Post by hawkeye on Jul 5, 2020 18:15:56 GMT
The crowd waits with bated breath for the next bout of Mayhem when they are shaken to their patriotic core by the first chords of America the Beautiful. The proud Floridians rise not only out of respect for their country but for excitement at the arrival of the wrestler who so beautifully encompasses everything good about the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
Within a few moments, their hearts are filled with pride and eyes filled with an athletic, blonde beauty in starts-n-stripes as Lady Liberty emerges from stage right. The flaring spotlights zero in on her immediate location. She smiles without hesitation, blue eyes like sapphire, curls spun from gold. She stands with one foot crossed lightly and slightly in front the other, one hand placed upon a curvy hip as she salutes crisply with the other.
LADY LIBERTY
The FAWNatics respond with one in kind to the angelic version of the crass, vile and thankfully MIA Polly Lockwood. The woman carries herself with absolute assurance, an unfaltering confidence that’s spellbinding, and a smile that’s nothing short of heartwarming.
Though she had never reached stardom in equal measure with her adoration, the proud Americans, one and mostly all, remain on their feet for Lady Liberty, applauding enthusiastically from the first, triumphantly upbeat note.
Salute delivered and love returned, the Girl of Every State journeys down the aisle, reaching out and clasping offered hands to deliver a firm shake, pausing at quick intervals to engage in short, yet welcome exchanges. So much about her is an enigma, the Girl called Liberty, her identity a mystery, her accent oddly lacking any telltale regional accent and yet, somehow, combining many. She could have come from anywhere within America and many in Orlando today dare believe she comes from their hometown.
About her sublimely sporty frame she wears the colors of her country, the American Flag snugly fitting about her every crowd-pleasing curve. The sports top was white, the torch of liberty aflame across her bosom, sapphire bikini briefs decorated with a smattering of stars, her elbow pads a dazzling blue while her boots are a radiant red. She wears these colors with obvious pride amidst no irony or cynicism, and it’s impossible for the patriotic FAWNatics in attendance to not love her for it.
The Lady’s pace is swift and measured, her bearing steady, the woman stepping away from the adoring public and displaying her photogenic properties, the flash photography capturing her every movement as she waves to the crowd and ascends the steel steps.
She slips into the ring between the top and middle ropes, ducking low and popping back up into a short series of practice stretches, nimbly preparing herself as she heads towards her corner, saluting once more before patiently and politely waiting for referee Nick Castle to confirm to his satisfaction she has not brought anything illegal with her into the coming contest. The crowd jeers Nick’s temerity but Lady Liberty holds up a hand, asking for absolution for Castle’s cynicism. The ring announcer breaks in as Liberty’s music fades.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty-minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from the Good Ole U.S.A., she stands at five feet four inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and twenty-four pounds. She is the Shining Example, the Grappler Next Door and the All American’s All American, she is LADY LIBERTY!”
The roar from the FAWNatics grows louder still and Lady Liberty responds, waving to her resolute troopers until her attention turns to the stage above.
With the sound of Iggy gettin’ ‘Fancy’, the Platinum Pixie, last seen taking the pin from FAWN’s new arrival Colleen O’Neal in the City of Angels. strides to center stage with a surly demeanor.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
The assembled let loose with a barrage of animosity, the antithesis of the Lady Liberty Lovefest. Though many question the Pleasant Valley Pariah’s ability and more her ethical indiscretions, no one can deny her power to stir passion. Sanders immediately brings the crowd to a boil, the collective hate moving like a presence toward the silvery-bobbed, elfin beauty.
KYLIE SANDERS
With no J-Dogg covering her flank tonight, Vanilla Chill is on her own, no cavalry at the ready to step in and save her. But if Sanders is lonely, she doesn’t show it. Instead, the Hawkeye scoffs and scowls at the faithful, pointing and shouting at the beating she’s about to deliver to the beloved blonde in the squared circle.
As Kylie moves down the ramp, the FAWNatics unleash their revulsion on the organization’s most infamous traitor. Unlike countless others, Kylie had been disloyal and deceitful to the hopes of her admirers, a felony much worse than backstabbing another member of the roster. The assembled make that known with ever-increasing ire.
Drawing on echoes of her original gear, Sanders sports 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 )
On the FAWNtron behind her, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Kylie points behind at the Lady in the FAWN battleground.
“That bytch might think this is her country, but it’s damn well my ring!”
Keeping clear of the reaching arms and baleful verbal jabs. She stops and stares indignantly at a poster board held high.
‘Lady Liberty’s pursuit of happiness means Kylie’s about to get chilled.’
FAWN’s Most Hated snatches the sign and tears it to shreds, throwing what’s left into the air like cardboard confetti. She returns her attention to the ring, the stage where she holds the record for most wins of any FAWN wrestler but also the most defeats. Striding the rest of the way to the squared circle, the Hawkeye climbs the steps and demands Castle open the ropes for her.
Nick knows well enough to listen to the FAWN original. He sits on the middle and pushes up the top, the diminutive turncoat slipping between. Once in, the inevitable chants begin, Sanders disregards them at first but as they dwarf the volume of her entrance, Kylie moves to the ring’s edge, receives a microphone and screams at them to stop.
It’s fuel to the ever-raging FAWNatics fire, booming chants of “TROLL” filling the bowl. The elfin blonde muffs her ears, demanding Castle make them stop. He shrugs, angering Ky all the more.
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
THEY WON’T!
Sanders throws the stick aside and moves to the corner opposite the beaming, fresh-faced Lady, a bigger contrast in attitude not possible. When the bell rings, it brings the FAWN equivalents of George Washington and Benedict Arnold out for battle.
The women move in a beeline to each other, talking no time to tie up in a collar and elbow, flexing and fidgeting for leverage. America’s Lady gains the upper hands in short order, forcing Kylie to retreat, slowly at first. But it doesn’t take long before Lady Liberty has Sanders backed into a corner.
“BREAK!” Kylie demands instantly and Castle agrees, asking the National Treasure to release her grip. The blonde beauty responds without a second thought, raising her hands and backing away. But not fast enough to avoid the flashing fingers of the traitorous Hawkeye who pokes the crystal blue peepers of her opponent.
Lady Liberty spins and staggers away from the underhanded attack, rubbing furiously at her eyes while Kylie’s scolded by FAWN’s head referee.
“Keep it shut, Castle,” Vanilla Chill advises. “Just be happy IF I don’t treat you the same as this faux symbol of my country.”
Sanders turns to the crowd. “No offense to Lockwood, but I’m the REAL AMERICAN and I’m going to show you why.”
Sanders turns her attention to the half-blinded Lady and strides to her foe, plunging a toe kick into the blonde’s taut tummy. With Liberty doubled, Ky tugs her foe’s head into a front facelock then slams a half dozen forearms into the spine of the National Treasure.
“We do what’s best for A-number-one,” Sanders shouts to the jeering former members of her Corps. “And you all know better than anyone, in the ring, that’s me!”
Draping an arm of America’s Lady over the back of her neck, Ky grabs some red-white-and-blue on the blonde’s hip and lifts her foe heavenward, stalling the painful conclusion with Lady Liberty’s boot soles pointed to the rafters. Letting the crowd enjoy their heroine’s peril, Kylie finally lays out, sending Liberty’s spine CRASHING into the canvas. The National Treasure arches in pain from the nasty impact of the suplex. Seated next to Liberty, a grinning Chill nods her head knowingly.
Sanders shifts to a forward straddle of her fellow blonde, ass resting on Liberty’s pelvis. Leaning forward, Kylie shows her pugilistic skills, laying fists to the Lady’s jaw, rights and lefts in combination. Ky’s foe gets forearms up in protection, blocking most of Sanders’ less than pinpoint strikes but enough get through to rock the Lady’s head from side to side a few times, Castle demanding Chill open her hands.
“I’m not some stinking novelty act like Renquist,” the Platinum Pixie complains, but she halts the fusillade upon Nick’s count of ‘FOUR’.
