Post by hawkeye on Apr 22, 2024 23:26:10 GMT
EMERY COLERIDGE vs OLUNIKE WAITE
III
This coming match has some buzz on the dirt sheets. Olunike Waite’s first match in FAWN was Emery Coleridge, her first match after an extended hiatus from FAWN and with a much-approved change in demeanour. The long-gestating, Best of Five was agreed to after the billionaire upset the farm girl in their first outing; Olunike won the second bout decisively on the beach, and the third ended in a draw Crystal Hilton beating both in a Threeway for the TV title. Now to avoid a tie the five matches have been shortened to four, this will be the last in their series. And with Emery reverting to her old, heelish ways, it may be the last time these two share any space for some time. Babyface supporters want to see the Canadian Powerhouse Powerbomb Coleridge through the mat. The more loutish fans want to see the ruinous rich girl humiliate the proud Waite, and strip her bare. How will this class war end?
The road to the answer starts when the FAWNtron screen goes stark white. A rubber stamp slams down leaving an imprint of the Canadian flag in red ink and a baritone-heavy, men’s choir sings “OOOHHHHH, CAAAAANNNAADAAAA!!”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_2D8Eo15wE
The screen goes black as the speakers pump out the classic rock anthem ‘Black Betty” by Ram Jam, white silhouettes of one woman Powerbombing another fly back and forth across the screen. When the bombee hits the ground, the world becomes a fever dream of interweaving colours before resetting to black. The now pale shadows switch to a different variation of the slam to summon the melting kaleidoscope.
Stepping out from behind the curtain is a tall, strong, young Black woman with long dark hair in delightful curls named Olunike Waite. She stands with her hands on her hips and wears a stern, inscrutable expression. With slightly squinting eyes she takes the measure of the ring and the surrounding area... The Canadian Destroyer’s ring togs are conservative by FAWN standards and represent her straightforward mindset and rural background plainly for all to see.
She wears a one-piece with a two-button collar simulating a stereotypical farmer’s outfit; an unbuttoned V-neck that stops just before the cleavage of her perfectly proportioned 34Bs. The top half of her gear is coloured red, brown and white in a flannel pattern, there’s a texture and colour switch from the waist down that creates an illusion of daisy dukes, complete with belt loops that her thumbs hook into the ones sewn at the sides. Two shot glasses are pressed tightly between her ring and forefinger in her right hand. When eyes travel down her silky, strong legs they’ll find her wearing sturdy brown boots good for walking down the street or working in the dirt.
Beside Olunike stood her shorter childhood friend, manager, dungeon master and sometimes tag partner Hazeema McMurray, dressed for business and pleasure. She’s clad in a red silk blouse unbuttoned halfway down letting her mountainous cleavage breathe, showing a hint of her entirely unnecessary push-up red bra. A silk brown skirt hugged her shelf of an ass and ended just past mid-thigh, leaving her tan legs uncovered till her fashionable, strappy sandals. Her ribs-length dark hair is tied into pigtails with short braids that swing in the air as she dances next to her stone pillar of a partner. In one pumping fist, she holds a bottle of Gus n’ Bru whiskey.
Hazeema gestures with the bottle to her stoic client, “You’re gonna slap some sense into Emery for treating our sister Sombra shabby at Thrills, Chills and Spills! We don’t cotton that kind of Tom Fuckery!”
Olunike doesn't change her expression and nods, “This’ll be an attitude adjustment, and if she gets mouthy then things will get a lot less neighbourly.”
They march down the ramp with retribution in mind, Olunike slaps a hand every now and then out of politeness, but her focus is totally on the match ahead.
“FROM LETTERKENNY, REPRESENTING THE NORTHERN COALITION! STANDING AT 171cm AND WEIGHING IN AT 59kgs! THE CANADIAN DESTROYER… OLUNIKE WAITE!”
Olunike slides into the squared circle and throws up a fist to the crowd before heading to the corner to wait for her opponent for the evening.
Just after the most jacked referee in the game, Reginald Worthington finishes his search of Waite for foreign objects as the echoing sounds of Empire State of Mind by Alicia Keys start blasting through the sound system, this Heralds hundred-dollar notes falling from the ceiling all with images of Emery Coleridge on each bill. The crowd boos venomously as the rich brat makes her way out of the back in her two-piece blue bikini with gold highlights at the waist, heartbroken that the billionaire turned her back on redemption so soon after obtaining it.
“From Greenwich Village, New York standing at 5’3 and weighing in at 115lbs she is the Socialite, Emery Coleridge!!”
Emery Coleridge
She smiles in delight at the FAWNatics's hatred, but that turns into a snarl of disgust once she takes in the view of the unwashed masses. Her ever-present butler Jenkins comes out beside her with a box of wet wipes in his hand, the ire of thousands sliding off his English-trained demeanour like water off a duck’s back. Without looking at her servant, Emery shoots out a hand behind herself and barks an order with a demanding tone. Even if she didn’t need to yell over the crowd she would have still used the same volume.
“Jenkins, Wetwipe!”
“Yes, Lady Coleridge!”
The fans jeer Emery as she takes her time making her way to the ring. Jenkins walks onto the apron first and holds the second rope down so that his charge can elegantly make it into the ring. She smiles condescendingly at the Canucks as she steps inside, walking past Olunike who looks like she’s trying to set the One Percenter alight with her vision. Emery walks to the opposite corner and ascends to the top of the turnbuckle, she holds her arm up to flip the soldout crowd the bird and receives an uproar of raucous boos. She sneers as she looks out onto the sea of Floridians.
“You’re all just jealous, you poors!”
She lowers herself back to the ring floor and allows herself to be searched by the large ref. Past Worthington's burly frame, Emery can feel Olunike's flinty stare on her person. She rolls her eyes, the lower classes can hold such a grudge, why can't they take her superiority in stride?
Emery passes the official's inspection and he motions for the bell. The wrestlers walk out of their corners with measured paces to meet at center ring, Olunike still has her fingers in her belt loops while Emery has her hands on her hips with an impatient air.
"Coleridge. Ye been ducking me for months and ignoring my calls. I'm past the 'why?' Of it and ready ta dish out consequences.”
“Consequences for what? If your face-painted friend can’t handle things getting rough she shouldn’t be a wrestler.”
“We thought you were our friend!” Olunike chests up to the smaller woman backing Coleridge up a step, “Then you concussed Sombra with that bell and disrespected her family by wiping off her paint. You messed with her now I gotta mess with you and I suggest you let that one marinate!”
Emery bashes her body against Olunike to make the Coalitionite retreat but the difference in size makes her immovable. “My father died and I was sad, so I made some bad decisions. One of which was hanging around you freaks!”
That's the breaking point for the Destroyer; she shoves Emery and whips a palm forward to slap the caviar out of her mouth, The Socialite manages a dodge so narrow her raven tresses are ruffled by the swing. Emery moves when Waite’s off-footed and paintbrushes her cheek red with a CRACK! The Waite’s head swivels back to face her ex-friend with eyes burning hotter than the new handprint searing her face, then they bug out when Coleridge puts a boot to her stomach that doubles her over. Coleridge briskly turns around and falls back to go spine to spine with Olunike and hooks their arms together. The smaller brunette huffs with exertion while she straightens up, lifting Olunike upside down in the process. Emery’s going for the Vertebreaker, is she going to hit her finisher right out of the gate!?
EMERY BOARD
youtu.be/iXjSThnDw3k?t=29
Hazeema death-grips the apron skirt and squeaks “Waite!” Her heart palpitates seeing her friend and client about to lose a battle of honour within seconds. Emery raises onto her tiptoes for the big plunge when Waite gets clever; relaxing her body to a noodle-like state, Olunike slips from The Socialite’s hooks and snaps her arms out to break her fall, she ends up kneeling behind Emery. In a flash Olunike rises from the mat while inserting her head between the Lightweight’s legs, hoisting Coleridge into a seat on her shoulders when she stands at her full height.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Emery windmills her arms in small circles trying to keep her balance astride Olunike as the big Canuck stomps around the ring looking for just the right spot to leave an expensive smear. “Maybe we should cool down! We both said some harsh thiIINGS!”
Grasping hard at Emery’s creamy thighs Olunike pushes her rider up and over her noggin as she drops into a kneel, splattering the billionaire against the ring floor. Emery's eyes are still rolling as Olunike shoves her face up and throws herself over the Lightweight in a Lateral Press pin.
ELECTRIC CHAIR FACEBUSTER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXAIMTcEm00
ONE!
T- Emery pulls her legs in and bucks Waite off, then turns onto her side to stop a second attempt. If they were still buddies Waite would have lifted her respectfully by the wrist, now that Emery has flippantly thrown out their friendship the Coalitionite grabs her roughly by the scruff and hauls Emery vertical. The rich bitch’s whining falls on deaf ears as Waite marches her to the closest set of buckles. Frustrated and desperate, Coleridge twists out of the farmer's grasp and tags Waite across the face with another Bytch slap, but the all-consuming anger allows Olunike to shrug it off and push Emery into the corner. She stuns the Socialite with a Forearm Shiver to her jaw and tightly palms Emery’s face with both hands, giving her an undignified fish face.
Olunike goes nose to nose with Coleridge and states firmly, “You are a selfish, thoughtless girl.” Coleridge grumbles an indignant response that raises an octave in fear when Olunike rears her head back. The Toughest Lady in Letterkenny starts jackhammering short-range Headbutts against Emery. Her long, dark hair whips back and forth with each ramming collision of skull on skull, the FAWNatics loudly counting off each painful meeting of the minds.
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Emery slumps to a seat on the second buckle but Olunike doesn’t let up the pace. FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! Emery puddles to a reclined seat against the bottom buckle with her brain ringing and seeing in triplicate. Olunike runs away from the one-percenter to the far corner and kicks off the second turnbuckle into a sprint back to the New Yorker. When she's almost in her opponent’s shadow Olunike takes her boots off the ground and lets the wind carry her to a soft landing, on Emery, who convulses as the big Canadian brawler punishes her body with a Meteora.
youtu.be/QKuXIwTlwTM?t=643
An ecstatic Hazeema pounds the apron repeatedly “Heck yeah! Welcome to Letterkenny, Degen!”
