded cement of the arena floor.
The conquering heroes share a high-five, but the sounds of concern from the crowd breaks up the celebration. The Pilot notices a racing Kylie, ready to launch for a suicide dive through the ropes to take them out. Izzy leaps to the canvas and NAILS the silver-bobbed crown of the Hawkeye’s head with a knee, garnering a healthy dose of payback for Kylie’s earlier taunting.
As Sanders stumbles drunkenly away, Izzy grabs the top rope with both hands, ready to springboard herself into the ring, but both a threat from the zebra and a peek over her shoulder alters her course. She hops to the middle rope instead and spins into a flying crossbody of the rising Luciana, taking the Venezuelan phenom out once more.
O’Neal climbs back into the ring, quickly pushing to her feet and racing toward the wobbly Sanders. Kylie turns back in the redhead’s direction just in time to have an airborne Angel wrap her legs around the head of FAWN’s Most Hated and deliver Ky to the mat in flipping fashion with a headscissors takedown.
Kylie uses the momentum to reach her feet, but she’s remains on tilt from the journey, wobbling toward the risen redhead and swinging a frail clothesline the champion easily ducks. The swing and miss turns Ky’s back to the Angel, Colleen quickly embracing her foe, cinching her arms tight around the midriff of the Platinum Pixie, locking her hands against Chill’s navel. In signature fashion, she forces the air from Sanders with a squeeze then lifts Kylie off the canvas and dives forward, sending Sanders CRASHING to the deck, sandwiched under the SPLASHING redhead, the Golden Bear hug driving out any breath remaining.
Colleen rolls a blasted Sanders to her back to the roar of the crowd, pressing in tight with a crossbody pin, hooking both legs for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Vanilla Chill shoves a shoulder off the mat, denying the Golden State legend her happy ending, but O’Neal pops to her feet instantly and, seeing Kylie’s still spread-eagled. She races to the ropes, leaps to the middle while grabbing the top and springboards into a u-turn, extending her ivory stems to SLAM down across Kylie’s throat and chest. The champ keeps the lower limbs draped across as she sits next to the trespassing challenger for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Again, Kylie pushes her way clear of a loss, rolling to her chest, away from O’Neal. In Ky’s corner, a recovering Luciana screams at Sanders to get her gringa ass up, but Ky isn’t yet in condition and a risen Colleen ‘helps’ the flagging Chill to rubbery legs.
The Angel draws a dipped Kylie close, slipping her head beneath a limp arm of the Hawkeye. Grabbing a handful of black spandex on Ky’s hip, Colleen RIPS Sanders up and over in a snap suplex that makes the blonde a blur. Chill’s spine SLAMS into the deck, the ring reverberating from the impact. But the challenger doesn’t stay there long, O’Neal drawing her foe up again and repeating the process a second time. The third time is a charmer, the California Angel making sure she’s close to a neutral corner so when number three sends Kylie flipping forward, her vertebrae CRASH into the buckles on a vertical plane, head and shoulders impacting the mat a split-second after, leaving Kylie an overturned, stacked pile of insensate Iowan.
Colleen is quickly on her feet, not taking time to bask in the crowd’s ardor. She tugs Sanders out of the near Tree of Woe, pulling the challenger to her feet. O’Neal turns the pliant Sanders to face the crowd then scoops her up from behind, lifting Chill to a stance on the middle ropes. The redhead ducks between the quaking alabaster stems of the FAWN intruder and wraps her arms around Sanders’ legs, pulling Kylie off the cables and onto the redhead’s shoulders.
Unsteadily, the champ climbs to the bottom ropes. From there, the GSW icon lets gravity do the rest, laying out from her elevated location and delivering the already dazed Kylie to the canvas with her California Redwood electric chair drop.
California Redwood (no table) ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQUTT3BIks8 ) @00:18
With Izzy and the crowd cheering her on to final victory, Colleen spins off her back and crawls to Kylie, throwing her body on top for the monumental victory with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOO!
The disappointed sigh of the redhead is swallowed by the reverberating groan of the assembled Angelenos. Kylie’s one true outstanding ability, taking punishment and surviving like a cockroach after a nuclear war, shows itself at the least opportune time for Colleen, Sanders eeking a shoulder off the canvas by no more than an inch to persist if precariously.