Sliding down Liberty’s frame, the Pleasant Valley Pariah rises with a leg of her foe scooped against either hip. Deftly, the silver-bobbed Hawkeye rotates to face away from the Lady, simultaneously turning the tanned National Treasure onto her chest. Ky lowers into a squat and backpedals a step or two, securing the beloved beauty in a Boston Crab. Sanders tests the spine of the Lady, Liberty’s backbone curled in a way it was never intended.
“Ask her how patriotic she is now?” Kylie bellows at Castle.
The man responds with a confused ‘huh?’.
“Ask her if she wants to quit you idiot.”
The American Idol shakes her head, grunting out an emphatic “NO” before Nick can ask. She pushes up on her palms and ‘walks’ her way toward the nearby cables. A flustered Sanders, realizing her best efforts are coming up short this early, gives up her submission. She spins out of the Crab, keeping one leg in her possession. She raises the right stem and SLAMS it down into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
The National Treasure howls in pain, pulling the leg in close, her effort to reach the ropes interrupted by the throbbing. When Sanders lowers to collect the limb again, the Lady uses a piston-like thrust of her left leg to keep Kylie off and butt scoots to the ropes behind her, using them to rise, shaking out her right leg and moving in a wide orbit out of the cables, looking for a reset.
Chill isn’t about to give the American Idol any recovery time, charging at Liberty. The Lady sweeps Sanders past and a sheepish Kylie swallows the embarrassment of coming up empty. She turns and tries again but Liberty again is too quick to be collected, this time ducking under a tie-up try. Sanders bites her lower lip in anger knowing the Lady is standing behind her, untouched, having made her look silly a second time.
Completely too sporting, Liberty waits until FAWN’s Most Hated turns to face her.
“OK. Let’s go,” the National Treasure promises.
The women come together in a collar-and-elbow which Sanders transitions into a side headlock. She grinds Liberty’s head against her hip.
“Yeah. What I thought,” Chill growls.
Bullying Liberty to the ropes, Kylie turns her target and surges toward the opposite side of the ring with the American Idol in tow. She leaps with legs extended to bulldog the Star-Spangled Beauty, but Liberty pushes her palms into Ky’s hips and pops her head free as the Platinum Pixie is taking off. The rest of the flight is a solo, Chill landing on her booty. Kylie butt-bunny-hops in pain from the landing, the crowd chuckling at Sanders’ bruised tailbone and her juvenile reaction. Kylie slips her hands under her aching ass, kneading her cheeks as she spins to get the Lady in front of her.
Again, Liberty holds back, motioning Kylie to rise with a sincere smile.
“Freaking…”
The rest is under Chill’s breath, Sanders pushing to her feet.
This time the Hawkeye rushes with a clothesline, Liberty nimbly ducks. She pivots for a rebounding Sanders, steadying herself for a bull rush from the elfin blonde. Kylie dips a shoulder slightly and RAMS her foe in the chest, but Liberty is barely moved. The National Treasure invites Sanders to try again and Ky is up for the challenge, ready to plant her infuriating foe with the next shoulder block. This time the American Idol pivots and locks her right arm with Kylie’s left. Liberty HEAVES the Platinum Princess HIGH into the air with a mega-hiptoss, Sanders again landing on her already battered backside.
This time the Lady doesn’t wait, instead deciding it’s time to start pressing her advantages. She races in from behind the seated Hawkeye, leaping in a front flip over Kylie’s right shoulder and grabbing Ky’s noggin on the fly-by. She POUNDS Chill’s face into the deck between her foe’s extended stems. And while Liberty rolls through her landing and pops to her feet, Ky whiplashes away of her impact, ending in a bleary-eyed starfish, staring at the lights, wondering where she is.
The American Idol slides through the ropes to get closer to her adoring throng. She pumps her fist at the crowd, generating a roar of approval as a wobbly Sanders makes it to a seat. Realizing Kylie’s on her way up, Liberty turns and grabs the middle rope. She dives through the strands as Sanders reaches vertical. Showing off her star-spangled athleticism, the National Treasure rolls though some thunder before reaching her range. Popping to her feet she transitions into a graceful drop kick to Sanders’ chest that knocks the Platinum Pixie flat.
Rolling Thunder to Dropkick ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoARKIRmC_s )
Liberty kips to her feet, the blue-eyed blonde drawing another ovation from the FAWNatics. She moves to the flattened Chill’s side and leaps into a standing shooting star press, her frame SLAMMING down across Kylie’s KNEES. Vanilla gets the bony joints raised in time, pulling her ivory legs into a tuck and sending the tanned patriot rolling on the deck, hugging her tummy.
Standing Shooting Star Press ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pG0eI12P-sY )
Sanders slowly pushes to her feet, flipping off the fans that long ago made up her Kylie Corps. She sinks her fingers into the shoulder-length spun gold of the Lady’s locks and ‘helps’ Liberty to her feet before BLASTING her with a European Uppercut. The National Treasure is staggered but her windmilling arms keep her upright.
Flustered, Kylie loads up a straight right and THUMPS it into the woman’s chin sending the American Idol stumbling in an ungainly pirouette until her face meets the boot soles of a leaping Sanders who NAILS Lady Liberty with a precise dropkick of her own, the beloved blonde delivered to the deck in a heap, the crowd quieted.
Sanders seems to consider kipping to her feet, but the fifteen-plus year vet thinks better of it, shoving her way to a hovering stance over Liberty and stomping away, making a mudhole out of the blonde. The Lady’s left a puddle, covering up as best she can under the rain of boos accompanying the furious attack.
The Hawkeye relents and goes board straight before offering a crisp salute to the Star-Spangled Heroine, then to the crowd, the jeers increasing in volume as she taunts their love for the real Miss America.
When Lady Liberty rolls to her chest and starts to rise to all fours, Kylie moves to a standing forward straddle and RAMS her pert little cheeks into the base of her foe’s spine, flattening Liberty to the canvas. Sanders spins in a 180 to reverse her stance then drops to her knees, one leg on either side of the reeling Lady.
Raising a clawed right hand high, Kylie still draws a reflexive chant of “FARM…HAND” from the audience before sinking the talons deep into the flesh just below the curve of Liberty’s glute. Digging the digits into the nerve bundle of Liberty’s right hammy, Kylie clamps on tight with her infamous signature.
She LEANS into the claw, sending it deeper, the National Treasure grimacing in anguish, the attack point leaving her leg spasming. From out of nowhere, Liberty’s free stem curls and clocks Kylie in the chin, sending Chill flopping out of her straddle, ending chest and face down beside the similarly positioned Liberty.
The American Idol massages her aching lower limb then drags the leg like its deadweight to the ropes, using the rubber-coated steel to slowly rise. A few feet away, Sanders rises without assistance and shakes out some cobwebs before finding her foe. She races at an essentially one-legged Liberty. But the Lady grabs the top strand and leans back, lowering the cable. Kylie’s momentum sends her flipping over the top, crashing to the floor below.
The National Treasure limps toward the opposite ropes but, by the time she rebounds, the beloved blonde is moving at a good clip. She leaps between the top and middle cables as Kylie rises but Chill beats Liberty to the punch. FAWN’s Most Hated intercepts it’s favorite halfway through a Suicidal Diving exit, THUMPING a forearm between Liberty’s blazing baby blues. The Lady drunkenly staggers in the opposite direction, still within the ring, as Ky climbs to the apron and grabs the top rope with both palms.
Hopping to the top, the usually earthbound Iowan takes to the skies from a springboard and catches the turning Lady in a front facelock that quickly spins into a Tornado DDT, the crown of Liberty’s skull SPIKED into the thinly-sheathed plywood. The National Treasure is robbed of her senses and ends in a lifeless starfish after flopping to her back.
The invitation is one Kylie can’t deny. She dives atop what’s left of Lady Liberty for a satisfying Mayhem win with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Liberty kicks out of the lateral press, leaving Sanders to leap to her feet and get in Castle’s grill, demanding Nick admit he’s part of Da Man’s plan. The zebra retreats, hands held aloft, palms outward, begging off. After cornering the man and letting Castle know she’s wise, the elfin blonde returns her attention to a woken and rising Liberty. She charges and SPEARS a shoulder through the dazed Lady, ripping the American Idol off the canvas with a vicious tackle. Unfortunately for Chill, it’s such a gory collision, the Lady is sent rolling out of the ring from the vicious impact, plopping to the floor.
