Post by hawkeye on Mar 10, 2023 1:08:55 GMT
As the power pop of Tones and I’s Dance Monkey erupts from FAWN Arena’s sound system, the crowd launches to its feet, realizing the adorable and increasingly successful Yellow Rose is ready to bloom on tonight’s card.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0hyYWKXF0Q )
From stage right, the flaxen-haired fighter, growing more popular and more relevant as recent months pass, cheerily moves to center stage. What she lacks in experience at FAWN’s top flight, the fresh-faced grappler has with the energy of youth and a sweet disposition to which the audience is drawn. Being a member of the recently minted Dream Team with the reformed legend Lisa doesn’t hurt her burgeoning popularity.
HEATHER CROFTON
Heather’s excitement is obvious, the babyface blonde bobbing in time with the catchy ditty.
She spins through a pirouette and waves excitedly at the delighted devotees, a vision in yellow.
The two-piece gear includes spandex boy-cut trunks and a cross-shoulder top, the side of the shorts includes a window of criss-crossed strips. The outfit is completed with white pads and boots.
( i.imgur.com/4SRiQzy.jpg ) (without the snorkel gear and in yellow)
The rookie offers a brawny double-bicep pose but with a smirking hint of understanding her guns are small caliber. She prances down the aisle, bouncing from side to side, slapping hands, joyous with another opportunity to show the fans what she can do.
In the last several strides, the Texan takes off in a sprint, sliding in under the bottom rope on her palms and knee pads. She pushes to her feet and waggles through several exuberant, hip-swiveling spins as her music slowly fades.
The Lone Star Girl backpedals to her corner as the ring announcer takes the opportunity to provide her introduction.
“Tonight’s next match is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. Fighting out of Grapevine, Texas. Standing 5’4” and weighing in at 123 pounds…Miss Mustang…Heather Crofton!”
The bubbly blonde leaps into the air, dropping into a set of splits and spins an invisible lasso above her head. After, she pumps the raised first at the crowd, drawing an ovation that grows when she shifts to a tiny ball, kips to her feet, and climbs to the middle ropes of her corner, shouting “Whaddya say, y’all?!”
The throng responds with a feisty endorsement until all eyes turn to the stage above, expectations rising to see the foe who would attempt to bring the Lone Star from the sky.
It becomes immediately clear the Texan is on to bigger things at Heartbroken, as the captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s "Exotic” breaks through the speakers, heralding the imminent arrival of the oft title-wearing Subcontinental Siren.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
Her queenly conveyance and musclebound accompaniment relegated to the dustbin of history, as her lost year of 2022 needed to be, the loud boos from all corners continue to be generated at incredible decibels.
The woman creating so much animosity storms through the curtains mere seconds later.
AMARA SINGH
The Bollywood Bombshell claims the stage on her own two feet as her iconic palanquin had been so cruelly destroyed by her one-time, co-tag champion and revenge-seeking Alexis Suguitan. And revenge the Penthouse Panther found, putting Amara out of commission for a year before Singh came back to come up short against the celebrated Sue Burlingame.
But neither Sue or Sugutian seem near Singh's mind tonight. The former World Champion's attention focuses solely on the squared circle and the opportunity to pummel a dirt-farming peasant from Texas to regain her lost momentum.
Heading in that direction, once she allows the unworthy throng a few precious seconds to bask in her radiance, the Bollywood Bombshell makes no effort to respond to any of the jeers hurled in her direction, though she does occasionally raise a threatening hand to any cretin daring extend grubby fingers too close.
For the evening's dismantling of Lisa’s lackey a few insist on calling her competition, Singh wears a black bikini top and matching lycra shorts connected by semi-sheer cloth linking at her clavicle with a belt high on her midriff. This darker ensemble is finished with matching boots and pads.
Reaching the foot of the ramp, Amara strides up the steps to the apron but refuses to enter the ring until Senior Official Nick Castle sits on the middle rope to create a properly respectful passage.
Singh slips through without so much as a word, her attention on the center where she takes up residence, staring straight into the hard camera. Lips twisting in a cruel smile, the former World Champion stretches her arms wide, then brings both hands together pantomiming wrenching some poor unfortunate's neck with her Camel Clutch.
The message is so clear even the peasants of Orlando couldn't fail to understand. But if they did, she turns to Heather and offers a sly grin.
“You will bow to your Empress, little girl.”
Amara moves to the far corner and settles against the buckles, waiting for a chance to reshape the arc of her career at the expense of another blonde waif completely out of her depth in the presence of the exotic Empress.
Singh pushes out of her corner as the bell brings the match to order.
As Heather judiciously circles out of her corner, Singh isn’t interested in delaying the inevitable, striding directly to her smaller, fresh-faced foe, tying up in a collar-and-elbow and jockeying for position. It’s little challenge for the Bollywood Bombshell in gaining the upper hand with her size and strength advantage. The exotic beauty tugs Crofton into a side headlock and grinds the Lone Star Girl’s noggin between bicep and ribcage.
“What does that psycho Dream see in you?” Amara asks pointedly. “I eat little urchin peasants like you for breakfast.”
The Empress shifts her grip and snapmares the startled blonde to the deck, Crofton landing on her little booty, a small grimace becoming a pronounced one when Singh follows with a soccer kick to the base of the fan favorite’s spinal column. Heather arches in anguish from the impact as Amara surges past her to the ropes and rebounds.
A follow-up boot to the chin awaits Miss Mustang until she drops flat to the canvas, Amara’s instep sailing an inch or two above the blonde’s nose. As Singh slides to a stop, Heather kips to her feet. Both women spin in a 180 to face each other, but Amara brings something more with her, NAILING Heather in the chops with a forearm smash that sends Crofton’s head away in a whiplash.
Legs shuddering from the force of Amara’s introduction, Heather can offer little in the way of resistance as Singh dips and scoops an arm between the rubbery stems of the Dream Teamer. Amara effortlessly lifts the Yellow Rose off her feet and onto a shoulder where the Bombshell shows her off with a pirouette before body SLAMMING the babyfaced blonde to the deck. Again, a pained Crofton’s back is rounded in agony from the rough landing atop her vertebrae.
A stomp to Heather’s chest flattens her against the canvas and the Empress drops a pointed elbow to the cleft of Crofton’s modest bosom, sending a tremor jolting down the frame of the smaller grappler. Moving to a kneeling, forward-facing straddle across her foe’s chest, Amara leans forward, planting her palms atop Crofton’s shoulders for the…
ONE…
The Lone Star Girl shoves a shoulder off the deck and rolls to her side, beneath the straddling Singh, who takes it out on the youngster with a couple forearm shivers, rocking Lisa’s Dream Girl.
“Fine,” Amara growls, “you want more, I’ve got more.”
The Empress sinks both sets of nails into Heather’s scalp and tugs her to vertical as she dismounts and rises. Crofton brings her arms up within those of the former World Champion and splits them to the sides, breaking free of Singh’s grip.
And Heather returns fire with a set of forearms to Amara’s chest, backing up the Indian wrestler with each meaty thump. The Yellow Rose raises her sights, sending the last of the set to Singh’s chin, the impact spinning Amara in a u-turn of a stagger.
