Post by SammieSinclair on Mar 8, 2015 20:08:53 GMT
The sound of ‘God Save The Queen’ erupts from the sound system, halting the murmur of the expectant FAWNatics.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tN9EC3Gy6Nk
Knowing the Boarding School Princess is on the way, the crowd lets its disapproval loose the boos echoing through the bowl and it grows louder still when Space’s The Female of the Species rolls over the top of England’s anthem.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1NBpVKWh_c&ob=av2e
After a few long seconds, a distinctly worried looking redhead shuffles to centre stage, appearing as though she wants to be anywhere but there. Cromwell has a microphone already in hand.
“Cut my music,” she shouts. And a split-second later only a few confused jeers fill the air as Elizabeth strides to the ring.
Cromwell has her head on a swivel as she strides down the ramp and aisle. Lizzie’s blue bikini bottoms are tied at each hip, ‘BSP’ emblazoned in bold white strokes across her backside. Above that remains the familiar sports bra containing a twisting blend of the colours of her UK with a black outline of the British flag on her right breast.
The curious crowd holds their collective tongue.
“This is not fair,” Cromwell announces as she walks around the squared circle, checking under the apron as she reaches each side of the ring.
Satisfied, Elizabeth stomps up the ring steps and moves to the centre of the squared circle. Cromwell draws the ‘stick’ to her pursed lips.
“She was supposed to be gone,” Cromwell growls. “For good. Everyone told me she’d never come back. So she can’t. And even if she can.” Clearly flustered Cromwell tries to compose herself but is unable. “IT’S NOT FAIR!”
Elizabeth SLAMS the microphone to the ground. The official retrieves and dutifully hands it to a FAWN flunky.
A huffing and puffing Cromwell moves to her corner, still on edge, the redhead seeing imaginary former partners out of the corner of her eyes several times as she waits for the arrival of the real thing.
That wait, beginning with seconds that soon became minutes, longer, much longer for Lizzie, fraught nerves already set to snap, lasted just long enough for the red head to...
The lights went out...
They had stuttered at first, the power flickering now at the most inappropriate of moments, the staggered illumination casting excessively long shadows where they should be none. Just as it seemed the moment had passed, they shut off entirely, some manner of breaker slamming closed and, with an ominous THUNK!! plunged the vast crowd into darkness.
More time passed, and then a long minute, Cromwell pacing now that she had no light with which to see the certain ambush, the technicians on hand seemingly as mystified as anyone. As puzzlement turned to worry, for no end of harm had been caused under such circumstances, a dial tone began ringing, one that was disturbingly old school and belonging to no-one in attendance.
What was to follow, echoing with a hollow tone over the arenas sound system, was a puzzling ultimatum, a passive aggressive threat that was full of intent...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTL4qIIxg8A
The jarring guitar riff soon followed, a deafening drum beat combining to create an attraction that could not be ignored, a single beam of illumination appearing that highlighted the front stage and, as the first vocals demanded that all those listening “COME ON!” a single young women appeared.
The reaction that was to follow was nothing if not divided, confused and filled with speculation. The raven haired recluse had returned, accompanied by an equal measure of both jeers and cheers, the FAWNatics referring to score cards that could only be inaccurate and failing to find an appropriate, unified response. The three, perhaps four years that had passed since Alessandra Bianchi had last graced the Orlando Arena, unloved and unlamented following her crippling fate, had left nothing but confusion in her wake.
With a shark’s predatory craving, Bianchi had targeted her former tormentor, her former partner upon her return like a dagger to the back, and those watching held no love for the Worlds ‘Brattiest’ Brit, and yet... Alessandra was no angel...
At least, not that they could remember...
Alessandra Bianchi
She appeared anything but crippled now, flash photography utilised by everyone who possessed it, capturing her approach in stark relief for scant seconds at a time as Bianchi zeroed in on her destination. Black leather had become her friends, her stems covered from hip to mid thigh in the curve hugging material whilst buckled boots encased herself upwards past her calves. Her taunt little tummy remained bare, unprotected by her jacket that only reached down to beneath her bosom, her cut off shirt doing likewise and her unflinching gaze was obscured by the oversized lenses of her dark tinted shades.
In one hand Alessandra held her own phone, holding it upwards towards the ring she was fast approaching at an otherwise casual saunter, one dexterous thumb tweeting furiously as, much to the shock of those watching, they all found themselves ‘followers’ of without asking. It was then, as Bianchi put her phone away, slipping it securely inside her jacket that she ‘allowed’ the house lights to come back up, the Gorgeous Geek ascending the steel steps before she ducked inside the ring.
With a sharp tilt of her head, the bridge of her oversized shades slipped down to the tip of her nose, the Tantalising Tweeter peering contemptuously over the top and her opponent. “`You’re fatter,” she tutted, sweeping off her shades with a swift movement, somehow tucking them away into yet another hidden compartment, “comfort eating Lizzie? Not something you’ll be able to indulge in after tonight.”
Slinking off her Jacket, she outstretched it with one arm, holding the collar between finger and thumb, a loyal flunky on hand to catch it outside the ring the moment she was ready.
There's more than an air of trepidation in Cromwell as she watches Alessandra intently. But anxiety can be a motivator in addition to a debilitator and, as the jacket drops, Elizabeth storms out of her corner, racing at Bianchi. With fingers laced over her head, Elizabeth has a double axhandle at the ready, hoping to drive the joined fists into the back of the Geek's head before the bell brings the match to order and more importantly, before Alessandra knows what hits her.
Only for Bianchi, as if she had spent her years of exile practicing as a bull fighter, was not only prepared for the underhanded charge, but was absolutely expecting it. Be it due to the instinctive cry of warning from the crowd, or because she had deliberately baited the attack, the Tantalising Tweeter ducked low and, forcing a GUFF! of air from Lizzie, slammed her slender, right shoulder deep into her former partners open tummy. With a single, fluid motion Alessandra popped back up straight, hupping a gulping red head across her shoulders and, with a short twist and buck aimed to dislodge her British Luggage right over the top ropes and to the outside of the ring!
With Cromwell coming full speed, and not expecting anything could go wrong, the gutting and the lift come off without a hitch. The redhead is rotated by Bianchi and launched high into the air. Her altitude becomes even higher when Elizabeth is sent over the ropes. Falling the extra feet to the thinly-padded cement floor, Lizzie 'eeps' as she understands her new flight path and groans when she hits home. Landing on her side with a 'SMACK', Cromwell rolls all the way to the steel barricade, ending in a curled heap. She pokes a head out, dizzied, and reclines to a seat against the metal, shaking her noggin to gather her wits.