Kylie, up to her haunches, sweeps both sets of fingers through her silvery bob in disbelief, temporarily denied the opportunity to once and for all prove she’s really what America stands for.
Vanilla Chill drops to a shoulder and hip and rolls out after the fan favorite, scraping Liberty off the arena floor. She tugs the athletic blonde to her feet and leans Liberty against the apron. Measuring her foe, the Platinum Pixie lets loose with a flurry of left-right combos that have Liberty’s head whiplashing right and left in response to the rampaging Hawkeye. Kylie bring a final, balled right hand to her lips and gives the folded fingers a smooch before literally flooring the American Idol with a blistering right cross.
The Pleasant Valley Pariah turns to the crowd, moving to the steel barricade, shouting at the scum that abandoned her when she gained the will to win. Kylie points over her shoulder at the slowly stirring Lady.
“This slackjawed dimwit is what you’d have represent this country if you had your way,” Ky bellows. “Lemme tell ya. There’s no right. There’s no left. There’s only the Chill of Vanill and damned if it doesn’t taste delicious.”
Sanders puckers at the losers, turns, and moves to retrieve the reeling Liberty.
Kylie pulls the Pretty Patriot to her knees when a fist from Liberty plunges into her abdomen. Sanders’ hazel eyes bulge as she doubles over. Chill shakes it off and raises a hammer blow as punishment, but the American Idol sends another set of balled fingers thumping into Kylie’s ivory abs, stopping her cold. Liberty rises behind the second punch and shakes free of Chill’s grip, pushing Sanders away.
A grimacing Ky surges right back at the National Treasure. However, the Lady dips and launches Kylie up and over with a back body drop, Sanders’ spine SLAMMING into the thinly-padded concrete. Ky arches in pain, reaching for the base of her backbone.
Hearing Castle’s count rise, Liberty grabs her foe by a wrist and shoulder, pulls her up, and wheels her back in under the bottom rope, The Lady quickly jumping in after Sanders.
As the American Idol rises, an already vertical Kylie sends a toe kick toward her rival’s tanned tummy. Liberty catches Kylie’s leg around the ankle before the boot can hit home. She raises the Sanders’ limb high, forcing a worried Chill to hop on her remaining stem, Ky pleading with Lady Liberty to return her fully to the fruited plain.
Liberty does but not in the way Kylie intends. The athletic blonde heroine throws the veteran’s raised leg back like a pendulum and the force sweeps Sanders off her planted stem, Vanilla Chill landing on her face and chest. The hated Hawkeye grabs for her injured beak while cursing up a storm. Sanders rolls to her back, palms pressing against the bridge of her nose as her nasal threats waft into the air above her.
The National Treasure moves to the nearest corner and heads for the top, quickly reaching the penthouse, she turns to face her downed foe. Showing off her aerial accomplishment, the Lady soars, somersaulting through the Orlando night, CRASHING across the ivory tummy of Chill. Ky’s hazel eyes bulge as she jackknifes under the 450 Splash of the American Idol. Exhale bursting from between her Cupid’s Arrow lips, Kylie recedes to the canvas in a wide spreadeagle, Liberty remaining in a crossbody pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The proximity of what most would consider an upset draws a groan from the crowd when the victory isn’t realized. But Lady Liberty seems unfazed. She grabs a wrist and shoulder of the Platinum Pixie, yanking a groaning Sanders to her feet and aiming her at the corner from which Liberty recently emerged. The Lady heaves Chill toward the buckles with an Irish Whip, or that’s the plan. Instead Sanders plants and pivots, reversing the whip from short range, Liberty with not nearly enough time to turn her back into the collision. She runs in chest-first to the thinly padded steel and stumbles in a backpedal no more than a step or two before Kylie sandwiches her in from behind, paying back splash for splash.
Still a bit wobbly, Ky leans against Liberty who in turn leans against the corner. The Pleasant Valley Pariah sinks the digits of her right hand into the golden locks of the National Treasure. Pulling Lady’s head back, she THUMPS Liberty’s face into the top buckle, THREE…FOUR…FIVE TIMES…until the Lady’s boot moves to the middle buckle and acts as a brake on Sanders’ fun.
The fan favorite shoots an elbow behind her and it connects between the eyes of FAWN’s Most Hated. Stunned, Kylie has no response when Liberty shows some anger, grabbing Sanders by her silvery bob and RAMMING Kylie’s features into the top buckle for a full ten-spot before relenting. She shoves Kylie away from the corner to satisfy Castle and a cross-eyed Sanders staggers a few steps toward the center before taking a header to the canvas, the crowd delighting in the embarrassment of Kylie’s faceplant.
Liberty pounds the buckle beside her, drawing a rhythmic clap out of the FAWNatics as Sanders wearily pushes to her feet and stumbles to the opposite corner, back leaning heavily into the juncture of the ropes. Her foe in a daze, Liberty races across the canvas at full speed and hops onto Kylie’s alabaster thighs, her hands curling around the back of Sanders’ neck. Throwing her weight backward, the American Idol lays out and sends the elfin blonde monkey flipping through the air, landing hard on her tailbone.
Ky yelps in pain, her hands slipping beneath her backside to provide a little cushion. She slowly starts to push to vertical. Across the ring, Lady Liberty is on her feet but not for long as she tumbles in a somersault toward the turning Hawkeye. Kylie doesn’t seem to know what to make of the approaching Liberty, even when her foe leaps upward out of her roll, grabs Sanders by the skull, and lays out, PLANTING the face of the Platinum Pixie into the thinly-sheathed plywood with a Rolling Thunder Flatliner.
Rolling Thunder Flatliner ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnbZL-RRCBg )
Kylie flops absently to her back, knocked into next week by the National Treasure. Liberty covers again with a lateral press, hooking Kylie’s far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Again, the Lady is an eyelash from a huge win for herself and the good ole U.S.A. Liberty punches the air in frustration, but it’s a relatively tame show of irritation. The tawny blonde quickly returns her attention to the stubborn veteran still very much in this fight. She pulls a rubbery Kylie to her feet and slides beside her foe, curling her left arm behind Sanders’ waist while using her right hand to cup behind Ky’s near knee. Liberty launches a barely lucid Chill off the deck. Those familiar with the American Idol know the apparent side suplex is not on the menu. Instead Sanders is on her way to a mid-air u-turn, sending Chill’s face and chest to the deck with Liberty’s signature Red Glare.
Kylie has other ideas, adding an extra ‘ooomph’ from the takeoff, enough to backflip out of Liberty’s grasp, acrobatically landing on her feet, particularly for the usually earthbound Ky. As the National Treasure spins to find her foe, Kylie GUTS her foe with a toe kick. Grabbing the flaxen locks of The Lady with both hands, Chill leaps into the air, sitting out and POUNDING Liberty’s face into the deck with a sit-out facebuster.
Sit-out facebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=sll-3Pm7RqM )
Liberty slops to her back in a limp starfish, the throngs silenced. A smirking Sanders drops across the splayed frame of the blonde, hooking the Lady’s far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The American Idol shoves a shoulder up, rolling to her side. She remains there as a seated Ky runs both sets of fingers through her silvery bob, in a state of disbelief. Turning to Liberty, she ‘helps’ her fellow blonde up as she rises and bullies the flagging patriot to a corner. A sweat-soaked Kylie grunts loudly as she vaults Liberty to a seat on the top buckle when the National Treasure springs to life. She raises an elbow and crowns the top of Sanders’ skull with the point.
The Hawkeye bows under the impact and the Lady stuff Sanders’ skull between her thighs when Liberty rises to vertical on the middle ropes. The crowd buzzes as something nasty is about to happen to the evil Iowan. But instead, the Platinum Princess backpedals from the corner with an elevated Liberty still in place in a sort of reverse electric chair position. The veteran wraps her arms around the back of her foe’s knees and shimmies the Pretty Patriot so she drapes down Ky’s back. Moving to the middle, she PLANTS Lady Liberty to the canvas with her ring-rattling Iowa Waterwheel, Kylie sitting out while swinging Liberty through a huge arc to a spine-bruising collision.
