Post by SammieSinclair on Dec 20, 2014 19:13:44 GMT
BRING IT ON:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLjitP78tag&list=PLPuOyWan3CRuPoCuzoiHkAq0VNWg308E4
The opening guitar riff, no different than it had been years earlier, heralded the arrival of Wrestling’s wayward black sheep, the girl who’d had it all and choose to burn in an act of petulance, opting to make an early exit from the industry that she had been born into whilst nuking as many bridges as she could along the way. Unrepentant summed up her demeanour following her return, and ‘Marvellous’ Marvela Marcille remained every inch the ‘Original’ People’s Princess as she arrived on stage.
Marvela Marcille
She smiled as she appeared, lights catching all the right curves as she stood without fear, regal in her bearing and utterly without hesitation, raising one hand up high, palm faced outwards in welcome as the pyrokenetics erupted bombastically to either side of her. She seemed oblivious to the boos that were there to welcome her, the fans she had so effortlessly scorned following her messy exodus not making a dent in the apparent fiction she had created all about herself.
It was this, however, that was the facade, and eventually she broke the illusion and she greeted the crowds heckling with an indulgent roll of her eyes, a slightly exasperated ‘tut’ upon her lips and a world weary smile tugging at the corners of her lips. With her less than sincere efforts of extending an olive branch rebuffed, Marvela launched into a light stepped stride down the ramp, the saunter of hips and the swish of her shoulders full of self assured swagger, her mane of chocolate brown immaculate and shimmering, matching her gaze and showing not even a hint of fallibility.
The crimson of the Lightweights attire was bright and fierce, the fabric whisper thin and slipping about her every, perfectly carved and refined contours, the two piece outfit as much a part of her as her own personality. The single strap top cut to just below her bosom, leaving her firm tummy temptingly naked, a explosion of yellow and orange sat dead centre between her breasts, a promise of the “Bombastic Bomb!!” she would surely unleash against anyone unfortunate enough to face her. Her shorts were modest by FAWN standards, even as they left exceedingly little to the imagination, slipping downwards to mid thigh whilst boots, pads and gloves finished off the ensemble that had once been adored by so many, and had so badly hurt the very same.
She spun in a one eighty spiral, sweeping out her arms to either side as she continued to saunter backwards, smiling in a way that suggested that she knew that she was hot shit, and everyone else was just burned by it, her stride as infuriatingly confident in reverse as it was in going the right way. It was at this point she spotted one sign in particular, a message that was repeated several times over throughout the arena in preparation of her appearance, and she barely even had to read the words to know what it said.
What it always said.
NOT “OUR” PRINCESS
She merely rolled her eyes once more and dismissed the heartbroken sentiment with a dismissive flick of her wrist, turning back to sauntering the right way as she reached the ring. She strode up the steel steps and slipped into the squared circle like a welcomed heroine, taking a diagonal path across the canvas until she reached the opposite corner. Marvela climbed up the turnbuckles and swept up her arms as if in welcome, ready to salute the crowds that lov... Marcille couldn’t do it, a wickedly indulgent grin marring her features as she opted to flip off the FAWNatics instead, and even that gesture seemed half hearted in its effort as she barely considered them worthy of it. The ‘Perfect’ Princess hopped back down, languishing in the corner as she waited for stage stooges to do their job and welcome the Jobber who would be her opponent for the evening to come out.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer began, the FAWNatics willing to afford him a small measure of silence to perform his duties. “The following contest if scheduled for One Fall and a Twenty Minute Time Limit. Introducing first, standing at five foot five and weighing in one hundred and twenty pounds, on loan from the Jungle...
The momentary curl of her lip betrayed Marvela’s first sign of genuine displeasure, the acknowledgment of her status as a developmental competitor, and not a fully fledged member of the big league roster did little to balance her karma. More money than she was willing to confess had exchanged hands to ‘earn’ her this ‘opportunity’ so early in her probation. To have that undermined by such ‘poor professionalism’ on the part of the hired help sat ill with her to say the least.
“...the ‘Original’ People’s Princess, Marvellous! Marvela!! Marcille!!!”
Needless to say, the warmth of the FAWNatics did not improve
The eager buzz of an audience salivating for more carnage--preferably to see this snotty little legend-in-her-own-mind get her taut little tush handed to her--had barely begun to fade when the arena's speakers crackle back to life. Five seconds of an unfamiliar, eccentric reverb then yield to a distinctly feminine voice...
"Anybody tell you I'm a fighter?
Wanna start a fire, I'm the lighter,
If you think you burn bright, I burn brighter,
Never tire,
Did they tell you I'm a fighter?"
Sumo Cyco’s “Fighter” might not be an immediately recognizable anthem for the FAWNatics, but those opening words fit few better than they do the woman about to emerge--and a number of fans have already put two and two together before the ring announcer addresses them.
"FIGHTER":
Studio: www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYcNai2VMmU
Live: www.youtube.com/watch?v=tn6ePXWB5_o
"Hailing from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada,” the announcer resumes, speaking over the pulsing rock. “Standing at five feet four inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and sixteen pounds, she is ‘THE HARDCORE HEARTBREAKER... AJ SWWWAAANNNNNN!"
AJ Swann
Finally, as vocals join the sonic assault, the Canadian Cutie bursts onto the stage to a raucous roar of approval. "The Hardcore Heartbreaker" bounds down the ramp, slapping hands with as many ringside fans as she can reach. A natural redhead, tonight Swann's hair has once again entered the realm of blue. She's dressed in a white sportsbra top and matching bikini briefs, the bottoms supported by a thin, crooked red belt and sporting a bright red lipstick kiss mark on the right cheek. Located directly in the centre of her modest bosom, meanwhile, is a red cartoon heart--cracked slightly at the top, and dripping blood from the bottom. The rest of her ensemble consists of a pair of black gloves, the upper side adorned with a skeletal print, a crimson bandana (a shot at her opponent? or a welcoming nod) tied tight but-not-too-tightly around her right wrist, torn and tattered red fishnets, as well as red pads and boots.
Leaping onto the apron, Swann takes a brief moment to wipe her boots on the apron, then slips a leg through the ropes. Pulling her body through the cables in one swift motion, AJ bounds toward the nearest corner, hopping up onto the middle buckle. Thrusting her arms overhead, Swann lets out a triumphant cry, giving the crowd a display of tongue that would make Gene Simmons proud as she throws up the horns with both hands--a gesture that's met with a gleeful roar from tonight's full house.
Marvela merely shook her head in mild exasperation at her opponents antics, the blatant ‘pandering’ to the masses turning her stomach now more than anything else. She made a face, remembering all too well how much the ‘love’ of the ingrates watching had meant to her, and how hard to had worked to retain it. It all seemed so embarrassing now, and utterly pointless, a colossal waste of her time as soon as that love had turned to hate.
With a shake of her head she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, preparing herself as the Official moved across to check her gear whilst Swann basked in the attention. She raised one boot, reluctantly surrendering herself to the ‘pawing’ of the zebra... before she suddenly took off like a shot! The ‘Magnificent’ Marvel tore past the slacked jawed man in black and white, sprinting across the canvas without a word of warning and, with her right stem raised once again, the enthusiastically BOUNCED the sole of her boot off the middle rope, the coil that was currently supporting half of the Heartbreaker’s weight...
The crowd tries to warn Swann of Marvela’s approach, but the Jungle import simply proves too damn quick--by the time AJ notes the change in the audience’s tenor, her foe’s boot is slamming into the middle rope. The impact quickly works its way through the length of the rubber coated steel, and the suddenly vibrating cable overwhelms AJ’s balance. Fortunately for the bluenette, slipping off the middle rope doesn’t carry the same risk of “crotching” as a tumble from the top would. But as she descends, AJ’s head swings downward, causing her forehead to strike the top turnbuckle. As the FAWNatics boo, the Hardcore Heartbreaker wheels away from the impact, staggering out of the corner, blinking rapidly as she tries to collect her marbles.
And yet, as if she had just lost a game of the same name, Marvela had no intention of allowing such marbles ever being collected by anyone ever again! The Elegant Elitist lived up to her namesake, backing away from her one women assault on the ring ropes with a single, assured step before circling on the spot, the soles of her boots pivoting upon the canvas as if engaging in some manner of dance step before her intentions became far more violent. With a chocolate curls spinning twirl, Marcille extended her right arm and tensed her bicep, a deceptively delightful war cry upon her lips as she prepared to live up to the French side of her heritage and separate a head from its shoulders, in this case with a Discuss Clothesline!!
DISCUS CLOTHESLINE @0:45:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_Sq33NmyGM&list=PLPuOyWan3CRtvAueY2CzTLJJehBWV1ver
The bells still ringing in her ears are far too powerful for her eyes to be much use, and the Canadian Cutie staggers--almost blindly--into the whirling lariat. Marvela’s scythe SLAMS into the bluenette’s throat, the strangled gurgle of a cry that pushes past Swann’s pouty lips too soft for the FAWNatics to hear--but loud enough to bring a cruel smirk to Marcille’s. Ripped off her feet, it’s the back of AJ’s head that hits the canvas first, her shoulders following suit soon after. The rest of her spills over from there, the Hardcore Heartbreaker left sprawled on her belly, her noggin still attached--but not due to any lack of effort from her opponent to decapitate her.
“Back off Marvela!” the Official finally attempted to make his presence felt, the match already spiralling beyond his limited control, and his efforts fuelled by the loud disconnect of the crowd watching. “The fight hasn’t started yet!”
“I beg to differ,” Marcille indulged the gentlemen with a smirk in his direction, peeking the gesture over the back of her cool, impeccably smooth shoulder, and made no effort to accede to his demands. Instead she dropped down to one knee beside her sprawled adversary and rolled her over onto her back, helping the other young women up to sitting as AJ swayed with a stunned expression.
“Ask Ms. Swann here,” Marvela suggested with an even more, self indulgent smirk, flicking her own hair back as she saddled up behind the seated grappler before her, menacingly lifting her right hand upwards for the crowd to see. “I’m certain she is feeling embattled.” As the man continued to scowl, she merely tutted and rolled her eyes in exasperation, “Ring the bell if it will make you feel better, we are all quite confident that you will not be disqualifying me tonight.”
