Post by SammieSinclair on Apr 12, 2015 14:34:39 GMT
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one--” The speakers interrupted the Announcer with a single low, warbling note. Alongside it came the fog and an eerie ‘whooshing’ noise that meant only one thing. The Gray was here. That thought was quite fresh when fog flooded the stage. It crept from beneath the ring and lapped at the feet of those in the first several rows. When it was almost too thick to see through, the lights faded out and Seven Devils rose in their place.
SEVEN DEVILS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLkGKkfmgjU
Holy water cannot help you now
A thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
United by the chills running down their backs, the FAWNatics kept a silent vigil assisted by several low spotlights that made the murk flicker and glow. But seeing The Gray was little more than a minor victory. Laying eyes on the lurker therein, that was a challenge indeed.
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out
I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out
A single spotlight hit the stage in time with the first chorus and there stood a tall figure in a hooded, storm gray cloak. For a moment it was still, then a hand encased in a dark red leather glove reached up and pulled the cowl back to reveal a pale skinned woman with dark eyes and a tangle of long, coppery locks.
HELENA GRAYLOCK:
Finding his voice now that the Silk Specter was in sight, the Announcer sputtered, “The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Crythin Gifford, England in the United Kingdom, she stands at five feet eight inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and forty pounds, she is the Gray Lady… HELENA GRAYLOCK!”
Finally breaking her repose, Helena shrugged the cloak from her shoulders and started down the aisle. The Gray made it quite trying to make out all the details at once, but who stared long enough learned more than they wanted. Tonight Our Lady of the Mists wore a dark gray one-piece with a wine red sash belted at the waist. Fans on the aisle thought they saw knee-high gray boots and matching elbow pads and it turned out they did, but these details weren’t confirmed until the mysterious Englishwoman climbed from the fog on the nearly obscured steel steps.
Gripping the top rope in her right hand, Graylock walked from one end of the apron to the other, the leather of her glove making and unpleasant ‘squeeeeeaaaak’ against the rubber-coated steel. Then she climbed over the ropes and went to the middle of the ring, where she was greeted by the ever industrious Merle. “I want a clean match tonight, Helena.” he said with as much authority as he could muster. “Obey my commands at all times and--”
Graylock reached for his throat, only to flatten out her hand and offer it for inspection. “Your civilized distinctions are meaningless in the Gray. You may speak them as loudly as you wish, but there is no guarantee you’ll like what hears them.” With that she backed into the far corner and looked to the entryway in search of pray that’d dare escape the questing tendrils of the Gray.
The crowd started buzzing once Helena’s anthem faded out and they got downright spirited when an Irish flag appeared on the FAWNtron. Flogging Molly kicked in immediately thereafter, the jaunty tune providing perfect accompaniment as Morgan Kinloch strolled out from behind the curtain. The Siren of Shannon broke into a run, crossing back and forth on the stage throwing an arm up and pumping her fist to the cheering fans.
DEVILS DANCE FLOOR:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSwaVvF7rdU
After a moment, the Announcer called, “And introducing her opponent, hailing from Shannon Ireland…She stands at five feet eight inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and forty-seven pounds, she is The Siren of Shannon…MORGAN KINLOCH!
MORGAN KINLOCH:
For her second run in with this escapee from a Hammer film Kinloch wore a green spandex top with black Celtic Cross design, black short shorts with a ’MORGAN’ scrolled across the seat in green and matching black pads and boots. Throwing the crowd a brawny salute, Morgan wound up a big bolo punch and hurled it toward the ring to start her trip down the aisle. Once she got started the Irishwoman made quick time to the squared circle, though she didn’t miss any opportunity to exchange high fives with the fans. Upon reaching the foot she slowed down and came to a stop, just taking a moment to stare down the smug British BEEYOTCH lurking in the far corner.