Crofton’s quick to push her momentum, leaping in from Amara’s six, the Texan mounting Singh like a bronco. Using scissoring legs around Amara’s waist as her saddle, Heather snakes her arms under and around those of the Empress in a full nelson. Crofton shakes the braincase of Singh from side to side, long raven tresses sent flying.
Perhaps sensing the vulnerability of her ride, Heather shifts her grip from the nelson to a sleeper grip, snugly securing her arms against a temple and the carotid of her adversary. The dark eyes of Singh show a flash of panic, the blood flow slowed to mission control. Amara desperately reaches over her head, trying to find a handhold to flip her rider off, but Crofton skillfully avoids Singh’s efforts to escape.
With prying the babyfaced blonde off her back not an option, and with a slight shimmy entering her gait, Amara aligns her back with the nearest buckles and backpedals into the corner, sandwiching Heather between. Crofton grunts as she’s compressed betwixt Singh and the thin padding, her grip loosening. When the Bombshell steps out and thrusts in a second and third time, the Empress is finally freed from her peasant.
Amara turns and lifts a big knee DEEP into Heather’s navel, the smaller Crofton lifted off her feet, body folded between the top and middle buckles. Singh cups a palm under Miss Mustang’s drooping chin so she can look into the slitted baby blues of her foe.
“Learn your place,” Amara demands.
Singh blisters Heather’s chest with a blazing chop that echoes through the arena, reflexively drawing a ‘WOOOO’ from even the Texan’s peeps in the sellout crowd. The Empress grabs a wrist and tugs the blonde free of her creased position in the corner, then heaves the Lone Star Girl across the confines with an Irish Whip. Three-quarters of the way across, Crofton turns and literally flies into the far buckles, THUMPING against them, her body rocked.
The pained Girl from Grapevine stumbles out of the corner as Amara races toward her and Heather EATS one of the biggest Big Boots in the game, Singh’s Sole Perfection, the signature boosted by the Empress no longer being in bare feet. Crofton’s head seems nearly removed from her body by the impact, her abbreviated legs flying out in front of her while her cranium crashes to earth with her shoulders, the Lone Star Girl laid out, stretcher-bait in front of a steaming Singh.
“I told you, peasant bytch. My empire will be reborn.”
Amara places a boot sole on the gulping tummy of the Yellow Rose for the domineering pin and the win at…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The arrogance of the pin saves Crofton, Heather spasming to life and eking a shoulder off the mat with a half-second to spare.
Furious, Amara stomps a mudhole out of poor Miss Mustang, Heather trying to cover up and survive the onslaught of a fevered Singh. Fury not yet spent but her stomping leg having been, the Empress reaches down and brackets Heather’s head with her hands, yanking a bruised and battered Crofton to her feet.
Singh shoves the reeling Yellow Rose to the corner behind her, Heather in such a condition and hitting with enough force to have her lithe legs ‘turned off’ by the collision. The Lone Star Girl plops to her taut, tiny backside, legs extended in front of her, head lolling.
“Have a taste of my curry, peasant.”
Amara backs her ass up into Crofton’s sleepy features, Heather’s eyes going wide just before going under. Her signature Harem Shake planted, Amara grinds her cheeks into the face of a flailing Miss Mustang, the blonde’s arms pushing futilely against Singh’s hips then flying wildly as her oxygen is cut off by Amara’s undulating cheeks.
“How do you like Lisa’s little Dream Girl now?” the Empress shouts to the front rows.
They respond bitterly, booing the Subcontinental Siren as loud as their lungs are able.
Amara peels her butt off Heather’s greasy face, Crofton dumbstruck from lack of air and plenty of ass. Singh snatches a wrist and tugs the Lone Star Girl to her feet but keeps going, using the limb to toss the smaller grappler across the ring with an arm drag.
Showing some awareness of her surroundings remains, Heather uses the momentum of her somersault to pop to her feet. She turns and unsteadily heads back toward a surprised Singh, Amara amazed and annoyed at the fight in the Girl from Grapevine.
Problem solved when the Empress pirouettes into a Spinning Heel Kick catching the approaching Heather’s chin flush. Crofton’s head and torso crash to the canvas violently, her legs folding atop in a matchbook, a position the Bollywood Bombshell can’t help but take a seat upon.
With Amara’s rump on the pits of the blonde’s knees, Castle drops and thwaps a palm against the deck for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Yellow Rose somehow springs loose, flopping to her side to the increasing displeasure of an aggravated Empress.
Amara spins on a knee so she’s at Miss Mustang’s head, first pulling Crofton to a seated position then sweeping an arm around Heather’s throat and pulling her foe’s head back into a modified dragon sleeper grip, trying to wring a submission or knockout from her opponent, since keeping her adversary down for three is proving problematic.
Modified Dragon Sleeper ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbBAR-OzDrQ )
Amara cinches the grip tight, Heather left groaning and squirming fitfully.
“Surrender or sleep, peasant,” Singh demands.
And it seems a burbling Crofton will choose the latter after a few seconds of fruitless struggle. But instead, she pushes a leg off the canvas enough to swing her knee into Singh’s jaw, the Indian’s grip loosening after the wallop.
Heather shakes loose and staggers to the nearest corner while an angry Amara flexes her jaw. As the beloved Texan hops to a seat on the top buckle, Amara pushes to her feet, massaging her chin and cursing under her breath. She turns to find Lisa’s Dreammate and gets plenty of the smaller blonde, Heather leaping from her perch and THUMPING into a startled Singh with a Meteora. Crofton rides her foe to the canvas, Singh’s head and shoulders THWAPPING against the mat.
Meteora ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuKqZNKBQW0 )
The Lone Star Girl remains in a schoolgirl pin of the shocked Singh, Heather reaching back to hook both raised legs of her foe to add to the danger of the predicament for the…
ONE…
TWO…
And it’s Amara’s turn to thrust from under her foe, shoving Miss Mustang off forcefully by unfolding her powerful bronzed legs, Heather sent back-somersaulting to her haunches a few feet away.
Crofton is quickly to her feet and backpedals into the ropes behind her to gain some springy momentum. She races toward Singh, who’s made it to a seat and pays for it when Heather dives into a Basement Lariat, connecting cleanly with Amara’s chest.
Basement Lariat ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxtCzadrXDo )
The buoyant blonde hops to her feet instead of going for a pin, pumping her fist at the FAWNatics and starting a rhythmic clap before returning her attention to a rising Singh. The blonde snatches the lowered head of the Empress in an over-the-shoulder grip and surges toward the nearby buckles.
She uses Amara’s stability to race up the pads, pushing off the uppermost to cut Singh off a thick piece of Texas Toast, backflipping out of the corner and POUNDING Amara’s frame into the thinly-sheathed floorboards.
Texas Toast ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoyDE-F5lO4 ) :14
Deciding she’ll need one more heavy connection before taking the Bombshell down for good, Heather grabs the wrists of the splayed Singh and drags her a few feet out from the buckles, pivoting her body 90 degrees for the perfect position.
