Post by SammieSinclair on Mar 8, 2015 21:07:38 GMT
Having reclaimed momentum in an altogether shocking manner, the one-time Pleasant Valley Princess bounces from left foot to right, nervously waiting for her cue to enter the bowl. Reaching one of the lowest of her lows at Season’s Beatings, having put up a fight but ultimately thrashed by Emily West in another failed attempt to reach the top of FAWN’s mountain, the elfin blonde had done what no one, perhaps even herself, thought she could in besting The Body, Becky Clayton at Chills, Thrills and Spills.
Sure, it had taken a healthy heaping of steel and chicanery to do it, but what a way to staunch the bleeding. Tonight was sure to be another match everyone in the house would be sure she’d lose.
They’d know her opponent was likely to get more than a handful of help from her fellow Associates.
A sly grin creases Sanders’ ‘cupid’s arrow’ lips. She couldn’t wait to see the faces of those losers when she walked out victorious.
The sound of The Clash starts to fill the arena and with it an absolute torrent of jeers that now rivals Lisa Dream or even Portia VanBuren.
Iowa’s finest, though Janel Manning might have something to say, pushes through the curtain and takes center stage to a gusher of hate. The flaxen-haired cutie gazes sternly at the multitudes who toss their disdain and their less than complimentary remarks about the backhanded, two-faced manner in which she’d left Clayton low.
The Hawkeye shakes her head with a bemused snort and strides to the ring. Gone are the black lycra sports bra and boy-cut trunks, the Tigerhawk of her alma mater as well. Instead, she wears the garb from her recent Gladiatrix cover shoot, white lace bra top and similarly fashioned brief lower togs with white boots and pads. Apparently bad girls could wear white.
Kylie passes the outstretched hands as The Clash continues…
“So alone I keep the wolves at bay…
And there’s only one thing I can say..ayy…ayy…
You didn’t stand by me…
No not at all…
You didn’t stand by me…
No way”
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYkQK8QsQ2w&index=3&list=LLU6MWpP-rt2kWv-tOm824HA ).
Energized by the animosity, Ky reaches the ring and rises up the steps. Sanders turns and takes a view of the packed bowl, seemingly every seat occupied by the vapid fans that had jumped off the bandwagon, her bandwagon.
The ring announcer makes her arrival official.
“Tonight’s match is scheduled one fall with a time limit of 20 minutes. Standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 113 pounds, from Pleasant Valley, Iowa…KYLIE SANDERS!”
Kylie Sanders...,
The crowd only doubles its enmity and volume. Sanders slips through the ropes and claims the center of the ring. She lifts a microphone to pink, pastel lips.
But as she does, a chant begins, a low murmur at first but growing, then thundering.
“TROLL…TROLL…TROLL.”
A furious Sanders covers her ears, shouting at the FAWNatics to shut their mouths. They don’t.
“You will listen to me!”
The crowd unloads with a series of ‘NO’s that ring out for nearly half a minute.
“Oh yes!” Kylie insists. “I proved at Chills I’m not going anywhere when I took down Beefcake Becky. Tonight, I am going to make VanBuren & Associates take notice by battering that Bug into a grease spot. VB&A will NEVER be the same by the end of this night.”
Kylie tosses the stick aside and moves to her corner, the chant of “TROLL…TROLL…TROLL!” reemerging, Sanders incensed and more than happy when the accompaniment of her foe drowns out the former Corps, at least in part.
As the crowd releases the last of its rancor, for the moment, they turn as one toward the upper stage. The lights in the arena blink from white to a deep, emerald green. Simultaneous with this shift in color scheme, Melanie C’s ‘Yeh, Yeh, Yeh’ washes over the complex.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rL07-WxN-c8 )
The anthem rolls for perhaps ten seconds before Cricket Munro strides through the curtain and graces the FAWNatics with her presence. Regarding the booing masses with a superior sneer, the sadistic sprite brushes some invisible dust off her taut midriff and coos, “That’s right losers… you can look, but you can’t touch. Unless you’ve got the green…which you don’t.”
Cricket Munro...
Munro gives her dirty blonde locks a toss and looks to her right. Lo and behold, she’s joined by VB&A en masse. It appears Sanders will be facing the full boat tonight.
First is the junior Associate, but the one whom many consider to have the greatest upside, the gorgeous Filipino, Alexis Suguitan. She is garbed in a blank cotton tanktop and leggings, black boots up to mid-thigh, her long raven locks tickling past her shoulderblades.
Alexis Suguitan...
Following is the Associates’ legal counsel, the Fixer, Rachel Raker. The Red Menace is styling in an incredibly tight navy blue pinstripe suit and skirt with stylish hose and pumps. In her possession, is Rachel’s ubiquitous legal pad and clipboard. Cricket starts to lead the train down the aisle and pulling up as the caboose is a woman causing such a roar of revulsion even Sporty Spice can’t cover it.
Rachel Raker...
Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV...
Portia is in a tight black cocktail dress that hugs her like a second skin, flawless stems emerging high on the thigh down to high heels.
The Associates’ air of arrogance is unrivaled and none of the foursome deigns to recognize the existence of either the FAWNatics or Kylie, the group ignoring the elfin blonde as they reach the ring. One by one they rise up the steps and enter, Ky looking more uncomfortable by the moment but doing her best not to show it.
As the Associates huddle, the ring announcer breaks in when Cricket’s music fades out.
“And her opponent, being accompanied to the ring by VanBuren & Associates, she hails from Manhattan, bytches, and stands five feet and one inch tall, weighing one-hundred and ten pounds, she is CHRISTINA ‘CRICKET’ MUNRO!”
“Don’t be jelly,” Munro says, breaking from the conference to find the nearest lens. She offers a smooch to the fans watching at home. “On second thought, go ahead. You should.”
With the confab concluded, Portia, Rachel and Alexis make their departure and head for their appointed stations, leaving the jaunty little Jetsetter to show that though a big dumb lummox like Clayton might not be able to get the job done, a perfectly petite Associate could do so with ease.
“Get your ass out here, farm girl,” Munro shouts. “Time to show that new approach isn’t going to save your tired career.”
Kylie creeps cautiously out of her corner, circling to her right, the blonde’s head rightfully on a swivel. With her new attitude and despicable actions, it had been awhile since the powers that be had placed her against someone or ‘someones’ who might do anything to her and leave her a smoking wreck both during and after the match, but the Associates definitely seemed to apply.
The members of VB&A spread like a virus, the Crimson Counsel on the floor near one corner, Portia’s protégé Suguitan in another and VanBuren herself in the one occupied, within the ropes, by her fellow Rich Bytch.
Apparently beating Becky Clayton had caught someone’s eye and if the Associates couldn’t beat Becky, they could tear her apart by proxy by destroying the woman who had broken rules and chairs to take out the Army of One Hot Chick.
Alexis playfully shoots an arm under the bottom rope to spook Sanders and the elfin blonde hops away, gnashing her teeth at the odds.
“You make this a gauntlet and I’ll beat every last one of you,” she threatens, though the look on her face tells a different story.
Knowing Cricket is underrated, a former tag champion for good reason, but more than that a nasty cheat, the Hawkeye focuses all her attention on the crafty Jet Setter. Keeping track of the Associates on the outside wouldn’t do her a lick of good without making sure that…UHHH.
As Sanders and Munro are about to hook up in a collar-and-elbow, Kylie apparently looking forward to grappling with someone smaller than her for once, Cricket digs in a toe kick to Kylie’s ivory abs, doubling her over with a loud grunt.
“All downhill from here, farm girl,” The Bug chortles.
And as if to prove it, she snaps Sanders’ head back with a pint-sized but punctuating European Uppercut that puts Ky on her heels. With Sanders’ available chin calling her, Cricket leaps and pistons her legs out, crisply delivering a dropkick that knocks the blonde off her feet. Kylie quickly scrambles up, but Munro gets there first and levels her again with another.
This time Kylie stays down, at least as far as hands and knees. She stares up at Munro, then rising to her knees, Ky gives Cricket a golf clap.
“Nice. I mean for the leftover. For the runt of the VB&A litter.”
The words seem to cut to the bone and The Bug strides to Sanders with violence in mind when Kylie reaches out and sweeps Munro’s legs out from under her. The Hawkeye drives a double axehandle into Munro’s tummy, using her navel as a bull’s eye.
The Manhattanite jackknifes into a taut ‘V’ and Kylie uses the opportunity to level her with a blistering forearm to the jaw. Sanders rises and leaps into the air over the splayed Associate, STOMPING Cricket’s gurls flat to her breastbone. The Hawkeye adds a spiteful grind of the tender tissue with her boot leather before stepping off.
Kylie raises her hands, staring at each Associate in turn, as if to ask if any of them want some. Finding they do not, Kylie barks to herself “That’s what I thought!”
Moving to Cricket’s ankles, Kylie snatches them up and spread the lower limbs wide. Munro ‘washes windows’ with her palms, pleading with Sanders not to stomp her kitty. But before Kylie can decide, a rather easy decision considering her demeanor as of late, a chant of “TROLL…TROLL…TROLL…” floats through the arena. The FAWNatics pick it up with great gusto and the Associates slap the canvas in time with the mantra.