Rolling into the ring only when Graylock showed no overt sign of aggression, the former Intercontinental Champ and first Eurasian Champion popped to her feet and claimed the middle of the ring as her own. Helena remained motionless, so the brunette whirled around and stomped to the opposite corner to better salute her followers. Morgan was still soaking in the love when the FAWNatics’ tone changed from joyous to warning. It came a split second too late, she’d only started to look over her shoulder when Helena pounded a vicious Uppercut between her thighs.
“HEY!” Merle shouted to the snarling redhead even as Kinloch doubled over in nauseated anguish. “Whadda ya think you’re doin’, Helena?! I’ve got every right to disqualify you for a stunt like that!”
Graylock grabbed hold of her foe’s waistband, either to keep Morgan from pitching over the ropes or to make sure the fall was nastier, no one knew for sure. Pausing her assault just long enough to glance at the official, she asked, “How do you intend to disqualify anyone when the bell has yet to sound?”
The ref cursed, whirled around and threw a signal to the Timekeeper, who CLANGED the match live.
Far from needing such a blessing to do her duties, Helena’s attention had already returned to the aching Irishwoman. Turning her back on Morgan, Graylock reached up with one arm and grabbed her rival about the bicep. After repeating the process on the opposite side she stepped out of the corner and ‘hupped’ Morgan that much higher, leaving her strapped to a very dangerous crucifix. Aware enough to know she was in deep trouble, Kinloch squirmed as hard as she could in hopes of breaking free of the redhead’s grip. “LEGGO A’ ME YE CHEATIN’ HOOR!” Morgan barked. “SET ME ON MY FEET AND WE’LL FIGHT FAIR AND NNNNNGGGGGHHHH!” Hardly interested in what this whimpering creature thought was fair, Helena took a few steps forward, pushed onto her toes and then dropped forward onto her knees to THWHAM Kinloch square on the back of her head and shoulders courtesy a Crucifix Powerbomb.
CRUCIFIX POWERBOMB:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=2K_MbfxV7YI
Morgan skidded a short distance before coming to a stop sprawled out in a pained starfish. She hadn’t done much more than groan when the Gray Lady crawled over, wedged her shoulders into the pits of the other woman’s knees and forced her ankles up over her head with a Matchbook. Sick over the thought that a lapse in his officiating might cost Morgan her chance at justice, Merle dropped to his knees and counted…
ONE…
TWO…
Kinloch shrugged loose, which kept her in the match albeit at a marked disadvantage against the redhead. Seemingly unconcerned by her foe’s escape, Helena buried her leather-gloved hand in Morgan’s hair and hauled her to woozy verticality. “You engaged the tawdriest of strategies to save yourself from The Gray during our first encounter, Kinloch. Now I shall use those same strategies to make sure you’re reduced to so much whimpering, shrieking meat when I offer you to the hungry mists.”
“Ye’re a filthy cheatin’ bytch, Helena.” Morgan grunted. “But all the shortcuts in the world won’t be enough to save ye from the arse-kicking I NNNNGGH!”
Helena crouched, wrapped her arms around the Siren’s upper thighs and pushed onto her toes. Holding her aloft just because she could, the Silk Specter let Morgan think about it for a few seconds before she dropped to one knee and THWHUMPED the other woman’s undercarriage against the plank of her thigh. Morgan’s knees turned to water but she couldn’t have baby-stepped away even if she’d tried. Helena squeezed her grip that much tighter, then muscled the wounded brunette off her feet again. Marching the other Destroyer around like it the most natural thing in the world, Graylock stomped over to the ropes, turned around and fell back at an angle to drop Morgan throat-first across the top rope.
The rubber-coated steel ‘TWANGED!’ and Kinloch staggered back, both hands clutching at her burning windpipe. She’d made it all of three steps when Helena seized her by trunks and tresses. “Such a civilized battleground is no place for the likes of us,” she told the rasping wrestler, “warriors like you and I require less…. refined arenas.”
With that, she swung around in a circle, thus building up a good head of steam when she charged forward and slung Morgan clear over the top rope. All due credit to the fightin’ spirit of Morgan Kinloch, she twisted in mid-air and made a desperate grab for the ropes but was a shade too late to stop her THWHUMPING collision with the barely-padded floor.