Colleen rises to her haunches and runs her fingers through her long auburn locks in a state of disbelief. She shakes her head as Sanders rolls to her chest and pushes to hands and knees.
“I’m not leaving with you as Golden State champ, Sanders,” the Angel informs her foe.
“Then you better cancel the retirement party, Artemis,” Chill huffs, apparently hoping using the name of O’Neal’s less than successful FAWN incarnation will cause some grief.
Colleen bites her lip to end her portion of the conversation. She pushes to her feet then pops to a handstand, remaining there a split second only before turning 180 degrees and dropping her knees across the spinal column of the blonde, flattening Kylie to the canvas, the Hawkeye mewling as she reaches for the base of her backbone.
The glistening, ivory-skinned redhead elevates her boots toward the rafters once more, holding on her ands and shifting to drop another set of knees, which she does with haste. But this time, Ky rolls from under and the California Angel spikes her bony joints into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Grimacing, Colleen rolls several feet away, legs tucked in tight. She rubs at her aching caps, slowly unfolding her lower limbs to rise to her feet and is NEARLY SPLIT IN TWO by a savage Sanders. Finding her third wind, Kylie lowers a shoulder and GORES the San Francisco Treat through, O’Neal ripped off her feet and PLANTED into the canvas with authority.
Chill doesn’t go for the pin on the splayed champion. Instead, she buries a set of fingers into the icon’s auburn mane and hauls the gutted title holder to her feet, Colleen still bent at the waist, unable to straighten from the ab-busting tackle. With her foe frozen in place, Kylie dips an arm between the quaking gams of the departing legend and easily ‘hups’ the Angel onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
Izzy and the Angelenos plead with their Angel to escape but there is none!
Kylie pivots and lays out, dumping her cargo off her right shoulder, Colleen PLOWING into the deck courtesy Kylie’s calling card, the Chilly Valley Driver.
Chilly Valley Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=96YGwFdN9K8 ) @ 00:14
Sanders lands atop of the demolished legend just as the redhead hits canvas and the Platinum Princess spins on the spread-eagled and now lost Angel for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOO!
Gawd almighty. The Heavenly One kicks free, extricating herself from Ky’s Driver, ending on her side, dazed but momentarily saved.
On all fours next to her foe, Sanders’ hazel eyes are saucers. The adoring crowd is slow to react, in a state of shock the Angel survived Chill’s freezing finisher, but they roar as the dazed legend matches Kylie on hands and knees before listing and tumbling to her back in a stupor.
On the other hand, the incredulous Hawkeye hops to her feet and hovers. Unsure what she can do to end the Golden State warrior if that didn’t work. Finally, anger overwhelms amazement. The silver-bobbed brat double-stomps the canvas, swinging her arms in a safe sign to signal the redheaded stepchild is done.
Kylie digs her nails into Colleen’s scalp and slowly pulls O’Neal to rubbery legs, the Angel drawn up to meet her final fate. Chill vaults the redhead across her shoulders one last time for a crippling second CVD. But before Sanders can secure the GSW legend, O’Neal slips down the back of the blonde. Colleen leaps into a tuck, pressing her knees into Kylie’s back as she digs her digits into the Hawkeye’s shoulders.
The Angel RIPS FAWN’s Most Hated off her feet and lays out, blowing Ky’s lungs clean out of her chest with a brutal backstabber.
Backstabber ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzFqLSfWqZY )
Sanders momentarily pops back into the air from the ferocious force of the counter, ending splayed in a spreadeagle next to O’Neal. Colleen looks a bit startled how she’s spun the match on a dime. Ignoring the pleas of the crowd to go for the cover, the Cali icon pulls a stunned Chill to her feet and Irish whips her foe to the corner in front of Isabella. Sanders turns and CRASHES into the buckles, perhaps only remaining upright because Colleen is so quick to follow her in, SPLASHING the suddenly worn Platinum Pixie.
Sliding between the ropes, the Angel climbs to the clouds from the outside with Kylie still floundering in the corner, out on her feet. Reaching the top, O’Neal latches onto Sanders’ noggin and flips forward THUMPING Kylie face and chest-first into the deck with her sleep-inducing California Dreamin’ (Natural Selection from the top rope).
