Post by hawkeye on Dec 10, 2020 0:58:54 GMT
“I don’t like it.”
Honey Harris paces the dressing room, her hands fidgeting nervously with each other. Though she hadn’t been booked on the show tonight, the normally bubbly blonde looks ready for action, her well-shaped legs bare, a hint of gold bikini style bottoms (with black trim) just visible beneath the hem a gold tee. Upon the front read the words “SWEET AS” in black type, directly above an illustration of a pot of honey. On the back, below the words “BUT WITH A” is a cartoon bee abdomen—complete with stinger.
“I’m not exactly doin’ cartwheels myself, am I?”
Honey’s mentor and partner, “Sensational” Shea London, is also dressed for battle, but she does have a match on the card.
In a manner of speaking.
“You know this is a trap,” the younger blonde sighs. “You’re being sent out there to get massacred. Bethany hasn’t just stacked the deck against you. She’s left you with one card. You have a Three!”
“Probably,” London agrees. “But isn’t a three all ya need in this business?”
“Shea…”
The icon, the living legend, the FAWN Original and original FAWN World champion, places a hand on her pupil’s shoulder. “Look, kid,” she assures her, “from day one, I’ve known tha score. Deep down, I’ve known tha only way I was ever leavin’ this place was on me back. An’ maybe that’s tonight. But maybe it’s not. I’ve got a few tricks up my own sleeves, ya know?”
Harris tries her best to give Shea a reassured smile, but the wattage isn’t particularly that impressive under the circumstances.
“But I want ya ta promise me one thing,” London adds. “Whatever ‘appens tonight, I want ya ta stay back ‘ere. I want ya ta let it ‘appen.”
“NEVER!” the Sweet Sensation snaps. “If you think I can just sit back and…”
“Bethany doesn’t make idle threats,” Shea cuts her off. “Ya come out there, ya’re throwin’ YOUR career away as well. Maybe my day IS done…”
Hearing those words, and the recognition of the circumstances in Shea’s voice, causes Honey’s eyes to well.
“… but yers isn’t. So, promise me.”
July 27th, 2003.
That was the night that Shea London wrestled her first match in FAWN. A fresh faced 25 then, she had made a name for herself in the industry already before coming here, but she had not yet become THE name that FAWN would make her. It would be another two months, give or take, before the British Bombshell pinned the Killer Imp Chrissy Daniel to claim her first, and FAWN’s first, World championship. But she had launched herself on that path that night with a ‘W’. She had even gone out first that long ago evening, too, much like she was just about to do tonight.
But that’s about where the similarities between that far off summer night and this autumn evening. That fresh faced 25 year old was now just a couple of months shy of 43 years of age. That night, she had faced a single individual, a woman who was her peer, and similarly looking to establish herself with a new promotion. Tonight, she was facing not woman but two, both of whom were barely out of diapers the night Shea had defeated Emmanuelle de Rochefort.
And that night had launched Shea London from budding star to super stardom. Tonight had been designed to snuff out her flame.
Bethany had left little doubt: tonight was intended to be the Sensational One’s wrestling funeral. But of course, Shea had a long history of thwarting Christian’s desire to destroy her career. This match definitely posed the biggest challenge that the vindictive CEO had ever thrown her way. But in each of the previous instances, the odds she had faced had been long.
She knew she COULD do it. Now, all Shea had to go out and do WAS do it.
The arena sound system came to life, a voice posing a single question to tonight’s pumped up crowd:
“Do you wanna get rocked?”
Judging by the deafening roar from the FAWNatics, this was precisely their greatest wish.
As Def Leppard’s “Let’s Get Rocked” pumped over the FAWN Arena’s speakers, the British beauty took one more deep breath and pushed open the curtains, “Sensational” Shea London emerging onto the stage. For the FAWNatics, absence had clearly allowed their hearts to grow fonder, for they came close to blowing the roof off the joint with their ovation for the living legend. London sported a pleasingly “Old School” look: visible underneath an open, traditional, red ring jacket was a one-piece proudly emblazoned in the Union Jack, the red stripes of the cross running from the scooped neckline to between her legs and underneath her bosom, respectively, her eyes shielded behind a pair of stylish shades. Red knee and elbow pads along with blue boots completed her ensemble.
SHEA LONDON
Shea darted down to the ring, her million megawatt smile on full display, her eyes shielded behind a pair those Sensational shades. Any sense of the inner trepidation she might be feeling never made it as far as her face. She slapped hands with a FAWN fandom populous that definitely wasn’t willing to say goodbye tonight.
And the Sensational One had no intentions of offering her own farewells.
Climbing the steps, Shea slipped between the ropes and stepped toward her corner. Mounting the middle rope, London slipped her ring jacket down her shoulders, Shea’s grin growing broader as the crowd enjoyed the tease...
With the jacket discarded, the Sensational One dropped back to the mat, shuffling her weight from one foot to the other as she limbered up. With the Leppard fading into the ether, the hand on the clock moved a little closer to twelve…
With the FAWNatics at full throat pumped to see an all-time hero grace their stage again even in these dire circumstances, the Quakes’ manager and erstwhile teammate whispers in the ears of her opponents.
“Don’t get cocky. I know you think this is going to be a walk in the park but the second you believe it is London will be Calling and I am not about to be living down your mistakes. Understand?”
The fireplug blonde and brunette nod their heads respectfully as the unmistakable sound of the dearly departed Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tears through the air.
Beautiful Girls (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ9h2m06sFQ ) erupts and a barrage of pyrotechnics explodes from the rafters in time with the chords, the fiery white sparks illuminating the cavernous space in a momentarily blinding light.
When the brilliance fades, only the next generation of Quakes are present. The double-barreled Gen Z firepower stand side by side, blonde Kat and brunette Avery ready to rip a legend limb from decrepit limb.
KAT BRADDOCK
AVERY CHRISTIAN
With a unique combination of a young Kylie’s features and a young Chrissy’s body, Braddock catches the imagination and ire of most, while Commissioner Christian’s legacy and the front office backing from Bethany makes Avery a force in her own right, one the crowd likes about as much as Mommie Dearest.
Together the fledgling Quakes stride down the ramp, casting an occasional glance from side to side, sneering at the mob who make their presence known in increasingly loud fashion.
The busty blonde youngster reaches the ring in her remarkably well-knit, green crocheted bikini. She sports green pads and black ankle boots to complete her gear.
Christian wears a white one piece with a neckline that doesn’t so much plunge as it dives, stopping maybe an inch above Avery’s navel. Black straps rise over her shoulder and crisscross her back, with black trim surrounding the leg holes at the bottom of the garment. Her pads, wrist tape and boots are all gold—perhaps a harbinger of success.
Kat and Avery stride around the ring in opposite directions as though they’re circling their prey, Braddock and Christian grinning greedily at the woman’s whose scalp could put them into a star’s orbit. Reaching the side farthest from the hard cam, they hop to the apron and slide through, moving surprisingly innocently to the Quake corner.
With VanHalen receding, The Brat lifts a microphone to her lips, raising her voice above the jeers, both youngsters staring lasers at their legendary target.
“There’s a reason Avery’s mom chose us to throw your carcass onto the scrap heap. We are the future. I’m not sure you even qualify for the past anymore.”
The legions of Shea’s fans let the Quakes know differently.
“But just in case you were going to rely on some of that old-fashioned, sensational thievery for which you’re famous, Miss Christian decided to provide a referee that would know every single page of your book of tricks and cons.”
Kat motions to the upper stage and ‘Beautiful Girls’ hits again.
Shea’s eyes roll at what she sees, unable to believe even Bethany would go this far.
Strolling down the ramp is an ash blonde Imp, the three-time former World Champion Chrissy Daniel’s hips swiveling with every self-assured step and dressed in the ultimate insult to fair play everywhere, a black-n-white striped crop top tied off to showcase her tanned plush midriff. Below is tight black denim with similarly dark boots, a savage wardrobe for the referee on the go.
CHRISSY DANIEL
Daniel marches up the steps, not waiting to enter before introducing her fellow California girls.
“Tonight’s next match is scheduled for one fall with a time limit of as long as I feel necessary.”
The crowd doubles their volume, trying to drown out the Beach Cat.
“First. From Newport Beach, California and fighting out of Santa Monica, California respectively, weighing in at a combined 248 pounds; The Brat…Kat Braddock. The Baby Boss…Avery Christian. They are the California Quakes.”
The boos rain down as if a thunderstorm, but the hatred slows in preparation of the beloved Brit’s introduction.
“AndoverthereShea.”
Chrissy’s split second intro doesn’t give the FAWNatics time to show their love and respect and Daniel immediately calls for the bell to make sure, tossing the stick to the outside and waving Kat forward to dismantle the woman with whom Chrissy has fought so many wars.
So much for thinking Bethany had simply intended tonight to be her wrestling funeral. With this choice of referee, the intent became abundantly clear: tonight was meant to be “Sensational” Shea London’s professional wrestling *execution.* Before she had stepped onto the ramp, Shea knew the odds she faced tonight were long. But, with all due respect to Kat Braddock and Avery Christian, she wasn’t going into battle one on two against, say, Pandora and Celia Blassenville. Oh, Kat and Avery were formidable, make no mistake. But they were relatively inexperienced and relatively the same size Shea, albeit proportioned quite differently.
But with Chrissy Daniel sporting the zebra stripes tonight?
Suddenly, this wasn’t just a two-on-one handicap match. Suddenly, it was THREE-on-one. Even if the Imp didn’t deign to dirty her own hands in this match—which, let’s be honest, it would likely be asking the impossible to expect Daniel not to try to land a move or two on her greatest rival on Shea’s way out—there was NO CHANCE whatsoever that Chrissy would ever count to three FOR Shea, and against her own charges. Shea wouldn’t just have to take both Braddock and Christian out. Now she had to find a way to knock the Imp out of the occasion as now, and pray that enough ref could make it down to the ring before either Chrissy recovered or whatever Quake might kick out…
… and that, of course, assumed that Bethany would even allow Al, or Merle, or any of the other boys in black and white to come down in those circumstances.
The Brat licked her lips as younger and older blonde moved closer, Braddock relishing the opportunity to drive the final nails into the coffin of her mentor’s bitterest enemy’s illustrious career. But even knowing the state of affairs, Shea displays no hesitancy in moving in, raising her hands, throwing caution to the wind and ready to lock up right away…
… or not.
Instead, as Kat brought up her hands to engage in the collar and elbow, London ducked underneath the younger blonde’s arms, slipping behind Braddock and securing a tight waistlock. Before the Brat can even start to try to pry at the Sensational One’s wrists, Shea put her legendary legs to work, charging forward, driving her foe toward the ropes. As Kat’s ample bosom met the rubber coated steel of the top rope, she tried to thread her arms around the cables, but again Shea proves too quick. Rocking backward, the British Bombshell pulled Braddock back and down, employing an O’Connor Roll to put Kat flat on her shoulders just seconds into the mat!
It wasn’t about victory. Again, Shea understood that the Imp would never count Kat out so early in the match. No, the aim was simply to put the Quakes on the defensive, to force them to be reactive rather than proactive, and to make the balled up Braddock expend some energy trying to buck London from her perch atop the younger blonde’s bum and upturned thighs.
Sure enough, Chrissy doesn’t count Kat out. She doesn’t even slide into position to check Kat’s shoulders. “Break the hold!” the Imp barks.
“WHAT???” Shea snaps back, somehow incredulous at Chrissy’s unwillingness to offer even this little of a pretense of normalcy and duty.
“Break the hold, Shea!” Daniel demands again. “I saw you pull her hair!”
“Are ya fuuuuhhhhhhhh…” London’s attempt at a protest is cut short when Kat manages to buck her hips, launching the living legend stumbling back toward the ropes. And AT LAST, the Imp drops to one knee beside Braddock, asking the curvaceous blonde how she feels and if she is in any state to continue the match. Shea meanwhile brings her hands up in front of her, looking to catch the top rope and get her momentum back under control…
… but, unnoticed by the blonde Briton as she hurtles toward the ropes, Avery Christian had slipped around the ringpost to that side of the apron. And as Shea’s hands move toward the cable, Avery’s hands reach over the top rope, each one snatching a handful of the Sensational One’s flaxen tresses. Using London’s momentum against her, Bethany’s baby girl easily pulls the icon’s head over the top rope, and then even more easily steps back, dropping down from the apron—and dropping Shea’s throat across the taut, rubber coated steel of the top rope!
A wheezing Shea whips around, both hands flying to her windpipe as she drops to one knee. The one thing she had known she needed to do to stand any hope in this match was to keep moving, and now she finds herself gasping for air, struggling to find a second wind before Kat the Brat was back on her feet.
Not about to let London recover, Braddock pushes to her feet and races toward the Manchester native. Spinning in a 180 when she takes flight to drive her considerable backside into Shea’s face. London drops to the canvas and Kat flies over. Her cheeks push between the top and middle rope, The Brat wedging her body between the rubber-coated, steel strands.
Instantly, Shea’s on her feet then on her horse, racing to the opposite cables as the blonde fireplug tries to free herself. London’s speed is still among the best in the game and she launches into a dropkick to Kat’s plush, tanned tummy. The impact folds the Quake further and she’s shoved through the cables, crashing to the canvas on the outside before falling to the thinly-padded cement below.
The living legend kips to her feet and watches as an arriving Avery helps her partner to vertical, Kat grimacing, an arm wrapped around her midriff, like Chrissy her soft abdomen being her Achilles’ heel.
It takes but a split-second for Shea to realize where she’s headed next. London turns and sprints to the far ropes. She rebounds, quickly bearing down on the floor-bound Quakes. But before she can reach her launch point, Chrissy intervenes, stepping between London and her Suicide Dive. Shea screeches to a halt, nose to nose with the Imp.