Lips turned up in an uncharacteristic smile, Graylock stalked to the edge of the squared circle and looked down. “On your feet, Lady Kinloch,” she demanded of the supine battler, “unless of course you deem yourself unworthy as both adversary and offering. If that is the case then by all means, stay down and let the count pass you by.”
Morgan heard all this, yet paid it very little attention. She was far more focused on the ache running the full length of her spine, and the ref’s count, which seemed to be moving far faster than normal. Closing her eyes to blot out the sickening swirl of the overhead lights, she waited for the tolling numbers to hit lucky ‘THIRTEEN!’ before she rolled over onto her stomach and pushed to one knee. Hands braced against the floor for support, she pushed to her feet at ‘FIFTEEN!’ and promptly exclaimed, “Oh you feckin’ bytCHHHEERRGGHH!” She got her hands up just as a low-flying Helena shot between the top and middle ropes and plowed into her with a near hundred and fifty pound Suicide Dive. Both ladies went down but Morgan definitely got the worst of it as she ended up on her back near the foot of the ramp while Graylock made it to her feet almost at once.
SUICIDE DIVE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvK7PKfrWo4
“You’ll notice that the little man’s count has reset.” she said of Merle’s toll, which was back at ‘THREE!’ “That’s more than enough time to teach you the error of your ways.” Morgan sat up by way of response, unfortunately that just made it easier for the Gray Lady to grab hold of her hair. Forcing the wounded brunette to stand, Graylock stepped in behind her and slipped her right arm under Morgan’s fight bicep to get that arm out of the way with a Half Nelson. Her other arm went around the Irishwoman’s waist, meaning there was very little Kinloch could do, save stand there and listen to Helena’s words warm and mean in her ear. “Rings are all well and good for mere wrestling matches, but when justice must be served all that canvas, rubber and steel can be far too confining. Don’t you agree?” Graylock didn’t find out because she didn’t wait for an answer. Rather she wrenched Morgan high into the air, shifted to the other woman’s right and laid out on her tummy to THWHUMP the Siren of Shannon into the floor with a Half Nelson Slam.
HALF NELSON SLAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Dnti7ZUcu4
Morgan bounced to a seat, clutched at the back of her head and toppled to one side when Helena stuffed a dismissive hand in her face. Careful to remember his place in the count (it was at nine) Merle broke off long enough to bark, “C’mon Helena, get her back in the ring!”
Graylock looked up from the devastation and snarled, “If you want her back in there, you’ll have to come out here, little man.” That didn’t appeal to Merle in the least, so he resumed the count in hopes Our Lady of the Mists wanted an actual victory instead of a count out. Meanwhile Helena grabbed hold of the brunette’s wrist and used it to peel her off the thin blue mats. Glancing around for something she could hurl her prey on or into, she took note of the ring steps and smiled wickedly. “I believe I spoke too soon about the appeal of steel in battle.”
She stepped back, dropped her hips and slung Morgan toward the steps with an Irish Whip. Graylock fully expected Kinloch to hit them with her knees or back, so she was doubly irritated when the Irishwoman sprang onto the top step and leapt off on the other side as neat as you please. Not about to let that self-appointed agent of The Green escape her punishment, Helena charged after her, leapt onto the steps and dove-- OOOOOHHHHH! Morgan caught the redhead in mid-flight, spun in a half circle and dropped to her knees to THWHUNK the Gray Lady against the floor with a Spinebuster from deep in left field.
Laid out on the arena floor, Helena groaned and rocked from side to side as Morgan planted her palms on the Englishwoman’s stomach and rose to verticality. Glad to see the more reasonable wrestler rising first, Merle said, “Bring it back into the ring, Morgan.”
Kinloch stepped over Helena and rolled into the ring, laying on her back she waved to Merle and reversed her direction heading back the way she came. Merle threw his arms up, but there was nothing he could do except start the count all over.
