Post by hawkeye on Jul 5, 2020 18:05:12 GMT
The growing concern of the FAWNatics is palpable. If any team has the look of an unstoppable force of physicality, ingenuity, know-how and leadership, it’s the gilded, golden-brown warriors of the Gold Standard.
The crowd must be wondering who can stand up to the power, guile and intimidation personified by the Phenom, the Empress and the woman that leads them, a woman more Machiavellian than the Medicis, Fortune’s Favorite, Portia VanBuren IV.
But when Celtic pipes waft through the arena's sound system, the throngs roar to life, the assembled well aware the most successful team in FAWN’s history would get their chance.
As dual spotlights of verdant green sweep through the audience, the challengers emerge from behind the curtain, the spots turning white as they flash upon the instantly recognizable, always respected, and occasionally beloved blondes.
Ireland’s Greatest Export move to the middle in sisterly unison, ready to reclaim for an unprecedented FOURTH time FAWN’s tag team championships. Riul Kanes, the Celtic majesties of the organization’s tag division stride to the battlefield, ready to wrest the belts from a seemingly unbeatable force as they had done before against the supposedly invincible troika making up The Three.
MAEVE KANE
MOIRA KANE
The elder Kane, Maeve, is clad in a hunter green one-piece which hugs her lush curves and pushes up her impressive bounty, while her sister Moira (an "Irish twin" at a mere 10 months younger), is garbed in a two-piece ensemble of a darker shade than that of her sibling. The gear likewise highlights her impressive athletic assets.
The Irishwomen circle the ring exuding nothing but absolute confidence. They’ve faced and beaten the best teams in the sport and it’s obvious they are bound and determined to do the same again tonight.
Maeve’s kept her golden tresses, continuing to fashion them into a flirty bob that surely has a certain Hawkeye crying about copycats, though Kane’s mane isn’t quite as short and is not the silvery blonde of the Platinum Pixie. Moira retains her classic long honey-gold locks.
Climbing the steps to the apron, the Kanes demand the referee sit on the middle rope and push the top wide. Moira and Maeve step through and into their famed playground.
The FAWNatics have always had a love-hate relationship with the Kanes, but with the opportunity to see the Standard overthrown and put in their proper place, the Riuls are receiving copious amounts of love tonight, both blondes unable to contain surprised grins.
As the pipes fade and the sisters move to their corner, the ring announcer takes his opportunity.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Tag Team Championships! Introducing first, hailing from Galway, Ireland, weighing in at a combined total of two hundred and fifty-five pounds, Maeve and Moira… <i>Ríúil KAAAAAAAAAAAANES!</i>”
The Kanes reclaim the middle, shoulder to shoulder, the Irishwomen looking at home amidst the momentous occasion, expectantly waiting for the arrival of the champions.
The infamous crashing chords of 'The World is Not Enough' from Garbage fill the bowl as it darkens and the FAWNatics turn to the upper stage to curse the vile, villainous tag team champs and, as much or more, their malicious, moneyed manager.
THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8C5NLfYdZaE
“I know how to hurt. I know how to heal. I know what to show and what to conceal.”
“I know when to talk. And I know when to touch. No one ever died from wanting too much…”
The crowd lets loose on the salacious sellouts and their leader the Long Island legend.
A spotlight blinks into a long streak of light as Shirley Manson pronounces “The World Is Not Enough” and, at the end of the beam…a strawberry blonde patrician smirks surreptitiously, reveling in the loathing she feels radiating from the concealed hordes.
PORTIA VANBUREN
Fortune’s Favorite is flawless in her immaculate, white tennis togs, namely a form-fitting, Louis Vuitton tank top and short skirt with white socks and thousand-dollar tennies. In her right hand is Precious, her beloved polo mallet. Baby points it to stage right and all eyes track to the entry of her anxiety-inducing exotics.
But there’s nothing and no one, the illumination returns to Baby who is chuckling, as if she’s just seen a Jersey fall on her face. Perfect joke apparently told, VanBuren heads to the squared circle very much alone but thoroughly unconcerned.
Portia keeps clear of the grimy Floridian fingers reaching for her. She sashays up the steps, demands then receives the same rope treatment afforded her fellow FAWN originals. Stick already in hand with Precious in the other, she directs Castle to shuffle the challengers to the side. Nick does his best, pleading with the Kanes to give ground. They finally accede to his wishes.
“It’s lovely to see my old dear friends,” Baby begins. “It’s quite inspiring to see them trying to hold onto their past glory when women like my Standard have set the bar so much higher and have deservedly pushed them out of the headlines.”
The crowd disagrees loudly and vociferously, but Portia presses on, turning her attention from the hard camera lens to the blondes.
“Ladies. I’ve no idea why Bethany pulled you out of mothballs and dusted the spiderwebs off your decrepit careers but, speaking for Amara and Alexis, we have no interest in playing along with this farce. So I have some bad news.”
Hackles raised, the Irish brawlers rear out of their corner and VanBuren backtracks to the opposite, demanding Castle hold the ruffians back. With the Kanes barely contained, a wary Portia continues.
“As I was saying, bad news. Your resumes, well, they’re not what they used to be, and I just don’t feel you’re up to the level of facing the Best Ever. God knows you never were the smartest and now that your bodies are failing.”
The sisters break free of Castle and run the Manhattanite out of the ring, Portia scrambling through the ropes and dropping to the floor then backing off further still, holding a hand up plaintively while brandishing Precious like a sword.
“But…but…but…hold up. If you can show you DESERVE a shot then ladies the opportunity will be yours at Red, White and Bruised.”
Portia barely gets the words out of her mouth when…
…the lights dim.
The Tron blinks from the omnipresent FAWN logo to a neon pink outline of a long, lean set of legs walking across the screen from the left. From the opposite side, another set does the same and, as they meet, the lines of the limbs swirl and materialize into a cursive font that reads ‘Leggs, Inc.’.
