Post by walkindude on Mar 29, 2022 21:09:01 GMT
Posted to FAWN.com earlier today...
From black we fade up on a phone-shot landscape of green over gray, the latter made of a leaden, lowering sky overhead and a great swath of old cracked pavement below. The former was mostly wild, scrubby grass and weeds either poking up through or slowly sweeping over the aforementioned pavement, though the scene is framed on both sides but several pines and a few turkey oaks. In the center of it all is a long, rectangular building with a pointed roof and wooden sides that might've been white once but were now just another shade of gray. All things considered it looked like an over-sized barn or perhaps a roller rink, but the giant red letters plastered along the side we're looking at proclaim it to be the 'Frostproof Sport-a-torium'. Beneath this a smaller message lets all interested parties know there's 'Wrestling Every Sunday.'
“Sad isn't it?” a voice asked from off screen just as the view swung around to reveal Lyssa Zahn as our camerawoman.
LYSSA ZAHN:
“You'd never know it now, but this place was glorious back in its day. The Frostproof Sport-a-torium was THEE destination for professional wrestling in Central Florida all through the eighties and most of the nineties. And not just for dudes, several all women's promotions ran regular cards here. Bethany Christian won one of her first singles titles in this very building, Belle Butler Armstrong and Natalie Mitchell battled each other in what's purported to be the first ever women's Dog Collar match and near the tail end a then unknown technical genius by the name of Sydney Deschain submitted Rachelle Leigh to win the Sunshine State Wrestling's Ladies Title.”
Zahn paused as she mulled over other tidbits left unsaid. “But as you can see there hasn't been wrestling here at the Sport-a-torium for more than twenty years at this point. Hell, there hasn't been much of anything save for the occasional in-door flea market or demolition derby if I'm being honest. I'd love to tell you that Edward Wayne Thomas has stepped up and bought this place with eyes toward returning it to its former glory, but that's not the case. Come the middle of April this place has a date with the wrecking ball and once the land's been scraped clear they'll build condos or townhouses or god knows what. In another few years it'll be like this place never existed. People will forget all about the Sport-a-torium.... unless I give them something to remember. Something they'll never forget. Like I said, ol' Eddie got here too late to actually save this place from destruction, but that weirdo's got deep pockets and when he heard my idea, well.... I'd rather show than tell.”
The Social Media Superstar swiveled around and raised her phone to better take in the sign out near the parking lot's main entrance. Beneath the legend which now read 'Fostpoof Sprt-atorum' were a set of much newer, bolder letters advertising:
THIS SUNDAY ONLY, FAWN PRESENTS ZAHN VS. WINTERREST
'NO AUDIENCE
NO RULES
NO MERCY
“Of course this is all bullshit if a certain Icy Manipulator refuses my challenge, but something tells me that's not going to happen.” Lyssa turned the phone on herself, then went on. “Isn't that right, Elsie? You'd never turn down an opportunity to make me suffer, especially not one that's off book, with no pesky rules to prevent you from indulging every sadistic thought that enters your sick fucking head. No, you won't turn me down. You should though. Because believe me when I tell you babe, I am going to WRECK you once we're locked inside that building. Those floors have tasted blood before, but it's been a loooong time and something tells me they're dying for one last feast. So I'll send this place out with the spectacle it deserves. Your tears will soak the mat. Your blood will paint the floors. Your screams will echo in the rafters. And even if my win is never officially acknowledged, the world will remember the last wrestling match at the Frostproof Sport-a-torium. They'll remember how you barely lived to regret fucking with me. But most of all, Elise Winterrest, they'll remember the night I made you my bitch.”
Zahn blew the camera a kiss, pressed a button and the whole world went black.
Posted to FAWN.com within six hours of Lyssa Zahn's challenge...
