Post by SammieSinclair on Mar 8, 2015 19:48:40 GMT
With the crowd understanding not one but two golden belts will be on the line next, an expectant murmur of the crowd rolls through the arena. But when Madame Anciline deCyr walks to center stage, the assembled bring the hate with every iota of their lung capacity. Anci waits patiently for silence and only when it comes does the French aristocrat pull a microphone to her lips.
Anciline de Cyr...
“Madames and monsieurs. Please welcome the team destined to be the next FAWN Tag Team Champions.”
The crowd lets loose with an unrelenting torrent of boos so deCyr raises her voice to overcome the rabble, but after a brief attempt, she instead motions to her left.
The noise only grows when Le Bien Qui Fait Mal (The Good Thing That Hurts) signals the arrival of tonight’s title challengers.
(“LE BIEN QUI FAIT MAL”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6R770P9wl0 )
As deCyr strides toward the ring, her movements containing a regal bearing, a tiny brunette and her larger, blonde and heavily mascared counterpart take the place of the woman who is not only a FAWN heavyweight in the front office but the manager of the dynamic women behind her. The crowd can smell the conflict of interest all around them, but most seem unwilling to get in the face of Madame deCyr regarding it.
Above and behind, the dark-haired French turncoat sets herself center stage, button nose firmly in the air. She gives her long dark locks a ferocious shake. Next to her, the Creole wild child from the bayou, bobs and weaves with a wide, predatory grin.
The Frenchwoman provides the assembled an international, one-fingered salute. The chocolate-colored strands of the one-time Riviera apartment house wrestler bouncing to and fro when she bounces confidently toward the squared circle. Always a kinetic ball of energy, Cozy remains an enigmatic one as well, one everyone in the house knows will use any means necessary to get what she wants…LA VICTOIRE!
Beside LeBlanc, her partner “plays” with the FAWNatics, reaching out before pulling away her hand, barking at anyone who gives her lip and feigning slaps and punches at the more aggressive. As the women reach the ring, the PA blares to life…
“Tonight’s next contest is one fall, has a 30-minute time limit, and is for the FAWN tag team championship. Managed by La Premiere Madame Anciline deCyr, standing 5 feet 2 inches tall, weighing in at a 101 pounds from Nice, France, Cosette LeBlanc. And from Natchitoches, Louisiana, standing 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighing in at 113 pounds, Modeste Reaux. Together they are French Kiss!”
Cosette LeBlanc...
Modeste Reaux...
The deuxsome traipse up the ring steps and take turns sliding through the ropes, joining deCyr. Cosette is clad in a skin-tight, metallic, cherry-red sports bra and boy-cut trunks with black boots and knee pads. Modeste is dressed in a purple bustier with a black laced panel front, ruffled attached micro-skirt, black garters and stockings with lace trim, finished off with black stiletto heels. She shuffles off the footwear and kicks them to the floor.
While Cosette scowls at the noisy throng, shaking her head. Modeste plays to the more lascivious in the crowd. Anciline holds a microphone waiting for the team’s accompaniment and the crowd’s jeers to fade.
deCyr makes her full address in French, driving the Orlando crowd to distraction and raucous boos. Both Cosette and Modeste chuckle at some of the comments, drawing furious verbal reprisals from the clueless FAWNatics.
“And,” Anciline concludes, only now using English, “please send the Pop Guns down for their final misfire.”
deCyr moves to the ropes, hands over her microphone, and heads to her station below the Kiss corner to await the champions, leaving Cosette and Modeste to remove the gold from the twin powerhouses.
“And now,” the announcer resumes, “introducing the tag team champions... Weighing in tonight at a total combined weight of two-hundred and sixty-eight pounds… Becky Clayton and Roxie McCrimmon… Ladies and gentlemen, together, they are… THE BIIIGGG GUUUNNNSSS!!!”
For a team with that name, there’s only one song that can mark their arrival. And sure enough, within moments, the FAWN Arena speakers begin to pump out AC/DC--in this instance, “Big Gun”. Not long after that, two of FAWN’s hardest hardbodies emerge at the top of the ramp, the reigning and defending tag team champions of the world receiving a tremendous roar of approval from the sellout crowd.
(“BIG GUN”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=a82cNcjw3iw )
Becky Clayton...
Roxie McCrimmon...
The Army of One Hot Chick sports what has now become her trademark ensemble. Having forsaken her standard one-piece after it been all but shredded by a certain Tennessee Terror, she has transitioned to a camouflage two piece with tie-sided bottoms and an eye catching ladder / double helix of lycra that runs from the center of her waistband all the way up to the bottom of her cups. She finishes it off with matching forest green pads and boots, though thanks to the artillery above, they could’ve been pink with yellow floral print and no one would’ve noticed.
The Beantown Bombshell, on the other hand, is clearly adorned in a different set of togs than her customary solo wear, though they are at least partially obscured by her usual Celtics jersey—tonight’s a green seven. What can be seen below the hem of the Jared Sullinger uni is an extreme rarity in FAWN: pants. Well, “pants” is probably overstating matters. While it’s true that McCrimmon’s inner thighs are covered by shiny, camouflage patterned fabric, her outer legs are left bare save for a one-inch strap at the knee.
Each woman sports her championship strap slung over a shoulder--Becky’s right and Roxie’s left.
When Clayton has given the fans enough time to voice their appreciation, Becky starts her way down to the ring at a quick pace--but still taking the time to slap as many of the outstretched hands as she could reach. Roxanne follows alongside, doing her best to ensure that none of the front row fans are left out from the hand-slapping festivities. Ascending the steps, the Army of One Hot Chick slips through the ropes and headed straight for a far corner, hopping up onto the middle turnbuckle and snapping off a crisp salute to the roaring masses. McCrimmon races to the opposite corner, springing onto the middle buckle herself and pumping a fist—drawing a rousing cheer of her own.
From her perch, Roxie slips her fingers inside the hem of her jersey and pulls it overhead, revealing two more one-inch straps on the “pants”—one at mid-thigh and the other the waist—and a similarly camouflaged halter that leaves plenty of washboard stomach bared. Backed up by a whole platoon of her very own Howling Commandos, Becky drops down from her perch and turns to watch the enemy corner. Giving her partner a supportive slap on the shoulder, Roxie McCrimmon departs the ring, taking up station in the Big Guns corner.
French Kiss turn to Madame deCyr as one and receive their marching orders, though it is only Modeste marching out of the ring, leaving the diminutive brunette to face the unenviable task of not only finding a way to get Clayton down, but keeping her there. As the bell rings, LeBlanc seems less then enthusiastic. While she had eventually become a menace against opponents her size and perhaps a little bigger, LeBlanc is left how to devise a way to bludgeon a tank with a wiffle bat. Cozy circles out of the corner, playing defense immediately, shooting feints but doing little else.
Clayton does much the same as she circles her challenger, flashing her arms out briefly, only to draw them back. Just as LeBlanc understands she lacks the firepower to slug it out with the Big Gun, Becky is fully cognizant that the waterbug has plenty enough agility to make her pay, should the Army of One Hot Chick attempt a hasty charge. "Hey," Becky says with a sly grin, "you wanna play paddycake all night? I got time. Remember, Cozy--you two HAVE to beat US. Not the other way around."
"Which weel not be a problem you bumbleeng oaf," LeBlanc growls, poodle to doberman. Cosette races to the ropes behind her and returns in a sprint, launching into a dropkick to Becky's bosom, the GI brushes the attack aside. Clayton reaches for LeBlanc, but Cosette scrambles away. Immediately, she heads for the ropes again to regain some momentum and vault toward Becky, right forearm drawn to lay a shot to Clayton's chest and start the process of chopping down the tree.
LeBlanc's forearm blast meets with a little more success, rocking the army brat back on her heels... but NOT taking her down. Still, seeing something that worked, the tiny Frenchwoman goes back to the well, pounding away at Becky's chest. And while she keeps the Army of One Hot Chick on the retreat, Clayton's feet still remain fixed to the mat. Eventually, she gets Becky backed into the ropes, and Cosette snatches a wrist, planning to launch her with an Irish whip...