As the FAWNatics buzz with curiosity and excitement, pink pyro shoots in diagonal blasts from either side of the stage. The crowd’s roar is muted and admittedly somewhat mixed.
Did the long-legged lovelies have VanBuren’s implicit backing?
Is this a warranted grasp for the brass ring?
The last blast of fireworks flies toward the rafters as Rod Stewart’s ‘Hot Legs’ blares from the arena speakers (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHcjjxYbgNM ).
The long-limbed lovelies, one with olive skin and long dark locks, the other with skin of lightly tanned ivory and a golden mane, move to center stage, showing off their undeniable weaponry.
MARIEL MCGINTY
VALERIE STIPANOVIC
The team’s anthem isn’t used in vain as the duo have lower limbs to die for, neither set seeming to cease. Even Portia at least feigns being impressed, motioning to the Kanes they’re likely out of their depth.
On the upper stage, the partners turn to each other and glide hands over the length of the other’s stupendous stems. By the time each is done, their pert cheeks are pointed high. Up the hands trail, making the long return trip, each expedition ending with a cheeky pinch, drawing a wide grin from the other beautiful grappler.
With all attention captured, the Incorporated team sets foot down the ramp, their long strides gobbling up space in a hurry. Blonde and brunette aren’t interactive tonight, passing on high-fives with the fans. Still, the mob chants for the owners of the undeniable appendages as they reach the ring.
“LEGS…LEGS…LEGS”.
The blonde is clad in a cutoff gray Calvin Klein hoodie (hood down) unzipped and wide to show the towering beauty’s pink sports bra. Multicolored speckles dot throughout the top and her pink boy-cut trunks ride exceedingly high to accentuate further the incredible gams. Pink boots and black pads finish the slight attire.
Next to her, the brunette is in a similar hoodie. The rest of her gear is parallel in style though the more tanned of the pair is in striking white, boots and pads added to her snowy sports bra and ‘barely there’ shorts.
With each set of legs well-inspected, the glowing duo makes the trip up the steps then move halfway down the ropes, remaining outside as the announcer breaks into the captivating display.
“And apparently their opponents for…perhaps the number one contendership? Weighing a combined 255 pounds…from Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania and Los Angeles, California respectively…MARIEL…”LEGS”…MCGINTY and VALERIE “STEMS” STIPANOVIC…ladies and most assuredly gentlemen…LEGGS INCORPORATED.”
Partially hypnotized by the limbs, there’s a smattering of appreciation from the crowd. There’s less so from the team that just saw their title chance evaporate but eventually a pissed off set of Kanes nod enthusiastically at the chance to take the pegs out from Leggs and pump up the crowd with some thrusting fists.
Noticing and not at all liking the lack of attention on them, each member of the Riul’s new foes moves partially through the ropes and tarries, blonde and brunette looking each other up and down. Legs and Stems show off a glorious side view of their long, lean gams before swinging the opposite number through.
Inside, they move to the corner opposite the snarling Irishwomen, Mariel deciding she’ll start the unscheduled battle while opposite her, Maeve demands the chance to snap legs like twigs and turn the smirk on VanBuren’s face into a disappointed frown.
Valerie and Moira exit, leaving the initial combatants in the ring. VanBuren, apparently feeling a seat with the announcing crew puts her too far from the action, settles next to a neutral corner. The strawberry blonde moves around the post from a sneering Moira, giving Stipanovic better access to Fortune’s Favorite. But Val seems much more interested in the occupants inside.
The clang of the bell still reverberates to the back of the arena as Maeve bursts out of the blocks. Who knew if Portia would keep her word about a title shot, but if the Riuls tore apart a team just on the other side of greatness, Bethany would make sure the Celtic warriors would get their due.
To that end, Kane charges a seemingly startled McGinty. But as Maeve closes the gap, Mariel surges forward a step, lifting a big right boot and sends the sole directly between the crystal blue eyes of the veteran.
Ripped from the canvas. Maeve’s legs fly forward as her head is brought to a dead stop. One brutal collision to the cranium isn’t all she receives though, the back of her skull THUMPING into the thinly-sheathed plywood. A glassy-eyed Kane stares into the rafters, mouth agape.
The crowd seems torn by such an early and jaw-dropping blunder. The FAWNatics always enjoyed Leggs, Inc. They brought something no other team could match with their stem-centric displays. But given several chances, they’d come up ironically short in the biggest of matches. The failure against America’s Sweethearts had been particularly career arc-altering. So when a beaming Mariel races to the ropes, returns and lifts off for a leg drop aimed for the chest and throat of the splayed Kane, it couldn’t help but be presumed by the throngs, the legend would roll free.
But Maeve doesn’t. Instead the long, lethal lower limbs CRASH down across Kane, the Irishwoman spasming under the legs of McGinty. Mariel leaves them draped across Kane as Castle drops to count, a chuckling Portia shouting out with his slaps…
ONE…
TWO…
Maeve pushes a shoulder off the canvas convincingly and neither Mariel, Val or VanBuren seem surprised. Kane pushes to a seat, her peepers still vacant. She shakes an early set of cobwebs as the towering blonde snatches Maeve by her bob and tugs a wincing Kane to her feet, McGinty tossing the elder sister into the lion’s den of the Incorporated corner.
As Mariel lifts and tuck a boot under Maeve’s chin, pushing into her foe’s throat and shoving Kane’s head backward in the process, Moira howls in protest from the opposite corner.
“Nick, are ya damn blind?” she shouts.