Her position made clear, the Marvellous One reshaped her right paw into a claw and swept it downwards, seeking to SLAP on a severe nerve pinch deep into the small of the crowd favourites neck.
The electric jolt of agony that shoots through the bluenette’s entire nervous system both arches AJ’s spine and sends her arms shooting away from her sides... but that burst of movement lasts all of one second, before paralysis sets in, Swann’s arms frozen in mid-ascent, hands raised and fingers spread. Another pulse of Marvela’s clawhold forces a piercing cry out of the Hardcore Heartbreaker, and the momentary easing of pressure before the pinch affords her SOME freedom of movement. Alas, that movement consists entirely of kicking her right heel into the mat.
In spite of AJ’s clear torment, the referee holds firm. “You may run roughshod over Bangor,” he snaps, “but that’s not gonna fly here. Now, you let AJ go... this instant! I am NOT starting this match until I’m sure she’s capable of going!”
“Not going to fly here?” Marvela revealed a fresh smirk for the Official as she tipped her chin imperiously in his direction, some genuine amusement finally entering her eyes of sultry brown. “I think you sir; have been watching a different show.”
He wasn’t budging, just as much as she wasn’t releasing, if anything her claw hold merely dug deeper, finding new nerves to torment beneath her practiced figures. Eventually she huffed, shaking her head in resignation before she started to get back up, breaking her hold only to grab a suddenly relieved Swann with two tight fistfuls of the young women’s hair.
“Well someone is determined to be a gallant little knight isn’t he,” she directed in the Zebra’s direction before suddenly yanking backwards, driving the back of her opponents skull towards the waiting canvas as a goodbye kiss before she allowed some distance.
“Clearly there is some ass here that you want to tap, believe me when I say that you are deluded. A tramp she probably is, but you... well... “her smile turned crooked, effortlessly mocking in the quirking of Marcille’s lips, “you’re you, aren’t you. Very well, be a good puppy and see to your wet dream,” she waved a hand vaguely in AJ’s direction, “my patience is short, I will return to stomping before long, bell or no bell.”
One thing FAWN referees have to develop quickly is a thick skin, and this official’s hyde proves tough enough that Marcille’s barbs don’t penetrate. Not giving the Jungle girl the satisfaction of a retort, he instant drops to one knee beside the sprawled Hardcore Heartbreaker and assists AJ back to a seat. “How do you feel, Swann?” he asks. “You still good to have a match tonight?”
“Oh, I may be a little sore,” the bluenette rasps, “but I’ll feel a lot better once I’m kicking that bytch’s ass.”
The ref nods before rising, and offers the Canadian Cutie a helping hand upward--which Swann readily accepts. With AJ back on her feet, the official calls for the bell, marking an official beginning to these festivities. The Hardcore Heartbreaker stalks toward her prey, Marvela not showing the least reluctance to join her mid-ring. AJ starts to lunge forward, into a lock-up... but as her opponent starts to respond in kind, the bluenette dips, AJ looking to slip around behind and secure a tight waistlock.
Marvela’s fluster lasted for but a moment; caught flat footed as she felt a pair of arms circle about her tummy and knot tightly at the fists, forcing a small guff of surprised air to escape her lips. She recovered, indignation demanding nothing less as she deftly slipped her hands beneath AJ’s wrists and, with her arms snaking down beneath the reverse bearhug, the Perfect Princess flexed her shoulders and popped free!
With a twist and pivot, she quickly circled around the back of the Heartbreaker with a reversal, swiftly locking in her own tight waistlock to make a point. “Really Swann?” she asked with incredibility, “I was a World Champion, do you understand that, a World Cha...HEY!!” Marcille’s eyes popped open wide as, within a mere pattering of heartbeats, AJ had the audacity to reverse her reversal, the bluenette once again slipping around the back of the astonished brunette, only this time there was to be no waistlock.
Instead, Swann cupped the firm thigh of her opponent and also grabbed the bleating, Sensational Storm by the elastic of her bright red shorts. With a tensing her own, athletic thighs, AJ braced her back and then “HUFFED”, hupping the Jungle visitor up into the air as though she were to be seated, only to bring her crashing back down to earth, the tailbone of Marcille aimed directly for a suddenly bent and posted knee!
Marvela HOWLED as her toosh was nailed in the Atomic Drop, the snobbish brunette launching away from the short, sharp impact as if she had sat on a fire, stumbling away as her paws immediately saw to grasping her fresh hurt. She made quick time, despite shaky legs, sputtering as she reached the ring ropes and, forcing herself to ignore her blisteringly sore behind, franticly wrapped her arms about the coils as if they were a life raft. Whipping her head about, she glared daggers between Swann and the Official, undecided as to who she should direct her displeasure at.
“Back her off, Rules Monkey!!” she demanded, pulling herself tighter into the ropes to make sure he understood which rules she was referring to, “I wasn’t ready damn it, I wasn’t ready!!”
The referee simply shakes his head. “First of all,” he counters, “the only rules broken so far tonight have been by you. Second of all, I’m pretty sure AJ wasn’t ready when you... HEY!!!”
While the official might be content to opine on the evening’s festivities, the Hardcore Heartbreaker isn’t about to simply stand by and let this snotty little backstabbing bytch have time to catch her breath. Swann marches past the zebra, and grabbing Marcille’s wrist and hair, she yanks the Jungle girl free of the cables. Marvela at first can only squeal in protest as AJ starts to send her off with an Irish whip, but she then digs in her heels and reverses the whip.
Only AGAIN, AJ manages to find a counter for Marvela’s counter.
Nearing the rubber coated steel, the bluenette dives into a handstand. Rocking backward, AJ’s calves hit the top rope, and the taut cable propels the Hardcore Heartbreaker into a flip. Landing on her feet, Swann springs off the canvas again, her right foot flying to plant against Marcille’s belly... and her left swinging to catch Marvela’s temple, and turn this foray into the big leagues into a Beautiful Disaster.
BEAUTIFUL DISASTER @0:23:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0DwBh_eIwY
With an audible “CLUNK!!” of boot leather meeting temple, Marcille’s eyes of the darkest brown, whilst most defiantly still open, blacked out. It was only for a few seconds, and yet the vacancy was clear for all to see as her shapely stems wobbled into a punch drunk pirouette. With a dumb founded circling of her lips, The ‘Original’ People’s Princess was oblivious to the FAWNatics cheers concerning her misfortune; she turned into a short half circle and flopped down hard onto the mat.
She landed with a further bump against her already sore toosh, and the sharp jolt seemed to spark some life back into her senses, Marvela dropping over onto her side and crawling somewhat haphazardly back towards the ‘protection’ of the cables. “Ropes,” she insisted with the slightest slur, “...I was...in...ropes...”
“Funny,” AJ mutters, though there’s decidedly little mirth in her tone. Reaching down, the bluenette grabs Marvela by the ankles and begins to drag her back toward the centre of the ring. Marcille’s turns over to her back as she’s pulled, her legs straining against Swann’s grasp, but unable to pull free. “Wasn’t I on the ropes when your no-talent ass JUMPED me?” Not waiting for an answer, the Hardcore Heartbreaker tucks her foe’s boots under her arms, preparing to rock back and launch Marvela across the ring with a catapult.
In her head, Marvela was bucking like a hellcat, snarling as she wrestled her way free. In reality, her divine physique wasn’t quite listening, one or two steps missing between desire and action as one or two, stunned synapses weren’t quite firing. Her legs were kicking, but not nearly enough to unseat her tootsies from her foes grip, and it was with a panicked “HUP!” of air that she was launched into the air like a sling shot as Swann rolled backwards.
The Monkey Flip didn’t quite send this (extremely attractive) simian into orbit, but it did propel her cleanly off the canvas and across the ring front forwards. Her whiplash momentum only ended once she collided with the corner, the top turnbuckle choosing now to be vindictive as it planted itself against the exploding graphic sat squarely between her bosoms. She bucked and shivered as the thudding collision dented her ribcage and forced her breadth to shudder, knees buckling as her arms flopped forwards over the top coils. The instinctive action kept her upright, although her cheeks had turned a worryingly similar shade as her crimson outfit.
AJ scrambles back to her feet, her full lips forming a bright smile as the FAWNatics cheer her on. But as loud as they might be, Swann could give them a little more reason to shout. Retreating to the opposite corner, the bluenette slaps the top turnbuckle before turning on a dime, racing toward the sagging Jungle import at full speed. Exquisite legs propelling her OFF the canvas, the Hardcore Heartbreaker lifts her knees, tucking them toward her chest--and aiming them at Marvela’s shoulder blades.
With a scowl returning to her lips, Marcille placed the sole of one boot securely against the canvas and, half a moment later, planted the other just the same, an angry retort forming on her lips as she pushed herself backwards from the – Swann SLAMMED!! home, drilling her knees deep into her target and crushing the Elegant Elitist right back into her least favourite turnbuckle. A shockwave ran the length of her lightweight body as she gurgled, her head and proud, chocolate mane snapping back and forth upon her shoulders before her knees gave back out, Marvela dropping down onto them heavily.
She made no immediate effort to get back up, her arms now draped forwards over the middle coils, the brunette tangling her own arms about them and hissing with frustration. “Ropes...damn it...” she slurred her angered protest in the vague direction of the Official, “...playing...favourites...”
It’s most assuredly not in response to Marcille’s accusation, but the referee finally DOES step in to order AJ back. The bluenette complies... for all of two seconds. She then brushes past the official, stalking into the corner and yanking Marvela up with a handful of hair. Spinning her opponent so that her back is against the buckles, Swann unloads with an open hand right chop, the crowd shouting the obligatory “WHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” as Marcille’s right leg lifts off the mat.
“Come on, AJ,” the ref barks, again calling for her to back up--but the Hardcore Heartbreaker moves in the exact opposite direction, bodying into the Jungle girl as she claims a wrist. When Swann finally does step out of the corner, she does so to send Marvela on her way with an Irish whip, intending to follow her in with a splash.
Like the world’s most reluctant steam train, Marvela sprinted across the canvas, her diagonal path taking her from one corner and straight towards another. AJ was but a few paces behind her, the Bluenette ready to make a fresh sandwich of her brunette counterpart, and Marcille was to be the unwilling filling – until she dropped!! With a significant degree of flair, the Marvellous One surrendered her delectable frame to gravity and all but threw herself into a slide, the soles of her boots leading the way as she baseball slid across the canvas and, like an arrow, slipped right beneath the bottom ropes and shot right out of the ring, leaving the waiting turnbuckles vacant for her opponent to enjoy this time.