“I’ll have none of your out-of-the-ring shenanigans, Miss London,” Daniel shouts in her best English accent, which might be equal to most people’s worst. “None of your tomfoolery either,” the Imp adds with a smirk. “Be a good girl won’t you and let Katrina back in the ring.”
Chrissy’s kids, having flinched at the approaching Shea, gather their composure. Avery heads back to her station while Braddock rolls in under the cover of her mentor. Reaching her feet, she circles away from the ropes and ties up with a snorting London in a collar-and-elbow before instantly tugging Shea into a tight side headlock, grinding the veteran’s noggin against her side.
London’s hands move to the fleshy hips of Daniel’s junior partner and the Sensational One shoves Kat off. The Brat uses the ready-made momentum to hustle to the ropes in front of her and barrel back at her sinewy target after a springy u-turn. Kat lowers a shoulder and RAMS into Shea, clearly expecting to be looking down on a flattened London after the collision. Instead, the brit’s backed up a couple steps, but remains fully vertical, motioning the flustered Kat to give it another try.
Not about to settle for the initial result, Braddock races to the ropes again, coming back with as much force or more. But this time, as Kat lowers into blocking mode, London leapfrogs over. Kat’s sent dashing into her second set of strands and rebounds once more, this time into a dropkick to the chin that levels the youngster, the back of The Brat’s braincase CRASHING to the canvas. The impact sends her up to a dazed seat, abbreviated legs extended in front of her in a ‘V’.
A fabled London Run seemingly emerging, Shea’s back on her feet and galloping to the ropes behind her foe. She bounces away from the strands and steps onto Kat’s hunched shoulderblades, flattening her rival’s torso forward, Kat’s beak THUMPING into the canvas between her stems. Continuing on and yo-yoing off another trip to the cables, even Chrissy becoming dizzied by Shea’s frantic pace, Braddock has no chance to react to another dropkick. This one’s of the low variety, striking the Quake’s ample chest, levelling Kat to the canvas.
Shea dives across her foe in a lateral press. Chrissy acts like she has a terrible case of lumbago, taking a couple ticks to reach the mat and slap…
ONE…
The delay allowing Braddock to safely kick free after only the single connection of hand to canvas.
London, on her knees next to the aching youngster, shakes her head but knows better than to jaw with the Imp. Instead, she’s quickly hauling Kat up with her, trying to show Braddock what so many learned before her, never to get caught in the Manchester whirlwind.
Dipping and scooping behind the blonde’s knees, London shows off her more than capable non-aerial assaults, lifting the curvy if vertically-challenged Kat like a babe in her arms then dropping to one knee, Kat’s spine THUMPING across the plank of London’s upper leg. A palm moves under Braddock’s chin on one side, to a knee on the other, and the Sensational One pushes down on either, creating a growing arch in The Brat’s vertebrae.
“Ask her,” Shea huffs with the hint of a chuckle, garnering some enjoyment from the look of frustration on the Imp’s face.
“Doyawannagive?” Chrissy offers in a whisper, immediately adding, “SHE SAYS NO!”
A nod in Avery’s direction is added by the ref/manager and, after a half-dozen seconds of Braddock’s torture in London’s over-the-knee backbreaker, the Baby Boss shoves Shea from behind. Kat spills from the backbreaking mistreatment while the Brit scrambles to her feet, lifting balled fists, ready for Bethany’s progeny.
Perhaps surprisingly, make that definitely, Daniel demands Christian leave the premises, if gently. The busty brunette, also of limited stature like her sisters in crime, backs her way to the Quake corner, leaving a wincing Kat on her haunches, one hand working at her lower back.
London sweeps past the guest official and wraps her palms around Kat’s cranium, pulling her to vertical. Shea ROCKS Braddock onto her heels with a perfectly-placed European Uppercut, then another and another, the Cali girl left wobbling as she turns away from Shea.
Braddock, appearing as she might be knocked over with a feather, remains on her boot soles as London blasts past. The legend leaps into the middle rope while grabbing the top. She springboards behind her with a back elbow aimed between the brown eyes of the usually feisty fireplug.
But instead of Shea hitting her target, Kat has enough of her senses remaining to adjust to the oncoming Englishwoman and catch the returning London in her arms in a tight waistlock. With the Brit’s boots already off the canvas, it takes less labor to fling her foe over in a belly-to-back, the dirty blonde Brit SLAMMING on head and shoulders from the suplex.
Left on her back after the collision, boots pattering against the canvas as she cradles her aching skull, a distracted Shea doesn’t realize Kat’s recovery is aided by a tap on her cheek from tonight’s official.
“Tag out, Kat,” Chrissy growls, half under her breath. “Get someone in here who listens to me.”
Braddock rolls to hands and knees and crawls to the Quake corner, diving to Avery’s outstretched hand, tagging it as London makes it to all fours.
The Baby Boss enters and rushes to her handicapped foe, but the veteran sweeps Christian’s feet out from under her before she can put the hurt on Chrissy’s most storied rival.
A startled Avery scrambles to her feet and reaches them as London makes the same. Avery fires a right cross, but Shea blocks with a forearm and delivers a right of her own that staggers the stocky Quake. Christian tries to trade blows but each time Shea’s ready with a block and counter, pounding a reeling Avery back to a corner, where London’s educated fists go lower, driving like pistons into Christian’s plush midriff, leaving the brunette a gasping wreck.
“Alright, Shea,” Chrissy snarls, ready to assert her misbegotten authority, “you know the rules. At least, you’re always bytching about me breaking them. You know you’ve got to let her out of the corner.”
“Oh, ya want ‘er out o’ tha corner?” Shea snaps over her shoulder, then snatches Bethany beefy progeny by the wrist. “Fine. I’ll get ‘er out o’ tha corner.”
And, true to her word, the Sensational One did just that—by sending Avery hurtling across the ring and into the opposite corner. The raven haired fireplug turns her back into the collision, Christian’s spine slamming into the leather padding of the turnbuckles with vertebrae-realigning force. The Baby Boss lets out a groan, her head snapping forward as her arms flop over the top rope, hooking her in place and at least sparing her the indignity of sinking to her ample backside…
… but that also means that she’s still standing as London charges forward. With a determined yell, Shea leaps into the corner, her left foot landing on the bottom rope—and her right knee DRIVING into Avery’s slumped mug, whipping Christian’s head backward, until the back of her noggin rests against the turnbuckle.
The living legend lingers for a heartbeat, her knee remaining pressed against Avery’s chest, keeping the brunette pinned to the corner. But then she hops down, grabbing a handful of the Baby Boss’ tresses and tugging Avery a step away from the corner. Just a step, however, as she then turns the younger, shorter woman back to face the corner and SLAMS her face into the turnbuckle. She even manages to repeat the blow, but as she pulled back on Avery’s locks to do so a third time, an arm wrapped around London’s waist, pulling her off of the dark haired Quake.
“I TOLD YOU,” Chrissy barks, “you’ve got to let her out of the corn…”
The Imp’s command trails off as her nemesis whips around, her right arm drawn back, hand balled into a fist. And the FAWNatics ERUPT at the specter of the British Bombshell treating Chrissy Daniel to a knuckle sandwich. But Daniel’s stunned silence quickly gives way to a bemused smirk.
“Go ahead, Sheasy,” she taunts. “Deck me. Punch a duly licensed and appointed referee. You know what’ll happen then, don’t ya, putz? Assuming you don’t knock me out—and having felt your punches before, that’s a pretty safe assumption—you’ll be disqualified before you can do anything else. You don’t want to leave your adoring fans with an ending like that, do you?”
The contempt that Chrissy had been able to inject into the words “adoring fans” would, in other circumstances, be quite impressive.
And honestly? Even knowing it would cost her the match, and that it would end her FAWN career… it was tempting.
“I ‘ave a feelin’ they’d think me puttin’ ya on yer fat arse one last time would be wooouuuUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Caught up in the age-old animosity between the Sensational One and the Killer Imp, Shea never noticed Avery recovering her wits. Or stepping away from the corner. Or dropping to one knee behind the blonde Briton and splitting London’s wickets with a SAVAGE uppercut. To her credit, though, Shea doesn’t go down. Oh, the Quake’s dirty blow definitely leaves London’s luscious gams visibly quaking. But she keeps her feet, though she does double forward, the living legend’s knees knocking together as she staggers away from the blow. Rising back to her full height behind the icon, Avery grabs one handful of the fabric of Shea’s one piece, just above the curve of her glutes, while her other hand latches on to the Brit’s flaxen tresses. Tugging on both handholds—enough to send some of the material of London’s gear disappearing between her cheeks—Christian turns the Sensational One toward the ropes and tosses her through them, sending the veteran crashing to the floor below. The Baby Boss starts to follow her prey down to the floor, but remarkably, the ‘official’ gets in her way.
“Now, Avery,” Daniel chides her, “did you punch Sheasy in her dried out coochie?”
Christian throws her hands into the air in innocence. “Never!”
“Don’t you realize that going south on Shea is liking entering an Egyptian pyramid?” Chrissy tells her. “There are STDs there that modern science has long forgotten!”
While the Killer Imp continues to read one Quake the riot act, the other hops down from the apron—taking advantage of the opportunity that Chrissy was now quite clearly choosing to afford the Brat. Pulling the still mewling Brit up onto still rubbery stems, Kat guides the older, taller blonde closer to the security railing before nudging her head up and under Shea’s left arm. Then, wrapping her arms around the Sensational One’s waist, Braddock puts her brawn on display, hoisting London off her feet and onto her shoulder…
… and then depositing Shea crotch first atop the security barrier, administering a thermonuclear drop.
London’s eyes grow wide, her jaw dropping slack as her hands drop to the railing. Her fingers coil tight around the beam, partly to keep her from falling over either to the floor or into the crowd, but also to however slightly transfer some of her weight from her aching kitty to her trembling arms. Meanwhile, a smirking Kat raises one hand to her lips, and gives a loooooong lick from the heel of her palm to the tips of her fingers. Then, drawing that hand back, the busty Braddock unloads with a THUNDEROUS chop to Shea’s comparatively modest bosom. The sound of palm striking chest still echoes throughout the building as London is sent tumbling from her perch, crashing on her head and shoulders at the feet of the Brat.
“This is more like it,” Kat purrs, grabbing another handful of hair and leading a crawling Shea back toward the ring. But instead of shoveling the Sensational One back into the ring, she simply pulls London up to her feet, turning the older blonde’s back to the apron. Meanwhile, inside the ring, Chrissy has finished her dressing down of the Baby Boss, and steps aside to allow Avery to approach the ropes. Stooping down, the brunette gathers up Shea’s arms, pulling them back and under the bottom rope. Christian then takes the top rope in both hands, shifts her feet into a broad stance…
… and presses the soles of her boots down atop London’s fingers.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” the British blonde howls, writhing in torment, but lacking the leverage to extract her digits from under Avery’s weight. She is trapped, helpless as Kat climbs onto the apron, stepping into a standing straddle of the thrashing legend. The Brat then steps onto the bottom rope, bouncing twice atop the taut, rubber coated steel to generate momentum. While the resulting jiggle definitely meets with approval from the FAWNatics, the resulting actions most definitely do not, not when the curvaceous blonde leaps from her perch, bringing her feet back to the apron on each of Shea’s flanks, and DRIVING her ass down onto the chest of the Sensational One!
It’s bad enough that Kat’s backside CRUSHES Shea’s sternum, collapsing her flattened boobs into her ribcage. But that ribcage is also left sandwiched between Kat’s rump and the ring apron, well known to be the single hardest part of the ring. The Brat remains seated atop London’s chest for a moment, but then she rises—and Avery in turn steps away from the ropes. While Braddock taunts London’s Legions with a sensuous swivel of her helps, Shea melts to a seat on the floor, legs splayed, jaw slack, and chest heaving, the living legend’s body desperately attempting to refuel itself.
Next-gen Chrissy drops to the floor in front of the seated Shea and plucks her off the thinly-padded concrete. The OG Imp is ready to give Braddock as much time with London as she wants but Kat seems to be feeling generous and she stuffs Grammy Shea back in the ring to be brought to her feet by the Quake’s dark-maned counterpart.
Avery aims the Brit at the far buckles and whips London on her way, Shea sprinting as best she’s able and turning into a spine-first collision with the buckles. Shea remains upright long enough for the following Christian to leap into a splash, the fleshy fireplug BURYING London’s face beneath her chest. The Baby Boss bounces off her target in a backpedal and a staggering, dazed Shea wobbles after her.
Bethany’s girl impales Shea’s tummy with a toe kick, doubling her over, then pulls the groaning legend into a front facelock. With a squeaky grunt, the shorter, stockier grappler launches Shea with a grip on the hip of Shea’s gear. The brunette holds her foe at high noon for a second or two before allowing Shea to flip over and land on her feet, arm still wrapped around London’s neck. Down the Babu Boss goes, PLANTING Shea’s skull with a neckbreaker that has London squirming pain after, cradling her noggin.
Suplex-lift Neckbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=GtoU1lDSbfc )
Avery floats over and covers in a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Shea kicks free, sending Christian to her haunches. The youngster takes a glance at the senior class president of her organization and Chrissy shrugs, adding a wink to her junior partner.
“We have to make you girls earn it. God knows I did.”
Avery snorts at the retort, clearly believing it’s best to put London out of her misery and FAWN career and move to tonight’s party venue. However, she nods, slides around to the Englishwoman’s head, pulling Shea to a seated position while she’s on one knee, and clamps on a neck vise. Her arms surround the napes of the legend and Avery tries to twist London’s head free from her shoulders, biceps flexing as London grimaces in pain, desperate to work her way free.