Second wind gusting, Miss Mustang scurries to her takeoff point, nimbly climbing to the top and turning to face the levelled Amara. The blonde lowers into a slight crouch then explodes off the top, the crowd going crazy.
The Lone Star Girl flips through the Orlando airspace with the greatest of ease with her ‘Don’t Mess With Texas’ 450 Splash, but only about 270 of that total includes Amara without her knees pulled in tight.
450 Splash ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJlgiClk4p4 )
When Heather CRASHES down across Singh, it’s those bony balls she lands upon, gutting the lightly tanned tummy of the Yellow Rose.
A bug-eyed Heather rolls away from the fateful impact, hugging her belly tightly. Ending on her back, the blonde moans, shifting from shoulder to shoulder, messing with Texas apparently very much allowed for the former World Champion.
A silenced crowd watches with worry as Amara pushes to a seat and leans against the ropes, staring daggers at a retching Heather, the blonde babyface managing little but to keep her internal organs in place, swaddling her midriff with both arms.
The glistening Empress uses the cables to reach her feet, Amara showing plenty of wounds from the mounting conflict. She strides wearily to Heather and scoops the smaller fighter off the canvas like a babe in her arms, showing the strength of body and will that makes her one of the more feared grapplers in the game.
A sneering Singh carries the softly stirring Crofton to center stage then sinks to one knee, dropping Heather’s spine across the flank of Amara’s raised right leg, the Empress trying to snap the spine of the fan favorite. The Lone Star Girl cries out on contact and things go from bad to worse as Amara pours on the pressure, pushing down on either side to accentuate the arc from her over-the-knee backbreaker.
Over-the-knee backbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=aT-wXnlbPW4&t=73s ) 3:10
A whimpering Heather tries to pry away the palm above her chin but it’s no use. Amara adds an insolent, echoing slap to Heather’s alabaster abs with her opposite hand, drawing a further yip from the tortured Texan. Still, when Castle drops to his knees next to the upturned features of the wilting Yellow Rose, she shakes her head when given the opportunity to surrender.
Amara growls at her persevering foe then demanding she surrender, trying to convince her with a double axhandle blow to her taut, stretched tummy. A chirpy groan slips through the lips of the arched Crofton, flinching from the additional anguish. Her arms wrap around her roiling midriff, but Singh shoves them away and delivers a second and a third, the crowd growing uncomfortable with the destruction of Miss Mustang.
Satisfied she’s softened the babyface blonde, Singh shoves Heather off, the blonde tumbling to the canvas, one hand glued to her lower spine, the other swaddling her bruised belly. The Empress pushes to her feet and points at her faltering adversary while turning her attention to the assembled.
“You’ve all forgotten what kind of pain I can inflict on this roster,” she shouts to the front row. “Let me remind you.”
Having risen to hands and knees, the Lone Star Girl is helped to her feet and has a crunching forearm smash delivered to her jaw, snapping her head to the side, and another, and another, until she’s leaning heavily into a set of buckles.
The grinning Singh sweeps Crofton’s legs out from under her, Heather plopping to her pert ass, head lolling, arms leaden by her sides. The Indian grappler spreads Heather’s legs in a wide ‘V’ with a pair of kicks, then strides imperiously to the opposite corner. She taps the top buckle then u-turns, sprinting toward the seated Texan. From several feet out, Amara takes to the air, her boots leading the way. Singh CRUNCHES them into Crofton’s kitty, the Subcontinental Siren vile in splitting her foe’s wickets with a brutal kick to the crotch.
Heather yelps in pain, curdling into a fetal ball, the FAWNatics letting loose with a loud round of boos.
“You wanted your little girl in here with a woman. And now you don’t?” Amara asks, chuckling. “Sorry. It’s a little too late to change your mind.”
The Bollywood Bombshell pulls the blonde out of her protective shell and places her back in the corner. She stuffs a forearm under Heather’s chin, forcing her head back, then open-hand slaps the lightly tanned abdomen of her overwhelmed foe. The echo draws a ‘WOO’ from a few, but Amara aims for more when she shifts her stance to load up on the faltering Lone Star Girl with a set of blistering chops to the chest.
Amara rears back and fires but the nimble Heather dips beneath, shooting out of the buckles several feet and spinning to face a turning Singh. Miss Mustang leaps into a dropkick to the chest that sends the Empress hurtling back-first into the corner, her bronzed body rocked by the dual collisions.
Crofton kips to her feet to a roaring crowd. A staggering Singh, wobbling out of the corner, presents herself to the waiting Yellow Rose. Heather dips and grabs Amara around the waist, tossing her bigger foe up and overhead, Amara SLAMMING to the canvas courtesy a belly-to-belly suplex.
Belly-to-belly suplex ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HYdCwrUYXQ ) :03
The Empress hits HARD, rolling up to a seat, face pinched in pain, hand plastered to her lower spine. Crofton races by a shoulder of her foe and NAILS Singh in the chest with a soccer kick, flattening the Bombshell to the canvas.
Seeking a bigger impact before going for a pin, Heather heads up the nearest corner, quickly climbing to the top. Looking out on her adoring fans, and knowing instinctively how far away Amara’s body lies, the Lone Star Girl vaults off the penthouse perch in a moonsault.
Alas, Heather doesn’t account for the veteran’s ferocity. Amara, having risen and turned to face the airborne Yellow Rose, somehow CATCHES the smaller Heather out of mid-air across a golden-brown shoulder.
With a squirming, wide-eyed blonde in her possession, the half-grimace, half-grin on the Empress widens as she maneuvers Crofton first to a fireman’s carry then military presses her blonde high above before surging toward the far corner and tossing the Texan like a lawn dart head first into the middle buckle.
Lawn Dart Toss ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=xgbOgqwLyhY )
The FAWNatics groan in unison at the ugly sight, Heather’s head whiplashing from the impact, Crofton ending in a spasming spreadeagle.
The arrogant Empress genuflects upon the gulping tummy of what’s left of Miss Mustang, collecting her rightful…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The crowd is hysterical when Heather twitches a shoulder off the canvas a few inches, the lackadaisical pin enough to keep the Lone Star Girl alive.
Amara runs fingers through her raven locks in disbelief. She rises and hovers over the stirring blonde, furious at the continued survival of this flaxen-haired cockroach. Singh grabs Heather’s head with both hands and RIPS Crofton to her feet, keeping her pliable opponent bent at the waist.
Collecting each of Heather’s arms in underhooks, locking her fingers between the shoulderblades of her foe, the powerful Empress seeks to end this peasant once and for all with her spectacular Bollywood Bash.
Bollywood Bash ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqTIDelxaC0 )
But before the Indian grappler can lift the Girl from Grapevine to an overturned vertical position and send the blonde to her doom, Heather grapevines a leg around one of Singh’s. Despite Amara’s strength she can’t fight through the counter, one, two or three times.
Finally, Heather spins out of her captivity. She races to the ropes in front of her, rebounds and sprints toward a charging Amara. Lisa’s Dream Girl leaps, her legs leading the way. The limbs snap shut, bracketing the startled face of her foe and she RIPS the Bombshell to the canvas with a running hurricarana.