A flustered Sanders’s head moves wildly from side to side, the Iowan shouting at the fans to shut their mouths. And with Kylie distracted, Cricket tears her right foot free from the blonde’s grip and thrusts it into the blonde’s crotch.
Sanders’ hazel eyes nearly pop from their sockets, her ‘cupid’s arrow’ lips forming a tight pink ‘O’. Dropping Cricket’s opposite stem, Kylie waddles away from the Rich Bytch, hands between her thighs. On the outside, Rachel takes furious notes in her legal pad, Alexis chuckles with delight, along with many of the fans, and Portia shakes her head, mouthing ‘you beat Becky?’
Moving toward the only unoccupied corner, Kylie turns and throws her back into it, making sure that at least her six o’clock is covered. She sucks in oxygen deeply. Several strides away Cricket is on her feet and looking a little more than perturbed.
The lightweight, depending on Kylie’s bruised undercarriage to keep her in place, races to the cornered Ky and skies a few feet out from her target. The splash is hardly a tsumani, but its impact is clearly felt by the Hawkeye. As the taut little Associate bounds away from the impact, Kylie’s legs give a shimmy and collapse, ending extended in front of her while Sanders takes a ‘thumping’ seat on the canvas.
The fall is a red flag to The Bug, only this red means ‘GO!’. The dirty blonde vixen speeds to the opposite corner and takes off like she’s jet-powered. Flying across the ring, the Bytch from the Big Apple goes to the air again. But this time, her legs widen and lead the way so she can SLAM her pert little booty into Kylie’s chest. Cricket grabs the middle ropes on either side and pumps her junk into the rattled Sanders.
SIX…SEVEN…EIGHT…NINE…TEN TIMES Munro thumps down on the increasingly loose-limbed blonde, her signature Bitch Breaker making up in enthusiasm for what it lacked in mass. The flaxen-haired busted bronco certainly doesn’t seem to consider it a lightweight effort for when Cricket dismounts, Kylie puddles at the Associate’s feet.
On the outside, Raker continues to scribble, Portia seems ready to file her nails, only Alexis seems pumped by the goings-on, the Filipino beauty seemingly salivating to get in the ring and get a taste of a FAWN name if not star.
But it seems The Bug will be getting the main course tonight as she draws Sanders off the deck with a tug of her noggin. Munro slips a tight side headlock around the braincase of the blonde and twists from side to side, Ky’s left cheek just over the Associate’s right hip.
“If I’m the bottom of the barrel,” Cricket informs, “looks like you’re underneath it.”
Munro barely gets the words out of her mouth before she’s off again, this time dragging Kylie along for the ride. The duo gets halfway to the smirking VanBuren when Cricket gets to jumpin’ again. She sits out and DRIVES Sanders’ forehead into the canvas with a classic bulldog. And when Kylie spasms to her back from the force of the collision, Cricket can hardly refuse.
She slides her body tight atop the dazed Sanders, hooking a leg to roll up the battered Hawkeye for an impressive, statement-making ONE…TWO…THRNOO!
Kylie hoisted a shoulder and in doing so flopped in Portia’s direction. If anything, Baby looked even less interested than prior. “I can’t imagine what Rachel’s notes entail.” she sniffed. “There’s only so many ways to write ‘Sanders sucks’, even for someone as eloquent as her.”
On her side of the ring, Rachel looked up and smirked. “Fine work, Cricket. I suggest working her back, odds are good she’s not fully recovered from the Clayton beating.”
It sounded like a good idea to Munro, so she jerked the Iowan to a seat with a double handful of hair and jammed a knee between her shoulders. Sanders groaned and instinctually reached for her stinging tresses, which allowed Cricket to seize her wrists as neat as you please. Jerking her foe’s arms back in a wide, unpleasant ‘V’, Cricket bounced and jostled her knee, in hopes of making the little wannabe villainess tap out.
Less than a year ago Sanders would’ve had most of the arena urging her free from the Surfboard, now she was greeted with a remarkably spiteful ‘TROLLS TAP OUT!’ chant. The ref wasn’t sure about mythical creatures and their tolerances for pain, but he’d worked enough of the blonde’s matches to know when she was hurting and she was most definitely hurting. “How’re you doin’, Ky?” he asked over the noise. “You want out, just say the word.”
“Oh yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” Cricket scoffed as she worked Sanders’s arms like a rowing machine. “This little piggy’s monosyllabic unless the word happens to be ‘corn’ or any derivation thereof. THEN she can wax poetic for WHOAH! HEY, KNOCK IT OFF, DUMPY!”
Kylie, who’d just pushed to one knee and was in the process of getting back to her feet, most certainly did not ‘knock it off’. In fact, she started to twist into her attacker, clearly hoping that a face to face with Munro would turn the tables.
Looking up from her notes when the crowd buzzed, Raker held her tongue until just the right moment, then called out, “AHW protocol fifteen, Cricket!” The tiniest Associate let loose of Kylie’s wrists at once, curled her hands into claws and dropped to one knee, raking Sanders from tits to tummy in the process. Kylie yelped and wheeled around, both hands rushing to her raked rack as she did so. Not about to let the county fair queen get away, Cricket rushed up behind her, slapped on a Waistlock and pulled the other blonde chest-first into the ropes.
Understandably preoccupied, Sanders reached for the strands the instant after Munro dropped to a seat and rolled backward. The crowd went nuts as Kylie was dragged along for the ride: they didn’t normally approve of gimmick infringement, but no one was going to complain too loudly if Cricket beat the Great Betrayer with her old ‘Over & Done’ finisher. T’would have been poetic to be sure, Cricket however wasn’t about to copy anyone, especially a perpetual loser like Sanders. So instead of rolling though with a German Suplex, she popped to her feet, muscled Ky up onto her right shoulder, then twisted out from under and laid out on her side to THAWHAM the Hawkeye flat on her spine with a Rolling Backdrop Suplex.
ROLLING BACKDROP SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6yZCMv7ZpfU
Perched on one knee after the emphatic maneuver, Cricket rained some invisible bills down atop Sanders’s splayed frame before she slung a leg over one hip and put both hands atop her prey’s shoulders. It was a bit more lackadasical than Raker preferred, yet Alexis, Baby and yes, the FAWNatics approved quite heartily, as all joined the ref in tolling…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Kylie smacked her palms into Munro’s chest to knock her back, then sat up and PWAAAKED a Forearm Smash across her tits. “Get off me you sawed-off second rate NNNNGGGHHH!”
Kylie’s demands met a bad end when Bug palmed her head in her hands and lunged forward, thus BWUNKING the base of Sanders’s skull against the thinly-sheathed plywood.
“Stop playing with your food, Cristina.” Portia chirped from her place on the outside. “We’ve got reservations at Prato tonight and I will not cancel them because you filled up on junk.”
The Jet Setter rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Baby.” Extracting her hands from the other blonde’s hair, Munro wiped her palms on Ky’s sore cleavage to guard against slippage when she seized Sanders’s wrist. On her feet shortly thereafter, Cricket stepped back, dropped a hip and-- Kylie reversed the momentum of the Irish Whip and jerked the Associate into a Kneelift that hit a half inch above the line of her trunks.
“Had just about enough of you, bytch.” Sanders huffed as she shouldered Munro back on her heels. “It’s time I reminded everyone that this Bug happens to be a cockroach.”
With that she slung Cricket toward the buckNOOOO! Munro turned the would-be Whip into a short, charging Forearm Smash that sent Kylie spinning in a woozy half circle. Angrier than ever following the resistance, Cricket spun her foe around, slapped on yet another Wristlock and--
“SERIOUSLY!” Portia groaned when Sanders reversed the toss to finally send Munro to the opposite corner. Keeping her cool through the violent game of do-si-do, Bug raced to a seemingly inevitable collision before springing from the canvas to the top floor in a single bound. Certain that the Iowa idiot was only a few steps behind, Munro launched herself off and back, the limber little blonde spinning around into a headlong dive that, “OOOOOOOOHHHHH!”
Started, grudging admiration from the crowd when Kylie shot her hands up and braced them against Cricket’s chest. A simple forward push meant Munro’s legs swung forward as everything else pivoted back, then TWHAMMED to the mat with Sanders dropped to her tush. Swatted by the impromptu Rydeen Bomb, Cricket could only blink when the Heartland Horror threaded her feet over her biceps and leeeeeeeeeeeaned forward for the…
IOWA BARNSTORMER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dcRKVv3zhY
ONE…
TWO…
Munro smecked her legs together around Ky’s head, it wasn’t much, but it proved sufficient to break the cover. Treating herself to a deep breath now that the tide had turned in her favor, Sanders favored each of the Associates with a withering glare.
“Wanna move those reservations back by an hour, Portia? Or are you going to bail on Cricket right now?” Baby said nothing so Ky honed in on Alexis. “What about you, sweetness? You got anything to add?” Suguitan did, alas it was all four letter combinations of verbs and adjectives best left unprinted. Decidedly disappointed by the lackluster response, Kylie twined her hands in Cricket’s hair and pushed to one knee. “Last but not least, the suit. C’mon Rachel, let’s hear the analysis that justifies that great big retainer.”
Without consulting her notes, Raker hit the bullet points. “Sanders, Kylie. Deeply ingrained inferiority issues combined with a narcissistic personality disorder and just a touch of martyr complex. Has the emotional maturity of a stunted adolescent, makes her easily manipulated. Little better than a puppet, should be considered a non-issue for future plans.”