Iowa Waterwheel ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=SevF_nbT4Lo ) @ 00:18
Already flattened between Ky’s abbreviated, extended stems, Sanders drops her boot heels atop the Lady’s biceps and waits to be proclaimed the winner at…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The real Miss America rolls to her side, taking a shoulder off the canvas. Kylie’s head sinks, chin to chest, unsure how much punishment the American Idol can take. She collects Liberty’s right leg at the ankle as she rises then twists around the limb in preparation of a submission. Which type is never known as Lady Liberty gets the boot of her free leg up and shoves it between Ky’s cheeks, sending her foe lurching forward. The forced dive pushes Sanders between the buckles, Kylie’s right shoulder RAMMING into the steel ring post with an unpleasant THUNK, a brief groan of sympathy emanating from the former members of the Corps.
Ky pulls out of her predicament, cradling her injured wing close, and turns into a sweet dropkick to the chin from Liberty laying out the woman who, despite her limited physical prowess, has been a singles champion under each banner save the Eurasian. On her ass, shoulders leaning either side of the bottom buckles, ivory stems extended, Kylie is an inviting target, and Lady Liberty sprints to the opposite buckles before u-turning into a race toward the lounging Sanders.
The American Idol leaps toward her foe, tucking into a cannonball that SLAMS into the chest and noggin of the Platinum Pixie, the Lady using her Double-Knee Corner Strike.
Double-Knee Corner Strike ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhdQc-hF9PM )
Kylie’s head snaps back from the blow and it bobbles loosely atop the dazed Sanders. Ky flops to a shoulder and hip. Aware of her location, Kylie tries to retreat beneath the bottom strand and gain a time out on the floor, but Liberty grabs an ankle before her foe can escape and, in front of a delighted crowd, drags a futilely flailing Sanders to dead center.
Loosing Chill, Liberty takes off for the ropes behind her as a wobbly Kylie rises. The American Idol lowers the boom with a heavy shoulder to her foe’s chest, flattening a reeling Sanders to the canvas. Taking a moment to determine Sanders’ state, the Lady takes a 90-degree turn and heads for the ropes again. The athletic blonde cartwheels toward the splayed Ky and finishes her tumbling run with a double leg drop across Sanders’ frame, one limb crashing across Kylie’s chest, the other her throat.
Chill spasms from the impact as the National Treasure leaves her legs draped across for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Kylie shoves out from under, rolling to her side where a rising Liberty collects her foe with a grip on a wrist and shoulder and tugs Chill to vertical, only to have Kylie flash her claws, raking her nails across the azure pools of Liberty. The Lady howls in pain, releasing FAWN’s Most Hated, then turning and staggering away. On rubbery legs, Sanders follows, knowing she must stem the growing patriotic tide.
Latching onto Liberty’s noggin from behind, Kylie races with her cargo beside her to a corner and walks her way from middle buckle to top before pushing off, turning both herself and the American Idol while dropping to her keister. And while Sanders winces from the landing, the modified bulldog leaves Liberty rocked, the blonde absently flopping to her back from the facial.
Kylie passes on a pin attempt to deliver more retaliatory damage, popping to her feet and double stomping the spandex-covered bosom of her foe, then grinding the soles of her boots into the flattened breasts. Relenting, she hops to a landing with one leg on either side then vaults to a double stomp of Liberty’s bronzed midriff, repeating the abrasive scrapes. Sliding off, Kylie sinks her digits into the Lady’s flaxen locks, yanking Liberty to her feet and NAILING her with a backhand chop to the chest.
“You gave them their hope,” Kylie growls. “Mission accomplished. Now I give them reality.”
Ky dips and sends an arm between Liberty’s tawny stems, lifting the Lady across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. But there’s no trip to Chilly Valley yet on the agenda as Sanders revolves, picking up speed until Liberty is nothing more than a propeller for Chill’s Airplane Spin. The Hawkeye gets through five revolutions before launching Liberty, the National Treasure completing another half-turn on her own before CRASHING to the canvas. The collision sends her reflexively up to hands and knees, shaken and dizzied.
Kylie crouches in front of her foe, cupping a hand under Liberty’s chin to raise her features then slapping the taste of Apple Pie right out of the American Idol, putting her foe’s head on a swivel. As Ky crow hops toward the ropes behind her, a rosy-cheeked Liberty ascends unsteadily and is GUTTED by a charging Sanders who nearly cuts her target in two with a vicious spear. The Platinum Pixie plants Liberty into the deck with the tackle. She slides to a lateral press, hooking a far leg to make sure she dashes the desires of a happy ending with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The crowd roars as Liberty saves herself, kicking out of the pin with Castle’s right hand a few inches from the third slap.
Seemingly unconcerned, Kylie drags the lethargic Liberty to stooped feet, the Lady essentially out on them. She ends limply in a gutwrench grasp of Vanilla Chill. After a few seconds of playing to the camera, Sanders turns to her limited power game. Thankfully for Chill, Liberty is no bigger and Ky manages to vault the Lady into a seat on her shoulders and sit out, blasting Liberty with her Child of the Corn driver.
Child of the Corn ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UckX7ScRcY )
With Liberty already stacked on her shoulders in a ready-made matchbook between the extended stems of the Pleasant Valley Pariah, Castle drops next to the destruction for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The National Treasure digs deep, flopping out of the package onto her side by the seated and incredulous Kylie. Sanders’ hazel eyes bulge as she draws fingers through her silvery bob. She stares up plaintively at a risen Nick. He shrugs, holding up two fingers.
“Does she think she’s Captain Marvel?” Sanders murmurs to herself. “Cause…nope.”
A weary Chill finds a way to yank the mostly deadweight of the Lady to her feet. She dips and ‘hups’ Liberty across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry with no spinning in mind this time, just a trip to Chilly Valley and the loss column.
Chilly Valley Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=96YGwFdN9K8 ) @ 00:09
But before Kylie can send Liberty on her way, the American Idol bangs a set of elbows into Kylie’s near temple, thumping in a half dozen until the pounding forces the hated Hawkeye to release, Liberty dropping behind the dazed Sanders.
A wide-eyed Kylie turns to find the escapee and gets a toe kick to her ivory tummy for her trouble. A gutted Sanders doubles over from the blow and instantly the Lady is on the move to the ropes behind her. She rebounds at full speed, racing into a running American Uppercut. Her signature Patriot Missile violently connects under the lowered chin of Sanders, snapping Chill’s head back, many seemingly surprised to not see Sanders’ noggin rolling out of the ring, even more amazed she somehow remains upright.
Patriot Missile ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_jU8wkD0TY )
But she’s in no condition to stop Liberty from impaling her with a delving toe kick to the tummy. Skillfully, Liberty collects both of Ky’s limp arms into tight underhooks, the buzz in the crowd growing in anticipation for Liberty’s Pursuit of Happiness. The blonde beauty dips her left shoulder to gain extra momentum for the ferocious spin in the opposite direction, Liberty taking a dilapidated Kylie through a wicked 360-degree spin before PLANTING her foe’s face into the deck with the Avenger-level facebuster
Pursuit of Happiness ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NvK1MwS-Ng ) @ 00:09
The impact sends Kylie flopping to her back, out cold. The rest is a formality for the National Treasure, Liberty diving across the demolished Chill, leaning her back into Sanders as she double-hooks the alabaster near leg of FAWN’s Most Hated for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEE!
The assembled rise to their feet and give Liberty a standing ovation as Castle calls for the bell and receives it, the ring announcer quick behind.
“Your winner…by pinfall…Lady Liberty!”
The American Idol releases her hold of Kylie’s captured leg, letting it flop lifelessly. Still lounging atop Sanders she raises both arms, exhausted but jubilant, Nick grabs a wrist and helps the victor to her feet where she enjoys the celebration, pumping her fist and applauding the throngs supporting her. Turning to the hard cam, Liberty stands in a straddle over the dispatched Kylie, beaming and offering a crisp salute, clearly relishing her biggest victory and no doubt wondering where a huge opportunity converted might take her.