“Slow Busy Lizzie,” Bianchi tutted disapprovingly as she was anything but, dropping to the canvas and rolling beneath the bottom rope and, clearly unconcerned by the lack of a bell, touched her boots down on the concrete. With a short run she took off like a shot, darting away from the apron and, with a shout, raised her right boot high to target the sitting Cromwell’s sitting noggin, zeroing in smash the other young women’s features into the steel!!
...only she didn’t, the gasping and wincing FAWNatics turning away from the cringe inducing impact even as she deliberately missed her target. Instead the sole of her boot CRASHED harmlessly against the railing to the side of the wide eyed Elizabeth’s crimson curls, missing her by just a breadth and Alessandra toyed with her former partner. Backing off with measured paces, the Terrorising Techie held up her arms wide with a mocking smirk.
“Very slow...”
Cromwell raises her arms up in reply, her actions plaintive in comparison. The Englishwoman uses the barrier to pull then push to her feet. She strides warily away from her former partner and walks down the length of the ring before scurrying to the apron and sliding in under the bottom rope. The freckled redhead pops to her feet and backpedals to the far ropes, motioning for Alessandra to join her. Lizzie demands the match start and the timekeeper decides it's an opportune time to comply, ringing the bell.
With the Geek giving her backstabber the evil eye, but from outside the ring, Elizabeth's temporarily buoyed enough to demand the raven-haired grappler come in and take her beating. "I'll make sure you NEVER come back this time," she shouts.
Measuring the distance between Lizzie and the ropes she fully intended re-enter the ring through, Alessandra calculated the odds in her favour before accepting her one time best friend’s invitation, prompting the Officials initial count. Slipping one thigh up onto the apron, as if tempting Cromwell to rashly charge again, she followed through with her stem and then rolled inside. Back upon the canvas she was on her feet again just as quickly, the duo wary as they began circling.
“You should be thanking me,” Bianchi scolded, a simmering intensity underlying her tone, “your account hasn’t enjoyed this many hits in months. Everyone was forgetting who you were. Of course, after tonight,” she speculated as the two drew nearer and, as Cromwell was about to forgo the lock up with an underhanded jab to unguarded peeper, Alessandra had the audacity to steal from the freckled hellcats own playbook! With one thumb extended, the Gorgeous Geek targeted her opponent’s eye with a more than viscous gauge, “it won’t matter regardless.”
And Bianchi pokes the baby brown of the redhead, Elizabeth screeching as she turns and staggers away. "You bytch," she squeals, rubbing her gouged eye with one hand while sending the other out to find the nearest ropes, her opposite eye watering reflexively. "I am so going to..."
"End me," Alessandra interrupts. "Sorry. You only get one chance at that." Cromwell hugs the top rope with her free arm, demanding the ref disqualify the cheater, though she knows with FAWN it will likely be 17 strikes and you're out. Keeping her grip tight on the cable, wanting that safety, Elizabeth takes a wild swing with her opposite limb, but Alessandra easily steps out of range.
"My analytics already tell me what you're going to do, sweetheart," Bianchi informs. "Even before you do it. And they say you'll be pleading by the end of the night."
“You don’t know...”
“You?” Alessandra went and stepped all over Elizabeth’s attempted tirade all over again, this time adding a solid BOOT to a trim, open tummy of the blinded Brit. With an audible ‘OMPFH!’ the wicked kick both slammed the red head into the nearest corner and wedged the young women’s firm buttocks upon the middle turnbuckle, momentarily keeping her compliant. “Oh but I’m afraid I do. My judgement was most certainly riddled with erroneous assumptions when we operated in tandem, but my dear, silly Lizzie, I’ve had more than three years to re-evaluate your manifesto. And let me tell you, the statistics for this last year, well, they are most worrisome!”
Grabbing a dual handful of crimson curls, Alessandra yanked the winded BSP forwards, pulling her from the confines of the corner before turning her about, fully prepared to slam the one time, Lightweight Champions freckled features into the turnbuckles until the Official demanded she stop. “To think, people used to be afraid of you!”
Bianchi pulls Cromwell's braincase WAY back and SLAMS her fear stricken face into the top buckle, again and again, and again. The crowd revels in using their vocal cords to count up to a full "TEN" before the official demands Alessandra end her percussion of head to buckle.
Tossing Elizabeth away, Cromwell staggers in a 180 and makes it to the middle before her locomotion runs out of gas. There she wavers like a reed in the wind, determined to remain upright, even if it might not be the best alternative. Wobbly, Cromwell turns to her former partner. "And they will be," Lizzie stammers, nearly dropping to her knees before catching herself. "Again."
And at any other time, such an ultimatum may have a staging point for a retaliation, the London’s, Sinclair’s, Smith’s and lately even the Field’s of the world launching into a comeback. Tonight, however, Cromwell was none of the above and yet another boot to a quickly tenderising tummy was to be her only reward, folding her up with a renewed gag and delivered her head right into the waiting arms of Bianchi.
“Oh Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie,” the Tantalising Tweeter shook her head in resignation, even as the quirking of her lips suggested satisfaction. With noggin secured in place, the raven haired recluse began to slooooooowly pivot, twisting a whimpering Elizabeth’s head about painfully upon her slender neck until the stood back to back. With a wrench, Bianchi tucked the top of the freckled Brit’s spine over her shoulder in a painful curve before she was to drop them both down to buttocks sharply!
“People’s will never again be afraid OF you, they’ll be afraid to BE you!”
@1:08
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdBCIN8Xz4g
Bianchi slowly turns the screw, spinning both the redheaded traitor and herself until they are back to back. Elizabeth's arms flail in front of her in utter uselessness. The ropes are yards away and the rampaging raven-haired returnee behind her. With nowhere left to turn, literally and figuratively, Cromwell is sent plummeting to the canvas when Bianchi lays out. With the back of her neck glued to Alessandra's shoulder, Elizabeth takes a terrible whiplashing impact!
While the Gorgeous Geek spins up to one knee, Elizabeth's boots patter against the canvas, both arms cradling under and around the back of her neck. Lizzie's freckled face is etched in pain, the Boarding School Princess out psyched, and outwrestled, adding up to outmatched.
“This Lizzie, this is why you’re failing!” Alessandra continued schooling, her smirk of satisfaction widening with every successful venture, her very cheeks flushing an increasing tint of crimson. Securing a handful of hair, she dragged the hissing, Bratty Brit up to sitting and slipped around her, releasing her hold only so she could secure in a new one. Slapping her arms about like the closing of Venus flytrap, Bianchi secured a sleeper, one tightening about the throat of Cromwell and the other circling her fellow young women’s temples, squeezing and constricting with every, stolen breath, her own tone now whispering.
