Post by hawkeye on Nov 27, 2023 0:38:00 GMT
With the victor and vanquished of the previous match safely backstage, “Wild Eyed Southern Boys” by .38 Special blasts through the arena's PA.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDeDAgud87M
Immediately the crowd explodes in a frantic fervor, ready to welcome with open arms and hearts a company legend. The curtains tear open and the most infamous redhead in FAWN history struts into view, the Southern Charmer’s hips sashaying with silent temptation.
IVY ARMSTRONG
Ivy Armstrong returns to her sartorial roots, wearing a simple, cropped white tanktop, while her trademark denim cut-offs continue to reveal a conspicuous degree of ivory backside. Below, the alabaster stems of infamy are on full display in all their lithe splendor, leading down to bare feet.
The Slamma buoyantly bounces toward the ring, taking turns on each side of the aisle, slapping hands with the delighted FAWNatics. One particularly lucky fan has his face cupped close within her hands. Ivy Belle plants a kiss on his forehead, then whispers something into his ear that causes his knees to buckle and his friends to whoop, holler and high five one another.
Her fan outreach complete, Armstrong resumes her march to the ring, a contented smile on her ruby red lips, her black eye-lined green eyes half-lidded like a jungle cat on the prowl.
At ringside, she climbs the steps to the apron and strides midway down the length of the squared circle. Ivy turns to face the crowd even as her arms reach up on either side so that her hands can grasp the top cable.
With a gracefulness that would put Olympic gymnasts to shame, Ivy backflips up and over the strands in a graceful arc, landing gently inside the ring. An eruption of gratitude from the entranced crowd bursts through the bowl.
Within her playground, Armstrong saunters over to the ring announcer and politely asks for the stick. Receiving it, she raises it to her lips.
“I ain’t above working on Slaybor Day if it means earning a spot on the Biggest Show of the Year,” Ivy exclaims, the crowd going crazy at the thought. “So let’s get this poor thing facing me out here and give her a Bama-sized ass whoopin”.
The redhead hands the microphone back to its owner.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit. First...standing five feet eight inches tall and tipping the scale at one-hundred and twenty pounds...from Uriah, Alabama...she is the 'Bama Slamma, IIIIVVVVVVYYYYYY ARMSTRONG!”
The mob goes berserk once more.
The Hellion, delighted by the response, meanders to her corner to await the woman who would burnish her resume for a Mania slot.
After the crowd’s roar slowly dissipates, the FAWNatics unleash their considerable ire when Taylor Swift’s ‘Style’ emerges from the speakers. The masses are instantly aware the woman who turned her back on them and everything she stood for to meet her own selfish desires is joining the legend in the ring.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CmadmM5cOk )
A moment later, a spotlight shines on the raven-haired turncoat, the dark hair contrasting dramatically with her perfectly pale skin and complementing her resentful attitude. The stunning dimpled Blackheart angrily shouts at the assembled, the crowd testing their lungs in response, jeering at their former Sweetheart.
CHARLIE DAWSON
The gorgeous grappler offers a double middle-finger salute to the earsplitting crowd. Playfully, she cups a hand to her ear as she moves to center stage, acting as if she can’t hear the people who once adored her.
Satisfied, a smirking Charlie heads for the ring, the despicable Blackheart psyching out a few simpletons who swing and miss on her offered palm when she pulls it away, Dawson chuckling at the stupidity of the dimwits.
Reaching the squared circle, the former Darling of the Desert slides under the bottom rope, springs to her feet and unzips her hoodie, now blood red instead of her customary pink. Dawson slips it off to reveal a similarly hued fightin’ two piece, the cut of the spandex much less modest around her chest and ass, raising the blood pressure of the spectators further.
Charlie tosses the hoodie and waves to the iconic Ivy turning the supposedly sweet gesture into flipping the bird to a bemused Charmer. Dawson stares daggers at Armstrong, motioning she’ll break the Slamma in two.
“Come’n get it,” the redhead shouts, motioning Dawson forward.
A sneering Charlie moves to her corner instead, Tay-Tay’s voice lowering below the boos and the announcer.
“And her opponent, standing 5 feet 2 inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds, from Spokane, Washington via Albuquerque, New Mexico...America’s Blackheart…Charlie Dawson!”
“Time to cash in your 401K Mamy Ivy,” the Blackheart shouts across the ring. “You and the Armstrong clan have outlived your usefulness.”
As the bell rings, Ivy charges toward her arrogant adversary and Charlie ducks her head and torso between the cables.
“BACK! KEEP HER BACK!” she screams.
Nick Castle intervenes, keeping the veteran in the middle.
“OK, Charlie,” Castle says. “Let’s give these people their show.”
Dawson carefully reenters and circles around the impatient Ivy.
Ivy feints a single-leg takedown and the former Sweetheart shifts her lower limbs away from the reach, dropping to all fours then scrambling to the side while a smirking Armstrong waggles an index finger.
“I’ve forgotten more than you know,” the Rebel Hellion instructs, “and I don’t forget anything,” she adds with a chuckle.
A flustered Dawson snorts and takes the more direct approach, striding forward and locking in a collar-and-elbow the Bama Slamma quickly twists into a side headlock on Charlie. The auburn-haired grappler twists the former Desert Darling’s noggin rudely then beats a set of fists to the crown of Charlie’s cranium, the Blackheart squeaking in protest.
Having tired of using her foe’s head for percussion, Ivy rips the smaller woman over an extended hip, spilling Dawson to her backside, then plants a soccer kick into the base of the raven-haired wrestler’s spine, Charlie arching in pain.
“Bytch,” the former American Sweetheart bleats reflexively as she reaches for her lower spine.
“And so much more,” Ivy adds as she steps one of her infamous ivory stems over Charlie’s right shoulder then does so on the opposite side. She clamps down with a head scissors that starts standing but quickly drops to a figure-four variety from behind as the Southern Charmer lowers to the mat. Ivy flexes her sinewy gams, pressing up on her palms to increase the tension.
With Charlie’s pale face turning rosier by the moment, a seated Dawson vainly reaches for the ropes, too far away to present any hope. Realizing, she presses her boot soles against the canvas and leans backwards to stack Armstrong on her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Ivy releases her vice lock to escape the pinfall, scrambling to her feet as the Blackheart does the same. Reaching poised stances simultaneously, they halt for a moment and receive a modest ovation.
