Post by SammieSinclair on Jan 10, 2015 9:24:24 GMT
The Seasons Beating Pay per view continues with a match up many are talking about after the confrontation at the last pay per view. The crowd picks up the volume as they wait for the arrival of the Siren of Shannon. An Irish flag appears on the FAWNtron above the stage and then Floggin Molly's "Devils Dance Floor" begins playing Morgan Kinloch strolls out from behind the curtain. The Siren of Shannon breaks into a run, crossing back and forth on the stage throwing an arm up pumping her fist to the cheering fans.
FLOGGIN MOLLY “DEVILS DANCE FLOOR
www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSwaVvF7rdU
The Ring announcer does the introduction, “The next match is one fall with a thirty minute time limit...Introducing first she hails from Shannon Ireland…She weighs in at 147 pounds…THE Siren of Shannon…MORGAN KINLOCH!
Dressed in a Green spandex top with black Celtic cross design, black short shorts with a green Morgan scrolled on the butt. Morgan’s simple black pads and boots finish off her outfit. Before hitting the ramp though Morgan Salutes the crowd and waves her arms encouraging more noise from the FAWNatics. Heading down the ramp she gives fans along the railing high fives. Kinloch circles the entire ring making sure to hit each extended palm.
Morgan stops at one of the many signs, this fans says, “Green > Gray!” Kinloch reaches out pounding the fans shoulder, “Aye! Ye got that right, laddy.”
Rolling into the ring the former Intercontinental Champ and First EurAsian champion, looks over the crowd cheering her on. Stopping in the middle of the ring she holds her arms up crossing her wrists, the fans pop again for the brunette. Moving to her corner the Siren of Shannon waits for her chance to win a bit of revenge for herself and Meggerz.
MORGAN KINLOCH:
‘Devil’s Dance Floor’ was still fresh in the ear when a much cooler… grayer… mood took over the FAWN arena. When the speakers came to life again they offered a single low, warbling note. With this mournful sound came the fog and with the fog came an eerie ‘whooshing’ noise and everyone knew that Morgan would find whom she sought. Oblivious to the concerns of those that dwelt on its fringes, the fog flooded the stage. It crept from beneath the ring and lapped at the feet of those in the first several rows. When it was almost too thick to see through, the lights faded out and Seven Devils rose in their place.
SEVEN DEVILS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLkGKkfmgjU
Holy water cannot help you now
A thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Holding their breath without even realizing it, the FAWNatics spotted a few soft-edged details thanks to several low spotlights that made the murk flicker and glow, not to mention the illumination thrown by the ‘tron, which showed even more churning vapors. But seeing The Gray wasn’t the issue. The Lurker in the Gray however, she was an entirely different story.
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out
I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out
A single spotlight hit the stage in time with the first chorus and there stood a tall figure in a hooded, storm gray cloak. For a moment it was still, then a hand encased in a dark red leather glove reached up and pulled the cowl back to reveal a pale skinned woman with dark eyes and a tangle of long, coppery locks.
HELENA GRAYLOCK:
Wanting nothing to do with the Destroyer‘s Destroyer, the Announcer somehow found the strength to raise his back-up mic. “And introducing her opponent hailing from Crythin Gifford, England in the United Kingdom, she stands at five feet eight inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and forty pounds, she is the Gray Lady… HELENA GRAYLOCK!”
Motionless after her initial revealing, Helena abruptly slipped the cloak from her shoulders and started down the aisle. The Gray made it quite trying to make out all the details at once, but who stared long enough learned more than they wanted. Tonight Our Lady of the Mists wore a dark gray one-piece with a wine red sash belted at the waist. Fans on the aisle thought they saw knee-high gray boots and matching elbow pads and it turned out they did, but these details weren’t confirmed until the mysterious Englishwoman climbed from the fog on the nearly obscured steel steps.
Gripping the top rope in her right hand, Graylock walked from one end of the apron to the other, the leather of her glove making and unpleasant ‘squeeeeeaaaak’ against the rubber-coated steel. Then she climbed over the ropes and went straight for Morgan only to be intercepted by recklessly brave official, Al Carpenter. “To your corner, Helena. The match will start soon enough.” He glanced over his shoulder to Morgan, who’d stepped forward as well. “You too, Morg. I need to check her pads, then ring the bell. Surely you can wait that long.” Kinloch shook her head in irritation and Helena did much the same. “I’ll tolerate your interference once, little man.” she said quietly. “But once this contest is underway I suggest you get clear and stay that way.” The Gray Lady pulled away, strode to her corner and didn’t say another word when Carpenter closed in to check her pads and boots.
Bolstered by the loud ‘MOR-GAN!’ chants coming from the crowd, Kinloch vacated her corner as soon as the bell rang and went straight for the redhead. Anyone who’d expected Graylock to make the brunette wait got a pleasant surprise when she pushed off the buckles just as quickly. This resulted in a face to face stare-down at center ring and an increased decibel level from the FAWNatics as very little got them more pumped than the prospect of two Destroyers tearing into one another.
“Made a big mistake messin’ with Meggerz like that, girlie.” Morgan told her opponent. “Shoulda just let Cynthia take ‘er beating.”
Helen was nonplussed by Kinloch’s rancor. “Cynthia Mitchell had no intention of accepting Fletcher’s challenge, she simply doesn’t have the stomach for such direct confrontation. I on the other hand am ideally suited to it, as your friend learned quite quickly once the Gray crept UUUNNNNGGGHH!”
Morgan grabbed a single handful of hair, hopped up into the air and came down in time with the Headbutt she THWHUNKED between Graylock’s eyes. Helena stumbled but didn’t go down, so Kinloch shifted her grip from the redhead’s hair to the scruff of her neck, all the better to hold her in place for the European Uppercut Morgan THWHACKED against her chin. Helena reeled away, lost her balance and it was only the timely intervention of the middle rope that kept the Briton from sprawling flat on her face.
“Ye think yer talk of ta Gray scares me, girlie?” Kinloch shouted over the roar of the crowd. “I’m from feckin’ Ireland, we know ALL ABOUT ta Gray over there. But tonight, right ‘ere in this ring ye find yerself face ta face with a tried and true representative of ta Green and I’m sorry ta tell ye this, but the Green is mightily peeved… and she wants yer arse on a plate.”
One arm hooked over the ropes, Helena wiped a gloved hand across her face, then got up and rounded on the Irishwoman. “The Green? It has tried before and its agents always fail. You will be no different, Morgan Kinloch.”
The big brunette only smirked. “I might take tat threat a little more seriously if ye weren’t bleedin’ from ta mouth already.” Graylock raised a hand to check and that’s when the former IC champ lunged in, whipped up her right leg and THUMPED a Front Kick straight into her opponent’s sternum. Helena went down flat, rolled onto her stomach, pushed up and walked straight into another sternum-shivering kick.
Bellowing with battle-lust as Graylock visited the canvas for the second time in less than a minute, Morgan wheeled around to get ready for a third shot but had to change tactics when the Englishwoman sat up. Not discomfited in the slightest, Kinloch charged and THWHACKED the heel of her boot square into her opponent’s forehead. Flattened by the fusillade of furious footwear, Graylock couldn’t stop Morgan from crashing down atop her chest in a miniature Splash, nor could she prevent the brunette from hooking her far leg for…
ONE…
Helena kicked out, which was to say, she put one hand of Morgan’s chest and another on her stomach and shoved her loose like she was the lightest of the lightweights. Startled for the briefest of moments, Kinloch scrambled to one knee and smacked both hands against the canvas. “C’mon then ye sneakin’ skagger! If it’s a fight ye’re lookin’ for, get on yer feet and show me what ye got!”
Helena did just that, not that the Siren of Shannon hung around to greet her. Instead she spun away and raced for the ropes, which she hit with a meaty ’twang!’ Coming back with an impressive head of steam, Kinloch unleashed the biggest Big Boot of them all, unfortunately Our Lady of the Mists caught it under her right arm on the upswing and pinned it tight against her torso. With the brunette hopping on one foot, Helena reached for her face, that ominous red glove blooming like a flower that would--
Morgan gripped the redhead’s wrist in both hands and squeezed hard. “Not gonna be that easy, girlie.” she grunted. “If ye want me smellin’ that ting ye’ll ’afta GUUURRRHHK!”
The Silk Specter powered through Morgan’s restraints to grasp her throat in an equally impressive vise. “You WILL go to the Gray, Morgan Kinloch,” she whispered to the gagging, wide-eyed Irishwoman, “but it will be when I choose and not a moment before.”
While her tone suggested Graylock meant to take her time in getting Morgan prepped, her actions spoke to a much hastier schedule. Dipping her knees slightly, Helena hoisted Morgan up by the throat, despite the fact that one of the brunette’s legs was still pinned against her side. Very much opposed to suffering a Choke Slam this early (or at any time, really) Kinloch leeeeeeeeeaned into the Goozle and succeeded in wrapping an arm around her attacker’s head. It was an ungainly tangle of limbs to say the least, with Morgan’s Front Facelock contending against Helena’s stranglehold and leg-trap, all while the Irishwoman was suspended well above the canvas. After several seconds where no one could tell if it’d shake out as a Spinebuster or a Choke Slam it ultimately proved neither as Graylock shoved Morgan loose, leaving the brunette to land upright a yard or so removed from her foe.
“Ye’re a strong one ye are, girlie.” Kinloch admitted as she rubbed at her sore throat. “Don’t matter ta me, though. A fight that don’t make yer blood run ‘ot can ‘ardly be called a fight, kennit?”
“On this topic we find ourselves in agreement, Morgan Kinloch.” Helena murmured. “And I for one want your blood all but boiling before I release it into the Gray.”
“If any of us stains this canvas tonight, it’ll be ye, sweet’eart. Now are ye gonna fight are ye gonna talk me gob off all nigHHHHNNNNGGGH!”
Helena reared back, dropped to one knee and PWAAAKED the fingertips of her right hand into the underside of her foe’s chin. Morgan’s head snapped back and she went down to one knee, which put her directly in front of the Gray Lady. Drawing a bead on the brunette’s dipped head, she caromed an open-handed shot off Kinloch’s cheek.