“This is why Waterford took your pride; this is why Sinclair used you as a platform to the Lightweight Title, this is why you lost twice in one night at FAWNMANIA, this is what I realised while I waited for my opportunity. You peaked Lizzie; you peaked before your prime. Now you’re just a jobber Cromwell, and you don’t even know it.”
Elizabeth huffs and puffs in a fury, the words spurring her on to escape the sprung trap, but with Alessandra's legs circling her midriff tightly and Bianchi's arms constricting around her head, cutting off the blood flow in increasingly effective fashion, it's a difficult proposition. Add in the Digital Damsel's domination thus far and Cromwell's battle is proving an uphill one. Lizzie swings her body from side to side, trying to break the grip.
Her hands grasp over her shoulders and she finds some raven locks to yank, but a snarling Bianchi ignores the tugs of her ebony locks and keeps the pressure increasing, arms compressing around carotid and temple. Elizabeth's lids give a telltale flutter and the urgency in her pulls of Alessandra's locks lessen.
The official asks if Cromwell wants to surrender, but a garbled 'no' escapes her lips, Elizabeth trying to blink some of her senses back into place as she changes tactics, trying to pry her way free with drained limbs.
If anything, the weakening Lizzie’s spasms and desperate tugging only spurs Bianchi further, her lips pressed in tight against the struggling Brits ear, filling her senses with a threatening snarl. Like a terrier with a bone, Alessandra took a great deal of delight in shaking her former partner out, wringing her of strength as she rocked to and fro on her leather clad, firm buttocks, squeezing and constricting.
As Cromwell wheezed and erratically kicked her heel against the canvas, Bianchi opted to change tact, releasing her Sleeperhold and allowing the relieved red head to inhale a handful of desperately deep breaths. It was to be a fleeting freedom however as the Terrorising Techie readily reminded the Boarding School Princess of her imprisonment, flexing perfectly sculptured thighs to squeeze Lizzie’s perfectly trim tummy.
Crippled into inaction by the fresh pulse of pain, Cromwell was easy prey for the Gorgeous Geek to pull her upper body backwards, thrusting the young Brit’s bosom upwards as Bianchi added a severe creak in her victims back, curving Elizabeth’s spine, and then neck into a sharp curve to apply a Dragon Sleeper!`
Alessandra's right arm circles around the front of Cromwell's neck in backhanded fashion and Bianchi quickly and successfully trades one sleeper hold for another, this one adding an anguish-inducing arch to Elizabeth's backbone. Working with a ruthless efficiency, Alessandra not only places stress on the redhead's back but her neck as well while also keeping the corpuscles flowing at a minimum.
With the brat bent back further, her chest surging upward against its confinement, Elizabeth's arms shoot more toward the rafters than toward her foe, removing the only drawback from the previous sleeper. Cromwell's arms wave in an increasingly less coordinated manner until there is seemingly little thought behind their movement, the limbs loosely moving out of reflex and little more. A red faced Cromwell squirms, anxiety fading toward a morose emptiness in her expression.
“Alright Bianchi,” an increasingly concerned official leans in, clearly anxious enough to bring this one sided contest to close, “let me check her.”
“Whatever for?” Bianchi tilted her head and pouted, gazing upwards past her raven fringe in such a way that made her appear profoundly innocent. “Ms. Cromwell is in a perfectly adequate condition to continue.”
As if desiring to prove her point, Alessandra readjusted her posture and, no longer needing to brace herself with her free arm, used it to swing about and SLAP Lizzie vindictively across her bare, already red tummy. The sharp smack was followed by a second, and then a third, each stinging strike eliciting a whimpering mewl from the flagging, barely conscious Brit and an impotent spasming of ragdolled stems.
“You see?” she questioned, as though she had perfectly proved her hypothesis, “plenty of va va voom left.”
The Official, however, was unconvinced and immediately moved to grasp a limp wrist to begin counting.
He didn’t get the chance, not as Bianchi suddenly released, reluctantly uncoiling herself from Cromwell and pushing her defeated opponent free. As sportsmanship went, the gesture possessed none of it, and the spiteful action of prolonging her opponent’s punishment earning Alessandra her first, unbiased and unanimous chorus of boos from the FAWNatics. She clearly didn’t care, paying them no attention and lent downwards, collecting mumbling Lizzie beneath her shoulders and bullying her to her feet.
“Now then,” she slapped the Brit across her cheek before tucking her downwards into a firm headlock, “when was the last time you actually managed to do this?”
@0:06: Prep School Expulsion
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ttqciIH5dA
Alessandra ducks her head under a limp arm of the Liverpool native then sends her free arm around Cromwell's midriff in a cross handed grip. The crowd lets loose with 'oh no she isn't' bleat of excitement as the raven-haired returnee dips to vault Elizabeth into the air, which she does with only the problem of lifting nearly deadweight.
In an awfully smooth and expert completion of Cromwell's own finisher, Bianchi sends the Boarding School Princess up, over and disastrously straight down, Cromwell landing on the crown of her head. Elizabeth bonelessly spasms into a spread eagle, the redhead 'Expelled' from tonight's match in supremely dominant fashion.
A smirking Alessandra lightly covers her demolished former partner for the...
ONE!
TWO!!
NO!!!
But the third slap of the mat is not stopped from any action of Elizabeth, but instead by Bianchi who tugs the unconscious Lizzie's shoulders off the canvas.
The Official is not the only one displeased by the turn of events, the crowd erupting into a raucous chorus of boos and, for the first time in Cromwell’s young career, more than a little concern for her well being. Bianchi heard none of it, not as she remained kneeling, supporting the unconscious Lizzie with a ‘comforting’ arm about her slumped shoulders. Like a bobble head, the freckled red heads noggin was encouraged to bounce this way and that, Alessandra pressing her forehead against her former partners and contemplated their fate.
“That should have been three!” the man in black in white scolded, demanding that Bianchi be professional and allow the match to end.
“No, it was more than three,” the Digital Damsel cryptically replied, sighing deeply before she inhaled sharply. With a fierce grasp of crimson curls, to JERKED the Brit’s head backwards and slammed the young women’s noggin viciously into the canvas! “FOUR!! YEARS!!” she screamed, repeating the bludgeoning process a full half dozen times before she relented, bouncing her former partners head like a basket ball and forcing her entire body to painfully spasm. “Four years,” she sighed, fury draining from her small body as clinical intent took back over, the Tantalising Tweeter back on task like good little techie.