Running hurricarana ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-hZqSExzco )
A confused Singh rolls up to one knee, but only provides Miss Mustang with a perfect opportunity to LAY AMARA OUT with a ruinous Shining Wizard to the temple of the Empress.
Shining Wizard ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=axMwm35qBxo )
Amara’s left gobsmacked in a limp starfish, the crowd buzzing at the possibility of a huge upset from the Lone Star Girl. Heather takes a moment to regain her bearings and register the vulnerability of the dethroned Empress. She dives across her demolished foe in a lateral press, hooking the far leg for the biggest win of her career with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The throng groans in harmony as Singh shoves a shoulder off the canvas and rolls to her chest, preventing another immediate pin attempt.
Crofton grabs Amara by a wrist and shoulder and hauls the faltering former World and Tag Team champion to her feet. The blonde points the exotic Indian to the far buckles and heaves her that way with an Irish Whip. It’s not the strongest toss in the history of FAWN, but Singh turns into a back-first collision that’s impactful enough to send the wincing Empress staggering back toward the poised Texan.
The springy Heather leaps high above the stumbling Singh, flipping over the top of the Bollywood Bombshell, grabbing Amara’s golden-brown waist and scissoring her head. The momentum of the aerial somersault RIPS Singh off her feet, Miss Mustang SPIKING the crown of the Empress’ cranium into the thinly-sheathed plywood with her otherworldly Dallas Destroyer.
Dallas Destroyer ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoG4S9j_17c ) :37
Unconscious before she settles on her haunches, ending there from the concussive force of the blow, Amara timbers backwards to the canvas, legs folding beneath her, hammies on calves. A vibrating Heather dives on top and the crowd counts along for what’s easily her biggest win at…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
A groan of disbelief echoes through Orlando from Singh’s surprising survival and the Yellow Rose’s face registers the shock. She turns and stares at Castle, who assures the youngster she hasn’t yet secured the win.
Crofton, pushed to hands and knees, physically shakes off the bewilderment. She rises and grabs Amara by the ankles, turning her flattened foe 90 degrees so Amara’s perpendicular to the nearest corner. Racing to the buckles, the Girl from Grapevine clambers to the top with ease, spinning to face her target. Dropping into a slight crouch, the babyfaced blonde launches.
Don’t Mess With Texas 450 Splash ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJlgiClk4p4 )
Again, the acrobatic Lone Star Girl rotates while airborne, this time in a full 450 degrees to land her taut tummy ACROSS AMARA’S KNEES!
The Bombshell pulled her legs up to offer a pair of bony spikes for Heather’s landing and a breathless and bug-eyed Crofton rolls away, hugging her demolished abs and retching, her gutted tummy no doubt splotchy with emerging bruises.
The silenced crowd rumbles to boos as a spent Singh rolls to a seated position, index finger pointing at a temple, the Empress letting everyone know she’s not only too powerful for the ingenue but far too intellectually superior.
Slowly, Singh pushes to her feet, the fury in her dark eyes feeding her sweat-soaked frame on to victory against the underdog. Sinking her ruby-tipped talons into the blonde mop of the beloved Texan, Amara RIPS Heather to her feet via her flaxen follicles.
Keeping her foe bent at the waist, the Empress stuffs Crofton’s head between her thighs and wraps her arms around the gulping tummy of the Yellow Rose. With practiced ease, Singh vaults Heather up her body until Miss Mustang is seated on her shoulders, squirming futilely, arms waving pleadingly.
And Amara SITS OUT, rattling the ring and extinguishing all hope of the Texan’s Rangers in the stands with her PowerBollyBomb.
PowerBollyBomb ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjSpD_5Lu08 )
Folded atop herself between the outstretched bronze stems of the Empress, the comatose Crofton is no more than a dishrag as Singh leans into her pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREENOOO!
The arena explodes in delight and disbelief as Castle jumps to his feet, shaking his head and holding two fingers aloft. The slightest of flinches moved a shoulder of Heather an inch or two off the canvas. The Bombshell hops to her feet getting in Nick’s grill, demanding an answer. The official is adamant, insisting the match continues.
Singh lifts a balled fist in Castle’s direction. FAWN’s lead ref warns the raging Empress, one touch and her would-be win will turn to a loss via a disqualification.
Breathing proverbial fire, Amara spins away from the man in stripes, turning her attention back to the blasted blonde. Heather been given enough time to weakly push to hands and knees and crawl toward a corner.
“Where do you think you’re going, peasant?” Amara asks. “You’ve got a date with destiny, little girl.”
Uninterested in making that appointment, the lethargic Lone Star Girl struggles on as Singh saunters closer, catching up to the blonde a few steps away from the buckles. The Empress moves to a standing, forward-facing straddle of Crofton’s lower spine and motions to the crowd her infamous Bollyknot leg-trap Camel Clutch will take the three-count out of play, Heather soon to be screaming her surrender.
But as Singh is about to ram her backside into the blonde’s lower vertebrae and mount for her Clutch, the Yellow Rose reaches out and wraps a palm around the bottom rope. With her remaining strength, she yanks herself under, lying on the apron, spent but relatively safe.
Or so she believes, as Singh slips between the top and middle strands and sinks her nails into Crofton’s scalp. The Empress pulls a yipping Heather to her knees and starts to pull her foe back in for a final ride when Crofton reaches above and behind, cupping her hands around the back of Amara’s braincase and dropping to the floor, hotshotting Amara’s throat across the rubber-coated steel of the middle cable.
As a wide-eyed, gasping Singh grasps at her reddening neck, Heather leans heavily against the apron’s edge. Knowing she can’t wait for anything approaching 100-percent to arrive, Crofton rolls in and pushes to vertical. Miss Mustang plunges a toe kick deep into the golden-brown abs of the Empress, doubling her foe at the waist.
Securing Amara in a front facelock, Heather backs her adversary toward the corner behind and heaves Singh to a draped, horizontal position before laying out and PLANTING Singh’s skull into the unforgiving deck with a spectacular Texas Danger DDT.
Texas Danger ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=0g5gvN2X9wE )
A boneless Amara tumbles over, ending lifeless on her side. But Heather’s not done. She passes on a potential pin and pulls the wilting Indian grappler to a rubbery stance next to her.
Heather scoops an arm behind Amara’s near stem while slipping her head under a limp wing of Singh. The blonde leans her foe forward before whipping back in a perfect layout that sends the back of the Empress’ braincase THWAPPING into the canvas-covered floorboards with a brain-scrambling blow courtesy Heather’s Texas Tornado.
Texas Tornado ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYQacdoLnEM ) :34
The exploded Bollywood Bombshell remains on her shoulders, ass pointed to the rafters, legs folded above her until the Lone Star Girl dives atop the back of Amara’s knees, matchbooking the oblivious Empress for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
The FAWNatics erupt with glee as a spent Crofton rolls off her beaten foe and sits against the bottom rope, a look of disbelief firmly planted on her babyface. But as the realization of victory settles and the “LONE…STAR” chant rattles the arena’s walls, Crofton pushes wearily to her feet to accept the love and admiration from her Rangers.