WRAITH’S WRATH @ 1:06
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SZQMjQTnHg
Morgan reeled again but didn’t go down any farther and when she turned her face to the redhead her eyes were angry slits. “That all ye’re bringin’ ta this fight, Graylock? Meggerz said ye ‘it ‘er like a freight train but from what I can tell ye--”
Helena reached for her throat again and this time the Siren of Shannon intercepted with a classic Greco-Roman Knucklelock. Acting without asking, she used the handhold to jerk Graylock into an eye-watering Headbutt and would’ve followed that with a Haymaker of her own if the Brit hadn’t mirrored Morgan’s first grip, thus completing an impromptu Test of Strength. Currently on one knee, the warring women put both put their other knee to the mat to give them better leverage as the sought to impose their will upon the other.
Waging war mouth on shoulder, brunette and redhead kept their arms stretched out at shoulder level in a rough ‘T’ shape, thus preventing her foe from rolling her hands, the traditional way to gain advantage in such a contest. “I can feel your pulse pounding, Morgan Kinloch.” Helena said after ten seconds of tense silence. “I can feel your heart racing. It’s beating against my chest like a panicked bird rushing to escape a burning room. It’s right to be afraid. It knows that the Gray has laid claim to you, body and soulLNNNNGGHHH!”
Morgan slammed her chest into Helena’s and followed it up by gouging the point of her chin into the soft hollow just beside the Brit’s right shoulder. “Keep yer feckin’ mouth shut, ‘elena Graylock,” Kinloch sneered in her foe’s ear, “unless it’s ta tell me ‘er the referee that ye can take no more!”
The Test of Strength stood at a stalemate, the grinding of bodies mesmerizing the FAWNatics. The pace was at a standstill, but the intensity was as high as any speedy interaction of flyweights. There were micro adjustments, but no attempts at release as neither woman would give up trying to enforce her will on her opponent. Fingers were white and brows sweaty, the crowd wondering with beauty would prevail, but then a unspoken mutual agreement between combatants brought the impasse to an end as they shoved apart and backed off by a few steps.
The Siren of Shannon shot forward with an arm extended only to have Graylock reach out and grab the vulnerable limb. Helena sidestepped dipped low and THUMPED her red-gloved right fist into Morgan’s armpit with a vile punch. The pain of the blow allowed Kinloch to rip her arm free, but she could only let her right arm drop to her side as she shambled toward the ropes holding her left hand against her side. Helena walked slowly behind the Celtic Warrior and murmured, “Tell me about the Green again, Morgan.”
The Silk Specter glided across the ring, caught Morgan just shy of the ropes and pulled her left arm free to whip the brunette toward the opposite set of strands. Helena followed, but only to bring them together at the mid-point of the squared circle, where Graylock drove her boot into Morgan’s stomach with a well aimed Toe Kick. Bent deep at the waist, Kinloch was helpless as Helena took her offered head and tucked it under her right arm. Seizing the Siren’s far wrist, Graylock brought her over and down with a quick Swinging Neckbreaker.
SWINGING NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHxMbUS4HPU
Morgan hit the canvas and bounced to a sitting position with arms wrapped around her throbbing head. Beside her, Helena rolled onto one knee, then grabbed Kinloch by the shoulders and her forced her down to the canvas where Graylock applied a Crossbody Pin with the far leg hooked for good measure. The referee was quick into his spot, and it only took a instant to verify that Morgan’s shoulders were indeed down.
ONE…
Much as Our Lady of Mist had done to her, the Celtic Crusher sent the Englishwoman rolling, Helena ejected from her pin attempt as if she weighed no more a Cosette LeBlanc or a Cherry Bomb. Kinloch made it to her feet at the same time as Graylock, but the tiniest bit behind as Helena was set to throw a big right at the brunette’s head. That was the plan at least, but Morgan caught the arm under hers and locked it up. Helena proceeded to compound her problems by trying the same clubbing blow with her other hand, and having Morgan catch that one as well.
With both arms under her control the brawny Irishwoman looked at her foe and smirked, “Yer goin ta wish ye was mist.”
The Siren of Shannon began hammering her forehead into Graylock’s chest over and over, each Headbutt producing a loud ‘THUD’ and accompanying groan from Helena. Our Lady of Mist’s knees began to buckle under the onslaught, but Morgan didn’t relent. After nearly a dozen blows Morgan unhooked her arms and drew Graylock into a Front Facelock. Morgan reached down, grabbed the back of Helena’s knee and pulled her into a Fisherman’s cradle. The green and black clad battler then twisted hard, taking the Englishwoman over with a similar Neckbreaker, but with an Irish twist.
FISHERMANS NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=15pIXfXLKvI
The FAWNatics erupted as Morgan popped up to her feet after hitting the move, but then the boos took over as Helena slithered under the bottom rope. Kinloch complained to the referee about Helena’s strategic break but never took her eyes from the redhead, who was staring daggers at her from the outside. After a moment Helena was apparently satisfied because she turned away and started toward the steel steps. Rather than wait for the official to do his job, Morgan rushed the apron, reached down over the ropes and grabbed a handful of Helena’s braid.
The Siren of Shannon had the Silk Specter nearly up when Graylock reached back and caught Morgan’s noggin. Kinloch recognized the trap a second too late and Helena dropped to the floor, pulling her rival’s throat down across the top rope. The slingshot sent Morgan flying backward into the ring as she clutched at her windpipe trying to help ease the air back down. Graylock turned, climbed back onto the ring apron and stood admiring her work for a moment before reentering the ring.
The referee bought Morgan a little time as he blocked Helena off as soon as she’s over the ropes. “Stay in the ring Helena and lay off the ropes.”
The Gray Lady merely pushed by and headed for the winded Irish lass. Helena put her left boot on Morgan’s right ankle, then started to kick and stomp on Kinloch’s inner thigh, the blows coming so quick that the referee missed the few that founf Kinloch’s trunks instead of her thigh. Morgan wailed at the Low Blows, yet the jolt that accompanied them were what allowed her to pull her leg free and thus butt scoot to the corner to try and get back to her feet with the aid of the ropes.
The brunette succeeded in her return to verticality, alas she got no time to test her aching thigh before Graylock stormed into the breach and wrapped both hands around her throat. Startled by the other woman’s willingness to attack with a blatant Stranglehold, Morgan pushed at Helena’s chin for a second or two and when that didn’t work she grabbed hold of the Englishwoman’s wrists and squeezed as hard as she could. Graylock grimaced at the pressure, then shrugged it off and forced her way in tummy to tummy, all the better to bend Kinloch’s upper body backward over the top rope.
From his angle Al thought the two were going at it in a Collar & Elbow, it wasn’t until the FAWNatics started in with the boos that he picked up the pace and identified the infraction. Wagering it’d been going on too long anyway, the ref barked, “Break it up, Helena! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”
She let loose of Morgan’s throat, whirled around and stepped to within inches of Carpenter all in a matter of heartbeats. “Mind your tone, little man.” Helena said quietly. Those stripes aren’t nearly enough to make you immune from the Gray.”
Al was trying to formulate a brave-ish response when Kinloch rasped, “Ye got bigger problems than zebra, girlie. Fight’s over here.”
Graylock looked to her, raised her gloved hand and tugged the leather the tiniest bit tighter. “Offering you to the Gray is hardly a problem, Morgan Kinloch. In fact I’d venture so far as to say it brings me distinct pleaSUURRGGGHH!”
Morgan stepped out and PWAAAKED the evil bytch’s jaw with a straight right jab that snapped her head back at a sharp angle. Too busy to apologize to Carpenter for the closed fist at the moment, she stuffed her hands into Helena’s armpits, then twisted her hips and tossed her into the buckles with a low ‘BWUUUNG!’ This she immediately followed with a stiff Back Elbow that slammed hard into her foe’s jaw-line. Leaning heavily against the stunned woman, Morgan looked over one shoulder and flashed Al a smile. “Sorry ‘bout tat.” she told him. “Din’t mean ta interrupt before ye could give’er a piece of yer mind.”
The official raised his hands and took a step back. “By all means, interrupt as often as you’d like.” That sounded like a rock solid endorsement to Kinloch, so she put her left hand against Helena’s chest and pushed herself to arm’s length. “Ye got some pretty heavy hands fer a creature of mists and vapors, but it ain’t nothin’ compared to te force of te Green.”
To prove it she balled her right hand into a fist and bounced if off Graylock’s chin with a looping Haymaker. The follow through took Morgan’s hand almost all the way to her left shoulder, so she flattened it into a paddle and brought it ‘whicking’ back with a Knife-Edge Chop that CRAAACKED her rival’s chest. The Silk Specter snarled, surged forward and ate another Haymaker for the efforts. This was followed by a second Knife-Edge Chop and then a third full set of both.
Kinloch landed more than a dozen blows in all and was just getting started when Carpenter cleared his throat. “That’s enough Morgan, these people paid to see you both use the whole ring, so get her out of the corner.”
The brawny Irishwoman’s lips turned down in a faux pout. “All right, but only because I like ye.” Latching on to Graylock’s right wrist, Kinloch stepped away from the buckles, dropped her hips and slung the Britton across the NO! Helena dug in her heels to stop the Irish Whip dead and immediately THWHACKED a Big Boot into her opponent’s face. Twisted around by the force of it, Morgan slopped forward and would’ve gone down full force if she hadn’t landed in the buckles chest-first.
Though she was quite pleased by the defenseless landscape of the Irishwoman’s back, Helena limited herself to a single blow, a vicious hook she THWHUMPED home a little bit above Kinloch’s right hip. Morgan shouted in anguish and promptly devoted all resources to dealing with the nauseating pain, meaning she had nothing in the way of defense when Helena dipped her head under the wounded woman’s left arm. Gripping Morgan around the waist and at the right thigh for leverage, Graylock prized her out of the corner, then ‘hupped’ her up onto the point of one shoulder. What could’ve been an Atomic Drop, Backdrop Suplex or any of a dozen other maneuvers took on far more ominous implications when Helena stepped in again and set Morgan in a slumped seat on the top turnbuckle.