Another round of phone footage, but this is no forgotten corner of central Florida. Rather it's a gym, one of many resources provided to FAWN's new recruits out at the Harrenhal Training Facility that'd been dubbed 'the Madhouse' from the moment it opened its doors. Whoever's shooting is doing so from a seat on the top turnbuckle of one of the practice rings, but while there's some flurry of activity in the center of this squared circle, they're taking some time to focus on a trio of ladies populating the other corners of the ring. Dead ahead was a tall, caramel-skinned brunette with striking azure streaks highlighting her long ponytail. She wore a simple green fightin' one-piece with matching shoes and pads at her elbows and knees. A striking look to be sure, but she paid no attention to the camera. Her eyes were locked on what was going on in the middle even as rubbed and kneaded at her obviously tender left shoulder.
After several more seconds the view panned to the right, then stopped on a redhead of no more than 5'2 wearing zappy yellow trunks and a matte black sports bra with short boots to match. Her right knee was braced against the middle rope so she could tend to it without having to bend over. Though quiet compared to the clamor around her, the tense set of her jaw and the heavy rise and fall of her shoulders suggested the ingenue was in a great deal of pain.
One more shift moved focus to the third corner where a curvaceous blonde in absurdly expensive silver-hued athleisure was curled up on her haunches with both arms strapped across her midsection while she tried to hold back tears, nausea or perhaps both. Off screen there was some thrashing followed by a shrill 'NOOOOO!' and a cold, familiar voice. “That's enough stage dressing, Maribeth. Focus on me, please.”
ELISE WINTERREST:
The action in the center finally swam into focus just as Elise Winterrest cranked back on the Double Armbar she'd so recently secured on a long, lean brunette wearing a one-piece in robin's egg blue. She had the look of a lifelong athlete, perhaps swimming or volleyball, but none of that was doing her any good as tried to strain away from the creeping terror of Miss Murder's right hand. The brunette, understanding that Frostbite was inevitable, suddenly shook her head 'no' and yelped, “I give! I give, Elise!”
Winterrest tapped her foe's chin and asked, “You what? Think carefully.” “I submit!” she corrected. “I submMMMMRRRGGHHHHHHH!”
FROSTBITE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=yW3T_iFmorE
Elise jabbed the Mandible Claw into her mouth and clamped down tight! She followed with a few violent shakes, but her attention was focused on the phone rather than her victim. “Do you remember how this felt, Melissa?”she asked, her tone brisk and lively with no sign of exertion whatsoever. “Flailing and slobbering on the floor of my personal theater when you failed to steal the Queen's Chambers from me? How you fought and gnashed, defiantly vowing that you'd NEVER submit to the likes of me, only to sob your surrender only moments later? How you wailed and sobbed, unable to escape your fate until I deigned to let you go?”
Elise frowned as she bore down on the claw, her increased pressure causing the trapped brunette's thrashing to increase for several seconds before she finally slumped into gurgling unconsciousness. Breaking the hold shortly thereafter, Elise wiped her spit-shined fingers clean on the seat of her prey's trunks, then got to her feet and sneered, “Apparently the answer is no because if you had any real memory of the slaughter that was All Hallows Evil you would have never issued such an insane challenge. Did you think for one second that I'd balk at the opportunity to destroy your overrated ass yet again simply because you'd traded one house of horrors for a different one? Hardly.”
Elise smirked, walked toward the unseen camerawoman and plucked the phone from her hands.
“I accept your challenge, Melissa.” she murmured. “And I do so with the greatest of pleasure. You speak of blood and tears as if they're as if you can turn them on and off as easily as the moronic filters you love so much. But I know the truth of it. I know that blood and tears and screams must be EARNED and you, my poor, deluded keyboard commando, do not possess the fortitude required to claim such a prize. But I do. My will is greater than yours. My lust for violence is greater than yours. And my desire to feel your blood on my hands?” Winterrest took a deep breath and rubbed her biceps as if she'd just experienced the most delicious chill. “You have no idea what you've signed on for, sweet girl. I cannot WAIT to show you.”
Elise Winterrest threw her head back and cackled, the sound causing the phone's speakers to top out in the last seconds before she ended the message and darkness rushed in.