“Bianca’s generally useless as you know…a wrestler,” the redhead says, “but it seems like you could really use her out here.”
“She has her moments,” Charlie responds, eyes focusing on any forward movement from her foe. “But needing a partner to be special is more your gig, amirite?”
The Alabaman’s anger flashes. She shoots a toe kick at Charlie’s tummy, but Dawson catches the limb before it hits home. Charlie has the Slamma bouncing on her planted left boot, Ivy flashing her palms plaintively at a grinning Blackheart.
In an instant, Armstrong launches an enziguri kick Dawson deftly ducks and, with the Hellion suddenly pointed away from her after the swing and miss, Dawson THUMPS a forearm shiver into the base of Ivy’s brainstem.
The stubborn OG Country Girl drops to her knees from the force of the impact but stops herself from faceplanting, Armstrong’s head wobbling as she remains on her haunches. Dawson scoots by a shoulder and hits the cables at full speed, rebounding toward the dazed Charmer and RAMMING a vicious knee strike between the emerald eyes of the future Hall of Famer.
Armstrong falls, thighs folded atop calves and Charlie dives into a schoolgirl pin, Dawson’s shins across Ivy’s ivory biceps, the Blackheart’s crotch snug with Ivy’s chin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Armstrong awkwardly pushes out from under, pushing Dawson up and over her head.
While Ivy crunches her abs to reach a kneeling position, the slick little Blackheart is on her feet and surreptitiously sidling to the nearest corner, out of Ivy’s view. When the auburn-maned Bama fan rises and turns to find her adversary, Charlie’s perched on the middle ropes. She leaps from her elevation and FLATTENS Ivy again, this time with her Diving Leg Lariat.
Diving Leg Lariat ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=EOxziLP3aM8 )
Dawson kips to her feet, arms high and wide, drawing a wave of audible hatred from those she deserted. With her back to the splayed Ivy, a grinning Charlie winks to the denizens of the front row, then gracefully backflips into a CRUNCHING moonsault, a heavy SLAP of belly against belly echoing.
Standing Moonsault ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-Y5RzSEDZ8 )
The Blackheart, in a pre-made pin, hooks the far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
…AGAIN Armstrong pushes the smaller grappler away, the Desert Darling turned Diva’s third nearfall of the match reaching a tipping point of frustration. Dawson SLAPS the pink abdomen of the Bama Slamma.
“You’re going to wear out at my pace,” the former Sweetheart assures. “Losers don’t age well.”
“Which is why Skye looks so much better than you,” Armstrong grunts in return.
Furious, Charlie mounts the aching Ivy in a straddle of her chest and bombards the Hellion with a series of flying fists, a frantic storm of clenched fingers blasts into either temple until Castle’s count brings the flurry to an end.
Dawson pushes off the faltering legend and adds a stompy stomp to the navel to increase Ivy’s afflictions, Armstrong jackknifing around the cruel stamp of boot to belly, then settling to the canvas, making sure to push Charlie’s foot away so another more embarrassing count doesn’t begin.
Skipping over the splayed redhead, the Desert Diva races to the ropes and rebounds. Not quite the speed merchant her former Sweetheart partner is, Dawson’s still a red blur as she re-approaches Ivy. Armstrong, having started to rise, realizes she won’t make it to full vertical in time and drops back to her chest, the Blackheart bouncing over again to sprint to another set of cables.
On the next return, a dashing Dawson leaps into a flying crossbody against the chest of a risen Armstrong. While the Charmer is staggered, she remains on her feet and regains her balance with a squirming Charlie tight to her chest, her rudimentary acrobatics failing spectacularly.
“All that running and for this…” the redhead scolds.
Dropping in a slight crouch, Ivy HEAVES the diminutive Blackheart up and over her head and shoulders, a spinning Charlie CRASHING to earth courtesy an impressive Fallaway Slam.
Fallaway Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-Y5RzSEDZ8 ) :01
Armstrong rises to one knee and plays to her wall-to-wall support, starting a rhythmic clap before turning her attention back to a wincing but ascending Dawson.
Grabbing Charlie by the wrist, Ivy lifts one of her infamous alabaster stems and stuffs a boot sole tight to Charlie’s chin. Armstrong falls to her back and force feeds a whole lot of Sole Food to the Blackheart.
Sole Food ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTdWpldVzmU ).
Dawson’s head whiplashes away from the impact and her pocket-sized frame follows, both ending canvas-bound, a wide-eyed Charlie on her side, blinking her baby blues wide to regain her bearings.
Ivy isn’t interested in providing her foe the opportunity. The sellout throng cheers their Charmer on as she tugs a suddenly storm-tossed Dawson to stooped feet. Moving alongside the dipped, ebony-maned Blackheart, Ivy lifts a knee to Charlie’s near temple while reaching across her adversary’s body to hook an arm and bring the former American Sweetheart to the deck when she lays out and rocks Charlie’s world with Mama Knows Best.
Mama Knows Best ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJmrOSHMhwI )
Dawson’s body spasms then melts to a feeble starfish. A focused Ivy dives across her opponent, hooking both legs to make sure and get the…
ONE…
TWO…
Dawson kicks free, flopping to her side, gamely if weakly shaking her head.
Armstrong sits next to Charlie with a knowing grin and possessively pats Dawson on the head. “Still such a plucky little girl.”
“Shut your mouth,” the former Sweetheart retorts weakly as she pushes to hands and knees.
The redhead leans against her palms and drives a boot into Dawson’s temple, sending her foe pinwheeling from the impact, Charlie rolling back up to all fours but having to shake out a whole new set of cobwebs.
The OG hops to her feet and blows kisses to the crowd then one to her counterpart who crawls to the ropes and uses them to rise. An embattled Charlie leans against the strands, arms over the top cable to help keep her upright, when Ivy charges and THWOPS a clothesline across her clavicle. Dawson backflips over the strands, crashing against the apron on the way to pooling on the arena floor.