‘THWUUUUUUUUUMP!’
“Nyyyuuuunnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhh...”
While the FAWNatics have their collective heart broken by Marcille’s escape act, the Hardcore Heartbreaker has her chest crushed when she slams into the buckles at full speed, Marvela’s slide occurring too late to allow AJ to get her hands up in time to catch the ropes and break her momentum. Unlike the Jungle beauty, Swann bounces away from the impact, turning and staggering back toward the middle of the ring, both her arms rising and folding across her bosom. But after just a couple of faltering strides, the Canadian Cutie sinks to her knees, AJ’s cheeks slightly flushed as she struggles to catch her breath.
Marcille allowed herself a moment of indulgence, as was only fitting, and she remained outside the ring so that she could preen before the watching masses. She popped one knee ever so slightly in front of the other and swished up her arms in a grand gesture of posturing, a peacock revealing her glory, a Perfect Princess unappreciated by her former admirers. Albeit with cheeks still worryingly flushed rosy, Marvela was feeling much better, now that she could here Swann heaving, and it was only with slight reluctance that she returned back to business.
Dismissing the spurned FAWNatics as inconsequential, Marvela slipped back into the ring and found her feet as AJ lost her own, making a B-Line to her opponent as she struggled for breath. Unsatisfied with the thought of the FAWN favourite recovering it, she grabbed her fellow Lightweight by her blue mane and draaaaaaaaaged her over to the nearest set of ropes, clearly already ignoring her own protests. She slipped Swann’s throat down across the middle coil and, before anyone could utter a protest, immediately moved to hup herself up onto her favourite seat, Marcille all but nonchalantly sitting across the others girls shoulders, her one hundred and twenty pounds set to work on throttling the Hardcore Heartbreaker!!
MARVELA’S ROPE CHOKE @0:40:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_S6P0MZPHYo
“Do you see now?” she snapped her head in the Officials direction, expertly cutting him off before he could begin his count, “she flagrantly disregards your authority as much as I do, the little tart is no better than I.”
What had started as somewhat high pitched yelps at the ripping of her hair are promptly transformed to low, strangled gurgles as Marvela puts her weight to its best use. AJ’s boots immediately and frantically begin to drum the canvas, signalling the SOS she could no longer cry out--not with the rubber coated steel CRUSHING her larynx. Swann reaches her left hand across her chest, pressing at Marcille’s calf, desperately attempting to unseat her opponent. And with each second that passes, the bluenette’s puffed cheeks transition away from crimson and closer to the hue of her locks. Also, with each second the Hardcore Heartbreaker’s oxygen intake is restricted, the weaker AJ’s hand pushes against Marvela’s leg, leaving only the referee’s count to spare her.
Fortunately, for Swann’s sake, the man in black and white quickly opted to not engage the increasingly smug Marvela in a pointless debate and instead launched into his count. Unfortunately, for AJ’s sake, that still left Marcille with a full four seconds to try and knock her out. Just moments before the fatal five count, the Sensational Storm infuriatingly unconcerned about her impending disqualification, she swept her delightful stems about at the last moment and unseated herself with a small hop. With no further grounds with which the Official could threaten to punish her, Marvela dismissed him with a backwards swish of her hand and circled about her gurgling prey.
Marcille found a fierce hold of Bluenette curls again and, with a sharp jerk, returned to draaaaaaaging her opponent in the desired direction. Pulling Swann back up to standing and, with a few more ‘encouraging’ tugs, backpedalled her towards centre ring. The ‘Magnificent’ Marvel released her grip in exchange for cupping slender shoulders before dropping herself backwards into a fall, knees tucked in tight to her own bosom as she attempted a Lungblower!!
Much as the crowd begs and pleads with their beloved to fight back, the Hardcore Heartbreaker has more pressing concerns on her mind--namely, replenishing the oxygen supply in her lungs. Unfortunately, Marvela’s next attack is a strategically brilliant--and far more legal--way of continuing her assault on AJ’s air supply. Caught unprepared to support one hundred and twenty pounds of Jungle talent, Swann is ripped off her feet, AJ’s descent coming to an extremely bumpy end against Marcille’s knees.
The bluenette shoots back to her feet with a loud exhale, nearly every remaining ounce of oxygen viciously expunged by the lungblower. There she sways on tippy-toes, her arms rising to offer a momentary windmill. But in the next instant, AJ sinks to her knees, the pitches forward, crumpling to the mat face and chest first. There she lies, sprawled, moaning in breathless anguish.
Marvela was anything but, her own decent resulting in a relatively pleasant landing, the ‘Original’ People’s Princess sat with a slight curve in her back, her big leagues rival laying prone before her feet whilst the brunette calmly preened her hair. With a sultry swish, she finally found the time to get back up, collecting one of AJ’s ankles along her way and encouraged the crowd favourite over onto her back. Hyper extending the captured leg, Marcille rat-a-tatted her fingers across the toes of the other young women’s boot as she smirked mockingly down towards her gasping opponent.
“Are we understanding yet?” she queried, twisting Swann’s ankle just enough to guarantee her full attention, “I’m not here tonight to pad your resume, you’re here to pad mine!” With that, her lips slipping into a scowl, Marvela dropped backwards, preparing to render all manner of torment upon Heartbreaker’s delectable stem!
LEGWORK @3:25:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hum9RV2hgsk&list=PLPuOyWan3CRtvAueY2CzTLJJehBWV1ver&index=29&t=204s
As the Marvellous One’s back hits the canvas, AJ Swann abruptly sits up with a howl, the bluenette’s hands flying to her tresses before she plummets to her back as well. Still keeping the Canadian Cutie’s captive ankle under her control, Marcille rises, kicking AJ’s free right leg a little further away to create more room for her to work. That work for Marvela includes spinning around the Hardcore Heartbreaker’s ensnared stem, and then abruptly dropping to her knees between Swann’s legs, the Jungle girl barely missing AJ’s crotch. Again, the jolt of agony from AJ’s left knee forces her to sit upright--and this time, Marvela captures a handful of hair with her left hand, holding Swann’s upper body steady for her to BLAST a forearm shot to the bluenette’s jaw.
Releasing the Hardcore Heartbreaker’s hair, AJ utters a low groan as she crumples back to the mat, her arms splayed lifelessly above her head--and her shoulders now alarming flat against the canvas. Immediately, the referee dives down to slap off the...
ONE...
TWO...
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
A grimacing Swann props herself up on her elbows.
With a questioning perk of her perfectly groomed brow, Marvela shook her head and barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Suit yourself,” she insisted, untangling their stems and, with a thrust upwards, shot herself off towards the nearest ropes. Rebounding off them, she came charging back, the Elegant Elitist launching at the last moment, diving into a low dropkick and targeting Swann’s already winded bosom.
But the last moment still provides enough warning for the Hardcore Heartbreaker to roll to her right, juuuuust clearing out of the way of Marvela’s boots. Marcille continues to descend, and with AJ’s body no longer there to provide any resistance, the fall becomes a jarring, painful one for her back. Meanwhile, Swann scrambles back to her feet, and experimentally shifts her weight onto her left leg. While her knee visibly buckles, it’s not such an overwhelming sting that the bluenette can’t cope.
Instead, she hobbles over to the Elegant Elitist, and tugs Marvela up with a handful of hair. Holding the Jungle girl stooped, AJ threads her arms underneath Marcille’s, the back of Marvela’s head resting under Swann’s left arm. As the Hardcore Heartbreaker clasps her hands together behind her foe’s back, AJ starts to kick her aching left leg into the air, intending to cook up a little Brain Stew.
BRAIN STEW:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6OvWpL52TU
Marcille shook and wiggled her taut, little backside for all it was worth as one arm was threaded, and then the other, the Perfect Princess hardly looking the picture of one as her toosh was swung from one side to another. AJ kept her leash held tight, despite the bucking of her opponent, and as she dropped sharply into a DDT, those same, crimson clad buttocks found themselves momentarily pointing skyward as Marcille’s forehead lead the way right down to the canvas.
With an audible THUNK, the brunettes chocolate curled covered braincase met the mat as forcibly as possible and her whole body ricocheted in violent sympathy. With a ‘grunt’ Marcille switched from rigid to flaccid as she rolled groaning over onto her side, cradling her noggin as the bells began chiming.
Swann doesn’t bother rising--instead, she opts to give her knee a little more rest as she plants a pair of hands against Marvela’s back and rolls the brunette over to her stomach. Crawling around to Marcille’s feet, AJ grabs her opponent’s ankles, raising them to drop the Elegant Elitist’s shins against her shoulders. The FAWNatics immediately begin to chant “HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME, KILL ME!” as the bluenette scoots forward, forcing Marcille’s stems to bend at the knees while Swann reaches her hands to cup Marvela’s chin--and to introduce the Jungle girl to the big leagues of pain.
HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME, KILL ME:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLslYdXah28
While she appeared powerless to prevent her impending doom, some part of Marvela was aware enough to despair, her head shaking in the negative as her chin was cupped and her sublimely shaped frame was pretzeled. “N... no... NO!” she protested, that simple, single syllable of denial swiftly shifting into a squeal and then an agonized scream, the spine ‘Magnificent’ Marvel ratcheted backwards into a viciously cruel curve, Marcille the unwilling victim of an ungodly child born of both the Boston Crab and a Camel Clutch.
Her peepers of alluring brown were slammed shut as she clawed her paws across the canvas. Blinding reaching and grasping at nothing but air as her body was desperate to escape and yet her mind could fathom no means to do so. She was at centre ring, no salivation within sight, her vertebra creaking as she threatened to snap.
The Official drew closer to see if she were tapping, but instead she ground her teeth together and spat a ludicrous protest. “MY HAIR!!” she insisted, without even the merest of grounds to support her accusation, “SHE’S PULLING MY HAIR!!” It was enough for the man in black and white to investigate, driven by reflex more than sense, and as his attention was fleeting, the ‘Magnificent’ Marvel gambled, reaching one arm backwards, over the back of her own head, and allowed experience to guide her as she raked claws towards peepers.