Olunike grabs Coleridge by the ankles and drags her cavewoman-style some meters away from the corner. She lifts the billionaire’s ankles and spreads them to make a V, and threads a leg between them to step down by her hip. Olunike genuflects and uses her stretched leg to fold Coleridge in half while collecting her wrists and pressing them against the canvas in a dominant matchbook pin.
ONE!
TWO!
“AAAII!”
Emery manages to raise her left arm against Olunike’s pressure to snag some of the Canadian’s long locks and YANK on them hard enough to tumble Olunike off the mount and onto her side. The women’s legs slide against and kick at each other as their skills disappear in a heated moment of catfighting. Waite digs her nails into Emery’s wrist trying to untangle Greenwich Villager’s talons from her curls, “Let go of my hair you-” Crack! Emery expertly whips her free hand down and scorches Olunike's cheek with a Soap Opera-worthy bitch slap that bounces the poor’s head against the mat. Emery detaches from her smarting foe and clambers to her feet. She bends over and takes two heaping handfuls of Olunike’s silky hair and starts pulling like she’s uprooting a weed, bringing the Coalitionite to her knees.
“Since you have such a hard head, I’ll have one of my family’s construction companies hire you.” Ignoring the official’s warnings, Emery keeps tugging on Waite’s mane to get the Destroyer to her feet but keeps her bent at the waist so she can violently yank Waite’s head in all directions. “You can spend all day smashing your head against concrete like the brainless tool you OOUGH!!”
A stony fist slugs Coleridge in the diaphragm making her expel a ragged breath, she releases the Canadian’s hair and hugs her quivering middle. Waite straightens up with an angry frown and smoothes out her glorious mane as her former friend struggles not to retch, she massages her burning scalp flinching at the stinging waves that radiate from her touch. Waite grabs the back of Coleridge’s head and pulls her down into a Standing Headscissors, her strong thighs flexing into stark definition trying to crack the billionaire’s skull like a walnut. Emery stamps her feet and scratches at Olunike’s legs, so the big Canuck starts raining hammer blows to the Lightweight’s back with her forearms to dissuade the Lightweight from such catty tactics.
Olunike cranks the pressure of her legs up a few notches refusing to move on till she hears the rich girl whine, and then retorts “Brainless would be talking when you should throwing hands.” She articulates that point with a few quick forehand/backhand spanks on Coleridge’s rump that get the crowd hooting and muffled yelps from the traitor between her legs. Olunike circles her arms around Coleridge’s middle and flips her up and out of the Headscissors; spectators thinking they’re about to see a Snap Powerbomb get a neat surprise when Olunike shifts mid-motion to catch The Socialite’s body across her chest and violently twists into a drop, crushing Emery with a Powerslam.
CANADIAN JAZZ
www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9Ge0RaHhGY
Emery finds herself squashed between a lovely hardbody babe and the hard ring floor, the sudden rush of pain and the lurch of her stomach from being thrown around makes the New Yorker consider just letting this match go. But when Olunike lies atop her in a Lateral pin and pulls in her far leg by the knee, Emery summons the will and strength to push the larger woman off of her and roll facedown. Olunike lets Emery rise off the mat in stages perspiring and starting to breathe a little heavy; an underrated aspect of Waite’s strength-based, Powerbomb-centric style is that the majority of her moves end in a natural cover. Even if Emery escapes the three count it drains her stamina to continually kick out from under the denser wrestler.
The Coalitionite is getting a little hot under the collar as well but looks like she has the constitution to do a Terry Fox Run. She hooks her fingers into her belt loops and huffs a frustrated breath through her nose, “I can keep trying to beat some sense into you, or you can apologize and we can have a proper match.” She offers a handshake. One last try at salvaging their friendship. Emery looks down at the olive branch intensely, then rubs her palms over her face looking like she’s about to cry. She tentatively extends her hand out… then whips and slaps the spit out of Olunike’s mouth for the fourth time tonight!
“Apologizing is for the weak and the wrong, and I’m neither!”
“You bitch!” Heartbroken and enraged Olunike torques her hips into a receipt slap that'll take Emery’s jaw- No! Emery angles her face out of the way and leaps onto Olunike’s right arm like a spider monkey. Dragging the statuesque maple tree down on the canvas and locking in a cross-armbar.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sk6Hh6LtGV8
In her first proper wrestling move of the night, Emery has her opponent in a troubling submission that if doesn't get the win, may seriously hamper Waiter's Powerbombing abilities. Emery tweaks the hold a few degrees and gets a shriek from the Canuck that brings a smile to her face. “Still feeling like a tough girl, sweetie? Better tap if you want this arm to throw hay bales later.”
Olunike shouts “We grow barley!” and bites the inside of her cheek to deny Coleridge a scream as she bends her limb against its design. Olly’s pouring all the power she can into curling her arm to keep Emery from breaking it. Olunike would have lost this match by now if she were a weaker woman. The heartless One Percenter keeps trying to break the arm that lifted her and patted her in the back time and time again, Emery calls out for the gazing zebra, “Ask her!” The referee gives the rude one a little side-eye as he lowers to check on Olunike, “Whaddya say, Waite?” The Coalitionite is the picture of rural grit, she’s mad dogging the woman contorting her arm and says a simple but forceful “No.” Olunike spreads herself out searching for the ropes with her free hand and feet. Her manager Hazeema is jogging over to that side of the ring in her sandals, fans in the first several rows tear their eyes from the ring to watch the jiggling that threatens to burst the heavy-chested manager’s shirt wide open.
“Over here, buddy!” Hazeema slaps the apron over and over, trying to distract her client from the pain and focus on salvation. Olunike inches across the coarse canvas towards Hazeema's thumping while dragging a sourfaced Emery, who’s determined to take that arm home tonight. Many managers in this industry wouldn’t blink at bending the rules and the bottom rope to shorten the distance for their clients to reach, but McMurray knows Olunike wouldn’t want that, so she buries her worry and watches her friend suffer. The DM&M bangs the apron harder. “Just a little farther, Olly!”
12 inches can seem like 12 miles across a scorching desert when you’re in a Cross Armbar, but it’s a pilgrimage Olunike’s willing to trek for victory. The Canadian Destroyer lets out a wretched yell as she grabs the rope and shakes it violently “BREAK!”
“If you insist!
Emery cranks on the Arm Bar making Olunike wail and stamp her feet. McMurray is making a scene and screaming at the official to break the illegal hold. Emery keeps the submission locked and excruciating through the referee’s count and releases at a count of 4.8, avoiding a disqualification by a hair’s breadth. Because she milked the hold, the official forces Coleridge to give her opponent space and back up a few feet so she can collect herself. Olunike rolls under the bottom cable to lie on the narrow space of the apron, hugging her smartin’ arm across her body and taking deep breaths to stymie the pain. Hazeema pulls a bottle of Cold Spray out of her bottomless cleavage and empties half the topical in one long burst up and down the sore limb.
“Being around you made her tougher but Emery wasn’t able to make you any weaker. And that means you’re still leagues above that C-word!” Haz hypes up her bud as Waite rolls back into the ring and pulls herself up using the ropes as a ladder with her good hand. She nods in agreement and breathes, “Time for a donnybrook.”
Hazeema pounds the apron one more time and points at Waite vigorously, “She’s 10-ply and you’re sandpaper! She wouldn’t last a night in the Ag-hall! She’s- BEHIND YOU!”
Coleridge daggers her manicured nails at the base of Waite’s neck and rapidly rakes them down the farmer’s back. Waite cries out and arcs her spine in a spasm thrusting out her perky chest to the camera, Coleridge quickly rakes her again to the bigger reaction from the living scratching post. When Olunike takes off her gear later she’ll have ten long, red marks on her back that’ll take a week to heal. Emery faces away from Olunike and reaches over to cup her chin, after forcing the Canuck’s neck onto her shoulder the smaller brunette sits out and gives Olly a case of whiplash with a textbook Neckbreaker. Olunike falls to her side with her hands at her nape and kicks at the mat in a fit of distress. Emery grabs her ankles before rising and drags Olunike away from the ropes, taunting the DM&M all the while, “You’re looking less splotchy than usual, Hazeema. Did you see an esthetician?”
"You can kiss my ass-thetician!" Hazeema wasn’t as close to Emery as Olunike was, but it still made her mad as hell to see the backstabbing billionaire flip and bend her client into a high-angle Boston crab. Her bad arm is pinned under her chest, Olunike wildly grasps with her free arm like an animal trying to free itself from a trap. Emery puts a boot on the back of her neck and grinds right where her shoulder hit, “Time to get back on that turnip truck back to Letterkenny.”
youtu.be/Fm91abeOeks?t=231
The ref takes a knee by Olunike's head, concerned about the Canuck ending up in a hospital bed with a broken neck. “No shame in calling it, Olunike. Better a loss than spinal fusion.” The powerhouse of the strange stable growls out a “No!’ and with all the power she can muster in one arm she drags them along the mat at a surprising speed. Coleridge has always thought herself taller and stronger than she was, a side effect of being born into an ultra-wealthy lifestyle. If she had a Destroyer body type, Emery could have kept that boot on Waite’s neck without sacrificing stability. Instead, she almost loses her balance and has to keep up with her inverted ex-bestie while walking backwards. She hastily throws a leg over the Lady’s flanks and reapplies the Boston Crab, the spine-damaging submission slows Waite’s desperate crawl but it’s too late. The farmer clutches the bottom rope for dear life spurring the ref to start a count. Emery keeps the Crab till ‘Three!’ and then throws Olunike’s legs down in disgust, “This is taking too long!”
McMurray’s already at Waite’s side and draining the rest of the Cold Spray up and down the wrestler’s vertebrae. “Don’t sweat this wretch. You’re the NHL and she’s whale-shit hockey, just focus onHEY!”
Emery darts over and kicks her foot under the middle cable knocking the painkiller out of McMurray’s hand. “No more cuddling the baby!” Olunike begins to push off the mat but gets mashed back into the floor by a frenzy of stomps by The Socialite, “I’m about to put her to bed.”
Emery ruffles Olunike’s hair into a messy ponytail and drags her cavewoman-style away from the ropes. After several scalp-searing tugs, she gets Olunike on two feet and faces away from her and out to the crowd. Emery lowers her head and touches the back of her neck to the curve of Waite’s glutes as she hooks her biceps around the Coalitionite. “Eeeragh!” A long groan of exertion spills from the One Percenter’s lips as she straightens turning Olunike upside down as she’s lifted off the canvas. Beads of sweat run down Coleridge's brow. She's not strong enough to keep the Destroyer up for long, but ego demands she trots in a circle to display off the sweaty dirt worker to the whole arena.