Kylie’s grip on Cricket’s hair had tightened with every vile word from the redhead’s mouth. Voice little more than a whisper, she told Rachel, “When her jaw breaks, that’s on you.”
Forcing Munro to stand as she did the same, Kylie traded in her hair hold for a Three Quarters Facelock, which she promptly twisted a quarter turn to the right to make a Cravate. From there she drilled one, two, three big Kneelifts into the crown of her opponent’s skull. Soon as the last hit she twisted around and laid out full length to PLANT Munro on the back of her head and shoulders with a Reverse Neckbreaker. Rolling onto her stomach following the Pleasant Valley Sunday, Ky slid into a Crossbody, worked an arm under Munro’s far leg and pulled it up to her chest while the zebra ticked off…
PLEASANT VALLEY SUNDAY:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GB3toaxqVm0
ONE…TWO…and The Bug kicks a leg free, rolling onto her shoulder.
Kylie rises to her feet and shoves the official’s chest, the man stumbling back a step or two.
“Are you scared these women are going to kick the crap out of you? Because you REALLY ought to be worried of what I do.”
The zebra bows his back and scolds the elfin blonde, threatening to send Sanders packing. Kylie swallows her fury and turns to sink a set of nails into Munro’s scalp, ripping the Manhattanite off the canvas.
Kylie tugs Cricket’s noggin into a tight side headlock, Munro’s head on Ky’s hip, and takes off like a shot, racing to the only Associate-free corner with her yipping cargo in tow. The former fan favorite travels up one side of the corner, reaches the top buckle, then pushes off, spinning both women in a tight 180. Landing on her ass, Ky gladly take a bruise to the tailbone to PLANT Cricket’s face into the thinly-sheathed plywood with the bulldog.
As Munro spasms to her back in a spreadeagle, Kylie starts for the cover but sees Alexis hopping to the apron out of the corner of her eye and spins up to one knee, facing her instead of the dazed Rich Bytch.
Sanders stares down the Filipino beauty. “Come in and you’ll regret it,” Kylie states matter-of-factly. “Stay out and she will.” Kylie adds, motioning over her shoulder to the stirring Bug. “Your call.”
Under the watchful eye of the referee, Suguitan drops to the floor, sneering.
With Munro rolling to her chest and pushing up to all fours, Kylie moves to a reverse standing straddle of the Associate and leaps into the air, sending her backside CRUNCHING down on the lower vertebrae of the dirty blonde. Cricket is butt-bumped flat to the canvas with Sanders atop her.
Instantaneously, the Hawkeye raises her right hand high, curling it into a claw and, despite their newly but well developed hatred of the former Pleasant Valley Princess, many in the crowd chant
“FARM…HAND” reflexively.
And Kylie sends it flying in a downward five-tined harpoon into the muscle where Cricket’s left thigh meets her taut little gluteus. Sanders digs in with her right digits while pressing atop the back of that hand with her left. ‘Gnawing’ and kneading with all the flexion she can get out of her palm, Kylie grits her teeth and tears into Cricket’s hammy with her clamp. Munro’s body goes rigid for a moment then The Bug squirms for an escape, though the leg Kylie works over seems frozen save for the ability to cause the Associate pain.
“You’re going to be limping for a week, ya unworthy brat,” Ky murmurs over her shoulder, knowing from the twisting and mewling below Cricket would be too distracted from the stabbing pain to understand.
On the outside, Portia and Rachel seem unconcerned but Alexis moves to the side facing her fellow Associate and reaches her hand under the bottom rope, lacing it with Munro’s. With a tug, she skids the lightweight toward her and out from under Sanders, allowing The Bug to wrap a palm around the bottom cable in case Kylie tried to reapply her Farm Hand.
Instead, Sanders hops to her feet and turns to face Cricket’s savior.
“You are getting on my last nerve, bytch,” Kylie informs VB&A’s junior partner. “And you’re not going to like it when it’s gone.”
Alexis rolls her dark peepers, hoping upon hope she’d get the opportunity to stomp all over the nerves, muscles and bones of the Hawkeye. Instead, she clasps hands with Cricket just as Kylie latches on to an ankle and a tug of war breaks out between the two with Munro as the shapely tanned rope.
There’s no doubt on even ground and leverage, Sanders would be yanked around like a yo-yo, but in this instance, and with considerable help from the ref when he kicks at Alexis’ helping hand, Ky wins the war and drags Cricket to center stage.
Recovering some of her bearings during the tug, the Rich Bytch kicks free of Kylie’s grasp but as she scrambles back toward the safety of the Filipino’s protection, Kylie leaps into an elbow drop that halts her crawl to ‘Associated’ protection.
Sanders circles an arm around Munro’s noggin from the front and lifts her foe to her feet, keeping the facelock tight as the two rise. But as they reach their boot soles, Cricket shows some of the stubbornness that allowed her to remain Portia’s partner, and though both might begrudge it, friend for years.
A startled Sanders backpedals to the ropes behind her, bounding out of the cables while the diminutive dirty blonde loads up a clothesline to take Kylie off her feet. To the chagrin of The Bug and the Associates, Sanders improvises beautifully, sliding to her knees and delivering a piercing punch to Cricket’s gut that doubles the Associate over, Munro left gasping and groaning.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEHvYvaEfgE )
Kylie pops back to her feet, raising her arms in a high, wide ‘V’, playing to and with the crowd. She bends in a grand bow toward Portia, does the same to Rachel and saves a right bicep into left palm for Alexis before finally tending to Cricket.
“Let’s see what we should do with yUHHH…”
Kylie’s words are cut off. Exploding from her bent position and ignoring the knots in her tummy, Cricket lifts a superkick that connects flush with Kylie’s chin. Sanders pirouettes her way into a heap at the Associate’s feet, hazel eyes glazed. She flexes her jaw and blinks her lids but can manage little else. Cricket, having lost her balance after the boot, is on her haunches next to her dazed foe.
After several long seconds, Munro knee-walks to the Hawkeye and gets a little payback on Sanders, digging her talons into Kylie’s tummy with a stomach claw. Cricket squeezes and twists the flesh, sinking her digits in as deep as she’s able to torture the Troll. And when Kylie squeals in pain, the crowd becomes Bug Lovers, the FAWNatics reveling in their former favorite and now traitor to the corps, Kylie, suffering under the delving fingers of a snarling Munro.
Loathing the touch of Cricket’s terrible tines, Ky snagged the other blonde’s wrists in a death grip and braced her feet against the mat in hopes of giving herself some extra leverage. By planting her elbows and pushing she managed to sit up, much to Cricket’s disgust. Though she was still smarting from the Claw, Sanders pulled one hand from extraction duty and buried it in her foe’s hair. She treated those battle sweaty tresses to a hard yank, then sneered, “That all you got, cockroaCHHHHERGGGHHH!”
Munro sacrificed a small hank of hair to THUNK Kylie between the eyes with a short, nasty Headbutt. The Pleasant Valley Tyrant returned to her former prone position at once and Cricket made sure she’d stay there by climbing into a heavy seat atop the other blonde’s upper thighs. “YOU’RE calling ME a cockroach?” the little blonde terror leaned in and down, putting even more weight behind the claws feasting on Sanders’s midsection. “Let me remind you of something, bytch. Everyone you beat since you went bad,” she delivered those last two words with a sarcasm so acidic it could’ve eaten holes in the mat, “was another one of your pansy ass, goody two shoes friends who held back because they thought they could talk you out of this little temper tantrum of yours. But the instant, the INSTANT you stepped into the ring with someone who actually IS bad, what happened? You got BEAT. West exposed you for the sniveling whiner you‘ve always been. So as far as I can tell, the only cockroach in this ring… the only… unworthy brat… is you.”
Nearly choking on a toxic cocktail of anguish, rage and humiliation, Kylie reached for Cricket’s hair only to have the Rich Bytch flip it out of her reach or call in the ref at once. Unable to ignore the growing nausea in the pit of her belly, she wrapped her hands around Munro’s forearms and squeezed as hard as she could. Cricket winced, then shook her head ‘no’ and punctuated her next squeeze with a violent shove. Sanders sobbed and slammed a petulant heel against the mat. “I’ll show you who’s a GGGRRRRHHH… sniveling whiner. Just as soon as you AAAAAAAHHHH GAAAAAAAHHD!”
Sensing the quit oozing from Kylie’s pores, Cricket started pumping up n’ down on Kylie’s tortured tummy. It looked like CPR performed several inches to the south and the technique clearly wasn’t meant for pain relief, as evidenced by Sanders’s increasingly frantic wriggling. “GIVE IT UP!” Munro bellowed at her victim. Effective as the Claw was, it was also quite energy intensive and the blonde was starting to ache all the way from her fingertips to her shoulders and back again. “C’MON KYLIE, LEMME SEE YOU CRYYYYEERRRHH!”