“Rip it off,” Braddock encourages.
And while she doesn’t, the grinding pain in the legend’s face is evident until Avery alters her attack. The busty brunette snakes her arms around the head and neck of the Brit, compressing her grip, slowing the Brit’s blood flow at her temples and carotid with a tight sleeper hold.
Shea’s arms flail wildly as she tries to break free, but the Baby Boss leeeans her mass into the neck and shoulders of her foe, bringing even more force to bear on the heavy-lidded London. With her arms looking leaden and her features drowsy, the Sensational One is in survival mode. Her legs press into the woman behind her and she uses Christian to rise to an angle approaching vertical.
She lifts her suddenly less lifeless arms, wrapping them around the crown of Avery’s dome, stuffs the top of her head against Christian’s chin and drops to her pert bum, breaking free with a jawbreaker. Avery spins and staggers, palm moving to her chin as she flexes her jaw.
“Time to get a little help,” the beachfighter turned referee advises her teammate and a grimacing Avery finds her way to the Quakes’ corner where she tags in her bratty foil.
Braddock slides into the ring and charges toward a rising London. She latches her claws onto Shea’s bosom, sinking the nails into both breasts. Pivoting, she shows plenty of her catty background on the beaches of SoCal, flinging the legend across the ring by her mangled gurls. Shea lands on her spine, grimacing, but gracefully using the momentum to roll to her feet.
She turns to face her young, feral foe and EATS a body-rattling hip check from Kat, the blonde following the toss with an immediate advance. The impact sends London flying into the corner behind her, back THUMPING into buckles.
Pressing in tight to make sure Shea can’t sneak out of trouble, Kat bodies the taller but slighter Brit. The Brat laces her fingers with Shea’s and draws the Sensational One’s arms to her sides. Kat rears back her head and drives a butt into the cleft of London’s breasts, Braddock’s head butt version of a heart punch, crossing the eyes of the FAWN original, no doubt forcing the Manchester native’s blood pumper to skip a beat. Shea’s legs give a shimmy, but Kat keeps her foe upright with a forearm pressed into London’s chin.
With the Brit properly cornered, Kat continues to assault Shea’s modest rack with a series of windmill slaps to her bosom, the Englishwoman chirping in pain under the unconventional mugging, the busty fireplug bringing the LA’s beach battles to suburban Orlando.
With Shea withering under the onslaught, the enthusiasm of youth taking its toll, Kat bullies London halfway down the length of the ring. With a dual grasp of Shea’s near wrist, Braddock sends the Sensational One to the far cables, following her to mid-ring and setting up for the Brit’s return. Out of control, Shea barrels toward the curvy blonde. Kat dips and collects London under the curve of her glute with one arm, the other wrapping around her foe’s midriff. Braddock pivots with her cargo, dropping to her knees, nearly putting Shea THROUGH the canvas with a ring-rattling spinebuster.
Spinebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcLfsqqT0YU ) 00:10
Kat scrambles forward, collecting London’s legs and rolling Shea into a tight ball in front of her for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Despite Chrissy expediting her slaps, the Sensational One forces her bitter rival to stop short with a thrust of her pelvis, knocking Braddock off. Kat turns to her fellow Quake as if to ask ‘really?’. The Killer Imp only shrugs in return.
“I told you she’s like a two-dollar steak.”
A frustrated Brat rises to her feet with a grip around Shea’s left ankle, bringing the lower limb with her. The blonde strategically steps on London’s opposite number, pinning the leg to the deck while controlling the Brit’s efforts to pull her left free from between Kat’s palms.
“You’re going to be quite a legend to kill”, Kat says, smirking down at Shea, who’s raised plaintive palms high, considering the worst since The Brat’s been trained by Chrissy. “Enjoy working in the bingo halls, bytch!”
With her obnoxious wisdom imparted, Kat drops in the opposite direction of Shea’s grounded stem, forcing the Sensational One into an agonizing set of splits, stretching Shea’s groin muscles to the limit if not snapping them.
A wide-eyed, yelping London sits up, grasping at her spread inner thighs, Kat trying to intensify her Wishbone Drop by thrusting the split legs even further apart.
“Whaddya say, Shea” Daniel asks with a chuckle. “Time to waddle into the sunset?”
On the one hand, it was very sound strategy. After all, aside from experience, perhaps the Sensational One’s greatest asset in this match that had been so thoroughly stacked against her was her wheels. But they would be of considerably less use to her if her hamstrings were left in tatters. But it was also just pure sadism, Braddock smirking in satisfaction as London’s cries of anguish filled the air.
With Kat laying low and out of reach, Shea knows she has only one hope of forcing her way out of this torment: reaching the ropes. Of course, just how diligent Chrissy Daniel would be in enforcing a rope break in these circumstances remains an open question. But there’s only one way to find out. Collapsing to her back, the grimacing blonde stretched her arms out overhead, fingers flexing and straining to find the bottom rope…
Perhaps when the Brat made her Wishbone Drop, that wish had been for her partner to go to the floor. In any event, and unnoticed by almost all, the Baby Boss had indeed jumped down from the apron at the time. And while London’s digits frantically seek the rope, Avery’s claim it first, the brunette’s eyes meeting Shea’s and twinkling in their cruelty as she leans back, pulling the rubber coated steel further away from the Sensational One’s grasp. Even before that, it would have been a challenge for Shea to reach them in her current plight.
Now, it is absolutely impossible.
A few fans—perhaps newbies, perhaps just hopelessly idealistic—attempt to alert the referee to this transgression. But the majority of the house simply boos in abject outrage, which grows only louder the longer the Imp turns a blind eye to Avery’s antics.
“Unnnnnnnnnnnhhhhh,” the British blonde groans. She wouldn’t have been human if she could face a situation like this without deflating, even if only momentarily, and Shea’s body melts to the canvas. But that also leaves London’s shoulders flat against the mat, and Chrissy is quick to pounce.
ONETWOTHRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As fast counts go, it was a four three forty yard dash. Even so, it’s not fast enough to thwart the Sensational One, London abruptly sitting up to break the count. Alas, she had to do so SO abruptly that her poor hammies feel like they’re about to pop. Choking back a sob of anguish, Shea slumps back to the canvas, her hands plunging into her flaxen locks and tugging hard.
Her shoulders might have been down again, but before Chrissy can administer another count, Kat releases her foe’s ankles, rolling away and allowing the taller blonde to curl into a fetal shell. As Braddock climbs to her feet, Avery climbs back onto the apron. And the Imp’s protégé heads to the Quakes corner, slapping the Baby Boss’ outstretched hand.
Stomping the reeling legend out of her protective ball, Christian keeps the focus on Shea’s stems. Stuffing London’s left boot into the pit of the Briton’s right knee, she folds the British Bombshell’s right leg around that ankle. Avery then presses her left shin against the Brit’s right, to keep that left leg trapped in its makeshift vice. Gathering up London’s wrists, the voluptuous brunette pulls back on her opponent’s arms, hoisting Shea’s upper body off the mat. The Baby Boss then brings her right foot to the back of the blonde’s noggin, ready to…
“WAIT!” Chrissy commands, prompting Avery’s face to momentarily cloud in confusion. “The state her legs are in now,” the Killer Imp explains, “she might submit just to this. Let me make sure I’m in position to call that…”
And apparently, the appropriate position to check for a submission here leaves Daniel’s boot directly in line with London’s face.
Avery picks up on that right away. “Kiss it, bytch,” the brunette hisses, then stomps down, SMASHING Shea’s face into her archrival’s boot leather and leaving the sweat slick Sensational One a shuddering, spasming wreck.
“C’mon, Grandma,” Christian mutters, dragging her foe to her feet with a handful of hair, “it’s not time for bed yet.” Leading London into the Quakes corner, Avery plants a forearm against Shea’s bosom and raises her other hand, Kat reaching into the ring for the high five tag.
Again, say what you will about their methods or their demeanor, but it’s perfectly sound strategy. Kat and Avery had the freedom to trade places in the match, allowing them each to stay fresh, while Shea had to do everything in her power not to wither under the unrelenting assault, unable to provide herself any such respite.
As the Brat slides into the ring, Avery first slips Shea’s arms over the top rope, then threads the blonde’s gams over the middle cable, effectively leaving the ragged blonde trussed up and seated atop the middle turnbuckle. And while Christian exits the ring, Braddock playfully jogs in a semicircle to just a few feet in front of the living legend, before turning and charging forward, leaping into a dropkick that DRIVES both her soles into London’s defenseless kitty.
“UNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” the Sensational One moans, her upper body slumping forward, her hands forced to grasp at the top rope to keep her from taking a header down to the canvas. Meanwhile, a smirking Kat picks herself up, and saunters back toward the corner. Unable to help herself, Braddock slips her hands behind London’s bowed head, and pulls the British beauty’s face into her ample cleavage! Deprived of air, Shea’s body immediately begins to thrash and writhe, but with her legs still bound in the ropes, releasing her grip on the top rope merely affords the meatier blonde greater control of London’s body. And though Shea’s arms occasionally manage to strike Kat’s frame as they flail, it doesn’t look like the icon has much of hope of extricating her face from its clammy confines.
Salvation comes from an unlikely source.
“Sorry, Kat,” Chrissy sighs, “but I gotta point out she’s in the ropes.”
“So?” the Brat petulantly replies.
“Do the words ‘plausible deniability’ mean anything to you?”
When Braddock’s only response is a blank expression, the Imp mutters, “Kids…”
Nevertheless, the blonde Quake complies with the instruction—but not before raising her hand and allowing Avery to make another high five tag. With the smother broken, Braddock pulls the Sensational One out of her shackles and guides the older blonde toward the middle of the ring, a gasping Shea’s once strong legs shimmying with each step. And as the Baby Boss circles into position off her partners right flank, Kat launches her opponent toward the ropes with an Irish whip. Catching the rebounding Briton under her arms, the brawny Brat shows off some power, muscling the high flying blonde off her feet and into the air. And as Shea begins her descent, Kat pivots and bows, following up her use of ‘T’ with a little ‘A’ when London’s face crashes down onto Braddock’s upturned backside.
POP UP HIP ATTACK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZYVCjpkUak
The impact rocks Shea back onto her heels. And yet, remarkably in the wake of everything she had endured in the past few minutes, the Sensational One stays on her feet. Swaying in the wind, arms flying up above her head, but still upright. But Avery was ready for that, the buxom brunette surging forward in a whirling dervish, delivering a discus forearm that catches London flush in the jaw!
DISCUS FOREARM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1BAVL8sK7Y
The British Bombshell pivots away from the blow, her legs trembling with each uncertain half step. And yet STILL, Shea stays on her feet! Drunkenly staggering, far from the graceful beauty of legend, but on her feet. Snarling in frustration, Christian reaches out and snatches London by the left wrist. With a sharp tug, the Baby Boss spins the icon back around to face her, dipping a shoulder as she reels the Sensational One in. Pulling Shea’s left arm behind her back, Avery’s left arm slips under the Briton’s right thigh as she scoops London off her feet and into her chest. The buxom brunette pushes Shea’s left arm further behind her back, allowing Avery to transition her grasp on that wrist from her right hand to her left. And as she secures the hammerlock, that right hand slips around Shea’s elbow, grabbing Christian’s left wrist as she secures her hammerlock bearhug!
HAMMERLOCK BEARHUG:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=xattgO6fLP4
Again: FLAWLESS strategy, say what you will. Taking away Shea’s air. Sapping her strength, more and more by the second. Really taxing that cardio. Her face twisting up in breathless agony, London’s right arm stretches out over Avery’s shoulder, toward the rafters, fingers coiling and uncoiling, as if she might be imploring the wrestling gods to bestow upon her some renewed strength. “Ready to give up?” Chrissy asks. “While you’ve still got a teeny smidgeon of pride?”
The Sensational One vehemently shakes her head. “I’ll… unnnhhhh…. I’ll wait… ‘til you start singinnnnNNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”
The vice constricts tighter around her waist, Avery adding a few harsh jostles of her cargo for good measure. And soon, Shea’s moans begin to fade, both in intensity and in volume. At the same time, the British blonde’s one free arm begins to flag, slowly drooping toward Christian’s brawny shoulder. And then, after the Baby Boss shuffles Shea up a little higher in her grasp, that limb soon slumps against the brunette’s back, London’s cheek turning to rest atop her foe’s shoulder.
For a moment, the Imp considers waiting, in hopes of seeing a little drool start to dribble down her nemesis’ lips. But instead, she takes Shea’s wrist, lifts her arm, holds it aloft for a second and then releases…
London’s arm slaps down against Avery’s back, leaden.
“THAT’S ONE!” Daniel bellows.
Again, she takes the Sensational One’s wrist and lifts her arm. Again, it drops limp.
“STRRRRRIIIIIIIIKKKKE TWO!!!!!!!!!”
Practically licking her lips, the Imp takes London’s wrist and raises her arm for the final time. Even before letting go, the Ump…. Excuse me, the Imp… starts to make her call.
“SHE”S OUUUUUU….”
Shea’s arm falls only an inch, before stiffening and trembling, but staying aloft. And perhaps because she was so surprised to see that, even Chrissy halts her call. But she shakes off her disbelief quickly, and grabs at her rival’s wrist. Daniel attempts to do what gravity had failed to do, yanking at that arm to bring it down for the last time. But the living legend will have none of it, forcefully tugging her arm free of the Imp’s clutches—and, in the process, smashing an elbow into Avery’s temple.