But Clayton latches on to the top rope. Gritting her teeth, LeBlanc tries again...
... still with no luck, Becky "tut-tut"ing the waterbug. A THIRD yank finally dislodges the champ--but instead of shooting toward the opposite ropes, Clayton charges toward HER, fast, her arm raised for an abbreviated clothesline.
LeBlanc ducks beneath the effort, Becky's scythe-like limb skidding over her noggin. The former Huggable spins through a 180 quicker than the swinging-and-missing Clayton can manage and LeBlanc shoots three swift soccer kicks to Clayton's right hammy. One final stomp to the back of the wincing Clayton's knee finally sends Becky to genuflecting. LeBlanc quickly collects the head of the lowered champ in a front facelock and, with perfect pearlies gritting, tries to throw her bodyweight in reverse and startle everyone in the arena short of the family deCyr with a DDT on the Army of One Hot Chick.
With Becky already on one knee and just that much closer to the canvas, Cosette doesn't have as much problem yanking Clayton down as she might have with the army brat standing. The champion's penitent positioning also gives LeBlanc the opportunity for a much quicker throw back and fall than she might otherwise have had against a destroyer class beauty. All of which adds up to the improbable happening, and the first skirmish of this championship war going to the seemingly out-gunned (no pun intended) challengers. Becky is left sprawled on her belly, both arms moving to wrap around her battered skull.
Cosette scampers to her feet and flips into a somersaulting senton across Becky's back. Clayton arches from the impact and LeBlanc is instantly off again. Knowing she has to keep Clayton down, but seemingly unaware how she's going to do it, LeBlanc heads for the Kiss corner and tags in the bigger blonde of the duo. Modeste slides through. She's hardly a huge upgrade size-wise, but she moves to the champ, grabs a wrist, and tugs Clayton to her feet. Already aware Cozy is on her way to the top of the Kiss corner, ready to launch into a missile dropkick when the she sends the GI racing toward the the Gallic waterbug, the racoon-eyed blonde tries to buggywhip Becky in her partner's direction.
But the Army of One Hot Chick digs in her heels, and reverses the whip. Instead of being sent charging into enemy territory, it ends up being Modeste sent sprinting into her own corner, as fast as her impossibly long legs could carry her. From her perch on the top turnbuckle, Cosette LeBlanc has only an instant to react, and in that time, she opts to call off the air support for her partner. So Reaux does not become a victim of friendly fire, which is the good news for French Kiss. The bad news is that the impact of the blonde Creole's back striking the buckles causes LeBlanc's feet to slip out from under her, and Cozy winds up crotched behind her partner. Barely noticing LeBlanc's flight, Becky takes off toward the Kiss corner, hoping to crush Modeste under an avalanche of GI hardbody.
With Reaux shaken by the impact of back to buckles and an anguished LeBlanc riding an intrusive wire, deCyr bows her head, not wanting to see the further results. It's an excellent choice as Clayton CRASHES upon her kin, BURYING the Cajun under hardbody soldier. Becky bounces off the compacted blonde and lets Modeste stumble by. Reaux loses contact with the canvas and takes a header into the center of the ring. Back in the corner, a wide-mouthed Cozy starts to timber to her right, still frozen, her body on her way to thumping against the apron on her way down to the floor, but Clayton intervenes.
The Army of One Hot Chick takes a moment to steady the slumping Cosette on the top turnbuckle, then climbs onto the middle rope. As she wraps an arm around LeBlanc's neck, Becky takes one quick glance over her shoulder, and spies Modeste beginning to work her way up to her hands and knees. Realizing that she would have to act quickly, Clayton then climbs from the second to the top rope, pulling Cosette up to her feet on the cables as well. True, this was more the Frenchwoman's domain, but Becky figures she can operate there long enough to bring LeBlanc crashing to the mat--or, more accurately, atop her own partner--with a superplex.
Becky launches the aching LeBlanc off her painful perch like the Frenchwoman's a feather. Becky sends the continental waif halfway across the ring with the superplex. And to Anciline's increasing chagrin, Cosette hits her second senton of the night, this one a ridiculous supersplash of her partner's vertebrae. French Kiss ends on the canvas in a splayed 'X' from the ridiculous display, blonde and brunette groaning, each slightly curled but otherwise seemingly unable to move. The crowd is mid-eruption as Becky kips to her feet and takes in the dual destruction.
"Jeez, Becks," Roxie calls, "you could leave SOMETHING for me."
Clayton shakes her head with a chuckle. "Sorry," the army brat grins, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling Modeste out from underneath the splattered waterbug. As she drags a crawling Creole over toward the Big Guns corner, the referee drops to one knee and helps roll the remains of LeBlanc underneath the bottom rope. While an enraged Anciline attempts to rouse Cosette out of her stupor, Clayton extends her hand toward the Beantown Bombshell. "Guess I shouldn't waste anymore time before tagging you in, should I?"
"Nope," Roxie smiles, slapping Becky's hand and sliding through the ropes. Joining her partner as Clayton yanks Reaux up to her feet, McCrimmon and Becky each lace an arm around Modeste's neck, preparing to deliver a double suplex.
And if Reaux wasn't the featherweight LeBlanc was, having both McCrimmon and Clayton team up for the toss made the suplex absurd in its execution. The stereo hardbodies send Reaux whipping up and over but so much more. Modeste spins through another half revolution, splattering to the deck on her face and chest. The blonde bounces a few inches into the air from the impact before settling face down. Anciline's usually calm reserve is tested in the extreme, her face turning rosy at the early meltdown.
With LeBlanc removed from the ring, the official now orders the Army of One Hot Chick to depart. "YOU gonna save ME a second helping?" Becky asks with a sly grin. "Maybe," Roxie replies, giving her partner a wink as Clayton slips through the ropes. "Maybe not." Sauntering over to the devastated Modeste, McCrimmon stoops down, and helps Reaux up to a seated position. Then, balling her fist, the Beantown Bombshell starts to load up, ready to deliver a barrage of crossface punches.
(CROSSFACE PUNCHES:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dC7EacHOoJA )
Blonde on blonde violence erupts as McCrimmon's clubbing blows batter the jaw of the already dazed Reaux. Modeste's head bobs from side to side after each impact, her noggin bobbling afterward, the Bayou Party Girl barely able to remain seated, let alone successful in trying to reach her feet. In the Kiss corner, Anciline stands one of her charges back in place, LeBlanc placed up on the apron, though Cosette hardly seems ready for reentry, even if deCyr's kin could make it to her.
Roxanne ends her assault just short of ten punches, relaxing her fingers long enough to slip them into Modeste's long, flaxen locks. She brings the reeling Creole up to her feet with one sharp tug, the spins Reaux around to face her. "Sure you don't need a little time up in Bangor or out in Albuquerque?" McCrimmon asks, slipping her arms around the challenger's waist, drawing Modeste's soft, smooth abdomen into close quarters with the Beantown Bombshell's firmer, more sculpted midsection. Then, Roxie starts to lift Modeste into the air, intending to drop to one knee and deliver an inverted atomic drop.
With the normally lively Modeste still dazed from her flight then bombardment, she has little to offer in the way of defense. The champ skies the lightweight high into the air in front of her and what goes up must come down. Roxie splits the wickets, Reaux's crotch exploding in pain when meeting McCrimmon's posted knee. Modeste bounds off the bony joint, bouncing into the air and coming down with hands buried between her thighs, toes of a pigeon barely keeping her upright, her face etched in pain, mascara starting to run in long black streaks. Anciline gets in LeBlanc’s ear on the sidelines. "I told you two this isn't London and Hopkins. Turn it up or you will be like the France after the blitzkrieg."