Singh, having slopped to her side, offers nothing more than braindead burbles as Heather mounts a corner and celebrates as best she can with the roaring audience, reveling in a breakthrough performance and leaving the former World and Tag Champion the one who is Heartbroken tonight.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0hyYWKXF0Q )
From stage right, the flaxen-haired fighter, growing more popular and more relevant as recent months pass, cheerily moves to center stage. What she lacks in experience at FAWN’s top flight, the fresh-faced grappler has with the energy of youth and a sweet disposition to which the audience is drawn. Being a member of the recently minted Dream Team with the reformed legend Lisa doesn’t hurt her burgeoning popularity.
HEATHER CROFTON
Heather’s excitement is obvious, the babyface blonde bobbing in time with the catchy ditty.
She spins through a pirouette and waves excitedly at the delighted devotees, a vision in yellow.
The two-piece gear includes spandex boy-cut trunks and a cross-shoulder top, the side of the shorts includes a window of criss-crossed strips. The outfit is completed with white pads and boots.
( i.imgur.com/4SRiQzy.jpg ) (without the snorkel gear and in yellow)
The rookie offers a brawny double-bicep pose but with a smirking hint of understanding her guns are small caliber. She prances down the aisle, bouncing from side to side, slapping hands, joyous with another opportunity to show the fans what she can do.
In the last several strides, the Texan takes off in a sprint, sliding in under the bottom rope on her palms and knee pads. She pushes to her feet and waggles through several exuberant, hip-swiveling spins as her music slowly fades.
The Lone Star Girl backpedals to her corner as the ring announcer takes the opportunity to provide her introduction.
“Tonight’s next match is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. Fighting out of Grapevine, Texas. Standing 5’4” and weighing in at 123 pounds…Miss Mustang…Heather Crofton!”
The bubbly blonde leaps into the air, dropping into a set of splits and spins an invisible lasso above her head. After, she pumps the raised first at the crowd, drawing an ovation that grows when she shifts to a tiny ball, kips to her feet, and climbs to the middle ropes of her corner, shouting “Whaddya say, y’all?!”
The throng responds with a feisty endorsement until all eyes turn to the stage above, expectations rising to see the foe who would attempt to bring the Lone Star from the sky.
It becomes immediately clear the Texan is on to bigger things at Heartbroken, as the captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s "Exotic” breaks through the speakers, heralding the imminent arrival of the oft title-wearing Subcontinental Siren.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
Her queenly conveyance and musclebound accompaniment relegated to the dustbin of history, as her lost year of 2022 needed to be, the loud boos from all corners continue to be generated at incredible decibels.
The woman creating so much animosity storms through the curtains mere seconds later.
AMARA SINGH
The Bollywood Bombshell claims the stage on her own two feet as her iconic palanquin had been so cruelly destroyed by her one-time, co-tag champion and revenge-seeking Alexis Suguitan. And revenge the Penthouse Panther found, putting Amara out of commission for a year before Singh came back to come up short against the celebrated Sue Burlingame.
But neither Sue or Sugutian seem near Singh's mind tonight. The former World Champion's attention focuses solely on the squared circle and the opportunity to pummel a dirt-farming peasant from Texas to regain her lost momentum.
Heading in that direction, once she allows the unworthy throng a few precious seconds to bask in her radiance, the Bollywood Bombshell makes no effort to respond to any of the jeers hurled in her direction, though she does occasionally raise a threatening hand to any cretin daring extend grubby fingers too close.
For the evening's dismantling of Lisa’s lackey a few insist on calling her competition, Singh wears a black bikini top and matching lycra shorts connected by semi-sheer cloth linking at her clavicle with a belt high on her midriff. This darker ensemble is finished with matching boots and pads.
Reaching the foot of the ramp, Amara strides up the steps to the apron but refuses to enter the ring until Senior Official Nick Castle sits on the middle rope to create a properly respectful passage.
Singh slips through without so much as a word, her attention on the center where she takes up residence, staring straight into the hard camera. Lips twisting in a cruel smile, the former World Champion stretches her arms wide, then brings both hands together pantomiming wrenching some poor unfortunate's neck with her Camel Clutch.
The message is so clear even the peasants of Orlando couldn't fail to understand. But if they did, she turns to Heather and offers a sly grin.
“You will bow to your Empress, little girl.”
Amara moves to the far corner and settles against the buckles, waiting for a chance to reshape the arc of her career at the expense of another blonde waif completely out of her depth in the presence of the exotic Empress.
Singh pushes out of her corner as the bell brings the match to order.
As Heather judiciously circles out of her corner, Singh isn’t interested in delaying the inevitable, striding directly to her smaller, fresh-faced foe, tying up in a collar-and-elbow and jockeying for position. It’s little challenge for the Bollywood Bombshell in gaining the upper hand with her size and strength advantage. The exotic beauty tugs Crofton into a side headlock and grinds the Lone Star Girl’s noggin between bicep and ribcage.
“What does that psycho Dream see in you?” Amara asks pointedly. “I eat little urchin peasants like you for breakfast.”
The Empress shifts her grip and snapmares the startled blonde to the deck, Crofton landing on her little booty, a small grimace becoming a pronounced one when Singh follows with a soccer kick to the base of the fan favorite’s spinal column. Heather arches in anguish from the impact as Amara surges past her to the ropes and rebounds.
A follow-up boot to the chin awaits Miss Mustang until she drops flat to the canvas, Amara’s instep sailing an inch or two above the blonde’s nose. As Singh slides to a stop, Heather kips to her feet. Both women spin in a 180 to face each other, but Amara brings something more with her, NAILING Heather in the chops with a forearm smash that sends Crofton’s head away in a whiplash.
Legs shuddering from the force of Amara’s introduction, Heather can offer little in the way of resistance as Singh dips and scoops an arm between the rubbery stems of the Dream Teamer. Amara effortlessly lifts the Yellow Rose off her feet and onto a shoulder where the Bombshell shows her off with a pirouette before body SLAMMING the babyfaced blonde to the deck. Again, a pained Crofton’s back is rounded in agony from the rough landing atop her vertebrae.
A stomp to Heather’s chest flattens her against the canvas and the Empress drops a pointed elbow to the cleft of Crofton’s modest bosom, sending a tremor jolting down the frame of the smaller grappler. Moving to a kneeling, forward-facing straddle across her foe’s chest, Amara leans forward, planting her palms atop Crofton’s shoulders for the…
ONE…
The Lone Star Girl shoves a shoulder off the deck and rolls to her side, beneath the straddling Singh, who takes it out on the youngster with a couple forearm shivers, rocking Lisa’s Dream Girl.
“Fine,” Amara growls, “you want more, I’ve got more.”
The Empress sinks both sets of nails into Heather’s scalp and tugs her to vertical as she dismounts and rises. Crofton brings her arms up within those of the former World Champion and splits them to the sides, breaking free of Singh’s grip.
And Heather returns fire with a set of forearms to Amara’s chest, backing up the Indian wrestler with each meaty thump. The Yellow Rose raises her sights, sending the last of the set to Singh’s chin, the impact spinning Amara in a u-turn of a stagger.