The Celtic Crusher dropped back to the floor and found Helena’s rolled over onto all fours, the coughing gives her the hint that Our Lady of the Mists was having trouble getting air back into her lungs. Morgan reached down, hair hauled Helena back to her boots and promptly rammed a knee into the redhead’s tummy just before she shoved Graylock into the ring apron spine-first. Digging her fingers into Helena’s cheeks, Morgan snarled “Ye wanna be brawlin’ like a common Hoor? I can fight tat way too.”
Morgan moved her hand to Helena’s shoulders and gives the Briton a little payback for the Low Blow that started the match by ramming her knee into the redhead’s womanhood. The Celtic Crusher hugged Graylock around the waist to keep her upright, then took the Gray Lady’s wrist and spun / whipped her toward the steel barrier all in one roaring motion. The Silk Specter barely had time to get turned around taking the metal to her spine instead of going ass over tin cup into the front row.
Merle halted his count to plead one more time. “Morgan please bring it back in the ring, I don’t want to disqualify you tonight.”
Kinloch nodded, but proceeded swiftly after her wounded enemy. Helena tried pushing off the railing, but Morgan grabbed her by the neck and gave her the Bums Rush under the bottom rope. Graylock rolled several times before coming to a stop, but she shot to her feet as Morgan climbed onto the ring apron. The Vaporous Vixen rushed looking to hammer a forearm into the green-clad warrior. Morgan saw the move coming though and ducked down letting Helena swing herself around so forcefully she almost fell over the top rope.
The off balance Englishwoman couldn’t extract herself from the ropes fast enough to keep Morgan from grabbing hold and spinning her around so Helena’s back was to the strands. Kinloch held Graylock by the chin with one hand, the other she used to pull the redhead’s arms over the top rope. Usually the positions were reversed and Morgan was on the inside of the ring, but this would do. The Siren of Shannon raised her right arm high the FAWNatics cheering as they wanted to see their Lady of the Mists played like a bass drum.
“Don’t Morgan, Let me go!” Helena protested.
Morgan just smirks, and the crowd counted the blows out for the Celtic Crusher
THUMP! ONE!
Helena grunted, “Stop!”
THUMP! TWO!
“Don’t!” she wheezed.
THUMP! THREE!
Helena whimpered, “Please.”
THUMP! FOUR! THUMP! FIVE! THUMP! SIX! THUMP! SEVEN! THUMP! EIGHT! THUMP! NINE!
Morgan paused and grinned to the crowd as she then delivered the tenth and final Forearm Smash to Graylock’s cleavage.
THUMP! TEN!
The FAWNatics let out a raucous cheer, Morgan released Helena and she dropped slowly to her knees before pitching to the canvas face-first.
Morgan climbed through the ropes and moved up along Helena’s side. Staying out of range of the action, Merle warned, “That’s it Morgan, keep it in the ring or else.”
The Siren of Shannon nods, “Aye Mate, I ear ye.”
Turning to Helena, the Celtic Crusher reached down and hauled her upright with a handful of braid. Positioned beside the redhead, Morgan lifted her near arm, shot the other between her thighs and hoisted Helena up onto her shoulders in a Torture Rack. Kinloch stomped around the ring and bellowed, “TERE BE NOTHING TO FEAR IN TA GREY!”
After delivering her message Morgan dropped to her backside, bringing Helena down with her. The sudden impact bounced Graylock out of the Irish Lass’s grip and sent her to the canvas in a groaning heap. Morgan quickly spun around and crawled across Helena’s chest, going for a pin.
GREEN CRUSH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTMEp1q0lV4
ONE…
TWO…
KICKOUT!
The Lady of the Mist still had something left in her, it’s not an impressive display, but it kept the match going. Morgan looked at Merle, but the referee held up two fingers confirming Helena’s escape. The explosion of offense and the earlier beating had Morgan a bit winded so she took a moment to stand and flick her trunks back over the curve of her buttocks. The Siren of Shannon bent over reaching for Graylock again, but the Gray Lady’s right hand shot up and raked the other Destroyer’s eyes.