The Beantown Bombshell peels Modeste off the mat and guides her into the champions' domain. Tagging with the Army of One Hot Chick, Roxie pushes Reaux back against the ropes as Becky slides into the ring. With the Irish-American beauty off the slighter blonde's left side, Becky moves to the Cajun cutie's rights, each titleholder snatching a wrist. Together, the Guns launch Reaux on a ride toward the ropes--and together, McCrimmon and Clayton march to mid-ring, each woman extending a Big Boot, looking to meet the rebounding challenger with bootleather at chest level.
But the Cajun shows some baseball skills, slides under the boots and between the tag champions. She pops to her feet and seems to consider racing toward the turning hardbodies for a clothesline of both. But discretion is the better part of valor in this case and instead Modeste loudly points out the inconsistency of two Guns in the ring and the rules. "You want my Tante Anci to put you on the unemployment line, you get one of them out ... now." The blonde edges sideways while she advises the zebra, trying to get closer to her corner.
The Beantown Bombshell gives a bemused shake of her head, but she doesn't take another step toward the retreating blonde. But neither does she take a step toward the Big Guns corner--and that's apparently enough to spur the official to act, and stem the threat of de Cyr terminating his contract. He moves in to order McCrimmon out of the ring--and to lead the way for her, if necessary. While the FAWNatics jeer his cowardice, Modeste makes a quick turn toward her corner... but as she extends one hand for a tag, Becky Clayton lunges out and grabs her other wrist, tugging Reaux back toward her. "Where you think you're goin', Rocket?" the GI asks, planning to stuff Modeste's head under her left arm and execute a DDT.
As the racoon-eyed blonde is spun in Clayton's direction, a set of nails flash to Becky's face, dragging across the peepers of the Army of One Hot Chick. As Clayton yelps in pain, her grip loosens and Modeste shakes free. She reaches for a tag and receives an enthusiastic slap from Cozy, the Frenchwoman eager with Becky half-blinded. Now it's French Kiss who each grab a wrist and together they send Clayton scampering across the canvas to the far ropes. As she hits the cables, Reaux and LeBlanc set mid-ring, shoulder to shoulder. The camouflaged physical specimen races races, teary-eyed, toward them. The duo dip in unison in order to try and hoist Becky up around her thighs and flip her to the canvas with a double back body drop.
Instinct and ring presence tells the Army of One Hot Chick where the ring ropes are, so that she can turn her back into the rubber coated steel. The positioning of Modeste and Cosette, however, is a variable too far for veteran savvy to ascertain. Even a blinded Clayton is a challenging task for French Kiss to get elevated, but by golly, LeBlanc and Reaux just about manage it. Becky isn't sent flying high into the air, but she still manages to turn and crash down on her back. Behind her, Cosette crashes to her knees as well from the effort the backdrop had required, but it was still undeniably a start for the challengers.
Moving to a stance on either side of the downed GI, French Kiss teams up with dual sentons, Modeste across Becky's chest and Cosette across her belly. When both women kip off a groaning Clayton, the ref reminds Modeste of the rule she'd just quoted. The blonde growls as she heads for the exit next to Anciline. Left to her devices with the robobabe, LeBlanc considers heading for the penthouse. But seeing Becky already on her way up to her knees, the brunette instead heads for the ropes, trying to time Clayton reaching those knees with an approach from behind. If she could manage it, even someone with Becky's power wouldn't be able to stop the low-rise bulldog from sending her face into the canvas.
The army brat's vision was finally beginning to come back into focus--not that that does Becky much good with her opponent racing in from her blindspot. Roxie offers support, shouting out, "ON YOUR SIX, BECKS!" But speed of sound is apparently slower than speed of frog, Cozy snatching Clayton by the back of her head and SLAMMING Becky's mug into the canvas. The impact sends the Army of One Hot Chick bouncing over to her back, starfished, blinking up at the lights.
And now Cozy feels comfortable upping the ante. Racing to the Kiss corner, the gorgeous Frenchwoman springs up to the top. As she looks out on her manager and the sea of faces in the crowd, LeBlanc's ankle is tagged by her partner. That doesn't stop Cozy from immediately leaping high into the Orlando night. Soaring into a backflip, she gracefully spins toward a crossbody collision with Becky's midriff, hoping to hammer the helix with a magnifique moonsault.
To the increasing disbelief of the FAWNatics, hope translates into reality. Cosette's belly splashes down across Becky's--but while the Army of One Hot Chick rolls to her side, wrapping an arm around her aching tummy, those abs still remain formidable enough to send LeBlanc bouncing up to her knees with a small grimace herself. Meanwhile, as Modeste moves away from her corner and toward the fallen GI, Roxie McCrimmon barks at the official, "Am I the ONLY one you're going to kick out of the ring tonight?"
Cosette hears the Boston Terrier and heads in her direction, getting nose to chest with the Beantown blonde. "Don't test me," LeBlanc advises, before a flashing hand paintbrushes Roxie’s face. Infuriated, the flaxen-haired hardbody reaches for Cosette and when her grip misses the dodging Froggie, McCrimmon starts to slip through the ropes. Cosette immediately retreats, sounding the alarm to the ref, who heads for the imposing champion post-haste. Meanwhile, Modeste already has Becky up and a grinning Cosette soon joins her. French Kiss slip a head under each arm of the brunette and grab a handful of camouflage on each hip of Clayton, ready to send Becky up. But not just for a suplex. If they could control the beautiful mass of the GI, the duo plan to halt Becky's boots at high noon and drop her straight down on her noggin to bust Becky's brain.
Individually, muscling Becky up for a brainbuster would have been a difficult-bordering-on-impossible task for Cosette and Modeste. But together... they might not be capable enough to keep the Army of One Hot Chick upended long enough to let Clayton's blood really pool in her skull, but it's still a concussive descent for the army brat. Becky tumbles up to a seat, starring ahead with dulled eyes... but only briefly. Clayton then slumps back, collapsing into a splayed heap.
Modeste motions Cosette to evacuate and the official only catches the very end of her departure. However, he does see plenty of Reaux moving body to body atop the splayed Becky, the Cajun grapevining her legs with the longer more muscular versions of the dark-haired powerhouse, hoping to keep the Army grunt down for the...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Becky gets a shoulder up. Modeste crawls off of Clayton, and from her knees gets in the referee's face, arguing that the army brat's ability to overcome her leverage and get out of her cover violated the known laws of physics. Or something like that--truth be told, the zebra had difficulty making sense of her Cajun accent. Becky, for her part, rolls over to her hips, her eyes blinking rapidly as she stretches a hand toward Roxie, several feet away in the Big Guns' corner.
But a shout an outstretched index finger from deCyr puts Modeste back on point and the blonde grabs an ankle, dragging a battered Becky away from her golden-maned salvation. It's a task, one the Louisiana native barely gets done, but Modeste gets within tagging distance of her partner. Instead of coming in, Cosette goes up, and while she does, Modeste collects the opposite ankle as well. With Clayton's head pointed toward her corner, Reaux stands just above it, pulling the GI's legs toward her as she simultaneously widens them. "C'mon Cozy. Light this dogface up."
Cosette nods with a grin. No substantial leap is necessary so close is the waiting target of Becky's crotch. Instead, the waterbug leans forward to let gravity take care of the rest and crush Becky's kitty with a vicious head butt.
It doesn't matter how big you are or how tough you are--EVERYONE is vulnerable down south. And Modeste juuuust manages to keep Becky's ankles under control long enough for LeBlanc to strike, her grip on Clayton's feet beginning to slip only once the French beauty's forehead slams into her nether regions. Following that impact, of course, the army brat's gams break loose with powerful kicks, Becky rolling to her side and curling into a tight, fetal ball--while the FAWNatics are left to ponder their trip into the Twilight Zone, and French Kiss' increasing championship prospects.
As the zebra ushers Modeste out of the ring, Cosette lets loose with a rain of little boots that add up in a hurry and when Becky's body cracks open and the Army of One Hot Chick settles on her back, Cozy nails the champ with a standing moonsault to add to her high flyer. LeBlanc cradles the far leg for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
Becky breaks free again to Cosette's consternation. She leaps to her feet "TROIS! TROIS!" she shouts, pleading, demanding, loudly. But the man stands his ground, holding up two fingers. Not to be denied, Cozy heads for a neutral corner, ready to finish the Army brat off with her Arc de Triomphe. But as she reaches the top, Cosette notices Becky already struggling to her feet. Calling an audible the Gallic pixie, leaps HIGH off her perch, flying toward Becky in a diving crossbody press.