Crofton’s quick to push her momentum, leaping in from Amara’s six, the Texan mounting Singh like a bronco. Using scissoring legs around Amara’s waist as her saddle, Heather snakes her arms under and around those of the Empress in a full nelson. Crofton shakes the braincase of Singh from side to side, long raven tresses sent flying.
Perhaps sensing the vulnerability of her ride, Heather shifts her grip from the nelson to a sleeper grip, snugly securing her arms against a temple and the carotid of her adversary. The dark eyes of Singh show a flash of panic, the blood flow slowed to mission control. Amara desperately reaches over her head, trying to find a handhold to flip her rider off, but Crofton skillfully avoids Singh’s efforts to escape.
With prying the babyfaced blonde off her back not an option, and with a slight shimmy entering her gait, Amara aligns her back with the nearest buckles and backpedals into the corner, sandwiching Heather between. Crofton grunts as she’s compressed betwixt Singh and the thin padding, her grip loosening. When the Bombshell steps out and thrusts in a second and third time, the Empress is finally freed from her peasant.
Amara turns and lifts a big knee DEEP into Heather’s navel, the smaller Crofton lifted off her feet, body folded between the top and middle buckles. Singh cups a palm under Miss Mustang’s drooping chin so she can look into the slitted baby blues of her foe.
“Learn your place,” Amara demands.
Singh blisters Heather’s chest with a blazing chop that echoes through the arena, reflexively drawing a ‘WOOOO’ from even the Texan’s peeps in the sellout crowd. The Empress grabs a wrist and tugs the blonde free of her creased position in the corner, then heaves the Lone Star Girl across the confines with an Irish Whip. Three-quarters of the way across, Crofton turns and literally flies into the far buckles, THUMPING against them, her body rocked.
The pained Girl from Grapevine stumbles out of the corner as Amara races toward her and Heather EATS one of the biggest Big Boots in the game, Singh’s Sole Perfection, the signature boosted by the Empress no longer being in bare feet. Crofton’s head seems nearly removed from her body by the impact, her abbreviated legs flying out in front of her while her cranium crashes to earth with her shoulders, the Lone Star Girl laid out, stretcher-bait in front of a steaming Singh.
“I told you, peasant bytch. My empire will be reborn.”
Amara places a boot sole on the gulping tummy of the Yellow Rose for the domineering pin and the win at…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The arrogance of the pin saves Crofton, Heather spasming to life and eking a shoulder off the mat with a half-second to spare.
Furious, Amara stomps a mudhole out of poor Miss Mustang, Heather trying to cover up and survive the onslaught of a fevered Singh. Fury not yet spent but her stomping leg having been, the Empress reaches down and brackets Heather’s head with her hands, yanking a bruised and battered Crofton to her feet.
Singh shoves the reeling Yellow Rose to the corner behind her, Heather in such a condition and hitting with enough force to have her lithe legs ‘turned off’ by the collision. The Lone Star Girl plops to her taut, tiny backside, legs extended in front of her, head lolling.
“Have a taste of my curry, peasant.”
Amara backs her ass up into Crofton’s sleepy features, Heather’s eyes going wide just before going under. Her signature Harem Shake planted, Amara grinds her cheeks into the face of a flailing Miss Mustang, the blonde’s arms pushing futilely against Singh’s hips then flying wildly as her oxygen is cut off by Amara’s undulating cheeks.
“How do you like Lisa’s little Dream Girl now?” the Empress shouts to the front rows.
They respond bitterly, booing the Subcontinental Siren as loud as their lungs are able.
Amara peels her butt off Heather’s greasy face, Crofton dumbstruck from lack of air and plenty of ass. Singh snatches a wrist and tugs the Lone Star Girl to her feet but keeps going, using the limb to toss the smaller grappler across the ring with an arm drag.
Showing some awareness of her surroundings remains, Heather uses the momentum of her somersault to pop to her feet. She turns and unsteadily heads back toward a surprised Singh, Amara amazed and annoyed at the fight in the Girl from Grapevine.
Problem solved when the Empress pirouettes into a Spinning Heel Kick catching the approaching Heather’s chin flush. Crofton’s head and torso crash to the canvas violently, her legs folding atop in a matchbook, a position the Bollywood Bombshell can’t help but take a seat upon.
With Amara’s rump on the pits of the blonde’s knees, Castle drops and thwaps a palm against the deck for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Yellow Rose somehow springs loose, flopping to her side to the increasing displeasure of an aggravated Empress.
Amara spins on a knee so she’s at Miss Mustang’s head, first pulling Crofton to a seated position then sweeping an arm around Heather’s throat and pulling her foe’s head back into a modified dragon sleeper grip, trying to wring a submission or knockout from her opponent, since keeping her adversary down for three is proving problematic.
Modified Dragon Sleeper ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbBAR-OzDrQ )
Amara cinches the grip tight, Heather left groaning and squirming fitfully.
“Surrender or sleep, peasant,” Singh demands.
And it seems a burbling Crofton will choose the latter after a few seconds of fruitless struggle. But instead, she pushes a leg off the canvas enough to swing her knee into Singh’s jaw, the Indian’s grip loosening after the wallop.
Heather shakes loose and staggers to the nearest corner while an angry Amara flexes her jaw. As the beloved Texan hops to a seat on the top buckle, Amara pushes to her feet, massaging her chin and cursing under her breath. She turns to find Lisa’s Dreammate and gets plenty of the smaller blonde, Heather leaping from her perch and THUMPING into a startled Singh with a Meteora. Crofton rides her foe to the canvas, Singh’s head and shoulders THWAPPING against the mat.
Meteora ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuKqZNKBQW0 )
The Lone Star Girl remains in a schoolgirl pin of the shocked Singh, Heather reaching back to hook both raised legs of her foe to add to the danger of the predicament for the…
ONE…
TWO…
And it’s Amara’s turn to thrust from under her foe, shoving Miss Mustang off forcefully by unfolding her powerful bronzed legs, Heather sent back-somersaulting to her haunches a few feet away.
Crofton is quickly to her feet and backpedals into the ropes behind her to gain some springy momentum. She races toward Singh, who’s made it to a seat and pays for it when Heather dives into a Basement Lariat, connecting cleanly with Amara’s chest.
Basement Lariat ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxtCzadrXDo )
The buoyant blonde hops to her feet instead of going for a pin, pumping her fist at the FAWNatics and starting a rhythmic clap before returning her attention to a rising Singh. The blonde snatches the lowered head of the Empress in an over-the-shoulder grip and surges toward the nearby buckles.
She uses Amara’s stability to race up the pads, pushing off the uppermost to cut Singh off a thick piece of Texas Toast, backflipping out of the corner and POUNDING Amara’s frame into the thinly-sheathed floorboards.
Texas Toast ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoyDE-F5lO4 ) :14
Deciding she’ll need one more heavy connection before taking the Bombshell down for good, Heather grabs the wrists of the splayed Singh and drags her a few feet out from the buckles, pivoting her body 90 degrees for the perfect position.
Second wind gusting, Miss Mustang scurries to her takeoff point, nimbly climbing to the top and turning to face the levelled Amara. The blonde lowers into a slight crouch then explodes off the top, the crowd going crazy.