Though it didn’t break the bearhug, that elbow shot loosened it considerably and a follow up trio of elbow smashes finally do the trick, forcing a groaning Christian to backpedal as London’s boots settle back underneath her. While free, the Sensational One looks far from sensational, stooped forward, hands atop her thighs, chest heaving with each breath. She’s clearly running on fumes.
But London Runs had been summoned from less before.
As adrenaline begins to fill the void in her depleted lungs, London straightens up and pivots, charging into the ropes. And the FAWNatics shoot out of their seats, ready to cheer on the latest miracle from their beloved heroine…
… but as Shea barrels toward the straightening Avery, Chrissy Daniel rushes toward her. And, taking advantage of her greatest adversary’s own head of steam, the Imp DRIVES a knee into the pit of the sprinting Shea’s stomach, the impaled Briton flipping over the bony joint and collapsing into gurgling, boneless heap of flesh on her back.
“I am SO sick of those f*cking ‘Runs’,” the Imp hisses.
Grateful for the intervention, the Baby Boss lumbers toward her corner, tagging the Brat back into the match. But Christian doesn’t leave the ring. Instead, she circles back to the wounded Briton, hauling her to her feet and stuffing the blonde’s head under her left arm. Muscling Shea up as if for a suplex, the voluptuous brunette instead dropped her cargo forward, London’s legs landing atop Kat’s left shoulder. Braddock gives the living legend’s rump a mocking swat, which seems to serve as a starter pistol for Avery to rush forward and lay out, administering a wicked neckbreaker—one that SLAMS Shea’s spine down across Kat’s thigh, when the curvy blonde drops to one knee.
RICHTER SCARE:
youtu.be/cCYvBO5PnOE?t=45
London bounces away from the spine shattering impact, falling to a seat on the canvas, back arches as she wails in utter agony. The veteran blonde manages to climb up to her knees for a moment, but then slumps forward, dropping to belly, sprawled and motionless…
… but only momentarily.
Instinct compels the exhausted, sweat soaked blonde. Instinct tells her precisely what she needs to do, after such prolonged double team abuse. Instinct gives the Sensational One the strength she needs…
… to start dragging her battered, broken body toward her corner.
Just one problem: Honey Harris wasn’t in that corner.
Cassie Hopkins wasn’t in that corner.
Juliet Bloodwind wasn’t in that corner.
Not even Kylie Sanders was in that corner.
The only three other women involved in this match are all in the ring already, hovering over her. Circling her like vultures.
The vile threesome watch with curiosity, eyes turning to each other as their grins grow.
“Where are you going, Sheasy?” Daniel asks. “Always looking to delay the inevitable.”
Chrissy motions her busty hyenas to fall upon London, each grabbing her by a wrist and shoulder and ripping London to her feet. They turn the Sensational One to face Chrissy, Braddock forcing a raised fishface from Shea, compelling London to look into the eyes of her long-time tormentor, all pretense of anything approaching a ‘fair’ handicap match thrown to the side.
The young Quakes hold London’s arms tight to her sides as the Imp closes, going nose to nose with her fellow original member.
“I win, Sheasy,” Daniel growls. “You’re getting tossed out of FAWN by me. And these girls are getting me to a fourth World title before all is said and done. You’ll be nothing but an afterTHAWWW.”
Chrissy grunts in utter agony, eyes bulging, as London knees her in the kitty. Daniel back-waddles a few feet, hands dropping between her thighs.
“Finish her,” the Imp chokes out between gasps.
Blonde and brunette bully the trapped Brit into a far speedier backpedal, tossing her the last several feet into the buckles, the Englishwoman’s backbone blasting into the corner.
Avery and Kat race to the opposite angle and Christian is the first to sprint to the Manchester native. The FAWNatics hold out insistent hope for the face of FAWN, but that face is buried under an avalanche of Avery, Christian CRUSHING Shea beneath her.
The instant the Baby Boss bounces out of the way, Kat arrives with a second heaping helping, removing any remaining starch from London.
Shea leans lifelessly into the corner, chin drooping, arms slack at her side.
Chrissy, remaining bent and in pulsating pain from Shea’s last act of defiance, waves toward London. “Send that bytch out of FAWN for good.”
Kat drags what’s left of Shea toward the middle, tugging her into a front facelock, throwing a limp arm of the legend over her shoulders. Grabbing some spandex on London’s hip, she elevates London’s legs, pulling her into a tight cradled ball in her lap.
Braddock lays out SPIKING Shea’s skull into the deck with her brutal Kat Nap, a flaccid London flops over to her chest, out cold. The blonde fireplug moves to cover but Avery grabs a shoulder, turning The Brat to face her.
“Don’t be greedy,” Christian says.
Kat bites her bottom lip and helps her Cali counterpart lift London’s carcass to a face-to-face stance in front of the Baby Boss. Suddenly, as if from some horror movie, Shea revivifies and swings a weak clothesline toward Christian’s clavicle. Avery ducks. With the spinning Shea now facing away, Christian fulfills her mother’s wishes, securing a pumphandle under London’s crotch, then vaulting and spinning Shea heels over head.
The Baby Boss sits out and sends Shea into the FAWN afterlife with a brain-busting, potentially neck-snapping Twisted Sister Christian, the crotchplex powerbomb removing all doubt London will be wheeled into her next chapter.
Twisted Sister Christian ( t.co/EhgDWF15bm )
Instead of keeping Shea stacked lifelessly on her shoulders for the three-count, Christian releases, letting London flop to a starfished shell. She pushes to her feet, satisfied with her part in ‘killing’ a legend.
A semi-recovered Chrissy provides a couple cathartic stomps.
“You’re not getting a DQ out of me, bytch,” Daniel barks. “Money shot, ladies.”
The beaming, glistening Quakes take to either side of Shea’s body and stomp then grind a boot into London’s bosom, lifting their arms high in triumph, interlocking the fingers of their inner hands.
Chrissy gingerly drops to the canvas and slaps the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE…
Then adds…FOUR…
And…FIVE for good measure, the crowd threatening to break eardrums with their cacophony.
As Chrissy signals for the bell and the ring announcer makes Shea’s last FAWN match, an official debacle, Daniel snags a microphone from a FAWN flunky.
“I’m the only legend in this ring!” she shouts at the raging multitude. “And the rest of you has-beens, take a look at this.”
The Killer Imp points to Shea, her Quakes’ boot soles still in place.
“We might just send you to the nursing home via an ICU!”
She turns to the comatose London.
“Buh-bye, Sheasy.”
Statement made, the Quakes begin to exit the ring, Kat taking a seat on the middle cable to open the ropes for her mentor. But Chrissy hasn’t followed. She remains standing over the splattered remnants of her longtime nemesis, glaring down at her, savoring the moment. And then, she offers one more word:
“No.”
“Huh?” Avery asks, blinking back confusion.
“I’ve seen way too many horror movies,” the Imp responds simply. “We leave this bytch for dead, and trust me, she’ll FIND a way to come back. Some day. Some way.”
Daniel finally turns away from the wreckage of London, looking toward Kat.
“She ends tonight.”
The Brat gives a small nod in Daniel’s direction, then slips through the ropes and hops down to the floor. Meanwhile, Avery moves back toward the Sensational One, pulling Shea up to a seated position. The Baby Boss then steps aside, allowing Chrissy to step over the British blonde’s shoulders, settling into a standing straddle of her rival with the back of London’s noggin resting against her crotch.
Braddock slides back into the ring, but she doesn’t come empty handed. The buxom blonde slides a folded steel chair into position behind Shea and Chrissy. The Imp then raises her arms, sliding her hands together behind her head, further stoking the passions of the FAWNatics—both their outrage and their lust—with a few sensuous swivels of her hips. Daniel turns around, Shea’s captive head between Chrissy’s thighs forcing the Brit to roll through as well to her knees, after which Chrissy falls forward, palms meeting the mat and supporting the Beach Cat’s upper body.
Though the form is not particularly impressive—a consequence of having someone’s skull trapped between her legs, no doubt—Chrissy nevertheless performs a quick set of push-ups. And each push up SLAMS Shea’s mug into the seat pan of the folded chair, the sound of face smacking off steel filling the air. When she finally relents, the Imp lifts up juuust enough to allow Shea to slump backward, FAWN’s first World Champion sagging back onto her haunches, swaying too and fro as Daniel drops to her knees.
Turning back to face the woman she hated more than anything and anyone in the world, Chrissy brings a hand to her lips, blowing a mocking kiss in Shea’s direction. And perhaps it’s a coincidence, or perhaps it’s a testament to just what sort of beating the Quakes had administered, but London promptly falls back, calves still pinned under her thighs as her back hits the canvas, the Brit’s arms spilling lifeless above her head.
Kat and Avery each grab one of those outstretched arms, but as they begin to pull the ragged legend up, a black and gold blur of motion catches their attention…
HONEY HARRIS:
Grateful for the lack of a music cue spoiling the element surprise—something which Bethany was sure to have a word with the audio department about tomorrow morning—the Sweet Sensation springs to her feet. As a cavalry of one, she knew the deal. Trying to save her idol, who had been left in no position to offer any assistance to her own cause anytime soon, Honey had entered the exact same situation she had implored Shea not to earlier this evening. But she had no choice; she couldn’t just sit back and watch these naught Dotties try to not just end the Sensational One’s FAWN career, but her wrestling career as a whole.
And she had no time to waste.
Thankfully, Kat and Avery both have to relinquish their grips on Shea, and that allows Harris to quickly rock first the brunette and then her fellow blonde with forearm smashes to the sternum. The Killer Imp eats a boot to the belly that doubles her over and forces her back, before Honey turns back to the Quakes. Grabbing a left handful of blonde locks and a right handful of brunette tresses, the British blonde arranges a meeting of the minds between partners, Kat and Avery’s foreheads ‘THWACK!’ loudly off one another, the young fireplugs spinning away from each other, both with slightly crossed eyes.
That gives Honey some time to focus one on one on Chrissy, and she knows she needs to hit something big and fast. So she charges into the ropes, allowing the cables to shoot her back fast at the straightening Imp. Leaping toward the Beach Cat, Harris twists her body to face down at the canvas as her legs slips around Daniel’s waist. Chrissy’s arms instinctively wrap around Honey’s midriff as the Sweet Sensations hands drop to the mat. The young British blonde pushes herself back up, intending to swing around, gather Chrissy’s noggin and spike the three-time World champion’s skull into the mat with a wheelbarrow tornado DDT…
… but Chrissy had always been one of the most deceptively powerful women on the FAWN roster, and Honey soon learns this in the most painful way imaginable. As the Imp’s left arm stays tight against Harris’ belly, Daniel’s right arm slips underneath the British blonde’s right arm, trapping the wing in a half nelson and preventing the comparative rookie from turning her body toward Chrissy’s. And before the Sweet Sensation can realize just what a catastrophic mistake she has made, Daniel sits out, slinging Harris downward and DRIVING the young beauty’s head and shoulders into the canvas with a ring rattling Implosion!
IMPLOSION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXucT0ZeMBY
In a match, the Killer Imp would have kept Honey’s legs trapped under arms and simply collect an academic three count. But since she’s wearing the zebra stripes tonight, Chrissy simply lifts her arms and rocks back, allowing the shellshocked Sweet Sensation to puddle into a boneless heap while Daniel rolls to one knee. “Soooo, you’re the knockoff?” Chrissy sneers, pushing to her feet. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to keep your nose out of this.”
The Beach Cat hauls Honey up onto rubbery legs, then shoves her in Kat’s direction.
“Even knowing what it would cost you.”
The Brat catches the stumbling Briton, stuffing Harris’ head under her left arm and nudging the sleeker blonde’s left arm under Braddock’s neck. Grabbing a handful of the youngster’s waistband, Kat pops her hips, muscling her cargo off her feet, before dropping into a crouch and bringing Honey’s shins down to rest against the thighs of Chrissy’s protégé. Wrapping her free arm around Harris’ left thigh, Kat throws it into reverse, falling back and DRILLING the crown of the Briton’s skull into the mat with a vicious Kat Nap.
KAT NAP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nNeUWdGDSo
Avery is not to be refused her pound of flesh, and she snatches a handful of Honey’s flaxen mane as the Brat rolls away. Christian tugs the devastated blonde up as far as her knees, but after being on the receiving end of two such destructive finishers in short order, Harris’ stems give way as the brunette tries to bring her to her feet. But the Baby Boss doesn’t seem all that disappointed. “So be it,” she mutters, a smirk beginning to crease her lips as she pulls the kneeling blonde’s face deeeeeep into her incredible cleavage.
Honey’s arm begins to thrash in an oxygen starved panic, occasionally smacking off Avery’s flanks, but doing little to stop the Baby Boss from leaning forward and forcing Harris ever deeper onto her haunches. Across the ring, Chrissy saunters toward the still insensate Sensational One. She reaches into one pocket, extricating something from the tight denim before dropping to one knee in a kneeling straddle of her arch rival’s torso.
“Bethany sent me out prepared,” the Imp says, holding up a small, pink slip of paper in her left hand. Her right hand then reaches down, fingers squeezing London’s cheeks, fishfacing the snoozing blonde. A grinning Daniel then stuffs the paper past the British blonde’s parted lips, giving Shea’s left cheek a final pat before she pushes to her feet.
Approaching the Baby Boss, Chrissy pulls a second pink slip from her pocket, Avery releasing a greasy faced and glassy eyed Honey to take it from the Imp. Noticing a slight dribble of saliva from the left corner of the Sweet Sensation’s mouth, Christian uses the slip to dab away that drool, then stuffs the paper into Honey’s mouth, pushing the all but unconscious blonde over to her back.
Standing between her charges, the Imp raises Kat’s and Avery’s arms in triumph one more time.