Perspiration runs down the bridge of Waite’s nose up her forehead and gets lost in her hairline; she feels the beginning of a headache coming on with the rush of blood to her brain, her eyes scrunch up when the colours of the world feel like sandpaper on her corneas. Waite bicycles her gaze-stealing legs in the air trying to reverse their positions, however Emery’s kept up her training since regressing and maintains a strong base. Emery ends her cycle where she can make eye contact with the furious manager at ringside while speaking to her unwilling backpack. “In case the trauma doesn’t send the message,” She blows a kiss at Hazeema. “Go away.” The billionaire kicks out her legs and drops to the ring floor in a reverberating THUD! Olunike’s head, neck and shoulders hit the mat with all of her 59kgs(130lbs) behind them by Coleridge’s patented Vertebreaker called the Emery Board.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOPxJd-arZE
Coleridge pivots on her buns to the Canadian’s side with both of Waite’s stems gathered in her arms and pulls them in tight. The camera zooms in on Waite’s firm, upturned ass as the official performs his duty.
ONE!
TWO!!
TNOOO!!!
Waite kicks out angrily sending her smaller oppressor tumbling and rolling into her elbows with far more life in her than should be possible, the rich Lightweight pushes onto an elbow looking flabbergasted that this corn Husker is still awake and gaining steam. Waite gets her knees under her triggering Emery into speedily crawling over and pummeling the base of Olunike's neck to keep her easygoing while she drags her up by the left wrist then twisting it in an Arm Wringer.
The Socialite leads Olunike to the southeast corner, the farthest one from the Coalition's manager, and hikes up the pilfered arm between Olunike's shoulder blades with a Hammerlock. Emery backs herself into the pad and blindly climbs them with practiced ease to a perch on the top buckle. Emery releases the Hammerlock to hold the brawler by the biceps while placing her knee behind Olunike's head.
Emery grinds her knee into Olunike’s occipital bone and threatens “If this doesn't crack that stone skull of yours, nothing will.” She’s about to kick off the top turnbuckle and ride Olly to a Million Dollar Face Plant when the cowgirl’s mount decides to get ornery. The tall drink of Eska wrenches her arms free from Coleridge’s grasp and grabs the smaller brunette by the wrists, with a mighty heave she tears her off the top turnbuckle into a flipping fall that has the ring thrumming with her bone-rattling crash.
ICONOCLASM
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AiXVDlAOhx4
Coleridge ignores the firecrackers going off along her spine and hurries to stand, only to be mowed over by Waite the moment she turns around, The toughest lady in Letterkenny uses her good arm to blast the rich snob across the tits with a running Clothesline. The wind is knocked out of Coleridge giving Waite a moment to assess as she writhes on the canvas. She flicks her one-piece into its proper position over her picturesque bottom and smoothes out her hair. She sighs, “At least I know our time together wasn’t a total waste, you’re a tougher fight than last time.” Olunike shakes out her weaker arm and finds the discomfort within reason to try her next move, she calls out to Hazeema as she strides over and gathers Emery off the deck, “You're the MVP for bringing that spray.”
The DM&M claps happily watching her client and the barbarian of her D&D group double Emery over with a slug to the gut. “You da MVP! Put her away now and we'll celebrate with drumsticks in the locker room.”
Olunike surrounds The Socialite’s waist with her arms and heaves Emery into a Canadian Backbreaker. Hands knotted under the billionaire’s chest, Olunike bounces lightly on her toes painfully jarring the smaller woman’s spine on a shoulder. “Cookie-dipped vanilla Sundae?”
“Of course!”
“Ferda.” The Northern Coalition discusses their post-match dessert ignoring the spasming, yelping woman breaking in two over Waite’s glenohumeral joint. Emery is a pitiful sight; kicking, screaming, even sobbing with Olunike’s every hop. The referee gets close checking in with Emery and has to fearfully dodge an angry swipe. Waite tilts her chin at the ref, “Best step back a moment.” Once the zebra retreats from the quarrelling lionesses Olunike lowers into a crouch and jumps up, her boots land with a heavy thud! Putting some bass in the background of the piercing shout from Coleridge as her body whiplashes into a U over Olunike’s shoulder, the back of the Lightweight’s heels would have touched her head without the farmer’s body in the way. Coleridge’s screaming dies down into a sorrowful moan while she slows on her painful perch to twitching. The official’s about to take a step toward them when Olunike stops him with a look, “Hang on.” She starts spinning in place fast enough for Emery’s limbs to stretch out to their full length adding nausea to Emery’s growing list of discomforts. After enough rotations to guarantee a GIF on Twitter(Olunike refuses to call it by its new name) she sits out as she pushes down Emery’s chin hard enough to flip the billionaire off her shoulder. Coleridge splats on the ring floor between Waite’s splayed legs, the Caucasian woman ricochets onto her knees with the recoil of the mat and stays on them long enough to look uncomprehendingly into Waite’s eyes before tilting forward onto her face.
CHAPMAN’S CREAMERY
youtu.be/QKuXIwTlwTM?t=685
The farmer shovels the Socialite's tummy up before lying across her for a pin. Jenkins frowns and McMurry gives an optimistic thumbs up as the ref counts the end of their interactions from here going on to forever.
ONE!
TWO!!
THRENOOO!!!
Somehow Emery finds the stuff to Bridge out of the pin! Hands and feet braced against the mat she thrusts her abdomen to the ceiling, bucking off Olunike and collapsing as soon as the match is saved. Olunike’s not one to count her chickens before they hatch but she could feel the drumstick in her hand. Olunike looks amazed at her former friend’s show of fortitude.
“Where was this grit when you were going after the TV title?”
Spiteful with pain, Emery props herself up with her elbows “Where are you during any title match? Oh, that's right, you’re in catering with the restUGhh!” Olunike puts a working boot to the capitalist’s back and keeps stomping till Emery’s impersonating a squashed worm. Olunike lifts the rubbery lass to her feet in stages and uses all that professional labourer strength to send the Lightweight flying to the far corner with an Irish Whip. Emery’s soles are barely touching the mat she’s moving so fast. She turns in time to avoid hitting the pad with her chest, but the collision her back makes with the corner is no treat either.Bwung! “Raaaghh!” The corner visibly vibrates and audibly creaks from Emery’s crash, she collapses onto the canvas seizing up and wearing a mask of misery.
Waite backs into the diagonal corner from her opponent and lowers into a crouch, silently sizing Emery up for her Superman Punch branded as The Canadram. When she clenches her right fist, the Letterkenny lass feels pangs shooting up her arm instead of the usual ball of dynamite that’s ended many a match. Waite grimaces and switches to her non-dominant hand, the angle of the punch will be a bit off and the hit not quite as mindblowing, but a concussion’s a concussion no matter how you slice it.
Emery takes her sweet time getting to her feet, awkwardly pulling on the ropes to get her feet with the grace of a newborn fawn (the deer). When she’s almost vertical Olunike charges from her corner,` going from 0 to 100mph in a heartbeat. The fearsome farmer launches into the air to soar the last few meters to Miss Moneybags with her fist diving into Emery’s face like a bird of prey. Whether it’s the move being done with Olunike’s left hand or Coleridge playing up her injury, things don’t go as planned. Coleridge angles her head out of the way and takes Olunike in a head-and-shoulder hold when their bodies collide. She takes hold of Waite’s upper thigh with her free arm and then flings themselves backwards, dashing the Coalitionite’s lower spine against the bottom turnbuckle.
EXPLODER SUPLEX
youtu.be/6qy_OQpPIns?t=11
“Ggaaahhh!”
Olunike sags onto her side in the fetal position racked with quiet sobs. Coleridge skitters over and messily pulls her away from the cables, needing to tug Olunike’s unmoving bulk face down and up again to get her moving. Emery folds up Waite into the tightest matchbook possible almost curling her into a ball; Emery moulds herself against the ascending slope of the Canuck’s legs, sitting on the back of Waite’s calves and putting a cheek against a denim-covered buttcheek. Praying this is what finally breaks Waite’s spirit.
ONE!
TWO!!
T-NOOO!!!
Olunike bursts out from under the billionaire! Snapping open like a mousetrap Emery is jettisoned off the fearless farmer. Despite the lively escape, Olunike is still deeply hurting, she goes taut as bow massaging her lower back and clenching her teeth hard enough to bite through metal. Emery is apocalyptic; she slaps the canvas repeatedly in a childish tantrum caterwauling at the top of her lungs. She pops up and barges into Referee Worthington’s personal space pointing a finger in his face and spitting accusations. She’s tiny in comparison but the rageful aura Coleridge emits is enough to make him back several steps “You’re slow counting her! This is class warfare! you’re ganging up on me!”
Reginald puts his hands up placatingly attempting to calm the fuming fatcat, “I’m an unbiased official, Miss Coleridge. If you have any doubt of that you can make a formal complaint after the match, but I’d focus on the task at hand.”
Emery’s ready to rip the big Brit a new and bloody one, but spies Olunike beginning to get off the mat. “Outofmyway!” She pushes past the alpha Zebra and charges the recovering Coalitionite, blindsiding as soon as she’s on her knees and ensnaring her in a Guillotine Choke!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jFDJOPnbU8
Waite finds herself sinking forehead to the mat and her trachea compacted by Emery’s arm, while the Socialite’s legs crush her below the ribs with a bodyscissors. The smaller brunette puts every muscle to work putting this stubborn mule to sleep, “Just tap you bitch!” An urgent need to stave off the darkness bubbles up within Waite and gives her the strength to shoot forward for a ropebreak. However, her lack of sight and zealousness sends them plowing through the cables and over the apron’s edge, Olunike feels the pull of gravity and smartly angles so Coleridge takes the worst of the fall. The pair break apart when they hit the floor and roll in opposite directions; Olunike’s hocking up a lung and massaging her throat while Coleridge’s scowling with pain, and mentally scheduling the top masseuse in the country for a home visit.
Hazeema races over to the crime scene on the outside mats while Jenkins the butler comes around the other side of the ring and watches from a safe distance away. Being the only one of the four people in the area (Not including the ref) without wrestling training he’s under strict orders to avoid any physicality.