Not liking these developments in the slightest, Al got as close as he dared before warning, “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her, Helena. Get it out of the corner and make it fast.”
Helena fixed him with a cool, detached look. “I’m not the one who forced Kinloch into her current predicament. But if extricating her from it will shut your mouth, I’ll do so posthaste.”
The ref thought there was an agreement packed in alongside the insult, so he said nothing when Graylock ascended to the high rent district. With her right shoulder pointed toward Morgan’s back and that foot mounted on the top rope, Helena curled her right arm around the Siren’s throat and pulled back until the base of Kinloch’s neck was braced against the meat of her thigh. Glaring down into her rival’s flushed face, Graylock purred, “Your followers have failed you. Your skills have failed you. And now your precious Green abandons you when you need it the most. Can you not see your destiny, Morgan Kinloch? Forsake all other loyalties and join me in the heart of the GrYNNNNGGGHH!”
Morgan jabbed her right elbow back, stuffing it into the redhead’s ribs. Far too devoted to let her prey escape that easily, Graylock shrugged off the blow and pulled the brunette’s head a little “NGH!” The Siren of Shannon hit her a second time. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth. The sixth finally removed Helena’s arm from her throat and the seventh connected with the Englishwoman’s chin instead of her side. Understandably stunned, Helena reared back, lost her balance and toppled to the canvas several feet below.
Breathing hard after the narrow escape, Kinloch looked over her shoulder and discovered Graylock was flat on her back. “Oi don’t normally venture tis high,” she muttered to no one in particular, “but seein’ as how ye were kind enough ta do te heavy liftin’ fer me…” She clambered into a weary crouch on the top turnbuckle, swung around in a laborious half circle and rose to her full height just as Helena started to stir. “PUT YER HANDS TOGETHER FOLKS!” Morgan called to the capacity crowd. “LETS LET LITTLE RED RIDIN’ HOOD KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TA GIRLS WHO ANGER TE GREEN!”
Oblivious to the increased noise and the doom that lurked on her six, Graylock got to her feet and turned around at precisely the moment Morgan dove off the top with her right arm extended for a Flying Clothesline. Reacting on instinct rather than thought, Our Lady of the Mists spread her arms in a wide ‘C’, stepped toward the inbound Irishwoman and plucked her from the void. Then she twisted into Morgan’s momentum to make sure they were both moving full speed when she laid out on her tummy. There was a murderous THAWHAM followed by a stunned ‘OOOOOOOHHHHH!’ from the FAWNatics as Helena plastered Morgan to the canvas with an emphatic Snap Power Slam.
Bouncing onto her knees immediately thereafter, Graylock eschewed her usual domineering cover in favor of a basic cradle, one that used every bit of her near hundred and fifty pounds to keep Morgan down for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
The Celtic Crusher kicked loose with a half tic to spare, though it should go without saying that this escape lacked the snappy strength of her previous efforts. Taking a moment to steady her breath, Helena tightened the red glove, then murmured, “You are a stronger quarry than most, Morgan Kinloch. But with every second you are farther removed from the Green and deeper and deeper into the Gray.”
The FAWNatics began to chant ‘MOR-GAN!’ again to offer support as the wounded brunette rubbed a hand over her face, trying to clear the fog that had indeed formed in her brain. Helena dug the crimson talon into Kinloch’s sweat matted hair and hauled her back to verticality. Switching from hair to wrist, Graylock whips Morgan into the near ropes, then kicked her foot up to chin level and caught the Irish lass as her back left the cables. The Big Boot sent Morgan spilling backward and she tumbled through the ropes and bounced off the ring apron before landing in a heap on the floor.
Al quickly moved between Graylock and the ropes. “Give her a chance to catch her breath, Helena.”
Surprisingly Helena held up her arms as if admitting the tumble through the ropes was unintentional. Carpenter watches a moment as the Englishwoman slowly backed to the center of the squared circle. Al turned to check his other charge but a sudden cry from the crowd told him he needed to get out of the way. He did and just in time, as Helena barreled by at top speed. On the outside, Morgan got to her feet but she was bent over with her hands on her knees, meaning she didn’t see it when the Silk Specter cleared the top rope by a good foot and turned over in the air coming down back to back with the Siren of Shannon.
The crowd marked out in spite of themselves as Helena showed heretofore unknown high flying skills with the Somersault Plancha. With Morgan crumpled beside her, Graylock stayed on the thinly padded concrete after the dive to catch her breath and savor the worried murmur of the crowd. Back in the ring, Al leaned over the ropes to check on the human wreckage below. After a moment he concluded that neither was in serious trouble and thus he raised one hand and started to count both women out.
The extra time was all that Helena needed, as a matter of fact she was getting to her feet before Al reached ’TWO!’ Graylock raised her right hand and pulled the red glove tight again. The Silk Specter stood over Morgan for the briefest of moments, then reached down and clasped Kinloch by the throat again. Lifting the Siren of Shannon to her feet Helena maintained on to her Chokehold and reached for Morgan’s hip clearly looking for a Choke Slam on to the arena floor.
The Celtic Crushers eyes bulged but Morgan kept her wits and brought her arm slamming down on Helena’s elbow to break the Goozle. Kinloch let out a roar and plowed into the redhead Brit, driving her spine-first into the ring apron. Helena’s head tossed back in anguish as the unpadded edge dug into her back. Still felling the affects of the Gray, Morgan leaned against her foe and sucked wind.
From the ring Carpenter called out “SEVEN!”
Morgan straightened to her full height and cupped the back of Helena’s head in her left hand, while her right lanced up and across the Brit’s jaw line. Graylock’s noggin snaps back as the European Uppercut Kinloch called the Shillelagh nearly decapitated her. Morgan rolled into the ring after that, trusting that her foe will be lost in her own fog for the time she needed. Al patted her shoulder when she stood up. “I know you didn’t start it Morgan, but keep it in the ring.”
By way of answer Morgan reached out between the ropes for a double handful of sweat soaked red locks and pulled Helena up onto the apron. Kinloch navigated the ropes to get Graylock standing on the apron facing the FAWNatics, who cheered loudly as they suspected what was about to happen. The Siren of Shannon hung Helena’s arms over the top rope before reaching around cupping Graylock’s chin and pulling her head back over into the ring. “Ye ‘ear it ‘elena?” she asked the trapped battler. “It’s the sound of the Green war drums.”
With that she started pounding away on the Celtic Drum that was Helena’s chest. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
The crowd picked up the count for Morgan as she hammered at Helena’s décolletage, ‘FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE!....TEN!’
Helena nearly fell to the floor but Morgan held on and guided her back into the ring as Carpenter chastised her for the tactics. Vertical but weary, Graylock was slouched in the ropes when Morgan grabbed a wrist and slung her across the ring with an Irish Whip. The Silk Specter raced towards the opposite strands with Morgan following hot on her heels. Alas the expected collision never happened though as Our Lady of the Mists turned as elusive as her name and disappeared right before the big Clothesline from Kinloch hit.
Instead of just sprinting on, Helena pivoted on a dime and when the Irish lass turned she’s greeted with a boot to the navel. In the next instant she Graylock wrapped her arms around Morgan’s waist and lifted her high only to bring her down crotch-first atop her posted knee. Painful as it was, the Inverted Atomic Drop, was just the first step as Helena rose and dragged Kinloch along for the ride. Instead of dropping her for a second trunk busting impact, Helena turned a one-eighty and fell backward to drop Morgan’s throat on the top rope, thus completing the pair of moves she called Silk Dawn.
Morgan was lashed backward into the ring, her arms splayed at her sides until she hit the canvas. Then they rose to her throat to tend to her burning windpipe, but that became the least of her problems when Helena dropped down across her chest for the…
ONE…
TWO…
NO!
In her haste to secure the victory Helena had failed to hook either of Kinloch’s legs and it proved costly as the brawny Irishwoman kicked out less than a second shy of defeat. Frustration flashed across Graylock’s features and to deal with it she did what any reasonable person in her situation would have. She wrapped a hand around the brunette’s throat and startled throttling the life out of her.
Already short of breath thanks to the Hot Shot, Morgan fought wildly against the Stranglehold, wrapping both hands around her attacker’s chokin’ wrist and squeezing until any normal woman would’ve yowled with pain. But Helena Graylock was no one’s idea of normal and she continued to bear down on Morgan’s windpipe until the referee barked, “That’s enough, Helena! Get off her throat right now! ONE! TWO! THREE!”
The Gray Lady pushed to her feet and hauled Morgan to hers, making the whole thing look effortless despite the fact that her foe was nearly a hundred and fifty pounds. Breaking the hold once they were vertical, Helena CRAAACKED a dismissive slap across the former television star’s face, then wrapped that wicked leather mitt around her neck and proceeded to squeeze that much harder.
“Dammit Helena, I’m warning you!” Carpenter said at once. “Knock off that choking shyt or I’ll--”
Helena TWHUMPED a Kneelift into the pit of Kinloch’s stomach to put her on her knees before she rounded on the official. “Or you’ll what?” she asked him softly. “Tell me, you skinny little man. Just what threat could you unleash that holds any merit here in the Gray?”
Al worked very hard not to take a few steps back. He might’ve had a good four inches on the mysterious Englishwoman but there was something about those dark eyes that made it nearly impossible not to flinch. “Just obey my commands, that’s all. And keep off her throat. You’re better than that.”
Helena sniffed and almost smirked. “Meaningless distinctions in my realm, little man. In the Gray there is no good and there is no evil. There are only survivors… and victims.”
‘Victims’ was still on her lips when she gripped Kinloch’s throat a third time and dragged her back to boot leather. Cracking a genuine grin as she looked into Morgan’s wide, worried eyes, the redhead added, “As you can see, I am the former and Morgan is the la--” The Siren of Shannon snatched a huge handful of Graylock’s ponytail with her left hand, then cranked her right arm all the way back and proceeded to turn the Silk Specter inside out with a Blackout Lariat that THWHACKED across her chest like a baseball bat wrapped in velvet.