The gamble pays off.
Marvela’s talons find enough of AJ’s eyes to cause the Hardcore Heartbreaker to cry out, releasing the chin lock and pushing back to her feet swiftly, the bluenette’s hands flying to her face. But as Swann’s eyes blink, filling with tears, she takes some comfort in the knowledge that it’s not a thoroughly blinding blow. As she stumbles away, still favouring her left leg--at least slightly--she can at least make out fuzzy shapes and shifts of light, rather than the blinding flash that would have accompanied a more perfect eye rake.
Still blinking, the Canadian Cutie looks down, and finds an indistinct crimson and tan lump, which she takes to be her opponent. Hobbling over, Swann reaches down and claims a handful of hair. She then begins to tug Marcille up to her feet--and, if she can get her there, then attempt to power the brunette onto her shoulders and into a fireman’s carry. But she had to GET Marvela up before she could truly contemplate hitting the Grunge Plunge.
GRUNGE PLUNGE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjlEy4nxG94
The FAWNatics, seeing her struggles, were keen to help her along the way, a rhythmic stomping building throughout the crowd and lending their favourite strength. With Marcille whimpering, lamenting her punished back, Swann forged through her own pain and, with a briefly uncertain shake and shimmy, hupped the other lightweight across her shoulders. Her supporters cheered as she braced to deliver the plunge – only for Marvela to violently wriggle free.
Spitting like an enraged cat, the teary eyed Elegant Elitist dropped down behind the Hardcore Heartbreaker and, with an unflattering insult tumbling from her lips, Marvela swung with vindictive intent, aiming a brutal chop into the joint of AJ’s already abused stem.
‘THWAAAAK!’
“GYYYAAAAaaaaaauuuuugggggggghhhhhhhhh...!!!!!!”
What had been a dull but manageable ache suddenly becomes an EXPLOSION of agony, the Hardcore Heartbreaker dropping to the mat as if a bullet had shot through her thigh rather than a clipping blow smashing into the back of her knee. Swann rolls over onto her right hip, curling into a ball and clutching at her left knee. Whether her knee actually IS seriously damaged or not is unclear, but it certainly FEELS that way to the bluenette--and she understands only too well that she needs some time and space to regroup.
If only she could move any further...
Marvela appeared to be in no immediate hurry to follow up, content to take her time as she recovered. The truth was far from it, every instinct in the former, self created pariah demanding that she immediately take advantage, but with the muscles of her back spasming in agonizing cramps, it was only prudent to maintain appearances. And so she remained on one knee, glowering a simmering glare across the back of one dusky, regally smooth shoulder, burning a hole in Swan from a distance as she regained her composure.
Nevertheless she forced herself back into action before she was fully ready, marching down on the fallen AJ and collecting the Bluenette with a fierce grasp of her hair. Yanking harshly, she dragged her wincing rival up to hopping and, with a sharp twist, swung her bodily into the waiting turnbuckles.
“Here we are,” she reminded everyone who was within earshot, preparing to stomp a mudhole in her opponent, “back where we started!”
CORNER STOMPS @1:55
www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6DZby4ov70
Marcille PLOWS a boot into AJ’s lower stomach, which lifts the Hardcore Heartbreaker’s rump up onto the middle turnbuckle. As she starts to slide down, Marvela unloads with another boot... and a a third sends Swann sinking to a seat on the bottom buckle. Scenting blood, the Elegant Elitist drives a further trio of stomps into the bluenette’s bosom, until the FAWN favourite is left seated on the canvas. Shifting from stomps, Marvela plants her sole against AJ’s windpipe and bears down, shifting ALL her weight onto the thrashing, gagging Canadian Cutie’s throat
Only the referee’s count forces the brunette to relent, Marcille pulling back just before the threat of disqualification. But she doesn’t go far. Turning her attention back to what had allowed her to regain control of the contest; Marvela places her formerly kicking boot atop AJ’s left knee. Then, gripping the top rope for balance, the Elegant Elitist lifts her other foot, tucking her heel up toward her tush--and forcing Swann’s knee to try to support ALL of Marcille’s weight!
Again, it takes the official’s four count to force Marcille back... and as she steps away, a gasping, grimacing AJ slumps forward, reaching for her traumatized knee. Instead, Marvela pie-faces the bluenette back into the corner, and then earns the scathing wrath of the FAWNatics when she BLISTERS Swann’s cheek with a disrespectful backhand slap.
“Don’t feel bad,” Marvela consoles with a distinct lack of sincerity, the sting of her dismissive strike still ringing in the ears of the FAWNatics. “Everyone is breathless to meet me,” she mocked with a tilting of her head and, with weariness in her tone betraying her fatigue, a condescending smile upon her lips. She returned to AJ’s hair, perhaps enchanted by the Bluenette’s distinctive mane, dragging her up into a knock kneed stumble towards centre ring, keeping the other young woman folded forwards in penance.
After hammering a stiff forearm into the Heartbreaker’s back, the Marvellous One keen on keeping her complaint, she slipped one arm across the fan favourite’s shoulder and jabbed the other one between the open, firm thighs of Swann. With a “HUFF!” of efforts, she lifted and then pivoted AJ up and over, powering the girl into the air before driving her back down to canvas in a deft, professional Scoop Slam!!
Swann grunted and groaned as she bounced upon the matt, lying where she was planted at centre ring as Marvela turned her back. Marcille had only a short journey in mind, but she could ill afford to dally, if only because if she took too long, AJ would have the audacity to not remain where she was needed.
With the bluenette helpfully starfished, the Sensational Storm climbed the nearest set of turnbuckles, quickly arriving at the summit and balancing herself expertly, facing out across the crowd, the masses that once adored her, and scowled in their direction. She shouted shrilly, demanding their attention as she bitterly pointed her thumbs in her own direction.
“I AM THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS!!” she screamed, answered only by boos at her attempt to reclaim her old Title, one that had been usurped by an Upstart. As if to prove her point, she clapped three times in a limp wristed imitation of Samantha, raising her hands up high as she did so in a familiar tempo, before she displayed the sheer gumption to throw herself backwards into, of all things, a Sinclair Summer Slam!!
SINCLAIR SUMMER SLAM @1:25
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoxyK344sfs&t=86s&index=1&list=PLPuOyWan3CRt9D5q0QV7jOahlDdpDwYcY
The jeers are DEAFENING as Marvela blast off toward the heavens, and such is the crowd’s disgust at her arrogant gimmick infringement that not even the athletic talent necessary to execute the double rotation in mid-air can earn her even begrudging applause. No, the jeers only give way to deflated silence when the Marvellous One’s belly ‘THWAP!’s down across AJ’s tummy, a bug-eyed Hardcore Heartbreaker involuntarily folding up around Marcille’s frame.
It’s a brief movement, and gravity soon pulls the retching brunette back to the mat, while Marvela rolls through the impact up to her knees. Sinking back onto her haunches, the Elegant Elitist places her palms against her thighs, breathing a little heavy herself--but with a smug smirk gracing her haughty features. Meanwhile, AJ Swann weakly rolls over to her side, curling into a protective shell, rasping and moaning softly.
For the first time since her arrival, Marvela appeared content with proceedings, shaking out her shimmering mane of glorious hair and, with practiced grace, turned her chin imperiously up into the air. She raised one hand up, her fingers curled into a fist, before delivering a dismissive thumbs down over the groaning Swann, earning a fresh pop of boos even as she did so.
She stood up, bringing a less than willing AJ with her, keen to prove one last point. Clearly, anything the runt Sinclair could do, she could do better, but there was only one fitting way to end an opponent like Swann, and that was with Marcille’s own, Bombastic Bomb. Folding the Bluenette back over, the ‘Original’ People’s Princess locked in a standing Headscissors and enjoyed the feeling of the other girls head trapped between her thighs, and triumphantly moved to underhook one arm and then the other, looking as regal as ever as prepared to unleash her own variant on a match winning Powerbomb!!
BOMBASTIC BOMB @0:45:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lVniF7hWPc&index=24&t=44s&list=PLPuOyWan3CRtvAueY2CzTLJJehBWV1ver
Demonstrating an impressive amount of power for a woman her size, the Marvellous One swings her opponent up toward the rafters. Once the Hardcore Heartbreaker has been turned to stare blankly up at the lights, Marcille unclasps her hands, pulling them away--and allowing Swann’s arms to sling absently out to her sides. Marvela’s arms then ensnare AJ’s waist, just as the pits of the bluenette’s knees briefly settle down against Marcille’s shoulders. The Jungle import then drops to her knees, DRIVING her captive’s head and shoulders into the unyielding canvas without a single solitary shred of mercy.
As AJ’s eyelids flutter shut and her pouty lips briefly part, Marvela springs back to her feet--albeit in an extremely split-legged stance. With her taut tush wiggling invitingly toward one segment of the audience, Marcille leans forward, and with her hands settling down above both of the Canadian Cutie’s shoulders, her weight forces AJ into an extremely tight--and quite possibly inescapable--matchbook. While the official slides into place, the FAWNatics do everything in their power to rally their heroine, stomping, clapping and chanting AJ’s name as the referee slaps off the...
ONE...
TWO...
THREEEEEEE!!!!!!!
The FAWNatics were stunned into broken hearted silence as one of their favourites was polished off by the Jungle Import, one of the rare few that not only managed to wiggle their way onto a big leagues PPV, but actually emerge the victor. Marvela revelled in it, retaining the pin in place for several seconds longer than required, keeping Swann rolled up into a tight ball beneath her as she lapped up the moment, her pelvis thrust down hard against submissive buttocks.
Eventually, as her lips were tugged into a smile of insufferable smugness, she leaned backwards enough to allow AJ’s to flop down forwards across the mat. With her opponent left spread eagled, Marcille suddenly surged forwards with a venomous curling of her lips, almost thrusting herself atop Swann, bosom to bosom as she clawed her right hand and viciously pinched the other young women’s cheeks together between fingers and thumb.
