Post by alyadmirer on Aug 6, 2014 1:23:17 GMT
Albuquerque, New Mexico...
August 2nd, 2014...
The causal wrestling fan pretty much envisions the industry much long FAWN--spacious arenas holding thousands upon thousands of screaming fans, with warriors competing not only before those paying spectators, but in front of television cameras beaming their exploits out to millions upon millions around the world.
But there is wrestling on a MUCH smaller scale, all over the country--even with promotions focusing on the female gender.
Where even places like FAWN’s developmental territory, the Jungle, have expanded their facilities thanks to the influx of money from Orlando, some promotions continue to get by putting on shows in facilities that house not several thousand, but maybe a couple of hundred. One such exclusively female wrestling promotion, the Southwest Wrestling Association under the ownership of one Michael Irwin, puts on its shows in exactly such a locale, tucked away in downtown Albuquerque, affectionately known by the SWA faithful as “the Left Turn.”
Two weeks ago, the crowd had been told to expect a HUMONGEOUS surprise at tonight’s event. And while the company often packed their small venue, that teasing morsel had been enough to ensure a full house--and then some. The show had delighted those fans, as usual. But with what was ostensibly the main event--an SWA Championship match with Angie Vincent defending against Casey Maxwell--nearing its conclusion, and despite their beloved champion’s beginning to turn the tide back in her favor, the fact that they remain none the wiser about that promised “surprise” has left the crowd feeling a little uneasy.
Angie Vincent...
Casey Maxwell...
When Casey finally tapped out to Vincent’s STF, the fans cheer--but there remains an uncertainty to their response. While Casey rolls under the bottom rope and starts hobbling back up the ramp, Angie mounts the middle turnbuckle, taking her belt and clasping it tight around her waist....
... and THAT’S when the fans get a left turn of their own.
Suddenly, Shinedown’s “Devour” blasts over the PA system--and there are enough FAWN fans in attendance to know the clan that music is associated with. Sure enough, within moments the curtain is parted, and into view stride two women--one blonde, the other brunette; one slender and modest, the other quite buxom. Both beauties are decked out in faded denim jeans, t-shirts--the brunette’s white, the blonde’s black--and cowboy boots. And while Albuquerque might not be in Texas, it’s still enough in the Dennehy’s back yard to earn Dirty Cathy and Shady Shannen a thunderous reception.
Cathy Dennehy...
Shannen Dennehy...
The fans might be welcoming, but Angie Vincent is less certain. Having crossed paths with Dirty Cathy many, many moons ago, long before the elder Dennehy wound up in FAWN, she knows first hand (with an emphasis on HAND) what Cathy is capable of. Hopping down from the middle rope, she settles into a tensed crouch, watching as Shannen takes a seat on the middle rope, holding the cables open for her big sister.
Cathy motions toward Angie with a wave of her hand, as if to say to the SWA champ “stand down.” She then catches a microphone tossed her way by a ringside staffer. The crowd continues to cheer as the Shady One slides through the ropes, standing off her sister’s right flank as Cathy waits for the fans to settle down.
“I’m not here to fight,” Cathy says once she’s sure she’ll be heard, a declaration which draws a few disappointed sighs from the crowd.
“You might have noticed,” the Dirty One continues, “that you haven’t seen me fight too much lately. Now, it’s not that I CAN’T still kick a little ass...”
Dennehy’s lips curl into a smile, as the crowd hoots and hollers in agreement.
“... but it definitely takes me a little longer these days to recover, between the ass-kickings. I hate to say it, but there comes a day when you have to admit that there’s ONE opponent that, no matter how tough you are, you just can’t lick--and that’s time.”
And while this might have been the first time Cathy Dennehy had stepped into this building, those remarks still earn the brunette a chant of, “PLEASE DON’T GO!”