Sanders finally got her hands in Cricket’s hair and she tugged with her all might. Doing so pulled Munro’s head forward and provided a suitable distraction from the Belly Claw, alas it was also quite illegal, as both Bug and the other Associates were quick to point out. Already close to the action, the ref sank to one knee and gave Ky’s wrists a swat. “Get off her hair, Kylie! Don’t make me count!” The gut-shot Iowan didn’t give a damn about anything but escaping this hellacious pain so she redoubled her efforts to relieve Cricket of her scalp. Forced to count by the ref and a frighteningly calm Rachel Raker, the he tolled off, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”
The fire blazing in her roots finally got to be too much for Munro, so she abandoned the hold on Ky’s gut and seized her wrists. Tearing the free of her hair an instant before the ref could call for a disqualification, Cricket slammed Kylie’s hands to the mat well above her head and growled, “This ends now, Jersey.”
With Portia properly channeled she pushed up, skidded forward and settled into a tense, grinding seat on her foe’s face. Bearing down with every bit of her hundred and ten plus pounds, Munro waggled her hips back n’ forth, the Jet Setter taking obvious joy in Sanders’ muffled squealing while the ref slapped out…
ONE…
TWO…
THRE--
“AAAARRRRRHHHH BYTCH!” Cricket shot up and staggered away, one hand pressed against what was soon revealed as a very bright, very fresh welt near the top of her left thigh. “You bit me?” Munro’s voice was soft, almost wondering. Then the realization hit and she got much, much louder. “YOU BIT ME?”
Forgetting all about her pain because she was utterly focused on bringing more to Kylie, (who was on her knees and doubled over around her roiling belly in the aftermath of that desperate escape) she stomped over to the other blonde, bent down and gripped her right wrist. Pulling that arm away from Sanders’ torso with a single savage tug, Cricket flipped hair off her face and panted, “I don’t know why I wasted so much time on that disgusting little muffin top. Everyone knows there’s only way to deal with a cockroach.”
She flicked out her left leg and THWHUMPED Kylie in the ribs with a heartless Soccer Kick. Alexis cheered, Rachel wrote something on her notepad and Portia made an impressed little noise in the back of her throat, it’d been a long time since she’d seen Cristina this motivated or vicious. Barely aware of anyone who wasn’t Kylie Sanders, Munro used the Hawkeye’s wrist as a tether to keep her from going too far after she delivered each and every one of what turned out to be almost a dozen heartless kicks. Stopping only when Kylie was little more than a mewling bawl of hurt, Cricket took a deep breath and said, “Quit. Say it loud or I end your career, Kylie.”
Sanders murmured something, but her lips were perhaps a half inch from the mat and Bug couldn’t hear it over the roar of the crowd. Thusly she treated Ky’s jellied arm to another sharp tug and asked, “What was that?”
The Great Betrayer didn’t answer right away. Rather she pushed to her knees and leaned back on her haunches in a sort of agonized slow motion. With her free arm wedged across her demolished tummy, Ky looked up at her tormentor and rasped, “I said MAKE ME, you dime store VanBuren knock off.”
Cricket blinked. “Portia and Emily are going to have a bidding war for your head.” she said very quietly.
Then she pulled her kickin’ leg back for one last shot and-- Kylie hopped into a very deep crouch, tore her wrist loose from Munro’s control and immediately slipped it through the other blonde’s thighs. Standing up with a scream of pain that made even the heartiest FAWNatics wince, the Heartland Horror hooked her other arm over the back of Cricket’s head and laid out on her left side to THAWHUNK the back of her foe’s skull into the mat with a Pleasant Valley Driver.
PLEASANT VALLEY DRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUXj3hG9YMc
Both ladies ended up sprawled on their backs almost perpendicular to the other. Astounded by the galling twist of fate, all three Associates slammed their palms against the apron and urged Cricket to get up or at the very least roll onto her side. Alas, Kylie was the first to move and she was the one who obeyed Baby’s order to turn over. Draping an arm across Munro’s chest, Sanders sucked wind and hoped the PVD would be good enough for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOO!
Cricket slopped onto her stomach, breaking the cover and Kylie’s heart by the slimmest of margins.
The women lie next to each other, Munro and Sanders both on their chest,Ky’s right hand trickling on Cricket’s hip, the remnant of her pinning attempt. The elfin blonde shakes her head wearily in disbelief The Bug survived a healthy swatting.
The official gives the foes a few seconds and is about ready to start his ten count when Kylie pushes up to hands and knees while the Associate remains grounded, unable to make the shove to join the Hawkeye on all fours.
Kylie, in brief white lace that would leave any remaining Corps member slack-jawed, gets a grip on Cricket’s right ankle and that’s enough to stir Munro to motion, the Manhattanite determined to shake Kylie off. But instead Sanders continues to reel her rival in, eventually driving a forearm into Cricket’s spine that drives the rising, one-time tag champ flat to the canvas, all the easier for Kylie to move atop her.
Sanders ends in a forward-facing crouch over Cricket’s back. The Hawkeye slips her left arm under a limp version of Cricket’s and does likewise on the other side, linking her fingers behind Munro’s neck. With a full nelson in place, the blonde leeeans back like she’s pulling in a marlin, curling the vertebrae of The Bug in an agonizing arch. Cricket’s face is etched in pain, teeth clenching, her pert chest thrust forward.
“Do you want…”
The official is cut off with a loud, enthusiastic “NO” from the Associate, but a wrench to the rear from Kylie softens it to a worried grunt. The clutch firm, Sanders shakes Munro’s noggin from side to side, scrambling her senses with some wicked whipping.
“When I break this Bytch,” Kylie roars between heavy breaths, “God knows who’s going to be next.”
Only Alexis seems concerned, rooting her fellow Associate on, Raker and VanBuren seem to be fiddling while Munro burns in the Clutch.
Inside, Kylie lets her nelson slide loose, but she snatches Cricket’s wrists in the process. Rising, she places one boot behind the head of Munro and viciously curbstomps Cricket’s face into the deck, her head disturbingly bouncing off the canvas.
This time Portia and Rachel grimace and Baby motions her compatriots to be on guard, each Associate tensing.
Veteran that she is, Kylie notices instantaneously and tells the ref to keep an eye on Cricket’s gal pals. Plucking the Rich Bytch off the deck by her braincase, Kylie bullies the flyweight into the cables and flings her away with an Irish whip. The diminutive dirty blonde is off to the races, quickly rebounding off the ropes toward the lowering shoulder of the Hawkeye. But showing her stuff, Cricket suddenly leapfrogs out of trouble and speeds on to a second set of strands. She u-turns out toward a spinning Kylie and IS GUTTED by a spearing tackle from Sanders. Cricket is nearly torn in two from the brutal shoulderblock to her tummy and Ky follows through, planting her to the deck.
Alexis hops to the apron and seems ready to head through when Kylie chooses not to go for the pin. The ref spins to scold the Filipino beauty while Kylie draaags the floored ragdoll of an Associate off the boards and to her feet, captures her in a front facelock and hups The Bug into the sky.
With the crown of Munro’s skull pointed to the canvas, Kylie drops Cricket straight down, her neck crashing across Ky’s bended knee. The Associate slops into a motionless pile, Sanders providing her own sick brand of lullabye courtesy the Pleasant Dreams.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmV8tXcKir8 ).
Portia and Rachel seem taken aback at the suddenness of Kylie unleashing the finisher on Cricket and are slow to reach the apron, as the official slips down to the pinned Bug and slaps out the ONE…TWO…THREE…the final strike against the canvas simultaneous to Raker and VanBuren slipping through with fists drawn. Alexis is only a tick behind and the fearsome threesome surround a rising, anxiety-filled Kylie as she stumbles over Cricket’s carcass, trying to keep her hazel eyes on each Associate in turn as the ring announcer, with more than a hint of worry in his voice, bellows…
“Your winner…via pinfall...Kylie Sanders!”
There are no further long-range verbal threats from Sanders to Cricket’s fellow Associates, not with them in the squared circle in with her. Still, Kylie bows her back and puts up her dukes, ready to fight off the beatdown as long as she’s able. Beneath her, Munro stirs with a groan and Kylie delivers a stomp to the crotch of the Manhattanite, eliciting a loud moan from Cricket and an odd snicker from Baby.
“Let her have it,” VanBuren says calmly.
And Alexis, Rachel…and…Kylie? Yes…Kylie…stomp the mewling Munro into a mudhole, brutally laying boot after boot into the balled, begging Bug.
Cricket holds one hand up, pleading with her sisters. The women relent for a moment to turn to VanBuren, but another nod from Portia starts the barrage again until the turtled Cricket is smushed like a Bug on a windshield.
With a whistle from the lead Associate, the vicious troika relents and Portia moves to her former partner, spreading the shellshocked Cricket in a starfish, the semiconscious Munro, whimpering “Why?”
“Simple, really,” Baby informs. “We need an upgrade. The Associates are only as strong as our weakest link. And Christina, you’re simply too weak.”
Portia grabs Kylie by the shoulder and gives her a shake while raising a handy microphone to her lips.
“This woman left Becky Clayton lying in a pile of metal, beaten. Hell. Broken. This. THIS is what we need to make people take notice. What we need in attitude. New blood. New fire.”
Baby turns to the startled and silenced FAWNatics.
“Meet VanBuren & Associates newest member and vice-president…Kylie Sanders!”
The crowd releases a murmur of disbelief before turning it to hateful boos and jeers that bounce off the beaming Kylie. She turns to Rachel and accepts a hearty handshake. Alexis swallows up the elfin blonde in a bearhug and finally, in a moment of surrealism rarely matched, even in FAWN, above the remnants of Cricket Munro, Kylie Sanders and Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV embrace.