“Remember today,” she glared into the still half lidded peepers with a contemptuous sneer, grinding her pelvis into the bluenette’s own by way of ownership, “remember today and learn from it. I’ll be back where I belong, and you lack witted imbeciles,” she paused, her sneer returning to an indulgent smirk, “well, it would be best for you if you were gone. I am the Real Deal, Swann. You are nothing but fodder.”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLjitP78tag&list=PLPuOyWan3CRuPoCuzoiHkAq0VNWg308E4
The opening guitar riff, no different than it had been years earlier, heralded the arrival of Wrestling’s wayward black sheep, the girl who’d had it all and choose to burn in an act of petulance, opting to make an early exit from the industry that she had been born into whilst nuking as many bridges as she could along the way. Unrepentant summed up her demeanour following her return, and ‘Marvellous’ Marvela Marcille remained every inch the ‘Original’ People’s Princess as she arrived on stage.
Marvela Marcille
She smiled as she appeared, lights catching all the right curves as she stood without fear, regal in her bearing and utterly without hesitation, raising one hand up high, palm faced outwards in welcome as the pyrokenetics erupted bombastically to either side of her. She seemed oblivious to the boos that were there to welcome her, the fans she had so effortlessly scorned following her messy exodus not making a dent in the apparent fiction she had created all about herself.
It was this, however, that was the facade, and eventually she broke the illusion and she greeted the crowds heckling with an indulgent roll of her eyes, a slightly exasperated ‘tut’ upon her lips and a world weary smile tugging at the corners of her lips. With her less than sincere efforts of extending an olive branch rebuffed, Marvela launched into a light stepped stride down the ramp, the saunter of hips and the swish of her shoulders full of self assured swagger, her mane of chocolate brown immaculate and shimmering, matching her gaze and showing not even a hint of fallibility.
The crimson of the Lightweights attire was bright and fierce, the fabric whisper thin and slipping about her every, perfectly carved and refined contours, the two piece outfit as much a part of her as her own personality. The single strap top cut to just below her bosom, leaving her firm tummy temptingly naked, a explosion of yellow and orange sat dead centre between her breasts, a promise of the “Bombastic Bomb!!” she would surely unleash against anyone unfortunate enough to face her. Her shorts were modest by FAWN standards, even as they left exceedingly little to the imagination, slipping downwards to mid thigh whilst boots, pads and gloves finished off the ensemble that had once been adored by so many, and had so badly hurt the very same.
She spun in a one eighty spiral, sweeping out her arms to either side as she continued to saunter backwards, smiling in a way that suggested that she knew that she was hot shit, and everyone else was just burned by it, her stride as infuriatingly confident in reverse as it was in going the right way. It was at this point she spotted one sign in particular, a message that was repeated several times over throughout the arena in preparation of her appearance, and she barely even had to read the words to know what it said.
What it always said.
NOT “OUR” PRINCESS
She merely rolled her eyes once more and dismissed the heartbroken sentiment with a dismissive flick of her wrist, turning back to sauntering the right way as she reached the ring. She strode up the steel steps and slipped into the squared circle like a welcomed heroine, taking a diagonal path across the canvas until she reached the opposite corner. Marvela climbed up the turnbuckles and swept up her arms as if in welcome, ready to salute the crowds that lov... Marcille couldn’t do it, a wickedly indulgent grin marring her features as she opted to flip off the FAWNatics instead, and even that gesture seemed half hearted in its effort as she barely considered them worthy of it. The ‘Perfect’ Princess hopped back down, languishing in the corner as she waited for stage stooges to do their job and welcome the Jobber who would be her opponent for the evening to come out.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer began, the FAWNatics willing to afford him a small measure of silence to perform his duties. “The following contest if scheduled for One Fall and a Twenty Minute Time Limit. Introducing first, standing at five foot five and weighing in one hundred and twenty pounds, on loan from the Jungle...
The momentary curl of her lip betrayed Marvela’s first sign of genuine displeasure, the acknowledgment of her status as a developmental competitor, and not a fully fledged member of the big league roster did little to balance her karma. More money than she was willing to confess had exchanged hands to ‘earn’ her this ‘opportunity’ so early in her probation. To have that undermined by such ‘poor professionalism’ on the part of the hired help sat ill with her to say the least.
“...the ‘Original’ People’s Princess, Marvellous! Marvela!! Marcille!!!”
Needless to say, the warmth of the FAWNatics did not improve
The eager buzz of an audience salivating for more carnage--preferably to see this snotty little legend-in-her-own-mind get her taut little tush handed to her--had barely begun to fade when the arena's speakers crackle back to life. Five seconds of an unfamiliar, eccentric reverb then yield to a distinctly feminine voice...
"Anybody tell you I'm a fighter?
Wanna start a fire, I'm the lighter,
If you think you burn bright, I burn brighter,
Never tire,
Did they tell you I'm a fighter?"
Sumo Cyco’s “Fighter” might not be an immediately recognizable anthem for the FAWNatics, but those opening words fit few better than they do the woman about to emerge--and a number of fans have already put two and two together before the ring announcer addresses them.
"FIGHTER":
Studio: www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYcNai2VMmU
Live: www.youtube.com/watch?v=tn6ePXWB5_o
"Hailing from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada,” the announcer resumes, speaking over the pulsing rock. “Standing at five feet four inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and sixteen pounds, she is ‘THE HARDCORE HEARTBREAKER... AJ SWWWAAANNNNNN!"
AJ Swann
Finally, as vocals join the sonic assault, the Canadian Cutie bursts onto the stage to a raucous roar of approval. "The Hardcore Heartbreaker" bounds down the ramp, slapping hands with as many ringside fans as she can reach. A natural redhead, tonight Swann's hair has once again entered the realm of blue. She's dressed in a white sportsbra top and matching bikini briefs, the bottoms supported by a thin, crooked red belt and sporting a bright red lipstick kiss mark on the right cheek. Located directly in the centre of her modest bosom, meanwhile, is a red cartoon heart--cracked slightly at the top, and dripping blood from the bottom. The rest of her ensemble consists of a pair of black gloves, the upper side adorned with a skeletal print, a crimson bandana (a shot at her opponent? or a welcoming nod) tied tight but-not-too-tightly around her right wrist, torn and tattered red fishnets, as well as red pads and boots.
Leaping onto the apron, Swann takes a brief moment to wipe her boots on the apron, then slips a leg through the ropes. Pulling her body through the cables in one swift motion, AJ bounds toward the nearest corner, hopping up onto the middle buckle. Thrusting her arms overhead, Swann lets out a triumphant cry, giving the crowd a display of tongue that would make Gene Simmons proud as she throws up the horns with both hands--a gesture that's met with a gleeful roar from tonight's full house.
Marvela merely shook her head in mild exasperation at her opponents antics, the blatant ‘pandering’ to the masses turning her stomach now more than anything else. She made a face, remembering all too well how much the ‘love’ of the ingrates watching had meant to her, and how hard to had worked to retain it. It all seemed so embarrassing now, and utterly pointless, a colossal waste of her time as soon as that love had turned to hate.
With a shake of her head she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, preparing herself as the Official moved across to check her gear whilst Swann basked in the attention. She raised one boot, reluctantly surrendering herself to the ‘pawing’ of the zebra... before she suddenly took off like a shot! The ‘Magnificent’ Marvel tore past the slacked jawed man in black and white, sprinting across the canvas without a word of warning and, with her right stem raised once again, the enthusiastically BOUNCED the sole of her boot off the middle rope, the coil that was currently supporting half of the Heartbreaker’s weight...
The crowd tries to warn Swann of Marvela’s approach, but the Jungle import simply proves too damn quick--by the time AJ notes the change in the audience’s tenor, her foe’s boot is slamming into the middle rope. The impact quickly works its way through the length of the rubber coated steel, and the suddenly vibrating cable overwhelms AJ’s balance. Fortunately for the bluenette, slipping off the middle rope doesn’t carry the same risk of “crotching” as a tumble from the top would. But as she descends, AJ’s head swings downward, causing her forehead to strike the top turnbuckle. As the FAWNatics boo, the Hardcore Heartbreaker wheels away from the impact, staggering out of the corner, blinking rapidly as she tries to collect her marbles.
And yet, as if she had just lost a game of the same name, Marvela had no intention of allowing such marbles ever being collected by anyone ever again! The Elegant Elitist lived up to her namesake, backing away from her one women assault on the ring ropes with a single, assured step before circling on the spot, the soles of her boots pivoting upon the canvas as if engaging in some manner of dance step before her intentions became far more violent. With a chocolate curls spinning twirl, Marcille extended her right arm and tensed her bicep, a deceptively delightful war cry upon her lips as she prepared to live up to the French side of her heritage and separate a head from its shoulders, in this case with a Discuss Clothesline!!
DISCUS CLOTHESLINE @0:45:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_Sq33NmyGM&list=PLPuOyWan3CRtvAueY2CzTLJJehBWV1ver
The bells still ringing in her ears are far too powerful for her eyes to be much use, and the Canadian Cutie staggers--almost blindly--into the whirling lariat. Marvela’s scythe SLAMS into the bluenette’s throat, the strangled gurgle of a cry that pushes past Swann’s pouty lips too soft for the FAWNatics to hear--but loud enough to bring a cruel smirk to Marcille’s. Ripped off her feet, it’s the back of AJ’s head that hits the canvas first, her shoulders following suit soon after. The rest of her spills over from there, the Hardcore Heartbreaker left sprawled on her belly, her noggin still attached--but not due to any lack of effort from her opponent to decapitate her.
“Back off Marvela!” the Official finally attempted to make his presence felt, the match already spiralling beyond his limited control, and his efforts fuelled by the loud disconnect of the crowd watching. “The fight hasn’t started yet!”
“I beg to differ,” Marcille indulged the gentlemen with a smirk in his direction, peeking the gesture over the back of her cool, impeccably smooth shoulder, and made no effort to accede to his demands. Instead she dropped down to one knee beside her sprawled adversary and rolled her over onto her back, helping the other young women up to sitting as AJ swayed with a stunned expression.
“Ask Ms. Swann here,” Marvela suggested with an even more, self indulgent smirk, flicking her own hair back as she saddled up behind the seated grappler before her, menacingly lifting her right hand upwards for the crowd to see. “I’m certain she is feeling embattled.” As the man continued to scowl, she merely tutted and rolled her eyes in exasperation, “Ring the bell if it will make you feel better, we are all quite confident that you will not be disqualifying me tonight.”
Her position made clear, the Marvellous One reshaped her right paw into a claw and swept it downwards, seeking to SLAP on a severe nerve pinch deep into the small of the crowd favourites neck.