“Oh, I’m not goin’ ANYWHERE...” the Dirty One responds, her grin turning knowing. “I’m not about to hang up the boots and retire my clawin’ hand completely, but it IS time to start looking toward the next step. You see, I’ve had a long and successful career in this business. I’ve broken quite a lot of bytches, which in this industry means, I’ve earned QUITE a bit of money in that time. And I’ve been smart with it. Now, I may not be as flashy as, say, Portia VanBuren with my finances, but I got enough that I could come down here to Albuquerque and make your Mr. Irwin a rather substantial offer...”
The crowd gasps as realization dawns, Cathy confirming the suspicions of many with a nod.
“That’s right, I am the new owner of the Southwest Wrestling Association, and YOU are all now part of the FAWN family. As of today, this promotion will join the Jungle in helping to shape the next generation of FAWN superstars. And, now that I’m not competing on a regular basis anymore, I can’t think of a better way to spend my time than toughening the bytches here up, to take that next step.”
If a Dennehy had ever been cheered so loudly or so passionately before, video evidence of it doesn’t exist.
“BUT...” the Dirty One says, pointedly interrupting her own ovation. “I DO have to tell you that the Southwest Wrestling Association IS no more.”
Off their jeers, the older brunette shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, c’mon guys. You’ve got FAWN. You’ve got the Jungle. The Southwest Wrestling Association? Very old school, and while I went to the school that burned down before they BUILT the Old School, even I can see the need for something that rolls a little easier off the tongue. So, say goodbye to the SWA, and say hello... to DESERT DIVAS!”
Promptly on cue, a banner unfurls from the rafters above the ring, displaying a brand new logo for a company only a few seconds old.
“Now,” Cathy continues, “we might need to find a bigger venue in weeks and months to come, but for now, we’ll still be here every two two weeks. But, besides the girls you’ve come to know and love, Bethany Christian will be shipping some new talent this way... AND we’ll also see some of FAWN’s BIG names swing by. For example...”
Dennehy’s voice trails off.
“Are your tag team champions in the building tonight?”
The Dirty One saunters over to the ropes, staring back down the aisle, watching for signs of new arrivals. A few seconds later, and the curtains part, allowing a couple of beautiful, energetic young blondes to stride into view.
Reagan Atkins...
Mattie Knight...
“There you are," Cathy says warmly. “The Surf Sisters, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Mattie responds, her voice possessing an Australian lilt.
“What can we do for ya, ‘boss’?” Reagan adds, her accent far less exotic, suggesting she and her partner are sisters in tag name only. The sass with which Reagan said that last word also indicates a lack of trust on her part toward their new authority figure.
“Actually,” Dennehy replies, “I think it’s more what I can do for you. See, I’m about to give you two the biggest opportunity of your young lives, as two weeks from tonight, we will see a champions versus champions match, pitting you against the Valley Girls!”
The prospect of seeing THEIR best face off against FAWN’s best in the tag team division sends the house into a full-throated frenzy. For their part, Reagan and Mattie also look pleased--if a little uncertain.
“Oh, don’t you fret, darlin’s,” Cathy says, reassuring them. “Your belts won’t be on the line. And the FAWN belts won’t be, either. Not to say that you two don’t have anything to gain--a win over Alyson and Beverly, at this point in your careers, is more valuable than any trophies, wouldn’t you say?”
Turning away from the ropes, the Dirty One’s attention drifts over to the SW... to <i>Desert Divas</i> <b>other</b> reigning champion, Angie Vincent. “Now YOU, on the other hand,” the elder Dennehy begins. “You WILL be putting your title on the line in two weeks.”
Vincent cocks her head, almost accusingly. “Lemme guess, Cathy,” the champion barks. “Gonna call in a few favors, and bring Pandora down here to make an example out of me?”
Dirty Cathy almost cackles in response. “Please, Angie,” she replies. “You know me better than that. And I have WAY too much respect for you, and what you’ve done in this business, to look to ‘make an example’ out of you. Besides...”
The elder Dennehy turns away from Angie, drifting a little closer to the ropes.
“... if I DID want to make an example with you, I wouldn’t have to go NEARLY so far afield.”
“Alright then,” Vincent says. “Just who’s gonna be my challenger?”