Castle isn’t as he acknowledges Stipanovic tagging her partner’s heightened ankle and entering the ring to join her fellow Amazonian. Mariel releases her choke at ‘FOUR’, Maeve’s face turning rosy from the lack of oxygen. She gasps in deep breaths as the long, lean duo move Maeve to the middle of the ropes and fling her across the ring with a double whip. The legendary Riul hits the cables at warp speed and rebounds toward a double Big Boot that might have tested how well Kane’s noggin was attached, but the old hand ducks under and continues scurrying to the next set of ropes. She takes the u-turn and races at the spinning Leggs Inc., leaping in a crossbody splash of both blonde and brunette chest.
While Kane might have taken down one or the other, she barely nudges two. The Amazons hold the squirming Kane within their grasp, grinning. From the sidelines, a delighted Portia gives an enthusiastic ovation that turns to appreciative whoops when Mariel and Valerie each drop to a knee and threaten to break Maeve’s spine in two places, Val at the neck and Mariel at the base of their foe’s spine.
The stereo over-the-knee backbreaker is too much for the lenient Castle to allow to continue and he starts his count on the tardy blonde. McGinty slides her knee out from under and takes long strides back to legality while the younger and perhaps more athletic of the near six-footers RIPS a mewling Kane to her knees as she rises. Grasping an arm, Val steps over the extended limb and spins until one knee is pressed tightly to the temple of the rising Riul. Seamlessly, Stipanovic lays out and the Angeleno’s knee RAMS into the side of Maeve’s skull. Kane’s sent flying, the force either Amazon can pack into her lower limbs shown with ferocity as Kane lands on her back in another stupor.
Single-leg facebreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJm9AbjYjHw ) 00:10
The lanky brunette casts a glance in Moira’s direction, mouthing ‘your sister’s mine’ to the steaming sibling. The younger Kane snorts in a fury but has the sense and control not to bring the official’s eyes in her direction.
Dropping to a seat above the head of the splayed Maeve, Valerie pushes the blonde up to a seat then wraps her endless stems around the braincase of the Galway native from behind. Locking her ankles feet in front of Maeve’s face, Val’s thighs press into the sides of Kane’s skull, ‘Stems’ seemingly wanting to squeeze the brains of the three-time former champ through any hole that allows access. Maeve meekly tries to pry herself lose, but Stipanovic isn’t budged.
She works the head scissors liberally, the elder sister’s features turning from pink toward purple. Finally relenting, Val drops her legs flat to the canvas, widening them so they’re on either side of the dazed blonde between. Valerie pulls Maeve up into her lap as she secures the illustrious tag titlist in a full nelson then lowers to her back while lifting Kane in front of her. Val thrusts her pelvis up and forward and brings Maeve’s backside THUMPING into the deck with a tailbone-bruising Keister Bounce.
Maeve winces, as do many in the audience, and when the brunette leans back for another Kane reflexively shakes her head, bleating out an involuntary ‘no…no…no’ as she goes up and THUMP. UP and THUMP. UP AND THUMP. UP AND THUMP!
The fifth seems the charm as far as Stipanovic is concerned. She releases her nelson and scissors and Maeve’s hands shoot directly under her well-padded rump, massaging her coccyx.
Sidling past the grimacing Kane, Val races to the ropes for a rebound, Mariel slapping her partner on the shoulder as she hits the rubber-coated steel. Eating up yardage in no time, ‘Stems’ launches into a low-rise dropkick that NAILS Maeve’s plentiful bounty. There isn’t padding enough in the cups to prevent the legend’s back and skull from banging into the canvas.
Laid out in a limp single-file in front of the seated Valerie, Kane doesn’t notice as the lanky brunette sneaks her boots inside Maeve’s ankles and starts drawing the blonde’s legs wider and wider. Kane returns from her stupor when her significantly shorter if still gorgeous, ivory gams are at 45 degrees. And without the barest hint of effort, Val continues pressing Maeve toward a vile set of forced splits. Kane sits and grasps at her groin muscles either side of her crotch, the wishbone working agonizing wonders.
But it’s only the awful beginning as an approaching and legal Mariel places her palms on her partner’s shoulders and flips over. Naturally her ungodly long legs lead the way and the heels of her boots SLAM into the stretched-wide crotch of Kane.
With a perfect view from the apron of the diabolical double-team, Portia finds herself turning her head from the impact, listening to the sickening thud and loud moan from Maeve. VanBuren gulps hard, hand reflexively moving to straighten her togs below before turning back to see Maeve’s eyes roll white from the agony.
In the Kanes’ corner, Moira’s seen enough. She pops over the ropes and charges toward the rising Incorporated Amazons, inches from plowing a shoulder into Val before a wailing VanBuren directs Castle toward the would-be interference, ‘helping’ the zebra keep the match from getting away from him. Nick wraps his arms around Moira and bundles her back toward the corner, unaware Valerie is closing behind his right shoulder. She rotates into a spin kick with the sublime height only a member of Leggs could possibly muster. The boot sails over Castle’s shoulder and CRACKS Moira in the forehead.
The athletic, younger sibling dribbles down Castle, ending on her haunches, her lowered noggin leaning into the ref, Moira feebly wrapping an arm around one of the man’s legs to keep from faceplanting.
Nick turns to scold the brunette and consider his options for a DQ. He lectures Val as he loosens himself from Kane and guides her back to the Leggs’ corner. Meanwhile, a risen Mariel races into a chin-denting knee to Moira. Kane’s sent flopping to her back, hammies folding atop calves, the younger Kane’s legs bent under themselves.
It’s becoming a mauling and the crowd is taken aback at what’s on display. Likewise, the humor is draining from Baby’s face.
Mariel pulls a stupefied Moira up to her haunches, unfolding her. She leaps and twists toward Kane, her palms landing on the canvas as her lethal legs tighten around the head of the wide-eyed Moira. Simultaneously rolling and laying out, Mariel PLANTS Moira’s features into the deck with her signature Headscissors Driver.