Portia breaks the hug and turns Kylie to face the crowd. She raises an arm, pointing at the blonde and nodding triumphantly.
For her part, Sanders shimmers like a wrestler reborn, ready to plunder and pillage…and now with back-up.
Hold on to your seats, ladies and gentlemen.
Sure, it had taken a healthy heaping of steel and chicanery to do it, but what a way to staunch the bleeding. Tonight was sure to be another match everyone in the house would be sure she’d lose.
They’d know her opponent was likely to get more than a handful of help from her fellow Associates.
A sly grin creases Sanders’ ‘cupid’s arrow’ lips. She couldn’t wait to see the faces of those losers when she walked out victorious.
The sound of The Clash starts to fill the arena and with it an absolute torrent of jeers that now rivals Lisa Dream or even Portia VanBuren.
Iowa’s finest, though Janel Manning might have something to say, pushes through the curtain and takes center stage to a gusher of hate. The flaxen-haired cutie gazes sternly at the multitudes who toss their disdain and their less than complimentary remarks about the backhanded, two-faced manner in which she’d left Clayton low.
The Hawkeye shakes her head with a bemused snort and strides to the ring. Gone are the black lycra sports bra and boy-cut trunks, the Tigerhawk of her alma mater as well. Instead, she wears the garb from her recent Gladiatrix cover shoot, white lace bra top and similarly fashioned brief lower togs with white boots and pads. Apparently bad girls could wear white.
Kylie passes the outstretched hands as The Clash continues…
“So alone I keep the wolves at bay…
And there’s only one thing I can say..ayy…ayy…
You didn’t stand by me…
No not at all…
You didn’t stand by me…
No way”
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYkQK8QsQ2w&index=3&list=LLU6MWpP-rt2kWv-tOm824HA ).
Energized by the animosity, Ky reaches the ring and rises up the steps. Sanders turns and takes a view of the packed bowl, seemingly every seat occupied by the vapid fans that had jumped off the bandwagon, her bandwagon.
The ring announcer makes her arrival official.
“Tonight’s match is scheduled one fall with a time limit of 20 minutes. Standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 113 pounds, from Pleasant Valley, Iowa…KYLIE SANDERS!”
Kylie Sanders...,
The crowd only doubles its enmity and volume. Sanders slips through the ropes and claims the center of the ring. She lifts a microphone to pink, pastel lips.
But as she does, a chant begins, a low murmur at first but growing, then thundering.
“TROLL…TROLL…TROLL.”
A furious Sanders covers her ears, shouting at the FAWNatics to shut their mouths. They don’t.
“You will listen to me!”
The crowd unloads with a series of ‘NO’s that ring out for nearly half a minute.
“Oh yes!” Kylie insists. “I proved at Chills I’m not going anywhere when I took down Beefcake Becky. Tonight, I am going to make VanBuren & Associates take notice by battering that Bug into a grease spot. VB&A will NEVER be the same by the end of this night.”
Kylie tosses the stick aside and moves to her corner, the chant of “TROLL…TROLL…TROLL!” reemerging, Sanders incensed and more than happy when the accompaniment of her foe drowns out the former Corps, at least in part.
As the crowd releases the last of its rancor, for the moment, they turn as one toward the upper stage. The lights in the arena blink from white to a deep, emerald green. Simultaneous with this shift in color scheme, Melanie C’s ‘Yeh, Yeh, Yeh’ washes over the complex.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rL07-WxN-c8 )
The anthem rolls for perhaps ten seconds before Cricket Munro strides through the curtain and graces the FAWNatics with her presence. Regarding the booing masses with a superior sneer, the sadistic sprite brushes some invisible dust off her taut midriff and coos, “That’s right losers… you can look, but you can’t touch. Unless you’ve got the green…which you don’t.”
Cricket Munro...
Munro gives her dirty blonde locks a toss and looks to her right. Lo and behold, she’s joined by VB&A en masse. It appears Sanders will be facing the full boat tonight.
First is the junior Associate, but the one whom many consider to have the greatest upside, the gorgeous Filipino, Alexis Suguitan. She is garbed in a blank cotton tanktop and leggings, black boots up to mid-thigh, her long raven locks tickling past her shoulderblades.
Alexis Suguitan...
Following is the Associates’ legal counsel, the Fixer, Rachel Raker. The Red Menace is styling in an incredibly tight navy blue pinstripe suit and skirt with stylish hose and pumps. In her possession, is Rachel’s ubiquitous legal pad and clipboard. Cricket starts to lead the train down the aisle and pulling up as the caboose is a woman causing such a roar of revulsion even Sporty Spice can’t cover it.
Rachel Raker...
Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV...
Portia is in a tight black cocktail dress that hugs her like a second skin, flawless stems emerging high on the thigh down to high heels.
The Associates’ air of arrogance is unrivaled and none of the foursome deigns to recognize the existence of either the FAWNatics or Kylie, the group ignoring the elfin blonde as they reach the ring. One by one they rise up the steps and enter, Ky looking more uncomfortable by the moment but doing her best not to show it.
As the Associates huddle, the ring announcer breaks in when Cricket’s music fades out.
“And her opponent, being accompanied to the ring by VanBuren & Associates, she hails from Manhattan, bytches, and stands five feet and one inch tall, weighing one-hundred and ten pounds, she is CHRISTINA ‘CRICKET’ MUNRO!”
“Don’t be jelly,” Munro says, breaking from the conference to find the nearest lens. She offers a smooch to the fans watching at home. “On second thought, go ahead. You should.”
With the confab concluded, Portia, Rachel and Alexis make their departure and head for their appointed stations, leaving the jaunty little Jetsetter to show that though a big dumb lummox like Clayton might not be able to get the job done, a perfectly petite Associate could do so with ease.
“Get your ass out here, farm girl,” Munro shouts. “Time to show that new approach isn’t going to save your tired career.”
Kylie creeps cautiously out of her corner, circling to her right, the blonde’s head rightfully on a swivel. With her new attitude and despicable actions, it had been awhile since the powers that be had placed her against someone or ‘someones’ who might do anything to her and leave her a smoking wreck both during and after the match, but the Associates definitely seemed to apply.
The members of VB&A spread like a virus, the Crimson Counsel on the floor near one corner, Portia’s protégé Suguitan in another and VanBuren herself in the one occupied, within the ropes, by her fellow Rich Bytch.
Apparently beating Becky Clayton had caught someone’s eye and if the Associates couldn’t beat Becky, they could tear her apart by proxy by destroying the woman who had broken rules and chairs to take out the Army of One Hot Chick.
Alexis playfully shoots an arm under the bottom rope to spook Sanders and the elfin blonde hops away, gnashing her teeth at the odds.
“You make this a gauntlet and I’ll beat every last one of you,” she threatens, though the look on her face tells a different story.
Knowing Cricket is underrated, a former tag champion for good reason, but more than that a nasty cheat, the Hawkeye focuses all her attention on the crafty Jet Setter. Keeping track of the Associates on the outside wouldn’t do her a lick of good without making sure that…UHHH.
As Sanders and Munro are about to hook up in a collar-and-elbow, Kylie apparently looking forward to grappling with someone smaller than her for once, Cricket digs in a toe kick to Kylie’s ivory abs, doubling her over with a loud grunt.
“All downhill from here, farm girl,” The Bug chortles.
And as if to prove it, she snaps Sanders’ head back with a pint-sized but punctuating European Uppercut that puts Ky on her heels. With Sanders’ available chin calling her, Cricket leaps and pistons her legs out, crisply delivering a dropkick that knocks the blonde off her feet. Kylie quickly scrambles up, but Munro gets there first and levels her again with another.
This time Kylie stays down, at least as far as hands and knees. She stares up at Munro, then rising to her knees, Ky gives Cricket a golf clap.
“Nice. I mean for the leftover. For the runt of the VB&A litter.”
The words seem to cut to the bone and The Bug strides to Sanders with violence in mind when Kylie reaches out and sweeps Munro’s legs out from under her. The Hawkeye drives a double axehandle into Munro’s tummy, using her navel as a bull’s eye.
The Manhattanite jackknifes into a taut ‘V’ and Kylie uses the opportunity to level her with a blistering forearm to the jaw. Sanders rises and leaps into the air over the splayed Associate, STOMPING Cricket’s gurls flat to her breastbone. The Hawkeye adds a spiteful grind of the tender tissue with her boot leather before stepping off.
Kylie raises her hands, staring at each Associate in turn, as if to ask if any of them want some. Finding they do not, Kylie barks to herself “That’s what I thought!”
Moving to Cricket’s ankles, Kylie snatches them up and spread the lower limbs wide. Munro ‘washes windows’ with her palms, pleading with Sanders not to stomp her kitty. But before Kylie can decide, a rather easy decision considering her demeanor as of late, a chant of “TROLL…TROLL…TROLL…” floats through the arena. The FAWNatics pick it up with great gusto and the Associates slap the canvas in time with the mantra.
A flustered Sanders’s head moves wildly from side to side, the Iowan shouting at the fans to shut their mouths. And with Kylie distracted, Cricket tears her right foot free from the blonde’s grip and thrusts it into the blonde’s crotch.