Within a few moments, their hearts are filled with pride and eyes filled with an athletic, blonde beauty in starts-n-stripes as Lady Liberty emerges from stage right. The flaring spotlights zero in on her immediate location. She smiles without hesitation, blue eyes like sapphire, curls spun from gold. She stands with one foot crossed lightly and slightly in front the other, one hand placed upon a curvy hip as she salutes crisply with the other.
LADY LIBERTY
The FAWNatics respond with one in kind to the angelic version of the crass, vile and thankfully MIA Polly Lockwood. The woman carries herself with absolute assurance, an unfaltering confidence that’s spellbinding, and a smile that’s nothing short of heartwarming.
Though she had never reached stardom in equal measure with her adoration, the proud Americans, one and mostly all, remain on their feet for Lady Liberty, applauding enthusiastically from the first, triumphantly upbeat note.
Salute delivered and love returned, the Girl of Every State journeys down the aisle, reaching out and clasping offered hands to deliver a firm shake, pausing at quick intervals to engage in short, yet welcome exchanges. So much about her is an enigma, the Girl called Liberty, her identity a mystery, her accent oddly lacking any telltale regional accent and yet, somehow, combining many. She could have come from anywhere within America and many in Orlando today dare believe she comes from their hometown.
About her sublimely sporty frame she wears the colors of her country, the American Flag snugly fitting about her every crowd-pleasing curve. The sports top was white, the torch of liberty aflame across her bosom, sapphire bikini briefs decorated with a smattering of stars, her elbow pads a dazzling blue while her boots are a radiant red. She wears these colors with obvious pride amidst no irony or cynicism, and it’s impossible for the patriotic FAWNatics in attendance to not love her for it.
The Lady’s pace is swift and measured, her bearing steady, the woman stepping away from the adoring public and displaying her photogenic properties, the flash photography capturing her every movement as she waves to the crowd and ascends the steel steps.
She slips into the ring between the top and middle ropes, ducking low and popping back up into a short series of practice stretches, nimbly preparing herself as she heads towards her corner, saluting once more before patiently and politely waiting for referee Nick Castle to confirm to his satisfaction she has not brought anything illegal with her into the coming contest. The crowd jeers Nick’s temerity but Lady Liberty holds up a hand, asking for absolution for Castle’s cynicism. The ring announcer breaks in as Liberty’s music fades.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty-minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from the Good Ole U.S.A., she stands at five feet four inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and twenty-four pounds. She is the Shining Example, the Grappler Next Door and the All American’s All American, she is LADY LIBERTY!”
The roar from the FAWNatics grows louder still and Lady Liberty responds, waving to her resolute troopers until her attention turns to the stage above.
With the sound of Iggy gettin’ ‘Fancy’, the Platinum Pixie, last seen taking the pin from FAWN’s new arrival Colleen O’Neal in the City of Angels. strides to center stage with a surly demeanor.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
The assembled let loose with a barrage of animosity, the antithesis of the Lady Liberty Lovefest. Though many question the Pleasant Valley Pariah’s ability and more her ethical indiscretions, no one can deny her power to stir passion. Sanders immediately brings the crowd to a boil, the collective hate moving like a presence toward the silvery-bobbed, elfin beauty.
KYLIE SANDERS
With no J-Dogg covering her flank tonight, Vanilla Chill is on her own, no cavalry at the ready to step in and save her. But if Sanders is lonely, she doesn’t show it. Instead, the Hawkeye scoffs and scowls at the faithful, pointing and shouting at the beating she’s about to deliver to the beloved blonde in the squared circle.
As Kylie moves down the ramp, the FAWNatics unleash their revulsion on the organization’s most infamous traitor. Unlike countless others, Kylie had been disloyal and deceitful to the hopes of her admirers, a felony much worse than backstabbing another member of the roster. The assembled make that known with ever-increasing ire.
Drawing on echoes of her original gear, Sanders sports 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 )
On the FAWNtron behind her, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Kylie points behind at the Lady in the FAWN battleground.
“That bytch might think this is her country, but it’s damn well my ring!”
Keeping clear of the reaching arms and baleful verbal jabs. She stops and stares indignantly at a poster board held high.
‘Lady Liberty’s pursuit of happiness means Kylie’s about to get chilled.’
FAWN’s Most Hated snatches the sign and tears it to shreds, throwing what’s left into the air like cardboard confetti. She returns her attention to the ring, the stage where she holds the record for most wins of any FAWN wrestler but also the most defeats. Striding the rest of the way to the squared circle, the Hawkeye climbs the steps and demands Castle open the ropes for her.
Nick knows well enough to listen to the FAWN original. He sits on the middle and pushes up the top, the diminutive turncoat slipping between. Once in, the inevitable chants begin, Sanders disregards them at first but as they dwarf the volume of her entrance, Kylie moves to the ring’s edge, receives a microphone and screams at them to stop.
It’s fuel to the ever-raging FAWNatics fire, booming chants of “TROLL” filling the bowl. The elfin blonde muffs her ears, demanding Castle make them stop. He shrugs, angering Ky all the more.
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
THEY WON’T!
Sanders throws the stick aside and moves to the corner opposite the beaming, fresh-faced Lady, a bigger contrast in attitude not possible. When the bell rings, it brings the FAWN equivalents of George Washington and Benedict Arnold out for battle.
The women move in a beeline to each other, talking no time to tie up in a collar and elbow, flexing and fidgeting for leverage. America’s Lady gains the upper hands in short order, forcing Kylie to retreat, slowly at first. But it doesn’t take long before Lady Liberty has Sanders backed into a corner.
“BREAK!” Kylie demands instantly and Castle agrees, asking the National Treasure to release her grip. The blonde beauty responds without a second thought, raising her hands and backing away. But not fast enough to avoid the flashing fingers of the traitorous Hawkeye who pokes the crystal blue peepers of her opponent.
Lady Liberty spins and staggers away from the underhanded attack, rubbing furiously at her eyes while Kylie’s scolded by FAWN’s head referee.
“Keep it shut, Castle,” Vanilla Chill advises. “Just be happy IF I don’t treat you the same as this faux symbol of my country.”
Sanders turns to the crowd. “No offense to Lockwood, but I’m the REAL AMERICAN and I’m going to show you why.”
Sanders turns her attention to the half-blinded Lady and strides to her foe, plunging a toe kick into the blonde’s taut tummy. With Liberty doubled, Ky tugs her foe’s head into a front facelock then slams a half dozen forearms into the spine of the National Treasure.
“We do what’s best for A-number-one,” Sanders shouts to the jeering former members of her Corps. “And you all know better than anyone, in the ring, that’s me!”
Draping an arm of America’s Lady over the back of her neck, Ky grabs some red-white-and-blue on the blonde’s hip and lifts her foe heavenward, stalling the painful conclusion with Lady Liberty’s boot soles pointed to the rafters. Letting the crowd enjoy their heroine’s peril, Kylie finally lays out, sending Liberty’s spine CRASHING into the canvas. The National Treasure arches in pain from the nasty impact of the suplex. Seated next to Liberty, a grinning Chill nods her head knowingly.
Sanders shifts to a forward straddle of her fellow blonde, ass resting on Liberty’s pelvis. Leaning forward, Kylie shows her pugilistic skills, laying fists to the Lady’s jaw, rights and lefts in combination. Ky’s foe gets forearms up in protection, blocking most of Sanders’ less than pinpoint strikes but enough get through to rock the Lady’s head from side to side a few times, Castle demanding Chill open her hands.
“I’m not some stinking novelty act like Renquist,” the Platinum Pixie complains, but she halts the fusillade upon Nick’s count of ‘FOUR’.
Sliding down Liberty’s frame, the Pleasant Valley Pariah rises with a leg of her foe scooped against either hip. Deftly, the silver-bobbed Hawkeye rotates to face away from the Lady, simultaneously turning the tanned National Treasure onto her chest. Ky lowers into a squat and backpedals a step or two, securing the beloved beauty in a Boston Crab. Sanders tests the spine of the Lady, Liberty’s backbone curled in a way it was never intended.