Headscissors Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uY3R5GtGMC4 ) 00:18
The flaxen-haired and celebrated tag specialist flops into a wide starfish, showing only a clue of consciousness.
With Valerie back in place, Castle turns to find Mariel hovering over a depleted Moira. McGinty shrugs at the zebra as she steps toward a wrecked Maeve, the curvy blonde wobbling her way toward vertical when the leggy Amazon arrives. She hauls the elder Kane to her feet while Nick gets busy trying to drag Moira’s carcass out of the ring. He settles for ‘to one side’, wanting to get his eyes back on the legal combatants. It doesn’t appear he needs to have worried about illegalities as Maeve’s in little condition to protect herself against even the permissible attacks of the towering blonde.
The groaning Riul manages to muster a shove, sending the Amazon shuffling back a few steps. Nose scrunching in anger, Mariel guts the tag titan with a toe kick that stretches for days, Maeve left bug-eyed, mouth agape. With her foe bent at the waist, McGinty moves to Kane’s side, lifting her right shin to the busty blonde’s temple.
Snatching her foe’s far arm with both hands, Mariel lays out and teaches the veteran her Golden Rule. Kane’s body whiplashes away from the impact, her braincase put on concussion alert after the jarring ending.
Golden Rule ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJmrOSHMhwI )
Maeve flops like a fish out of water for several seconds before falling still. A smirking McGinty, knee walks to the demolished Kane and places one of her caps on the bounty of the shellshocked blonde for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The less than textbook pin saves the multi-time tag champs for the moment. Mariel turns to Castle angrily then to Valerie who shoots back an eye roll at her partner. Finally, McGinty spins to Portia. She’s gone silent, no longer cheering on the Kanes’ demise. Mariel offers her a pucker.
From the corner, Stipanovic turns to VanBuren as well.
“Thanks for the opportunity, Baby. We aim to please.”
Portia nods nervously and backs away as Val drops to the floor and moves toward her, the socialite retreating around a corner. But ‘Stems’ is only looking to corral Moira. She cups her arms around the side of Kane’s ribs facing the ring and rolls the Riul off the canvas and into her arms, Moira limp in the arms of the near six-footer.
While her partner struggles to get an equally flaccid Maeve to her feet, the brunette aims Moira at the nearest ringpost and flings Kane toward the metal beam. There’s little hope in the silenced fans and the quiet allows the full sound of Moira’s skull CLUNKING off the post to echo through the arena, even VanBuren flinching at the brutal collision.
Leaving Kane in unconscious heap, Valerie dusts off her hands in dramatic fashion and strides back to her corner, popping to the apron in time to watch Mariel pull a stooped Maeve into a front facelock. She hammerlocks Kane’s opposite arm behind her, throws forward her never-ending gam and swings it back like a gigantic pendulum, SPIKING Maeve’s skull into the canvas with an Implant DDT that sends Maeve flipping to her back and skidding to a stop in a wide spreadeagle, joining her sibling in unconsciousness.
Implant DDT ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8hQQpiQk6s )
Mariel moves to a lateral press, hooking her foe’s far leg, pulling the blonde’s kneecap to her sternum for the…
ONE…
TWO…
AND NO THREE!
But why has even Leggs Inc. supporters grousing, McGinty having pulled the wilted Maeve off the deck, stopping the pinfall. She tosses Kane’s upper half back to the canvas with contempt. Rising, she strides to her corner and tags in the dark-haired Angeleno.
Val slips through, showing off her moneymakers as she bends her way into the ring languidly, walks to the splayed Maeve and pulls up the legend’s left leg. Stipanovic spins her way around the raised limb, folding it over the opposite number while the Irishwoman sleeps off her Incorporated bender.
But when Valerie drops to her backside, locking the legs then raises on her palms, the stress on bones and ligaments wakes Maeve from her stupor like smelling salts. And when the brunette Amazon from LA bridges into the Figure-Eight, Maeve is howling in agony. After a half-dozen seconds, she’s shouting for her sister’s help. With Moira still a puddle on the outside, it takes but a few seconds more before Maeve is tapping the mat enthusiastically with both hands, pleading for release.
Figure 8 leglock ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZS9isyjaFUM ) 00:37
Nick calls for the bell and demands Val give up her torturous submission. Valerie pushes the limits of Castle’s patience but finally relents, unknotting herself from the wailing Kane.
Mariel enters as the ring announcer makes it official.
“Your winners, by submission, Leggs, Inc.”
The FAWNatics seems too stunned by the dominating show to offer anything but mumbles. The victors don’t seem to mind as they embrace over the beaten Maeve, McGinty raising Valerie’s arm high. Mariel calls for a microphone and one is delivered with dispatch.
The duo turns to a dumbstruck VanBuren.
“Ahem. AHEM.”
McGinty clears her throat to get Baby’s attention.
“Hey there crazy Aunt Portia. Since we got rid of your would-be challengers for you, we think it’s only fair, and I think these people think it’s only fair, we challenge you at Red, White and Bruised!”
The crowd turns on a dine. With VanBuren and her Standard involved, cheering the idea of the destructive force of nature they’d just witnessed laying waste to the champs is an attractive alternative.
Stick already in hand, Portia shakes her head.
“Nah, nah, nah. That wasn’t the deal, Jersey beanpoles. This was a one-off. You did a decent job with the showcase I GAVE YOU. But that’s all it was. Just like those Irish losers had to prove themselves. Now you do!”
Val grabs the microphone from her partner, putting a boot on Maeve’s bosom.
“Don’t think you’re going to be able to run for long on those stubby little stems, Portia,” Stipanovic informs. “Tell your ladies the clock’s ticking and these legs…”
Val runs her hands down Mariel’s gams and McGinty does likewise with her partner’s.
“…we know how to use them.”