Getting to her feet, Bianchi left the sprawled Cromwell in her wake, approaching the ropes in resignation as she fluffed out her fringe. Leaning over the top coil, she held her arms out, opening her palms to accept an offering from her loyal, ringside flunkies. At first the confused FAWNatics thought that she was calling for her jacket, apparently done with this whole affair even without her ‘victory’... only for the truth to quickly dawn.
The ringside flunky was indeed on hand, but into her hands was instead delivered a steel chair, the crowd reacting with mounting horror as Alessandra took her new weapon with her into the ring. The official, checking on Lizzie's condition, was completely unaware however. Moving to him, Bianchi immediately SMASHED!! it across the Official's head with a wicked and utterly unwarranted CLANG!! Like a tree he tumbled, bloodied and spread eagled, face down incapable of impeding any further engagement
Shrugging off the incident, the Gorgeous Geek marched on over to the oblivious Cromwell and, with no-one to stop her, snapped the chair open and set it down ominously centre ring. “Four years,” she repeated, as though it were her mantra, ducking low to collect and, with bullying jerks, scraped her former partner ever so slowly, ever so dangerously back up to vertical. With a headlock in place, one arm slipped behind her neck and wrists linked, the freckled Brit was trussed up again for a second Prep School Expulsion, this one with nothing but steel on the end of it and, with karma in play, the very real possibility of a broken neck for Elizabeth Cromwell...
That is until the tone of the audience changed dramatically, the panic of the crowd rippling from despair to shock, transforming quickly into desperately surprised cheers. Suddenly Kylie Sanders was not the only competitor who could appear twice in one night and, as the golden clad blur tore a swift path down the aisle with chocolate curls a bouncing, the People welcomed their returning Princess as Samantha Sinclair, of all people, rushed to her rivals rescue!!
Judging the swiftness of Sinclair's arrival as too soon to get her ragdoll up in the air and down onto the metal, Alessandra releases her grip and lets Cromwell puddle to the mat in front of her. Instead, she moves to the woman who might be an actual threat, striding to meet Sammie as she slides in under the ropes.
Bianchi raises a boot to stomp the People's Princess, but the Gorgeous Geek doesn't calculate Sinclair's speed correctly and the blue and yellow blur slips beyond the boot before it can come down on her. Popping to her feet, she turns to the raven-haired grappler as Bianchi does to her. "You know what kind of brat this girl is Sinclair. Do you really want to put your career on the line to save hers?" Alessandra asks.
“Oh believe me, I know,” Sammie quickly positions herself between the Digital Damsel and the prone, helpless form of her heated rival, ready for anything and not budging an inch. A little rough around the edges after going ten rounds with Beth Jenkins she may be, but she was clearly ready throw down again if given cause. “Right now I dare to say I know her even better than you do.”
Leaning forwards, the Upstart backed up just half a step, her eyes of baby brown not leaving Bianchi as, for the first time in a long time, Samantha began to slowly massage the back of her own neck, an unconscious tic that re-emerged now at the most pertinent of times. “I know what it’s like Bianchi, I’ve been there, it happened to me to, my neck was broken for no other reason than because Kat Smith was feeling callous, I didn’t know if I...”
She paused, pretty peepers not leaving Aleksandra’s, searching for common ground. “This isn’t the answer. You wanted to beat her, you’re done that. You wanted to prove you’re better, you’re done that. You wanted to show everyone that you could come back, no matter what SHE did, you’re done that! But this...” Sammie pointed towards the still open chair, “This is too far, and while I will never agree with what she did to you, I will not allow the same to happen to anyone else that happened to me, to us. Not while I can stop it.”
Alessandra nods knowingly, moving toward Sammie. "Maybe you're right." Bianchi picks up the chair. "For you," she adds. "For me, that Bitch is going to the hospital for a good LONG time." Alessandra brandishes her weapon. "And now you are too."
Bianchi gives a swing of the metal but Sinclair gets her hands up and intercepts it midway to her noggin. With both women having two-handed grips on the folded furniture, Sammie and Sandra fight over the steel. Showing more than a bit of clever, Sammie stomps Bianchi's toes and it is enough a distraction Sinclair is able to rip the chair away from Alessandra. With Sammie in possession of her weapon, Bianchi backs off, her quick calculations determining she wouldn't be able to finish either Sinclair or Cromwell tonight.
But as the Gorgeous Geek catches the motion of a rising ref out of the corner of her eye, she drops to hands and knees with a howl of pain. Alessandra grasps the back of her head with one hand and struggles forward on the other long enough for the official to see her condition and from there she flops to the canvas “out cold”.
The referee gazes at Bianchi long and hard and then at the flushed face of Sammie, chair in a white-knuckled grip.
“Sincalir?" His eyes seem to be deceiving him, but he has to call what he sees AND feels, the knot on the back of his head growing. The man waves his arm, calling for the bell. He shouts to the timekeeper over the raucous boos from the crowd and the ring announcer doesn’t make them any happier.
“Your winner…via disqualification…Alessandra Bianchi.”
Sammie, for a good few moments, can think of nothing to say as her mouth remains open in disbelief, the Little Sparrow forcing herself to shake it off as she retains a wary eye on the ‘unconscious’ Geek. Shaking her head in resignation, the People’s Princess drops the chair that she was still holding (out of reach of everyone it has to be said) and directed the most adorable of scowls in the direction of the Official, letting him know that he had earned her babyfaced ire. “In ten minutes, you are going to feel like such a tool,” she assured him before backing off over in the direction of the still spread eagled Cromwell, prepared to retain a vigil for as long as necessary.
“And you,” she turned her ‘withering’ stare to the slowly rising, and very much smirking Alessandra, “get used to the view down there, you’ll be seeing it again sooner or later.”
Alessandra keeps her face toward Sammie and away from the duped zebra. She mouths "I'll get her. I'll get you". Bianchi then cradles her 'aching head' with one hand and rolls out of the ring , dropping to the floor with a dramatic near faint before she catches herself and leaves, the FAWNatics jeering lustily at the vicious, sneaky geek.
In the ring, Sammie kneels over the splattered remains of Cromwell. Tapping a cheek, Sammie brings her rival to semi-awareness though seeing Sinclair does nothing to clear Elizabeth's considerable confusion. "Don't worry, Lizzie," Sammie offers softly. "Explanations can wait until we get you safely to the back."