Angie’s answer comes not from Cathy, but from the Shady One. And it doesn’t come in words, but rather in the form of a cowboy boot that splits her wickets. All of the crowd’s mirth evaporates on the spot as their darling Angela sinks to her knees, her eyes glistening with the threat of tears. And only then does Shannen speak.
“Me.”
The Shady One’s fingers quickly move to the hem of her shirt, the curvy blonde pulling the garment up and over her head. There’s an initial appreciative roar in response to the revelation that Shannen has not worn a bra tonight, but that quickly gives ways to boos and jeers as the younger Dennehy moves forward, crouching just enough to wrap her arms around the kneeling Angie’s noggin and pull Vincent’s face between her breasts, securing the Milk Run. Meanwhile, Shannen’s sister shrugs her shoulders. “Like I said, I didn’t come here to fight.”
Despite that claim, the Dirty One starts sending kicks and stomps to Vincent’s back.
“But since I AM here..."
It’s a testament to just how loved Angela is backstage that Reagan and Mattie show little fear of crossing the new boss, the Surf Sisters sprinting toward the ring. And they are not alone. Behind them, a flood of the former SWA’s favorite daughters steam through the curtains. A pair of blondes lead the way, one apparently approaching forty, the other not quite reaching twenty. Next is a tall, lanky brunette, with a leggy redhead bringing up the rear.
”Yukon” Jill Canyon...
Charlie Dawson...
Finn Cunningham...
Jasmine Ryan...
“Party’s over, Shan,” Cathy mutters, her sister reluctantly breaking the seal on the Milk Run and tossing Angela off to the side. And as the bevy of babyfaces dives under the bottom rope on one side of the ring, the Dennehy girls do the same in the opposite direction, fleeing to safety. The two blondes, Jill and Charlie, join Jasmine Ryan in tending to gasping Vincent, while the Surf Sisters and Finn guard the ropes.
Cathy pats her sister on the back. “I own this company now. And Shannen and Natalie are gonna own that ring, starting two weeks from tonight. You bytches can COUNT on that!”
August 2nd, 2014...
The causal wrestling fan pretty much envisions the industry much long FAWN--spacious arenas holding thousands upon thousands of screaming fans, with warriors competing not only before those paying spectators, but in front of television cameras beaming their exploits out to millions upon millions around the world.
But there is wrestling on a MUCH smaller scale, all over the country--even with promotions focusing on the female gender.
Where even places like FAWN’s developmental territory, the Jungle, have expanded their facilities thanks to the influx of money from Orlando, some promotions continue to get by putting on shows in facilities that house not several thousand, but maybe a couple of hundred. One such exclusively female wrestling promotion, the Southwest Wrestling Association under the ownership of one Michael Irwin, puts on its shows in exactly such a locale, tucked away in downtown Albuquerque, affectionately known by the SWA faithful as “the Left Turn.”
Two weeks ago, the crowd had been told to expect a HUMONGEOUS surprise at tonight’s event. And while the company often packed their small venue, that teasing morsel had been enough to ensure a full house--and then some. The show had delighted those fans, as usual. But with what was ostensibly the main event--an SWA Championship match with Angie Vincent defending against Casey Maxwell--nearing its conclusion, and despite their beloved champion’s beginning to turn the tide back in her favor, the fact that they remain none the wiser about that promised “surprise” has left the crowd feeling a little uneasy.
Angie Vincent...
Casey Maxwell...
When Casey finally tapped out to Vincent’s STF, the fans cheer--but there remains an uncertainty to their response. While Casey rolls under the bottom rope and starts hobbling back up the ramp, Angie mounts the middle turnbuckle, taking her belt and clasping it tight around her waist....
... and THAT’S when the fans get a left turn of their own.