Portia throws down her mic and heads for the exits, shaking her head while the crowd chants her backstage with a resounding series of ‘YES…YES…YES’, the once-feared Kanes oblivious to the stepping stones they’ve just been made.
The crowd must be wondering who can stand up to the power, guile and intimidation personified by the Phenom, the Empress and the woman that leads them, a woman more Machiavellian than the Medicis, Fortune’s Favorite, Portia VanBuren IV.
But when Celtic pipes waft through the arena's sound system, the throngs roar to life, the assembled well aware the most successful team in FAWN’s history would get their chance.
As dual spotlights of verdant green sweep through the audience, the challengers emerge from behind the curtain, the spots turning white as they flash upon the instantly recognizable, always respected, and occasionally beloved blondes.
Ireland’s Greatest Export move to the middle in sisterly unison, ready to reclaim for an unprecedented FOURTH time FAWN’s tag team championships. Riul Kanes, the Celtic majesties of the organization’s tag division stride to the battlefield, ready to wrest the belts from a seemingly unbeatable force as they had done before against the supposedly invincible troika making up The Three.
MAEVE KANE
MOIRA KANE
The elder Kane, Maeve, is clad in a hunter green one-piece which hugs her lush curves and pushes up her impressive bounty, while her sister Moira (an "Irish twin" at a mere 10 months younger), is garbed in a two-piece ensemble of a darker shade than that of her sibling. The gear likewise highlights her impressive athletic assets.
The Irishwomen circle the ring exuding nothing but absolute confidence. They’ve faced and beaten the best teams in the sport and it’s obvious they are bound and determined to do the same again tonight.
Maeve’s kept her golden tresses, continuing to fashion them into a flirty bob that surely has a certain Hawkeye crying about copycats, though Kane’s mane isn’t quite as short and is not the silvery blonde of the Platinum Pixie. Moira retains her classic long honey-gold locks.
Climbing the steps to the apron, the Kanes demand the referee sit on the middle rope and push the top wide. Moira and Maeve step through and into their famed playground.
The FAWNatics have always had a love-hate relationship with the Kanes, but with the opportunity to see the Standard overthrown and put in their proper place, the Riuls are receiving copious amounts of love tonight, both blondes unable to contain surprised grins.
As the pipes fade and the sisters move to their corner, the ring announcer takes his opportunity.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Tag Team Championships! Introducing first, hailing from Galway, Ireland, weighing in at a combined total of two hundred and fifty-five pounds, Maeve and Moira… <i>Ríúil KAAAAAAAAAAAANES!</i>”
The Kanes reclaim the middle, shoulder to shoulder, the Irishwomen looking at home amidst the momentous occasion, expectantly waiting for the arrival of the champions.
The infamous crashing chords of 'The World is Not Enough' from Garbage fill the bowl as it darkens and the FAWNatics turn to the upper stage to curse the vile, villainous tag team champs and, as much or more, their malicious, moneyed manager.
THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8C5NLfYdZaE
“I know how to hurt. I know how to heal. I know what to show and what to conceal.”
“I know when to talk. And I know when to touch. No one ever died from wanting too much…”
The crowd lets loose on the salacious sellouts and their leader the Long Island legend.
A spotlight blinks into a long streak of light as Shirley Manson pronounces “The World Is Not Enough” and, at the end of the beam…a strawberry blonde patrician smirks surreptitiously, reveling in the loathing she feels radiating from the concealed hordes.
PORTIA VANBUREN
Fortune’s Favorite is flawless in her immaculate, white tennis togs, namely a form-fitting, Louis Vuitton tank top and short skirt with white socks and thousand-dollar tennies. In her right hand is Precious, her beloved polo mallet. Baby points it to stage right and all eyes track to the entry of her anxiety-inducing exotics.
But there’s nothing and no one, the illumination returns to Baby who is chuckling, as if she’s just seen a Jersey fall on her face. Perfect joke apparently told, VanBuren heads to the squared circle very much alone but thoroughly unconcerned.
Portia keeps clear of the grimy Floridian fingers reaching for her. She sashays up the steps, demands then receives the same rope treatment afforded her fellow FAWN originals. Stick already in hand with Precious in the other, she directs Castle to shuffle the challengers to the side. Nick does his best, pleading with the Kanes to give ground. They finally accede to his wishes.
“It’s lovely to see my old dear friends,” Baby begins. “It’s quite inspiring to see them trying to hold onto their past glory when women like my Standard have set the bar so much higher and have deservedly pushed them out of the headlines.”
The crowd disagrees loudly and vociferously, but Portia presses on, turning her attention from the hard camera lens to the blondes.
“Ladies. I’ve no idea why Bethany pulled you out of mothballs and dusted the spiderwebs off your decrepit careers but, speaking for Amara and Alexis, we have no interest in playing along with this farce. So I have some bad news.”
Hackles raised, the Irish brawlers rear out of their corner and VanBuren backtracks to the opposite, demanding Castle hold the ruffians back. With the Kanes barely contained, a wary Portia continues.
“As I was saying, bad news. Your resumes, well, they’re not what they used to be, and I just don’t feel you’re up to the level of facing the Best Ever. God knows you never were the smartest and now that your bodies are failing.”
The sisters break free of Castle and run the Manhattanite out of the ring, Portia scrambling through the ropes and dropping to the floor then backing off further still, holding a hand up plaintively while brandishing Precious like a sword.
“But…but…but…hold up. If you can show you DESERVE a shot then ladies the opportunity will be yours at Red, White and Bruised.”
Portia barely gets the words out of her mouth when…
…the lights dim.
The Tron blinks from the omnipresent FAWN logo to a neon pink outline of a long, lean set of legs walking across the screen from the left. From the opposite side, another set does the same and, as they meet, the lines of the limbs swirl and materialize into a cursive font that reads ‘Leggs, Inc.’.