“Ask her how patriotic she is now?” Kylie bellows at Castle.
The man responds with a confused ‘huh?’.
“Ask her if she wants to quit you idiot.”
The American Idol shakes her head, grunting out an emphatic “NO” before Nick can ask. She pushes up on her palms and ‘walks’ her way toward the nearby cables. A flustered Sanders, realizing her best efforts are coming up short this early, gives up her submission. She spins out of the Crab, keeping one leg in her possession. She raises the right stem and SLAMS it down into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
The National Treasure howls in pain, pulling the leg in close, her effort to reach the ropes interrupted by the throbbing. When Sanders lowers to collect the limb again, the Lady uses a piston-like thrust of her left leg to keep Kylie off and butt scoots to the ropes behind her, using them to rise, shaking out her right leg and moving in a wide orbit out of the cables, looking for a reset.
Chill isn’t about to give the American Idol any recovery time, charging at Liberty. The Lady sweeps Sanders past and a sheepish Kylie swallows the embarrassment of coming up empty. She turns and tries again but Liberty again is too quick to be collected, this time ducking under a tie-up try. Sanders bites her lower lip in anger knowing the Lady is standing behind her, untouched, having made her look silly a second time.
Completely too sporting, Liberty waits until FAWN’s Most Hated turns to face her.
“OK. Let’s go,” the National Treasure promises.
The women come together in a collar-and-elbow which Sanders transitions into a side headlock. She grinds Liberty’s head against her hip.
“Yeah. What I thought,” Chill growls.
Bullying Liberty to the ropes, Kylie turns her target and surges toward the opposite side of the ring with the American Idol in tow. She leaps with legs extended to bulldog the Star-Spangled Beauty, but Liberty pushes her palms into Ky’s hips and pops her head free as the Platinum Pixie is taking off. The rest of the flight is a solo, Chill landing on her booty. Kylie butt-bunny-hops in pain from the landing, the crowd chuckling at Sanders’ bruised tailbone and her juvenile reaction. Kylie slips her hands under her aching ass, kneading her cheeks as she spins to get the Lady in front of her.
Again, Liberty holds back, motioning Kylie to rise with a sincere smile.
“Freaking…”
The rest is under Chill’s breath, Sanders pushing to her feet.
This time the Hawkeye rushes with a clothesline, Liberty nimbly ducks. She pivots for a rebounding Sanders, steadying herself for a bull rush from the elfin blonde. Kylie dips a shoulder slightly and RAMS her foe in the chest, but Liberty is barely moved. The National Treasure invites Sanders to try again and Ky is up for the challenge, ready to plant her infuriating foe with the next shoulder block. This time the American Idol pivots and locks her right arm with Kylie’s left. Liberty HEAVES the Platinum Princess HIGH into the air with a mega-hiptoss, Sanders again landing on her already battered backside.
This time the Lady doesn’t wait, instead deciding it’s time to start pressing her advantages. She races in from behind the seated Hawkeye, leaping in a front flip over Kylie’s right shoulder and grabbing Ky’s noggin on the fly-by. She POUNDS Chill’s face into the deck between her foe’s extended stems. And while Liberty rolls through her landing and pops to her feet, Ky whiplashes away of her impact, ending in a bleary-eyed starfish, staring at the lights, wondering where she is.
The American Idol slides through the ropes to get closer to her adoring throng. She pumps her fist at the crowd, generating a roar of approval as a wobbly Sanders makes it to a seat. Realizing Kylie’s on her way up, Liberty turns and grabs the middle rope. She dives through the strands as Sanders reaches vertical. Showing off her star-spangled athleticism, the National Treasure rolls though some thunder before reaching her range. Popping to her feet she transitions into a graceful drop kick to Sanders’ chest that knocks the Platinum Pixie flat.
Rolling Thunder to Dropkick ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoARKIRmC_s )
Liberty kips to her feet, the blue-eyed blonde drawing another ovation from the FAWNatics. She moves to the flattened Chill’s side and leaps into a standing shooting star press, her frame SLAMMING down across Kylie’s KNEES. Vanilla gets the bony joints raised in time, pulling her ivory legs into a tuck and sending the tanned patriot rolling on the deck, hugging her tummy.
Standing Shooting Star Press ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pG0eI12P-sY )
Sanders slowly pushes to her feet, flipping off the fans that long ago made up her Kylie Corps. She sinks her fingers into the shoulder-length spun gold of the Lady’s locks and ‘helps’ Liberty to her feet before BLASTING her with a European Uppercut. The National Treasure is staggered but her windmilling arms keep her upright.
Flustered, Kylie loads up a straight right and THUMPS it into the woman’s chin sending the American Idol stumbling in an ungainly pirouette until her face meets the boot soles of a leaping Sanders who NAILS Lady Liberty with a precise dropkick of her own, the beloved blonde delivered to the deck in a heap, the crowd quieted.
Sanders seems to consider kipping to her feet, but the fifteen-plus year vet thinks better of it, shoving her way to a hovering stance over Liberty and stomping away, making a mudhole out of the blonde. The Lady’s left a puddle, covering up as best she can under the rain of boos accompanying the furious attack.
The Hawkeye relents and goes board straight before offering a crisp salute to the Star-Spangled Heroine, then to the crowd, the jeers increasing in volume as she taunts their love for the real Miss America.
When Lady Liberty rolls to her chest and starts to rise to all fours, Kylie moves to a standing forward straddle and RAMS her pert little cheeks into the base of her foe’s spine, flattening Liberty to the canvas. Sanders spins in a 180 to reverse her stance then drops to her knees, one leg on either side of the reeling Lady.
Raising a clawed right hand high, Kylie still draws a reflexive chant of “FARM…HAND” from the audience before sinking the talons deep into the flesh just below the curve of Liberty’s glute. Digging the digits into the nerve bundle of Liberty’s right hammy, Kylie clamps on tight with her infamous signature.
She LEANS into the claw, sending it deeper, the National Treasure grimacing in anguish, the attack point leaving her leg spasming. From out of nowhere, Liberty’s free stem curls and clocks Kylie in the chin, sending Chill flopping out of her straddle, ending chest and face down beside the similarly positioned Liberty.
The American Idol massages her aching lower limb then drags the leg like its deadweight to the ropes, using the rubber-coated steel to slowly rise. A few feet away, Sanders rises without assistance and shakes out some cobwebs before finding her foe. She races at an essentially one-legged Liberty. But the Lady grabs the top strand and leans back, lowering the cable. Kylie’s momentum sends her flipping over the top, crashing to the floor below.
The National Treasure limps toward the opposite ropes but, by the time she rebounds, the beloved blonde is moving at a good clip. She leaps between the top and middle cables as Kylie rises but Chill beats Liberty to the punch. FAWN’s Most Hated intercepts it’s favorite halfway through a Suicidal Diving exit, THUMPING a forearm between Liberty’s blazing baby blues. The Lady drunkenly staggers in the opposite direction, still within the ring, as Ky climbs to the apron and grabs the top rope with both palms.
Hopping to the top, the usually earthbound Iowan takes to the skies from a springboard and catches the turning Lady in a front facelock that quickly spins into a Tornado DDT, the crown of Liberty’s skull SPIKED into the thinly-sheathed plywood. The National Treasure is robbed of her senses and ends in a lifeless starfish after flopping to her back.
The invitation is one Kylie can’t deny. She dives atop what’s left of Lady Liberty for a satisfying Mayhem win with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Liberty kicks out of the lateral press, leaving Sanders to leap to her feet and get in Castle’s grill, demanding Nick admit he’s part of Da Man’s plan. The zebra retreats, hands held aloft, palms outward, begging off. After cornering the man and letting Castle know she’s wise, the elfin blonde returns her attention to a woken and rising Liberty. She charges and SPEARS a shoulder through the dazed Lady, ripping the American Idol off the canvas with a vicious tackle. Unfortunately for Chill, it’s such a gory collision, the Lady is sent rolling out of the ring from the vicious impact, plopping to the floor.