BLACKOUT LARIAT @ 1:12
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lko3DbY5D9M
Dropped to one knee by the power of her own strike, Morgan had to put one hand against the mat to keep herself from crumpling out in a breathless sprawl. Anger returned in time with the oxygen and after several long seconds, Kinloch grabbed hold of Graylock at hip and shoulder and tugged her onto her back. She was about to lean across for a pin when Helena sat up without making a sound.
Genuinely surprised by the Briton’s resurgence, Morgan drilled her to the mouth with a hard Forearm Smash and followed it up with half a dozen across the chest as soon as her back touched the canvas again. “Didn’t think ter was any way in hell ye were as tough as ye claim,” the brunette admitted while scraping her rival off the mat, “but it takes a special kinda hardcase to scrape themselves off the mat after I put ‘em down with a Lariat.” Morgan switched over to a Wristlock and leaned in close so she could address the woozy warrior face to face. “Unfortunately for ye, I’m the hardest hardcase in the land.”
Graylock started to mutter something so Kinloch stepped back, dropped a shoulder and slung her toward the far corner with as much force as she could muster. Judging by the sick BWUUUNG when Helena hit the buckles spine-first, it was a great deal of force indeed. Reduced to a slow motion caricature of her usual self, Our Lady of the Mists staggered out of the corner to either rejoin the battle or possibly escape from it entirely. Alas, Morgan had no intention of letting that happen which was why she rushed in full force and CRUSHED her rival back against the thinly-padded steel with a hellacious Avalanche Splash.
AVALANCHE SPLASH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FC3Pbhn7b6g
Instead of backing off to let Graylock flop flat on her face, Kinloch mounted the second rope and wrapped a couple lengths of copper ponytail around her left hand. That she used to crank the Englishwoman’s neck back at a sharp angle, which gave her an excellent idea of which areas needed immediate attention from her knuckles. “I done a lot of talkin’ about the Green tonight, Helena Graylock. But I have another favorite worth mentioning. It’s red. And I mean to beat it out of ye right feckin’ now.”
Sure enough her right hand came down like a piston, Morgan’s knuckles just gouging into Graylock’s forehead. Kinloch would’ve sworn she meant to hop down when the FAWNatics reached ‘TEN!’ but she’d flown by that signpost in no time at all and so she kept right on going. ‘TWENTY!’ came and went sooner than later and yet Helena refused to bleed so Morgan refused to stop.
‘THIRTY!’ was very close indeed when Al Carpenter wrapped an arm around the big brunette’s waist and hauled her off the mount, much to the crowd’s displeasure. Ignoring them in favor of his charge, he said, “If she hadn’t tried to strangle you earlier I would’ve disqualified your ass. You were past five on my count about ten seconds ago. Now get a hold of yourself, I need to check to make sure you didn’t give her a concussion.”
Morgan just frowned, she was still deep in her Helena hate. “I’ll give ye the same five seconds ye gave me, Carpenter. Then I’m comin’ in swingin’.”
Al didn’t answer, he’d hurried over to Helena, who was inspecting her bruised forehead with one hand and holding onto the ropes with another. “Hey Helena, would you mind moving your hand?” the ref asked. She did and he was amazed to see several deep scrapes, but no blood whatsoever. “Well you’re not bleeding at least. How are you feeling otherwise? Do you need me to call for the WHOAH!”
Helena had followed the zebra’s asinine directions so she could keep an eye on Morgan without Carpenter getting suspicious. Behind him, Kinloch started toward the corner and from the look in her eyes Graylock knew she wasn’t worried about a disqualification. Thinking fast and acting faster, she snatched Carpenter by the collar of his striped shirt and shoved him back into the oncoming battler. Quick as ever despite the punishment she’d taken, Morgan grabbed Al by the shoulders and shunted him aside without missing a beat. It did slow her down the tiniest bit though and that was all the opening Helena needed.
Exploding out of the corner, she swung around behind the Siren and snaked her left arm around Morgan’s throat. Her other hand cupped Kinloch’s head to secure the Sleeper and then she laid out on her tummy, dropping to the canvas full force to SLAM Morgan spine-first against the canvas with the Silver Wraith. Morgan bounced to a seat and curled both arms around her aching skull, seemingly oblivious to anything other than trying to keep her brains from leaking out her ears.
SILVER WRAITH @ 00:04
www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJpj_VjLyvI
Helena on the other hand had something quite different in mind and she set those plans in motion by palming Kinloch’s head in her hands. Jerking the Irishwoman to her feet in a single yank, Graylock crouched down, stuffed her head between Morgan’s thighs and boosted her onto her shoulders, Electric Chair style. While Helena had made a name for herself with an almost preternaturally methodical style, she looked downright speedy as she slipped her right arm free of Kinloch’s dangling gam. From there she reached up, cupped the back of Morgan’s neck and pulled her down into a compressed ‘C’ shape. The Irishwoman wasn’t even aware of the danger of her perch until Graylock swung her forward and sat out, thus THWHUMPING Kinloch down on the back of her head and neck.
SILVER TWILIGHT RITUAL:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5L4pN-CzYcQ
Silver Twilight Ritual complete, Helena kept the brunette’s left leg hooked in a tight matchbook and leaaaaaaaned back, keeping Morgan folded in half while the ref counted…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
Secure in her victory, Graylock tossed her opponent’s captured stem and was on her feet as the Announcer confirmed, “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via pin-fall… HELENA GRAYLOCK!”
Helena smoothed out the frayed edges of her braid, then tugged at the bottom edge of her glove to make sure it was skin-tight. Al came over during these adjustments and started to reach for her hand only to draw back when the Brit fixed him with a baleful stare. “The Gray is almost sated for this evening, little man.” she told him quietly. “Your services will no longer be required.”
Carpenter’s instincts demanded that he bail, but he wasn’t about to leave a defenseless wrestler alone in the ring, not after what’d happened to Jenny. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Al replied, “Go on and take your lap, Helena. I need to check on Morgan.”
Helena’s lips curled like charring paper, a smile Carpenter didn’t like in the slightest. “I believe you have our roles reversed. You take a lap, I’ll check on this so called emissary of the Green.”
With that she turned her back on him, reached down and ‘SMECKED!’ that leather-sheathed mitt firmly atop Kinloch’s stunned mug. Morgan only stirred slightly at first, but that changed when Graylock grabbed a hold of her trunks at the hip and used both hooks to yank the woozy Irishwoman to a semblance of spaghetti-legged verticality. Cheering the dazzling display of strength despite themselves, the FAWNatics when Helena bore down on the Iron Claw with enough force to earn a muffled scream from Kinloch.
“Yes,” the redhead’s voice was a sibilant hiss, “scream out everything you have left, Morgan Kinloch. Feed it to the Gray and I will return you to your precious green as nothing more than a husk.”
Leaning into the hateful witch to help keep herself upright, the brunette gripped Graylock’s wrist in one hand and pounded at her forearm with the other in a valiant attempt to break the Palm Smother. It proved no use, Helena’s grip was too strong and Morgan was too winded. She could feel the strength siphoning out of her by the second and she knew it wouldn’t be long until her knees gave out. If that happened she’d be asleep before her back touched the canvas.
The Gray Lady knew all this and delighted in it. Jostling Kinloch’s head from side to side, she purred, “You slayed monsters week in and week out on that deplorable show of yours, little one. Tell me, what do you do now that you’ve encountered one that can’t be defeated by team of hackneyed NNNNGGGGHHAAAAAAAHHHH!”
Morgan hauled back her right foot just to THWHUMP a vicious punt between her attacker’s thighs. It certainly wasn’t ladylike, but it was hardly the worst thing someone had done to keep from passing out in the clutches of a sadist and Kinloch felt no qualms whatsoever. What she did feel was a savage sense of elation when she slipped her right arm through the Brit’s trembling gams and ‘hupped’ Helena up onto her right shoulder. Already halfway to shrieking themselves hoarse with incredulous delight, the sold out crowd got that much louder when Morgan looped an arm across the redhead’s lower back and cupped her other hand against the base of her neck. Feeling a bit giddy herself, the Siren of Shannon spun in a half circle, pushed onto her toes and then sat out full force to THAWHUNK Helena’s skull into the mat courtesy a thunderous Emerald Flowsion.
EMERALD FLOWSION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtQwuwf0I3Q
Graylock bounced enough to start her rolling and she didn’t stop until she’d slopped under the bottom rope and hit the floor. “YEAH!” Morgan bellowed a war cry powered by lungs drunk on oxygen. “THAT’S HOW IT’S FECKIN’ DONE!” Eager to see the results of her handiwork, Kinloch stormed the ropes, leaned over and was startled to see Helena already starting to rise, albeit far more gingerly than usual. Not deterred in the slightest, Morgan sat on the middle rope and pulled it down while simultaneously pushing up on the top rope with one hand. “ARE YE STILL HUNGRY, HELENA?” Morgan barked. “BECAUSE I GOT A WHOLE LOT MORE I CAN FEED YER SHORTCUT TAKIN’ ARSE!”
Helena regarded her with flat out hate in her eyes, but she made no move to reenter the squared circle. Instead she took a step back and pointed a finger at the brunette. “Take that spark, Morgan Kinloch. Feed it. Nurture it. LOVE it, until it’s a roaring conflagration lighting you from within. Then come find me so I can watch while the Gray eats you alive.”
“Yer precious Gray is gonna choke on my light,” Morgan promised, “and yer gonna feast on my fist.” She would’ve gone on, but Al had summoned a pack of late arriving zebras and the Irishwoman knew further conflict would’ve been pointless. So she pulled away from the ropes and took up residence in the center of the ring, looking for all the world like a winner even if the record book said otherwise.