Above, the Slamma takes kudos from her crimson tide of supporters. As the Blackheart begins to rise, Ivy Belle turns and races to the opposite cables. She hits the rubber-coated steel at full speed and rebounds into a sprint ending with her launching between the top and middle ropes nearest Dawson.
Suicide Dive ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILxv5WE3DpM ) :04
Like a Southern-fried Supergirl, Ivy collides with the wide-eyed Charlie and sends her reeling in a backpedal, Dawson’s spine CRASHING against the steel barricade behind her. Charlie arches in pain and slides to a seat, grasping at her lower vertebrae, unable to halt the torrent of the Southern Charmer.
Having landed on her feet, Armstrong hovers over a deflated Dawson.
“Sweetie. You can play ‘bad girl’ all you like. It doesn’t make you one.”
The auburn-haired grappler grabs Charlie by the ears and tugs the grimacing, mewling Charlie to her feet and pounds her with a forearm shiver that shakes the smaller competitor, Dawson’s face registering the fierceness of the blow.
The grinning Hellion snatches Dawson by her jet-black locks and tosses Dawson toward the nearby ring post. In mid-air, Charlie spins, her back again taking the brunt of a violent blow against unforgiving metal. Somehow, the stubborn turncoat remains on her feet, features etched in pain.
Leaning Dawson against the post, Ivy grabs the right wrist of her foe and folds the arm so it’s clear of her planned attack path. Balling her right hand, the Bama Slamma gives it a smooch in preparation of impaling her heart-stopper of a Heart Punch to the cleft of the Blackheart’s bosom and leave her an eyerolling ragdoll.
Armstrong winds up and THUNK…
Charlie drops to her ass cheeks and the redhead delivers fist to post in frightening fashion. Ivy pulls her right hand close, howling in pain. Turning away, she staggers down the length of the ring, creating space and likely wondering if she’s fractured her fingers.
Given a second life, Dawson wearily pushes to her feet and watches as Armstrong stumbles away, cradling her hand close, a troubled look on Ivy’s face.
The diminutive grappler gathers herself and runs after Ivy from her foe’s six, barreling into the Bama Brawler from behind. She shoves Armstrong, Ivy flying into the steel steps, her right shoulder and noggin CLACKING against the metal. Armstrong puddles against the displaced stairs, the Dirtiest Player in the Game learning Charlie has malevolence in her heart as well.
Dawson scrapes Ivy off the floor and rolls her into the ring, satisfying the slow count Castle’s been accumulating. As the crowd buries her with boos, the Blackheart slides in after her adversary, quickly tracking down a risen and retreating Ivy with a nasty chop block to the back of Armstrong’s knee.
Grabbing a horizontal Ivy’s injured wing by the wrist, Dawson lifts the arm, folds it, and drops to the canvas to apply a scissors to increase the pressure on the yipping redhead.
Short arm scissors ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4PHQ7lnvZg ) :02
Charlie calls for a surrender, but Ivy’s already shaking her head before Nick can get the words out of his mouth.
A frustrated Dawson pounds away the heel of her fist to Ivy’s elbow to increase the pain before relenting on the scissors. The glistening Blackheart rises above a squirming, moaning Armstrong. She stands on the palm of Ivy’s throbbing right hand.
Glancing down with evil intent, she addresses the Dirtiest.
“You don’t understand how much I’ve grown, sweetie,” Dawson growls.
Charlie lifts her right leg and STOMPS Ivy’s elbow, the FAWNatics groaning as Armstrong howls in anguish from the brutality.
Arm stomp ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=andzy72QIVQ ) :39
Ivy pulls her right arm close to protect it from further abuse, but the damage is done. For fun, the Blackheart tramples away on any other freckled body part available to her, leaving the Slamma a Bama mudhole, Dawson huffing from effort in leaving Ivy a hot mess.
Charlie turns to the hard cam and thumps her chest then raises her arms high and wide.
“I ain’t that girl to mess with anymore. If you didn’t know. Now you know.”
Behind her, a grimacing Ivy fights through the pain and pushes to her feet unbeknownst to the Blackheart.
Ivy surges to the clueless Charlie and clubs her on the back of the skull with a raised left arm, Dawson flattened to her chest and face. The former America’s Sweetheart presses her hands together on her beak to check if her nose is pointed in an undesirable direction.
Above her, standing in a straddle of the splayed, face-down Dawson, Ivy throws her legs out in front of her and lands in a modified senton, her backside CRASHING down atop the lower spine of the Blackheart.
With her right arm limp by her side, useless, Armstrong employs her legendary legs, surrounding Dawson’s head with the sinewy, alabaster stems and clamping down, thighs crushing Charlie’s noggin like a vice. Locking her ankles in front of Dawson and squeezing for all she’s worth, the Slamma demands Castle ask the little monster if she wants to capitulate.
While an open palm hovers perilously over the canvas, Charlie grunts out a sound Nick interprets as a ‘no’ and the torture continues. Without the use of her right arm, it becomes more difficult to controls Charlie’s desperate writhing and the raven-haired wrestler is able to barrel-roll 180 degrees, leaving Ivy stacked on her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
…Armstrong releases her scissors to roll a shoulder off the canvas and save her match life.
The redhead awkwardly scrambles out from under Dawson before the Blackheart can clear her head. Hustling to the nearest set of buckles, Armstrong climbs in cumbersome fashion, perhaps realizing she must hit something big and finish this quickly with only three working limbs remaining.
With Charlie starting to rise, it’s a race to see if Ivy’s miscalculated.
Armstrong finds that out in spades when a sharp-eyed Dawson races to the corner and launches to a stance on the middle ropes. Charlie grabs Ivy’s auburn locks and steps to the highest cables.
Without wasting an instant, the acrobatic Blackheart momentarily replaces the cruel one and Dawson lifts off, taking to the sky in reverse and drawing Armstrong with her, Charlie sitting out avalanche-style and busting Ivy’s face in spectacular fashion.
East Mountains Facebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQ1mGAZoTCo )
The impact is so harsh both women are laid out after, Ivy face up, Charlie face down. The appreciative crowd provides the combatants with a collective ovation for their efforts as each struggle to show signs of life.