“Olly! You okay? Did you land alright?” Hazeema hovers over her friend like a mother hen as Olunike hacks and coughs recovering from the choke. “Take slow breaths. You’ll be alAAIGH!!”
Emery rips at Hazeema’s pigtails from behind and drags her kicking and screaming away from Olunike. The billionaire bashes the Pakistani-Canadian’s face against the cold steel of the guardrail over and over till Hazeema’s yelling dies down to moans and her limbs grow rubbery. She hauls Hazeema up by the armpits and leans her back against the barrier, throwing her arms over the top to keep the stunned manager upright. Emery shouts “Jenkins!” The loyal butler appears at her side almost instantaneously, “Yes, Miss?” Coleridge rips McMurray’s shirt, fully revealing her red push-up bra and making a spray of buttons clatter on the floor. She presents an open palm without looking at her servant, “Wet wipe!”
Jenkins reaches into his coat deftly pulling out a sheet from his seemingly endless supply and puts it into her hand. Coleridge vigorously scrubs the damp cloth all over the stupefied DM&M face and boobs then stuffs it in her slack mouth. “You’re a terrible manager. At best you should be a cleaning lady who might luck into an affair with one of my legal team.”
The haze of pain began to clear during the unwanted rub down so Hazeema comprehended that slight enough to take offence, but not enough to understand she was gagged when she tried to clap back.
“Mmmph! Mwp whph wa-!” Emery turns her back on the wage slave while reaching back and circling her arms around Hazeema’s head. Emery takes two big, swift steps that pull Hazeema off the guardrail before laying out flat and robbing the manager of her senses with an Ace Crusher.
COLERIDGE CUTTER
youtu.be/C7n30C0FqRo?t=308
The thin mats covering the concrete floor of the arena prove poor cushioning for McMurray’s head. When her body hits the floor she’s out like a light, sprawled facedown with nary a twitch, Emery stands up haughtily dusting her hands off, “You can clean these floors with your tongue as training then we’ll start you off as an unpaid intern. Jenkins, you’re dismissed.”
“Yes, madam.” The mindful manservant retreats to his designated spot at ringside with a small bow. Ignoring the echoing BOOOOOs the FAWNatics are drowning her in, Emery gives McMurray’s rump a parting stomp and then turns to the waste she’s made of Waite, or to be accurate where she should have been. The Coalitionite seems to have absconded while Emery humiliated her manager. Emery steps into the space where she last saw Waite and scans the area looking for her eccentric ex-friend, “Where’d the hell did she go?”
The notion that Waite gave up and crawled up the ramp occurs to Emery and gives her a giggle, “Maybe that fall rattled some brain cells into action.” The crowd's energy abruptly shifts from angry disdain to happy adulation, startling Emery out of her imagination “What-? Oow!”
The raven-haired rich girl suffers a smack upside the head and staggers forward. Emery whips about with her hands protectively covering her nape and sees Olunike looking at her sternly with hands on hips, “You see how cheap it is to attack from behind?” Emery lunges at her neck in anger and gets a stinging slap across the face for her efforts. Crack! Coleridge falters, holding her redding cheek and giving Olunike how-could-you? eyes as the farmer stares her down “That’s why I attack from the front.”
Emery spits back at the Powerbomb specialist “Because you’re too stupid to do anything else!” She throws a left cross that Olunike blocks handedly with a forearm and then tags her other cheek with a harder slap before. The Toughest Lady in Letterkenny grabs a handful of Emery’s tresses and yanks on it to raise her chin. Coleridge squeals in pain and indignation at the brazen assault on her hair and digs her talons into Olunike’s bounty as payback. The rugged rural worker grits her teeth through the horrible clawing and tags Emery’s cheek with three more whip-fast palms. Her hand lands heavier each time, punctuating the truth Olly wants drilled into Emery’s stubborn brain.
“Because! (CRACK!) I’m not! (CRAACK!) A coward! (CRAAACK!)”
The last paddle makes Emery’s eye grow glassy and her mouth part, her hands stop their furious clawing for weakly pushing at the Destroyer’s body to make the punishment stop. With the Bytch slap count now in Olunike’s favour she feels ready to take the action back in the ring. She pulls Emery by the tuft of hair into a stomach-churning kneelift, then reaches past the billionaire’s bow and pulls her blue bottoms into a searing wedgie. First trotting Emery in a circle to show off her buns, Waite gives the heel the bum’s rush into the ring by tossing over the apron and under the bottom cable. Coleridge skids then rolls into the ring, the burn of the canvas on her skin clearing the slap-induced haze of her mind and encouraging the Lightweight to get on all fours and crawl to safety. Olunike enters the Squared Circle with more dignity and revenge on the mind; stepping through the ropes the fearsome farmer marches over Coleridge as she subtly concentrates the strength in her right arm.
Emery scrambles to verticality to meet Olunike head-on. She was winning this match moments before, she’s not going to trip at the finish line. Emery runs at the Canuck feinting left and yelling as a distraction “Go back to your own country!” Olunike slows and looks at her quizzically, “The fuck-?” The strange spout of xenophobia serves its purpose as Emery jukes right grabbing for Olunike’s right arm to break it in another Cross-arm bar. Miss Moneybags’ fingers graze Waite’s bicep before it’s twisted away- Olunike spins on a heel, daggering Emery in the side of her head with a reverse elbow.
MOOSEJAW BREAKER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VpzW70_HoI
Just like the time on the hot sands of the Florida beach, Coleridge falls thanks to Waite’s ace-in-the-hole move. The billionaire’s brain short circuits; Emery’s eyes roll in their sockets, her left leg slides back as her right leg buckles, she tips over like an ill-positioned mannequin and hits the mat with a thump!. It’s likely Olunike could pin her here and now, but Emery put her paws on Hazeema so now a lesson’s gotta be taught. She hauls Coleridge off the canvas and into a steamy Standing Headscissors, Waite leans down and wraps her steely arms around the Lightweight’s middle and declares, “That was for Sombra.”
The crush of the Canadian’s stems stirs Emery back to life and she digs her nails into the back of Waite’s thighs, “Listen, you fu-!” Waite kicks off the mat like a jack rabbit, launching the pair into a mesmerizing flip that ends in a sickening Sitout Piledriver! The ring floor will have to be checked later for a dent matching the diameter of Emery’s skull.
CANADIAN DESTROYER
youtu.be/IMgAeCeNcfo?t=25
The nifty Northerner holds her opponent tight so when Coleridge looks at this match later she can see the defeat in her In her humbled buns. In Waite’s young career, she’s gained a sense of when a hit truly lands, and she felt it with the shiver that ran through the rich bitch’s body head to toe when they touched down. Coleridge’s arms and legs dangling like wet noodles toward the canvas is a good indication too. Waite lets go of Emery’s midsection to let the One Percenter fall from between her thighs and watches amazed as Emery droops onto her soles but her legs don’t buckle. The Lightweight raises her head off the mat to her full height, exposing her rolled up eyes drooling lips, and tilts backward like a cutdown tree into a boneless sprawl. Olunike pushes to her feet and considers ending it now… but it’s still not enough.
She raises a working boot high and stomps on Coleridge’s tummy like she means to get hip-deep. Coleridge sputters awake with a loud, wet bellow “GOAAGH!” And tries to push off Olunike’s boot to no success, the powerhouse of the Northern Coalition moves it when she’s ready and pulls Emery off the canvas by the ears. The Socialite is barely standing on her own and almost puddles to the floor when the plank of Olunike’s thigh batters her abused belly. Emery bends at the waist with a dry retch and gets yanked by the follicles into another Standing Headscissors. Turning to face the Hard Cam, The Canadian Destroyer takes a moment to smooth out her long curly mane and flick her one-piece into the right spot on her chest before she coils her arms around Emery’s middle. “That was for Hazeema.”
Her vision is in quadruplicate, her head is throbbing and her body is somehow both numb and on fire, Emery is ready to be friends again. She weakly gropes at Olunike’s calves and bids for peace with a plaintive, “Waait… Stahhhp..”
If Olunike heard her she ignored her, the unforgiving agronomist propels Emery up her body into a powerbomb stall as The FAWNatic’s cheering hits a fever pitch. Olunike changes her grips to slip her thumbs into the legholes of Emery’s bottoms, and outstretches her arms to raise the arrogant industrialist to get her at maximum altitude and hike the blue spandex into Emery’s crevice. Coleridge’s boots hang by Waite’s shoulder blades as she’s suspended by her rival in the stall long enough to turn to all four sides of the arena. The Great Northern Powerhouse shows her burden to the FAWNatics while she lets gravity do its wicked work on Emery's wedgie.
“And this is for me!”
Olunike Waite slings Emery Coleridge against the canvas with a strength that shatters the billionaire's spirit, and probably her skeleton. The recoil of the ring spits Emery a foot into the air where she flattens out and flops starfished on the mat. The gentle rise and fall of the beaten billionaire’s belly is her only movement.
NIAGARA FALLS
youtu.be/hn-nNbBgBZY?t=51
Olunike’s pretty face takes on a slight sneer, like she’s about to step in something the barn animals left behind, and then places a boot on Emery’s breast. Hooking her fingers around the belt loops of her one-piece, Olunike cocks her head at the waiting ref, “Get at ‘er. Wait…” The farmer considers asking for a ten count, but that seems like overkill despite all the bad blood.
“Make it a count of five.”
Arguing with the taciturn talent feels like a bad idea, so the ref complies and is complicit in the final humiliation of Coleridge.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
FIVE!
DINGDINGDING!!!
“Your winner… OLUNIKE WAITE!!”
The announcer proclaims Olunike’s victory to a satisfied and applauding arena as the official raises the Destroyer’s hand, who’s still using her friend turned enemy as a step-stool. Jenkins lowers his sad gaze to the floor and awaits a safe time to retrieve his beaten charge and take her home. Brought back to life by the match-ending bell, Hazeema rolls into the ring with the shot glasses and bottle of Gus n’ Bru in hand. Her ponytails are tragic and her shirt is ruined but Hazeema is filled with happiness for her taller bestie.
“Way to bring the lumber, Olly!” Hazeema hands her a glass and fills it before pouring her own. “That’ll teach her to mess with the Coalition.”
“One hopes,” they clink their cups together and knock ‘em back. Olunike drags her across Emery’s nipple as she steps off and heads out of the ring, the Socialite flinches and yelps in her dazed state. The victorious brawler puts her arm around her manager as they walk up the ramp.