As for the Silk Specter, she stared a hole through Morgan until the refs started to drag her away. Shrugging them loose without much effort, she rounded on one heel and stomped up the aisle. The Gray had fed well tonight, that could not be denied. But it had been denied a full meal, its dessert, if you will. For that indignity, Morgan Kinloch would suffer every torment at Helena’s disposal… and some she hadn’t dreamed up just yet.
FLOGGIN MOLLY “DEVILS DANCE FLOOR
www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSwaVvF7rdU
The Ring announcer does the introduction, “The next match is one fall with a thirty minute time limit...Introducing first she hails from Shannon Ireland…She weighs in at 147 pounds…THE Siren of Shannon…MORGAN KINLOCH!
Dressed in a Green spandex top with black Celtic cross design, black short shorts with a green Morgan scrolled on the butt. Morgan’s simple black pads and boots finish off her outfit. Before hitting the ramp though Morgan Salutes the crowd and waves her arms encouraging more noise from the FAWNatics. Heading down the ramp she gives fans along the railing high fives. Kinloch circles the entire ring making sure to hit each extended palm.
Morgan stops at one of the many signs, this fans says, “Green > Gray!” Kinloch reaches out pounding the fans shoulder, “Aye! Ye got that right, laddy.”
Rolling into the ring the former Intercontinental Champ and First EurAsian champion, looks over the crowd cheering her on. Stopping in the middle of the ring she holds her arms up crossing her wrists, the fans pop again for the brunette. Moving to her corner the Siren of Shannon waits for her chance to win a bit of revenge for herself and Meggerz.
MORGAN KINLOCH:
‘Devil’s Dance Floor’ was still fresh in the ear when a much cooler… grayer… mood took over the FAWN arena. When the speakers came to life again they offered a single low, warbling note. With this mournful sound came the fog and with the fog came an eerie ‘whooshing’ noise and everyone knew that Morgan would find whom she sought. Oblivious to the concerns of those that dwelt on its fringes, the fog flooded the stage. It crept from beneath the ring and lapped at the feet of those in the first several rows. When it was almost too thick to see through, the lights faded out and Seven Devils rose in their place.
SEVEN DEVILS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLkGKkfmgjU
Holy water cannot help you now
A thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
Holding their breath without even realizing it, the FAWNatics spotted a few soft-edged details thanks to several low spotlights that made the murk flicker and glow, not to mention the illumination thrown by the ‘tron, which showed even more churning vapors. But seeing The Gray wasn’t the issue. The Lurker in the Gray however, she was an entirely different story.
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out
I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out
A single spotlight hit the stage in time with the first chorus and there stood a tall figure in a hooded, storm gray cloak. For a moment it was still, then a hand encased in a dark red leather glove reached up and pulled the cowl back to reveal a pale skinned woman with dark eyes and a tangle of long, coppery locks.
HELENA GRAYLOCK:
Wanting nothing to do with the Destroyer‘s Destroyer, the Announcer somehow found the strength to raise his back-up mic. “And introducing her opponent hailing from Crythin Gifford, England in the United Kingdom, she stands at five feet eight inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and forty pounds, she is the Gray Lady… HELENA GRAYLOCK!”
Motionless after her initial revealing, Helena abruptly slipped the cloak from her shoulders and started down the aisle. The Gray made it quite trying to make out all the details at once, but who stared long enough learned more than they wanted. Tonight Our Lady of the Mists wore a dark gray one-piece with a wine red sash belted at the waist. Fans on the aisle thought they saw knee-high gray boots and matching elbow pads and it turned out they did, but these details weren’t confirmed until the mysterious Englishwoman climbed from the fog on the nearly obscured steel steps.
Gripping the top rope in her right hand, Graylock walked from one end of the apron to the other, the leather of her glove making and unpleasant ‘squeeeeeaaaak’ against the rubber-coated steel. Then she climbed over the ropes and went straight for Morgan only to be intercepted by recklessly brave official, Al Carpenter. “To your corner, Helena. The match will start soon enough.” He glanced over his shoulder to Morgan, who’d stepped forward as well. “You too, Morg. I need to check her pads, then ring the bell. Surely you can wait that long.” Kinloch shook her head in irritation and Helena did much the same. “I’ll tolerate your interference once, little man.” she said quietly. “But once this contest is underway I suggest you get clear and stay that way.” The Gray Lady pulled away, strode to her corner and didn’t say another word when Carpenter closed in to check her pads and boots.
Bolstered by the loud ‘MOR-GAN!’ chants coming from the crowd, Kinloch vacated her corner as soon as the bell rang and went straight for the redhead. Anyone who’d expected Graylock to make the brunette wait got a pleasant surprise when she pushed off the buckles just as quickly. This resulted in a face to face stare-down at center ring and an increased decibel level from the FAWNatics as very little got them more pumped than the prospect of two Destroyers tearing into one another.
“Made a big mistake messin’ with Meggerz like that, girlie.” Morgan told her opponent. “Shoulda just let Cynthia take ‘er beating.”
Helen was nonplussed by Kinloch’s rancor. “Cynthia Mitchell had no intention of accepting Fletcher’s challenge, she simply doesn’t have the stomach for such direct confrontation. I on the other hand am ideally suited to it, as your friend learned quite quickly once the Gray crept UUUNNNNGGGHH!”
Morgan grabbed a single handful of hair, hopped up into the air and came down in time with the Headbutt she THWHUNKED between Graylock’s eyes. Helena stumbled but didn’t go down, so Kinloch shifted her grip from the redhead’s hair to the scruff of her neck, all the better to hold her in place for the European Uppercut Morgan THWHACKED against her chin. Helena reeled away, lost her balance and it was only the timely intervention of the middle rope that kept the Briton from sprawling flat on her face.
“Ye think yer talk of ta Gray scares me, girlie?” Kinloch shouted over the roar of the crowd. “I’m from feckin’ Ireland, we know ALL ABOUT ta Gray over there. But tonight, right ‘ere in this ring ye find yerself face ta face with a tried and true representative of ta Green and I’m sorry ta tell ye this, but the Green is mightily peeved… and she wants yer arse on a plate.”
One arm hooked over the ropes, Helena wiped a gloved hand across her face, then got up and rounded on the Irishwoman. “The Green? It has tried before and its agents always fail. You will be no different, Morgan Kinloch.”
The big brunette only smirked. “I might take tat threat a little more seriously if ye weren’t bleedin’ from ta mouth already.” Graylock raised a hand to check and that’s when the former IC champ lunged in, whipped up her right leg and THUMPED a Front Kick straight into her opponent’s sternum. Helena went down flat, rolled onto her stomach, pushed up and walked straight into another sternum-shivering kick.
Bellowing with battle-lust as Graylock visited the canvas for the second time in less than a minute, Morgan wheeled around to get ready for a third shot but had to change tactics when the Englishwoman sat up. Not discomfited in the slightest, Kinloch charged and THWHACKED the heel of her boot square into her opponent’s forehead. Flattened by the fusillade of furious footwear, Graylock couldn’t stop Morgan from crashing down atop her chest in a miniature Splash, nor could she prevent the brunette from hooking her far leg for…
ONE…
Helena kicked out, which was to say, she put one hand of Morgan’s chest and another on her stomach and shoved her loose like she was the lightest of the lightweights. Startled for the briefest of moments, Kinloch scrambled to one knee and smacked both hands against the canvas. “C’mon then ye sneakin’ skagger! If it’s a fight ye’re lookin’ for, get on yer feet and show me what ye got!”
Helena did just that, not that the Siren of Shannon hung around to greet her. Instead she spun away and raced for the ropes, which she hit with a meaty ’twang!’ Coming back with an impressive head of steam, Kinloch unleashed the biggest Big Boot of them all, unfortunately Our Lady of the Mists caught it under her right arm on the upswing and pinned it tight against her torso. With the brunette hopping on one foot, Helena reached for her face, that ominous red glove blooming like a flower that would--
Morgan gripped the redhead’s wrist in both hands and squeezed hard. “Not gonna be that easy, girlie.” she grunted. “If ye want me smellin’ that ting ye’ll ’afta GUUURRRHHK!”
The Silk Specter powered through Morgan’s restraints to grasp her throat in an equally impressive vise. “You WILL go to the Gray, Morgan Kinloch,” she whispered to the gagging, wide-eyed Irishwoman, “but it will be when I choose and not a moment before.”
While her tone suggested Graylock meant to take her time in getting Morgan prepped, her actions spoke to a much hastier schedule. Dipping her knees slightly, Helena hoisted Morgan up by the throat, despite the fact that one of the brunette’s legs was still pinned against her side. Very much opposed to suffering a Choke Slam this early (or at any time, really) Kinloch leeeeeeeeeaned into the Goozle and succeeded in wrapping an arm around her attacker’s head. It was an ungainly tangle of limbs to say the least, with Morgan’s Front Facelock contending against Helena’s stranglehold and leg-trap, all while the Irishwoman was suspended well above the canvas. After several seconds where no one could tell if it’d shake out as a Spinebuster or a Choke Slam it ultimately proved neither as Graylock shoved Morgan loose, leaving the brunette to land upright a yard or so removed from her foe.
“Ye’re a strong one ye are, girlie.” Kinloch admitted as she rubbed at her sore throat. “Don’t matter ta me, though. A fight that don’t make yer blood run ‘ot can ‘ardly be called a fight, kennit?”
“On this topic we find ourselves in agreement, Morgan Kinloch.” Helena murmured. “And I for one want your blood all but boiling before I release it into the Gray.”
“If any of us stains this canvas tonight, it’ll be ye, sweet’eart. Now are ye gonna fight are ye gonna talk me gob off all nigHHHHNNNNGGGH!”
Helena reared back, dropped to one knee and PWAAAKED the fingertips of her right hand into the underside of her foe’s chin. Morgan’s head snapped back and she went down to one knee, which put her directly in front of the Gray Lady. Drawing a bead on the brunette’s dipped head, she caromed an open-handed shot off Kinloch’s cheek.