California Dreamin’ ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SqoXOORyrQ ) @ 00:51
A demolished Kylie absently flops to her back, the Angelenos threatening to blow the roof off, Izzy hopping excitedly while Luciana, across the way, pounds the canvas in a fury.
Colleen drops in front of the limp, lethargic Sanders. She slips an ivory stem beneath the blonde’s chin wrapping the opposite number over the crown. O’Neal pushes up on one hand while tightening her scissors and rolling the trapped Kylie into a makeshift, leggy clutch position. As the crowd roars for the closing of the Golden Gate, the California Angel curls her free hand around the top of her boot, adding the finishing touch to her classic submission.
Golden Gate ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jwwoUadYF0 ) @ 5:47
Kylie writhes in agony as Cortez starts a ‘TAP…TAP...TAP’ chant that’s deafening within seconds. From the opposite corner, Lucy throws her hands up in disgust and heads for the exit, leaving the intruder from Orlando on her own.
It doesn’t take long for Vanilla Chill to melt under the wrenching scissors, spastically tapping the Angel’s calf, prompting an audible eruption from the fans.
The official calls for the bell and, as it tolls for the final and perhaps most memorable victory in the Angel’s long run with Golden State, the ref calls for Colleen to give up her ‘Gate’.
O’Neal releases, rolls out of the maneuver, leaving Kylie to flop face-down to the canvas a silver-bobbed shell. She pops to her feet, adrenaline feeding the veteran as an entering La Pequena Piloto leaps into her idol’s arms. Izzy nearly knocks the redhead over, but a beaming O’Neal remains upright, depositing Cortez back to earth as the announcer makes the Angel’s last victorious flight official.
“Your winner and STILL Golden State Wrestling champion… the California Angel…Colleen O’Neal.”
Isabella raises the legend’s left arm at the wrist while the official hands over Colleen’s gold for the final time, O’Neal raising it high, the beaten Sanders at her feet. Colleen gets a little cheeky, placing a boot sole atop the lower spine of the blonde, keeping the Hawkeye flattened, the mercenary mewling in a pained fog.
Izzy lowers the legend’s hand and O’Neal is presented a microphone, the crowd hushing slowly but surely, allowing Colleen her final address.
“I’m going to keep it short and sweet. Like myself.”
O’Neal giggles adorably.
“Thanks for everything tonight and for all the years I’ve been here. You’ve taken me under your wing, it seems like since the first day, and I would have never reached the heights without you.”
Kylie tries to push to hands and knees and gets halfway there before Colleen flattens the drained Hawkeye to the deck.
“But as I’m sure you know all good things must come to an end.”
The boos ring out, echoing through the arena, a grinning Izzy leading them. O’Neal cheerfully scolds her protégé, shushing her. The redhead carefully lays the belt at her feet.
“I expect this little dervish to pick up my mantle and put this belt around her waist soon enough.”
The mood of the crowd recovers, cheering the thought of the Lateena following in Colleen’s huge footprints.
“And while she does that, getting a taste of kicking Chilly’s ass has made me consider that maybe there’s one final flight for the Angel to take. It might be time I spread my wings over the Sunshine State, go back to FAWN and show that roster I’m no longer some false goddess.”
The crowd roars back to life, particularly when Colleen hands the mic to Izzy, pulls a still listless Kylie to her feet, bum-rushes Sanders to the ropes and tosses her over, the Platinum Princess crashing to the floor.
The legend returns to a grinning Cortez and reclaims her stick.
“Kylie may have mistakenly opened a door to that opportunity, but all of you have let me fly high enough to get that chance. You’ve helped make me California’s everlasting Angel and one who’s ready to tackle one last huge challenge before I take my wings off forever. THANK YOU!”
The Angelenos rise as one to their feet in a standing ‘O’, a shocked but delighted Isabella swallowing the redhead in an embrace.
“Kick their asses, Angel,” she shouts in Colleen’s ear, needing to raise her decibels over the assembled.
“I’ll damn well try,” the teary-eyed icon responds.
The women, shoulder to shoulder, wave to each side of the arena, providing the Angel’s Choir one last glorious moment to store in their memories.