As the FAWNatics buzz with curiosity and excitement, pink pyro shoots in diagonal blasts from either side of the stage. The crowd’s roar is muted and admittedly somewhat mixed.
Did the long-legged lovelies have VanBuren’s implicit backing?
Is this a warranted grasp for the brass ring?
The last blast of fireworks flies toward the rafters as Rod Stewart’s ‘Hot Legs’ blares from the arena speakers (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHcjjxYbgNM ).
The long-limbed lovelies, one with olive skin and long dark locks, the other with skin of lightly tanned ivory and a golden mane, move to center stage, showing off their undeniable weaponry.
MARIEL MCGINTY
VALERIE STIPANOVIC
The team’s anthem isn’t used in vain as the duo have lower limbs to die for, neither set seeming to cease. Even Portia at least feigns being impressed, motioning to the Kanes they’re likely out of their depth.
On the upper stage, the partners turn to each other and glide hands over the length of the other’s stupendous stems. By the time each is done, their pert cheeks are pointed high. Up the hands trail, making the long return trip, each expedition ending with a cheeky pinch, drawing a wide grin from the other beautiful grappler.
With all attention captured, the Incorporated team sets foot down the ramp, their long strides gobbling up space in a hurry. Blonde and brunette aren’t interactive tonight, passing on high-fives with the fans. Still, the mob chants for the owners of the undeniable appendages as they reach the ring.
“LEGS…LEGS…LEGS”.
The blonde is clad in a cutoff gray Calvin Klein hoodie (hood down) unzipped and wide to show the towering beauty’s pink sports bra. Multicolored speckles dot throughout the top and her pink boy-cut trunks ride exceedingly high to accentuate further the incredible gams. Pink boots and black pads finish the slight attire.
Next to her, the brunette is in a similar hoodie. The rest of her gear is parallel in style though the more tanned of the pair is in striking white, boots and pads added to her snowy sports bra and ‘barely there’ shorts.
With each set of legs well-inspected, the glowing duo makes the trip up the steps then move halfway down the ropes, remaining outside as the announcer breaks into the captivating display.
“And apparently their opponents for…perhaps the number one contendership? Weighing a combined 255 pounds…from Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania and Los Angeles, California respectively…MARIEL…”LEGS”…MCGINTY and VALERIE “STEMS” STIPANOVIC…ladies and most assuredly gentlemen…LEGGS INCORPORATED.”
Partially hypnotized by the limbs, there’s a smattering of appreciation from the crowd. There’s less so from the team that just saw their title chance evaporate but eventually a pissed off set of Kanes nod enthusiastically at the chance to take the pegs out from Leggs and pump up the crowd with some thrusting fists.
Noticing and not at all liking the lack of attention on them, each member of the Riul’s new foes moves partially through the ropes and tarries, blonde and brunette looking each other up and down. Legs and Stems show off a glorious side view of their long, lean gams before swinging the opposite number through.
Inside, they move to the corner opposite the snarling Irishwomen, Mariel deciding she’ll start the unscheduled battle while opposite her, Maeve demands the chance to snap legs like twigs and turn the smirk on VanBuren’s face into a disappointed frown.
Valerie and Moira exit, leaving the initial combatants in the ring. VanBuren, apparently feeling a seat with the announcing crew puts her too far from the action, settles next to a neutral corner. The strawberry blonde moves around the post from a sneering Moira, giving Stipanovic better access to Fortune’s Favorite. But Val seems much more interested in the occupants inside.
The clang of the bell still reverberates to the back of the arena as Maeve bursts out of the blocks. Who knew if Portia would keep her word about a title shot, but if the Riuls tore apart a team just on the other side of greatness, Bethany would make sure the Celtic warriors would get their due.
To that end, Kane charges a seemingly startled McGinty. But as Maeve closes the gap, Mariel surges forward a step, lifting a big right boot and sends the sole directly between the crystal blue eyes of the veteran.
Ripped from the canvas. Maeve’s legs fly forward as her head is brought to a dead stop. One brutal collision to the cranium isn’t all she receives though, the back of her skull THUMPING into the thinly-sheathed plywood. A glassy-eyed Kane stares into the rafters, mouth agape.
The crowd seems torn by such an early and jaw-dropping blunder. The FAWNatics always enjoyed Leggs, Inc. They brought something no other team could match with their stem-centric displays. But given several chances, they’d come up ironically short in the biggest of matches. The failure against America’s Sweethearts had been particularly career arc-altering. So when a beaming Mariel races to the ropes, returns and lifts off for a leg drop aimed for the chest and throat of the splayed Kane, it couldn’t help but be presumed by the throngs, the legend would roll free.
But Maeve doesn’t. Instead the long, lethal lower limbs CRASH down across Kane, the Irishwoman spasming under the legs of McGinty. Mariel leaves them draped across Kane as Castle drops to count, a chuckling Portia shouting out with his slaps…
ONE…
TWO…
Maeve pushes a shoulder off the canvas convincingly and neither Mariel, Val or VanBuren seem surprised. Kane pushes to a seat, her peepers still vacant. She shakes an early set of cobwebs as the towering blonde snatches Maeve by her bob and tugs a wincing Kane to her feet, McGinty tossing the elder sister into the lion’s den of the Incorporated corner.
As Mariel lifts and tuck a boot under Maeve’s chin, pushing into her foe’s throat and shoving Kane’s head backward in the process, Moira howls in protest from the opposite corner.
“Nick, are ya damn blind?” she shouts.
Castle isn’t as he acknowledges Stipanovic tagging her partner’s heightened ankle and entering the ring to join her fellow Amazonian. Mariel releases her choke at ‘FOUR’, Maeve’s face turning rosy from the lack of oxygen. She gasps in deep breaths as the long, lean duo move Maeve to the middle of the ropes and fling her across the ring with a double whip. The legendary Riul hits the cables at warp speed and rebounds toward a double Big Boot that might have tested how well Kane’s noggin was attached, but the old hand ducks under and continues scurrying to the next set of ropes. She takes the u-turn and races at the spinning Leggs Inc., leaping in a crossbody splash of both blonde and brunette chest.