WRAITH’S WRATH @ 1:06
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SZQMjQTnHg
Morgan reeled again but didn’t go down any farther and when she turned her face to the redhead her eyes were angry slits. “That all ye’re bringin’ ta this fight, Graylock? Meggerz said ye ‘it ‘er like a freight train but from what I can tell ye--”
Helena reached for her throat again and this time the Siren of Shannon intercepted with a classic Greco-Roman Knucklelock. Acting without asking, she used the handhold to jerk Graylock into an eye-watering Headbutt and would’ve followed that with a Haymaker of her own if the Brit hadn’t mirrored Morgan’s first grip, thus completing an impromptu Test of Strength. Currently on one knee, the warring women put both put their other knee to the mat to give them better leverage as the sought to impose their will upon the other.
Waging war mouth on shoulder, brunette and redhead kept their arms stretched out at shoulder level in a rough ‘T’ shape, thus preventing her foe from rolling her hands, the traditional way to gain advantage in such a contest. “I can feel your pulse pounding, Morgan Kinloch.” Helena said after ten seconds of tense silence. “I can feel your heart racing. It’s beating against my chest like a panicked bird rushing to escape a burning room. It’s right to be afraid. It knows that the Gray has laid claim to you, body and soulLNNNNGGHHH!”
Morgan slammed her chest into Helena’s and followed it up by gouging the point of her chin into the soft hollow just beside the Brit’s right shoulder. “Keep yer feckin’ mouth shut, ‘elena Graylock,” Kinloch sneered in her foe’s ear, “unless it’s ta tell me ‘er the referee that ye can take no more!”
The Test of Strength stood at a stalemate, the grinding of bodies mesmerizing the FAWNatics. The pace was at a standstill, but the intensity was as high as any speedy interaction of flyweights. There were micro adjustments, but no attempts at release as neither woman would give up trying to enforce her will on her opponent. Fingers were white and brows sweaty, the crowd wondering with beauty would prevail, but then a unspoken mutual agreement between combatants brought the impasse to an end as they shoved apart and backed off by a few steps.
The Siren of Shannon shot forward with an arm extended only to have Graylock reach out and grab the vulnerable limb. Helena sidestepped dipped low and THUMPED her red-gloved right fist into Morgan’s armpit with a vile punch. The pain of the blow allowed Kinloch to rip her arm free, but she could only let her right arm drop to her side as she shambled toward the ropes holding her left hand against her side. Helena walked slowly behind the Celtic Warrior and murmured, “Tell me about the Green again, Morgan.”
The Silk Specter glided across the ring, caught Morgan just shy of the ropes and pulled her left arm free to whip the brunette toward the opposite set of strands. Helena followed, but only to bring them together at the mid-point of the squared circle, where Graylock drove her boot into Morgan’s stomach with a well aimed Toe Kick. Bent deep at the waist, Kinloch was helpless as Helena took her offered head and tucked it under her right arm. Seizing the Siren’s far wrist, Graylock brought her over and down with a quick Swinging Neckbreaker.
SWINGING NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHxMbUS4HPU
Morgan hit the canvas and bounced to a sitting position with arms wrapped around her throbbing head. Beside her, Helena rolled onto one knee, then grabbed Kinloch by the shoulders and her forced her down to the canvas where Graylock applied a Crossbody Pin with the far leg hooked for good measure. The referee was quick into his spot, and it only took a instant to verify that Morgan’s shoulders were indeed down.
ONE…
Much as Our Lady of Mist had done to her, the Celtic Crusher sent the Englishwoman rolling, Helena ejected from her pin attempt as if she weighed no more a Cosette LeBlanc or a Cherry Bomb. Kinloch made it to her feet at the same time as Graylock, but the tiniest bit behind as Helena was set to throw a big right at the brunette’s head. That was the plan at least, but Morgan caught the arm under hers and locked it up. Helena proceeded to compound her problems by trying the same clubbing blow with her other hand, and having Morgan catch that one as well.
With both arms under her control the brawny Irishwoman looked at her foe and smirked, “Yer goin ta wish ye was mist.”
The Siren of Shannon began hammering her forehead into Graylock’s chest over and over, each Headbutt producing a loud ‘THUD’ and accompanying groan from Helena. Our Lady of Mist’s knees began to buckle under the onslaught, but Morgan didn’t relent. After nearly a dozen blows Morgan unhooked her arms and drew Graylock into a Front Facelock. Morgan reached down, grabbed the back of Helena’s knee and pulled her into a Fisherman’s cradle. The green and black clad battler then twisted hard, taking the Englishwoman over with a similar Neckbreaker, but with an Irish twist.
FISHERMANS NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=15pIXfXLKvI
The FAWNatics erupted as Morgan popped up to her feet after hitting the move, but then the boos took over as Helena slithered under the bottom rope. Kinloch complained to the referee about Helena’s strategic break but never took her eyes from the redhead, who was staring daggers at her from the outside. After a moment Helena was apparently satisfied because she turned away and started toward the steel steps. Rather than wait for the official to do his job, Morgan rushed the apron, reached down over the ropes and grabbed a handful of Helena’s braid.
The Siren of Shannon had the Silk Specter nearly up when Graylock reached back and caught Morgan’s noggin. Kinloch recognized the trap a second too late and Helena dropped to the floor, pulling her rival’s throat down across the top rope. The slingshot sent Morgan flying backward into the ring as she clutched at her windpipe trying to help ease the air back down. Graylock turned, climbed back onto the ring apron and stood admiring her work for a moment before reentering the ring.
The referee bought Morgan a little time as he blocked Helena off as soon as she’s over the ropes. “Stay in the ring Helena and lay off the ropes.”
The Gray Lady merely pushed by and headed for the winded Irish lass. Helena put her left boot on Morgan’s right ankle, then started to kick and stomp on Kinloch’s inner thigh, the blows coming so quick that the referee missed the few that founf Kinloch’s trunks instead of her thigh. Morgan wailed at the Low Blows, yet the jolt that accompanied them were what allowed her to pull her leg free and thus butt scoot to the corner to try and get back to her feet with the aid of the ropes.
The brunette succeeded in her return to verticality, alas she got no time to test her aching thigh before Graylock stormed into the breach and wrapped both hands around her throat. Startled by the other woman’s willingness to attack with a blatant Stranglehold, Morgan pushed at Helena’s chin for a second or two and when that didn’t work she grabbed hold of the Englishwoman’s wrists and squeezed as hard as she could. Graylock grimaced at the pressure, then shrugged it off and forced her way in tummy to tummy, all the better to bend Kinloch’s upper body backward over the top rope.
From his angle Al thought the two were going at it in a Collar & Elbow, it wasn’t until the FAWNatics started in with the boos that he picked up the pace and identified the infraction. Wagering it’d been going on too long anyway, the ref barked, “Break it up, Helena! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”
She let loose of Morgan’s throat, whirled around and stepped to within inches of Carpenter all in a matter of heartbeats. “Mind your tone, little man.” Helena said quietly. Those stripes aren’t nearly enough to make you immune from the Gray.”
Al was trying to formulate a brave-ish response when Kinloch rasped, “Ye got bigger problems than zebra, girlie. Fight’s over here.”
Graylock looked to her, raised her gloved hand and tugged the leather the tiniest bit tighter. “Offering you to the Gray is hardly a problem, Morgan Kinloch. In fact I’d venture so far as to say it brings me distinct pleaSUURRGGGHH!”
Morgan stepped out and PWAAAKED the evil bytch’s jaw with a straight right jab that snapped her head back at a sharp angle. Too busy to apologize to Carpenter for the closed fist at the moment, she stuffed her hands into Helena’s armpits, then twisted her hips and tossed her into the buckles with a low ‘BWUUUNG!’ This she immediately followed with a stiff Back Elbow that slammed hard into her foe’s jaw-line. Leaning heavily against the stunned woman, Morgan looked over one shoulder and flashed Al a smile. “Sorry ‘bout tat.” she told him. “Din’t mean ta interrupt before ye could give’er a piece of yer mind.”
The official raised his hands and took a step back. “By all means, interrupt as often as you’d like.” That sounded like a rock solid endorsement to Kinloch, so she put her left hand against Helena’s chest and pushed herself to arm’s length. “Ye got some pretty heavy hands fer a creature of mists and vapors, but it ain’t nothin’ compared to te force of te Green.”
To prove it she balled her right hand into a fist and bounced if off Graylock’s chin with a looping Haymaker. The follow through took Morgan’s hand almost all the way to her left shoulder, so she flattened it into a paddle and brought it ‘whicking’ back with a Knife-Edge Chop that CRAAACKED her rival’s chest. The Silk Specter snarled, surged forward and ate another Haymaker for the efforts. This was followed by a second Knife-Edge Chop and then a third full set of both.
Kinloch landed more than a dozen blows in all and was just getting started when Carpenter cleared his throat. “That’s enough Morgan, these people paid to see you both use the whole ring, so get her out of the corner.”
The brawny Irishwoman’s lips turned down in a faux pout. “All right, but only because I like ye.” Latching on to Graylock’s right wrist, Kinloch stepped away from the buckles, dropped her hips and slung the Britton across the NO! Helena dug in her heels to stop the Irish Whip dead and immediately THWHACKED a Big Boot into her opponent’s face. Twisted around by the force of it, Morgan slopped forward and would’ve gone down full force if she hadn’t landed in the buckles chest-first.
Though she was quite pleased by the defenseless landscape of the Irishwoman’s back, Helena limited herself to a single blow, a vicious hook she THWHUMPED home a little bit above Kinloch’s right hip. Morgan shouted in anguish and promptly devoted all resources to dealing with the nauseating pain, meaning she had nothing in the way of defense when Helena dipped her head under the wounded woman’s left arm. Gripping Morgan around the waist and at the right thigh for leverage, Graylock prized her out of the corner, then ‘hupped’ her up onto the point of one shoulder. What could’ve been an Atomic Drop, Backdrop Suplex or any of a dozen other maneuvers took on far more ominous implications when Helena stepped in again and set Morgan in a slumped seat on the top turnbuckle.