Sanders’ hazel eyes nearly pop from their sockets, her ‘cupid’s arrow’ lips forming a tight pink ‘O’. Dropping Cricket’s opposite stem, Kylie waddles away from the Rich Bytch, hands between her thighs. On the outside, Rachel takes furious notes in her legal pad, Alexis chuckles with delight, along with many of the fans, and Portia shakes her head, mouthing ‘you beat Becky?’
Moving toward the only unoccupied corner, Kylie turns and throws her back into it, making sure that at least her six o’clock is covered. She sucks in oxygen deeply. Several strides away Cricket is on her feet and looking a little more than perturbed.
The lightweight, depending on Kylie’s bruised undercarriage to keep her in place, races to the cornered Ky and skies a few feet out from her target. The splash is hardly a tsumani, but its impact is clearly felt by the Hawkeye. As the taut little Associate bounds away from the impact, Kylie’s legs give a shimmy and collapse, ending extended in front of her while Sanders takes a ‘thumping’ seat on the canvas.
The fall is a red flag to The Bug, only this red means ‘GO!’. The dirty blonde vixen speeds to the opposite corner and takes off like she’s jet-powered. Flying across the ring, the Bytch from the Big Apple goes to the air again. But this time, her legs widen and lead the way so she can SLAM her pert little booty into Kylie’s chest. Cricket grabs the middle ropes on either side and pumps her junk into the rattled Sanders.
SIX…SEVEN…EIGHT…NINE…TEN TIMES Munro thumps down on the increasingly loose-limbed blonde, her signature Bitch Breaker making up in enthusiasm for what it lacked in mass. The flaxen-haired busted bronco certainly doesn’t seem to consider it a lightweight effort for when Cricket dismounts, Kylie puddles at the Associate’s feet.
On the outside, Raker continues to scribble, Portia seems ready to file her nails, only Alexis seems pumped by the goings-on, the Filipino beauty seemingly salivating to get in the ring and get a taste of a FAWN name if not star.
But it seems The Bug will be getting the main course tonight as she draws Sanders off the deck with a tug of her noggin. Munro slips a tight side headlock around the braincase of the blonde and twists from side to side, Ky’s left cheek just over the Associate’s right hip.
“If I’m the bottom of the barrel,” Cricket informs, “looks like you’re underneath it.”
Munro barely gets the words out of her mouth before she’s off again, this time dragging Kylie along for the ride. The duo gets halfway to the smirking VanBuren when Cricket gets to jumpin’ again. She sits out and DRIVES Sanders’ forehead into the canvas with a classic bulldog. And when Kylie spasms to her back from the force of the collision, Cricket can hardly refuse.
She slides her body tight atop the dazed Sanders, hooking a leg to roll up the battered Hawkeye for an impressive, statement-making ONE…TWO…THRNOO!
Kylie hoisted a shoulder and in doing so flopped in Portia’s direction. If anything, Baby looked even less interested than prior. “I can’t imagine what Rachel’s notes entail.” she sniffed. “There’s only so many ways to write ‘Sanders sucks’, even for someone as eloquent as her.”
On her side of the ring, Rachel looked up and smirked. “Fine work, Cricket. I suggest working her back, odds are good she’s not fully recovered from the Clayton beating.”
It sounded like a good idea to Munro, so she jerked the Iowan to a seat with a double handful of hair and jammed a knee between her shoulders. Sanders groaned and instinctually reached for her stinging tresses, which allowed Cricket to seize her wrists as neat as you please. Jerking her foe’s arms back in a wide, unpleasant ‘V’, Cricket bounced and jostled her knee, in hopes of making the little wannabe villainess tap out.
Less than a year ago Sanders would’ve had most of the arena urging her free from the Surfboard, now she was greeted with a remarkably spiteful ‘TROLLS TAP OUT!’ chant. The ref wasn’t sure about mythical creatures and their tolerances for pain, but he’d worked enough of the blonde’s matches to know when she was hurting and she was most definitely hurting. “How’re you doin’, Ky?” he asked over the noise. “You want out, just say the word.”
“Oh yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” Cricket scoffed as she worked Sanders’s arms like a rowing machine. “This little piggy’s monosyllabic unless the word happens to be ‘corn’ or any derivation thereof. THEN she can wax poetic for WHOAH! HEY, KNOCK IT OFF, DUMPY!”
Kylie, who’d just pushed to one knee and was in the process of getting back to her feet, most certainly did not ‘knock it off’. In fact, she started to twist into her attacker, clearly hoping that a face to face with Munro would turn the tables.
Looking up from her notes when the crowd buzzed, Raker held her tongue until just the right moment, then called out, “AHW protocol fifteen, Cricket!” The tiniest Associate let loose of Kylie’s wrists at once, curled her hands into claws and dropped to one knee, raking Sanders from tits to tummy in the process. Kylie yelped and wheeled around, both hands rushing to her raked rack as she did so. Not about to let the county fair queen get away, Cricket rushed up behind her, slapped on a Waistlock and pulled the other blonde chest-first into the ropes.
Understandably preoccupied, Sanders reached for the strands the instant after Munro dropped to a seat and rolled backward. The crowd went nuts as Kylie was dragged along for the ride: they didn’t normally approve of gimmick infringement, but no one was going to complain too loudly if Cricket beat the Great Betrayer with her old ‘Over & Done’ finisher. T’would have been poetic to be sure, Cricket however wasn’t about to copy anyone, especially a perpetual loser like Sanders. So instead of rolling though with a German Suplex, she popped to her feet, muscled Ky up onto her right shoulder, then twisted out from under and laid out on her side to THAWHAM the Hawkeye flat on her spine with a Rolling Backdrop Suplex.
ROLLING BACKDROP SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6yZCMv7ZpfU
Perched on one knee after the emphatic maneuver, Cricket rained some invisible bills down atop Sanders’s splayed frame before she slung a leg over one hip and put both hands atop her prey’s shoulders. It was a bit more lackadasical than Raker preferred, yet Alexis, Baby and yes, the FAWNatics approved quite heartily, as all joined the ref in tolling…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Kylie smacked her palms into Munro’s chest to knock her back, then sat up and PWAAAKED a Forearm Smash across her tits. “Get off me you sawed-off second rate NNNNGGGHHH!”
Kylie’s demands met a bad end when Bug palmed her head in her hands and lunged forward, thus BWUNKING the base of Sanders’s skull against the thinly-sheathed plywood.
“Stop playing with your food, Cristina.” Portia chirped from her place on the outside. “We’ve got reservations at Prato tonight and I will not cancel them because you filled up on junk.”
The Jet Setter rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Baby.” Extracting her hands from the other blonde’s hair, Munro wiped her palms on Ky’s sore cleavage to guard against slippage when she seized Sanders’s wrist. On her feet shortly thereafter, Cricket stepped back, dropped a hip and-- Kylie reversed the momentum of the Irish Whip and jerked the Associate into a Kneelift that hit a half inch above the line of her trunks.
“Had just about enough of you, bytch.” Sanders huffed as she shouldered Munro back on her heels. “It’s time I reminded everyone that this Bug happens to be a cockroach.”
With that she slung Cricket toward the buckNOOOO! Munro turned the would-be Whip into a short, charging Forearm Smash that sent Kylie spinning in a woozy half circle. Angrier than ever following the resistance, Cricket spun her foe around, slapped on yet another Wristlock and--
“SERIOUSLY!” Portia groaned when Sanders reversed the toss to finally send Munro to the opposite corner. Keeping her cool through the violent game of do-si-do, Bug raced to a seemingly inevitable collision before springing from the canvas to the top floor in a single bound. Certain that the Iowa idiot was only a few steps behind, Munro launched herself off and back, the limber little blonde spinning around into a headlong dive that, “OOOOOOOOHHHHH!”
Started, grudging admiration from the crowd when Kylie shot her hands up and braced them against Cricket’s chest. A simple forward push meant Munro’s legs swung forward as everything else pivoted back, then TWHAMMED to the mat with Sanders dropped to her tush. Swatted by the impromptu Rydeen Bomb, Cricket could only blink when the Heartland Horror threaded her feet over her biceps and leeeeeeeeeeeaned forward for the…
IOWA BARNSTORMER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dcRKVv3zhY
ONE…
TWO…
Munro smecked her legs together around Ky’s head, it wasn’t much, but it proved sufficient to break the cover. Treating herself to a deep breath now that the tide had turned in her favor, Sanders favored each of the Associates with a withering glare.
“Wanna move those reservations back by an hour, Portia? Or are you going to bail on Cricket right now?” Baby said nothing so Ky honed in on Alexis. “What about you, sweetness? You got anything to add?” Suguitan did, alas it was all four letter combinations of verbs and adjectives best left unprinted. Decidedly disappointed by the lackluster response, Kylie twined her hands in Cricket’s hair and pushed to one knee. “Last but not least, the suit. C’mon Rachel, let’s hear the analysis that justifies that great big retainer.”
Without consulting her notes, Raker hit the bullet points. “Sanders, Kylie. Deeply ingrained inferiority issues combined with a narcissistic personality disorder and just a touch of martyr complex. Has the emotional maturity of a stunted adolescent, makes her easily manipulated. Little better than a puppet, should be considered a non-issue for future plans.”
Kylie’s grip on Cricket’s hair had tightened with every vile word from the redhead’s mouth. Voice little more than a whisper, she told Rachel, “When her jaw breaks, that’s on you.”
