Post by hawkeye on Oct 5, 2020 0:43:33 GMT
The capacity crowd was still shaking the foundation of the FAWN Arena at the end of the last ‘Mania hype video when the Announcer stepped into the spotlight and called, “Ladies and gentlemen, our opening contest is scheduled for--”
O FORTUNA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJC-_j3SnXk
Perfection apparently, seeing as how the poor dope was interrupted by the strains of none other than ‘O Fortuna’. The Announcer’s surprise was mirrored a thousand-fold by the Dreamophobes, their astonishment turning to outright disdain as the former World Champion swatted the curtain aside for the first time since losing her title to Becky Clayton.
LISA DREAM:
The Ultimate Image of Human Perfection gave as good as she got, Lisa looking down her upraised nose at the mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging sub-humanoids that dared greet her arrival with anything less than a hero’s welcome. Disgusted by their odious lowing, The Dream focused her ire on the squared circle and started gracefully down the aisle. Ignoring each and every slight hurled her way, the Luscious One reached the steps in record time, though she made a point to wait on the apron until the Announcer got the hint and hurried over to sit on the second rope. Just like that she was through and in command of the spotlight, Lisa taking the center for her own to raise both arms in a jaunty ‘V’ that drew attention to the whole of her flawless frame and not the absence of gold around her waist.
Leather was still plentiful of course, as tonight The Reflection of Perfection sported her iconic skintight attire, though the color scheme was blood red and not her usual gleaming black. The look consisted of a sleeveless vest, cut to give her pert bosom room to breathe but otherwise covering her alabaster tummy, only a slight rim of skin showing. Her long, crimson cowhide pants reached down to her matching boots, the few loyal Dreamophiles perpetually frustrated at not being able to view the flawless, alabaster stems of the Personification of Perfection. A series of leather ‘strings’ cobweb ran across her back to keep the vest in place, though they also left a considerable portion of her ivory back in view.
Lisa turned her attention to the Announcer once she‘d properly introduced herself, one imperious hand already extended in his direction. Understanding that the former World Champion wanted his microphone, the man offered it without comment and backpedaled to the ropes as soon as The Dream took it off his imperfect hands.
“UN-ACCEPT-ABLE!” the Ultimate Image barked over the excited roar of the sold out crowd. “DON’T YOU DARE PUT YOUR GRUBBY LITTLE HANDS TOGETHER RIGHT NOW, THERE SHOULD BE SILENCE WHILE I AM SPEAKING, NOT JUST OUT OF DEFERENCE TO MY PERFECT VOICE, BUT AS A SHOW OF SOLIDARITY AT THE INJUSTICE… THE TRAVESTY… THE… THE INSULT THAT HAS BEFALLEN THE ULTIMATE IMAGE OF HUMAN PERFECTION!”
Lisa’s demands for silence fell on deaf, or rather, spiteful ears, the FAWNatics raising their voices in a veritable hurricane of verbal vitriol. Dream’s eyes went wide, her perfect intellect unable to process the massed idiocy being funneled in her direction.
“Why, you grubby little reprobates, do you think this is FUNNY?” she snarled. “Allow me to remind you, I CARRIED this company for more than a year, destroyed everyone who dared oppose me and that was BEFORE I ended the laughable third reign of that fraud Sue Burlingame.”
This raised a raucous ‘ACE!’ chant that must’ve carried on a good thirty seconds before The Dream deigned to speak again.
“Remember, I stuck her head in a toilet, Wannadreams.” Lisa chirped. “I was untouchable up to and including the night when I was robbed of MY World Title by that muscle-headed slab of pin-up cheesecake, Becky Clayton. If there was any justice in this world I would be headlining tonight’s card against that camouflage obsessed vulgarian, but the FAWN brass in their decidedly imperfect wisdom decided to hand my golden opportunity to the loser Burlingame and the lunatic Blassenville, two women, I SOUNDLY THRASHED throughout the course of my ascension.”
The injustice of it all overwhelmed Lisa’s circuits for a moment so she lowered the mic to her side and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger like someone doing her best to subdue an incoming migraine. Eventually she raised the mic and resumed her harangue.
“Make no mistake, I will reclaim the World Title and I will humble, if not outright destroy each and every woman that had a hand in denying my rightful place in the main event spotlight. And though I am certainly capable of hijacking this miserable broadcast to get what I want, I have a much better idea. I’m going to stand right here until some weak-kneed piece of imperfect bikini meat musters the courage to come through that curtain, scurry down that ramp and climb through those ropes to face me in THIS ring. The bell will sound, I will steal the show in my perfectly inimitable style and then the slobbering troglodytes in that locker room can spend the rest of the night trying to top my Dreamy example.”