Suddenly, Shinedown’s “Devour” blasts over the PA system--and there are enough FAWN fans in attendance to know the clan that music is associated with. Sure enough, within moments the curtain is parted, and into view stride two women--one blonde, the other brunette; one slender and modest, the other quite buxom. Both beauties are decked out in faded denim jeans, t-shirts--the brunette’s white, the blonde’s black--and cowboy boots. And while Albuquerque might not be in Texas, it’s still enough in the Dennehy’s back yard to earn Dirty Cathy and Shady Shannen a thunderous reception.
Cathy Dennehy...
Shannen Dennehy...
The fans might be welcoming, but Angie Vincent is less certain. Having crossed paths with Dirty Cathy many, many moons ago, long before the elder Dennehy wound up in FAWN, she knows first hand (with an emphasis on HAND) what Cathy is capable of. Hopping down from the middle rope, she settles into a tensed crouch, watching as Shannen takes a seat on the middle rope, holding the cables open for her big sister.
Cathy motions toward Angie with a wave of her hand, as if to say to the SWA champ “stand down.” She then catches a microphone tossed her way by a ringside staffer. The crowd continues to cheer as the Shady One slides through the ropes, standing off her sister’s right flank as Cathy waits for the fans to settle down.
“I’m not here to fight,” Cathy says once she’s sure she’ll be heard, a declaration which draws a few disappointed sighs from the crowd.
“You might have noticed,” the Dirty One continues, “that you haven’t seen me fight too much lately. Now, it’s not that I CAN’T still kick a little ass...”
Dennehy’s lips curl into a smile, as the crowd hoots and hollers in agreement.
“... but it definitely takes me a little longer these days to recover, between the ass-kickings. I hate to say it, but there comes a day when you have to admit that there’s ONE opponent that, no matter how tough you are, you just can’t lick--and that’s time.”
And while this might have been the first time Cathy Dennehy had stepped into this building, those remarks still earn the brunette a chant of, “PLEASE DON’T GO!”
“Oh, I’m not goin’ ANYWHERE...” the Dirty One responds, her grin turning knowing. “I’m not about to hang up the boots and retire my clawin’ hand completely, but it IS time to start looking toward the next step. You see, I’ve had a long and successful career in this business. I’ve broken quite a lot of bytches, which in this industry means, I’ve earned QUITE a bit of money in that time. And I’ve been smart with it. Now, I may not be as flashy as, say, Portia VanBuren with my finances, but I got enough that I could come down here to Albuquerque and make your Mr. Irwin a rather substantial offer...”
The crowd gasps as realization dawns, Cathy confirming the suspicions of many with a nod.
“That’s right, I am the new owner of the Southwest Wrestling Association, and YOU are all now part of the FAWN family. As of today, this promotion will join the Jungle in helping to shape the next generation of FAWN superstars. And, now that I’m not competing on a regular basis anymore, I can’t think of a better way to spend my time than toughening the bytches here up, to take that next step.”
If a Dennehy had ever been cheered so loudly or so passionately before, video evidence of it doesn’t exist.
“BUT...” the Dirty One says, pointedly interrupting her own ovation. “I DO have to tell you that the Southwest Wrestling Association IS no more.”
Off their jeers, the older brunette shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, c’mon guys. You’ve got FAWN. You’ve got the Jungle. The Southwest Wrestling Association? Very old school, and while I went to the school that burned down before they BUILT the Old School, even I can see the need for something that rolls a little easier off the tongue. So, say goodbye to the SWA, and say hello... to DESERT DIVAS!”
Promptly on cue, a banner unfurls from the rafters above the ring, displaying a brand new logo for a company only a few seconds old.
“Now,” Cathy continues, “we might need to find a bigger venue in weeks and months to come, but for now, we’ll still be here every two two weeks. But, besides the girls you’ve come to know and love, Bethany Christian will be shipping some new talent this way... AND we’ll also see some of FAWN’s BIG names swing by. For example...”
Dennehy’s voice trails off.
“Are your tag team champions in the building tonight?”
The Dirty One saunters over to the ropes, staring back down the aisle, watching for signs of new arrivals. A few seconds later, and the curtains part, allowing a couple of beautiful, energetic young blondes to stride into view.
Reagan Atkins...