“Let’s break out those sundaes.”
III
This coming match has some buzz on the dirt sheets. Olunike Waite’s first match in FAWN was Emery Coleridge, her first match after an extended hiatus from FAWN and with a much-approved change in demeanour. The long-gestating, Best of Five was agreed to after the billionaire upset the farm girl in their first outing; Olunike won the second bout decisively on the beach, and the third ended in a draw Crystal Hilton beating both in a Threeway for the TV title. Now to avoid a tie the five matches have been shortened to four, this will be the last in their series. And with Emery reverting to her old, heelish ways, it may be the last time these two share any space for some time. Babyface supporters want to see the Canadian Powerhouse Powerbomb Coleridge through the mat. The more loutish fans want to see the ruinous rich girl humiliate the proud Waite, and strip her bare. How will this class war end?
The road to the answer starts when the FAWNtron screen goes stark white. A rubber stamp slams down leaving an imprint of the Canadian flag in red ink and a baritone-heavy, men’s choir sings “OOOHHHHH, CAAAAANNNAADAAAA!!”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_2D8Eo15wE
The screen goes black as the speakers pump out the classic rock anthem ‘Black Betty” by Ram Jam, white silhouettes of one woman Powerbombing another fly back and forth across the screen. When the bombee hits the ground, the world becomes a fever dream of interweaving colours before resetting to black. The now pale shadows switch to a different variation of the slam to summon the melting kaleidoscope.
Stepping out from behind the curtain is a tall, strong, young Black woman with long dark hair in delightful curls named Olunike Waite. She stands with her hands on her hips and wears a stern, inscrutable expression. With slightly squinting eyes she takes the measure of the ring and the surrounding area... The Canadian Destroyer’s ring togs are conservative by FAWN standards and represent her straightforward mindset and rural background plainly for all to see.
She wears a one-piece with a two-button collar simulating a stereotypical farmer’s outfit; an unbuttoned V-neck that stops just before the cleavage of her perfectly proportioned 34Bs. The top half of her gear is coloured red, brown and white in a flannel pattern, there’s a texture and colour switch from the waist down that creates an illusion of daisy dukes, complete with belt loops that her thumbs hook into the ones sewn at the sides. Two shot glasses are pressed tightly between her ring and forefinger in her right hand. When eyes travel down her silky, strong legs they’ll find her wearing sturdy brown boots good for walking down the street or working in the dirt.
Beside Olunike stood her shorter childhood friend, manager, dungeon master and sometimes tag partner Hazeema McMurray, dressed for business and pleasure. She’s clad in a red silk blouse unbuttoned halfway down letting her mountainous cleavage breathe, showing a hint of her entirely unnecessary push-up red bra. A silk brown skirt hugged her shelf of an ass and ended just past mid-thigh, leaving her tan legs uncovered till her fashionable, strappy sandals. Her ribs-length dark hair is tied into pigtails with short braids that swing in the air as she dances next to her stone pillar of a partner. In one pumping fist, she holds a bottle of Gus n’ Bru whiskey.
Hazeema gestures with the bottle to her stoic client, “You’re gonna slap some sense into Emery for treating our sister Sombra shabby at Thrills, Chills and Spills! We don’t cotton that kind of Tom Fuckery!”
Olunike doesn't change her expression and nods, “This’ll be an attitude adjustment, and if she gets mouthy then things will get a lot less neighbourly.”
They march down the ramp with retribution in mind, Olunike slaps a hand every now and then out of politeness, but her focus is totally on the match ahead.
“FROM LETTERKENNY, REPRESENTING THE NORTHERN COALITION! STANDING AT 171cm AND WEIGHING IN AT 59kgs! THE CANADIAN DESTROYER… OLUNIKE WAITE!”
Olunike slides into the squared circle and throws up a fist to the crowd before heading to the corner to wait for her opponent for the evening.
Just after the most jacked referee in the game, Reginald Worthington finishes his search of Waite for foreign objects as the echoing sounds of Empire State of Mind by Alicia Keys start blasting through the sound system, this Heralds hundred-dollar notes falling from the ceiling all with images of Emery Coleridge on each bill. The crowd boos venomously as the rich brat makes her way out of the back in her two-piece blue bikini with gold highlights at the waist, heartbroken that the billionaire turned her back on redemption so soon after obtaining it.
“From Greenwich Village, New York standing at 5’3 and weighing in at 115lbs she is the Socialite, Emery Coleridge!!”
Emery Coleridge
She smiles in delight at the FAWNatics's hatred, but that turns into a snarl of disgust once she takes in the view of the unwashed masses. Her ever-present butler Jenkins comes out beside her with a box of wet wipes in his hand, the ire of thousands sliding off his English-trained demeanour like water off a duck’s back. Without looking at her servant, Emery shoots out a hand behind herself and barks an order with a demanding tone. Even if she didn’t need to yell over the crowd she would have still used the same volume.
“Jenkins, Wetwipe!”
“Yes, Lady Coleridge!”
The fans jeer Emery as she takes her time making her way to the ring. Jenkins walks onto the apron first and holds the second rope down so that his charge can elegantly make it into the ring. She smiles condescendingly at the Canucks as she steps inside, walking past Olunike who looks like she’s trying to set the One Percenter alight with her vision. Emery walks to the opposite corner and ascends to the top of the turnbuckle, she holds her arm up to flip the soldout crowd the bird and receives an uproar of raucous boos. She sneers as she looks out onto the sea of Floridians.
“You’re all just jealous, you poors!”
She lowers herself back to the ring floor and allows herself to be searched by the large ref. Past Worthington's burly frame, Emery can feel Olunike's flinty stare on her person. She rolls her eyes, the lower classes can hold such a grudge, why can't they take her superiority in stride?
Emery passes the official's inspection and he motions for the bell. The wrestlers walk out of their corners with measured paces to meet at center ring, Olunike still has her fingers in her belt loops while Emery has her hands on her hips with an impatient air.
"Coleridge. Ye been ducking me for months and ignoring my calls. I'm past the 'why?' Of it and ready ta dish out consequences.”
“Consequences for what? If your face-painted friend can’t handle things getting rough she shouldn’t be a wrestler.”
“We thought you were our friend!” Olunike chests up to the smaller woman backing Coleridge up a step, “Then you concussed Sombra with that bell and disrespected her family by wiping off her paint. You messed with her now I gotta mess with you and I suggest you let that one marinate!”
Emery bashes her body against Olunike to make the Coalitionite retreat but the difference in size makes her immovable. “My father died and I was sad, so I made some bad decisions. One of which was hanging around you freaks!”
That's the breaking point for the Destroyer; she shoves Emery and whips a palm forward to slap the caviar out of her mouth, The Socialite manages a dodge so narrow her raven tresses are ruffled by the swing. Emery moves when Waite’s off-footed and paintbrushes her cheek red with a CRACK! The Waite’s head swivels back to face her ex-friend with eyes burning hotter than the new handprint searing her face, then they bug out when Coleridge puts a boot to her stomach that doubles her over. Coleridge briskly turns around and falls back to go spine to spine with Olunike and hooks their arms together. The smaller brunette huffs with exertion while she straightens up, lifting Olunike upside down in the process. Emery’s going for the Vertebreaker, is she going to hit her finisher right out of the gate!?
EMERY BOARD
youtu.be/iXjSThnDw3k?t=29
Hazeema death-grips the apron skirt and squeaks “Waite!” Her heart palpitates seeing her friend and client about to lose a battle of honour within seconds. Emery raises onto her tiptoes for the big plunge when Waite gets clever; relaxing her body to a noodle-like state, Olunike slips from The Socialite’s hooks and snaps her arms out to break her fall, she ends up kneeling behind Emery. In a flash Olunike rises from the mat while inserting her head between the Lightweight’s legs, hoisting Coleridge into a seat on her shoulders when she stands at her full height.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Emery windmills her arms in small circles trying to keep her balance astride Olunike as the big Canuck stomps around the ring looking for just the right spot to leave an expensive smear. “Maybe we should cool down! We both said some harsh thiIINGS!”
Grasping hard at Emery’s creamy thighs Olunike pushes her rider up and over her noggin as she drops into a kneel, splattering the billionaire against the ring floor. Emery's eyes are still rolling as Olunike shoves her face up and throws herself over the Lightweight in a Lateral Press pin.
ELECTRIC CHAIR FACEBUSTER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXAIMTcEm00
ONE!
T- Emery pulls her legs in and bucks Waite off, then turns onto her side to stop a second attempt. If they were still buddies Waite would have lifted her respectfully by the wrist, now that Emery has flippantly thrown out their friendship the Coalitionite grabs her roughly by the scruff and hauls Emery vertical. The rich bitch’s whining falls on deaf ears as Waite marches her to the closest set of buckles. Frustrated and desperate, Coleridge twists out of the farmer's grasp and tags Waite across the face with another Bytch slap, but the all-consuming anger allows Olunike to shrug it off and push Emery into the corner. She stuns the Socialite with a Forearm Shiver to her jaw and tightly palms Emery’s face with both hands, giving her an undignified fish face.
Olunike goes nose to nose with Coleridge and states firmly, “You are a selfish, thoughtless girl.” Coleridge grumbles an indignant response that raises an octave in fear when Olunike rears her head back. The Toughest Lady in Letterkenny starts jackhammering short-range Headbutts against Emery. Her long, dark hair whips back and forth with each ramming collision of skull on skull, the FAWNatics loudly counting off each painful meeting of the minds.
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Emery slumps to a seat on the second buckle but Olunike doesn’t let up the pace. FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! Emery puddles to a reclined seat against the bottom buckle with her brain ringing and seeing in triplicate. Olunike runs away from the one-percenter to the far corner and kicks off the second turnbuckle into a sprint back to the New Yorker. When she's almost in her opponent’s shadow Olunike takes her boots off the ground and lets the wind carry her to a soft landing, on Emery, who convulses as the big Canadian brawler punishes her body with a Meteora.
youtu.be/QKuXIwTlwTM?t=643
An ecstatic Hazeema pounds the apron repeatedly “Heck yeah! Welcome to Letterkenny, Degen!”
Olunike grabs Coleridge by the ankles and drags her cavewoman-style some meters away from the corner. She lifts the billionaire’s ankles and spreads them to make a V, and threads a leg between them to step down by her hip. Olunike genuflects and uses her stretched leg to fold Coleridge in half while collecting her wrists and pressing them against the canvas in a dominant matchbook pin.