While Kane might have taken down one or the other, she barely nudges two. The Amazons hold the squirming Kane within their grasp, grinning. From the sidelines, a delighted Portia gives an enthusiastic ovation that turns to appreciative whoops when Mariel and Valerie each drop to a knee and threaten to break Maeve’s spine in two places, Val at the neck and Mariel at the base of their foe’s spine.
The stereo over-the-knee backbreaker is too much for the lenient Castle to allow to continue and he starts his count on the tardy blonde. McGinty slides her knee out from under and takes long strides back to legality while the younger and perhaps more athletic of the near six-footers RIPS a mewling Kane to her knees as she rises. Grasping an arm, Val steps over the extended limb and spins until one knee is pressed tightly to the temple of the rising Riul. Seamlessly, Stipanovic lays out and the Angeleno’s knee RAMS into the side of Maeve’s skull. Kane’s sent flying, the force either Amazon can pack into her lower limbs shown with ferocity as Kane lands on her back in another stupor.
Single-leg facebreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJm9AbjYjHw ) 00:10
The lanky brunette casts a glance in Moira’s direction, mouthing ‘your sister’s mine’ to the steaming sibling. The younger Kane snorts in a fury but has the sense and control not to bring the official’s eyes in her direction.
Dropping to a seat above the head of the splayed Maeve, Valerie pushes the blonde up to a seat then wraps her endless stems around the braincase of the Galway native from behind. Locking her ankles feet in front of Maeve’s face, Val’s thighs press into the sides of Kane’s skull, ‘Stems’ seemingly wanting to squeeze the brains of the three-time former champ through any hole that allows access. Maeve meekly tries to pry herself lose, but Stipanovic isn’t budged.
She works the head scissors liberally, the elder sister’s features turning from pink toward purple. Finally relenting, Val drops her legs flat to the canvas, widening them so they’re on either side of the dazed blonde between. Valerie pulls Maeve up into her lap as she secures the illustrious tag titlist in a full nelson then lowers to her back while lifting Kane in front of her. Val thrusts her pelvis up and forward and brings Maeve’s backside THUMPING into the deck with a tailbone-bruising Keister Bounce.
Maeve winces, as do many in the audience, and when the brunette leans back for another Kane reflexively shakes her head, bleating out an involuntary ‘no…no…no’ as she goes up and THUMP. UP and THUMP. UP AND THUMP. UP AND THUMP!
The fifth seems the charm as far as Stipanovic is concerned. She releases her nelson and scissors and Maeve’s hands shoot directly under her well-padded rump, massaging her coccyx.
Sidling past the grimacing Kane, Val races to the ropes for a rebound, Mariel slapping her partner on the shoulder as she hits the rubber-coated steel. Eating up yardage in no time, ‘Stems’ launches into a low-rise dropkick that NAILS Maeve’s plentiful bounty. There isn’t padding enough in the cups to prevent the legend’s back and skull from banging into the canvas.
Laid out in a limp single-file in front of the seated Valerie, Kane doesn’t notice as the lanky brunette sneaks her boots inside Maeve’s ankles and starts drawing the blonde’s legs wider and wider. Kane returns from her stupor when her significantly shorter if still gorgeous, ivory gams are at 45 degrees. And without the barest hint of effort, Val continues pressing Maeve toward a vile set of forced splits. Kane sits and grasps at her groin muscles either side of her crotch, the wishbone working agonizing wonders.
But it’s only the awful beginning as an approaching and legal Mariel places her palms on her partner’s shoulders and flips over. Naturally her ungodly long legs lead the way and the heels of her boots SLAM into the stretched-wide crotch of Kane.
With a perfect view from the apron of the diabolical double-team, Portia finds herself turning her head from the impact, listening to the sickening thud and loud moan from Maeve. VanBuren gulps hard, hand reflexively moving to straighten her togs below before turning back to see Maeve’s eyes roll white from the agony.
In the Kanes’ corner, Moira’s seen enough. She pops over the ropes and charges toward the rising Incorporated Amazons, inches from plowing a shoulder into Val before a wailing VanBuren directs Castle toward the would-be interference, ‘helping’ the zebra keep the match from getting away from him. Nick wraps his arms around Moira and bundles her back toward the corner, unaware Valerie is closing behind his right shoulder. She rotates into a spin kick with the sublime height only a member of Leggs could possibly muster. The boot sails over Castle’s shoulder and CRACKS Moira in the forehead.
The athletic, younger sibling dribbles down Castle, ending on her haunches, her lowered noggin leaning into the ref, Moira feebly wrapping an arm around one of the man’s legs to keep from faceplanting.
Nick turns to scold the brunette and consider his options for a DQ. He lectures Val as he loosens himself from Kane and guides her back to the Leggs’ corner. Meanwhile, a risen Mariel races into a chin-denting knee to Moira. Kane’s sent flopping to her back, hammies folding atop calves, the younger Kane’s legs bent under themselves.
It’s becoming a mauling and the crowd is taken aback at what’s on display. Likewise, the humor is draining from Baby’s face.
Mariel pulls a stupefied Moira up to her haunches, unfolding her. She leaps and twists toward Kane, her palms landing on the canvas as her lethal legs tighten around the head of the wide-eyed Moira. Simultaneously rolling and laying out, Mariel PLANTS Moira’s features into the deck with her signature Headscissors Driver.
Headscissors Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uY3R5GtGMC4 ) 00:18
The flaxen-haired and celebrated tag specialist flops into a wide starfish, showing only a clue of consciousness.