Forcing Munro to stand as she did the same, Kylie traded in her hair hold for a Three Quarters Facelock, which she promptly twisted a quarter turn to the right to make a Cravate. From there she drilled one, two, three big Kneelifts into the crown of her opponent’s skull. Soon as the last hit she twisted around and laid out full length to PLANT Munro on the back of her head and shoulders with a Reverse Neckbreaker. Rolling onto her stomach following the Pleasant Valley Sunday, Ky slid into a Crossbody, worked an arm under Munro’s far leg and pulled it up to her chest while the zebra ticked off…
PLEASANT VALLEY SUNDAY:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GB3toaxqVm0
ONE…TWO…and The Bug kicks a leg free, rolling onto her shoulder.
Kylie rises to her feet and shoves the official’s chest, the man stumbling back a step or two.
“Are you scared these women are going to kick the crap out of you? Because you REALLY ought to be worried of what I do.”
The zebra bows his back and scolds the elfin blonde, threatening to send Sanders packing. Kylie swallows her fury and turns to sink a set of nails into Munro’s scalp, ripping the Manhattanite off the canvas.
Kylie tugs Cricket’s noggin into a tight side headlock, Munro’s head on Ky’s hip, and takes off like a shot, racing to the only Associate-free corner with her yipping cargo in tow. The former fan favorite travels up one side of the corner, reaches the top buckle, then pushes off, spinning both women in a tight 180. Landing on her ass, Ky gladly take a bruise to the tailbone to PLANT Cricket’s face into the thinly-sheathed plywood with the bulldog.
As Munro spasms to her back in a spreadeagle, Kylie starts for the cover but sees Alexis hopping to the apron out of the corner of her eye and spins up to one knee, facing her instead of the dazed Rich Bytch.
Sanders stares down the Filipino beauty. “Come in and you’ll regret it,” Kylie states matter-of-factly. “Stay out and she will.” Kylie adds, motioning over her shoulder to the stirring Bug. “Your call.”
Under the watchful eye of the referee, Suguitan drops to the floor, sneering.
With Munro rolling to her chest and pushing up to all fours, Kylie moves to a reverse standing straddle of the Associate and leaps into the air, sending her backside CRUNCHING down on the lower vertebrae of the dirty blonde. Cricket is butt-bumped flat to the canvas with Sanders atop her.
Instantaneously, the Hawkeye raises her right hand high, curling it into a claw and, despite their newly but well developed hatred of the former Pleasant Valley Princess, many in the crowd chant
“FARM…HAND” reflexively.
And Kylie sends it flying in a downward five-tined harpoon into the muscle where Cricket’s left thigh meets her taut little gluteus. Sanders digs in with her right digits while pressing atop the back of that hand with her left. ‘Gnawing’ and kneading with all the flexion she can get out of her palm, Kylie grits her teeth and tears into Cricket’s hammy with her clamp. Munro’s body goes rigid for a moment then The Bug squirms for an escape, though the leg Kylie works over seems frozen save for the ability to cause the Associate pain.
“You’re going to be limping for a week, ya unworthy brat,” Ky murmurs over her shoulder, knowing from the twisting and mewling below Cricket would be too distracted from the stabbing pain to understand.
On the outside, Portia and Rachel seem unconcerned but Alexis moves to the side facing her fellow Associate and reaches her hand under the bottom rope, lacing it with Munro’s. With a tug, she skids the lightweight toward her and out from under Sanders, allowing The Bug to wrap a palm around the bottom cable in case Kylie tried to reapply her Farm Hand.
Instead, Sanders hops to her feet and turns to face Cricket’s savior.
“You are getting on my last nerve, bytch,” Kylie informs VB&A’s junior partner. “And you’re not going to like it when it’s gone.”
Alexis rolls her dark peepers, hoping upon hope she’d get the opportunity to stomp all over the nerves, muscles and bones of the Hawkeye. Instead, she clasps hands with Cricket just as Kylie latches on to an ankle and a tug of war breaks out between the two with Munro as the shapely tanned rope.
There’s no doubt on even ground and leverage, Sanders would be yanked around like a yo-yo, but in this instance, and with considerable help from the ref when he kicks at Alexis’ helping hand, Ky wins the war and drags Cricket to center stage.
Recovering some of her bearings during the tug, the Rich Bytch kicks free of Kylie’s grasp but as she scrambles back toward the safety of the Filipino’s protection, Kylie leaps into an elbow drop that halts her crawl to ‘Associated’ protection.
Sanders circles an arm around Munro’s noggin from the front and lifts her foe to her feet, keeping the facelock tight as the two rise. But as they reach their boot soles, Cricket shows some of the stubbornness that allowed her to remain Portia’s partner, and though both might begrudge it, friend for years.
A startled Sanders backpedals to the ropes behind her, bounding out of the cables while the diminutive dirty blonde loads up a clothesline to take Kylie off her feet. To the chagrin of The Bug and the Associates, Sanders improvises beautifully, sliding to her knees and delivering a piercing punch to Cricket’s gut that doubles the Associate over, Munro left gasping and groaning.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEHvYvaEfgE )
Kylie pops back to her feet, raising her arms in a high, wide ‘V’, playing to and with the crowd. She bends in a grand bow toward Portia, does the same to Rachel and saves a right bicep into left palm for Alexis before finally tending to Cricket.
“Let’s see what we should do with yUHHH…”
Kylie’s words are cut off. Exploding from her bent position and ignoring the knots in her tummy, Cricket lifts a superkick that connects flush with Kylie’s chin. Sanders pirouettes her way into a heap at the Associate’s feet, hazel eyes glazed. She flexes her jaw and blinks her lids but can manage little else. Cricket, having lost her balance after the boot, is on her haunches next to her dazed foe.
After several long seconds, Munro knee-walks to the Hawkeye and gets a little payback on Sanders, digging her talons into Kylie’s tummy with a stomach claw. Cricket squeezes and twists the flesh, sinking her digits in as deep as she’s able to torture the Troll. And when Kylie squeals in pain, the crowd becomes Bug Lovers, the FAWNatics reveling in their former favorite and now traitor to the corps, Kylie, suffering under the delving fingers of a snarling Munro.
Loathing the touch of Cricket’s terrible tines, Ky snagged the other blonde’s wrists in a death grip and braced her feet against the mat in hopes of giving herself some extra leverage. By planting her elbows and pushing she managed to sit up, much to Cricket’s disgust. Though she was still smarting from the Claw, Sanders pulled one hand from extraction duty and buried it in her foe’s hair. She treated those battle sweaty tresses to a hard yank, then sneered, “That all you got, cockroaCHHHHERGGGHHH!”
Munro sacrificed a small hank of hair to THUNK Kylie between the eyes with a short, nasty Headbutt. The Pleasant Valley Tyrant returned to her former prone position at once and Cricket made sure she’d stay there by climbing into a heavy seat atop the other blonde’s upper thighs. “YOU’RE calling ME a cockroach?” the little blonde terror leaned in and down, putting even more weight behind the claws feasting on Sanders’s midsection. “Let me remind you of something, bytch. Everyone you beat since you went bad,” she delivered those last two words with a sarcasm so acidic it could’ve eaten holes in the mat, “was another one of your pansy ass, goody two shoes friends who held back because they thought they could talk you out of this little temper tantrum of yours. But the instant, the INSTANT you stepped into the ring with someone who actually IS bad, what happened? You got BEAT. West exposed you for the sniveling whiner you‘ve always been. So as far as I can tell, the only cockroach in this ring… the only… unworthy brat… is you.”
Nearly choking on a toxic cocktail of anguish, rage and humiliation, Kylie reached for Cricket’s hair only to have the Rich Bytch flip it out of her reach or call in the ref at once. Unable to ignore the growing nausea in the pit of her belly, she wrapped her hands around Munro’s forearms and squeezed as hard as she could. Cricket winced, then shook her head ‘no’ and punctuated her next squeeze with a violent shove. Sanders sobbed and slammed a petulant heel against the mat. “I’ll show you who’s a GGGRRRRHHH… sniveling whiner. Just as soon as you AAAAAAAHHHH GAAAAAAAHHD!”
Sensing the quit oozing from Kylie’s pores, Cricket started pumping up n’ down on Kylie’s tortured tummy. It looked like CPR performed several inches to the south and the technique clearly wasn’t meant for pain relief, as evidenced by Sanders’s increasingly frantic wriggling. “GIVE IT UP!” Munro bellowed at her victim. Effective as the Claw was, it was also quite energy intensive and the blonde was starting to ache all the way from her fingertips to her shoulders and back again. “C’MON KYLIE, LEMME SEE YOU CRYYYYEERRRHH!”
Sanders finally got her hands in Cricket’s hair and she tugged with her all might. Doing so pulled Munro’s head forward and provided a suitable distraction from the Belly Claw, alas it was also quite illegal, as both Bug and the other Associates were quick to point out. Already close to the action, the ref sank to one knee and gave Ky’s wrists a swat. “Get off her hair, Kylie! Don’t make me count!” The gut-shot Iowan didn’t give a damn about anything but escaping this hellacious pain so she redoubled her efforts to relieve Cricket of her scalp. Forced to count by the ref and a frighteningly calm Rachel Raker, the he tolled off, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”
The fire blazing in her roots finally got to be too much for Munro, so she abandoned the hold on Ky’s gut and seized her wrists. Tearing the free of her hair an instant before the ref could call for a disqualification, Cricket slammed Kylie’s hands to the mat well above her head and growled, “This ends now, Jersey.”