ONE!
TWO!
“AAAII!”
Emery manages to raise her left arm against Olunike’s pressure to snag some of the Canadian’s long locks and YANK on them hard enough to tumble Olunike off the mount and onto her side. The women’s legs slide against and kick at each other as their skills disappear in a heated moment of catfighting. Waite digs her nails into Emery’s wrist trying to untangle Greenwich Villager’s talons from her curls, “Let go of my hair you-” Crack! Emery expertly whips her free hand down and scorches Olunike's cheek with a Soap Opera-worthy bitch slap that bounces the poor’s head against the mat. Emery detaches from her smarting foe and clambers to her feet. She bends over and takes two heaping handfuls of Olunike’s silky hair and starts pulling like she’s uprooting a weed, bringing the Coalitionite to her knees.
“Since you have such a hard head, I’ll have one of my family’s construction companies hire you.” Ignoring the official’s warnings, Emery keeps tugging on Waite’s mane to get the Destroyer to her feet but keeps her bent at the waist so she can violently yank Waite’s head in all directions. “You can spend all day smashing your head against concrete like the brainless tool you OOUGH!!”
A stony fist slugs Coleridge in the diaphragm making her expel a ragged breath, she releases the Canadian’s hair and hugs her quivering middle. Waite straightens up with an angry frown and smoothes out her glorious mane as her former friend struggles not to retch, she massages her burning scalp flinching at the stinging waves that radiate from her touch. Waite grabs the back of Coleridge’s head and pulls her down into a Standing Headscissors, her strong thighs flexing into stark definition trying to crack the billionaire’s skull like a walnut. Emery stamps her feet and scratches at Olunike’s legs, so the big Canuck starts raining hammer blows to the Lightweight’s back with her forearms to dissuade the Lightweight from such catty tactics.
Olunike cranks the pressure of her legs up a few notches refusing to move on till she hears the rich girl whine, and then retorts “Brainless would be talking when you should throwing hands.” She articulates that point with a few quick forehand/backhand spanks on Coleridge’s rump that get the crowd hooting and muffled yelps from the traitor between her legs. Olunike circles her arms around Coleridge’s middle and flips her up and out of the Headscissors; spectators thinking they’re about to see a Snap Powerbomb get a neat surprise when Olunike shifts mid-motion to catch The Socialite’s body across her chest and violently twists into a drop, crushing Emery with a Powerslam.
CANADIAN JAZZ
www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9Ge0RaHhGY
Emery finds herself squashed between a lovely hardbody babe and the hard ring floor, the sudden rush of pain and the lurch of her stomach from being thrown around makes the New Yorker consider just letting this match go. But when Olunike lies atop her in a Lateral pin and pulls in her far leg by the knee, Emery summons the will and strength to push the larger woman off of her and roll facedown. Olunike lets Emery rise off the mat in stages perspiring and starting to breathe a little heavy; an underrated aspect of Waite’s strength-based, Powerbomb-centric style is that the majority of her moves end in a natural cover. Even if Emery escapes the three count it drains her stamina to continually kick out from under the denser wrestler.
The Coalitionite is getting a little hot under the collar as well but looks like she has the constitution to do a Terry Fox Run. She hooks her fingers into her belt loops and huffs a frustrated breath through her nose, “I can keep trying to beat some sense into you, or you can apologize and we can have a proper match.” She offers a handshake. One last try at salvaging their friendship. Emery looks down at the olive branch intensely, then rubs her palms over her face looking like she’s about to cry. She tentatively extends her hand out… then whips and slaps the spit out of Olunike’s mouth for the fourth time tonight!
“Apologizing is for the weak and the wrong, and I’m neither!”
“You bitch!” Heartbroken and enraged Olunike torques her hips into a receipt slap that'll take Emery’s jaw- No! Emery angles her face out of the way and leaps onto Olunike’s right arm like a spider monkey. Dragging the statuesque maple tree down on the canvas and locking in a cross-armbar.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sk6Hh6LtGV8
In her first proper wrestling move of the night, Emery has her opponent in a troubling submission that if doesn't get the win, may seriously hamper Waiter's Powerbombing abilities. Emery tweaks the hold a few degrees and gets a shriek from the Canuck that brings a smile to her face. “Still feeling like a tough girl, sweetie? Better tap if you want this arm to throw hay bales later.”
Olunike shouts “We grow barley!” and bites the inside of her cheek to deny Coleridge a scream as she bends her limb against its design. Olly’s pouring all the power she can into curling her arm to keep Emery from breaking it. Olunike would have lost this match by now if she were a weaker woman. The heartless One Percenter keeps trying to break the arm that lifted her and patted her in the back time and time again, Emery calls out for the gazing zebra, “Ask her!” The referee gives the rude one a little side-eye as he lowers to check on Olunike, “Whaddya say, Waite?” The Coalitionite is the picture of rural grit, she’s mad dogging the woman contorting her arm and says a simple but forceful “No.” Olunike spreads herself out searching for the ropes with her free hand and feet. Her manager Hazeema is jogging over to that side of the ring in her sandals, fans in the first several rows tear their eyes from the ring to watch the jiggling that threatens to burst the heavy-chested manager’s shirt wide open.
“Over here, buddy!” Hazeema slaps the apron over and over, trying to distract her client from the pain and focus on salvation. Olunike inches across the coarse canvas towards Hazeema's thumping while dragging a sourfaced Emery, who’s determined to take that arm home tonight. Many managers in this industry wouldn’t blink at bending the rules and the bottom rope to shorten the distance for their clients to reach, but McMurray knows Olunike wouldn’t want that, so she buries her worry and watches her friend suffer. The DM&M bangs the apron harder. “Just a little farther, Olly!”
12 inches can seem like 12 miles across a scorching desert when you’re in a Cross Armbar, but it’s a pilgrimage Olunike’s willing to trek for victory. The Canadian Destroyer lets out a wretched yell as she grabs the rope and shakes it violently “BREAK!”
“If you insist!
Emery cranks on the Arm Bar making Olunike wail and stamp her feet. McMurray is making a scene and screaming at the official to break the illegal hold. Emery keeps the submission locked and excruciating through the referee’s count and releases at a count of 4.8, avoiding a disqualification by a hair’s breadth. Because she milked the hold, the official forces Coleridge to give her opponent space and back up a few feet so she can collect herself. Olunike rolls under the bottom cable to lie on the narrow space of the apron, hugging her smartin’ arm across her body and taking deep breaths to stymie the pain. Hazeema pulls a bottle of Cold Spray out of her bottomless cleavage and empties half the topical in one long burst up and down the sore limb.
“Being around you made her tougher but Emery wasn’t able to make you any weaker. And that means you’re still leagues above that C-word!” Haz hypes up her bud as Waite rolls back into the ring and pulls herself up using the ropes as a ladder with her good hand. She nods in agreement and breathes, “Time for a donnybrook.”
Hazeema pounds the apron one more time and points at Waite vigorously, “She’s 10-ply and you’re sandpaper! She wouldn’t last a night in the Ag-hall! She’s- BEHIND YOU!”
Coleridge daggers her manicured nails at the base of Waite’s neck and rapidly rakes them down the farmer’s back. Waite cries out and arcs her spine in a spasm thrusting out her perky chest to the camera, Coleridge quickly rakes her again to the bigger reaction from the living scratching post. When Olunike takes off her gear later she’ll have ten long, red marks on her back that’ll take a week to heal. Emery faces away from Olunike and reaches over to cup her chin, after forcing the Canuck’s neck onto her shoulder the smaller brunette sits out and gives Olly a case of whiplash with a textbook Neckbreaker. Olunike falls to her side with her hands at her nape and kicks at the mat in a fit of distress. Emery grabs her ankles before rising and drags Olunike away from the ropes, taunting the DM&M all the while, “You’re looking less splotchy than usual, Hazeema. Did you see an esthetician?”
"You can kiss my ass-thetician!" Hazeema wasn’t as close to Emery as Olunike was, but it still made her mad as hell to see the backstabbing billionaire flip and bend her client into a high-angle Boston crab. Her bad arm is pinned under her chest, Olunike wildly grasps with her free arm like an animal trying to free itself from a trap. Emery puts a boot on the back of her neck and grinds right where her shoulder hit, “Time to get back on that turnip truck back to Letterkenny.”
youtu.be/Fm91abeOeks?t=231
The ref takes a knee by Olunike's head, concerned about the Canuck ending up in a hospital bed with a broken neck. “No shame in calling it, Olunike. Better a loss than spinal fusion.” The powerhouse of the strange stable growls out a “No!’ and with all the power she can muster in one arm she drags them along the mat at a surprising speed. Coleridge has always thought herself taller and stronger than she was, a side effect of being born into an ultra-wealthy lifestyle. If she had a Destroyer body type, Emery could have kept that boot on Waite’s neck without sacrificing stability. Instead, she almost loses her balance and has to keep up with her inverted ex-bestie while walking backwards. She hastily throws a leg over the Lady’s flanks and reapplies the Boston Crab, the spine-damaging submission slows Waite’s desperate crawl but it’s too late. The farmer clutches the bottom rope for dear life spurring the ref to start a count. Emery keeps the Crab till ‘Three!’ and then throws Olunike’s legs down in disgust, “This is taking too long!”
McMurray’s already at Waite’s side and draining the rest of the Cold Spray up and down the wrestler’s vertebrae. “Don’t sweat this wretch. You’re the NHL and she’s whale-shit hockey, just focus onHEY!”
Emery darts over and kicks her foot under the middle cable knocking the painkiller out of McMurray’s hand. “No more cuddling the baby!” Olunike begins to push off the mat but gets mashed back into the floor by a frenzy of stomps by The Socialite, “I’m about to put her to bed.”
Emery ruffles Olunike’s hair into a messy ponytail and drags her cavewoman-style away from the ropes. After several scalp-searing tugs, she gets Olunike on two feet and faces away from her and out to the crowd. Emery lowers her head and touches the back of her neck to the curve of Waite’s glutes as she hooks her biceps around the Coalitionite. “Eeeragh!” A long groan of exertion spills from the One Percenter’s lips as she straightens turning Olunike upside down as she’s lifted off the canvas. Beads of sweat run down Coleridge's brow. She's not strong enough to keep the Destroyer up for long, but ego demands she trots in a circle to display off the sweaty dirt worker to the whole arena.