(CROSSBODY PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=87dD-cZ6-Qk )
'THOOOMP!'
The French waterbug's torso slaps into Becky's... but while the Army of One Hot Chick staggers backward, to the shock and awe of an increasingly distressed FAWN Arena, Clayton does NOT go down. As their amazement starts to fade, the FAWNatics roar... while Cosette begins to frantically shake her head.
"ABOUT DAMN TIME, BECKS!" Roxie bellows from her corner, relieved rather than upset. And as the crowd gets louder, Becky grows more bold, attempting to shift her grip and POWER Cosette above her head in a military press, Clayton's Black Ops sure to follow.
(BLACK OPS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=upYPdYNthC8 )
Cosette's face grows more panicked by the second. First wriggling, trapped across Clayton's chest, LeBlanc is cleaned then jerked over the camo-ed champion. The crowd roars and drowns out Cosette's pleas as Becky finishes pressing the little French waterbug HIGH above her head in an awesome show of force for a woman who'd been taking more than giving for the last minutes. Dark eyes wide, a heavy gulp traveling down her neck, Cosette is fear-stricken. And after a few seconds for show, and to let LeBlanc imagine the worst, Becky lets Cozy drop onto her right shoulder and in one fluid motion, Clayton drops to her knees and SPIKES LeBlanc nearly THROUGH the canvas, Cozy bouncing an inch or two off the deck. before settling in a lifeless starfish beneath her foe.
And the Army of One Hot Chick topples forward, collapsing across the chest of the French beauty.
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Possibly the absence of a leghook allows LeBlanc to kick free, with one of Modeste's shapely stems threaded through the ropes. Climbing to her feet, a winded but resurgent Becky fixes the mascaraed blonde with a challenging glare...
... and Reaux seems to think better of entering, drawing back out onto the apron. Turning her attention back to Cosette, Clayton starts to muscle the challenger up onto her shoulders and into a fireman's carry, ready to cement this turn of the tide with her Army of One.
(ARMY OF ONE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nz9GPZjiL3A )
Becky pops Cosette across her shoulders with ease, strapping down the French pixie in place, then folding up her legs in a tight 'x' to finish the cradle part of the maneuver. The shock comes quickly after when the GI spins the bite-sized cargo off her shoulders and tosses LeBlanc off the right, SMASHING her foe to the deck on her back and shoulders. With Cozy's head on her crotch, shoulders on the deck and legs captured, Becky holds on for the...
ONE...
TWO...
... and Modeste, who's slipped through the cables, makes the save, rightly unsure LeBlanc could so so on her own.
The grunt that passes off the army grunt's lips prompts a smirk from the Creole... but her mirth proves short-lived. Suddenly, one hand plunges into her hair and another presses into her back. They belong to none other than Roxie McCrimmon, the Beantown Bombshell bullying Modeste back toward her corner.
"Heeeyyyy....!" the official begins to protest, but McCrimmon cuts him off.
"No need to thank me," she says. "Just doin' your job for you. You keep an eye on the legal girls."
He starts to take a step toward Roxie and Reaux, but when he sees Becky rising and pulling a woozy Cosette up as well, he seems at a loss which way to go. McCrimmon gets Modeste back to the French Kiss corner--but instead of leading her out of the ring, the Irish-American robobabe starts to thread her foe's arms over the top rope. There isn't a fan of the Big Guns who doesn't know the set-up for Roxie's Violence Party when they see it...
... but, across the ring, in the champions' corner, the Army of One Hot Chick is in the process of setting Cosette up for a Party of her very own!
(VIOLENCE PARTY:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GDuqpbZATV4 )
And the Guns fire away in the opposite corners, blonde to blonde and brunette to brunette. The champs have to alter their sights, lowering the level of their attacks to the smaller 'Kiss' but they manage. Chopping and forearming their challengers in bombastic fashion, laying wood to LeBlanc and Reaux. On the outside, the normally reserved deCyr is far from happy, shouting at the official to clean McCrimmon out of the ring, but he rightly doesn't want to get in the line of fire, Roxie and Becky continuing on with stereo headbutts and hiptosses out of the corner. When Modeste and Cosette land on their tailbones rapidfire kicks to back and chest follow, the dazed, battered 'Kiss' looking out of it before the Guns finish the party with simultaneous clotheslines,
Brian: Clayton's spinning Cozy through a forced moonsault of a backflip, the former Huggable landing on her face and chest.
"Whattaya think, Rox?" Clayton asks, nudging the splattered remnants of LeBlanc to her back with a boot. "Double pin?"
"Got a better idea, Becks," the Beantown Bombshell replies, eyes twinkling as she scrapes Modeste off the mat.
McCrimmon tilts her gave down to the barely stirring Cosette, and picking up on the request, Becky peels the Frenchwoman up as well. "They're not exactly the Doublemint Twins," Roxie says, shoving Reaux toward the other Big Gun, "but I think you can make do."
Clayton doesn't seem as certain. "Y'think?"
"Only one way to find out."
Giving Roxie a small nod, Becky lines the ladies of French Kiss up, Modeste behind Cosette, Clayton off their left flanks. She then pushes down on Reaux back, doubling the duo over before reaching through two sets of thighs. As she clamps on to the left wrist of both her foes, Clayton’s Howling Commandos are about ready to lose their collective sh!t. "Oh, NO F*CKIN' WAY!" at least one fan can be heard proclaiming, whilst Becky reaches underneath the right arms of French Kiss, getting ready to deliver the mother of all FUBARs...
(FUBAR:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFDsaa3ZNY0 )
The stupefied crowd watches in amazement at Clayton even attempting the two-woman version of her finisher and Anciline's jaw is likewise dropping. But the true disbelief emerges when Becky manages to vault both challengers off the deck and spin them in unison until their heads are lined toward the canvas. Thankfully for the Army of One Hot Chick she doesn't have to hold them there, for once turned, she sits out and lets gravity put the hurt on Cosette and Modeste. The crown of each challenger's skull SLAMS into the deck and both women are out cold before the crowd can even begin to chant "HOLY SHYT...HOLY SHYT".
With Modeste stacked atop Cosette, a slightly wobbly but grinning Clayton shoves the women over, Cozy now spreading motionless starfish over the splayed Reaux, both FUBARed challengers unconscious. Roxie reclines against the ropes just above deCyr, enjoying the look on the manager's face as Becky lays her body atop both members of French Kiss. The ref drops to make the count only to realize the legal woman doesn't have her shoulders on the canvas. "Ummm...Becky."
The man doesn't have to continue, Clayton interrupting with an "I know". Becky stares at her partner, raising a brow, and silently McCrimmon has the word. She walks to the stacked women, grabs a wrist of Modeste and drags her out from the bottom, Cosette dropping one level on the stack until the Frenchwoman is flat against the canvas.
"Thank you," Becky says matter-of-factly.
"No problem," comes the likewise nonchalant response.
With the first floor of this delectable French Kiss double-decker removed, the referee is quick to check Cosette's shoulders, and even quicker to start slapping the mat.
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hell, he probably could have counted to fifty--and perhaps a more vengeful set of souls would have demanded such a count. But, fortunately for the pride of Cosette and Modeste--it was already far too late for their bodies--the Big Guns are satisfied with the traditional count.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer declares, while Roxie McCrimmon accepts the tag straps from a staffer outside the ring, "your winners, and STILL Tag Team champions... THE BIIIGGG GUUUNNNSSS!!!!!"
Roxie hands one of the belts to Becky, the champs content to celebrate their win by McCrimmon planting a boot atop LeBlanc's tummy and Clayton doing the same with the French flyweight's bosom, both victories holding their trophies aloft. In a short time, French Kiss had built a considerable buzz for themselves, and it hadn't been unfounded--you don't beat the British Bombshells without being a special team.