The Lone Star Girl flips through the Orlando airspace with the greatest of ease with her ‘Don’t Mess With Texas’ 450 Splash, but only about 270 of that total includes Amara without her knees pulled in tight.
450 Splash ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJlgiClk4p4 )
When Heather CRASHES down across Singh, it’s those bony balls she lands upon, gutting the lightly tanned tummy of the Yellow Rose.
A bug-eyed Heather rolls away from the fateful impact, hugging her belly tightly. Ending on her back, the blonde moans, shifting from shoulder to shoulder, messing with Texas apparently very much allowed for the former World Champion.
A silenced crowd watches with worry as Amara pushes to a seat and leans against the ropes, staring daggers at a retching Heather, the blonde babyface managing little but to keep her internal organs in place, swaddling her midriff with both arms.
The glistening Empress uses the cables to reach her feet, Amara showing plenty of wounds from the mounting conflict. She strides wearily to Heather and scoops the smaller fighter off the canvas like a babe in her arms, showing the strength of body and will that makes her one of the more feared grapplers in the game.
A sneering Singh carries the softly stirring Crofton to center stage then sinks to one knee, dropping Heather’s spine across the flank of Amara’s raised right leg, the Empress trying to snap the spine of the fan favorite. The Lone Star Girl cries out on contact and things go from bad to worse as Amara pours on the pressure, pushing down on either side to accentuate the arc from her over-the-knee backbreaker.
Over-the-knee backbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=aT-wXnlbPW4&t=73s ) 3:10
A whimpering Heather tries to pry away the palm above her chin but it’s no use. Amara adds an insolent, echoing slap to Heather’s alabaster abs with her opposite hand, drawing a further yip from the tortured Texan. Still, when Castle drops to his knees next to the upturned features of the wilting Yellow Rose, she shakes her head when given the opportunity to surrender.
Amara growls at her persevering foe then demanding she surrender, trying to convince her with a double axhandle blow to her taut, stretched tummy. A chirpy groan slips through the lips of the arched Crofton, flinching from the additional anguish. Her arms wrap around her roiling midriff, but Singh shoves them away and delivers a second and a third, the crowd growing uncomfortable with the destruction of Miss Mustang.
Satisfied she’s softened the babyface blonde, Singh shoves Heather off, the blonde tumbling to the canvas, one hand glued to her lower spine, the other swaddling her bruised belly. The Empress pushes to her feet and points at her faltering adversary while turning her attention to the assembled.
“You’ve all forgotten what kind of pain I can inflict on this roster,” she shouts to the front row. “Let me remind you.”
Having risen to hands and knees, the Lone Star Girl is helped to her feet and has a crunching forearm smash delivered to her jaw, snapping her head to the side, and another, and another, until she’s leaning heavily into a set of buckles.
The grinning Singh sweeps Crofton’s legs out from under her, Heather plopping to her pert ass, head lolling, arms leaden by her sides. The Indian grappler spreads Heather’s legs in a wide ‘V’ with a pair of kicks, then strides imperiously to the opposite corner. She taps the top buckle then u-turns, sprinting toward the seated Texan. From several feet out, Amara takes to the air, her boots leading the way. Singh CRUNCHES them into Crofton’s kitty, the Subcontinental Siren vile in splitting her foe’s wickets with a brutal kick to the crotch.
Heather yelps in pain, curdling into a fetal ball, the FAWNatics letting loose with a loud round of boos.
“You wanted your little girl in here with a woman. And now you don’t?” Amara asks, chuckling. “Sorry. It’s a little too late to change your mind.”
The Bollywood Bombshell pulls the blonde out of her protective shell and places her back in the corner. She stuffs a forearm under Heather’s chin, forcing her head back, then open-hand slaps the lightly tanned abdomen of her overwhelmed foe. The echo draws a ‘WOO’ from a few, but Amara aims for more when she shifts her stance to load up on the faltering Lone Star Girl with a set of blistering chops to the chest.
Amara rears back and fires but the nimble Heather dips beneath, shooting out of the buckles several feet and spinning to face a turning Singh. Miss Mustang leaps into a dropkick to the chest that sends the Empress hurtling back-first into the corner, her bronzed body rocked by the dual collisions.
Crofton kips to her feet to a roaring crowd. A staggering Singh, wobbling out of the corner, presents herself to the waiting Yellow Rose. Heather dips and grabs Amara around the waist, tossing her bigger foe up and overhead, Amara SLAMMING to the canvas courtesy a belly-to-belly suplex.
Belly-to-belly suplex ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HYdCwrUYXQ ) :03
The Empress hits HARD, rolling up to a seat, face pinched in pain, hand plastered to her lower spine. Crofton races by a shoulder of her foe and NAILS Singh in the chest with a soccer kick, flattening the Bombshell to the canvas.
Seeking a bigger impact before going for a pin, Heather heads up the nearest corner, quickly climbing to the top. Looking out on her adoring fans, and knowing instinctively how far away Amara’s body lies, the Lone Star Girl vaults off the penthouse perch in a moonsault.
Alas, Heather doesn’t account for the veteran’s ferocity. Amara, having risen and turned to face the airborne Yellow Rose, somehow CATCHES the smaller Heather out of mid-air across a golden-brown shoulder.
With a squirming, wide-eyed blonde in her possession, the half-grimace, half-grin on the Empress widens as she maneuvers Crofton first to a fireman’s carry then military presses her blonde high above before surging toward the far corner and tossing the Texan like a lawn dart head first into the middle buckle.
Lawn Dart Toss ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=xgbOgqwLyhY )
The FAWNatics groan in unison at the ugly sight, Heather’s head whiplashing from the impact, Crofton ending in a spasming spreadeagle.
The arrogant Empress genuflects upon the gulping tummy of what’s left of Miss Mustang, collecting her rightful…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The crowd is hysterical when Heather twitches a shoulder off the canvas a few inches, the lackadaisical pin enough to keep the Lone Star Girl alive.
Amara runs fingers through her raven locks in disbelief. She rises and hovers over the stirring blonde, furious at the continued survival of this flaxen-haired cockroach. Singh grabs Heather’s head with both hands and RIPS Crofton to her feet, keeping her pliable opponent bent at the waist.
Collecting each of Heather’s arms in underhooks, locking her fingers between the shoulderblades of her foe, the powerful Empress seeks to end this peasant once and for all with her spectacular Bollywood Bash.
Bollywood Bash ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqTIDelxaC0 )
But before the Indian grappler can lift the Girl from Grapevine to an overturned vertical position and send the blonde to her doom, Heather grapevines a leg around one of Singh’s. Despite Amara’s strength she can’t fight through the counter, one, two or three times.
Finally, Heather spins out of her captivity. She races to the ropes in front of her, rebounds and sprints toward a charging Amara. Lisa’s Dream Girl leaps, her legs leading the way. The limbs snap shut, bracketing the startled face of her foe and she RIPS the Bombshell to the canvas with a running hurricarana.
Running hurricarana ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-hZqSExzco )
A confused Singh rolls up to one knee, but only provides Miss Mustang with a perfect opportunity to LAY AMARA OUT with a ruinous Shining Wizard to the temple of the Empress.