“Good riddance to Limey rubbish.”
Honey Harris paces the dressing room, her hands fidgeting nervously with each other. Though she hadn’t been booked on the show tonight, the normally bubbly blonde looks ready for action, her well-shaped legs bare, a hint of gold bikini style bottoms (with black trim) just visible beneath the hem a gold tee. Upon the front read the words “SWEET AS” in black type, directly above an illustration of a pot of honey. On the back, below the words “BUT WITH A” is a cartoon bee abdomen—complete with stinger.
“I’m not exactly doin’ cartwheels myself, am I?”
Honey’s mentor and partner, “Sensational” Shea London, is also dressed for battle, but she does have a match on the card.
In a manner of speaking.
“You know this is a trap,” the younger blonde sighs. “You’re being sent out there to get massacred. Bethany hasn’t just stacked the deck against you. She’s left you with one card. You have a Three!”
“Probably,” London agrees. “But isn’t a three all ya need in this business?”
“Shea…”
The icon, the living legend, the FAWN Original and original FAWN World champion, places a hand on her pupil’s shoulder. “Look, kid,” she assures her, “from day one, I’ve known tha score. Deep down, I’ve known tha only way I was ever leavin’ this place was on me back. An’ maybe that’s tonight. But maybe it’s not. I’ve got a few tricks up my own sleeves, ya know?”
Harris tries her best to give Shea a reassured smile, but the wattage isn’t particularly that impressive under the circumstances.
“But I want ya ta promise me one thing,” London adds. “Whatever ‘appens tonight, I want ya ta stay back ‘ere. I want ya ta let it ‘appen.”
“NEVER!” the Sweet Sensation snaps. “If you think I can just sit back and…”
“Bethany doesn’t make idle threats,” Shea cuts her off. “Ya come out there, ya’re throwin’ YOUR career away as well. Maybe my day IS done…”
Hearing those words, and the recognition of the circumstances in Shea’s voice, causes Honey’s eyes to well.
“… but yers isn’t. So, promise me.”
July 27th, 2003.
That was the night that Shea London wrestled her first match in FAWN. A fresh faced 25 then, she had made a name for herself in the industry already before coming here, but she had not yet become THE name that FAWN would make her. It would be another two months, give or take, before the British Bombshell pinned the Killer Imp Chrissy Daniel to claim her first, and FAWN’s first, World championship. But she had launched herself on that path that night with a ‘W’. She had even gone out first that long ago evening, too, much like she was just about to do tonight.
But that’s about where the similarities between that far off summer night and this autumn evening. That fresh faced 25 year old was now just a couple of months shy of 43 years of age. That night, she had faced a single individual, a woman who was her peer, and similarly looking to establish herself with a new promotion. Tonight, she was facing not woman but two, both of whom were barely out of diapers the night Shea had defeated Emmanuelle de Rochefort.
And that night had launched Shea London from budding star to super stardom. Tonight had been designed to snuff out her flame.
Bethany had left little doubt: tonight was intended to be the Sensational One’s wrestling funeral. But of course, Shea had a long history of thwarting Christian’s desire to destroy her career. This match definitely posed the biggest challenge that the vindictive CEO had ever thrown her way. But in each of the previous instances, the odds she had faced had been long.
She knew she COULD do it. Now, all Shea had to go out and do WAS do it.
The arena sound system came to life, a voice posing a single question to tonight’s pumped up crowd:
“Do you wanna get rocked?”
Judging by the deafening roar from the FAWNatics, this was precisely their greatest wish.
As Def Leppard’s “Let’s Get Rocked” pumped over the FAWN Arena’s speakers, the British beauty took one more deep breath and pushed open the curtains, “Sensational” Shea London emerging onto the stage. For the FAWNatics, absence had clearly allowed their hearts to grow fonder, for they came close to blowing the roof off the joint with their ovation for the living legend. London sported a pleasingly “Old School” look: visible underneath an open, traditional, red ring jacket was a one-piece proudly emblazoned in the Union Jack, the red stripes of the cross running from the scooped neckline to between her legs and underneath her bosom, respectively, her eyes shielded behind a pair of stylish shades. Red knee and elbow pads along with blue boots completed her ensemble.
SHEA LONDON
Shea darted down to the ring, her million megawatt smile on full display, her eyes shielded behind a pair those Sensational shades. Any sense of the inner trepidation she might be feeling never made it as far as her face. She slapped hands with a FAWN fandom populous that definitely wasn’t willing to say goodbye tonight.
And the Sensational One had no intentions of offering her own farewells.
Climbing the steps, Shea slipped between the ropes and stepped toward her corner. Mounting the middle rope, London slipped her ring jacket down her shoulders, Shea’s grin growing broader as the crowd enjoyed the tease...
With the jacket discarded, the Sensational One dropped back to the mat, shuffling her weight from one foot to the other as she limbered up. With the Leppard fading into the ether, the hand on the clock moved a little closer to twelve…
With the FAWNatics at full throat pumped to see an all-time hero grace their stage again even in these dire circumstances, the Quakes’ manager and erstwhile teammate whispers in the ears of her opponents.
“Don’t get cocky. I know you think this is going to be a walk in the park but the second you believe it is London will be Calling and I am not about to be living down your mistakes. Understand?”
The fireplug blonde and brunette nod their heads respectfully as the unmistakable sound of the dearly departed Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tears through the air.
Beautiful Girls (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ9h2m06sFQ ) erupts and a barrage of pyrotechnics explodes from the rafters in time with the chords, the fiery white sparks illuminating the cavernous space in a momentarily blinding light.
When the brilliance fades, only the next generation of Quakes are present. The double-barreled Gen Z firepower stand side by side, blonde Kat and brunette Avery ready to rip a legend limb from decrepit limb.
KAT BRADDOCK
AVERY CHRISTIAN
With a unique combination of a young Kylie’s features and a young Chrissy’s body, Braddock catches the imagination and ire of most, while Commissioner Christian’s legacy and the front office backing from Bethany makes Avery a force in her own right, one the crowd likes about as much as Mommie Dearest.
Together the fledgling Quakes stride down the ramp, casting an occasional glance from side to side, sneering at the mob who make their presence known in increasingly loud fashion.
The busty blonde youngster reaches the ring in her remarkably well-knit, green crocheted bikini. She sports green pads and black ankle boots to complete her gear.
Christian wears a white one piece with a neckline that doesn’t so much plunge as it dives, stopping maybe an inch above Avery’s navel. Black straps rise over her shoulder and crisscross her back, with black trim surrounding the leg holes at the bottom of the garment. Her pads, wrist tape and boots are all gold—perhaps a harbinger of success.
Kat and Avery stride around the ring in opposite directions as though they’re circling their prey, Braddock and Christian grinning greedily at the woman’s whose scalp could put them into a star’s orbit. Reaching the side farthest from the hard cam, they hop to the apron and slide through, moving surprisingly innocently to the Quake corner.
With VanHalen receding, The Brat lifts a microphone to her lips, raising her voice above the jeers, both youngsters staring lasers at their legendary target.
“There’s a reason Avery’s mom chose us to throw your carcass onto the scrap heap. We are the future. I’m not sure you even qualify for the past anymore.”
The legions of Shea’s fans let the Quakes know differently.
“But just in case you were going to rely on some of that old-fashioned, sensational thievery for which you’re famous, Miss Christian decided to provide a referee that would know every single page of your book of tricks and cons.”
Kat motions to the upper stage and ‘Beautiful Girls’ hits again.
Shea’s eyes roll at what she sees, unable to believe even Bethany would go this far.
Strolling down the ramp is an ash blonde Imp, the three-time former World Champion Chrissy Daniel’s hips swiveling with every self-assured step and dressed in the ultimate insult to fair play everywhere, a black-n-white striped crop top tied off to showcase her tanned plush midriff. Below is tight black denim with similarly dark boots, a savage wardrobe for the referee on the go.
CHRISSY DANIEL
Daniel marches up the steps, not waiting to enter before introducing her fellow California girls.
“Tonight’s next match is scheduled for one fall with a time limit of as long as I feel necessary.”
The crowd doubles their volume, trying to drown out the Beach Cat.
“First. From Newport Beach, California and fighting out of Santa Monica, California respectively, weighing in at a combined 248 pounds; The Brat…Kat Braddock. The Baby Boss…Avery Christian. They are the California Quakes.”
The boos rain down as if a thunderstorm, but the hatred slows in preparation of the beloved Brit’s introduction.
“AndoverthereShea.”
Chrissy’s split second intro doesn’t give the FAWNatics time to show their love and respect and Daniel immediately calls for the bell to make sure, tossing the stick to the outside and waving Kat forward to dismantle the woman with whom Chrissy has fought so many wars.
So much for thinking Bethany had simply intended tonight to be her wrestling funeral. With this choice of referee, the intent became abundantly clear: tonight was meant to be “Sensational” Shea London’s professional wrestling *execution.* Before she had stepped onto the ramp, Shea knew the odds she faced tonight were long. But, with all due respect to Kat Braddock and Avery Christian, she wasn’t going into battle one on two against, say, Pandora and Celia Blassenville. Oh, Kat and Avery were formidable, make no mistake. But they were relatively inexperienced and relatively the same size Shea, albeit proportioned quite differently.
But with Chrissy Daniel sporting the zebra stripes tonight?
Suddenly, this wasn’t just a two-on-one handicap match. Suddenly, it was THREE-on-one. Even if the Imp didn’t deign to dirty her own hands in this match—which, let’s be honest, it would likely be asking the impossible to expect Daniel not to try to land a move or two on her greatest rival on Shea’s way out—there was NO CHANCE whatsoever that Chrissy would ever count to three FOR Shea, and against her own charges. Shea wouldn’t just have to take both Braddock and Christian out. Now she had to find a way to knock the Imp out of the occasion as now, and pray that enough ref could make it down to the ring before either Chrissy recovered or whatever Quake might kick out…
… and that, of course, assumed that Bethany would even allow Al, or Merle, or any of the other boys in black and white to come down in those circumstances.
The Brat licked her lips as younger and older blonde moved closer, Braddock relishing the opportunity to drive the final nails into the coffin of her mentor’s bitterest enemy’s illustrious career. But even knowing the state of affairs, Shea displays no hesitancy in moving in, raising her hands, throwing caution to the wind and ready to lock up right away…
… or not.
Instead, as Kat brought up her hands to engage in the collar and elbow, London ducked underneath the younger blonde’s arms, slipping behind Braddock and securing a tight waistlock. Before the Brat can even start to try to pry at the Sensational One’s wrists, Shea put her legendary legs to work, charging forward, driving her foe toward the ropes. As Kat’s ample bosom met the rubber coated steel of the top rope, she tried to thread her arms around the cables, but again Shea proves too quick. Rocking backward, the British Bombshell pulled Braddock back and down, employing an O’Connor Roll to put Kat flat on her shoulders just seconds into the mat!
It wasn’t about victory. Again, Shea understood that the Imp would never count Kat out so early in the match. No, the aim was simply to put the Quakes on the defensive, to force them to be reactive rather than proactive, and to make the balled up Braddock expend some energy trying to buck London from her perch atop the younger blonde’s bum and upturned thighs.
Sure enough, Chrissy doesn’t count Kat out. She doesn’t even slide into position to check Kat’s shoulders. “Break the hold!” the Imp barks.
“WHAT???” Shea snaps back, somehow incredulous at Chrissy’s unwillingness to offer even this little of a pretense of normalcy and duty.
“Break the hold, Shea!” Daniel demands again. “I saw you pull her hair!”
“Are ya fuuuuhhhhhhhh…” London’s attempt at a protest is cut short when Kat manages to buck her hips, launching the living legend stumbling back toward the ropes. And AT LAST, the Imp drops to one knee beside Braddock, asking the curvaceous blonde how she feels and if she is in any state to continue the match. Shea meanwhile brings her hands up in front of her, looking to catch the top rope and get her momentum back under control…
… but, unnoticed by the blonde Briton as she hurtles toward the ropes, Avery Christian had slipped around the ringpost to that side of the apron. And as Shea’s hands move toward the cable, Avery’s hands reach over the top rope, each one snatching a handful of the Sensational One’s flaxen tresses. Using London’s momentum against her, Bethany’s baby girl easily pulls the icon’s head over the top rope, and then even more easily steps back, dropping down from the apron—and dropping Shea’s throat across the taut, rubber coated steel of the top rope!
A wheezing Shea whips around, both hands flying to her windpipe as she drops to one knee. The one thing she had known she needed to do to stand any hope in this match was to keep moving, and now she finds herself gasping for air, struggling to find a second wind before Kat the Brat was back on her feet.
Not about to let London recover, Braddock pushes to her feet and races toward the Manchester native. Spinning in a 180 when she takes flight to drive her considerable backside into Shea’s face. London drops to the canvas and Kat flies over. Her cheeks push between the top and middle rope, The Brat wedging her body between the rubber-coated, steel strands.
Instantly, Shea’s on her feet then on her horse, racing to the opposite cables as the blonde fireplug tries to free herself. London’s speed is still among the best in the game and she launches into a dropkick to Kat’s plush, tanned tummy. The impact folds the Quake further and she’s shoved through the cables, crashing to the canvas on the outside before falling to the thinly-padded cement below.
The living legend kips to her feet and watches as an arriving Avery helps her partner to vertical, Kat grimacing, an arm wrapped around her midriff, like Chrissy her soft abdomen being her Achilles’ heel.
It takes but a split-second for Shea to realize where she’s headed next. London turns and sprints to the far ropes. She rebounds, quickly bearing down on the floor-bound Quakes. But before she can reach her launch point, Chrissy intervenes, stepping between London and her Suicide Dive. Shea screeches to a halt, nose to nose with the Imp.