But clearly, it would take more than "special" to depose the Big Guns. It might possibly take extraordinary.
Anciline de Cyr...
“Madames and monsieurs. Please welcome the team destined to be the next FAWN Tag Team Champions.”
The crowd lets loose with an unrelenting torrent of boos so deCyr raises her voice to overcome the rabble, but after a brief attempt, she instead motions to her left.
The noise only grows when Le Bien Qui Fait Mal (The Good Thing That Hurts) signals the arrival of tonight’s title challengers.
(“LE BIEN QUI FAIT MAL”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6R770P9wl0 )
As deCyr strides toward the ring, her movements containing a regal bearing, a tiny brunette and her larger, blonde and heavily mascared counterpart take the place of the woman who is not only a FAWN heavyweight in the front office but the manager of the dynamic women behind her. The crowd can smell the conflict of interest all around them, but most seem unwilling to get in the face of Madame deCyr regarding it.
Above and behind, the dark-haired French turncoat sets herself center stage, button nose firmly in the air. She gives her long dark locks a ferocious shake. Next to her, the Creole wild child from the bayou, bobs and weaves with a wide, predatory grin.
The Frenchwoman provides the assembled an international, one-fingered salute. The chocolate-colored strands of the one-time Riviera apartment house wrestler bouncing to and fro when she bounces confidently toward the squared circle. Always a kinetic ball of energy, Cozy remains an enigmatic one as well, one everyone in the house knows will use any means necessary to get what she wants…LA VICTOIRE!
Beside LeBlanc, her partner “plays” with the FAWNatics, reaching out before pulling away her hand, barking at anyone who gives her lip and feigning slaps and punches at the more aggressive. As the women reach the ring, the PA blares to life…
“Tonight’s next contest is one fall, has a 30-minute time limit, and is for the FAWN tag team championship. Managed by La Premiere Madame Anciline deCyr, standing 5 feet 2 inches tall, weighing in at a 101 pounds from Nice, France, Cosette LeBlanc. And from Natchitoches, Louisiana, standing 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighing in at 113 pounds, Modeste Reaux. Together they are French Kiss!”
Cosette LeBlanc...
Modeste Reaux...
The deuxsome traipse up the ring steps and take turns sliding through the ropes, joining deCyr. Cosette is clad in a skin-tight, metallic, cherry-red sports bra and boy-cut trunks with black boots and knee pads. Modeste is dressed in a purple bustier with a black laced panel front, ruffled attached micro-skirt, black garters and stockings with lace trim, finished off with black stiletto heels. She shuffles off the footwear and kicks them to the floor.
While Cosette scowls at the noisy throng, shaking her head. Modeste plays to the more lascivious in the crowd. Anciline holds a microphone waiting for the team’s accompaniment and the crowd’s jeers to fade.
deCyr makes her full address in French, driving the Orlando crowd to distraction and raucous boos. Both Cosette and Modeste chuckle at some of the comments, drawing furious verbal reprisals from the clueless FAWNatics.
“And,” Anciline concludes, only now using English, “please send the Pop Guns down for their final misfire.”
deCyr moves to the ropes, hands over her microphone, and heads to her station below the Kiss corner to await the champions, leaving Cosette and Modeste to remove the gold from the twin powerhouses.
“And now,” the announcer resumes, “introducing the tag team champions... Weighing in tonight at a total combined weight of two-hundred and sixty-eight pounds… Becky Clayton and Roxie McCrimmon… Ladies and gentlemen, together, they are… THE BIIIGGG GUUUNNNSSS!!!”
For a team with that name, there’s only one song that can mark their arrival. And sure enough, within moments, the FAWN Arena speakers begin to pump out AC/DC--in this instance, “Big Gun”. Not long after that, two of FAWN’s hardest hardbodies emerge at the top of the ramp, the reigning and defending tag team champions of the world receiving a tremendous roar of approval from the sellout crowd.
(“BIG GUN”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=a82cNcjw3iw )
Becky Clayton...
Roxie McCrimmon...
The Army of One Hot Chick sports what has now become her trademark ensemble. Having forsaken her standard one-piece after it been all but shredded by a certain Tennessee Terror, she has transitioned to a camouflage two piece with tie-sided bottoms and an eye catching ladder / double helix of lycra that runs from the center of her waistband all the way up to the bottom of her cups. She finishes it off with matching forest green pads and boots, though thanks to the artillery above, they could’ve been pink with yellow floral print and no one would’ve noticed.
The Beantown Bombshell, on the other hand, is clearly adorned in a different set of togs than her customary solo wear, though they are at least partially obscured by her usual Celtics jersey—tonight’s a green seven. What can be seen below the hem of the Jared Sullinger uni is an extreme rarity in FAWN: pants. Well, “pants” is probably overstating matters. While it’s true that McCrimmon’s inner thighs are covered by shiny, camouflage patterned fabric, her outer legs are left bare save for a one-inch strap at the knee.
Each woman sports her championship strap slung over a shoulder--Becky’s right and Roxie’s left.
When Clayton has given the fans enough time to voice their appreciation, Becky starts her way down to the ring at a quick pace--but still taking the time to slap as many of the outstretched hands as she could reach. Roxanne follows alongside, doing her best to ensure that none of the front row fans are left out from the hand-slapping festivities. Ascending the steps, the Army of One Hot Chick slips through the ropes and headed straight for a far corner, hopping up onto the middle turnbuckle and snapping off a crisp salute to the roaring masses. McCrimmon races to the opposite corner, springing onto the middle buckle herself and pumping a fist—drawing a rousing cheer of her own.
From her perch, Roxie slips her fingers inside the hem of her jersey and pulls it overhead, revealing two more one-inch straps on the “pants”—one at mid-thigh and the other the waist—and a similarly camouflaged halter that leaves plenty of washboard stomach bared. Backed up by a whole platoon of her very own Howling Commandos, Becky drops down from her perch and turns to watch the enemy corner. Giving her partner a supportive slap on the shoulder, Roxie McCrimmon departs the ring, taking up station in the Big Guns corner.
French Kiss turn to Madame deCyr as one and receive their marching orders, though it is only Modeste marching out of the ring, leaving the diminutive brunette to face the unenviable task of not only finding a way to get Clayton down, but keeping her there. As the bell rings, LeBlanc seems less then enthusiastic. While she had eventually become a menace against opponents her size and perhaps a little bigger, LeBlanc is left how to devise a way to bludgeon a tank with a wiffle bat. Cozy circles out of the corner, playing defense immediately, shooting feints but doing little else.
Clayton does much the same as she circles her challenger, flashing her arms out briefly, only to draw them back. Just as LeBlanc understands she lacks the firepower to slug it out with the Big Gun, Becky is fully cognizant that the waterbug has plenty enough agility to make her pay, should the Army of One Hot Chick attempt a hasty charge. "Hey," Becky says with a sly grin, "you wanna play paddycake all night? I got time. Remember, Cozy--you two HAVE to beat US. Not the other way around."
"Which weel not be a problem you bumbleeng oaf," LeBlanc growls, poodle to doberman. Cosette races to the ropes behind her and returns in a sprint, launching into a dropkick to Becky's bosom, the GI brushes the attack aside. Clayton reaches for LeBlanc, but Cosette scrambles away. Immediately, she heads for the ropes again to regain some momentum and vault toward Becky, right forearm drawn to lay a shot to Clayton's chest and start the process of chopping down the tree.
LeBlanc's forearm blast meets with a little more success, rocking the army brat back on her heels... but NOT taking her down. Still, seeing something that worked, the tiny Frenchwoman goes back to the well, pounding away at Becky's chest. And while she keeps the Army of One Hot Chick on the retreat, Clayton's feet still remain fixed to the mat. Eventually, she gets Becky backed into the ropes, and Cosette snatches a wrist, planning to launch her with an Irish whip...
But Clayton latches on to the top rope. Gritting her teeth, LeBlanc tries again...