Kylie, up to her haunches, sweeps both sets of fingers through her silvery bob in disbelief, temporarily denied the opportunity to once and for all prove she’s really what America stands for.
Vanilla Chill drops to a shoulder and hip and rolls out after the fan favorite, scraping Liberty off the arena floor. She tugs the athletic blonde to her feet and leans Liberty against the apron. Measuring her foe, the Platinum Pixie lets loose with a flurry of left-right combos that have Liberty’s head whiplashing right and left in response to the rampaging Hawkeye. Kylie bring a final, balled right hand to her lips and gives the folded fingers a smooch before literally flooring the American Idol with a blistering right cross.
The Pleasant Valley Pariah turns to the crowd, moving to the steel barricade, shouting at the scum that abandoned her when she gained the will to win. Kylie points over her shoulder at the slowly stirring Lady.
“This slackjawed dimwit is what you’d have represent this country if you had your way,” Ky bellows. “Lemme tell ya. There’s no right. There’s no left. There’s only the Chill of Vanill and damned if it doesn’t taste delicious.”
Sanders puckers at the losers, turns, and moves to retrieve the reeling Liberty.
Kylie pulls the Pretty Patriot to her knees when a fist from Liberty plunges into her abdomen. Sanders’ hazel eyes bulge as she doubles over. Chill shakes it off and raises a hammer blow as punishment, but the American Idol sends another set of balled fingers thumping into Kylie’s ivory abs, stopping her cold. Liberty rises behind the second punch and shakes free of Chill’s grip, pushing Sanders away.
A grimacing Ky surges right back at the National Treasure. However, the Lady dips and launches Kylie up and over with a back body drop, Sanders’ spine SLAMMING into the thinly-padded concrete. Ky arches in pain, reaching for the base of her backbone.
Hearing Castle’s count rise, Liberty grabs her foe by a wrist and shoulder, pulls her up, and wheels her back in under the bottom rope, The Lady quickly jumping in after Sanders.
As the American Idol rises, an already vertical Kylie sends a toe kick toward her rival’s tanned tummy. Liberty catches Kylie’s leg around the ankle before the boot can hit home. She raises the Sanders’ limb high, forcing a worried Chill to hop on her remaining stem, Ky pleading with Lady Liberty to return her fully to the fruited plain.
Liberty does but not in the way Kylie intends. The athletic blonde heroine throws the veteran’s raised leg back like a pendulum and the force sweeps Sanders off her planted stem, Vanilla Chill landing on her face and chest. The hated Hawkeye grabs for her injured beak while cursing up a storm. Sanders rolls to her back, palms pressing against the bridge of her nose as her nasal threats waft into the air above her.
The National Treasure moves to the nearest corner and heads for the top, quickly reaching the penthouse, she turns to face her downed foe. Showing off her aerial accomplishment, the Lady soars, somersaulting through the Orlando night, CRASHING across the ivory tummy of Chill. Ky’s hazel eyes bulge as she jackknifes under the 450 Splash of the American Idol. Exhale bursting from between her Cupid’s Arrow lips, Kylie recedes to the canvas in a wide spreadeagle, Liberty remaining in a crossbody pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The proximity of what most would consider an upset draws a groan from the crowd when the victory isn’t realized. But Lady Liberty seems unfazed. She grabs a wrist and shoulder of the Platinum Pixie, yanking a groaning Sanders to her feet and aiming her at the corner from which Liberty recently emerged. The Lady heaves Chill toward the buckles with an Irish Whip, or that’s the plan. Instead Sanders plants and pivots, reversing the whip from short range, Liberty with not nearly enough time to turn her back into the collision. She runs in chest-first to the thinly padded steel and stumbles in a backpedal no more than a step or two before Kylie sandwiches her in from behind, paying back splash for splash.
Still a bit wobbly, Ky leans against Liberty who in turn leans against the corner. The Pleasant Valley Pariah sinks the digits of her right hand into the golden locks of the National Treasure. Pulling Lady’s head back, she THUMPS Liberty’s face into the top buckle, THREE…FOUR…FIVE TIMES…until the Lady’s boot moves to the middle buckle and acts as a brake on Sanders’ fun.
The fan favorite shoots an elbow behind her and it connects between the eyes of FAWN’s Most Hated. Stunned, Kylie has no response when Liberty shows some anger, grabbing Sanders by her silvery bob and RAMMING Kylie’s features into the top buckle for a full ten-spot before relenting. She shoves Kylie away from the corner to satisfy Castle and a cross-eyed Sanders staggers a few steps toward the center before taking a header to the canvas, the crowd delighting in the embarrassment of Kylie’s faceplant.
Liberty pounds the buckle beside her, drawing a rhythmic clap out of the FAWNatics as Sanders wearily pushes to her feet and stumbles to the opposite corner, back leaning heavily into the juncture of the ropes. Her foe in a daze, Liberty races across the canvas at full speed and hops onto Kylie’s alabaster thighs, her hands curling around the back of Sanders’ neck. Throwing her weight backward, the American Idol lays out and sends the elfin blonde monkey flipping through the air, landing hard on her tailbone.
Ky yelps in pain, her hands slipping beneath her backside to provide a little cushion. She slowly starts to push to vertical. Across the ring, Lady Liberty is on her feet but not for long as she tumbles in a somersault toward the turning Hawkeye. Kylie doesn’t seem to know what to make of the approaching Liberty, even when her foe leaps upward out of her roll, grabs Sanders by the skull, and lays out, PLANTING the face of the Platinum Pixie into the thinly-sheathed plywood with a Rolling Thunder Flatliner.
Rolling Thunder Flatliner ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnbZL-RRCBg )
Kylie flops absently to her back, knocked into next week by the National Treasure. Liberty covers again with a lateral press, hooking Kylie’s far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Again, the Lady is an eyelash from a huge win for herself and the good ole U.S.A. Liberty punches the air in frustration, but it’s a relatively tame show of irritation. The tawny blonde quickly returns her attention to the stubborn veteran still very much in this fight. She pulls a rubbery Kylie to her feet and slides beside her foe, curling her left arm behind Sanders’ waist while using her right hand to cup behind Ky’s near knee. Liberty launches a barely lucid Chill off the deck. Those familiar with the American Idol know the apparent side suplex is not on the menu. Instead Sanders is on her way to a mid-air u-turn, sending Chill’s face and chest to the deck with Liberty’s signature Red Glare.
Kylie has other ideas, adding an extra ‘ooomph’ from the takeoff, enough to backflip out of Liberty’s grasp, acrobatically landing on her feet, particularly for the usually earthbound Ky. As the National Treasure spins to find her foe, Kylie GUTS her foe with a toe kick. Grabbing the flaxen locks of The Lady with both hands, Chill leaps into the air, sitting out and POUNDING Liberty’s face into the deck with a sit-out facebuster.
Sit-out facebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=sll-3Pm7RqM )
Liberty slops to her back in a limp starfish, the throngs silenced. A smirking Sanders drops across the splayed frame of the blonde, hooking the Lady’s far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The American Idol shoves a shoulder up, rolling to her side. She remains there as a seated Ky runs both sets of fingers through her silvery bob, in a state of disbelief. Turning to Liberty, she ‘helps’ her fellow blonde up as she rises and bullies the flagging patriot to a corner. A sweat-soaked Kylie grunts loudly as she vaults Liberty to a seat on the top buckle when the National Treasure springs to life. She raises an elbow and crowns the top of Sanders’ skull with the point.
The Hawkeye bows under the impact and the Lady stuff Sanders’ skull between her thighs when Liberty rises to vertical on the middle ropes. The crowd buzzes as something nasty is about to happen to the evil Iowan. But instead, the Platinum Princess backpedals from the corner with an elevated Liberty still in place in a sort of reverse electric chair position. The veteran wraps her arms around the back of her foe’s knees and shimmies the Pretty Patriot so she drapes down Ky’s back. Moving to the middle, she PLANTS Lady Liberty to the canvas with her ring-rattling Iowa Waterwheel, Kylie sitting out while swinging Liberty through a huge arc to a spine-bruising collision.