Not in a position to argue, the dazed BSP accepts Sammie's arm around her shoulders, a much-needed assist to her feet, and the People's Shoulder to lean on as the two disparate Englishwomen make their way up the aisle and to the back.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tN9EC3Gy6Nk
Knowing the Boarding School Princess is on the way, the crowd lets its disapproval loose the boos echoing through the bowl and it grows louder still when Space’s The Female of the Species rolls over the top of England’s anthem.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1NBpVKWh_c&ob=av2e
After a few long seconds, a distinctly worried looking redhead shuffles to centre stage, appearing as though she wants to be anywhere but there. Cromwell has a microphone already in hand.
“Cut my music,” she shouts. And a split-second later only a few confused jeers fill the air as Elizabeth strides to the ring.
Cromwell has her head on a swivel as she strides down the ramp and aisle. Lizzie’s blue bikini bottoms are tied at each hip, ‘BSP’ emblazoned in bold white strokes across her backside. Above that remains the familiar sports bra containing a twisting blend of the colours of her UK with a black outline of the British flag on her right breast.
The curious crowd holds their collective tongue.
“This is not fair,” Cromwell announces as she walks around the squared circle, checking under the apron as she reaches each side of the ring.
Satisfied, Elizabeth stomps up the ring steps and moves to the centre of the squared circle. Cromwell draws the ‘stick’ to her pursed lips.
“She was supposed to be gone,” Cromwell growls. “For good. Everyone told me she’d never come back. So she can’t. And even if she can.” Clearly flustered Cromwell tries to compose herself but is unable. “IT’S NOT FAIR!”
Elizabeth SLAMS the microphone to the ground. The official retrieves and dutifully hands it to a FAWN flunky.
A huffing and puffing Cromwell moves to her corner, still on edge, the redhead seeing imaginary former partners out of the corner of her eyes several times as she waits for the arrival of the real thing.
That wait, beginning with seconds that soon became minutes, longer, much longer for Lizzie, fraught nerves already set to snap, lasted just long enough for the red head to...
The lights went out...
They had stuttered at first, the power flickering now at the most inappropriate of moments, the staggered illumination casting excessively long shadows where they should be none. Just as it seemed the moment had passed, they shut off entirely, some manner of breaker slamming closed and, with an ominous THUNK!! plunged the vast crowd into darkness.
More time passed, and then a long minute, Cromwell pacing now that she had no light with which to see the certain ambush, the technicians on hand seemingly as mystified as anyone. As puzzlement turned to worry, for no end of harm had been caused under such circumstances, a dial tone began ringing, one that was disturbingly old school and belonging to no-one in attendance.
What was to follow, echoing with a hollow tone over the arenas sound system, was a puzzling ultimatum, a passive aggressive threat that was full of intent...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTL4qIIxg8A
The jarring guitar riff soon followed, a deafening drum beat combining to create an attraction that could not be ignored, a single beam of illumination appearing that highlighted the front stage and, as the first vocals demanded that all those listening “COME ON!” a single young women appeared.
The reaction that was to follow was nothing if not divided, confused and filled with speculation. The raven haired recluse had returned, accompanied by an equal measure of both jeers and cheers, the FAWNatics referring to score cards that could only be inaccurate and failing to find an appropriate, unified response. The three, perhaps four years that had passed since Alessandra Bianchi had last graced the Orlando Arena, unloved and unlamented following her crippling fate, had left nothing but confusion in her wake.
With a shark’s predatory craving, Bianchi had targeted her former tormentor, her former partner upon her return like a dagger to the back, and those watching held no love for the Worlds ‘Brattiest’ Brit, and yet... Alessandra was no angel...
At least, not that they could remember...
Alessandra Bianchi
She appeared anything but crippled now, flash photography utilised by everyone who possessed it, capturing her approach in stark relief for scant seconds at a time as Bianchi zeroed in on her destination. Black leather had become her friends, her stems covered from hip to mid thigh in the curve hugging material whilst buckled boots encased herself upwards past her calves. Her taunt little tummy remained bare, unprotected by her jacket that only reached down to beneath her bosom, her cut off shirt doing likewise and her unflinching gaze was obscured by the oversized lenses of her dark tinted shades.
In one hand Alessandra held her own phone, holding it upwards towards the ring she was fast approaching at an otherwise casual saunter, one dexterous thumb tweeting furiously as, much to the shock of those watching, they all found themselves ‘followers’ of without asking. It was then, as Bianchi put her phone away, slipping it securely inside her jacket that she ‘allowed’ the house lights to come back up, the Gorgeous Geek ascending the steel steps before she ducked inside the ring.
With a sharp tilt of her head, the bridge of her oversized shades slipped down to the tip of her nose, the Tantalising Tweeter peering contemptuously over the top and her opponent. “`You’re fatter,” she tutted, sweeping off her shades with a swift movement, somehow tucking them away into yet another hidden compartment, “comfort eating Lizzie? Not something you’ll be able to indulge in after tonight.”
Slinking off her Jacket, she outstretched it with one arm, holding the collar between finger and thumb, a loyal flunky on hand to catch it outside the ring the moment she was ready.
There's more than an air of trepidation in Cromwell as she watches Alessandra intently. But anxiety can be a motivator in addition to a debilitator and, as the jacket drops, Elizabeth storms out of her corner, racing at Bianchi. With fingers laced over her head, Elizabeth has a double axhandle at the ready, hoping to drive the joined fists into the back of the Geek's head before the bell brings the match to order and more importantly, before Alessandra knows what hits her.
Only for Bianchi, as if she had spent her years of exile practicing as a bull fighter, was not only prepared for the underhanded charge, but was absolutely expecting it. Be it due to the instinctive cry of warning from the crowd, or because she had deliberately baited the attack, the Tantalising Tweeter ducked low and, forcing a GUFF! of air from Lizzie, slammed her slender, right shoulder deep into her former partners open tummy. With a single, fluid motion Alessandra popped back up straight, hupping a gulping red head across her shoulders and, with a short twist and buck aimed to dislodge her British Luggage right over the top ropes and to the outside of the ring!
With Cromwell coming full speed, and not expecting anything could go wrong, the gutting and the lift come off without a hitch. The redhead is rotated by Bianchi and launched high into the air. Her altitude becomes even higher when Elizabeth is sent over the ropes. Falling the extra feet to the thinly-padded cement floor, Lizzie 'eeps' as she understands her new flight path and groans when she hits home. Landing on her side with a 'SMACK', Cromwell rolls all the way to the steel barricade, ending in a curled heap. She pokes a head out, dizzied, and reclines to a seat against the metal, shaking her noggin to gather her wits.