... still with no luck, Becky "tut-tut"ing the waterbug. A THIRD yank finally dislodges the champ--but instead of shooting toward the opposite ropes, Clayton charges toward HER, fast, her arm raised for an abbreviated clothesline.
LeBlanc ducks beneath the effort, Becky's scythe-like limb skidding over her noggin. The former Huggable spins through a 180 quicker than the swinging-and-missing Clayton can manage and LeBlanc shoots three swift soccer kicks to Clayton's right hammy. One final stomp to the back of the wincing Clayton's knee finally sends Becky to genuflecting. LeBlanc quickly collects the head of the lowered champ in a front facelock and, with perfect pearlies gritting, tries to throw her bodyweight in reverse and startle everyone in the arena short of the family deCyr with a DDT on the Army of One Hot Chick.
With Becky already on one knee and just that much closer to the canvas, Cosette doesn't have as much problem yanking Clayton down as she might have with the army brat standing. The champion's penitent positioning also gives LeBlanc the opportunity for a much quicker throw back and fall than she might otherwise have had against a destroyer class beauty. All of which adds up to the improbable happening, and the first skirmish of this championship war going to the seemingly out-gunned (no pun intended) challengers. Becky is left sprawled on her belly, both arms moving to wrap around her battered skull.
Cosette scampers to her feet and flips into a somersaulting senton across Becky's back. Clayton arches from the impact and LeBlanc is instantly off again. Knowing she has to keep Clayton down, but seemingly unaware how she's going to do it, LeBlanc heads for the Kiss corner and tags in the bigger blonde of the duo. Modeste slides through. She's hardly a huge upgrade size-wise, but she moves to the champ, grabs a wrist, and tugs Clayton to her feet. Already aware Cozy is on her way to the top of the Kiss corner, ready to launch into a missile dropkick when the she sends the GI racing toward the the Gallic waterbug, the racoon-eyed blonde tries to buggywhip Becky in her partner's direction.
But the Army of One Hot Chick digs in her heels, and reverses the whip. Instead of being sent charging into enemy territory, it ends up being Modeste sent sprinting into her own corner, as fast as her impossibly long legs could carry her. From her perch on the top turnbuckle, Cosette LeBlanc has only an instant to react, and in that time, she opts to call off the air support for her partner. So Reaux does not become a victim of friendly fire, which is the good news for French Kiss. The bad news is that the impact of the blonde Creole's back striking the buckles causes LeBlanc's feet to slip out from under her, and Cozy winds up crotched behind her partner. Barely noticing LeBlanc's flight, Becky takes off toward the Kiss corner, hoping to crush Modeste under an avalanche of GI hardbody.
With Reaux shaken by the impact of back to buckles and an anguished LeBlanc riding an intrusive wire, deCyr bows her head, not wanting to see the further results. It's an excellent choice as Clayton CRASHES upon her kin, BURYING the Cajun under hardbody soldier. Becky bounces off the compacted blonde and lets Modeste stumble by. Reaux loses contact with the canvas and takes a header into the center of the ring. Back in the corner, a wide-mouthed Cozy starts to timber to her right, still frozen, her body on her way to thumping against the apron on her way down to the floor, but Clayton intervenes.
The Army of One Hot Chick takes a moment to steady the slumping Cosette on the top turnbuckle, then climbs onto the middle rope. As she wraps an arm around LeBlanc's neck, Becky takes one quick glance over her shoulder, and spies Modeste beginning to work her way up to her hands and knees. Realizing that she would have to act quickly, Clayton then climbs from the second to the top rope, pulling Cosette up to her feet on the cables as well. True, this was more the Frenchwoman's domain, but Becky figures she can operate there long enough to bring LeBlanc crashing to the mat--or, more accurately, atop her own partner--with a superplex.
Becky launches the aching LeBlanc off her painful perch like the Frenchwoman's a feather. Becky sends the continental waif halfway across the ring with the superplex. And to Anciline's increasing chagrin, Cosette hits her second senton of the night, this one a ridiculous supersplash of her partner's vertebrae. French Kiss ends on the canvas in a splayed 'X' from the ridiculous display, blonde and brunette groaning, each slightly curled but otherwise seemingly unable to move. The crowd is mid-eruption as Becky kips to her feet and takes in the dual destruction.
"Jeez, Becks," Roxie calls, "you could leave SOMETHING for me."
Clayton shakes her head with a chuckle. "Sorry," the army brat grins, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling Modeste out from underneath the splattered waterbug. As she drags a crawling Creole over toward the Big Guns corner, the referee drops to one knee and helps roll the remains of LeBlanc underneath the bottom rope. While an enraged Anciline attempts to rouse Cosette out of her stupor, Clayton extends her hand toward the Beantown Bombshell. "Guess I shouldn't waste anymore time before tagging you in, should I?"
"Nope," Roxie smiles, slapping Becky's hand and sliding through the ropes. Joining her partner as Clayton yanks Reaux up to her feet, McCrimmon and Becky each lace an arm around Modeste's neck, preparing to deliver a double suplex.
And if Reaux wasn't the featherweight LeBlanc was, having both McCrimmon and Clayton team up for the toss made the suplex absurd in its execution. The stereo hardbodies send Reaux whipping up and over but so much more. Modeste spins through another half revolution, splattering to the deck on her face and chest. The blonde bounces a few inches into the air from the impact before settling face down. Anciline's usually calm reserve is tested in the extreme, her face turning rosy at the early meltdown.
With LeBlanc removed from the ring, the official now orders the Army of One Hot Chick to depart. "YOU gonna save ME a second helping?" Becky asks with a sly grin. "Maybe," Roxie replies, giving her partner a wink as Clayton slips through the ropes. "Maybe not." Sauntering over to the devastated Modeste, McCrimmon stoops down, and helps Reaux up to a seated position. Then, balling her fist, the Beantown Bombshell starts to load up, ready to deliver a barrage of crossface punches.
(CROSSFACE PUNCHES:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dC7EacHOoJA )
Blonde on blonde violence erupts as McCrimmon's clubbing blows batter the jaw of the already dazed Reaux. Modeste's head bobs from side to side after each impact, her noggin bobbling afterward, the Bayou Party Girl barely able to remain seated, let alone successful in trying to reach her feet. In the Kiss corner, Anciline stands one of her charges back in place, LeBlanc placed up on the apron, though Cosette hardly seems ready for reentry, even if deCyr's kin could make it to her.
Roxanne ends her assault just short of ten punches, relaxing her fingers long enough to slip them into Modeste's long, flaxen locks. She brings the reeling Creole up to her feet with one sharp tug, the spins Reaux around to face her. "Sure you don't need a little time up in Bangor or out in Albuquerque?" McCrimmon asks, slipping her arms around the challenger's waist, drawing Modeste's soft, smooth abdomen into close quarters with the Beantown Bombshell's firmer, more sculpted midsection. Then, Roxie starts to lift Modeste into the air, intending to drop to one knee and deliver an inverted atomic drop.
With the normally lively Modeste still dazed from her flight then bombardment, she has little to offer in the way of defense. The champ skies the lightweight high into the air in front of her and what goes up must come down. Roxie splits the wickets, Reaux's crotch exploding in pain when meeting McCrimmon's posted knee. Modeste bounds off the bony joint, bouncing into the air and coming down with hands buried between her thighs, toes of a pigeon barely keeping her upright, her face etched in pain, mascara starting to run in long black streaks. Anciline gets in LeBlanc’s ear on the sidelines. "I told you two this isn't London and Hopkins. Turn it up or you will be like the France after the blitzkrieg."
The Beantown Bombshell peels Modeste off the mat and guides her into the champions' domain. Tagging with the Army of One Hot Chick, Roxie pushes Reaux back against the ropes as Becky slides into the ring. With the Irish-American beauty off the slighter blonde's left side, Becky moves to the Cajun cutie's rights, each titleholder snatching a wrist. Together, the Guns launch Reaux on a ride toward the ropes--and together, McCrimmon and Clayton march to mid-ring, each woman extending a Big Boot, looking to meet the rebounding challenger with bootleather at chest level.