Lisa turned from the hard camera to the ramp, her dark eyes boring through the curtain to whoever might lurk on the other side. “So… Christian… de Cyr… even you Thomas, you blathering weirdo, one of you better sign some Wannadream a big, fat pay-per-view bonus check to get her sorry ass out here before I really get anr--”
A murmur from those assembled turned into a buzz of genuine surprise when a woman brushed through the curtain unaccompanied by music or introduction of any kind. Standing all of five-three, the new arrival worn faded black jeans with holes at both knees, a battered army fatigue jacket, a brand new ‘Waking Nightmare’ tee-shirt and most surprisingly considering the late September heat, a white cashmere scarf wrapped loose around her throat.
Lisa’s fuse, already short, began to smolder when the ‘tron revealed the identity of her unexpected visitor.
“What… are you doing here?”
Up on the stage Sierra Mist raised a mic of her own. “What’s the matter, Lisa? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
SIERRA MIST:
“I don’t believe in ghosts.” The Dream snapped. “Escaped lunatics on the other hand are a very real threat in this imperfect world and that is exactly what you are. Now, shall I summon security or will you leave peacab--”
“Can’t make me leave, Lisa. I’m a guest of FAWN. I was invited, actually.”
Lisa snorted. “If Christian invited you here just to feed you to me, you need to crawl back to whatever hole Blassenville locked you in. Clearly you’re not fit for--”
“My new friend invited me to see how far you’d fallen.” Mist interrupted. “To show me that my grand experiment was all in vain. That all those hours I’d spent trying to show the world your perfection, your perfection that I saw and adored before anyone else, was not just a failure, but WASTED on an undeserving little ingrate SNOT who repeatedly collapsed into savagery rather than bear the weight of her own perfection with anything approaching grace or aplomb.” Sierra paused, swallowed a lump in her throat. “She came to offer me one last look at the perfection you could have been. And a first look at the ruin you will become.”
The crowd was impressed by the threat, Lisa was most certainly not.
“First, no one in this building, least of all me, believes you have a friend. Second, my perfection is beyond the scope of your sad, shattered little mind. Third, you couldn’t so much as touch my perfection, even on your worst day. But since I’m feeling generous, you’re more than welcome to try.”
The Dream stepped back and stretched her arms wide, challenging the former med student to join her in the squared circle.
Surprise transformed to outright astonishment when Sierra started down the ramp. She’d made it about halfway when she stopped and raised the mic. “I’m not here to fight, Lisa. I’m here to bear witness.”
“You’re not worthy of my perfection, idiot.” Lisa hissed. “And neither is this imaginary friend of yours.”
Sierra smiled at this. “She’s not imaginary, Lisa. She’s not perfect either. All she really is…” Mist raised her free hand, grabbed one end of the scarf and pulled it from her throat in a long, slow tug. Tilting her head to better display the pair of nasty red punctures on the side her neck, Sierra Mist murmured, “… is hungry.”
Lisa’s perfect lips twisted into a moue of confusion perhaps half a heartbeat before a Forearm THWHACKED against the base of her skull! Knocked sprawling onto all fours, the former World Champion shook it off and clamored to verticality, Lisa rounding on the cretin that’d dared-- ‘PWFWOOOOSH!’
The Dream’s world exploded in red anguish, those perfect hands clawing at her face in a doomed effort to wipe away the crimson mask painting her from forehead to chin! Then her right wrist was caught in a strong grip and that arm was wrenched back behind her head in a sort of upside down Hammerlock. Wincing at the unpleasant torque, Dream reached out with her left hand and “UUUUNNNNGGGGHH!”
A fist plowed into the swell of her left breast, Lisa’s heart skipping a beat as her knees went loose. She would’ve hit the deck in a heap if her unseen assailant hadn’t circled around behind her to transform that captured arm into a snug Cut-Throat. From there an arm looped around her left thigh, Dream crying out in distress as she was muscled onto someone’s shoulders.
ADELAIDE BREWSTER:
Holding her bloodied, perfect burden tight, Adelaide Brewster turned in a full circle, the Weeping Angel basking in the roars of the chattle after a full year away from her favorite hunting ground. Then she hissed and laid out on her left side to THWHONK Lisa down on the back of her head and shoulders with an absolutely pitiless Blood & Black Lace.
BLOOD & BLACK LACE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggQhjXPD_fA
The Ultimate Image flopped out in a red-faced starfish, one that didn’t move when Adelaide crawled over to straddle her waist. Leaning down so her lips touched The Dream’s ear, Adelaide murmured, “You have something I want, Lisa Dream. The Red coursing through your veins is too great a power for a bleating narcissist to carry. So at All Hallows Evil I’m going to drain you of it. Every. Last. Drop.”