Dawson’s the first to respond, slowly pushing to hands and knees. A few feet away, the stubborn Ivy rises to a wobbly seat. Seeing Armstrong has the hint of a chance to beat the Blackheart to verticality, the crowd starts a ‘Let’s go Ivy’ chant and the Bama Slamma responds.
The redhead catches up with the ascending Charlie, each standing in slumped fashion, both up but not particularly ready to advance their attack. Finally, Armstrong takes control, surging and wrapping her left hand around the back of Dawson’s skull, then heaving her foe to the far ropes.
Charlie rebounds to the waiting, poised OG. Ivy catches a ducking Dawson across the waist and flips the smaller grappler up her body, ready to administer significant damage with a Canadian Backbreaker. But the continued soreness in the Southern Charmer’s decimated wing allows the acrobatic Dawson to sneak out the back side, slipping off her foe’s shoulder.
The Blackheart scissors Ivy’s frame while draping down the redhead’s back and Dawson binds Armstrong’s legendary legs with her arms as she flips through, spectacularly sitting out with her ludicrous Code Black.
Code Black ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMJKAphPhBo ) :04
With the back of Ivy’s noggin CRASHING into the canvas, shoulders also planted by the former Desert Darling, Armstrong is stacked neatly in a matchbook between Charlie’s extended legs for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Somehow, Armstrong manages to tumble out of the predicament, landing on her side next to a still seated Charlie.
Not wasting a moment, Dawson pushes Ivy the rest of the way to her chest while moving perpendicular to the auburn-haired grappler. She snatches Armstrong’s ravaged right arm and pulls it distant from the Slamma’s side. Locking her arms around the extended wing, Dawson secures a Fujiwara Armbar, seemingly wanting to remove Ivy’s arm from its socket.
Fujiwara Armbar ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwmkJH3nkQ0 ) :23
Charlie bounces and wrenches, the limb fully hers. She tugs the arm toward her adversary’s opposite shoulder, leaning her back across Ivy’s while torturing the Dirtiest Player.
The crowd pleads with Armstrong to stay strong and find a way out but as the seconds accumulate the chant of ‘Please…Don’t…Tap’ become more a prayer.
Finally, Ivy can take no more. Her left palm TAPS OUT a staccato burst upon the canvas, Belle’s Hellion unable to take anymore from the vile and vindictive Dawson.
Castle leaps to his feet and calls for the bell. It tolls and tolls as Charlie refuses to give up her grip. Armstrong squeals in agony for release, pleading with a snarling Charlie to let her go.
“Who’s tapping?” the Blackheart asks.
“I AM…PLEASE…I AM! I GIVE UP!” Ivy hollers.
Dawson releases, allowing the whimpering Armstrong to cradle her arm close. Charlie waves off a nearby Castle, who offers to help her up and lift her arm in victory.
From outside, the official verdict comes as Dawson continues to lounge beside the mewling redhead.
“Your winner, via submission, the Blackheart…Charlie Dawson!”
The Desert Diva rises and lifts her arms high and wide, not wanting any validation from Nick.
Deciding his work is done, Castle departs, allowing Dawson to claim her money shot, placing a boot sole between Ivy’s shoulderblades.
But instead of leaving to revel backstage in an enormous win, Charlie drops an elbow across the shoulder of Ivy’s right arm, then latches on and reapplies the Fujiwara Armbar, seemingly intent on breaking Armstrong’s limb.
“Who’s dirtier?” Charlie shouts as the Slamma howls in agony, trapped with no way out, a lengthy stay in the hospital seemingly assured.
Only the growing murmur of the crowd reaching the level of Ivy’s shrieks lets Charlie know a well-timed getaway is highly advisable. The Blackheart glances over her shoulder to see Ivy’s Hellion partner, Cynthia Mitchell, racing to the ring in her violet battle gear, ready to provide payback for the punishment meted out to her bestie.
CYNTHIA MITCHELL
But as the Carolina Hurricane rolls into the ring on one side, Dawson releases her grip and scampers out in the opposite direction. Charlie lands on her feet and teases the furious Mitchell.
“You really should have been out here to protect her the whole time. You knew it would end her.”
Mitchell sneers at the retreating Dawson.
“Get your ass out of here, wannabe.”
Cynthia moves her attention to the moaning Ivy, trying her best to console and confirm her friend’s time in the ER would be limited if at all.
“Can we get a little help down here?” Cyn shouts. “A sling at least.”
Seeing no one imminent, Mitchell rises and looks up the ramp.
“People,” she yells. “A trainer…something.”
Cynthia turns back to Ivy only to go bug-eyed as Dawson is in mid-air, having climbed the outside of a corner and stealthily reach the top, where Dawson launches toward her. The Blackheart flips past on the fly-by, snatching Cynthia’s braincase and SPIKING it into the deck, her infamous Charlie Cutter leaving Mitchell instantly unconscious, out cold before she flops to a stop in a wide spreadeagle.
Charlie Cutter ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=P53Lflg9OC0 )
Dawson hops to her feet celebrating for a glorious moment her two-for-one before proceeding to put a mudhole stomping down on Mitchell, Cyn sleeping through the onslaught, though she’d surely feel every bit of it later.
Again, the crowd roars and this time the raven-haired, bite-sized bytch can hardly believe her eyes. Missing since Charlie punked her former partner at All Hallows’ Evil, Skylar Mitchell is beating her feet to the squared circle and Dawson wants none of that.
SKYLAR MITCHELL
Charlie sprints the other way and flies between the ropes, not even waiting for Skye to enter. The remaining Sweetheart slides in and checks on her older sibling, then one of her best friends and mentors.
Ivy proclaims herself ‘OK’ to the younger Mitchell, though she looks far less.
Armstrong taps Cynthia’s cheek, trying to rouse her.
Meanwhile an enraged Skye escorts Charlie as Dawson orbits around the outside of the ring, the Blackheart holding up her hands plaintively, motioning she’s had enough fun for the night.
As the Blackheart begs off, reaching the ramp and heading up, Skye procures a microphone.
“Charlie! You’ve made the biggest mistake of your life. I’m not only going to beat you. I’m going to make sure no one in this company will ever have to deal with you again!”
Dawson backpedals up the ramp, swallowing hard, unconvincingly claiming “I’ll beat your ass again, Mitchell”.