The electric jolt of agony that shoots through the bluenette’s entire nervous system both arches AJ’s spine and sends her arms shooting away from her sides... but that burst of movement lasts all of one second, before paralysis sets in, Swann’s arms frozen in mid-ascent, hands raised and fingers spread. Another pulse of Marvela’s clawhold forces a piercing cry out of the Hardcore Heartbreaker, and the momentary easing of pressure before the pinch affords her SOME freedom of movement. Alas, that movement consists entirely of kicking her right heel into the mat.
In spite of AJ’s clear torment, the referee holds firm. “You may run roughshod over Bangor,” he snaps, “but that’s not gonna fly here. Now, you let AJ go... this instant! I am NOT starting this match until I’m sure she’s capable of going!”
“Not going to fly here?” Marvela revealed a fresh smirk for the Official as she tipped her chin imperiously in his direction, some genuine amusement finally entering her eyes of sultry brown. “I think you sir; have been watching a different show.”
He wasn’t budging, just as much as she wasn’t releasing, if anything her claw hold merely dug deeper, finding new nerves to torment beneath her practiced figures. Eventually she huffed, shaking her head in resignation before she started to get back up, breaking her hold only to grab a suddenly relieved Swann with two tight fistfuls of the young women’s hair.
“Well someone is determined to be a gallant little knight isn’t he,” she directed in the Zebra’s direction before suddenly yanking backwards, driving the back of her opponents skull towards the waiting canvas as a goodbye kiss before she allowed some distance.
“Clearly there is some ass here that you want to tap, believe me when I say that you are deluded. A tramp she probably is, but you... well... “her smile turned crooked, effortlessly mocking in the quirking of Marcille’s lips, “you’re you, aren’t you. Very well, be a good puppy and see to your wet dream,” she waved a hand vaguely in AJ’s direction, “my patience is short, I will return to stomping before long, bell or no bell.”
One thing FAWN referees have to develop quickly is a thick skin, and this official’s hyde proves tough enough that Marcille’s barbs don’t penetrate. Not giving the Jungle girl the satisfaction of a retort, he instant drops to one knee beside the sprawled Hardcore Heartbreaker and assists AJ back to a seat. “How do you feel, Swann?” he asks. “You still good to have a match tonight?”
“Oh, I may be a little sore,” the bluenette rasps, “but I’ll feel a lot better once I’m kicking that bytch’s ass.”
The ref nods before rising, and offers the Canadian Cutie a helping hand upward--which Swann readily accepts. With AJ back on her feet, the official calls for the bell, marking an official beginning to these festivities. The Hardcore Heartbreaker stalks toward her prey, Marvela not showing the least reluctance to join her mid-ring. AJ starts to lunge forward, into a lock-up... but as her opponent starts to respond in kind, the bluenette dips, AJ looking to slip around behind and secure a tight waistlock.
Marvela’s fluster lasted for but a moment; caught flat footed as she felt a pair of arms circle about her tummy and knot tightly at the fists, forcing a small guff of surprised air to escape her lips. She recovered, indignation demanding nothing less as she deftly slipped her hands beneath AJ’s wrists and, with her arms snaking down beneath the reverse bearhug, the Perfect Princess flexed her shoulders and popped free!
With a twist and pivot, she quickly circled around the back of the Heartbreaker with a reversal, swiftly locking in her own tight waistlock to make a point. “Really Swann?” she asked with incredibility, “I was a World Champion, do you understand that, a World Cha...HEY!!” Marcille’s eyes popped open wide as, within a mere pattering of heartbeats, AJ had the audacity to reverse her reversal, the bluenette once again slipping around the back of the astonished brunette, only this time there was to be no waistlock.
Instead, Swann cupped the firm thigh of her opponent and also grabbed the bleating, Sensational Storm by the elastic of her bright red shorts. With a tensing her own, athletic thighs, AJ braced her back and then “HUFFED”, hupping the Jungle visitor up into the air as though she were to be seated, only to bring her crashing back down to earth, the tailbone of Marcille aimed directly for a suddenly bent and posted knee!
Marvela HOWLED as her toosh was nailed in the Atomic Drop, the snobbish brunette launching away from the short, sharp impact as if she had sat on a fire, stumbling away as her paws immediately saw to grasping her fresh hurt. She made quick time, despite shaky legs, sputtering as she reached the ring ropes and, forcing herself to ignore her blisteringly sore behind, franticly wrapped her arms about the coils as if they were a life raft. Whipping her head about, she glared daggers between Swann and the Official, undecided as to who she should direct her displeasure at.
“Back her off, Rules Monkey!!” she demanded, pulling herself tighter into the ropes to make sure he understood which rules she was referring to, “I wasn’t ready damn it, I wasn’t ready!!”
The referee simply shakes his head. “First of all,” he counters, “the only rules broken so far tonight have been by you. Second of all, I’m pretty sure AJ wasn’t ready when you... HEY!!!”
While the official might be content to opine on the evening’s festivities, the Hardcore Heartbreaker isn’t about to simply stand by and let this snotty little backstabbing bytch have time to catch her breath. Swann marches past the zebra, and grabbing Marcille’s wrist and hair, she yanks the Jungle girl free of the cables. Marvela at first can only squeal in protest as AJ starts to send her off with an Irish whip, but she then digs in her heels and reverses the whip.
Only AGAIN, AJ manages to find a counter for Marvela’s counter.
Nearing the rubber coated steel, the bluenette dives into a handstand. Rocking backward, AJ’s calves hit the top rope, and the taut cable propels the Hardcore Heartbreaker into a flip. Landing on her feet, Swann springs off the canvas again, her right foot flying to plant against Marcille’s belly... and her left swinging to catch Marvela’s temple, and turn this foray into the big leagues into a Beautiful Disaster.
BEAUTIFUL DISASTER @0:23:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0DwBh_eIwY
With an audible “CLUNK!!” of boot leather meeting temple, Marcille’s eyes of the darkest brown, whilst most defiantly still open, blacked out. It was only for a few seconds, and yet the vacancy was clear for all to see as her shapely stems wobbled into a punch drunk pirouette. With a dumb founded circling of her lips, The ‘Original’ People’s Princess was oblivious to the FAWNatics cheers concerning her misfortune; she turned into a short half circle and flopped down hard onto the mat.
She landed with a further bump against her already sore toosh, and the sharp jolt seemed to spark some life back into her senses, Marvela dropping over onto her side and crawling somewhat haphazardly back towards the ‘protection’ of the cables. “Ropes,” she insisted with the slightest slur, “...I was...in...ropes...”
“Funny,” AJ mutters, though there’s decidedly little mirth in her tone. Reaching down, the bluenette grabs Marvela by the ankles and begins to drag her back toward the centre of the ring. Marcille’s turns over to her back as she’s pulled, her legs straining against Swann’s grasp, but unable to pull free. “Wasn’t I on the ropes when your no-talent ass JUMPED me?” Not waiting for an answer, the Hardcore Heartbreaker tucks her foe’s boots under her arms, preparing to rock back and launch Marvela across the ring with a catapult.
In her head, Marvela was bucking like a hellcat, snarling as she wrestled her way free. In reality, her divine physique wasn’t quite listening, one or two steps missing between desire and action as one or two, stunned synapses weren’t quite firing. Her legs were kicking, but not nearly enough to unseat her tootsies from her foes grip, and it was with a panicked “HUP!” of air that she was launched into the air like a sling shot as Swann rolled backwards.
The Monkey Flip didn’t quite send this (extremely attractive) simian into orbit, but it did propel her cleanly off the canvas and across the ring front forwards. Her whiplash momentum only ended once she collided with the corner, the top turnbuckle choosing now to be vindictive as it planted itself against the exploding graphic sat squarely between her bosoms. She bucked and shivered as the thudding collision dented her ribcage and forced her breadth to shudder, knees buckling as her arms flopped forwards over the top coils. The instinctive action kept her upright, although her cheeks had turned a worryingly similar shade as her crimson outfit.
AJ scrambles back to her feet, her full lips forming a bright smile as the FAWNatics cheer her on. But as loud as they might be, Swann could give them a little more reason to shout. Retreating to the opposite corner, the bluenette slaps the top turnbuckle before turning on a dime, racing toward the sagging Jungle import at full speed. Exquisite legs propelling her OFF the canvas, the Hardcore Heartbreaker lifts her knees, tucking them toward her chest--and aiming them at Marvela’s shoulder blades.
With a scowl returning to her lips, Marcille placed the sole of one boot securely against the canvas and, half a moment later, planted the other just the same, an angry retort forming on her lips as she pushed herself backwards from the – Swann SLAMMED!! home, drilling her knees deep into her target and crushing the Elegant Elitist right back into her least favourite turnbuckle. A shockwave ran the length of her lightweight body as she gurgled, her head and proud, chocolate mane snapping back and forth upon her shoulders before her knees gave back out, Marvela dropping down onto them heavily.
She made no immediate effort to get back up, her arms now draped forwards over the middle coils, the brunette tangling her own arms about them and hissing with frustration. “Ropes...damn it...” she slurred her angered protest in the vague direction of the Official, “...playing...favourites...”
It’s most assuredly not in response to Marcille’s accusation, but the referee finally DOES step in to order AJ back. The bluenette complies... for all of two seconds. She then brushes past the official, stalking into the corner and yanking Marvela up with a handful of hair. Spinning her opponent so that her back is against the buckles, Swann unloads with an open hand right chop, the crowd shouting the obligatory “WHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” as Marcille’s right leg lifts off the mat.
“Come on, AJ,” the ref barks, again calling for her to back up--but the Hardcore Heartbreaker moves in the exact opposite direction, bodying into the Jungle girl as she claims a wrist. When Swann finally does step out of the corner, she does so to send Marvela on her way with an Irish whip, intending to follow her in with a splash.
Like the world’s most reluctant steam train, Marvela sprinted across the canvas, her diagonal path taking her from one corner and straight towards another. AJ was but a few paces behind her, the Bluenette ready to make a fresh sandwich of her brunette counterpart, and Marcille was to be the unwilling filling – until she dropped!! With a significant degree of flair, the Marvellous One surrendered her delectable frame to gravity and all but threw herself into a slide, the soles of her boots leading the way as she baseball slid across the canvas and, like an arrow, slipped right beneath the bottom ropes and shot right out of the ring, leaving the waiting turnbuckles vacant for her opponent to enjoy this time.