Morgan screamed, “AAHAHAAAFECK!”
Merle stepped up immediately. “Off the eyes Helena! That’s too far!”
Helena ripped her claw away, glaring in anger as she climbed to her feet giving chase to the wounded Siren. Unable to see where she’s going Kinloch staggered around never reaching the ropes, Helena moved behind the green-clad battler and Chopblocked the back of her knee. Morgan fell to the mat screaming in new pain and clutching her knees as a penitent Helena basked in her misery.
Slightly rejuvenated by the sight of Kinloch prone and suffering, the redhead clambered to her feet and took a few steps back. Holding one arm pressed to her aching ribs, Graylock sidled around to Morgan’s six where she waited grim, silent and implacable as looming tragedy. Attention divided between her stinging eyes and throbbing knee, Morgan slowly turned onto her stomach and put both hands against the mat. Pushing up slow, she got her feet under her and rose, careful to keep most of her weight off the wounded right knee. She’d just put a little more pressure on the joint when Helena lunged, dropped to one knee and PWAAAKED her left forearm into the pit of Morgan’s knee. Kinloch bellowed in rage and pain, spun to her hands and knees and scrambled up as quickly as the gimpy stem would allow.
“FECKIN CHEAT!” she roared. “WHY DON’T YOU COME AT ME FACE TA FACEERRRGGGHHHH!”
Graylock did as bade, closing on her foe with what was surely a Collar & Elbow Lock-up. But when Morgan raised her hands to meet it the Englishwoman pulled back and drilled a stabby little kick into her foe’s vulnerable kneecap. The Siren pitched forward into a sloppy clinch which turned into an equally ragged Side Headlock when Graylock voluntarily offered up her noggin to snuggle in against the other woman’s right side. Bearing down with the sort of pressure that could water Pandora’s eyes, Morgan snarled, “No more Gray for you, girlie. You’re gettin’ pitched inta the heart of the blackHEEEYY NO! NO! NO! LET GO OF MY LEGAAHH NNNNNGGGGGHHHH!”
Hardly one to put her head in a vise if there wasn’t something in it for her, Graylock snatched hold of Kinloch’s right ankle and folded her lower leg up so heel met buttock in most unpleasant fashion. In the next instant she hoisted Morgan into the air like she was little more than a sack of grain, then took a couple steps forward and went down on one knee to THWHUMP Morgan’s exposed shin against the strong plank of her thigh.
SHINBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3bZFSbYBcU
Hitting the mat in a heap following the Shinbreaker, Morgan resisted the urge to curl into a ball and instead barrel rolled toward the bottom ropes in search of a breather on the floor. She’d actually made it to safety of the apron when a scrambling Helena reached through the strands and grabbed a double handful of hair.
“No escape from me now, little one,” the Gray Lady cooed while forcing the hobbled Irish lass to stand. “You doubted the power of the Gray and I mean to see you answer for it.”
Kinloch didn’t say much of anything just then, she’d curled one arm around the top rope and was holding on for dear life in hopes that Merle would call for a break. The ref came through almost immediately, patting at Helena’s shoulder and demanding she honor the rules of sanctuary. Alas Graylock had no place for such trivial concerns and so she abandoned the hair hold to reach between the top and middle ropes to grab the brunette’s left thigh. Free hand curled into a fist, Morgan leaned in as close as she could and just pounded away on her attacker’s upper back and shoulders. Fat lot of good it did, Our Lady of the Mists soaked it all up to thread Kinloch’s wayward stem through the rubber-coated steel. Shifting her grip to Morgan’s ankle, Helena took a giant step back, thus stretching her foe’s leg full length.
“You wish release from suffering, Morgan Kinloch?” she murmured. “Throw yourself at the mercy of the Gray and I will consider it.”
Doubled down on the top rope again, Morgan twisted and writhed, all to no avail. Though she was quite certain that extreme pain lurked just around the corner, it didn’t stop the Celtic Crusher from snarling, “I’d sooner take the knee for the Court than beg for the likes of AAARRGHH!”