But the Cajun shows some baseball skills, slides under the boots and between the tag champions. She pops to her feet and seems to consider racing toward the turning hardbodies for a clothesline of both. But discretion is the better part of valor in this case and instead Modeste loudly points out the inconsistency of two Guns in the ring and the rules. "You want my Tante Anci to put you on the unemployment line, you get one of them out ... now." The blonde edges sideways while she advises the zebra, trying to get closer to her corner.
The Beantown Bombshell gives a bemused shake of her head, but she doesn't take another step toward the retreating blonde. But neither does she take a step toward the Big Guns corner--and that's apparently enough to spur the official to act, and stem the threat of de Cyr terminating his contract. He moves in to order McCrimmon out of the ring--and to lead the way for her, if necessary. While the FAWNatics jeer his cowardice, Modeste makes a quick turn toward her corner... but as she extends one hand for a tag, Becky Clayton lunges out and grabs her other wrist, tugging Reaux back toward her. "Where you think you're goin', Rocket?" the GI asks, planning to stuff Modeste's head under her left arm and execute a DDT.
As the racoon-eyed blonde is spun in Clayton's direction, a set of nails flash to Becky's face, dragging across the peepers of the Army of One Hot Chick. As Clayton yelps in pain, her grip loosens and Modeste shakes free. She reaches for a tag and receives an enthusiastic slap from Cozy, the Frenchwoman eager with Becky half-blinded. Now it's French Kiss who each grab a wrist and together they send Clayton scampering across the canvas to the far ropes. As she hits the cables, Reaux and LeBlanc set mid-ring, shoulder to shoulder. The camouflaged physical specimen races races, teary-eyed, toward them. The duo dip in unison in order to try and hoist Becky up around her thighs and flip her to the canvas with a double back body drop.
Instinct and ring presence tells the Army of One Hot Chick where the ring ropes are, so that she can turn her back into the rubber coated steel. The positioning of Modeste and Cosette, however, is a variable too far for veteran savvy to ascertain. Even a blinded Clayton is a challenging task for French Kiss to get elevated, but by golly, LeBlanc and Reaux just about manage it. Becky isn't sent flying high into the air, but she still manages to turn and crash down on her back. Behind her, Cosette crashes to her knees as well from the effort the backdrop had required, but it was still undeniably a start for the challengers.
Moving to a stance on either side of the downed GI, French Kiss teams up with dual sentons, Modeste across Becky's chest and Cosette across her belly. When both women kip off a groaning Clayton, the ref reminds Modeste of the rule she'd just quoted. The blonde growls as she heads for the exit next to Anciline. Left to her devices with the robobabe, LeBlanc considers heading for the penthouse. But seeing Becky already on her way up to her knees, the brunette instead heads for the ropes, trying to time Clayton reaching those knees with an approach from behind. If she could manage it, even someone with Becky's power wouldn't be able to stop the low-rise bulldog from sending her face into the canvas.
The army brat's vision was finally beginning to come back into focus--not that that does Becky much good with her opponent racing in from her blindspot. Roxie offers support, shouting out, "ON YOUR SIX, BECKS!" But speed of sound is apparently slower than speed of frog, Cozy snatching Clayton by the back of her head and SLAMMING Becky's mug into the canvas. The impact sends the Army of One Hot Chick bouncing over to her back, starfished, blinking up at the lights.
And now Cozy feels comfortable upping the ante. Racing to the Kiss corner, the gorgeous Frenchwoman springs up to the top. As she looks out on her manager and the sea of faces in the crowd, LeBlanc's ankle is tagged by her partner. That doesn't stop Cozy from immediately leaping high into the Orlando night. Soaring into a backflip, she gracefully spins toward a crossbody collision with Becky's midriff, hoping to hammer the helix with a magnifique moonsault.
To the increasing disbelief of the FAWNatics, hope translates into reality. Cosette's belly splashes down across Becky's--but while the Army of One Hot Chick rolls to her side, wrapping an arm around her aching tummy, those abs still remain formidable enough to send LeBlanc bouncing up to her knees with a small grimace herself. Meanwhile, as Modeste moves away from her corner and toward the fallen GI, Roxie McCrimmon barks at the official, "Am I the ONLY one you're going to kick out of the ring tonight?"
Cosette hears the Boston Terrier and heads in her direction, getting nose to chest with the Beantown blonde. "Don't test me," LeBlanc advises, before a flashing hand paintbrushes Roxie’s face. Infuriated, the flaxen-haired hardbody reaches for Cosette and when her grip misses the dodging Froggie, McCrimmon starts to slip through the ropes. Cosette immediately retreats, sounding the alarm to the ref, who heads for the imposing champion post-haste. Meanwhile, Modeste already has Becky up and a grinning Cosette soon joins her. French Kiss slip a head under each arm of the brunette and grab a handful of camouflage on each hip of Clayton, ready to send Becky up. But not just for a suplex. If they could control the beautiful mass of the GI, the duo plan to halt Becky's boots at high noon and drop her straight down on her noggin to bust Becky's brain.
Individually, muscling Becky up for a brainbuster would have been a difficult-bordering-on-impossible task for Cosette and Modeste. But together... they might not be capable enough to keep the Army of One Hot Chick upended long enough to let Clayton's blood really pool in her skull, but it's still a concussive descent for the army brat. Becky tumbles up to a seat, starring ahead with dulled eyes... but only briefly. Clayton then slumps back, collapsing into a splayed heap.
Modeste motions Cosette to evacuate and the official only catches the very end of her departure. However, he does see plenty of Reaux moving body to body atop the splayed Becky, the Cajun grapevining her legs with the longer more muscular versions of the dark-haired powerhouse, hoping to keep the Army grunt down for the...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Becky gets a shoulder up. Modeste crawls off of Clayton, and from her knees gets in the referee's face, arguing that the army brat's ability to overcome her leverage and get out of her cover violated the known laws of physics. Or something like that--truth be told, the zebra had difficulty making sense of her Cajun accent. Becky, for her part, rolls over to her hips, her eyes blinking rapidly as she stretches a hand toward Roxie, several feet away in the Big Guns' corner.
But a shout an outstretched index finger from deCyr puts Modeste back on point and the blonde grabs an ankle, dragging a battered Becky away from her golden-maned salvation. It's a task, one the Louisiana native barely gets done, but Modeste gets within tagging distance of her partner. Instead of coming in, Cosette goes up, and while she does, Modeste collects the opposite ankle as well. With Clayton's head pointed toward her corner, Reaux stands just above it, pulling the GI's legs toward her as she simultaneously widens them. "C'mon Cozy. Light this dogface up."
Cosette nods with a grin. No substantial leap is necessary so close is the waiting target of Becky's crotch. Instead, the waterbug leans forward to let gravity take care of the rest and crush Becky's kitty with a vicious head butt.
It doesn't matter how big you are or how tough you are--EVERYONE is vulnerable down south. And Modeste juuuust manages to keep Becky's ankles under control long enough for LeBlanc to strike, her grip on Clayton's feet beginning to slip only once the French beauty's forehead slams into her nether regions. Following that impact, of course, the army brat's gams break loose with powerful kicks, Becky rolling to her side and curling into a tight, fetal ball--while the FAWNatics are left to ponder their trip into the Twilight Zone, and French Kiss' increasing championship prospects.
As the zebra ushers Modeste out of the ring, Cosette lets loose with a rain of little boots that add up in a hurry and when Becky's body cracks open and the Army of One Hot Chick settles on her back, Cozy nails the champ with a standing moonsault to add to her high flyer. LeBlanc cradles the far leg for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
Becky breaks free again to Cosette's consternation. She leaps to her feet "TROIS! TROIS!" she shouts, pleading, demanding, loudly. But the man stands his ground, holding up two fingers. Not to be denied, Cozy heads for a neutral corner, ready to finish the Army brat off with her Arc de Triomphe. But as she reaches the top, Cosette notices Becky already struggling to her feet. Calling an audible the Gallic pixie, leaps HIGH off her perch, flying toward Becky in a diving crossbody press.