Brewster let her head drift south, the brunette letting her teeth rest on Lisa’s neck just long enough to feel her pulse quicken. Then she was up and gone, the Daughter of Darkness strolling up the aisle with Sierra Mist trailing a few steps behind.
O FORTUNA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJC-_j3SnXk
Perfection apparently, seeing as how the poor dope was interrupted by the strains of none other than ‘O Fortuna’. The Announcer’s surprise was mirrored a thousand-fold by the Dreamophobes, their astonishment turning to outright disdain as the former World Champion swatted the curtain aside for the first time since losing her title to Becky Clayton.
LISA DREAM:
The Ultimate Image of Human Perfection gave as good as she got, Lisa looking down her upraised nose at the mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging sub-humanoids that dared greet her arrival with anything less than a hero’s welcome. Disgusted by their odious lowing, The Dream focused her ire on the squared circle and started gracefully down the aisle. Ignoring each and every slight hurled her way, the Luscious One reached the steps in record time, though she made a point to wait on the apron until the Announcer got the hint and hurried over to sit on the second rope. Just like that she was through and in command of the spotlight, Lisa taking the center for her own to raise both arms in a jaunty ‘V’ that drew attention to the whole of her flawless frame and not the absence of gold around her waist.
Leather was still plentiful of course, as tonight The Reflection of Perfection sported her iconic skintight attire, though the color scheme was blood red and not her usual gleaming black. The look consisted of a sleeveless vest, cut to give her pert bosom room to breathe but otherwise covering her alabaster tummy, only a slight rim of skin showing. Her long, crimson cowhide pants reached down to her matching boots, the few loyal Dreamophiles perpetually frustrated at not being able to view the flawless, alabaster stems of the Personification of Perfection. A series of leather ‘strings’ cobweb ran across her back to keep the vest in place, though they also left a considerable portion of her ivory back in view.
Lisa turned her attention to the Announcer once she‘d properly introduced herself, one imperious hand already extended in his direction. Understanding that the former World Champion wanted his microphone, the man offered it without comment and backpedaled to the ropes as soon as The Dream took it off his imperfect hands.
“UN-ACCEPT-ABLE!” the Ultimate Image barked over the excited roar of the sold out crowd. “DON’T YOU DARE PUT YOUR GRUBBY LITTLE HANDS TOGETHER RIGHT NOW, THERE SHOULD BE SILENCE WHILE I AM SPEAKING, NOT JUST OUT OF DEFERENCE TO MY PERFECT VOICE, BUT AS A SHOW OF SOLIDARITY AT THE INJUSTICE… THE TRAVESTY… THE… THE INSULT THAT HAS BEFALLEN THE ULTIMATE IMAGE OF HUMAN PERFECTION!”
Lisa’s demands for silence fell on deaf, or rather, spiteful ears, the FAWNatics raising their voices in a veritable hurricane of verbal vitriol. Dream’s eyes went wide, her perfect intellect unable to process the massed idiocy being funneled in her direction.
“Why, you grubby little reprobates, do you think this is FUNNY?” she snarled. “Allow me to remind you, I CARRIED this company for more than a year, destroyed everyone who dared oppose me and that was BEFORE I ended the laughable third reign of that fraud Sue Burlingame.”
This raised a raucous ‘ACE!’ chant that must’ve carried on a good thirty seconds before The Dream deigned to speak again.
“Remember, I stuck her head in a toilet, Wannadreams.” Lisa chirped. “I was untouchable up to and including the night when I was robbed of MY World Title by that muscle-headed slab of pin-up cheesecake, Becky Clayton. If there was any justice in this world I would be headlining tonight’s card against that camouflage obsessed vulgarian, but the FAWN brass in their decidedly imperfect wisdom decided to hand my golden opportunity to the loser Burlingame and the lunatic Blassenville, two women, I SOUNDLY THRASHED throughout the course of my ascension.”
The injustice of it all overwhelmed Lisa’s circuits for a moment so she lowered the mic to her side and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger like someone doing her best to subdue an incoming migraine. Eventually she raised the mic and resumed her harangue.
“Make no mistake, I will reclaim the World Title and I will humble, if not outright destroy each and every woman that had a hand in denying my rightful place in the main event spotlight. And though I am certainly capable of hijacking this miserable broadcast to get what I want, I have a much better idea. I’m going to stand right here until some weak-kneed piece of imperfect bikini meat musters the courage to come through that curtain, scurry down that ramp and climb through those ropes to face me in THIS ring. The bell will sound, I will steal the show in my perfectly inimitable style and then the slobbering troglodytes in that locker room can spend the rest of the night trying to top my Dreamy example.”