“Slow Busy Lizzie,” Bianchi tutted disapprovingly as she was anything but, dropping to the canvas and rolling beneath the bottom rope and, clearly unconcerned by the lack of a bell, touched her boots down on the concrete. With a short run she took off like a shot, darting away from the apron and, with a shout, raised her right boot high to target the sitting Cromwell’s sitting noggin, zeroing in smash the other young women’s features into the steel!!
...only she didn’t, the gasping and wincing FAWNatics turning away from the cringe inducing impact even as she deliberately missed her target. Instead the sole of her boot CRASHED harmlessly against the railing to the side of the wide eyed Elizabeth’s crimson curls, missing her by just a breadth and Alessandra toyed with her former partner. Backing off with measured paces, the Terrorising Techie held up her arms wide with a mocking smirk.
“Very slow...”
Cromwell raises her arms up in reply, her actions plaintive in comparison. The Englishwoman uses the barrier to pull then push to her feet. She strides warily away from her former partner and walks down the length of the ring before scurrying to the apron and sliding in under the bottom rope. The freckled redhead pops to her feet and backpedals to the far ropes, motioning for Alessandra to join her. Lizzie demands the match start and the timekeeper decides it's an opportune time to comply, ringing the bell.
With the Geek giving her backstabber the evil eye, but from outside the ring, Elizabeth's temporarily buoyed enough to demand the raven-haired grappler come in and take her beating. "I'll make sure you NEVER come back this time," she shouts.
Measuring the distance between Lizzie and the ropes she fully intended re-enter the ring through, Alessandra calculated the odds in her favour before accepting her one time best friend’s invitation, prompting the Officials initial count. Slipping one thigh up onto the apron, as if tempting Cromwell to rashly charge again, she followed through with her stem and then rolled inside. Back upon the canvas she was on her feet again just as quickly, the duo wary as they began circling.
“You should be thanking me,” Bianchi scolded, a simmering intensity underlying her tone, “your account hasn’t enjoyed this many hits in months. Everyone was forgetting who you were. Of course, after tonight,” she speculated as the two drew nearer and, as Cromwell was about to forgo the lock up with an underhanded jab to unguarded peeper, Alessandra had the audacity to steal from the freckled hellcats own playbook! With one thumb extended, the Gorgeous Geek targeted her opponent’s eye with a more than viscous gauge, “it won’t matter regardless.”
And Bianchi pokes the baby brown of the redhead, Elizabeth screeching as she turns and staggers away. "You bytch," she squeals, rubbing her gouged eye with one hand while sending the other out to find the nearest ropes, her opposite eye watering reflexively. "I am so going to..."
"End me," Alessandra interrupts. "Sorry. You only get one chance at that." Cromwell hugs the top rope with her free arm, demanding the ref disqualify the cheater, though she knows with FAWN it will likely be 17 strikes and you're out. Keeping her grip tight on the cable, wanting that safety, Elizabeth takes a wild swing with her opposite limb, but Alessandra easily steps out of range.
"My analytics already tell me what you're going to do, sweetheart," Bianchi informs. "Even before you do it. And they say you'll be pleading by the end of the night."
“You don’t know...”
“You?” Alessandra went and stepped all over Elizabeth’s attempted tirade all over again, this time adding a solid BOOT to a trim, open tummy of the blinded Brit. With an audible ‘OMPFH!’ the wicked kick both slammed the red head into the nearest corner and wedged the young women’s firm buttocks upon the middle turnbuckle, momentarily keeping her compliant. “Oh but I’m afraid I do. My judgement was most certainly riddled with erroneous assumptions when we operated in tandem, but my dear, silly Lizzie, I’ve had more than three years to re-evaluate your manifesto. And let me tell you, the statistics for this last year, well, they are most worrisome!”
Grabbing a dual handful of crimson curls, Alessandra yanked the winded BSP forwards, pulling her from the confines of the corner before turning her about, fully prepared to slam the one time, Lightweight Champions freckled features into the turnbuckles until the Official demanded she stop. “To think, people used to be afraid of you!”
Bianchi pulls Cromwell's braincase WAY back and SLAMS her fear stricken face into the top buckle, again and again, and again. The crowd revels in using their vocal cords to count up to a full "TEN" before the official demands Alessandra end her percussion of head to buckle.
Tossing Elizabeth away, Cromwell staggers in a 180 and makes it to the middle before her locomotion runs out of gas. There she wavers like a reed in the wind, determined to remain upright, even if it might not be the best alternative. Wobbly, Cromwell turns to her former partner. "And they will be," Lizzie stammers, nearly dropping to her knees before catching herself. "Again."
And at any other time, such an ultimatum may have a staging point for a retaliation, the London’s, Sinclair’s, Smith’s and lately even the Field’s of the world launching into a comeback. Tonight, however, Cromwell was none of the above and yet another boot to a quickly tenderising tummy was to be her only reward, folding her up with a renewed gag and delivered her head right into the waiting arms of Bianchi.
“Oh Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie,” the Tantalising Tweeter shook her head in resignation, even as the quirking of her lips suggested satisfaction. With noggin secured in place, the raven haired recluse began to slooooooowly pivot, twisting a whimpering Elizabeth’s head about painfully upon her slender neck until the stood back to back. With a wrench, Bianchi tucked the top of the freckled Brit’s spine over her shoulder in a painful curve before she was to drop them both down to buttocks sharply!
“People’s will never again be afraid OF you, they’ll be afraid to BE you!”
@1:08
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdBCIN8Xz4g
Bianchi slowly turns the screw, spinning both the redheaded traitor and herself until they are back to back. Elizabeth's arms flail in front of her in utter uselessness. The ropes are yards away and the rampaging raven-haired returnee behind her. With nowhere left to turn, literally and figuratively, Cromwell is sent plummeting to the canvas when Bianchi lays out. With the back of her neck glued to Alessandra's shoulder, Elizabeth takes a terrible whiplashing impact!
While the Gorgeous Geek spins up to one knee, Elizabeth's boots patter against the canvas, both arms cradling under and around the back of her neck. Lizzie's freckled face is etched in pain, the Boarding School Princess out psyched, and outwrestled, adding up to outmatched.
“This Lizzie, this is why you’re failing!” Alessandra continued schooling, her smirk of satisfaction widening with every successful venture, her very cheeks flushing an increasing tint of crimson. Securing a handful of hair, she dragged the hissing, Bratty Brit up to sitting and slipped around her, releasing her hold only so she could secure in a new one. Slapping her arms about like the closing of Venus flytrap, Bianchi secured a sleeper, one tightening about the throat of Cromwell and the other circling her fellow young women’s temples, squeezing and constricting with every, stolen breath, her own tone now whispering.