With Valerie back in place, Castle turns to find Mariel hovering over a depleted Moira. McGinty shrugs at the zebra as she steps toward a wrecked Maeve, the curvy blonde wobbling her way toward vertical when the leggy Amazon arrives. She hauls the elder Kane to her feet while Nick gets busy trying to drag Moira’s carcass out of the ring. He settles for ‘to one side’, wanting to get his eyes back on the legal combatants. It doesn’t appear he needs to have worried about illegalities as Maeve’s in little condition to protect herself against even the permissible attacks of the towering blonde.
The groaning Riul manages to muster a shove, sending the Amazon shuffling back a few steps. Nose scrunching in anger, Mariel guts the tag titan with a toe kick that stretches for days, Maeve left bug-eyed, mouth agape. With her foe bent at the waist, McGinty moves to Kane’s side, lifting her right shin to the busty blonde’s temple.
Snatching her foe’s far arm with both hands, Mariel lays out and teaches the veteran her Golden Rule. Kane’s body whiplashes away from the impact, her braincase put on concussion alert after the jarring ending.
Golden Rule ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJmrOSHMhwI )
Maeve flops like a fish out of water for several seconds before falling still. A smirking McGinty, knee walks to the demolished Kane and places one of her caps on the bounty of the shellshocked blonde for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The less than textbook pin saves the multi-time tag champs for the moment. Mariel turns to Castle angrily then to Valerie who shoots back an eye roll at her partner. Finally, McGinty spins to Portia. She’s gone silent, no longer cheering on the Kanes’ demise. Mariel offers her a pucker.
From the corner, Stipanovic turns to VanBuren as well.
“Thanks for the opportunity, Baby. We aim to please.”
Portia nods nervously and backs away as Val drops to the floor and moves toward her, the socialite retreating around a corner. But ‘Stems’ is only looking to corral Moira. She cups her arms around the side of Kane’s ribs facing the ring and rolls the Riul off the canvas and into her arms, Moira limp in the arms of the near six-footer.
While her partner struggles to get an equally flaccid Maeve to her feet, the brunette aims Moira at the nearest ringpost and flings Kane toward the metal beam. There’s little hope in the silenced fans and the quiet allows the full sound of Moira’s skull CLUNKING off the post to echo through the arena, even VanBuren flinching at the brutal collision.
Leaving Kane in unconscious heap, Valerie dusts off her hands in dramatic fashion and strides back to her corner, popping to the apron in time to watch Mariel pull a stooped Maeve into a front facelock. She hammerlocks Kane’s opposite arm behind her, throws forward her never-ending gam and swings it back like a gigantic pendulum, SPIKING Maeve’s skull into the canvas with an Implant DDT that sends Maeve flipping to her back and skidding to a stop in a wide spreadeagle, joining her sibling in unconsciousness.
Implant DDT ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8hQQpiQk6s )
Mariel moves to a lateral press, hooking her foe’s far leg, pulling the blonde’s kneecap to her sternum for the…
ONE…
TWO…
AND NO THREE!
But why has even Leggs Inc. supporters grousing, McGinty having pulled the wilted Maeve off the deck, stopping the pinfall. She tosses Kane’s upper half back to the canvas with contempt. Rising, she strides to her corner and tags in the dark-haired Angeleno.
Val slips through, showing off her moneymakers as she bends her way into the ring languidly, walks to the splayed Maeve and pulls up the legend’s left leg. Stipanovic spins her way around the raised limb, folding it over the opposite number while the Irishwoman sleeps off her Incorporated bender.
But when Valerie drops to her backside, locking the legs then raises on her palms, the stress on bones and ligaments wakes Maeve from her stupor like smelling salts. And when the brunette Amazon from LA bridges into the Figure-Eight, Maeve is howling in agony. After a half-dozen seconds, she’s shouting for her sister’s help. With Moira still a puddle on the outside, it takes but a few seconds more before Maeve is tapping the mat enthusiastically with both hands, pleading for release.
Figure 8 leglock ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZS9isyjaFUM ) 00:37
Nick calls for the bell and demands Val give up her torturous submission. Valerie pushes the limits of Castle’s patience but finally relents, unknotting herself from the wailing Kane.
Mariel enters as the ring announcer makes it official.
“Your winners, by submission, Leggs, Inc.”
The FAWNatics seems too stunned by the dominating show to offer anything but mumbles. The victors don’t seem to mind as they embrace over the beaten Maeve, McGinty raising Valerie’s arm high. Mariel calls for a microphone and one is delivered with dispatch.
The duo turns to a dumbstruck VanBuren.
“Ahem. AHEM.”
McGinty clears her throat to get Baby’s attention.
“Hey there crazy Aunt Portia. Since we got rid of your would-be challengers for you, we think it’s only fair, and I think these people think it’s only fair, we challenge you at Red, White and Bruised!”
The crowd turns on a dine. With VanBuren and her Standard involved, cheering the idea of the destructive force of nature they’d just witnessed laying waste to the champs is an attractive alternative.
Stick already in hand, Portia shakes her head.
“Nah, nah, nah. That wasn’t the deal, Jersey beanpoles. This was a one-off. You did a decent job with the showcase I GAVE YOU. But that’s all it was. Just like those Irish losers had to prove themselves. Now you do!”
Val grabs the microphone from her partner, putting a boot on Maeve’s bosom.
“Don’t think you’re going to be able to run for long on those stubby little stems, Portia,” Stipanovic informs. “Tell your ladies the clock’s ticking and these legs…”
Val runs her hands down Mariel’s gams and McGinty does likewise with her partner’s.
“…we know how to use them.”
Portia throws down her mic and heads for the exits, shaking her head while the crowd chants her backstage with a resounding series of ‘YES…YES…YES’, the once-feared Kanes oblivious to the stepping stones they’ve just been made.