With Portia properly channeled she pushed up, skidded forward and settled into a tense, grinding seat on her foe’s face. Bearing down with every bit of her hundred and ten plus pounds, Munro waggled her hips back n’ forth, the Jet Setter taking obvious joy in Sanders’ muffled squealing while the ref slapped out…
ONE…
TWO…
THRE--
“AAAARRRRRHHHH BYTCH!” Cricket shot up and staggered away, one hand pressed against what was soon revealed as a very bright, very fresh welt near the top of her left thigh. “You bit me?” Munro’s voice was soft, almost wondering. Then the realization hit and she got much, much louder. “YOU BIT ME?”
Forgetting all about her pain because she was utterly focused on bringing more to Kylie, (who was on her knees and doubled over around her roiling belly in the aftermath of that desperate escape) she stomped over to the other blonde, bent down and gripped her right wrist. Pulling that arm away from Sanders’ torso with a single savage tug, Cricket flipped hair off her face and panted, “I don’t know why I wasted so much time on that disgusting little muffin top. Everyone knows there’s only way to deal with a cockroach.”
She flicked out her left leg and THWHUMPED Kylie in the ribs with a heartless Soccer Kick. Alexis cheered, Rachel wrote something on her notepad and Portia made an impressed little noise in the back of her throat, it’d been a long time since she’d seen Cristina this motivated or vicious. Barely aware of anyone who wasn’t Kylie Sanders, Munro used the Hawkeye’s wrist as a tether to keep her from going too far after she delivered each and every one of what turned out to be almost a dozen heartless kicks. Stopping only when Kylie was little more than a mewling bawl of hurt, Cricket took a deep breath and said, “Quit. Say it loud or I end your career, Kylie.”
Sanders murmured something, but her lips were perhaps a half inch from the mat and Bug couldn’t hear it over the roar of the crowd. Thusly she treated Ky’s jellied arm to another sharp tug and asked, “What was that?”
The Great Betrayer didn’t answer right away. Rather she pushed to her knees and leaned back on her haunches in a sort of agonized slow motion. With her free arm wedged across her demolished tummy, Ky looked up at her tormentor and rasped, “I said MAKE ME, you dime store VanBuren knock off.”
Cricket blinked. “Portia and Emily are going to have a bidding war for your head.” she said very quietly.
Then she pulled her kickin’ leg back for one last shot and-- Kylie hopped into a very deep crouch, tore her wrist loose from Munro’s control and immediately slipped it through the other blonde’s thighs. Standing up with a scream of pain that made even the heartiest FAWNatics wince, the Heartland Horror hooked her other arm over the back of Cricket’s head and laid out on her left side to THAWHUNK the back of her foe’s skull into the mat with a Pleasant Valley Driver.
PLEASANT VALLEY DRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUXj3hG9YMc
Both ladies ended up sprawled on their backs almost perpendicular to the other. Astounded by the galling twist of fate, all three Associates slammed their palms against the apron and urged Cricket to get up or at the very least roll onto her side. Alas, Kylie was the first to move and she was the one who obeyed Baby’s order to turn over. Draping an arm across Munro’s chest, Sanders sucked wind and hoped the PVD would be good enough for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOO!
Cricket slopped onto her stomach, breaking the cover and Kylie’s heart by the slimmest of margins.
The women lie next to each other, Munro and Sanders both on their chest,Ky’s right hand trickling on Cricket’s hip, the remnant of her pinning attempt. The elfin blonde shakes her head wearily in disbelief The Bug survived a healthy swatting.
The official gives the foes a few seconds and is about ready to start his ten count when Kylie pushes up to hands and knees while the Associate remains grounded, unable to make the shove to join the Hawkeye on all fours.
Kylie, in brief white lace that would leave any remaining Corps member slack-jawed, gets a grip on Cricket’s right ankle and that’s enough to stir Munro to motion, the Manhattanite determined to shake Kylie off. But instead Sanders continues to reel her rival in, eventually driving a forearm into Cricket’s spine that drives the rising, one-time tag champ flat to the canvas, all the easier for Kylie to move atop her.
Sanders ends in a forward-facing crouch over Cricket’s back. The Hawkeye slips her left arm under a limp version of Cricket’s and does likewise on the other side, linking her fingers behind Munro’s neck. With a full nelson in place, the blonde leeeans back like she’s pulling in a marlin, curling the vertebrae of The Bug in an agonizing arch. Cricket’s face is etched in pain, teeth clenching, her pert chest thrust forward.
“Do you want…”
The official is cut off with a loud, enthusiastic “NO” from the Associate, but a wrench to the rear from Kylie softens it to a worried grunt. The clutch firm, Sanders shakes Munro’s noggin from side to side, scrambling her senses with some wicked whipping.
“When I break this Bytch,” Kylie roars between heavy breaths, “God knows who’s going to be next.”
Only Alexis seems concerned, rooting her fellow Associate on, Raker and VanBuren seem to be fiddling while Munro burns in the Clutch.
Inside, Kylie lets her nelson slide loose, but she snatches Cricket’s wrists in the process. Rising, she places one boot behind the head of Munro and viciously curbstomps Cricket’s face into the deck, her head disturbingly bouncing off the canvas.
This time Portia and Rachel grimace and Baby motions her compatriots to be on guard, each Associate tensing.
Veteran that she is, Kylie notices instantaneously and tells the ref to keep an eye on Cricket’s gal pals. Plucking the Rich Bytch off the deck by her braincase, Kylie bullies the flyweight into the cables and flings her away with an Irish whip. The diminutive dirty blonde is off to the races, quickly rebounding off the ropes toward the lowering shoulder of the Hawkeye. But showing her stuff, Cricket suddenly leapfrogs out of trouble and speeds on to a second set of strands. She u-turns out toward a spinning Kylie and IS GUTTED by a spearing tackle from Sanders. Cricket is nearly torn in two from the brutal shoulderblock to her tummy and Ky follows through, planting her to the deck.
Alexis hops to the apron and seems ready to head through when Kylie chooses not to go for the pin. The ref spins to scold the Filipino beauty while Kylie draaags the floored ragdoll of an Associate off the boards and to her feet, captures her in a front facelock and hups The Bug into the sky.
With the crown of Munro’s skull pointed to the canvas, Kylie drops Cricket straight down, her neck crashing across Ky’s bended knee. The Associate slops into a motionless pile, Sanders providing her own sick brand of lullabye courtesy the Pleasant Dreams.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmV8tXcKir8 ).
Portia and Rachel seem taken aback at the suddenness of Kylie unleashing the finisher on Cricket and are slow to reach the apron, as the official slips down to the pinned Bug and slaps out the ONE…TWO…THREE…the final strike against the canvas simultaneous to Raker and VanBuren slipping through with fists drawn. Alexis is only a tick behind and the fearsome threesome surround a rising, anxiety-filled Kylie as she stumbles over Cricket’s carcass, trying to keep her hazel eyes on each Associate in turn as the ring announcer, with more than a hint of worry in his voice, bellows…
“Your winner…via pinfall...Kylie Sanders!”
There are no further long-range verbal threats from Sanders to Cricket’s fellow Associates, not with them in the squared circle in with her. Still, Kylie bows her back and puts up her dukes, ready to fight off the beatdown as long as she’s able. Beneath her, Munro stirs with a groan and Kylie delivers a stomp to the crotch of the Manhattanite, eliciting a loud moan from Cricket and an odd snicker from Baby.
“Let her have it,” VanBuren says calmly.
And Alexis, Rachel…and…Kylie? Yes…Kylie…stomp the mewling Munro into a mudhole, brutally laying boot after boot into the balled, begging Bug.
Cricket holds one hand up, pleading with her sisters. The women relent for a moment to turn to VanBuren, but another nod from Portia starts the barrage again until the turtled Cricket is smushed like a Bug on a windshield.
With a whistle from the lead Associate, the vicious troika relents and Portia moves to her former partner, spreading the shellshocked Cricket in a starfish, the semiconscious Munro, whimpering “Why?”
“Simple, really,” Baby informs. “We need an upgrade. The Associates are only as strong as our weakest link. And Christina, you’re simply too weak.”
Portia grabs Kylie by the shoulder and gives her a shake while raising a handy microphone to her lips.
“This woman left Becky Clayton lying in a pile of metal, beaten. Hell. Broken. This. THIS is what we need to make people take notice. What we need in attitude. New blood. New fire.”
Baby turns to the startled and silenced FAWNatics.
“Meet VanBuren & Associates newest member and vice-president…Kylie Sanders!”
The crowd releases a murmur of disbelief before turning it to hateful boos and jeers that bounce off the beaming Kylie. She turns to Rachel and accepts a hearty handshake. Alexis swallows up the elfin blonde in a bearhug and finally, in a moment of surrealism rarely matched, even in FAWN, above the remnants of Cricket Munro, Kylie Sanders and Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV embrace.
Portia breaks the hug and turns Kylie to face the crowd. She raises an arm, pointing at the blonde and nodding triumphantly.
For her part, Sanders shimmers like a wrestler reborn, ready to plunder and pillage…and now with back-up.
Hold on to your seats, ladies and gentlemen.