“Start counting the days, Charlie. I will be!” Skye proclaims before tossing the stick aside.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDeDAgud87M
Immediately the crowd explodes in a frantic fervor, ready to welcome with open arms and hearts a company legend. The curtains tear open and the most infamous redhead in FAWN history struts into view, the Southern Charmer’s hips sashaying with silent temptation.
IVY ARMSTRONG
Ivy Armstrong returns to her sartorial roots, wearing a simple, cropped white tanktop, while her trademark denim cut-offs continue to reveal a conspicuous degree of ivory backside. Below, the alabaster stems of infamy are on full display in all their lithe splendor, leading down to bare feet.
The Slamma buoyantly bounces toward the ring, taking turns on each side of the aisle, slapping hands with the delighted FAWNatics. One particularly lucky fan has his face cupped close within her hands. Ivy Belle plants a kiss on his forehead, then whispers something into his ear that causes his knees to buckle and his friends to whoop, holler and high five one another.
Her fan outreach complete, Armstrong resumes her march to the ring, a contented smile on her ruby red lips, her black eye-lined green eyes half-lidded like a jungle cat on the prowl.
At ringside, she climbs the steps to the apron and strides midway down the length of the squared circle. Ivy turns to face the crowd even as her arms reach up on either side so that her hands can grasp the top cable.
With a gracefulness that would put Olympic gymnasts to shame, Ivy backflips up and over the strands in a graceful arc, landing gently inside the ring. An eruption of gratitude from the entranced crowd bursts through the bowl.
Within her playground, Armstrong saunters over to the ring announcer and politely asks for the stick. Receiving it, she raises it to her lips.
“I ain’t above working on Slaybor Day if it means earning a spot on the Biggest Show of the Year,” Ivy exclaims, the crowd going crazy at the thought. “So let’s get this poor thing facing me out here and give her a Bama-sized ass whoopin”.
The redhead hands the microphone back to its owner.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit. First...standing five feet eight inches tall and tipping the scale at one-hundred and twenty pounds...from Uriah, Alabama...she is the 'Bama Slamma, IIIIVVVVVVYYYYYY ARMSTRONG!”
The mob goes berserk once more.
The Hellion, delighted by the response, meanders to her corner to await the woman who would burnish her resume for a Mania slot.
After the crowd’s roar slowly dissipates, the FAWNatics unleash their considerable ire when Taylor Swift’s ‘Style’ emerges from the speakers. The masses are instantly aware the woman who turned her back on them and everything she stood for to meet her own selfish desires is joining the legend in the ring.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CmadmM5cOk )
A moment later, a spotlight shines on the raven-haired turncoat, the dark hair contrasting dramatically with her perfectly pale skin and complementing her resentful attitude. The stunning dimpled Blackheart angrily shouts at the assembled, the crowd testing their lungs in response, jeering at their former Sweetheart.
CHARLIE DAWSON
The gorgeous grappler offers a double middle-finger salute to the earsplitting crowd. Playfully, she cups a hand to her ear as she moves to center stage, acting as if she can’t hear the people who once adored her.
Satisfied, a smirking Charlie heads for the ring, the despicable Blackheart psyching out a few simpletons who swing and miss on her offered palm when she pulls it away, Dawson chuckling at the stupidity of the dimwits.
Reaching the squared circle, the former Darling of the Desert slides under the bottom rope, springs to her feet and unzips her hoodie, now blood red instead of her customary pink. Dawson slips it off to reveal a similarly hued fightin’ two piece, the cut of the spandex much less modest around her chest and ass, raising the blood pressure of the spectators further.
Charlie tosses the hoodie and waves to the iconic Ivy turning the supposedly sweet gesture into flipping the bird to a bemused Charmer. Dawson stares daggers at Armstrong, motioning she’ll break the Slamma in two.
“Come’n get it,” the redhead shouts, motioning Dawson forward.
A sneering Charlie moves to her corner instead, Tay-Tay’s voice lowering below the boos and the announcer.
“And her opponent, standing 5 feet 2 inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds, from Spokane, Washington via Albuquerque, New Mexico...America’s Blackheart…Charlie Dawson!”
“Time to cash in your 401K Mamy Ivy,” the Blackheart shouts across the ring. “You and the Armstrong clan have outlived your usefulness.”
As the bell rings, Ivy charges toward her arrogant adversary and Charlie ducks her head and torso between the cables.
“BACK! KEEP HER BACK!” she screams.
Nick Castle intervenes, keeping the veteran in the middle.
“OK, Charlie,” Castle says. “Let’s give these people their show.”
Dawson carefully reenters and circles around the impatient Ivy.
Ivy feints a single-leg takedown and the former Sweetheart shifts her lower limbs away from the reach, dropping to all fours then scrambling to the side while a smirking Armstrong waggles an index finger.
“I’ve forgotten more than you know,” the Rebel Hellion instructs, “and I don’t forget anything,” she adds with a chuckle.
A flustered Dawson snorts and takes the more direct approach, striding forward and locking in a collar-and-elbow the Bama Slamma quickly twists into a side headlock on Charlie. The auburn-haired grappler twists the former Desert Darling’s noggin rudely then beats a set of fists to the crown of Charlie’s cranium, the Blackheart squeaking in protest.
Having tired of using her foe’s head for percussion, Ivy rips the smaller woman over an extended hip, spilling Dawson to her backside, then plants a soccer kick into the base of the raven-haired wrestler’s spine, Charlie arching in pain.
“Bytch,” the former American Sweetheart bleats reflexively as she reaches for her lower spine.
“And so much more,” Ivy adds as she steps one of her infamous ivory stems over Charlie’s right shoulder then does so on the opposite side. She clamps down with a head scissors that starts standing but quickly drops to a figure-four variety from behind as the Southern Charmer lowers to the mat. Ivy flexes her sinewy gams, pressing up on her palms to increase the tension.
With Charlie’s pale face turning rosier by the moment, a seated Dawson vainly reaches for the ropes, too far away to present any hope. Realizing, she presses her boot soles against the canvas and leans backwards to stack Armstrong on her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Ivy releases her vice lock to escape the pinfall, scrambling to her feet as the Blackheart does the same. Reaching poised stances simultaneously, they halt for a moment and receive a modest ovation.