(CROSSBODY PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=87dD-cZ6-Qk )
'THOOOMP!'
The French waterbug's torso slaps into Becky's... but while the Army of One Hot Chick staggers backward, to the shock and awe of an increasingly distressed FAWN Arena, Clayton does NOT go down. As their amazement starts to fade, the FAWNatics roar... while Cosette begins to frantically shake her head.
"ABOUT DAMN TIME, BECKS!" Roxie bellows from her corner, relieved rather than upset. And as the crowd gets louder, Becky grows more bold, attempting to shift her grip and POWER Cosette above her head in a military press, Clayton's Black Ops sure to follow.
(BLACK OPS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=upYPdYNthC8 )
Cosette's face grows more panicked by the second. First wriggling, trapped across Clayton's chest, LeBlanc is cleaned then jerked over the camo-ed champion. The crowd roars and drowns out Cosette's pleas as Becky finishes pressing the little French waterbug HIGH above her head in an awesome show of force for a woman who'd been taking more than giving for the last minutes. Dark eyes wide, a heavy gulp traveling down her neck, Cosette is fear-stricken. And after a few seconds for show, and to let LeBlanc imagine the worst, Becky lets Cozy drop onto her right shoulder and in one fluid motion, Clayton drops to her knees and SPIKES LeBlanc nearly THROUGH the canvas, Cozy bouncing an inch or two off the deck. before settling in a lifeless starfish beneath her foe.
And the Army of One Hot Chick topples forward, collapsing across the chest of the French beauty.
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Possibly the absence of a leghook allows LeBlanc to kick free, with one of Modeste's shapely stems threaded through the ropes. Climbing to her feet, a winded but resurgent Becky fixes the mascaraed blonde with a challenging glare...
... and Reaux seems to think better of entering, drawing back out onto the apron. Turning her attention back to Cosette, Clayton starts to muscle the challenger up onto her shoulders and into a fireman's carry, ready to cement this turn of the tide with her Army of One.
(ARMY OF ONE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nz9GPZjiL3A )
Becky pops Cosette across her shoulders with ease, strapping down the French pixie in place, then folding up her legs in a tight 'x' to finish the cradle part of the maneuver. The shock comes quickly after when the GI spins the bite-sized cargo off her shoulders and tosses LeBlanc off the right, SMASHING her foe to the deck on her back and shoulders. With Cozy's head on her crotch, shoulders on the deck and legs captured, Becky holds on for the...
ONE...
TWO...
... and Modeste, who's slipped through the cables, makes the save, rightly unsure LeBlanc could so so on her own.
The grunt that passes off the army grunt's lips prompts a smirk from the Creole... but her mirth proves short-lived. Suddenly, one hand plunges into her hair and another presses into her back. They belong to none other than Roxie McCrimmon, the Beantown Bombshell bullying Modeste back toward her corner.
"Heeeyyyy....!" the official begins to protest, but McCrimmon cuts him off.
"No need to thank me," she says. "Just doin' your job for you. You keep an eye on the legal girls."
He starts to take a step toward Roxie and Reaux, but when he sees Becky rising and pulling a woozy Cosette up as well, he seems at a loss which way to go. McCrimmon gets Modeste back to the French Kiss corner--but instead of leading her out of the ring, the Irish-American robobabe starts to thread her foe's arms over the top rope. There isn't a fan of the Big Guns who doesn't know the set-up for Roxie's Violence Party when they see it...
... but, across the ring, in the champions' corner, the Army of One Hot Chick is in the process of setting Cosette up for a Party of her very own!
(VIOLENCE PARTY:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GDuqpbZATV4 )
And the Guns fire away in the opposite corners, blonde to blonde and brunette to brunette. The champs have to alter their sights, lowering the level of their attacks to the smaller 'Kiss' but they manage. Chopping and forearming their challengers in bombastic fashion, laying wood to LeBlanc and Reaux. On the outside, the normally reserved deCyr is far from happy, shouting at the official to clean McCrimmon out of the ring, but he rightly doesn't want to get in the line of fire, Roxie and Becky continuing on with stereo headbutts and hiptosses out of the corner. When Modeste and Cosette land on their tailbones rapidfire kicks to back and chest follow, the dazed, battered 'Kiss' looking out of it before the Guns finish the party with simultaneous clotheslines,
Brian: Clayton's spinning Cozy through a forced moonsault of a backflip, the former Huggable landing on her face and chest.
"Whattaya think, Rox?" Clayton asks, nudging the splattered remnants of LeBlanc to her back with a boot. "Double pin?"
"Got a better idea, Becks," the Beantown Bombshell replies, eyes twinkling as she scrapes Modeste off the mat.
McCrimmon tilts her gave down to the barely stirring Cosette, and picking up on the request, Becky peels the Frenchwoman up as well. "They're not exactly the Doublemint Twins," Roxie says, shoving Reaux toward the other Big Gun, "but I think you can make do."
Clayton doesn't seem as certain. "Y'think?"
"Only one way to find out."
Giving Roxie a small nod, Becky lines the ladies of French Kiss up, Modeste behind Cosette, Clayton off their left flanks. She then pushes down on Reaux back, doubling the duo over before reaching through two sets of thighs. As she clamps on to the left wrist of both her foes, Clayton’s Howling Commandos are about ready to lose their collective sh!t. "Oh, NO F*CKIN' WAY!" at least one fan can be heard proclaiming, whilst Becky reaches underneath the right arms of French Kiss, getting ready to deliver the mother of all FUBARs...
(FUBAR:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFDsaa3ZNY0 )
The stupefied crowd watches in amazement at Clayton even attempting the two-woman version of her finisher and Anciline's jaw is likewise dropping. But the true disbelief emerges when Becky manages to vault both challengers off the deck and spin them in unison until their heads are lined toward the canvas. Thankfully for the Army of One Hot Chick she doesn't have to hold them there, for once turned, she sits out and lets gravity put the hurt on Cosette and Modeste. The crown of each challenger's skull SLAMS into the deck and both women are out cold before the crowd can even begin to chant "HOLY SHYT...HOLY SHYT".
With Modeste stacked atop Cosette, a slightly wobbly but grinning Clayton shoves the women over, Cozy now spreading motionless starfish over the splayed Reaux, both FUBARed challengers unconscious. Roxie reclines against the ropes just above deCyr, enjoying the look on the manager's face as Becky lays her body atop both members of French Kiss. The ref drops to make the count only to realize the legal woman doesn't have her shoulders on the canvas. "Ummm...Becky."
The man doesn't have to continue, Clayton interrupting with an "I know". Becky stares at her partner, raising a brow, and silently McCrimmon has the word. She walks to the stacked women, grabs a wrist of Modeste and drags her out from the bottom, Cosette dropping one level on the stack until the Frenchwoman is flat against the canvas.
"Thank you," Becky says matter-of-factly.
"No problem," comes the likewise nonchalant response.
With the first floor of this delectable French Kiss double-decker removed, the referee is quick to check Cosette's shoulders, and even quicker to start slapping the mat.
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hell, he probably could have counted to fifty--and perhaps a more vengeful set of souls would have demanded such a count. But, fortunately for the pride of Cosette and Modeste--it was already far too late for their bodies--the Big Guns are satisfied with the traditional count.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer declares, while Roxie McCrimmon accepts the tag straps from a staffer outside the ring, "your winners, and STILL Tag Team champions... THE BIIIGGG GUUUNNNSSS!!!!!"
Roxie hands one of the belts to Becky, the champs content to celebrate their win by McCrimmon planting a boot atop LeBlanc's tummy and Clayton doing the same with the French flyweight's bosom, both victories holding their trophies aloft. In a short time, French Kiss had built a considerable buzz for themselves, and it hadn't been unfounded--you don't beat the British Bombshells without being a special team.
But clearly, it would take more than "special" to depose the Big Guns. It might possibly take extraordinary.