Perspiration runs down the bridge of Waite’s nose up her forehead and gets lost in her hairline; she feels the beginning of a headache coming on with the rush of blood to her brain, her eyes scrunch up when the colours of the world feel like sandpaper on her corneas. Waite bicycles her gaze-stealing legs in the air trying to reverse their positions, however Emery’s kept up her training since regressing and maintains a strong base. Emery ends her cycle where she can make eye contact with the furious manager at ringside while speaking to her unwilling backpack. “In case the trauma doesn’t send the message,” She blows a kiss at Hazeema. “Go away.” The billionaire kicks out her legs and drops to the ring floor in a reverberating THUD! Olunike’s head, neck and shoulders hit the mat with all of her 59kgs(130lbs) behind them by Coleridge’s patented Vertebreaker called the Emery Board.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOPxJd-arZE
Coleridge pivots on her buns to the Canadian’s side with both of Waite’s stems gathered in her arms and pulls them in tight. The camera zooms in on Waite’s firm, upturned ass as the official performs his duty.
ONE!
TWO!!
TNOOO!!!
Waite kicks out angrily sending her smaller oppressor tumbling and rolling into her elbows with far more life in her than should be possible, the rich Lightweight pushes onto an elbow looking flabbergasted that this corn Husker is still awake and gaining steam. Waite gets her knees under her triggering Emery into speedily crawling over and pummeling the base of Olunike's neck to keep her easygoing while she drags her up by the left wrist then twisting it in an Arm Wringer.
The Socialite leads Olunike to the southeast corner, the farthest one from the Coalition's manager, and hikes up the pilfered arm between Olunike's shoulder blades with a Hammerlock. Emery backs herself into the pad and blindly climbs them with practiced ease to a perch on the top buckle. Emery releases the Hammerlock to hold the brawler by the biceps while placing her knee behind Olunike's head.
Emery grinds her knee into Olunike’s occipital bone and threatens “If this doesn't crack that stone skull of yours, nothing will.” She’s about to kick off the top turnbuckle and ride Olly to a Million Dollar Face Plant when the cowgirl’s mount decides to get ornery. The tall drink of Eska wrenches her arms free from Coleridge’s grasp and grabs the smaller brunette by the wrists, with a mighty heave she tears her off the top turnbuckle into a flipping fall that has the ring thrumming with her bone-rattling crash.
ICONOCLASM
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AiXVDlAOhx4
Coleridge ignores the firecrackers going off along her spine and hurries to stand, only to be mowed over by Waite the moment she turns around, The toughest lady in Letterkenny uses her good arm to blast the rich snob across the tits with a running Clothesline. The wind is knocked out of Coleridge giving Waite a moment to assess as she writhes on the canvas. She flicks her one-piece into its proper position over her picturesque bottom and smoothes out her hair. She sighs, “At least I know our time together wasn’t a total waste, you’re a tougher fight than last time.” Olunike shakes out her weaker arm and finds the discomfort within reason to try her next move, she calls out to Hazeema as she strides over and gathers Emery off the deck, “You're the MVP for bringing that spray.”
The DM&M claps happily watching her client and the barbarian of her D&D group double Emery over with a slug to the gut. “You da MVP! Put her away now and we'll celebrate with drumsticks in the locker room.”
Olunike surrounds The Socialite’s waist with her arms and heaves Emery into a Canadian Backbreaker. Hands knotted under the billionaire’s chest, Olunike bounces lightly on her toes painfully jarring the smaller woman’s spine on a shoulder. “Cookie-dipped vanilla Sundae?”
“Of course!”
“Ferda.” The Northern Coalition discusses their post-match dessert ignoring the spasming, yelping woman breaking in two over Waite’s glenohumeral joint. Emery is a pitiful sight; kicking, screaming, even sobbing with Olunike’s every hop. The referee gets close checking in with Emery and has to fearfully dodge an angry swipe. Waite tilts her chin at the ref, “Best step back a moment.” Once the zebra retreats from the quarrelling lionesses Olunike lowers into a crouch and jumps up, her boots land with a heavy thud! Putting some bass in the background of the piercing shout from Coleridge as her body whiplashes into a U over Olunike’s shoulder, the back of the Lightweight’s heels would have touched her head without the farmer’s body in the way. Coleridge’s screaming dies down into a sorrowful moan while she slows on her painful perch to twitching. The official’s about to take a step toward them when Olunike stops him with a look, “Hang on.” She starts spinning in place fast enough for Emery’s limbs to stretch out to their full length adding nausea to Emery’s growing list of discomforts. After enough rotations to guarantee a GIF on Twitter(Olunike refuses to call it by its new name) she sits out as she pushes down Emery’s chin hard enough to flip the billionaire off her shoulder. Coleridge splats on the ring floor between Waite’s splayed legs, the Caucasian woman ricochets onto her knees with the recoil of the mat and stays on them long enough to look uncomprehendingly into Waite’s eyes before tilting forward onto her face.
CHAPMAN’S CREAMERY
youtu.be/QKuXIwTlwTM?t=685
The farmer shovels the Socialite's tummy up before lying across her for a pin. Jenkins frowns and McMurry gives an optimistic thumbs up as the ref counts the end of their interactions from here going on to forever.
ONE!
TWO!!
THRENOOO!!!
Somehow Emery finds the stuff to Bridge out of the pin! Hands and feet braced against the mat she thrusts her abdomen to the ceiling, bucking off Olunike and collapsing as soon as the match is saved. Olunike’s not one to count her chickens before they hatch but she could feel the drumstick in her hand. Olunike looks amazed at her former friend’s show of fortitude.
“Where was this grit when you were going after the TV title?”
Spiteful with pain, Emery props herself up with her elbows “Where are you during any title match? Oh, that's right, you’re in catering with the restUGhh!” Olunike puts a working boot to the capitalist’s back and keeps stomping till Emery’s impersonating a squashed worm. Olunike lifts the rubbery lass to her feet in stages and uses all that professional labourer strength to send the Lightweight flying to the far corner with an Irish Whip. Emery’s soles are barely touching the mat she’s moving so fast. She turns in time to avoid hitting the pad with her chest, but the collision her back makes with the corner is no treat either.Bwung! “Raaaghh!” The corner visibly vibrates and audibly creaks from Emery’s crash, she collapses onto the canvas seizing up and wearing a mask of misery.
Waite backs into the diagonal corner from her opponent and lowers into a crouch, silently sizing Emery up for her Superman Punch branded as The Canadram. When she clenches her right fist, the Letterkenny lass feels pangs shooting up her arm instead of the usual ball of dynamite that’s ended many a match. Waite grimaces and switches to her non-dominant hand, the angle of the punch will be a bit off and the hit not quite as mindblowing, but a concussion’s a concussion no matter how you slice it.
Emery takes her sweet time getting to her feet, awkwardly pulling on the ropes to get her feet with the grace of a newborn fawn (the deer). When she’s almost vertical Olunike charges from her corner,` going from 0 to 100mph in a heartbeat. The fearsome farmer launches into the air to soar the last few meters to Miss Moneybags with her fist diving into Emery’s face like a bird of prey. Whether it’s the move being done with Olunike’s left hand or Coleridge playing up her injury, things don’t go as planned. Coleridge angles her head out of the way and takes Olunike in a head-and-shoulder hold when their bodies collide. She takes hold of Waite’s upper thigh with her free arm and then flings themselves backwards, dashing the Coalitionite’s lower spine against the bottom turnbuckle.
EXPLODER SUPLEX
youtu.be/6qy_OQpPIns?t=11
“Ggaaahhh!”
Olunike sags onto her side in the fetal position racked with quiet sobs. Coleridge skitters over and messily pulls her away from the cables, needing to tug Olunike’s unmoving bulk face down and up again to get her moving. Emery folds up Waite into the tightest matchbook possible almost curling her into a ball; Emery moulds herself against the ascending slope of the Canuck’s legs, sitting on the back of Waite’s calves and putting a cheek against a denim-covered buttcheek. Praying this is what finally breaks Waite’s spirit.
ONE!
TWO!!
T-NOOO!!!
Olunike bursts out from under the billionaire! Snapping open like a mousetrap Emery is jettisoned off the fearless farmer. Despite the lively escape, Olunike is still deeply hurting, she goes taut as bow massaging her lower back and clenching her teeth hard enough to bite through metal. Emery is apocalyptic; she slaps the canvas repeatedly in a childish tantrum caterwauling at the top of her lungs. She pops up and barges into Referee Worthington’s personal space pointing a finger in his face and spitting accusations. She’s tiny in comparison but the rageful aura Coleridge emits is enough to make him back several steps “You’re slow counting her! This is class warfare! you’re ganging up on me!”
Reginald puts his hands up placatingly attempting to calm the fuming fatcat, “I’m an unbiased official, Miss Coleridge. If you have any doubt of that you can make a formal complaint after the match, but I’d focus on the task at hand.”
Emery’s ready to rip the big Brit a new and bloody one, but spies Olunike beginning to get off the mat. “Outofmyway!” She pushes past the alpha Zebra and charges the recovering Coalitionite, blindsiding as soon as she’s on her knees and ensnaring her in a Guillotine Choke!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jFDJOPnbU8
Waite finds herself sinking forehead to the mat and her trachea compacted by Emery’s arm, while the Socialite’s legs crush her below the ribs with a bodyscissors. The smaller brunette puts every muscle to work putting this stubborn mule to sleep, “Just tap you bitch!” An urgent need to stave off the darkness bubbles up within Waite and gives her the strength to shoot forward for a ropebreak. However, her lack of sight and zealousness sends them plowing through the cables and over the apron’s edge, Olunike feels the pull of gravity and smartly angles so Coleridge takes the worst of the fall. The pair break apart when they hit the floor and roll in opposite directions; Olunike’s hocking up a lung and massaging her throat while Coleridge’s scowling with pain, and mentally scheduling the top masseuse in the country for a home visit.
Hazeema races over to the crime scene on the outside mats while Jenkins the butler comes around the other side of the ring and watches from a safe distance away. Being the only one of the four people in the area (Not including the ref) without wrestling training he’s under strict orders to avoid any physicality.
“Olly! You okay? Did you land alright?” Hazeema hovers over her friend like a mother hen as Olunike hacks and coughs recovering from the choke. “Take slow breaths. You’ll be alAAIGH!!”