Mattie Knight...
“There you are," Cathy says warmly. “The Surf Sisters, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Mattie responds, her voice possessing an Australian lilt.
“What can we do for ya, ‘boss’?” Reagan adds, her accent far less exotic, suggesting she and her partner are sisters in tag name only. The sass with which Reagan said that last word also indicates a lack of trust on her part toward their new authority figure.
“Actually,” Dennehy replies, “I think it’s more what I can do for you. See, I’m about to give you two the biggest opportunity of your young lives, as two weeks from tonight, we will see a champions versus champions match, pitting you against the Valley Girls!”
The prospect of seeing THEIR best face off against FAWN’s best in the tag team division sends the house into a full-throated frenzy. For their part, Reagan and Mattie also look pleased--if a little uncertain.
“Oh, don’t you fret, darlin’s,” Cathy says, reassuring them. “Your belts won’t be on the line. And the FAWN belts won’t be, either. Not to say that you two don’t have anything to gain--a win over Alyson and Beverly, at this point in your careers, is more valuable than any trophies, wouldn’t you say?”
Turning away from the ropes, the Dirty One’s attention drifts over to the SW... to <i>Desert Divas</i> <b>other</b> reigning champion, Angie Vincent. “Now YOU, on the other hand,” the elder Dennehy begins. “You WILL be putting your title on the line in two weeks.”
Vincent cocks her head, almost accusingly. “Lemme guess, Cathy,” the champion barks. “Gonna call in a few favors, and bring Pandora down here to make an example out of me?”
Dirty Cathy almost cackles in response. “Please, Angie,” she replies. “You know me better than that. And I have WAY too much respect for you, and what you’ve done in this business, to look to ‘make an example’ out of you. Besides...”
The elder Dennehy turns away from Angie, drifting a little closer to the ropes.
“... if I DID want to make an example with you, I wouldn’t have to go NEARLY so far afield.”
“Alright then,” Vincent says. “Just who’s gonna be my challenger?”
Angie’s answer comes not from Cathy, but from the Shady One. And it doesn’t come in words, but rather in the form of a cowboy boot that splits her wickets. All of the crowd’s mirth evaporates on the spot as their darling Angela sinks to her knees, her eyes glistening with the threat of tears. And only then does Shannen speak.
“Me.”
The Shady One’s fingers quickly move to the hem of her shirt, the curvy blonde pulling the garment up and over her head. There’s an initial appreciative roar in response to the revelation that Shannen has not worn a bra tonight, but that quickly gives ways to boos and jeers as the younger Dennehy moves forward, crouching just enough to wrap her arms around the kneeling Angie’s noggin and pull Vincent’s face between her breasts, securing the Milk Run. Meanwhile, Shannen’s sister shrugs her shoulders. “Like I said, I didn’t come here to fight.”
Despite that claim, the Dirty One starts sending kicks and stomps to Vincent’s back.
“But since I AM here..."
It’s a testament to just how loved Angela is backstage that Reagan and Mattie show little fear of crossing the new boss, the Surf Sisters sprinting toward the ring. And they are not alone. Behind them, a flood of the former SWA’s favorite daughters steam through the curtains. A pair of blondes lead the way, one apparently approaching forty, the other not quite reaching twenty. Next is a tall, lanky brunette, with a leggy redhead bringing up the rear.
”Yukon” Jill Canyon...
Charlie Dawson...
Finn Cunningham...
Jasmine Ryan...
“Party’s over, Shan,” Cathy mutters, her sister reluctantly breaking the seal on the Milk Run and tossing Angela off to the side. And as the bevy of babyfaces dives under the bottom rope on one side of the ring, the Dennehy girls do the same in the opposite direction, fleeing to safety. The two blondes, Jill and Charlie, join Jasmine Ryan in tending to gasping Vincent, while the Surf Sisters and Finn guard the ropes.
Cathy pats her sister on the back. “I own this company now. And Shannen and Natalie are gonna own that ring, starting two weeks from tonight. You bytches can COUNT on that!”