“This is why Waterford took your pride; this is why Sinclair used you as a platform to the Lightweight Title, this is why you lost twice in one night at FAWNMANIA, this is what I realised while I waited for my opportunity. You peaked Lizzie; you peaked before your prime. Now you’re just a jobber Cromwell, and you don’t even know it.”
Elizabeth huffs and puffs in a fury, the words spurring her on to escape the sprung trap, but with Alessandra's legs circling her midriff tightly and Bianchi's arms constricting around her head, cutting off the blood flow in increasingly effective fashion, it's a difficult proposition. Add in the Digital Damsel's domination thus far and Cromwell's battle is proving an uphill one. Lizzie swings her body from side to side, trying to break the grip.
Her hands grasp over her shoulders and she finds some raven locks to yank, but a snarling Bianchi ignores the tugs of her ebony locks and keeps the pressure increasing, arms compressing around carotid and temple. Elizabeth's lids give a telltale flutter and the urgency in her pulls of Alessandra's locks lessen.
The official asks if Cromwell wants to surrender, but a garbled 'no' escapes her lips, Elizabeth trying to blink some of her senses back into place as she changes tactics, trying to pry her way free with drained limbs.
If anything, the weakening Lizzie’s spasms and desperate tugging only spurs Bianchi further, her lips pressed in tight against the struggling Brits ear, filling her senses with a threatening snarl. Like a terrier with a bone, Alessandra took a great deal of delight in shaking her former partner out, wringing her of strength as she rocked to and fro on her leather clad, firm buttocks, squeezing and constricting.
As Cromwell wheezed and erratically kicked her heel against the canvas, Bianchi opted to change tact, releasing her Sleeperhold and allowing the relieved red head to inhale a handful of desperately deep breaths. It was to be a fleeting freedom however as the Terrorising Techie readily reminded the Boarding School Princess of her imprisonment, flexing perfectly sculptured thighs to squeeze Lizzie’s perfectly trim tummy.
Crippled into inaction by the fresh pulse of pain, Cromwell was easy prey for the Gorgeous Geek to pull her upper body backwards, thrusting the young Brit’s bosom upwards as Bianchi added a severe creak in her victims back, curving Elizabeth’s spine, and then neck into a sharp curve to apply a Dragon Sleeper!`
Alessandra's right arm circles around the front of Cromwell's neck in backhanded fashion and Bianchi quickly and successfully trades one sleeper hold for another, this one adding an anguish-inducing arch to Elizabeth's backbone. Working with a ruthless efficiency, Alessandra not only places stress on the redhead's back but her neck as well while also keeping the corpuscles flowing at a minimum.
With the brat bent back further, her chest surging upward against its confinement, Elizabeth's arms shoot more toward the rafters than toward her foe, removing the only drawback from the previous sleeper. Cromwell's arms wave in an increasingly less coordinated manner until there is seemingly little thought behind their movement, the limbs loosely moving out of reflex and little more. A red faced Cromwell squirms, anxiety fading toward a morose emptiness in her expression.
“Alright Bianchi,” an increasingly concerned official leans in, clearly anxious enough to bring this one sided contest to close, “let me check her.”
“Whatever for?” Bianchi tilted her head and pouted, gazing upwards past her raven fringe in such a way that made her appear profoundly innocent. “Ms. Cromwell is in a perfectly adequate condition to continue.”
As if desiring to prove her point, Alessandra readjusted her posture and, no longer needing to brace herself with her free arm, used it to swing about and SLAP Lizzie vindictively across her bare, already red tummy. The sharp smack was followed by a second, and then a third, each stinging strike eliciting a whimpering mewl from the flagging, barely conscious Brit and an impotent spasming of ragdolled stems.
“You see?” she questioned, as though she had perfectly proved her hypothesis, “plenty of va va voom left.”
The Official, however, was unconvinced and immediately moved to grasp a limp wrist to begin counting.
He didn’t get the chance, not as Bianchi suddenly released, reluctantly uncoiling herself from Cromwell and pushing her defeated opponent free. As sportsmanship went, the gesture possessed none of it, and the spiteful action of prolonging her opponent’s punishment earning Alessandra her first, unbiased and unanimous chorus of boos from the FAWNatics. She clearly didn’t care, paying them no attention and lent downwards, collecting mumbling Lizzie beneath her shoulders and bullying her to her feet.
“Now then,” she slapped the Brit across her cheek before tucking her downwards into a firm headlock, “when was the last time you actually managed to do this?”
@0:06: Prep School Expulsion
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ttqciIH5dA
Alessandra ducks her head under a limp arm of the Liverpool native then sends her free arm around Cromwell's midriff in a cross handed grip. The crowd lets loose with 'oh no she isn't' bleat of excitement as the raven-haired returnee dips to vault Elizabeth into the air, which she does with only the problem of lifting nearly deadweight.
In an awfully smooth and expert completion of Cromwell's own finisher, Bianchi sends the Boarding School Princess up, over and disastrously straight down, Cromwell landing on the crown of her head. Elizabeth bonelessly spasms into a spread eagle, the redhead 'Expelled' from tonight's match in supremely dominant fashion.
A smirking Alessandra lightly covers her demolished former partner for the...
ONE!
TWO!!
NO!!!
But the third slap of the mat is not stopped from any action of Elizabeth, but instead by Bianchi who tugs the unconscious Lizzie's shoulders off the canvas.
The Official is not the only one displeased by the turn of events, the crowd erupting into a raucous chorus of boos and, for the first time in Cromwell’s young career, more than a little concern for her well being. Bianchi heard none of it, not as she remained kneeling, supporting the unconscious Lizzie with a ‘comforting’ arm about her slumped shoulders. Like a bobble head, the freckled red heads noggin was encouraged to bounce this way and that, Alessandra pressing her forehead against her former partners and contemplated their fate.
“That should have been three!” the man in black in white scolded, demanding that Bianchi be professional and allow the match to end.
“No, it was more than three,” the Digital Damsel cryptically replied, sighing deeply before she inhaled sharply. With a fierce grasp of crimson curls, to JERKED the Brit’s head backwards and slammed the young women’s noggin viciously into the canvas! “FOUR!! YEARS!!” she screamed, repeating the bludgeoning process a full half dozen times before she relented, bouncing her former partners head like a basket ball and forcing her entire body to painfully spasm. “Four years,” she sighed, fury draining from her small body as clinical intent took back over, the Tantalising Tweeter back on task like good little techie.