Emery rips at Hazeema’s pigtails from behind and drags her kicking and screaming away from Olunike. The billionaire bashes the Pakistani-Canadian’s face against the cold steel of the guardrail over and over till Hazeema’s yelling dies down to moans and her limbs grow rubbery. She hauls Hazeema up by the armpits and leans her back against the barrier, throwing her arms over the top to keep the stunned manager upright. Emery shouts “Jenkins!” The loyal butler appears at her side almost instantaneously, “Yes, Miss?” Coleridge rips McMurray’s shirt, fully revealing her red push-up bra and making a spray of buttons clatter on the floor. She presents an open palm without looking at her servant, “Wet wipe!”
Jenkins reaches into his coat deftly pulling out a sheet from his seemingly endless supply and puts it into her hand. Coleridge vigorously scrubs the damp cloth all over the stupefied DM&M face and boobs then stuffs it in her slack mouth. “You’re a terrible manager. At best you should be a cleaning lady who might luck into an affair with one of my legal team.”
The haze of pain began to clear during the unwanted rub down so Hazeema comprehended that slight enough to take offence, but not enough to understand she was gagged when she tried to clap back.
“Mmmph! Mwp whph wa-!” Emery turns her back on the wage slave while reaching back and circling her arms around Hazeema’s head. Emery takes two big, swift steps that pull Hazeema off the guardrail before laying out flat and robbing the manager of her senses with an Ace Crusher.
COLERIDGE CUTTER
youtu.be/C7n30C0FqRo?t=308
The thin mats covering the concrete floor of the arena prove poor cushioning for McMurray’s head. When her body hits the floor she’s out like a light, sprawled facedown with nary a twitch, Emery stands up haughtily dusting her hands off, “You can clean these floors with your tongue as training then we’ll start you off as an unpaid intern. Jenkins, you’re dismissed.”
“Yes, madam.” The mindful manservant retreats to his designated spot at ringside with a small bow. Ignoring the echoing BOOOOOs the FAWNatics are drowning her in, Emery gives McMurray’s rump a parting stomp and then turns to the waste she’s made of Waite, or to be accurate where she should have been. The Coalitionite seems to have absconded while Emery humiliated her manager. Emery steps into the space where she last saw Waite and scans the area looking for her eccentric ex-friend, “Where’d the hell did she go?”
The notion that Waite gave up and crawled up the ramp occurs to Emery and gives her a giggle, “Maybe that fall rattled some brain cells into action.” The crowd's energy abruptly shifts from angry disdain to happy adulation, startling Emery out of her imagination “What-? Oow!”
The raven-haired rich girl suffers a smack upside the head and staggers forward. Emery whips about with her hands protectively covering her nape and sees Olunike looking at her sternly with hands on hips, “You see how cheap it is to attack from behind?” Emery lunges at her neck in anger and gets a stinging slap across the face for her efforts. Crack! Coleridge falters, holding her redding cheek and giving Olunike how-could-you? eyes as the farmer stares her down “That’s why I attack from the front.”
Emery spits back at the Powerbomb specialist “Because you’re too stupid to do anything else!” She throws a left cross that Olunike blocks handedly with a forearm and then tags her other cheek with a harder slap before. The Toughest Lady in Letterkenny grabs a handful of Emery’s tresses and yanks on it to raise her chin. Coleridge squeals in pain and indignation at the brazen assault on her hair and digs her talons into Olunike’s bounty as payback. The rugged rural worker grits her teeth through the horrible clawing and tags Emery’s cheek with three more whip-fast palms. Her hand lands heavier each time, punctuating the truth Olly wants drilled into Emery’s stubborn brain.
“Because! (CRACK!) I’m not! (CRAACK!) A coward! (CRAAACK!)”
The last paddle makes Emery’s eye grow glassy and her mouth part, her hands stop their furious clawing for weakly pushing at the Destroyer’s body to make the punishment stop. With the Bytch slap count now in Olunike’s favour she feels ready to take the action back in the ring. She pulls Emery by the tuft of hair into a stomach-churning kneelift, then reaches past the billionaire’s bow and pulls her blue bottoms into a searing wedgie. First trotting Emery in a circle to show off her buns, Waite gives the heel the bum’s rush into the ring by tossing over the apron and under the bottom cable. Coleridge skids then rolls into the ring, the burn of the canvas on her skin clearing the slap-induced haze of her mind and encouraging the Lightweight to get on all fours and crawl to safety. Olunike enters the Squared Circle with more dignity and revenge on the mind; stepping through the ropes the fearsome farmer marches over Coleridge as she subtly concentrates the strength in her right arm.
Emery scrambles to verticality to meet Olunike head-on. She was winning this match moments before, she’s not going to trip at the finish line. Emery runs at the Canuck feinting left and yelling as a distraction “Go back to your own country!” Olunike slows and looks at her quizzically, “The fuck-?” The strange spout of xenophobia serves its purpose as Emery jukes right grabbing for Olunike’s right arm to break it in another Cross-arm bar. Miss Moneybags’ fingers graze Waite’s bicep before it’s twisted away- Olunike spins on a heel, daggering Emery in the side of her head with a reverse elbow.
MOOSEJAW BREAKER
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VpzW70_HoI
Just like the time on the hot sands of the Florida beach, Coleridge falls thanks to Waite’s ace-in-the-hole move. The billionaire’s brain short circuits; Emery’s eyes roll in their sockets, her left leg slides back as her right leg buckles, she tips over like an ill-positioned mannequin and hits the mat with a thump!. It’s likely Olunike could pin her here and now, but Emery put her paws on Hazeema so now a lesson’s gotta be taught. She hauls Coleridge off the canvas and into a steamy Standing Headscissors, Waite leans down and wraps her steely arms around the Lightweight’s middle and declares, “That was for Sombra.”
The crush of the Canadian’s stems stirs Emery back to life and she digs her nails into the back of Waite’s thighs, “Listen, you fu-!” Waite kicks off the mat like a jack rabbit, launching the pair into a mesmerizing flip that ends in a sickening Sitout Piledriver! The ring floor will have to be checked later for a dent matching the diameter of Emery’s skull.
CANADIAN DESTROYER
youtu.be/IMgAeCeNcfo?t=25
The nifty Northerner holds her opponent tight so when Coleridge looks at this match later she can see the defeat in her In her humbled buns. In Waite’s young career, she’s gained a sense of when a hit truly lands, and she felt it with the shiver that ran through the rich bitch’s body head to toe when they touched down. Coleridge’s arms and legs dangling like wet noodles toward the canvas is a good indication too. Waite lets go of Emery’s midsection to let the One Percenter fall from between her thighs and watches amazed as Emery droops onto her soles but her legs don’t buckle. The Lightweight raises her head off the mat to her full height, exposing her rolled up eyes drooling lips, and tilts backward like a cutdown tree into a boneless sprawl. Olunike pushes to her feet and considers ending it now… but it’s still not enough.
She raises a working boot high and stomps on Coleridge’s tummy like she means to get hip-deep. Coleridge sputters awake with a loud, wet bellow “GOAAGH!” And tries to push off Olunike’s boot to no success, the powerhouse of the Northern Coalition moves it when she’s ready and pulls Emery off the canvas by the ears. The Socialite is barely standing on her own and almost puddles to the floor when the plank of Olunike’s thigh batters her abused belly. Emery bends at the waist with a dry retch and gets yanked by the follicles into another Standing Headscissors. Turning to face the Hard Cam, The Canadian Destroyer takes a moment to smooth out her long curly mane and flick her one-piece into the right spot on her chest before she coils her arms around Emery’s middle. “That was for Hazeema.”
Her vision is in quadruplicate, her head is throbbing and her body is somehow both numb and on fire, Emery is ready to be friends again. She weakly gropes at Olunike’s calves and bids for peace with a plaintive, “Waait… Stahhhp..”
If Olunike heard her she ignored her, the unforgiving agronomist propels Emery up her body into a powerbomb stall as The FAWNatic’s cheering hits a fever pitch. Olunike changes her grips to slip her thumbs into the legholes of Emery’s bottoms, and outstretches her arms to raise the arrogant industrialist to get her at maximum altitude and hike the blue spandex into Emery’s crevice. Coleridge’s boots hang by Waite’s shoulder blades as she’s suspended by her rival in the stall long enough to turn to all four sides of the arena. The Great Northern Powerhouse shows her burden to the FAWNatics while she lets gravity do its wicked work on Emery's wedgie.
“And this is for me!”
Olunike Waite slings Emery Coleridge against the canvas with a strength that shatters the billionaire's spirit, and probably her skeleton. The recoil of the ring spits Emery a foot into the air where she flattens out and flops starfished on the mat. The gentle rise and fall of the beaten billionaire’s belly is her only movement.
NIAGARA FALLS
youtu.be/hn-nNbBgBZY?t=51
Olunike’s pretty face takes on a slight sneer, like she’s about to step in something the barn animals left behind, and then places a boot on Emery’s breast. Hooking her fingers around the belt loops of her one-piece, Olunike cocks her head at the waiting ref, “Get at ‘er. Wait…” The farmer considers asking for a ten count, but that seems like overkill despite all the bad blood.
“Make it a count of five.”
Arguing with the taciturn talent feels like a bad idea, so the ref complies and is complicit in the final humiliation of Coleridge.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
FIVE!
DINGDINGDING!!!
“Your winner… OLUNIKE WAITE!!”
The announcer proclaims Olunike’s victory to a satisfied and applauding arena as the official raises the Destroyer’s hand, who’s still using her friend turned enemy as a step-stool. Jenkins lowers his sad gaze to the floor and awaits a safe time to retrieve his beaten charge and take her home. Brought back to life by the match-ending bell, Hazeema rolls into the ring with the shot glasses and bottle of Gus n’ Bru in hand. Her ponytails are tragic and her shirt is ruined but Hazeema is filled with happiness for her taller bestie.
“Way to bring the lumber, Olly!” Hazeema hands her a glass and fills it before pouring her own. “That’ll teach her to mess with the Coalition.”
“One hopes,” they clink their cups together and knock ‘em back. Olunike drags her across Emery’s nipple as she steps off and heads out of the ring, the Socialite flinches and yelps in her dazed state. The victorious brawler puts her arm around her manager as they walk up the ramp.
“Let’s break out those sundaes.”