“Bianca’s generally useless as you know…a wrestler,” the redhead says, “but it seems like you could really use her out here.”
“She has her moments,” Charlie responds, eyes focusing on any forward movement from her foe. “But needing a partner to be special is more your gig, amirite?”
The Alabaman’s anger flashes. She shoots a toe kick at Charlie’s tummy, but Dawson catches the limb before it hits home. Charlie has the Slamma bouncing on her planted left boot, Ivy flashing her palms plaintively at a grinning Blackheart.
In an instant, Armstrong launches an enziguri kick Dawson deftly ducks and, with the Hellion suddenly pointed away from her after the swing and miss, Dawson THUMPS a forearm shiver into the base of Ivy’s brainstem.
The stubborn OG Country Girl drops to her knees from the force of the impact but stops herself from faceplanting, Armstrong’s head wobbling as she remains on her haunches. Dawson scoots by a shoulder and hits the cables at full speed, rebounding toward the dazed Charmer and RAMMING a vicious knee strike between the emerald eyes of the future Hall of Famer.
Armstrong falls, thighs folded atop calves and Charlie dives into a schoolgirl pin, Dawson’s shins across Ivy’s ivory biceps, the Blackheart’s crotch snug with Ivy’s chin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Armstrong awkwardly pushes out from under, pushing Dawson up and over her head.
While Ivy crunches her abs to reach a kneeling position, the slick little Blackheart is on her feet and surreptitiously sidling to the nearest corner, out of Ivy’s view. When the auburn-maned Bama fan rises and turns to find her adversary, Charlie’s perched on the middle ropes. She leaps from her elevation and FLATTENS Ivy again, this time with her Diving Leg Lariat.
Diving Leg Lariat ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=EOxziLP3aM8 )
Dawson kips to her feet, arms high and wide, drawing a wave of audible hatred from those she deserted. With her back to the splayed Ivy, a grinning Charlie winks to the denizens of the front row, then gracefully backflips into a CRUNCHING moonsault, a heavy SLAP of belly against belly echoing.
Standing Moonsault ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-Y5RzSEDZ8 )
The Blackheart, in a pre-made pin, hooks the far leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
…AGAIN Armstrong pushes the smaller grappler away, the Desert Darling turned Diva’s third nearfall of the match reaching a tipping point of frustration. Dawson SLAPS the pink abdomen of the Bama Slamma.
“You’re going to wear out at my pace,” the former Sweetheart assures. “Losers don’t age well.”
“Which is why Skye looks so much better than you,” Armstrong grunts in return.
Furious, Charlie mounts the aching Ivy in a straddle of her chest and bombards the Hellion with a series of flying fists, a frantic storm of clenched fingers blasts into either temple until Castle’s count brings the flurry to an end.
Dawson pushes off the faltering legend and adds a stompy stomp to the navel to increase Ivy’s afflictions, Armstrong jackknifing around the cruel stamp of boot to belly, then settling to the canvas, making sure to push Charlie’s foot away so another more embarrassing count doesn’t begin.
Skipping over the splayed redhead, the Desert Diva races to the ropes and rebounds. Not quite the speed merchant her former Sweetheart partner is, Dawson’s still a red blur as she re-approaches Ivy. Armstrong, having started to rise, realizes she won’t make it to full vertical in time and drops back to her chest, the Blackheart bouncing over again to sprint to another set of cables.
On the next return, a dashing Dawson leaps into a flying crossbody against the chest of a risen Armstrong. While the Charmer is staggered, she remains on her feet and regains her balance with a squirming Charlie tight to her chest, her rudimentary acrobatics failing spectacularly.
“All that running and for this…” the redhead scolds.
Dropping in a slight crouch, Ivy HEAVES the diminutive Blackheart up and over her head and shoulders, a spinning Charlie CRASHING to earth courtesy an impressive Fallaway Slam.
Fallaway Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-Y5RzSEDZ8 ) :01
Armstrong rises to one knee and plays to her wall-to-wall support, starting a rhythmic clap before turning her attention back to a wincing but ascending Dawson.
Grabbing Charlie by the wrist, Ivy lifts one of her infamous alabaster stems and stuffs a boot sole tight to Charlie’s chin. Armstrong falls to her back and force feeds a whole lot of Sole Food to the Blackheart.
Sole Food ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTdWpldVzmU ).
Dawson’s head whiplashes away from the impact and her pocket-sized frame follows, both ending canvas-bound, a wide-eyed Charlie on her side, blinking her baby blues wide to regain her bearings.
Ivy isn’t interested in providing her foe the opportunity. The sellout throng cheers their Charmer on as she tugs a suddenly storm-tossed Dawson to stooped feet. Moving alongside the dipped, ebony-maned Blackheart, Ivy lifts a knee to Charlie’s near temple while reaching across her adversary’s body to hook an arm and bring the former American Sweetheart to the deck when she lays out and rocks Charlie’s world with Mama Knows Best.
Mama Knows Best ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJmrOSHMhwI )
Dawson’s body spasms then melts to a feeble starfish. A focused Ivy dives across her opponent, hooking both legs to make sure and get the…
ONE…
TWO…
Dawson kicks free, flopping to her side, gamely if weakly shaking her head.
Armstrong sits next to Charlie with a knowing grin and possessively pats Dawson on the head. “Still such a plucky little girl.”
“Shut your mouth,” the former Sweetheart retorts weakly as she pushes to hands and knees.
The redhead leans against her palms and drives a boot into Dawson’s temple, sending her foe pinwheeling from the impact, Charlie rolling back up to all fours but having to shake out a whole new set of cobwebs.
The OG hops to her feet and blows kisses to the crowd then one to her counterpart who crawls to the ropes and uses them to rise. An embattled Charlie leans against the strands, arms over the top cable to help keep her upright, when Ivy charges and THWOPS a clothesline across her clavicle. Dawson backflips over the strands, crashing against the apron on the way to pooling on the arena floor.
Above, the Slamma takes kudos from her crimson tide of supporters. As the Blackheart begins to rise, Ivy Belle turns and races to the opposite cables. She hits the rubber-coated steel at full speed and rebounds into a sprint ending with her launching between the top and middle ropes nearest Dawson.