“I’ll have none of your out-of-the-ring shenanigans, Miss London,” Daniel shouts in her best English accent, which might be equal to most people’s worst. “None of your tomfoolery either,” the Imp adds with a smirk. “Be a good girl won’t you and let Katrina back in the ring.”
Chrissy’s kids, having flinched at the approaching Shea, gather their composure. Avery heads back to her station while Braddock rolls in under the cover of her mentor. Reaching her feet, she circles away from the ropes and ties up with a snorting London in a collar-and-elbow before instantly tugging Shea into a tight side headlock, grinding the veteran’s noggin against her side.
London’s hands move to the fleshy hips of Daniel’s junior partner and the Sensational One shoves Kat off. The Brat uses the ready-made momentum to hustle to the ropes in front of her and barrel back at her sinewy target after a springy u-turn. Kat lowers a shoulder and RAMS into Shea, clearly expecting to be looking down on a flattened London after the collision. Instead, the brit’s backed up a couple steps, but remains fully vertical, motioning the flustered Kat to give it another try.
Not about to settle for the initial result, Braddock races to the ropes again, coming back with as much force or more. But this time, as Kat lowers into blocking mode, London leapfrogs over. Kat’s sent dashing into her second set of strands and rebounds once more, this time into a dropkick to the chin that levels the youngster, the back of The Brat’s braincase CRASHING to the canvas. The impact sends her up to a dazed seat, abbreviated legs extended in front of her in a ‘V’.
A fabled London Run seemingly emerging, Shea’s back on her feet and galloping to the ropes behind her foe. She bounces away from the strands and steps onto Kat’s hunched shoulderblades, flattening her rival’s torso forward, Kat’s beak THUMPING into the canvas between her stems. Continuing on and yo-yoing off another trip to the cables, even Chrissy becoming dizzied by Shea’s frantic pace, Braddock has no chance to react to another dropkick. This one’s of the low variety, striking the Quake’s ample chest, levelling Kat to the canvas.
Shea dives across her foe in a lateral press. Chrissy acts like she has a terrible case of lumbago, taking a couple ticks to reach the mat and slap…
ONE…
The delay allowing Braddock to safely kick free after only the single connection of hand to canvas.
London, on her knees next to the aching youngster, shakes her head but knows better than to jaw with the Imp. Instead, she’s quickly hauling Kat up with her, trying to show Braddock what so many learned before her, never to get caught in the Manchester whirlwind.
Dipping and scooping behind the blonde’s knees, London shows off her more than capable non-aerial assaults, lifting the curvy if vertically-challenged Kat like a babe in her arms then dropping to one knee, Kat’s spine THUMPING across the plank of London’s upper leg. A palm moves under Braddock’s chin on one side, to a knee on the other, and the Sensational One pushes down on either, creating a growing arch in The Brat’s vertebrae.
“Ask her,” Shea huffs with the hint of a chuckle, garnering some enjoyment from the look of frustration on the Imp’s face.
“Doyawannagive?” Chrissy offers in a whisper, immediately adding, “SHE SAYS NO!”
A nod in Avery’s direction is added by the ref/manager and, after a half-dozen seconds of Braddock’s torture in London’s over-the-knee backbreaker, the Baby Boss shoves Shea from behind. Kat spills from the backbreaking mistreatment while the Brit scrambles to her feet, lifting balled fists, ready for Bethany’s progeny.
Perhaps surprisingly, make that definitely, Daniel demands Christian leave the premises, if gently. The busty brunette, also of limited stature like her sisters in crime, backs her way to the Quake corner, leaving a wincing Kat on her haunches, one hand working at her lower back.
London sweeps past the guest official and wraps her palms around Kat’s cranium, pulling her to vertical. Shea ROCKS Braddock onto her heels with a perfectly-placed European Uppercut, then another and another, the Cali girl left wobbling as she turns away from Shea.
Braddock, appearing as she might be knocked over with a feather, remains on her boot soles as London blasts past. The legend leaps into the middle rope while grabbing the top. She springboards behind her with a back elbow aimed between the brown eyes of the usually feisty fireplug.
But instead of Shea hitting her target, Kat has enough of her senses remaining to adjust to the oncoming Englishwoman and catch the returning London in her arms in a tight waistlock. With the Brit’s boots already off the canvas, it takes less labor to fling her foe over in a belly-to-back, the dirty blonde Brit SLAMMING on head and shoulders from the suplex.
Left on her back after the collision, boots pattering against the canvas as she cradles her aching skull, a distracted Shea doesn’t realize Kat’s recovery is aided by a tap on her cheek from tonight’s official.
“Tag out, Kat,” Chrissy growls, half under her breath. “Get someone in here who listens to me.”
Braddock rolls to hands and knees and crawls to the Quake corner, diving to Avery’s outstretched hand, tagging it as London makes it to all fours.
The Baby Boss enters and rushes to her handicapped foe, but the veteran sweeps Christian’s feet out from under her before she can put the hurt on Chrissy’s most storied rival.
A startled Avery scrambles to her feet and reaches them as London makes the same. Avery fires a right cross, but Shea blocks with a forearm and delivers a right of her own that staggers the stocky Quake. Christian tries to trade blows but each time Shea’s ready with a block and counter, pounding a reeling Avery back to a corner, where London’s educated fists go lower, driving like pistons into Christian’s plush midriff, leaving the brunette a gasping wreck.
“Alright, Shea,” Chrissy snarls, ready to assert her misbegotten authority, “you know the rules. At least, you’re always bytching about me breaking them. You know you’ve got to let her out of the corner.”
“Oh, ya want ‘er out o’ tha corner?” Shea snaps over her shoulder, then snatches Bethany beefy progeny by the wrist. “Fine. I’ll get ‘er out o’ tha corner.”
And, true to her word, the Sensational One did just that—by sending Avery hurtling across the ring and into the opposite corner. The raven haired fireplug turns her back into the collision, Christian’s spine slamming into the leather padding of the turnbuckles with vertebrae-realigning force. The Baby Boss lets out a groan, her head snapping forward as her arms flop over the top rope, hooking her in place and at least sparing her the indignity of sinking to her ample backside…
… but that also means that she’s still standing as London charges forward. With a determined yell, Shea leaps into the corner, her left foot landing on the bottom rope—and her right knee DRIVING into Avery’s slumped mug, whipping Christian’s head backward, until the back of her noggin rests against the turnbuckle.
The living legend lingers for a heartbeat, her knee remaining pressed against Avery’s chest, keeping the brunette pinned to the corner. But then she hops down, grabbing a handful of the Baby Boss’ tresses and tugging Avery a step away from the corner. Just a step, however, as she then turns the younger, shorter woman back to face the corner and SLAMS her face into the turnbuckle. She even manages to repeat the blow, but as she pulled back on Avery’s locks to do so a third time, an arm wrapped around London’s waist, pulling her off of the dark haired Quake.
“I TOLD YOU,” Chrissy barks, “you’ve got to let her out of the corn…”
The Imp’s command trails off as her nemesis whips around, her right arm drawn back, hand balled into a fist. And the FAWNatics ERUPT at the specter of the British Bombshell treating Chrissy Daniel to a knuckle sandwich. But Daniel’s stunned silence quickly gives way to a bemused smirk.
“Go ahead, Sheasy,” she taunts. “Deck me. Punch a duly licensed and appointed referee. You know what’ll happen then, don’t ya, putz? Assuming you don’t knock me out—and having felt your punches before, that’s a pretty safe assumption—you’ll be disqualified before you can do anything else. You don’t want to leave your adoring fans with an ending like that, do you?”
The contempt that Chrissy had been able to inject into the words “adoring fans” would, in other circumstances, be quite impressive.
And honestly? Even knowing it would cost her the match, and that it would end her FAWN career… it was tempting.
“I ‘ave a feelin’ they’d think me puttin’ ya on yer fat arse one last time would be wooouuuUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Caught up in the age-old animosity between the Sensational One and the Killer Imp, Shea never noticed Avery recovering her wits. Or stepping away from the corner. Or dropping to one knee behind the blonde Briton and splitting London’s wickets with a SAVAGE uppercut. To her credit, though, Shea doesn’t go down. Oh, the Quake’s dirty blow definitely leaves London’s luscious gams visibly quaking. But she keeps her feet, though she does double forward, the living legend’s knees knocking together as she staggers away from the blow. Rising back to her full height behind the icon, Avery grabs one handful of the fabric of Shea’s one piece, just above the curve of her glutes, while her other hand latches on to the Brit’s flaxen tresses. Tugging on both handholds—enough to send some of the material of London’s gear disappearing between her cheeks—Christian turns the Sensational One toward the ropes and tosses her through them, sending the veteran crashing to the floor below. The Baby Boss starts to follow her prey down to the floor, but remarkably, the ‘official’ gets in her way.
“Now, Avery,” Daniel chides her, “did you punch Sheasy in her dried out coochie?”
Christian throws her hands into the air in innocence. “Never!”
“Don’t you realize that going south on Shea is liking entering an Egyptian pyramid?” Chrissy tells her. “There are STDs there that modern science has long forgotten!”
While the Killer Imp continues to read one Quake the riot act, the other hops down from the apron—taking advantage of the opportunity that Chrissy was now quite clearly choosing to afford the Brat. Pulling the still mewling Brit up onto still rubbery stems, Kat guides the older, taller blonde closer to the security railing before nudging her head up and under Shea’s left arm. Then, wrapping her arms around the Sensational One’s waist, Braddock puts her brawn on display, hoisting London off her feet and onto her shoulder…
… and then depositing Shea crotch first atop the security barrier, administering a thermonuclear drop.
London’s eyes grow wide, her jaw dropping slack as her hands drop to the railing. Her fingers coil tight around the beam, partly to keep her from falling over either to the floor or into the crowd, but also to however slightly transfer some of her weight from her aching kitty to her trembling arms. Meanwhile, a smirking Kat raises one hand to her lips, and gives a loooooong lick from the heel of her palm to the tips of her fingers. Then, drawing that hand back, the busty Braddock unloads with a THUNDEROUS chop to Shea’s comparatively modest bosom. The sound of palm striking chest still echoes throughout the building as London is sent tumbling from her perch, crashing on her head and shoulders at the feet of the Brat.
“This is more like it,” Kat purrs, grabbing another handful of hair and leading a crawling Shea back toward the ring. But instead of shoveling the Sensational One back into the ring, she simply pulls London up to her feet, turning the older blonde’s back to the apron. Meanwhile, inside the ring, Chrissy has finished her dressing down of the Baby Boss, and steps aside to allow Avery to approach the ropes. Stooping down, the brunette gathers up Shea’s arms, pulling them back and under the bottom rope. Christian then takes the top rope in both hands, shifts her feet into a broad stance…
… and presses the soles of her boots down atop London’s fingers.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” the British blonde howls, writhing in torment, but lacking the leverage to extract her digits from under Avery’s weight. She is trapped, helpless as Kat climbs onto the apron, stepping into a standing straddle of the thrashing legend. The Brat then steps onto the bottom rope, bouncing twice atop the taut, rubber coated steel to generate momentum. While the resulting jiggle definitely meets with approval from the FAWNatics, the resulting actions most definitely do not, not when the curvaceous blonde leaps from her perch, bringing her feet back to the apron on each of Shea’s flanks, and DRIVING her ass down onto the chest of the Sensational One!
It’s bad enough that Kat’s backside CRUSHES Shea’s sternum, collapsing her flattened boobs into her ribcage. But that ribcage is also left sandwiched between Kat’s rump and the ring apron, well known to be the single hardest part of the ring. The Brat remains seated atop London’s chest for a moment, but then she rises—and Avery in turn steps away from the ropes. While Braddock taunts London’s Legions with a sensuous swivel of her helps, Shea melts to a seat on the floor, legs splayed, jaw slack, and chest heaving, the living legend’s body desperately attempting to refuel itself.
Next-gen Chrissy drops to the floor in front of the seated Shea and plucks her off the thinly-padded concrete. The OG Imp is ready to give Braddock as much time with London as she wants but Kat seems to be feeling generous and she stuffs Grammy Shea back in the ring to be brought to her feet by the Quake’s dark-maned counterpart.
Avery aims the Brit at the far buckles and whips London on her way, Shea sprinting as best she’s able and turning into a spine-first collision with the buckles. Shea remains upright long enough for the following Christian to leap into a splash, the fleshy fireplug BURYING London’s face beneath her chest. The Baby Boss bounces off her target in a backpedal and a staggering, dazed Shea wobbles after her.
Bethany’s girl impales Shea’s tummy with a toe kick, doubling her over, then pulls the groaning legend into a front facelock. With a squeaky grunt, the shorter, stockier grappler launches Shea with a grip on the hip of Shea’s gear. The brunette holds her foe at high noon for a second or two before allowing Shea to flip over and land on her feet, arm still wrapped around London’s neck. Down the Babu Boss goes, PLANTING Shea’s skull with a neckbreaker that has London squirming pain after, cradling her noggin.
Suplex-lift Neckbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=GtoU1lDSbfc )
Avery floats over and covers in a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Shea kicks free, sending Christian to her haunches. The youngster takes a glance at the senior class president of her organization and Chrissy shrugs, adding a wink to her junior partner.
“We have to make you girls earn it. God knows I did.”
Avery snorts at the retort, clearly believing it’s best to put London out of her misery and FAWN career and move to tonight’s party venue. However, she nods, slides around to the Englishwoman’s head, pulling Shea to a seated position while she’s on one knee, and clamps on a neck vise. Her arms surround the napes of the legend and Avery tries to twist London’s head free from her shoulders, biceps flexing as London grimaces in pain, desperate to work her way free.