‘THWUUUUUUUUUMP!’
“Nyyyuuuunnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhh...”
While the FAWNatics have their collective heart broken by Marcille’s escape act, the Hardcore Heartbreaker has her chest crushed when she slams into the buckles at full speed, Marvela’s slide occurring too late to allow AJ to get her hands up in time to catch the ropes and break her momentum. Unlike the Jungle beauty, Swann bounces away from the impact, turning and staggering back toward the middle of the ring, both her arms rising and folding across her bosom. But after just a couple of faltering strides, the Canadian Cutie sinks to her knees, AJ’s cheeks slightly flushed as she struggles to catch her breath.
Marcille allowed herself a moment of indulgence, as was only fitting, and she remained outside the ring so that she could preen before the watching masses. She popped one knee ever so slightly in front of the other and swished up her arms in a grand gesture of posturing, a peacock revealing her glory, a Perfect Princess unappreciated by her former admirers. Albeit with cheeks still worryingly flushed rosy, Marvela was feeling much better, now that she could here Swann heaving, and it was only with slight reluctance that she returned back to business.
Dismissing the spurned FAWNatics as inconsequential, Marvela slipped back into the ring and found her feet as AJ lost her own, making a B-Line to her opponent as she struggled for breath. Unsatisfied with the thought of the FAWN favourite recovering it, she grabbed her fellow Lightweight by her blue mane and draaaaaaaaaged her over to the nearest set of ropes, clearly already ignoring her own protests. She slipped Swann’s throat down across the middle coil and, before anyone could utter a protest, immediately moved to hup herself up onto her favourite seat, Marcille all but nonchalantly sitting across the others girls shoulders, her one hundred and twenty pounds set to work on throttling the Hardcore Heartbreaker!!
MARVELA’S ROPE CHOKE @0:40:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_S6P0MZPHYo
“Do you see now?” she snapped her head in the Officials direction, expertly cutting him off before he could begin his count, “she flagrantly disregards your authority as much as I do, the little tart is no better than I.”
What had started as somewhat high pitched yelps at the ripping of her hair are promptly transformed to low, strangled gurgles as Marvela puts her weight to its best use. AJ’s boots immediately and frantically begin to drum the canvas, signalling the SOS she could no longer cry out--not with the rubber coated steel CRUSHING her larynx. Swann reaches her left hand across her chest, pressing at Marcille’s calf, desperately attempting to unseat her opponent. And with each second that passes, the bluenette’s puffed cheeks transition away from crimson and closer to the hue of her locks. Also, with each second the Hardcore Heartbreaker’s oxygen intake is restricted, the weaker AJ’s hand pushes against Marvela’s leg, leaving only the referee’s count to spare her.
Fortunately, for Swann’s sake, the man in black and white quickly opted to not engage the increasingly smug Marvela in a pointless debate and instead launched into his count. Unfortunately, for AJ’s sake, that still left Marcille with a full four seconds to try and knock her out. Just moments before the fatal five count, the Sensational Storm infuriatingly unconcerned about her impending disqualification, she swept her delightful stems about at the last moment and unseated herself with a small hop. With no further grounds with which the Official could threaten to punish her, Marvela dismissed him with a backwards swish of her hand and circled about her gurgling prey.
Marcille found a fierce hold of Bluenette curls again and, with a sharp jerk, returned to draaaaaaaging her opponent in the desired direction. Pulling Swann back up to standing and, with a few more ‘encouraging’ tugs, backpedalled her towards centre ring. The ‘Magnificent’ Marvel released her grip in exchange for cupping slender shoulders before dropping herself backwards into a fall, knees tucked in tight to her own bosom as she attempted a Lungblower!!
Much as the crowd begs and pleads with their beloved to fight back, the Hardcore Heartbreaker has more pressing concerns on her mind--namely, replenishing the oxygen supply in her lungs. Unfortunately, Marvela’s next attack is a strategically brilliant--and far more legal--way of continuing her assault on AJ’s air supply. Caught unprepared to support one hundred and twenty pounds of Jungle talent, Swann is ripped off her feet, AJ’s descent coming to an extremely bumpy end against Marcille’s knees.
The bluenette shoots back to her feet with a loud exhale, nearly every remaining ounce of oxygen viciously expunged by the lungblower. There she sways on tippy-toes, her arms rising to offer a momentary windmill. But in the next instant, AJ sinks to her knees, the pitches forward, crumpling to the mat face and chest first. There she lies, sprawled, moaning in breathless anguish.
Marvela was anything but, her own decent resulting in a relatively pleasant landing, the ‘Original’ People’s Princess sat with a slight curve in her back, her big leagues rival laying prone before her feet whilst the brunette calmly preened her hair. With a sultry swish, she finally found the time to get back up, collecting one of AJ’s ankles along her way and encouraged the crowd favourite over onto her back. Hyper extending the captured leg, Marcille rat-a-tatted her fingers across the toes of the other young women’s boot as she smirked mockingly down towards her gasping opponent.
“Are we understanding yet?” she queried, twisting Swann’s ankle just enough to guarantee her full attention, “I’m not here tonight to pad your resume, you’re here to pad mine!” With that, her lips slipping into a scowl, Marvela dropped backwards, preparing to render all manner of torment upon Heartbreaker’s delectable stem!
LEGWORK @3:25:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hum9RV2hgsk&list=PLPuOyWan3CRtvAueY2CzTLJJehBWV1ver&index=29&t=204s
As the Marvellous One’s back hits the canvas, AJ Swann abruptly sits up with a howl, the bluenette’s hands flying to her tresses before she plummets to her back as well. Still keeping the Canadian Cutie’s captive ankle under her control, Marcille rises, kicking AJ’s free right leg a little further away to create more room for her to work. That work for Marvela includes spinning around the Hardcore Heartbreaker’s ensnared stem, and then abruptly dropping to her knees between Swann’s legs, the Jungle girl barely missing AJ’s crotch. Again, the jolt of agony from AJ’s left knee forces her to sit upright--and this time, Marvela captures a handful of hair with her left hand, holding Swann’s upper body steady for her to BLAST a forearm shot to the bluenette’s jaw.
Releasing the Hardcore Heartbreaker’s hair, AJ utters a low groan as she crumples back to the mat, her arms splayed lifelessly above her head--and her shoulders now alarming flat against the canvas. Immediately, the referee dives down to slap off the...
ONE...
TWO...
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
A grimacing Swann props herself up on her elbows.
With a questioning perk of her perfectly groomed brow, Marvela shook her head and barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Suit yourself,” she insisted, untangling their stems and, with a thrust upwards, shot herself off towards the nearest ropes. Rebounding off them, she came charging back, the Elegant Elitist launching at the last moment, diving into a low dropkick and targeting Swann’s already winded bosom.
But the last moment still provides enough warning for the Hardcore Heartbreaker to roll to her right, juuuuust clearing out of the way of Marvela’s boots. Marcille continues to descend, and with AJ’s body no longer there to provide any resistance, the fall becomes a jarring, painful one for her back. Meanwhile, Swann scrambles back to her feet, and experimentally shifts her weight onto her left leg. While her knee visibly buckles, it’s not such an overwhelming sting that the bluenette can’t cope.
Instead, she hobbles over to the Elegant Elitist, and tugs Marvela up with a handful of hair. Holding the Jungle girl stooped, AJ threads her arms underneath Marcille’s, the back of Marvela’s head resting under Swann’s left arm. As the Hardcore Heartbreaker clasps her hands together behind her foe’s back, AJ starts to kick her aching left leg into the air, intending to cook up a little Brain Stew.
BRAIN STEW:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6OvWpL52TU
Marcille shook and wiggled her taut, little backside for all it was worth as one arm was threaded, and then the other, the Perfect Princess hardly looking the picture of one as her toosh was swung from one side to another. AJ kept her leash held tight, despite the bucking of her opponent, and as she dropped sharply into a DDT, those same, crimson clad buttocks found themselves momentarily pointing skyward as Marcille’s forehead lead the way right down to the canvas.
With an audible THUNK, the brunettes chocolate curled covered braincase met the mat as forcibly as possible and her whole body ricocheted in violent sympathy. With a ‘grunt’ Marcille switched from rigid to flaccid as she rolled groaning over onto her side, cradling her noggin as the bells began chiming.
Swann doesn’t bother rising--instead, she opts to give her knee a little more rest as she plants a pair of hands against Marvela’s back and rolls the brunette over to her stomach. Crawling around to Marcille’s feet, AJ grabs her opponent’s ankles, raising them to drop the Elegant Elitist’s shins against her shoulders. The FAWNatics immediately begin to chant “HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME, KILL ME!” as the bluenette scoots forward, forcing Marcille’s stems to bend at the knees while Swann reaches her hands to cup Marvela’s chin--and to introduce the Jungle girl to the big leagues of pain.
HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME, KILL ME:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLslYdXah28
While she appeared powerless to prevent her impending doom, some part of Marvela was aware enough to despair, her head shaking in the negative as her chin was cupped and her sublimely shaped frame was pretzeled. “N... no... NO!” she protested, that simple, single syllable of denial swiftly shifting into a squeal and then an agonized scream, the spine ‘Magnificent’ Marvel ratcheted backwards into a viciously cruel curve, Marcille the unwilling victim of an ungodly child born of both the Boston Crab and a Camel Clutch.
Her peepers of alluring brown were slammed shut as she clawed her paws across the canvas. Blinding reaching and grasping at nothing but air as her body was desperate to escape and yet her mind could fathom no means to do so. She was at centre ring, no salivation within sight, her vertebra creaking as she threatened to snap.
The Official drew closer to see if she were tapping, but instead she ground her teeth together and spat a ludicrous protest. “MY HAIR!!” she insisted, without even the merest of grounds to support her accusation, “SHE’S PULLING MY HAIR!!” It was enough for the man in black and white to investigate, driven by reflex more than sense, and as his attention was fleeting, the ‘Magnificent’ Marvel gambled, reaching one arm backwards, over the back of her own head, and allowed experience to guide her as she raked claws towards peepers.
The gamble pays off.