Helena spun under the extended limb and laid out on her back to drive the side of Kinloch’s knee into the middle strand with a cringe-inducing ‘TWANG!’
DRAGON SCREW IN ROPES:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEnmWjMeCZE
Only upright by grace of her death-grip on the top rope, Morgan could offer no resistance when Graylock bundled her head under one arm with an unpleasant Front Facelock. Working her own head under the Irishwoman’s left arm, Helena climbed onto the middle rope, reached over and helped herself to a handful of waistband. With the crowd buzzing over just what the hell she had in mind, the enigmatic redhead dipped her knees and hoisted Morgan up, over and most importantly down, the wounded European grappler THWHAMMING against the thinly-sheathed plywood full force.
APRON SUPERPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Qdf1873v_Y
Perhaps the only person in the arena not stunned by the impressive show of strength, Helena floated over onto a Lateral Press that got considerably stronger when she hooked Morgan’s injured wheel. Pulling it up to the Siren’s chest, she stared daggers into the crowd while Merle counted…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Morgan shot an arm into the air with a half tick remaining, though it should be noted that she didn’t (or couldn’t) wrest her cradled leg free of Graylock’s clutches.
Helena leaned back on her haunches and searched the official’s face for some sign that he was brave or foolish enough to hinder her with a slow count. Finding no trace of either, she took claim of Kinloch’s right ankle and got to her feet. “It is trial enough to face the Gray on your feet,” she told the Irishwoman while dragging her around in an ungentle half circle, “I hesitate to comprehend your chances should you have to do it on your knees.”
Morgan was too caught up in her own pain to reply, so Graylock pulled her right leg away from her torso at a wide angle, then dropped it on the canvas. The crowd, which had been chattering excitedly ever since the Superplex, got loud again when Helena turned away from her prey and made a beeline to the nearest corner. Paying the noise no mind, she slipped through the ropes and climbed to the top turnbuckle like it was something she did all the time. A single glance at the redhead’s arc of descent told those assembled exactly what she had in mind and they tried to pass the information along to Morgan at the top of their lungs. Kinloch heard them, even processed the gist of it but she was just too weary to act upon it, meaning she was still dead center of the bull’s eye when Helena came off the top and THWHAMMED down across her exposed leg with a perfectly placed Diving Splash.
Brought back to reality by the velvet-wrapped lead safe weight of the Splash’s impact, Morgan sat bolt upright and now she pulled her tormented knee to her chest, as if simple proximity to her heart would somehow ease the pain. Not moved in the slightest by this painful display, Helena grabbed Morgan’s ankle yet again and straightened her leg with a few awful yanks.
Fighting a life and death battle with the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks at any moment, Kinloch drew her free leg close and pistoned it forward over and over again, a mindless barrage of kicks aimed at whatever part of the Englishwoman she could find. Morgan’s heel struck Graylock’s thigh and hip several times, but she endured the blows long enough to tuck the brunette’s shin under her left arm. “Struggle all you can, Morgan Kinloch. Adrenaline makes for an excellent tenderizer.” With Morgan corralled at shin and thigh, the Gray Lady hoisted her burden into a near headstand, then rolled her onto her stomach and stepped over. Soon as her feet were planted Helena sank into a deep crouch, the curve of her buttocks hanging less than an inch above the hollow of Kinloch’s back.
Biting her tongue to keep from screaming herself hoarse, the Siren of Shannon dug white-knuckled claws into the mat and ever so slowly started inching toward the ropes.
While she’s in incredible pain, Morgan still made the slow progress dragging the both of them to safety. The going was tough, but the Celtic Crusher steeled her nerves and finally, mercifully, she wrapped her outstretched hand around the lowest strand.
Watching closely, Merle called for the break, but Graylock refused to give up Morgan’s limb without a count. Morgan put her forehead on the canvas as her leg burned, just gritting her teeth as the Mistress of the Mist waited until four and a half before dumping Kinloch’s leg. “There’s nothing more to be done, little one.” Helena muttered once she was on her feet. “Just give up to the mercy of the Gray.”