Shining Wizard ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=axMwm35qBxo )
Amara’s left gobsmacked in a limp starfish, the crowd buzzing at the possibility of a huge upset from the Lone Star Girl. Heather takes a moment to regain her bearings and register the vulnerability of the dethroned Empress. She dives across her demolished foe in a lateral press, hooking the far leg for the biggest win of her career with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The throng groans in harmony as Singh shoves a shoulder off the canvas and rolls to her chest, preventing another immediate pin attempt.
Crofton grabs Amara by a wrist and shoulder and hauls the faltering former World and Tag Team champion to her feet. The blonde points the exotic Indian to the far buckles and heaves her that way with an Irish Whip. It’s not the strongest toss in the history of FAWN, but Singh turns into a back-first collision that’s impactful enough to send the wincing Empress staggering back toward the poised Texan.
The springy Heather leaps high above the stumbling Singh, flipping over the top of the Bollywood Bombshell, grabbing Amara’s golden-brown waist and scissoring her head. The momentum of the aerial somersault RIPS Singh off her feet, Miss Mustang SPIKING the crown of the Empress’ cranium into the thinly-sheathed plywood with her otherworldly Dallas Destroyer.
Dallas Destroyer ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoG4S9j_17c ) :37
Unconscious before she settles on her haunches, ending there from the concussive force of the blow, Amara timbers backwards to the canvas, legs folding beneath her, hammies on calves. A vibrating Heather dives on top and the crowd counts along for what’s easily her biggest win at…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
A groan of disbelief echoes through Orlando from Singh’s surprising survival and the Yellow Rose’s face registers the shock. She turns and stares at Castle, who assures the youngster she hasn’t yet secured the win.
Crofton, pushed to hands and knees, physically shakes off the bewilderment. She rises and grabs Amara by the ankles, turning her flattened foe 90 degrees so Amara’s perpendicular to the nearest corner. Racing to the buckles, the Girl from Grapevine clambers to the top with ease, spinning to face her target. Dropping into a slight crouch, the babyfaced blonde launches.
Don’t Mess With Texas 450 Splash ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJlgiClk4p4 )
Again, the acrobatic Lone Star Girl rotates while airborne, this time in a full 450 degrees to land her taut tummy ACROSS AMARA’S KNEES!
The Bombshell pulled her legs up to offer a pair of bony spikes for Heather’s landing and a breathless and bug-eyed Crofton rolls away, hugging her demolished abs and retching, her gutted tummy no doubt splotchy with emerging bruises.
The silenced crowd rumbles to boos as a spent Singh rolls to a seated position, index finger pointing at a temple, the Empress letting everyone know she’s not only too powerful for the ingenue but far too intellectually superior.
Slowly, Singh pushes to her feet, the fury in her dark eyes feeding her sweat-soaked frame on to victory against the underdog. Sinking her ruby-tipped talons into the blonde mop of the beloved Texan, Amara RIPS Heather to her feet via her flaxen follicles.
Keeping her foe bent at the waist, the Empress stuffs Crofton’s head between her thighs and wraps her arms around the gulping tummy of the Yellow Rose. With practiced ease, Singh vaults Heather up her body until Miss Mustang is seated on her shoulders, squirming futilely, arms waving pleadingly.
And Amara SITS OUT, rattling the ring and extinguishing all hope of the Texan’s Rangers in the stands with her PowerBollyBomb.
PowerBollyBomb ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjSpD_5Lu08 )
Folded atop herself between the outstretched bronze stems of the Empress, the comatose Crofton is no more than a dishrag as Singh leans into her pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREENOOO!
The arena explodes in delight and disbelief as Castle jumps to his feet, shaking his head and holding two fingers aloft. The slightest of flinches moved a shoulder of Heather an inch or two off the canvas. The Bombshell hops to her feet getting in Nick’s grill, demanding an answer. The official is adamant, insisting the match continues.
Singh lifts a balled fist in Castle’s direction. FAWN’s lead ref warns the raging Empress, one touch and her would-be win will turn to a loss via a disqualification.
Breathing proverbial fire, Amara spins away from the man in stripes, turning her attention back to the blasted blonde. Heather been given enough time to weakly push to hands and knees and crawl toward a corner.
“Where do you think you’re going, peasant?” Amara asks. “You’ve got a date with destiny, little girl.”
Uninterested in making that appointment, the lethargic Lone Star Girl struggles on as Singh saunters closer, catching up to the blonde a few steps away from the buckles. The Empress moves to a standing, forward-facing straddle of Crofton’s lower spine and motions to the crowd her infamous Bollyknot leg-trap Camel Clutch will take the three-count out of play, Heather soon to be screaming her surrender.
But as Singh is about to ram her backside into the blonde’s lower vertebrae and mount for her Clutch, the Yellow Rose reaches out and wraps a palm around the bottom rope. With her remaining strength, she yanks herself under, lying on the apron, spent but relatively safe.
Or so she believes, as Singh slips between the top and middle strands and sinks her nails into Crofton’s scalp. The Empress pulls a yipping Heather to her knees and starts to pull her foe back in for a final ride when Crofton reaches above and behind, cupping her hands around the back of Amara’s braincase and dropping to the floor, hotshotting Amara’s throat across the rubber-coated steel of the middle cable.
As a wide-eyed, gasping Singh grasps at her reddening neck, Heather leans heavily against the apron’s edge. Knowing she can’t wait for anything approaching 100-percent to arrive, Crofton rolls in and pushes to vertical. Miss Mustang plunges a toe kick deep into the golden-brown abs of the Empress, doubling her foe at the waist.
Securing Amara in a front facelock, Heather backs her adversary toward the corner behind and heaves Singh to a draped, horizontal position before laying out and PLANTING Singh’s skull into the unforgiving deck with a spectacular Texas Danger DDT.
Texas Danger ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=0g5gvN2X9wE )
A boneless Amara tumbles over, ending lifeless on her side. But Heather’s not done. She passes on a potential pin and pulls the wilting Indian grappler to a rubbery stance next to her.
Heather scoops an arm behind Amara’s near stem while slipping her head under a limp wing of Singh. The blonde leans her foe forward before whipping back in a perfect layout that sends the back of the Empress’ braincase THWAPPING into the canvas-covered floorboards with a brain-scrambling blow courtesy Heather’s Texas Tornado.
Texas Tornado ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYQacdoLnEM ) :34
The exploded Bollywood Bombshell remains on her shoulders, ass pointed to the rafters, legs folded above her until the Lone Star Girl dives atop the back of Amara’s knees, matchbooking the oblivious Empress for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
The FAWNatics erupt with glee as a spent Crofton rolls off her beaten foe and sits against the bottom rope, a look of disbelief firmly planted on her babyface. But as the realization of victory settles and the “LONE…STAR” chant rattles the arena’s walls, Crofton pushes wearily to her feet to accept the love and admiration from her Rangers.
Singh, having slopped to her side, offers nothing more than braindead burbles as Heather mounts a corner and celebrates as best she can with the roaring audience, reveling in a breakthrough performance and leaving the former World and Tag Champion the one who is Heartbroken tonight.