Not liking these developments in the slightest, Al got as close as he dared before warning, “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her, Helena. Get it out of the corner and make it fast.”
Helena fixed him with a cool, detached look. “I’m not the one who forced Kinloch into her current predicament. But if extricating her from it will shut your mouth, I’ll do so posthaste.”
The ref thought there was an agreement packed in alongside the insult, so he said nothing when Graylock ascended to the high rent district. With her right shoulder pointed toward Morgan’s back and that foot mounted on the top rope, Helena curled her right arm around the Siren’s throat and pulled back until the base of Kinloch’s neck was braced against the meat of her thigh. Glaring down into her rival’s flushed face, Graylock purred, “Your followers have failed you. Your skills have failed you. And now your precious Green abandons you when you need it the most. Can you not see your destiny, Morgan Kinloch? Forsake all other loyalties and join me in the heart of the GrYNNNNGGGHH!”
Morgan jabbed her right elbow back, stuffing it into the redhead’s ribs. Far too devoted to let her prey escape that easily, Graylock shrugged off the blow and pulled the brunette’s head a little “NGH!” The Siren of Shannon hit her a second time. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth. The sixth finally removed Helena’s arm from her throat and the seventh connected with the Englishwoman’s chin instead of her side. Understandably stunned, Helena reared back, lost her balance and toppled to the canvas several feet below.
Breathing hard after the narrow escape, Kinloch looked over her shoulder and discovered Graylock was flat on her back. “Oi don’t normally venture tis high,” she muttered to no one in particular, “but seein’ as how ye were kind enough ta do te heavy liftin’ fer me…” She clambered into a weary crouch on the top turnbuckle, swung around in a laborious half circle and rose to her full height just as Helena started to stir. “PUT YER HANDS TOGETHER FOLKS!” Morgan called to the capacity crowd. “LETS LET LITTLE RED RIDIN’ HOOD KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TA GIRLS WHO ANGER TE GREEN!”
Oblivious to the increased noise and the doom that lurked on her six, Graylock got to her feet and turned around at precisely the moment Morgan dove off the top with her right arm extended for a Flying Clothesline. Reacting on instinct rather than thought, Our Lady of the Mists spread her arms in a wide ‘C’, stepped toward the inbound Irishwoman and plucked her from the void. Then she twisted into Morgan’s momentum to make sure they were both moving full speed when she laid out on her tummy. There was a murderous THAWHAM followed by a stunned ‘OOOOOOOHHHHH!’ from the FAWNatics as Helena plastered Morgan to the canvas with an emphatic Snap Power Slam.
Bouncing onto her knees immediately thereafter, Graylock eschewed her usual domineering cover in favor of a basic cradle, one that used every bit of her near hundred and fifty pounds to keep Morgan down for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
The Celtic Crusher kicked loose with a half tic to spare, though it should go without saying that this escape lacked the snappy strength of her previous efforts. Taking a moment to steady her breath, Helena tightened the red glove, then murmured, “You are a stronger quarry than most, Morgan Kinloch. But with every second you are farther removed from the Green and deeper and deeper into the Gray.”
The FAWNatics began to chant ‘MOR-GAN!’ again to offer support as the wounded brunette rubbed a hand over her face, trying to clear the fog that had indeed formed in her brain. Helena dug the crimson talon into Kinloch’s sweat matted hair and hauled her back to verticality. Switching from hair to wrist, Graylock whips Morgan into the near ropes, then kicked her foot up to chin level and caught the Irish lass as her back left the cables. The Big Boot sent Morgan spilling backward and she tumbled through the ropes and bounced off the ring apron before landing in a heap on the floor.
Al quickly moved between Graylock and the ropes. “Give her a chance to catch her breath, Helena.”
Surprisingly Helena held up her arms as if admitting the tumble through the ropes was unintentional. Carpenter watches a moment as the Englishwoman slowly backed to the center of the squared circle. Al turned to check his other charge but a sudden cry from the crowd told him he needed to get out of the way. He did and just in time, as Helena barreled by at top speed. On the outside, Morgan got to her feet but she was bent over with her hands on her knees, meaning she didn’t see it when the Silk Specter cleared the top rope by a good foot and turned over in the air coming down back to back with the Siren of Shannon.
The crowd marked out in spite of themselves as Helena showed heretofore unknown high flying skills with the Somersault Plancha. With Morgan crumpled beside her, Graylock stayed on the thinly padded concrete after the dive to catch her breath and savor the worried murmur of the crowd. Back in the ring, Al leaned over the ropes to check on the human wreckage below. After a moment he concluded that neither was in serious trouble and thus he raised one hand and started to count both women out.
The extra time was all that Helena needed, as a matter of fact she was getting to her feet before Al reached ’TWO!’ Graylock raised her right hand and pulled the red glove tight again. The Silk Specter stood over Morgan for the briefest of moments, then reached down and clasped Kinloch by the throat again. Lifting the Siren of Shannon to her feet Helena maintained on to her Chokehold and reached for Morgan’s hip clearly looking for a Choke Slam on to the arena floor.
The Celtic Crushers eyes bulged but Morgan kept her wits and brought her arm slamming down on Helena’s elbow to break the Goozle. Kinloch let out a roar and plowed into the redhead Brit, driving her spine-first into the ring apron. Helena’s head tossed back in anguish as the unpadded edge dug into her back. Still felling the affects of the Gray, Morgan leaned against her foe and sucked wind.
From the ring Carpenter called out “SEVEN!”
Morgan straightened to her full height and cupped the back of Helena’s head in her left hand, while her right lanced up and across the Brit’s jaw line. Graylock’s noggin snaps back as the European Uppercut Kinloch called the Shillelagh nearly decapitated her. Morgan rolled into the ring after that, trusting that her foe will be lost in her own fog for the time she needed. Al patted her shoulder when she stood up. “I know you didn’t start it Morgan, but keep it in the ring.”
By way of answer Morgan reached out between the ropes for a double handful of sweat soaked red locks and pulled Helena up onto the apron. Kinloch navigated the ropes to get Graylock standing on the apron facing the FAWNatics, who cheered loudly as they suspected what was about to happen. The Siren of Shannon hung Helena’s arms over the top rope before reaching around cupping Graylock’s chin and pulling her head back over into the ring. “Ye ‘ear it ‘elena?” she asked the trapped battler. “It’s the sound of the Green war drums.”
With that she started pounding away on the Celtic Drum that was Helena’s chest. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
The crowd picked up the count for Morgan as she hammered at Helena’s décolletage, ‘FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE!....TEN!’
Helena nearly fell to the floor but Morgan held on and guided her back into the ring as Carpenter chastised her for the tactics. Vertical but weary, Graylock was slouched in the ropes when Morgan grabbed a wrist and slung her across the ring with an Irish Whip. The Silk Specter raced towards the opposite strands with Morgan following hot on her heels. Alas the expected collision never happened though as Our Lady of the Mists turned as elusive as her name and disappeared right before the big Clothesline from Kinloch hit.
Instead of just sprinting on, Helena pivoted on a dime and when the Irish lass turned she’s greeted with a boot to the navel. In the next instant she Graylock wrapped her arms around Morgan’s waist and lifted her high only to bring her down crotch-first atop her posted knee. Painful as it was, the Inverted Atomic Drop, was just the first step as Helena rose and dragged Kinloch along for the ride. Instead of dropping her for a second trunk busting impact, Helena turned a one-eighty and fell backward to drop Morgan’s throat on the top rope, thus completing the pair of moves she called Silk Dawn.
Morgan was lashed backward into the ring, her arms splayed at her sides until she hit the canvas. Then they rose to her throat to tend to her burning windpipe, but that became the least of her problems when Helena dropped down across her chest for the…
ONE…
TWO…
NO!
In her haste to secure the victory Helena had failed to hook either of Kinloch’s legs and it proved costly as the brawny Irishwoman kicked out less than a second shy of defeat. Frustration flashed across Graylock’s features and to deal with it she did what any reasonable person in her situation would have. She wrapped a hand around the brunette’s throat and startled throttling the life out of her.
Already short of breath thanks to the Hot Shot, Morgan fought wildly against the Stranglehold, wrapping both hands around her attacker’s chokin’ wrist and squeezing until any normal woman would’ve yowled with pain. But Helena Graylock was no one’s idea of normal and she continued to bear down on Morgan’s windpipe until the referee barked, “That’s enough, Helena! Get off her throat right now! ONE! TWO! THREE!”
The Gray Lady pushed to her feet and hauled Morgan to hers, making the whole thing look effortless despite the fact that her foe was nearly a hundred and fifty pounds. Breaking the hold once they were vertical, Helena CRAAACKED a dismissive slap across the former television star’s face, then wrapped that wicked leather mitt around her neck and proceeded to squeeze that much harder.
“Dammit Helena, I’m warning you!” Carpenter said at once. “Knock off that choking shyt or I’ll--”
Helena TWHUMPED a Kneelift into the pit of Kinloch’s stomach to put her on her knees before she rounded on the official. “Or you’ll what?” she asked him softly. “Tell me, you skinny little man. Just what threat could you unleash that holds any merit here in the Gray?”
Al worked very hard not to take a few steps back. He might’ve had a good four inches on the mysterious Englishwoman but there was something about those dark eyes that made it nearly impossible not to flinch. “Just obey my commands, that’s all. And keep off her throat. You’re better than that.”
Helena sniffed and almost smirked. “Meaningless distinctions in my realm, little man. In the Gray there is no good and there is no evil. There are only survivors… and victims.”
‘Victims’ was still on her lips when she gripped Kinloch’s throat a third time and dragged her back to boot leather. Cracking a genuine grin as she looked into Morgan’s wide, worried eyes, the redhead added, “As you can see, I am the former and Morgan is the la--” The Siren of Shannon snatched a huge handful of Graylock’s ponytail with her left hand, then cranked her right arm all the way back and proceeded to turn the Silk Specter inside out with a Blackout Lariat that THWHACKED across her chest like a baseball bat wrapped in velvet.