“Rip it off,” Braddock encourages.
And while she doesn’t, the grinding pain in the legend’s face is evident until Avery alters her attack. The busty brunette snakes her arms around the head and neck of the Brit, compressing her grip, slowing the Brit’s blood flow at her temples and carotid with a tight sleeper hold.
Shea’s arms flail wildly as she tries to break free, but the Baby Boss leeeans her mass into the neck and shoulders of her foe, bringing even more force to bear on the heavy-lidded London. With her arms looking leaden and her features drowsy, the Sensational One is in survival mode. Her legs press into the woman behind her and she uses Christian to rise to an angle approaching vertical.
She lifts her suddenly less lifeless arms, wrapping them around the crown of Avery’s dome, stuffs the top of her head against Christian’s chin and drops to her pert bum, breaking free with a jawbreaker. Avery spins and staggers, palm moving to her chin as she flexes her jaw.
“Time to get a little help,” the beachfighter turned referee advises her teammate and a grimacing Avery finds her way to the Quakes’ corner where she tags in her bratty foil.
Braddock slides into the ring and charges toward a rising London. She latches her claws onto Shea’s bosom, sinking the nails into both breasts. Pivoting, she shows plenty of her catty background on the beaches of SoCal, flinging the legend across the ring by her mangled gurls. Shea lands on her spine, grimacing, but gracefully using the momentum to roll to her feet.
She turns to face her young, feral foe and EATS a body-rattling hip check from Kat, the blonde following the toss with an immediate advance. The impact sends London flying into the corner behind her, back THUMPING into buckles.
Pressing in tight to make sure Shea can’t sneak out of trouble, Kat bodies the taller but slighter Brit. The Brat laces her fingers with Shea’s and draws the Sensational One’s arms to her sides. Kat rears back her head and drives a butt into the cleft of London’s breasts, Braddock’s head butt version of a heart punch, crossing the eyes of the FAWN original, no doubt forcing the Manchester native’s blood pumper to skip a beat. Shea’s legs give a shimmy, but Kat keeps her foe upright with a forearm pressed into London’s chin.
With the Brit properly cornered, Kat continues to assault Shea’s modest rack with a series of windmill slaps to her bosom, the Englishwoman chirping in pain under the unconventional mugging, the busty fireplug bringing the LA’s beach battles to suburban Orlando.
With Shea withering under the onslaught, the enthusiasm of youth taking its toll, Kat bullies London halfway down the length of the ring. With a dual grasp of Shea’s near wrist, Braddock sends the Sensational One to the far cables, following her to mid-ring and setting up for the Brit’s return. Out of control, Shea barrels toward the curvy blonde. Kat dips and collects London under the curve of her glute with one arm, the other wrapping around her foe’s midriff. Braddock pivots with her cargo, dropping to her knees, nearly putting Shea THROUGH the canvas with a ring-rattling spinebuster.
Spinebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcLfsqqT0YU ) 00:10
Kat scrambles forward, collecting London’s legs and rolling Shea into a tight ball in front of her for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Despite Chrissy expediting her slaps, the Sensational One forces her bitter rival to stop short with a thrust of her pelvis, knocking Braddock off. Kat turns to her fellow Quake as if to ask ‘really?’. The Killer Imp only shrugs in return.
“I told you she’s like a two-dollar steak.”
A frustrated Brat rises to her feet with a grip around Shea’s left ankle, bringing the lower limb with her. The blonde strategically steps on London’s opposite number, pinning the leg to the deck while controlling the Brit’s efforts to pull her left free from between Kat’s palms.
“You’re going to be quite a legend to kill”, Kat says, smirking down at Shea, who’s raised plaintive palms high, considering the worst since The Brat’s been trained by Chrissy. “Enjoy working in the bingo halls, bytch!”
With her obnoxious wisdom imparted, Kat drops in the opposite direction of Shea’s grounded stem, forcing the Sensational One into an agonizing set of splits, stretching Shea’s groin muscles to the limit if not snapping them.
A wide-eyed, yelping London sits up, grasping at her spread inner thighs, Kat trying to intensify her Wishbone Drop by thrusting the split legs even further apart.
“Whaddya say, Shea” Daniel asks with a chuckle. “Time to waddle into the sunset?”
On the one hand, it was very sound strategy. After all, aside from experience, perhaps the Sensational One’s greatest asset in this match that had been so thoroughly stacked against her was her wheels. But they would be of considerably less use to her if her hamstrings were left in tatters. But it was also just pure sadism, Braddock smirking in satisfaction as London’s cries of anguish filled the air.
With Kat laying low and out of reach, Shea knows she has only one hope of forcing her way out of this torment: reaching the ropes. Of course, just how diligent Chrissy Daniel would be in enforcing a rope break in these circumstances remains an open question. But there’s only one way to find out. Collapsing to her back, the grimacing blonde stretched her arms out overhead, fingers flexing and straining to find the bottom rope…
Perhaps when the Brat made her Wishbone Drop, that wish had been for her partner to go to the floor. In any event, and unnoticed by almost all, the Baby Boss had indeed jumped down from the apron at the time. And while London’s digits frantically seek the rope, Avery’s claim it first, the brunette’s eyes meeting Shea’s and twinkling in their cruelty as she leans back, pulling the rubber coated steel further away from the Sensational One’s grasp. Even before that, it would have been a challenge for Shea to reach them in her current plight.
Now, it is absolutely impossible.
A few fans—perhaps newbies, perhaps just hopelessly idealistic—attempt to alert the referee to this transgression. But the majority of the house simply boos in abject outrage, which grows only louder the longer the Imp turns a blind eye to Avery’s antics.
“Unnnnnnnnnnnhhhhh,” the British blonde groans. She wouldn’t have been human if she could face a situation like this without deflating, even if only momentarily, and Shea’s body melts to the canvas. But that also leaves London’s shoulders flat against the mat, and Chrissy is quick to pounce.
ONETWOTHRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As fast counts go, it was a four three forty yard dash. Even so, it’s not fast enough to thwart the Sensational One, London abruptly sitting up to break the count. Alas, she had to do so SO abruptly that her poor hammies feel like they’re about to pop. Choking back a sob of anguish, Shea slumps back to the canvas, her hands plunging into her flaxen locks and tugging hard.
Her shoulders might have been down again, but before Chrissy can administer another count, Kat releases her foe’s ankles, rolling away and allowing the taller blonde to curl into a fetal shell. As Braddock climbs to her feet, Avery climbs back onto the apron. And the Imp’s protégé heads to the Quakes corner, slapping the Baby Boss’ outstretched hand.
Stomping the reeling legend out of her protective ball, Christian keeps the focus on Shea’s stems. Stuffing London’s left boot into the pit of the Briton’s right knee, she folds the British Bombshell’s right leg around that ankle. Avery then presses her left shin against the Brit’s right, to keep that left leg trapped in its makeshift vice. Gathering up London’s wrists, the voluptuous brunette pulls back on her opponent’s arms, hoisting Shea’s upper body off the mat. The Baby Boss then brings her right foot to the back of the blonde’s noggin, ready to…
“WAIT!” Chrissy commands, prompting Avery’s face to momentarily cloud in confusion. “The state her legs are in now,” the Killer Imp explains, “she might submit just to this. Let me make sure I’m in position to call that…”
And apparently, the appropriate position to check for a submission here leaves Daniel’s boot directly in line with London’s face.
Avery picks up on that right away. “Kiss it, bytch,” the brunette hisses, then stomps down, SMASHING Shea’s face into her archrival’s boot leather and leaving the sweat slick Sensational One a shuddering, spasming wreck.
“C’mon, Grandma,” Christian mutters, dragging her foe to her feet with a handful of hair, “it’s not time for bed yet.” Leading London into the Quakes corner, Avery plants a forearm against Shea’s bosom and raises her other hand, Kat reaching into the ring for the high five tag.
Again, say what you will about their methods or their demeanor, but it’s perfectly sound strategy. Kat and Avery had the freedom to trade places in the match, allowing them each to stay fresh, while Shea had to do everything in her power not to wither under the unrelenting assault, unable to provide herself any such respite.
As the Brat slides into the ring, Avery first slips Shea’s arms over the top rope, then threads the blonde’s gams over the middle cable, effectively leaving the ragged blonde trussed up and seated atop the middle turnbuckle. And while Christian exits the ring, Braddock playfully jogs in a semicircle to just a few feet in front of the living legend, before turning and charging forward, leaping into a dropkick that DRIVES both her soles into London’s defenseless kitty.
“UNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” the Sensational One moans, her upper body slumping forward, her hands forced to grasp at the top rope to keep her from taking a header down to the canvas. Meanwhile, a smirking Kat picks herself up, and saunters back toward the corner. Unable to help herself, Braddock slips her hands behind London’s bowed head, and pulls the British beauty’s face into her ample cleavage! Deprived of air, Shea’s body immediately begins to thrash and writhe, but with her legs still bound in the ropes, releasing her grip on the top rope merely affords the meatier blonde greater control of London’s body. And though Shea’s arms occasionally manage to strike Kat’s frame as they flail, it doesn’t look like the icon has much of hope of extricating her face from its clammy confines.
Salvation comes from an unlikely source.
“Sorry, Kat,” Chrissy sighs, “but I gotta point out she’s in the ropes.”
“So?” the Brat petulantly replies.
“Do the words ‘plausible deniability’ mean anything to you?”
When Braddock’s only response is a blank expression, the Imp mutters, “Kids…”
Nevertheless, the blonde Quake complies with the instruction—but not before raising her hand and allowing Avery to make another high five tag. With the smother broken, Braddock pulls the Sensational One out of her shackles and guides the older blonde toward the middle of the ring, a gasping Shea’s once strong legs shimmying with each step. And as the Baby Boss circles into position off her partners right flank, Kat launches her opponent toward the ropes with an Irish whip. Catching the rebounding Briton under her arms, the brawny Brat shows off some power, muscling the high flying blonde off her feet and into the air. And as Shea begins her descent, Kat pivots and bows, following up her use of ‘T’ with a little ‘A’ when London’s face crashes down onto Braddock’s upturned backside.
POP UP HIP ATTACK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZYVCjpkUak
The impact rocks Shea back onto her heels. And yet, remarkably in the wake of everything she had endured in the past few minutes, the Sensational One stays on her feet. Swaying in the wind, arms flying up above her head, but still upright. But Avery was ready for that, the buxom brunette surging forward in a whirling dervish, delivering a discus forearm that catches London flush in the jaw!
DISCUS FOREARM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1BAVL8sK7Y
The British Bombshell pivots away from the blow, her legs trembling with each uncertain half step. And yet STILL, Shea stays on her feet! Drunkenly staggering, far from the graceful beauty of legend, but on her feet. Snarling in frustration, Christian reaches out and snatches London by the left wrist. With a sharp tug, the Baby Boss spins the icon back around to face her, dipping a shoulder as she reels the Sensational One in. Pulling Shea’s left arm behind her back, Avery’s left arm slips under the Briton’s right thigh as she scoops London off her feet and into her chest. The buxom brunette pushes Shea’s left arm further behind her back, allowing Avery to transition her grasp on that wrist from her right hand to her left. And as she secures the hammerlock, that right hand slips around Shea’s elbow, grabbing Christian’s left wrist as she secures her hammerlock bearhug!
HAMMERLOCK BEARHUG:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=xattgO6fLP4
Again: FLAWLESS strategy, say what you will. Taking away Shea’s air. Sapping her strength, more and more by the second. Really taxing that cardio. Her face twisting up in breathless agony, London’s right arm stretches out over Avery’s shoulder, toward the rafters, fingers coiling and uncoiling, as if she might be imploring the wrestling gods to bestow upon her some renewed strength. “Ready to give up?” Chrissy asks. “While you’ve still got a teeny smidgeon of pride?”
The Sensational One vehemently shakes her head. “I’ll… unnnhhhh…. I’ll wait… ‘til you start singinnnnNNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”
The vice constricts tighter around her waist, Avery adding a few harsh jostles of her cargo for good measure. And soon, Shea’s moans begin to fade, both in intensity and in volume. At the same time, the British blonde’s one free arm begins to flag, slowly drooping toward Christian’s brawny shoulder. And then, after the Baby Boss shuffles Shea up a little higher in her grasp, that limb soon slumps against the brunette’s back, London’s cheek turning to rest atop her foe’s shoulder.
For a moment, the Imp considers waiting, in hopes of seeing a little drool start to dribble down her nemesis’ lips. But instead, she takes Shea’s wrist, lifts her arm, holds it aloft for a second and then releases…
London’s arm slaps down against Avery’s back, leaden.
“THAT’S ONE!” Daniel bellows.
Again, she takes the Sensational One’s wrist and lifts her arm. Again, it drops limp.
“STRRRRRIIIIIIIIKKKKE TWO!!!!!!!!!”
Practically licking her lips, the Imp takes London’s wrist and raises her arm for the final time. Even before letting go, the Ump…. Excuse me, the Imp… starts to make her call.
“SHE”S OUUUUUU….”
Shea’s arm falls only an inch, before stiffening and trembling, but staying aloft. And perhaps because she was so surprised to see that, even Chrissy halts her call. But she shakes off her disbelief quickly, and grabs at her rival’s wrist. Daniel attempts to do what gravity had failed to do, yanking at that arm to bring it down for the last time. But the living legend will have none of it, forcefully tugging her arm free of the Imp’s clutches—and, in the process, smashing an elbow into Avery’s temple.