Suicide Dive ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILxv5WE3DpM ) :04
Like a Southern-fried Supergirl, Ivy collides with the wide-eyed Charlie and sends her reeling in a backpedal, Dawson’s spine CRASHING against the steel barricade behind her. Charlie arches in pain and slides to a seat, grasping at her lower vertebrae, unable to halt the torrent of the Southern Charmer.
Having landed on her feet, Armstrong hovers over a deflated Dawson.
“Sweetie. You can play ‘bad girl’ all you like. It doesn’t make you one.”
The auburn-haired grappler grabs Charlie by the ears and tugs the grimacing, mewling Charlie to her feet and pounds her with a forearm shiver that shakes the smaller competitor, Dawson’s face registering the fierceness of the blow.
The grinning Hellion snatches Dawson by her jet-black locks and tosses Dawson toward the nearby ring post. In mid-air, Charlie spins, her back again taking the brunt of a violent blow against unforgiving metal. Somehow, the stubborn turncoat remains on her feet, features etched in pain.
Leaning Dawson against the post, Ivy grabs the right wrist of her foe and folds the arm so it’s clear of her planned attack path. Balling her right hand, the Bama Slamma gives it a smooch in preparation of impaling her heart-stopper of a Heart Punch to the cleft of the Blackheart’s bosom and leave her an eyerolling ragdoll.
Armstrong winds up and THUNK…
Charlie drops to her ass cheeks and the redhead delivers fist to post in frightening fashion. Ivy pulls her right hand close, howling in pain. Turning away, she staggers down the length of the ring, creating space and likely wondering if she’s fractured her fingers.
Given a second life, Dawson wearily pushes to her feet and watches as Armstrong stumbles away, cradling her hand close, a troubled look on Ivy’s face.
The diminutive grappler gathers herself and runs after Ivy from her foe’s six, barreling into the Bama Brawler from behind. She shoves Armstrong, Ivy flying into the steel steps, her right shoulder and noggin CLACKING against the metal. Armstrong puddles against the displaced stairs, the Dirtiest Player in the Game learning Charlie has malevolence in her heart as well.
Dawson scrapes Ivy off the floor and rolls her into the ring, satisfying the slow count Castle’s been accumulating. As the crowd buries her with boos, the Blackheart slides in after her adversary, quickly tracking down a risen and retreating Ivy with a nasty chop block to the back of Armstrong’s knee.
Grabbing a horizontal Ivy’s injured wing by the wrist, Dawson lifts the arm, folds it, and drops to the canvas to apply a scissors to increase the pressure on the yipping redhead.
Short arm scissors ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4PHQ7lnvZg ) :02
Charlie calls for a surrender, but Ivy’s already shaking her head before Nick can get the words out of his mouth.
A frustrated Dawson pounds away the heel of her fist to Ivy’s elbow to increase the pain before relenting on the scissors. The glistening Blackheart rises above a squirming, moaning Armstrong. She stands on the palm of Ivy’s throbbing right hand.
Glancing down with evil intent, she addresses the Dirtiest.
“You don’t understand how much I’ve grown, sweetie,” Dawson growls.
Charlie lifts her right leg and STOMPS Ivy’s elbow, the FAWNatics groaning as Armstrong howls in anguish from the brutality.
Arm stomp ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=andzy72QIVQ ) :39
Ivy pulls her right arm close to protect it from further abuse, but the damage is done. For fun, the Blackheart tramples away on any other freckled body part available to her, leaving the Slamma a Bama mudhole, Dawson huffing from effort in leaving Ivy a hot mess.
Charlie turns to the hard cam and thumps her chest then raises her arms high and wide.
“I ain’t that girl to mess with anymore. If you didn’t know. Now you know.”
Behind her, a grimacing Ivy fights through the pain and pushes to her feet unbeknownst to the Blackheart.
Ivy surges to the clueless Charlie and clubs her on the back of the skull with a raised left arm, Dawson flattened to her chest and face. The former America’s Sweetheart presses her hands together on her beak to check if her nose is pointed in an undesirable direction.
Above her, standing in a straddle of the splayed, face-down Dawson, Ivy throws her legs out in front of her and lands in a modified senton, her backside CRASHING down atop the lower spine of the Blackheart.
With her right arm limp by her side, useless, Armstrong employs her legendary legs, surrounding Dawson’s head with the sinewy, alabaster stems and clamping down, thighs crushing Charlie’s noggin like a vice. Locking her ankles in front of Dawson and squeezing for all she’s worth, the Slamma demands Castle ask the little monster if she wants to capitulate.
While an open palm hovers perilously over the canvas, Charlie grunts out a sound Nick interprets as a ‘no’ and the torture continues. Without the use of her right arm, it becomes more difficult to controls Charlie’s desperate writhing and the raven-haired wrestler is able to barrel-roll 180 degrees, leaving Ivy stacked on her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
…Armstrong releases her scissors to roll a shoulder off the canvas and save her match life.
The redhead awkwardly scrambles out from under Dawson before the Blackheart can clear her head. Hustling to the nearest set of buckles, Armstrong climbs in cumbersome fashion, perhaps realizing she must hit something big and finish this quickly with only three working limbs remaining.
With Charlie starting to rise, it’s a race to see if Ivy’s miscalculated.
Armstrong finds that out in spades when a sharp-eyed Dawson races to the corner and launches to a stance on the middle ropes. Charlie grabs Ivy’s auburn locks and steps to the highest cables.
Without wasting an instant, the acrobatic Blackheart momentarily replaces the cruel one and Dawson lifts off, taking to the sky in reverse and drawing Armstrong with her, Charlie sitting out avalanche-style and busting Ivy’s face in spectacular fashion.
East Mountains Facebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQ1mGAZoTCo )
The impact is so harsh both women are laid out after, Ivy face up, Charlie face down. The appreciative crowd provides the combatants with a collective ovation for their efforts as each struggle to show signs of life.
Dawson’s the first to respond, slowly pushing to hands and knees. A few feet away, the stubborn Ivy rises to a wobbly seat. Seeing Armstrong has the hint of a chance to beat the Blackheart to verticality, the crowd starts a ‘Let’s go Ivy’ chant and the Bama Slamma responds.