BLACKOUT LARIAT @ 1:12
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lko3DbY5D9M
Dropped to one knee by the power of her own strike, Morgan had to put one hand against the mat to keep herself from crumpling out in a breathless sprawl. Anger returned in time with the oxygen and after several long seconds, Kinloch grabbed hold of Graylock at hip and shoulder and tugged her onto her back. She was about to lean across for a pin when Helena sat up without making a sound.
Genuinely surprised by the Briton’s resurgence, Morgan drilled her to the mouth with a hard Forearm Smash and followed it up with half a dozen across the chest as soon as her back touched the canvas again. “Didn’t think ter was any way in hell ye were as tough as ye claim,” the brunette admitted while scraping her rival off the mat, “but it takes a special kinda hardcase to scrape themselves off the mat after I put ‘em down with a Lariat.” Morgan switched over to a Wristlock and leaned in close so she could address the woozy warrior face to face. “Unfortunately for ye, I’m the hardest hardcase in the land.”
Graylock started to mutter something so Kinloch stepped back, dropped a shoulder and slung her toward the far corner with as much force as she could muster. Judging by the sick BWUUUNG when Helena hit the buckles spine-first, it was a great deal of force indeed. Reduced to a slow motion caricature of her usual self, Our Lady of the Mists staggered out of the corner to either rejoin the battle or possibly escape from it entirely. Alas, Morgan had no intention of letting that happen which was why she rushed in full force and CRUSHED her rival back against the thinly-padded steel with a hellacious Avalanche Splash.
AVALANCHE SPLASH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FC3Pbhn7b6g
Instead of backing off to let Graylock flop flat on her face, Kinloch mounted the second rope and wrapped a couple lengths of copper ponytail around her left hand. That she used to crank the Englishwoman’s neck back at a sharp angle, which gave her an excellent idea of which areas needed immediate attention from her knuckles. “I done a lot of talkin’ about the Green tonight, Helena Graylock. But I have another favorite worth mentioning. It’s red. And I mean to beat it out of ye right feckin’ now.”
Sure enough her right hand came down like a piston, Morgan’s knuckles just gouging into Graylock’s forehead. Kinloch would’ve sworn she meant to hop down when the FAWNatics reached ‘TEN!’ but she’d flown by that signpost in no time at all and so she kept right on going. ‘TWENTY!’ came and went sooner than later and yet Helena refused to bleed so Morgan refused to stop.
‘THIRTY!’ was very close indeed when Al Carpenter wrapped an arm around the big brunette’s waist and hauled her off the mount, much to the crowd’s displeasure. Ignoring them in favor of his charge, he said, “If she hadn’t tried to strangle you earlier I would’ve disqualified your ass. You were past five on my count about ten seconds ago. Now get a hold of yourself, I need to check to make sure you didn’t give her a concussion.”
Morgan just frowned, she was still deep in her Helena hate. “I’ll give ye the same five seconds ye gave me, Carpenter. Then I’m comin’ in swingin’.”
Al didn’t answer, he’d hurried over to Helena, who was inspecting her bruised forehead with one hand and holding onto the ropes with another. “Hey Helena, would you mind moving your hand?” the ref asked. She did and he was amazed to see several deep scrapes, but no blood whatsoever. “Well you’re not bleeding at least. How are you feeling otherwise? Do you need me to call for the WHOAH!”
Helena had followed the zebra’s asinine directions so she could keep an eye on Morgan without Carpenter getting suspicious. Behind him, Kinloch started toward the corner and from the look in her eyes Graylock knew she wasn’t worried about a disqualification. Thinking fast and acting faster, she snatched Carpenter by the collar of his striped shirt and shoved him back into the oncoming battler. Quick as ever despite the punishment she’d taken, Morgan grabbed Al by the shoulders and shunted him aside without missing a beat. It did slow her down the tiniest bit though and that was all the opening Helena needed.
Exploding out of the corner, she swung around behind the Siren and snaked her left arm around Morgan’s throat. Her other hand cupped Kinloch’s head to secure the Sleeper and then she laid out on her tummy, dropping to the canvas full force to SLAM Morgan spine-first against the canvas with the Silver Wraith. Morgan bounced to a seat and curled both arms around her aching skull, seemingly oblivious to anything other than trying to keep her brains from leaking out her ears.
SILVER WRAITH @ 00:04
www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJpj_VjLyvI
Helena on the other hand had something quite different in mind and she set those plans in motion by palming Kinloch’s head in her hands. Jerking the Irishwoman to her feet in a single yank, Graylock crouched down, stuffed her head between Morgan’s thighs and boosted her onto her shoulders, Electric Chair style. While Helena had made a name for herself with an almost preternaturally methodical style, she looked downright speedy as she slipped her right arm free of Kinloch’s dangling gam. From there she reached up, cupped the back of Morgan’s neck and pulled her down into a compressed ‘C’ shape. The Irishwoman wasn’t even aware of the danger of her perch until Graylock swung her forward and sat out, thus THWHUMPING Kinloch down on the back of her head and neck.
SILVER TWILIGHT RITUAL:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5L4pN-CzYcQ
Silver Twilight Ritual complete, Helena kept the brunette’s left leg hooked in a tight matchbook and leaaaaaaaned back, keeping Morgan folded in half while the ref counted…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
Secure in her victory, Graylock tossed her opponent’s captured stem and was on her feet as the Announcer confirmed, “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via pin-fall… HELENA GRAYLOCK!”
Helena smoothed out the frayed edges of her braid, then tugged at the bottom edge of her glove to make sure it was skin-tight. Al came over during these adjustments and started to reach for her hand only to draw back when the Brit fixed him with a baleful stare. “The Gray is almost sated for this evening, little man.” she told him quietly. “Your services will no longer be required.”
Carpenter’s instincts demanded that he bail, but he wasn’t about to leave a defenseless wrestler alone in the ring, not after what’d happened to Jenny. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Al replied, “Go on and take your lap, Helena. I need to check on Morgan.”
Helena’s lips curled like charring paper, a smile Carpenter didn’t like in the slightest. “I believe you have our roles reversed. You take a lap, I’ll check on this so called emissary of the Green.”
With that she turned her back on him, reached down and ‘SMECKED!’ that leather-sheathed mitt firmly atop Kinloch’s stunned mug. Morgan only stirred slightly at first, but that changed when Graylock grabbed a hold of her trunks at the hip and used both hooks to yank the woozy Irishwoman to a semblance of spaghetti-legged verticality. Cheering the dazzling display of strength despite themselves, the FAWNatics when Helena bore down on the Iron Claw with enough force to earn a muffled scream from Kinloch.
“Yes,” the redhead’s voice was a sibilant hiss, “scream out everything you have left, Morgan Kinloch. Feed it to the Gray and I will return you to your precious green as nothing more than a husk.”
Leaning into the hateful witch to help keep herself upright, the brunette gripped Graylock’s wrist in one hand and pounded at her forearm with the other in a valiant attempt to break the Palm Smother. It proved no use, Helena’s grip was too strong and Morgan was too winded. She could feel the strength siphoning out of her by the second and she knew it wouldn’t be long until her knees gave out. If that happened she’d be asleep before her back touched the canvas.
The Gray Lady knew all this and delighted in it. Jostling Kinloch’s head from side to side, she purred, “You slayed monsters week in and week out on that deplorable show of yours, little one. Tell me, what do you do now that you’ve encountered one that can’t be defeated by team of hackneyed NNNNGGGGHHAAAAAAAHHHH!”
Morgan hauled back her right foot just to THWHUMP a vicious punt between her attacker’s thighs. It certainly wasn’t ladylike, but it was hardly the worst thing someone had done to keep from passing out in the clutches of a sadist and Kinloch felt no qualms whatsoever. What she did feel was a savage sense of elation when she slipped her right arm through the Brit’s trembling gams and ‘hupped’ Helena up onto her right shoulder. Already halfway to shrieking themselves hoarse with incredulous delight, the sold out crowd got that much louder when Morgan looped an arm across the redhead’s lower back and cupped her other hand against the base of her neck. Feeling a bit giddy herself, the Siren of Shannon spun in a half circle, pushed onto her toes and then sat out full force to THAWHUNK Helena’s skull into the mat courtesy a thunderous Emerald Flowsion.
EMERALD FLOWSION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtQwuwf0I3Q
Graylock bounced enough to start her rolling and she didn’t stop until she’d slopped under the bottom rope and hit the floor. “YEAH!” Morgan bellowed a war cry powered by lungs drunk on oxygen. “THAT’S HOW IT’S FECKIN’ DONE!” Eager to see the results of her handiwork, Kinloch stormed the ropes, leaned over and was startled to see Helena already starting to rise, albeit far more gingerly than usual. Not deterred in the slightest, Morgan sat on the middle rope and pulled it down while simultaneously pushing up on the top rope with one hand. “ARE YE STILL HUNGRY, HELENA?” Morgan barked. “BECAUSE I GOT A WHOLE LOT MORE I CAN FEED YER SHORTCUT TAKIN’ ARSE!”
Helena regarded her with flat out hate in her eyes, but she made no move to reenter the squared circle. Instead she took a step back and pointed a finger at the brunette. “Take that spark, Morgan Kinloch. Feed it. Nurture it. LOVE it, until it’s a roaring conflagration lighting you from within. Then come find me so I can watch while the Gray eats you alive.”
“Yer precious Gray is gonna choke on my light,” Morgan promised, “and yer gonna feast on my fist.” She would’ve gone on, but Al had summoned a pack of late arriving zebras and the Irishwoman knew further conflict would’ve been pointless. So she pulled away from the ropes and took up residence in the center of the ring, looking for all the world like a winner even if the record book said otherwise.
As for the Silk Specter, she stared a hole through Morgan until the refs started to drag her away. Shrugging them loose without much effort, she rounded on one heel and stomped up the aisle. The Gray had fed well tonight, that could not be denied. But it had been denied a full meal, its dessert, if you will. For that indignity, Morgan Kinloch would suffer every torment at Helena’s disposal… and some she hadn’t dreamed up just yet.