Marvela’s talons find enough of AJ’s eyes to cause the Hardcore Heartbreaker to cry out, releasing the chin lock and pushing back to her feet swiftly, the bluenette’s hands flying to her face. But as Swann’s eyes blink, filling with tears, she takes some comfort in the knowledge that it’s not a thoroughly blinding blow. As she stumbles away, still favouring her left leg--at least slightly--she can at least make out fuzzy shapes and shifts of light, rather than the blinding flash that would have accompanied a more perfect eye rake.
Still blinking, the Canadian Cutie looks down, and finds an indistinct crimson and tan lump, which she takes to be her opponent. Hobbling over, Swann reaches down and claims a handful of hair. She then begins to tug Marcille up to her feet--and, if she can get her there, then attempt to power the brunette onto her shoulders and into a fireman’s carry. But she had to GET Marvela up before she could truly contemplate hitting the Grunge Plunge.
GRUNGE PLUNGE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjlEy4nxG94
The FAWNatics, seeing her struggles, were keen to help her along the way, a rhythmic stomping building throughout the crowd and lending their favourite strength. With Marcille whimpering, lamenting her punished back, Swann forged through her own pain and, with a briefly uncertain shake and shimmy, hupped the other lightweight across her shoulders. Her supporters cheered as she braced to deliver the plunge – only for Marvela to violently wriggle free.
Spitting like an enraged cat, the teary eyed Elegant Elitist dropped down behind the Hardcore Heartbreaker and, with an unflattering insult tumbling from her lips, Marvela swung with vindictive intent, aiming a brutal chop into the joint of AJ’s already abused stem.
‘THWAAAAK!’
“GYYYAAAAaaaaaauuuuugggggggghhhhhhhhh...!!!!!!”
What had been a dull but manageable ache suddenly becomes an EXPLOSION of agony, the Hardcore Heartbreaker dropping to the mat as if a bullet had shot through her thigh rather than a clipping blow smashing into the back of her knee. Swann rolls over onto her right hip, curling into a ball and clutching at her left knee. Whether her knee actually IS seriously damaged or not is unclear, but it certainly FEELS that way to the bluenette--and she understands only too well that she needs some time and space to regroup.
If only she could move any further...
Marvela appeared to be in no immediate hurry to follow up, content to take her time as she recovered. The truth was far from it, every instinct in the former, self created pariah demanding that she immediately take advantage, but with the muscles of her back spasming in agonizing cramps, it was only prudent to maintain appearances. And so she remained on one knee, glowering a simmering glare across the back of one dusky, regally smooth shoulder, burning a hole in Swan from a distance as she regained her composure.
Nevertheless she forced herself back into action before she was fully ready, marching down on the fallen AJ and collecting the Bluenette with a fierce grasp of her hair. Yanking harshly, she dragged her wincing rival up to hopping and, with a sharp twist, swung her bodily into the waiting turnbuckles.
“Here we are,” she reminded everyone who was within earshot, preparing to stomp a mudhole in her opponent, “back where we started!”
CORNER STOMPS @1:55
www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6DZby4ov70
Marcille PLOWS a boot into AJ’s lower stomach, which lifts the Hardcore Heartbreaker’s rump up onto the middle turnbuckle. As she starts to slide down, Marvela unloads with another boot... and a a third sends Swann sinking to a seat on the bottom buckle. Scenting blood, the Elegant Elitist drives a further trio of stomps into the bluenette’s bosom, until the FAWN favourite is left seated on the canvas. Shifting from stomps, Marvela plants her sole against AJ’s windpipe and bears down, shifting ALL her weight onto the thrashing, gagging Canadian Cutie’s throat
Only the referee’s count forces the brunette to relent, Marcille pulling back just before the threat of disqualification. But she doesn’t go far. Turning her attention back to what had allowed her to regain control of the contest; Marvela places her formerly kicking boot atop AJ’s left knee. Then, gripping the top rope for balance, the Elegant Elitist lifts her other foot, tucking her heel up toward her tush--and forcing Swann’s knee to try to support ALL of Marcille’s weight!
Again, it takes the official’s four count to force Marcille back... and as she steps away, a gasping, grimacing AJ slumps forward, reaching for her traumatized knee. Instead, Marvela pie-faces the bluenette back into the corner, and then earns the scathing wrath of the FAWNatics when she BLISTERS Swann’s cheek with a disrespectful backhand slap.
“Don’t feel bad,” Marvela consoles with a distinct lack of sincerity, the sting of her dismissive strike still ringing in the ears of the FAWNatics. “Everyone is breathless to meet me,” she mocked with a tilting of her head and, with weariness in her tone betraying her fatigue, a condescending smile upon her lips. She returned to AJ’s hair, perhaps enchanted by the Bluenette’s distinctive mane, dragging her up into a knock kneed stumble towards centre ring, keeping the other young woman folded forwards in penance.
After hammering a stiff forearm into the Heartbreaker’s back, the Marvellous One keen on keeping her complaint, she slipped one arm across the fan favourite’s shoulder and jabbed the other one between the open, firm thighs of Swann. With a “HUFF!” of efforts, she lifted and then pivoted AJ up and over, powering the girl into the air before driving her back down to canvas in a deft, professional Scoop Slam!!
Swann grunted and groaned as she bounced upon the matt, lying where she was planted at centre ring as Marvela turned her back. Marcille had only a short journey in mind, but she could ill afford to dally, if only because if she took too long, AJ would have the audacity to not remain where she was needed.
With the bluenette helpfully starfished, the Sensational Storm climbed the nearest set of turnbuckles, quickly arriving at the summit and balancing herself expertly, facing out across the crowd, the masses that once adored her, and scowled in their direction. She shouted shrilly, demanding their attention as she bitterly pointed her thumbs in her own direction.
“I AM THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS!!” she screamed, answered only by boos at her attempt to reclaim her old Title, one that had been usurped by an Upstart. As if to prove her point, she clapped three times in a limp wristed imitation of Samantha, raising her hands up high as she did so in a familiar tempo, before she displayed the sheer gumption to throw herself backwards into, of all things, a Sinclair Summer Slam!!
SINCLAIR SUMMER SLAM @1:25
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoxyK344sfs&t=86s&index=1&list=PLPuOyWan3CRt9D5q0QV7jOahlDdpDwYcY
The jeers are DEAFENING as Marvela blast off toward the heavens, and such is the crowd’s disgust at her arrogant gimmick infringement that not even the athletic talent necessary to execute the double rotation in mid-air can earn her even begrudging applause. No, the jeers only give way to deflated silence when the Marvellous One’s belly ‘THWAP!’s down across AJ’s tummy, a bug-eyed Hardcore Heartbreaker involuntarily folding up around Marcille’s frame.
It’s a brief movement, and gravity soon pulls the retching brunette back to the mat, while Marvela rolls through the impact up to her knees. Sinking back onto her haunches, the Elegant Elitist places her palms against her thighs, breathing a little heavy herself--but with a smug smirk gracing her haughty features. Meanwhile, AJ Swann weakly rolls over to her side, curling into a protective shell, rasping and moaning softly.
For the first time since her arrival, Marvela appeared content with proceedings, shaking out her shimmering mane of glorious hair and, with practiced grace, turned her chin imperiously up into the air. She raised one hand up, her fingers curled into a fist, before delivering a dismissive thumbs down over the groaning Swann, earning a fresh pop of boos even as she did so.
She stood up, bringing a less than willing AJ with her, keen to prove one last point. Clearly, anything the runt Sinclair could do, she could do better, but there was only one fitting way to end an opponent like Swann, and that was with Marcille’s own, Bombastic Bomb. Folding the Bluenette back over, the ‘Original’ People’s Princess locked in a standing Headscissors and enjoyed the feeling of the other girls head trapped between her thighs, and triumphantly moved to underhook one arm and then the other, looking as regal as ever as prepared to unleash her own variant on a match winning Powerbomb!!
BOMBASTIC BOMB @0:45:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lVniF7hWPc&index=24&t=44s&list=PLPuOyWan3CRtvAueY2CzTLJJehBWV1ver
Demonstrating an impressive amount of power for a woman her size, the Marvellous One swings her opponent up toward the rafters. Once the Hardcore Heartbreaker has been turned to stare blankly up at the lights, Marcille unclasps her hands, pulling them away--and allowing Swann’s arms to sling absently out to her sides. Marvela’s arms then ensnare AJ’s waist, just as the pits of the bluenette’s knees briefly settle down against Marcille’s shoulders. The Jungle import then drops to her knees, DRIVING her captive’s head and shoulders into the unyielding canvas without a single solitary shred of mercy.
As AJ’s eyelids flutter shut and her pouty lips briefly part, Marvela springs back to her feet--albeit in an extremely split-legged stance. With her taut tush wiggling invitingly toward one segment of the audience, Marcille leans forward, and with her hands settling down above both of the Canadian Cutie’s shoulders, her weight forces AJ into an extremely tight--and quite possibly inescapable--matchbook. While the official slides into place, the FAWNatics do everything in their power to rally their heroine, stomping, clapping and chanting AJ’s name as the referee slaps off the...
ONE...
TWO...
THREEEEEEE!!!!!!!
The FAWNatics were stunned into broken hearted silence as one of their favourites was polished off by the Jungle Import, one of the rare few that not only managed to wiggle their way onto a big leagues PPV, but actually emerge the victor. Marvela revelled in it, retaining the pin in place for several seconds longer than required, keeping Swann rolled up into a tight ball beneath her as she lapped up the moment, her pelvis thrust down hard against submissive buttocks.
Eventually, as her lips were tugged into a smile of insufferable smugness, she leaned backwards enough to allow AJ’s to flop down forwards across the mat. With her opponent left spread eagled, Marcille suddenly surged forwards with a venomous curling of her lips, almost thrusting herself atop Swann, bosom to bosom as she clawed her right hand and viciously pinched the other young women’s cheeks together between fingers and thumb.
“Remember today,” she glared into the still half lidded peepers with a contemptuous sneer, grinding her pelvis into the bluenette’s own by way of ownership, “remember today and learn from it. I’ll be back where I belong, and you lack witted imbeciles,” she paused, her sneer returning to an indulgent smirk, “well, it would be best for you if you were gone. I am the Real Deal, Swann. You are nothing but fodder.”