From black we fade up on a phone-shot landscape of green over gray, the latter made of a leaden, lowering sky overhead and a great swath of old cracked pavement below. The former was mostly wild, scrubby grass and weeds either poking up through or slowly sweeping over the aforementioned pavement, though the scene is framed on both sides but several pines and a few turkey oaks. In the center of it all is a long, rectangular building with a pointed roof and wooden sides that might've been white once but were now just another shade of gray. All things considered it looked like an over-sized barn or perhaps a roller rink, but the giant red letters plastered along the side we're looking at proclaim it to be the 'Frostproof Sport-a-torium'. Beneath this a smaller message lets all interested parties know there's 'Wrestling Every Sunday.'
“Sad isn't it?” a voice asked from off screen just as the view swung around to reveal Lyssa Zahn as our camerawoman.
LYSSA ZAHN:
“You'd never know it now, but this place was glorious back in its day. The Frostproof Sport-a-torium was THEE destination for professional wrestling in Central Florida all through the eighties and most of the nineties. And not just for dudes, several all women's promotions ran regular cards here. Bethany Christian won one of her first singles titles in this very building, Belle Butler Armstrong and Natalie Mitchell battled each other in what's purported to be the first ever women's Dog Collar match and near the tail end a then unknown technical genius by the name of Sydney Deschain submitted Rachelle Leigh to win the Sunshine State Wrestling's Ladies Title.”
Zahn paused as she mulled over other tidbits left unsaid. “But as you can see there hasn't been wrestling here at the Sport-a-torium for more than twenty years at this point. Hell, there hasn't been much of anything save for the occasional in-door flea market or demolition derby if I'm being honest. I'd love to tell you that Edward Wayne Thomas has stepped up and bought this place with eyes toward returning it to its former glory, but that's not the case. Come the middle of April this place has a date with the wrecking ball and once the land's been scraped clear they'll build condos or townhouses or god knows what. In another few years it'll be like this place never existed. People will forget all about the Sport-a-torium.... unless I give them something to remember. Something they'll never forget. Like I said, ol' Eddie got here too late to actually save this place from destruction, but that weirdo's got deep pockets and when he heard my idea, well.... I'd rather show than tell.”
The Social Media Superstar swiveled around and raised her phone to better take in the sign out near the parking lot's main entrance. Beneath the legend which now read 'Fostpoof Sprt-atorum' were a set of much newer, bolder letters advertising:
THIS SUNDAY ONLY, FAWN PRESENTS ZAHN VS. WINTERREST
'NO AUDIENCE
NO RULES
NO MERCY
“Of course this is all bullshit if a certain Icy Manipulator refuses my challenge, but something tells me that's not going to happen.” Lyssa turned the phone on herself, then went on. “Isn't that right, Elsie? You'd never turn down an opportunity to make me suffer, especially not one that's off book, with no pesky rules to prevent you from indulging every sadistic thought that enters your sick fucking head. No, you won't turn me down. You should though. Because believe me when I tell you babe, I am going to WRECK you once we're locked inside that building. Those floors have tasted blood before, but it's been a loooong time and something tells me they're dying for one last feast. So I'll send this place out with the spectacle it deserves. Your tears will soak the mat. Your blood will paint the floors. Your screams will echo in the rafters. And even if my win is never officially acknowledged, the world will remember the last wrestling match at the Frostproof Sport-a-torium. They'll remember how you barely lived to regret fucking with me. But most of all, Elise Winterrest, they'll remember the night I made you my bitch.”
Zahn blew the camera a kiss, pressed a button and the whole world went black.
Posted to FAWN.com within six hours of Lyssa Zahn's challenge...