The redhead catches up with the ascending Charlie, each standing in slumped fashion, both up but not particularly ready to advance their attack. Finally, Armstrong takes control, surging and wrapping her left hand around the back of Dawson’s skull, then heaving her foe to the far ropes.
Charlie rebounds to the waiting, poised OG. Ivy catches a ducking Dawson across the waist and flips the smaller grappler up her body, ready to administer significant damage with a Canadian Backbreaker. But the continued soreness in the Southern Charmer’s decimated wing allows the acrobatic Dawson to sneak out the back side, slipping off her foe’s shoulder.
The Blackheart scissors Ivy’s frame while draping down the redhead’s back and Dawson binds Armstrong’s legendary legs with her arms as she flips through, spectacularly sitting out with her ludicrous Code Black.
Code Black ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMJKAphPhBo ) :04
With the back of Ivy’s noggin CRASHING into the canvas, shoulders also planted by the former Desert Darling, Armstrong is stacked neatly in a matchbook between Charlie’s extended legs for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Somehow, Armstrong manages to tumble out of the predicament, landing on her side next to a still seated Charlie.
Not wasting a moment, Dawson pushes Ivy the rest of the way to her chest while moving perpendicular to the auburn-haired grappler. She snatches Armstrong’s ravaged right arm and pulls it distant from the Slamma’s side. Locking her arms around the extended wing, Dawson secures a Fujiwara Armbar, seemingly wanting to remove Ivy’s arm from its socket.
Fujiwara Armbar ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwmkJH3nkQ0 ) :23
Charlie bounces and wrenches, the limb fully hers. She tugs the arm toward her adversary’s opposite shoulder, leaning her back across Ivy’s while torturing the Dirtiest Player.
The crowd pleads with Armstrong to stay strong and find a way out but as the seconds accumulate the chant of ‘Please…Don’t…Tap’ become more a prayer.
Finally, Ivy can take no more. Her left palm TAPS OUT a staccato burst upon the canvas, Belle’s Hellion unable to take anymore from the vile and vindictive Dawson.
Castle leaps to his feet and calls for the bell. It tolls and tolls as Charlie refuses to give up her grip. Armstrong squeals in agony for release, pleading with a snarling Charlie to let her go.
“Who’s tapping?” the Blackheart asks.
“I AM…PLEASE…I AM! I GIVE UP!” Ivy hollers.
Dawson releases, allowing the whimpering Armstrong to cradle her arm close. Charlie waves off a nearby Castle, who offers to help her up and lift her arm in victory.
From outside, the official verdict comes as Dawson continues to lounge beside the mewling redhead.
“Your winner, via submission, the Blackheart…Charlie Dawson!”
The Desert Diva rises and lifts her arms high and wide, not wanting any validation from Nick.
Deciding his work is done, Castle departs, allowing Dawson to claim her money shot, placing a boot sole between Ivy’s shoulderblades.
But instead of leaving to revel backstage in an enormous win, Charlie drops an elbow across the shoulder of Ivy’s right arm, then latches on and reapplies the Fujiwara Armbar, seemingly intent on breaking Armstrong’s limb.
“Who’s dirtier?” Charlie shouts as the Slamma howls in agony, trapped with no way out, a lengthy stay in the hospital seemingly assured.
Only the growing murmur of the crowd reaching the level of Ivy’s shrieks lets Charlie know a well-timed getaway is highly advisable. The Blackheart glances over her shoulder to see Ivy’s Hellion partner, Cynthia Mitchell, racing to the ring in her violet battle gear, ready to provide payback for the punishment meted out to her bestie.
CYNTHIA MITCHELL
But as the Carolina Hurricane rolls into the ring on one side, Dawson releases her grip and scampers out in the opposite direction. Charlie lands on her feet and teases the furious Mitchell.
“You really should have been out here to protect her the whole time. You knew it would end her.”
Mitchell sneers at the retreating Dawson.
“Get your ass out of here, wannabe.”
Cynthia moves her attention to the moaning Ivy, trying her best to console and confirm her friend’s time in the ER would be limited if at all.
“Can we get a little help down here?” Cyn shouts. “A sling at least.”
Seeing no one imminent, Mitchell rises and looks up the ramp.
“People,” she yells. “A trainer…something.”
Cynthia turns back to Ivy only to go bug-eyed as Dawson is in mid-air, having climbed the outside of a corner and stealthily reach the top, where Dawson launches toward her. The Blackheart flips past on the fly-by, snatching Cynthia’s braincase and SPIKING it into the deck, her infamous Charlie Cutter leaving Mitchell instantly unconscious, out cold before she flops to a stop in a wide spreadeagle.
Charlie Cutter ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=P53Lflg9OC0 )
Dawson hops to her feet celebrating for a glorious moment her two-for-one before proceeding to put a mudhole stomping down on Mitchell, Cyn sleeping through the onslaught, though she’d surely feel every bit of it later.
Again, the crowd roars and this time the raven-haired, bite-sized bytch can hardly believe her eyes. Missing since Charlie punked her former partner at All Hallows’ Evil, Skylar Mitchell is beating her feet to the squared circle and Dawson wants none of that.
SKYLAR MITCHELL
Charlie sprints the other way and flies between the ropes, not even waiting for Skye to enter. The remaining Sweetheart slides in and checks on her older sibling, then one of her best friends and mentors.
Ivy proclaims herself ‘OK’ to the younger Mitchell, though she looks far less.
Armstrong taps Cynthia’s cheek, trying to rouse her.
Meanwhile an enraged Skye escorts Charlie as Dawson orbits around the outside of the ring, the Blackheart holding up her hands plaintively, motioning she’s had enough fun for the night.
As the Blackheart begs off, reaching the ramp and heading up, Skye procures a microphone.
“Charlie! You’ve made the biggest mistake of your life. I’m not only going to beat you. I’m going to make sure no one in this company will ever have to deal with you again!”
Dawson backpedals up the ramp, swallowing hard, unconvincingly claiming “I’ll beat your ass again, Mitchell”.
“Start counting the days, Charlie. I will be!” Skye proclaims before tossing the stick aside.