Getting to her feet, Bianchi left the sprawled Cromwell in her wake, approaching the ropes in resignation as she fluffed out her fringe. Leaning over the top coil, she held her arms out, opening her palms to accept an offering from her loyal, ringside flunkies. At first the confused FAWNatics thought that she was calling for her jacket, apparently done with this whole affair even without her ‘victory’... only for the truth to quickly dawn.
The ringside flunky was indeed on hand, but into her hands was instead delivered a steel chair, the crowd reacting with mounting horror as Alessandra took her new weapon with her into the ring. The official, checking on Lizzie's condition, was completely unaware however. Moving to him, Bianchi immediately SMASHED!! it across the Official's head with a wicked and utterly unwarranted CLANG!! Like a tree he tumbled, bloodied and spread eagled, face down incapable of impeding any further engagement
Shrugging off the incident, the Gorgeous Geek marched on over to the oblivious Cromwell and, with no-one to stop her, snapped the chair open and set it down ominously centre ring. “Four years,” she repeated, as though it were her mantra, ducking low to collect and, with bullying jerks, scraped her former partner ever so slowly, ever so dangerously back up to vertical. With a headlock in place, one arm slipped behind her neck and wrists linked, the freckled Brit was trussed up again for a second Prep School Expulsion, this one with nothing but steel on the end of it and, with karma in play, the very real possibility of a broken neck for Elizabeth Cromwell...
That is until the tone of the audience changed dramatically, the panic of the crowd rippling from despair to shock, transforming quickly into desperately surprised cheers. Suddenly Kylie Sanders was not the only competitor who could appear twice in one night and, as the golden clad blur tore a swift path down the aisle with chocolate curls a bouncing, the People welcomed their returning Princess as Samantha Sinclair, of all people, rushed to her rivals rescue!!
Judging the swiftness of Sinclair's arrival as too soon to get her ragdoll up in the air and down onto the metal, Alessandra releases her grip and lets Cromwell puddle to the mat in front of her. Instead, she moves to the woman who might be an actual threat, striding to meet Sammie as she slides in under the ropes.
Bianchi raises a boot to stomp the People's Princess, but the Gorgeous Geek doesn't calculate Sinclair's speed correctly and the blue and yellow blur slips beyond the boot before it can come down on her. Popping to her feet, she turns to the raven-haired grappler as Bianchi does to her. "You know what kind of brat this girl is Sinclair. Do you really want to put your career on the line to save hers?" Alessandra asks.
“Oh believe me, I know,” Sammie quickly positions herself between the Digital Damsel and the prone, helpless form of her heated rival, ready for anything and not budging an inch. A little rough around the edges after going ten rounds with Beth Jenkins she may be, but she was clearly ready throw down again if given cause. “Right now I dare to say I know her even better than you do.”
Leaning forwards, the Upstart backed up just half a step, her eyes of baby brown not leaving Bianchi as, for the first time in a long time, Samantha began to slowly massage the back of her own neck, an unconscious tic that re-emerged now at the most pertinent of times. “I know what it’s like Bianchi, I’ve been there, it happened to me to, my neck was broken for no other reason than because Kat Smith was feeling callous, I didn’t know if I...”
She paused, pretty peepers not leaving Aleksandra’s, searching for common ground. “This isn’t the answer. You wanted to beat her, you’re done that. You wanted to prove you’re better, you’re done that. You wanted to show everyone that you could come back, no matter what SHE did, you’re done that! But this...” Sammie pointed towards the still open chair, “This is too far, and while I will never agree with what she did to you, I will not allow the same to happen to anyone else that happened to me, to us. Not while I can stop it.”
Alessandra nods knowingly, moving toward Sammie. "Maybe you're right." Bianchi picks up the chair. "For you," she adds. "For me, that Bitch is going to the hospital for a good LONG time." Alessandra brandishes her weapon. "And now you are too."
Bianchi gives a swing of the metal but Sinclair gets her hands up and intercepts it midway to her noggin. With both women having two-handed grips on the folded furniture, Sammie and Sandra fight over the steel. Showing more than a bit of clever, Sammie stomps Bianchi's toes and it is enough a distraction Sinclair is able to rip the chair away from Alessandra. With Sammie in possession of her weapon, Bianchi backs off, her quick calculations determining she wouldn't be able to finish either Sinclair or Cromwell tonight.
But as the Gorgeous Geek catches the motion of a rising ref out of the corner of her eye, she drops to hands and knees with a howl of pain. Alessandra grasps the back of her head with one hand and struggles forward on the other long enough for the official to see her condition and from there she flops to the canvas “out cold”.
The referee gazes at Bianchi long and hard and then at the flushed face of Sammie, chair in a white-knuckled grip.
“Sincalir?" His eyes seem to be deceiving him, but he has to call what he sees AND feels, the knot on the back of his head growing. The man waves his arm, calling for the bell. He shouts to the timekeeper over the raucous boos from the crowd and the ring announcer doesn’t make them any happier.
“Your winner…via disqualification…Alessandra Bianchi.”
Sammie, for a good few moments, can think of nothing to say as her mouth remains open in disbelief, the Little Sparrow forcing herself to shake it off as she retains a wary eye on the ‘unconscious’ Geek. Shaking her head in resignation, the People’s Princess drops the chair that she was still holding (out of reach of everyone it has to be said) and directed the most adorable of scowls in the direction of the Official, letting him know that he had earned her babyfaced ire. “In ten minutes, you are going to feel like such a tool,” she assured him before backing off over in the direction of the still spread eagled Cromwell, prepared to retain a vigil for as long as necessary.
“And you,” she turned her ‘withering’ stare to the slowly rising, and very much smirking Alessandra, “get used to the view down there, you’ll be seeing it again sooner or later.”
Alessandra keeps her face toward Sammie and away from the duped zebra. She mouths "I'll get her. I'll get you". Bianchi then cradles her 'aching head' with one hand and rolls out of the ring , dropping to the floor with a dramatic near faint before she catches herself and leaves, the FAWNatics jeering lustily at the vicious, sneaky geek.
In the ring, Sammie kneels over the splattered remains of Cromwell. Tapping a cheek, Sammie brings her rival to semi-awareness though seeing Sinclair does nothing to clear Elizabeth's considerable confusion. "Don't worry, Lizzie," Sammie offers softly. "Explanations can wait until we get you safely to the back."
Not in a position to argue, the dazed BSP accepts Sammie's arm around her shoulders, a much-needed assist to her feet, and the People's Shoulder to lean on as the two disparate Englishwomen make their way up the aisle and to the back.