Iowa Waterwheel ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=SevF_nbT4Lo ) @ 00:18
Already flattened between Ky’s abbreviated, extended stems, Sanders drops her boot heels atop the Lady’s biceps and waits to be proclaimed the winner at…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The real Miss America rolls to her side, taking a shoulder off the canvas. Kylie’s head sinks, chin to chest, unsure how much punishment the American Idol can take. She collects Liberty’s right leg at the ankle as she rises then twists around the limb in preparation of a submission. Which type is never known as Lady Liberty gets the boot of her free leg up and shoves it between Ky’s cheeks, sending her foe lurching forward. The forced dive pushes Sanders between the buckles, Kylie’s right shoulder RAMMING into the steel ring post with an unpleasant THUNK, a brief groan of sympathy emanating from the former members of the Corps.
Ky pulls out of her predicament, cradling her injured wing close, and turns into a sweet dropkick to the chin from Liberty laying out the woman who, despite her limited physical prowess, has been a singles champion under each banner save the Eurasian. On her ass, shoulders leaning either side of the bottom buckles, ivory stems extended, Kylie is an inviting target, and Lady Liberty sprints to the opposite buckles before u-turning into a race toward the lounging Sanders.
The American Idol leaps toward her foe, tucking into a cannonball that SLAMS into the chest and noggin of the Platinum Pixie, the Lady using her Double-Knee Corner Strike.
Double-Knee Corner Strike ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhdQc-hF9PM )
Kylie’s head snaps back from the blow and it bobbles loosely atop the dazed Sanders. Ky flops to a shoulder and hip. Aware of her location, Kylie tries to retreat beneath the bottom strand and gain a time out on the floor, but Liberty grabs an ankle before her foe can escape and, in front of a delighted crowd, drags a futilely flailing Sanders to dead center.
Loosing Chill, Liberty takes off for the ropes behind her as a wobbly Kylie rises. The American Idol lowers the boom with a heavy shoulder to her foe’s chest, flattening a reeling Sanders to the canvas. Taking a moment to determine Sanders’ state, the Lady takes a 90-degree turn and heads for the ropes again. The athletic blonde cartwheels toward the splayed Ky and finishes her tumbling run with a double leg drop across Sanders’ frame, one limb crashing across Kylie’s chest, the other her throat.
Chill spasms from the impact as the National Treasure leaves her legs draped across for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Kylie shoves out from under, rolling to her side where a rising Liberty collects her foe with a grip on a wrist and shoulder and tugs Chill to vertical, only to have Kylie flash her claws, raking her nails across the azure pools of Liberty. The Lady howls in pain, releasing FAWN’s Most Hated, then turning and staggering away. On rubbery legs, Sanders follows, knowing she must stem the growing patriotic tide.
Latching onto Liberty’s noggin from behind, Kylie races with her cargo beside her to a corner and walks her way from middle buckle to top before pushing off, turning both herself and the American Idol while dropping to her keister. And while Sanders winces from the landing, the modified bulldog leaves Liberty rocked, the blonde absently flopping to her back from the facial.
Kylie passes on a pin attempt to deliver more retaliatory damage, popping to her feet and double stomping the spandex-covered bosom of her foe, then grinding the soles of her boots into the flattened breasts. Relenting, she hops to a landing with one leg on either side then vaults to a double stomp of Liberty’s bronzed midriff, repeating the abrasive scrapes. Sliding off, Kylie sinks her digits into the Lady’s flaxen locks, yanking Liberty to her feet and NAILING her with a backhand chop to the chest.
“You gave them their hope,” Kylie growls. “Mission accomplished. Now I give them reality.”
Ky dips and sends an arm between Liberty’s tawny stems, lifting the Lady across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. But there’s no trip to Chilly Valley yet on the agenda as Sanders revolves, picking up speed until Liberty is nothing more than a propeller for Chill’s Airplane Spin. The Hawkeye gets through five revolutions before launching Liberty, the National Treasure completing another half-turn on her own before CRASHING to the canvas. The collision sends her reflexively up to hands and knees, shaken and dizzied.
Kylie crouches in front of her foe, cupping a hand under Liberty’s chin to raise her features then slapping the taste of Apple Pie right out of the American Idol, putting her foe’s head on a swivel. As Ky crow hops toward the ropes behind her, a rosy-cheeked Liberty ascends unsteadily and is GUTTED by a charging Sanders who nearly cuts her target in two with a vicious spear. The Platinum Pixie plants Liberty into the deck with the tackle. She slides to a lateral press, hooking a far leg to make sure she dashes the desires of a happy ending with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The crowd roars as Liberty saves herself, kicking out of the pin with Castle’s right hand a few inches from the third slap.
Seemingly unconcerned, Kylie drags the lethargic Liberty to stooped feet, the Lady essentially out on them. She ends limply in a gutwrench grasp of Vanilla Chill. After a few seconds of playing to the camera, Sanders turns to her limited power game. Thankfully for Chill, Liberty is no bigger and Ky manages to vault the Lady into a seat on her shoulders and sit out, blasting Liberty with her Child of the Corn driver.
Child of the Corn ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UckX7ScRcY )
With Liberty already stacked on her shoulders in a ready-made matchbook between the extended stems of the Pleasant Valley Pariah, Castle drops next to the destruction for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The National Treasure digs deep, flopping out of the package onto her side by the seated and incredulous Kylie. Sanders’ hazel eyes bulge as she draws fingers through her silvery bob. She stares up plaintively at a risen Nick. He shrugs, holding up two fingers.
“Does she think she’s Captain Marvel?” Sanders murmurs to herself. “Cause…nope.”
A weary Chill finds a way to yank the mostly deadweight of the Lady to her feet. She dips and ‘hups’ Liberty across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry with no spinning in mind this time, just a trip to Chilly Valley and the loss column.
Chilly Valley Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=96YGwFdN9K8 ) @ 00:09
But before Kylie can send Liberty on her way, the American Idol bangs a set of elbows into Kylie’s near temple, thumping in a half dozen until the pounding forces the hated Hawkeye to release, Liberty dropping behind the dazed Sanders.
A wide-eyed Kylie turns to find the escapee and gets a toe kick to her ivory tummy for her trouble. A gutted Sanders doubles over from the blow and instantly the Lady is on the move to the ropes behind her. She rebounds at full speed, racing into a running American Uppercut. Her signature Patriot Missile violently connects under the lowered chin of Sanders, snapping Chill’s head back, many seemingly surprised to not see Sanders’ noggin rolling out of the ring, even more amazed she somehow remains upright.
Patriot Missile ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_jU8wkD0TY )
But she’s in no condition to stop Liberty from impaling her with a delving toe kick to the tummy. Skillfully, Liberty collects both of Ky’s limp arms into tight underhooks, the buzz in the crowd growing in anticipation for Liberty’s Pursuit of Happiness. The blonde beauty dips her left shoulder to gain extra momentum for the ferocious spin in the opposite direction, Liberty taking a dilapidated Kylie through a wicked 360-degree spin before PLANTING her foe’s face into the deck with the Avenger-level facebuster
Pursuit of Happiness ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NvK1MwS-Ng ) @ 00:09
The impact sends Kylie flopping to her back, out cold. The rest is a formality for the National Treasure, Liberty diving across the demolished Chill, leaning her back into Sanders as she double-hooks the alabaster near leg of FAWN’s Most Hated for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEE!
The assembled rise to their feet and give Liberty a standing ovation as Castle calls for the bell and receives it, the ring announcer quick behind.
“Your winner…by pinfall…Lady Liberty!”
The American Idol releases her hold of Kylie’s captured leg, letting it flop lifelessly. Still lounging atop Sanders she raises both arms, exhausted but jubilant, Nick grabs a wrist and helps the victor to her feet where she enjoys the celebration, pumping her fist and applauding the throngs supporting her. Turning to the hard cam, Liberty stands in a straddle over the dispatched Kylie, beaming and offering a crisp salute, clearly relishing her biggest victory and no doubt wondering where a huge opportunity converted might take her.