Lisa turned from the hard camera to the ramp, her dark eyes boring through the curtain to whoever might lurk on the other side. “So… Christian… de Cyr… even you Thomas, you blathering weirdo, one of you better sign some Wannadream a big, fat pay-per-view bonus check to get her sorry ass out here before I really get anr--”
A murmur from those assembled turned into a buzz of genuine surprise when a woman brushed through the curtain unaccompanied by music or introduction of any kind. Standing all of five-three, the new arrival worn faded black jeans with holes at both knees, a battered army fatigue jacket, a brand new ‘Waking Nightmare’ tee-shirt and most surprisingly considering the late September heat, a white cashmere scarf wrapped loose around her throat.
Lisa’s fuse, already short, began to smolder when the ‘tron revealed the identity of her unexpected visitor.
“What… are you doing here?”
Up on the stage Sierra Mist raised a mic of her own. “What’s the matter, Lisa? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
SIERRA MIST:
“I don’t believe in ghosts.” The Dream snapped. “Escaped lunatics on the other hand are a very real threat in this imperfect world and that is exactly what you are. Now, shall I summon security or will you leave peacab--”
“Can’t make me leave, Lisa. I’m a guest of FAWN. I was invited, actually.”
Lisa snorted. “If Christian invited you here just to feed you to me, you need to crawl back to whatever hole Blassenville locked you in. Clearly you’re not fit for--”
“My new friend invited me to see how far you’d fallen.” Mist interrupted. “To show me that my grand experiment was all in vain. That all those hours I’d spent trying to show the world your perfection, your perfection that I saw and adored before anyone else, was not just a failure, but WASTED on an undeserving little ingrate SNOT who repeatedly collapsed into savagery rather than bear the weight of her own perfection with anything approaching grace or aplomb.” Sierra paused, swallowed a lump in her throat. “She came to offer me one last look at the perfection you could have been. And a first look at the ruin you will become.”
The crowd was impressed by the threat, Lisa was most certainly not.
“First, no one in this building, least of all me, believes you have a friend. Second, my perfection is beyond the scope of your sad, shattered little mind. Third, you couldn’t so much as touch my perfection, even on your worst day. But since I’m feeling generous, you’re more than welcome to try.”
The Dream stepped back and stretched her arms wide, challenging the former med student to join her in the squared circle.
Surprise transformed to outright astonishment when Sierra started down the ramp. She’d made it about halfway when she stopped and raised the mic. “I’m not here to fight, Lisa. I’m here to bear witness.”
“You’re not worthy of my perfection, idiot.” Lisa hissed. “And neither is this imaginary friend of yours.”
Sierra smiled at this. “She’s not imaginary, Lisa. She’s not perfect either. All she really is…” Mist raised her free hand, grabbed one end of the scarf and pulled it from her throat in a long, slow tug. Tilting her head to better display the pair of nasty red punctures on the side her neck, Sierra Mist murmured, “… is hungry.”
Lisa’s perfect lips twisted into a moue of confusion perhaps half a heartbeat before a Forearm THWHACKED against the base of her skull! Knocked sprawling onto all fours, the former World Champion shook it off and clamored to verticality, Lisa rounding on the cretin that’d dared-- ‘PWFWOOOOSH!’
The Dream’s world exploded in red anguish, those perfect hands clawing at her face in a doomed effort to wipe away the crimson mask painting her from forehead to chin! Then her right wrist was caught in a strong grip and that arm was wrenched back behind her head in a sort of upside down Hammerlock. Wincing at the unpleasant torque, Dream reached out with her left hand and “UUUUNNNNGGGGHH!”
A fist plowed into the swell of her left breast, Lisa’s heart skipping a beat as her knees went loose. She would’ve hit the deck in a heap if her unseen assailant hadn’t circled around behind her to transform that captured arm into a snug Cut-Throat. From there an arm looped around her left thigh, Dream crying out in distress as she was muscled onto someone’s shoulders.
ADELAIDE BREWSTER:
Holding her bloodied, perfect burden tight, Adelaide Brewster turned in a full circle, the Weeping Angel basking in the roars of the chattle after a full year away from her favorite hunting ground. Then she hissed and laid out on her left side to THWHONK Lisa down on the back of her head and shoulders with an absolutely pitiless Blood & Black Lace.
BLOOD & BLACK LACE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggQhjXPD_fA
The Ultimate Image flopped out in a red-faced starfish, one that didn’t move when Adelaide crawled over to straddle her waist. Leaning down so her lips touched The Dream’s ear, Adelaide murmured, “You have something I want, Lisa Dream. The Red coursing through your veins is too great a power for a bleating narcissist to carry. So at All Hallows Evil I’m going to drain you of it. Every. Last. Drop.”
Brewster let her head drift south, the brunette letting her teeth rest on Lisa’s neck just long enough to feel her pulse quicken. Then she was up and gone, the Daughter of Darkness strolling up the aisle with Sierra Mist trailing a few steps behind.