Though it didn’t break the bearhug, that elbow shot loosened it considerably and a follow up trio of elbow smashes finally do the trick, forcing a groaning Christian to backpedal as London’s boots settle back underneath her. While free, the Sensational One looks far from sensational, stooped forward, hands atop her thighs, chest heaving with each breath. She’s clearly running on fumes.
But London Runs had been summoned from less before.
As adrenaline begins to fill the void in her depleted lungs, London straightens up and pivots, charging into the ropes. And the FAWNatics shoot out of their seats, ready to cheer on the latest miracle from their beloved heroine…
… but as Shea barrels toward the straightening Avery, Chrissy Daniel rushes toward her. And, taking advantage of her greatest adversary’s own head of steam, the Imp DRIVES a knee into the pit of the sprinting Shea’s stomach, the impaled Briton flipping over the bony joint and collapsing into gurgling, boneless heap of flesh on her back.
“I am SO sick of those f*cking ‘Runs’,” the Imp hisses.
Grateful for the intervention, the Baby Boss lumbers toward her corner, tagging the Brat back into the match. But Christian doesn’t leave the ring. Instead, she circles back to the wounded Briton, hauling her to her feet and stuffing the blonde’s head under her left arm. Muscling Shea up as if for a suplex, the voluptuous brunette instead dropped her cargo forward, London’s legs landing atop Kat’s left shoulder. Braddock gives the living legend’s rump a mocking swat, which seems to serve as a starter pistol for Avery to rush forward and lay out, administering a wicked neckbreaker—one that SLAMS Shea’s spine down across Kat’s thigh, when the curvy blonde drops to one knee.
RICHTER SCARE:
youtu.be/cCYvBO5PnOE?t=45
London bounces away from the spine shattering impact, falling to a seat on the canvas, back arches as she wails in utter agony. The veteran blonde manages to climb up to her knees for a moment, but then slumps forward, dropping to belly, sprawled and motionless…
… but only momentarily.
Instinct compels the exhausted, sweat soaked blonde. Instinct tells her precisely what she needs to do, after such prolonged double team abuse. Instinct gives the Sensational One the strength she needs…
… to start dragging her battered, broken body toward her corner.
Just one problem: Honey Harris wasn’t in that corner.
Cassie Hopkins wasn’t in that corner.
Juliet Bloodwind wasn’t in that corner.
Not even Kylie Sanders was in that corner.
The only three other women involved in this match are all in the ring already, hovering over her. Circling her like vultures.
The vile threesome watch with curiosity, eyes turning to each other as their grins grow.
“Where are you going, Sheasy?” Daniel asks. “Always looking to delay the inevitable.”
Chrissy motions her busty hyenas to fall upon London, each grabbing her by a wrist and shoulder and ripping London to her feet. They turn the Sensational One to face Chrissy, Braddock forcing a raised fishface from Shea, compelling London to look into the eyes of her long-time tormentor, all pretense of anything approaching a ‘fair’ handicap match thrown to the side.
The young Quakes hold London’s arms tight to her sides as the Imp closes, going nose to nose with her fellow original member.
“I win, Sheasy,” Daniel growls. “You’re getting tossed out of FAWN by me. And these girls are getting me to a fourth World title before all is said and done. You’ll be nothing but an afterTHAWWW.”
Chrissy grunts in utter agony, eyes bulging, as London knees her in the kitty. Daniel back-waddles a few feet, hands dropping between her thighs.
“Finish her,” the Imp chokes out between gasps.
Blonde and brunette bully the trapped Brit into a far speedier backpedal, tossing her the last several feet into the buckles, the Englishwoman’s backbone blasting into the corner.
Avery and Kat race to the opposite angle and Christian is the first to sprint to the Manchester native. The FAWNatics hold out insistent hope for the face of FAWN, but that face is buried under an avalanche of Avery, Christian CRUSHING Shea beneath her.
The instant the Baby Boss bounces out of the way, Kat arrives with a second heaping helping, removing any remaining starch from London.
Shea leans lifelessly into the corner, chin drooping, arms slack at her side.
Chrissy, remaining bent and in pulsating pain from Shea’s last act of defiance, waves toward London. “Send that bytch out of FAWN for good.”
Kat drags what’s left of Shea toward the middle, tugging her into a front facelock, throwing a limp arm of the legend over her shoulders. Grabbing some spandex on London’s hip, she elevates London’s legs, pulling her into a tight cradled ball in her lap.
Braddock lays out SPIKING Shea’s skull into the deck with her brutal Kat Nap, a flaccid London flops over to her chest, out cold. The blonde fireplug moves to cover but Avery grabs a shoulder, turning The Brat to face her.
“Don’t be greedy,” Christian says.
Kat bites her bottom lip and helps her Cali counterpart lift London’s carcass to a face-to-face stance in front of the Baby Boss. Suddenly, as if from some horror movie, Shea revivifies and swings a weak clothesline toward Christian’s clavicle. Avery ducks. With the spinning Shea now facing away, Christian fulfills her mother’s wishes, securing a pumphandle under London’s crotch, then vaulting and spinning Shea heels over head.
The Baby Boss sits out and sends Shea into the FAWN afterlife with a brain-busting, potentially neck-snapping Twisted Sister Christian, the crotchplex powerbomb removing all doubt London will be wheeled into her next chapter.
Twisted Sister Christian ( t.co/EhgDWF15bm )
Instead of keeping Shea stacked lifelessly on her shoulders for the three-count, Christian releases, letting London flop to a starfished shell. She pushes to her feet, satisfied with her part in ‘killing’ a legend.
A semi-recovered Chrissy provides a couple cathartic stomps.
“You’re not getting a DQ out of me, bytch,” Daniel barks. “Money shot, ladies.”
The beaming, glistening Quakes take to either side of Shea’s body and stomp then grind a boot into London’s bosom, lifting their arms high in triumph, interlocking the fingers of their inner hands.
Chrissy gingerly drops to the canvas and slaps the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE…
Then adds…FOUR…
And…FIVE for good measure, the crowd threatening to break eardrums with their cacophony.
As Chrissy signals for the bell and the ring announcer makes Shea’s last FAWN match, an official debacle, Daniel snags a microphone from a FAWN flunky.
“I’m the only legend in this ring!” she shouts at the raging multitude. “And the rest of you has-beens, take a look at this.”
The Killer Imp points to Shea, her Quakes’ boot soles still in place.
“We might just send you to the nursing home via an ICU!”
She turns to the comatose London.
“Buh-bye, Sheasy.”
Statement made, the Quakes begin to exit the ring, Kat taking a seat on the middle cable to open the ropes for her mentor. But Chrissy hasn’t followed. She remains standing over the splattered remnants of her longtime nemesis, glaring down at her, savoring the moment. And then, she offers one more word:
“No.”
“Huh?” Avery asks, blinking back confusion.
“I’ve seen way too many horror movies,” the Imp responds simply. “We leave this bytch for dead, and trust me, she’ll FIND a way to come back. Some day. Some way.”
Daniel finally turns away from the wreckage of London, looking toward Kat.
“She ends tonight.”
The Brat gives a small nod in Daniel’s direction, then slips through the ropes and hops down to the floor. Meanwhile, Avery moves back toward the Sensational One, pulling Shea up to a seated position. The Baby Boss then steps aside, allowing Chrissy to step over the British blonde’s shoulders, settling into a standing straddle of her rival with the back of London’s noggin resting against her crotch.
Braddock slides back into the ring, but she doesn’t come empty handed. The buxom blonde slides a folded steel chair into position behind Shea and Chrissy. The Imp then raises her arms, sliding her hands together behind her head, further stoking the passions of the FAWNatics—both their outrage and their lust—with a few sensuous swivels of her hips. Daniel turns around, Shea’s captive head between Chrissy’s thighs forcing the Brit to roll through as well to her knees, after which Chrissy falls forward, palms meeting the mat and supporting the Beach Cat’s upper body.
Though the form is not particularly impressive—a consequence of having someone’s skull trapped between her legs, no doubt—Chrissy nevertheless performs a quick set of push-ups. And each push up SLAMS Shea’s mug into the seat pan of the folded chair, the sound of face smacking off steel filling the air. When she finally relents, the Imp lifts up juuust enough to allow Shea to slump backward, FAWN’s first World Champion sagging back onto her haunches, swaying too and fro as Daniel drops to her knees.
Turning back to face the woman she hated more than anything and anyone in the world, Chrissy brings a hand to her lips, blowing a mocking kiss in Shea’s direction. And perhaps it’s a coincidence, or perhaps it’s a testament to just what sort of beating the Quakes had administered, but London promptly falls back, calves still pinned under her thighs as her back hits the canvas, the Brit’s arms spilling lifeless above her head.
Kat and Avery each grab one of those outstretched arms, but as they begin to pull the ragged legend up, a black and gold blur of motion catches their attention…
HONEY HARRIS:
Grateful for the lack of a music cue spoiling the element surprise—something which Bethany was sure to have a word with the audio department about tomorrow morning—the Sweet Sensation springs to her feet. As a cavalry of one, she knew the deal. Trying to save her idol, who had been left in no position to offer any assistance to her own cause anytime soon, Honey had entered the exact same situation she had implored Shea not to earlier this evening. But she had no choice; she couldn’t just sit back and watch these naught Dotties try to not just end the Sensational One’s FAWN career, but her wrestling career as a whole.
And she had no time to waste.
Thankfully, Kat and Avery both have to relinquish their grips on Shea, and that allows Harris to quickly rock first the brunette and then her fellow blonde with forearm smashes to the sternum. The Killer Imp eats a boot to the belly that doubles her over and forces her back, before Honey turns back to the Quakes. Grabbing a left handful of blonde locks and a right handful of brunette tresses, the British blonde arranges a meeting of the minds between partners, Kat and Avery’s foreheads ‘THWACK!’ loudly off one another, the young fireplugs spinning away from each other, both with slightly crossed eyes.
That gives Honey some time to focus one on one on Chrissy, and she knows she needs to hit something big and fast. So she charges into the ropes, allowing the cables to shoot her back fast at the straightening Imp. Leaping toward the Beach Cat, Harris twists her body to face down at the canvas as her legs slips around Daniel’s waist. Chrissy’s arms instinctively wrap around Honey’s midriff as the Sweet Sensations hands drop to the mat. The young British blonde pushes herself back up, intending to swing around, gather Chrissy’s noggin and spike the three-time World champion’s skull into the mat with a wheelbarrow tornado DDT…
… but Chrissy had always been one of the most deceptively powerful women on the FAWN roster, and Honey soon learns this in the most painful way imaginable. As the Imp’s left arm stays tight against Harris’ belly, Daniel’s right arm slips underneath the British blonde’s right arm, trapping the wing in a half nelson and preventing the comparative rookie from turning her body toward Chrissy’s. And before the Sweet Sensation can realize just what a catastrophic mistake she has made, Daniel sits out, slinging Harris downward and DRIVING the young beauty’s head and shoulders into the canvas with a ring rattling Implosion!
IMPLOSION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXucT0ZeMBY
In a match, the Killer Imp would have kept Honey’s legs trapped under arms and simply collect an academic three count. But since she’s wearing the zebra stripes tonight, Chrissy simply lifts her arms and rocks back, allowing the shellshocked Sweet Sensation to puddle into a boneless heap while Daniel rolls to one knee. “Soooo, you’re the knockoff?” Chrissy sneers, pushing to her feet. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to keep your nose out of this.”
The Beach Cat hauls Honey up onto rubbery legs, then shoves her in Kat’s direction.
“Even knowing what it would cost you.”
The Brat catches the stumbling Briton, stuffing Harris’ head under her left arm and nudging the sleeker blonde’s left arm under Braddock’s neck. Grabbing a handful of the youngster’s waistband, Kat pops her hips, muscling her cargo off her feet, before dropping into a crouch and bringing Honey’s shins down to rest against the thighs of Chrissy’s protégé. Wrapping her free arm around Harris’ left thigh, Kat throws it into reverse, falling back and DRILLING the crown of the Briton’s skull into the mat with a vicious Kat Nap.
KAT NAP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nNeUWdGDSo
Avery is not to be refused her pound of flesh, and she snatches a handful of Honey’s flaxen mane as the Brat rolls away. Christian tugs the devastated blonde up as far as her knees, but after being on the receiving end of two such destructive finishers in short order, Harris’ stems give way as the brunette tries to bring her to her feet. But the Baby Boss doesn’t seem all that disappointed. “So be it,” she mutters, a smirk beginning to crease her lips as she pulls the kneeling blonde’s face deeeeeep into her incredible cleavage.
Honey’s arm begins to thrash in an oxygen starved panic, occasionally smacking off Avery’s flanks, but doing little to stop the Baby Boss from leaning forward and forcing Harris ever deeper onto her haunches. Across the ring, Chrissy saunters toward the still insensate Sensational One. She reaches into one pocket, extricating something from the tight denim before dropping to one knee in a kneeling straddle of her arch rival’s torso.
“Bethany sent me out prepared,” the Imp says, holding up a small, pink slip of paper in her left hand. Her right hand then reaches down, fingers squeezing London’s cheeks, fishfacing the snoozing blonde. A grinning Daniel then stuffs the paper past the British blonde’s parted lips, giving Shea’s left cheek a final pat before she pushes to her feet.
Approaching the Baby Boss, Chrissy pulls a second pink slip from her pocket, Avery releasing a greasy faced and glassy eyed Honey to take it from the Imp. Noticing a slight dribble of saliva from the left corner of the Sweet Sensation’s mouth, Christian uses the slip to dab away that drool, then stuffs the paper into Honey’s mouth, pushing the all but unconscious blonde over to her back.
Standing between her charges, the Imp raises Kat’s and Avery’s arms in triumph one more time.
“Good riddance to Limey rubbish.”