Another round of phone footage, but this is no forgotten corner of central Florida. Rather it's a gym, one of many resources provided to FAWN's new recruits out at the Harrenhal Training Facility that'd been dubbed 'the Madhouse' from the moment it opened its doors. Whoever's shooting is doing so from a seat on the top turnbuckle of one of the practice rings, but while there's some flurry of activity in the center of this squared circle, they're taking some time to focus on a trio of ladies populating the other corners of the ring. Dead ahead was a tall, caramel-skinned brunette with striking azure streaks highlighting her long ponytail. She wore a simple green fightin' one-piece with matching shoes and pads at her elbows and knees. A striking look to be sure, but she paid no attention to the camera. Her eyes were locked on what was going on in the middle even as rubbed and kneaded at her obviously tender left shoulder.
After several more seconds the view panned to the right, then stopped on a redhead of no more than 5'2 wearing zappy yellow trunks and a matte black sports bra with short boots to match. Her right knee was braced against the middle rope so she could tend to it without having to bend over. Though quiet compared to the clamor around her, the tense set of her jaw and the heavy rise and fall of her shoulders suggested the ingenue was in a great deal of pain.
One more shift moved focus to the third corner where a curvaceous blonde in absurdly expensive silver-hued athleisure was curled up on her haunches with both arms strapped across her midsection while she tried to hold back tears, nausea or perhaps both. Off screen there was some thrashing followed by a shrill 'NOOOOO!' and a cold, familiar voice. “That's enough stage dressing, Maribeth. Focus on me, please.”
ELISE WINTERREST:
The action in the center finally swam into focus just as Elise Winterrest cranked back on the Double Armbar she'd so recently secured on a long, lean brunette wearing a one-piece in robin's egg blue. She had the look of a lifelong athlete, perhaps swimming or volleyball, but none of that was doing her any good as tried to strain away from the creeping terror of Miss Murder's right hand. The brunette, understanding that Frostbite was inevitable, suddenly shook her head 'no' and yelped, “I give! I give, Elise!”
Winterrest tapped her foe's chin and asked, “You what? Think carefully.” “I submit!” she corrected. “I submMMMMRRRGGHHHHHHH!”
FROSTBITE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=yW3T_iFmorE
Elise jabbed the Mandible Claw into her mouth and clamped down tight! She followed with a few violent shakes, but her attention was focused on the phone rather than her victim. “Do you remember how this felt, Melissa?”she asked, her tone brisk and lively with no sign of exertion whatsoever. “Flailing and slobbering on the floor of my personal theater when you failed to steal the Queen's Chambers from me? How you fought and gnashed, defiantly vowing that you'd NEVER submit to the likes of me, only to sob your surrender only moments later? How you wailed and sobbed, unable to escape your fate until I deigned to let you go?”
Elise frowned as she bore down on the claw, her increased pressure causing the trapped brunette's thrashing to increase for several seconds before she finally slumped into gurgling unconsciousness. Breaking the hold shortly thereafter, Elise wiped her spit-shined fingers clean on the seat of her prey's trunks, then got to her feet and sneered, “Apparently the answer is no because if you had any real memory of the slaughter that was All Hallows Evil you would have never issued such an insane challenge. Did you think for one second that I'd balk at the opportunity to destroy your overrated ass yet again simply because you'd traded one house of horrors for a different one? Hardly.”
Elise smirked, walked toward the unseen camerawoman and plucked the phone from her hands.
“I accept your challenge, Melissa.” she murmured. “And I do so with the greatest of pleasure. You speak of blood and tears as if they're as if you can turn them on and off as easily as the moronic filters you love so much. But I know the truth of it. I know that blood and tears and screams must be EARNED and you, my poor, deluded keyboard commando, do not possess the fortitude required to claim such a prize. But I do. My will is greater than yours. My lust for violence is greater than yours. And my desire to feel your blood on my hands?” Winterrest took a deep breath and rubbed her biceps as if she'd just experienced the most delicious chill. “You have no idea what you've signed on for, sweet girl. I cannot WAIT to show you.”
Elise Winterrest threw her head back and cackled, the sound causing the phone's speakers to top out in the last seconds before she ended the message and darkness rushed in.