Morgan shook her head as she used the ropes to get back to verticality. One step told her the injured leg wouldn’t support her weight at the moment. Merle saw the trouble and moved closer. “Morgan I can stop this, just say the word.”
“Bugger off Merle!” Kinloch screamed as she limped down along the ropes, leaning heavily on the strands to keep from falling. Helena looked on, the dark-eyed beauty grinning at her handiwork. “Why do you run, Kinloch? There is no escape from the Gray. Not now. Not ever.”
If Morgan would not accept the Gray, the Silk Specter would force her to it. Helena moved toward the wounded Siren but Kinloch stepped out to meet her, shooting one hand to the back of the redhead’s skull while her other arm sliced up and caught Graylock across the jaw with a hellacious European Uppercut. Both Morgan and Helena staggered, banging against each other a couple of times before Morgan gained her balance and cupped the back of the Brit’s head and delivered a second European Uppercut.
This time there was nothing Helena could do to stay upright. Reeling off the ropes she tripped over her own feet and fell face-first to the canvas. Morgan stumbled too, she was more in control, but still wobbly. The Siren of Shannon steadied herself and took a deep breath, walking around the grounded Graylock she limped a little less with each step. By the time she reached the redhead’s noggin Morgan only grimaced a bit when the bent down and hair hauled Helena to her feet.
Morgan hooked her arms around Helena’s from the outside in, just above the Brit’s elbows. Then she snapped her head forward, slamming into Graylock’s chest and cleavage. Three times her forehead thumped into the other woman’s décolletage. The Englishwoman moaned breathlessly as the Celtic Crusher lifted and tossed Helena over her head with a Double Arm Belly to Belly Suplex.
DOUBLE ARM BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyPhb-BQNbk
Morgan crawled across the mat, threw her body across Helena’s bosom and lifted the far leg off the canvas. Merle was in place instantly…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Helena bust free and threw an arm into the arm, turning to her side. Morgan rocked back on her haunches with both hands on her knees. She looked at Merle, but knew the count was beat. “Good on ye, lass, I wanna bit more of yer sorry arse.”
Morgan put a hand on hip and the other on Helena’s top bicep pushing the arm behind the redhead’s back. Kinloch rose onto her toes, and using her good leg rammed a knee into Graylock’s tummy. The grunt and groan of pain was music to the Celt’s ears as she sent half a dozen of the knees crushing into Helena’s tummy and tits, alternating between her targets. Unable to curl up to protect herself, Helena tried scooting toward the ropes with each blow to stave off some of the pain, but that had limited results. When Morgan was done battering her opponent she shoved Helena to her back again going for a second cover.
ONE…
TWO…
Merle leapt up with a cry of, “BREAK!”
Merle pointed Morgan toward the ropes and the boot draped on the bottom strand. The Irishwoman shook her head and growled. “Aye see ya wee wanker, ye can’t be kicking out by tree so ye take a shortcut.”
Morgan brought Helena back to vertical as she rose and led the Englishwoman to the center of the ring. The Celtic Crusher grabbed a wrist, put Graylock’s arm over her own shoulders, grabbed a rowdy handful of British Backside and humped the redhead up across her shoulders in a Torture Rack. Kinloch’s weakened leg began to quiver almost immediately, but she turned ninety degrees with her load and then with a little hop threw her legs out in front of her bringing Helena down across those broad shoulders. Helen’s spine was torqued the wrong directions as she bounced off and landed in a heap behind Morgan.
TORTURE RACK DROP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTMEp1q0lV4
Though she came down on her butt the landing send an unpleasant jolt through Kinloch’s right knee, so much so in fact that the tough Irishwoman pulled down the pad and tended to the brutalized joint with both hands. Merle didn’t like the looks of that one bit, which was why he knelt beside her and asked, “Can you move around ok, Morgan? I don’t want you tearing a meniscus or rupturing a patella trying to win this damned match.”
Morgan grimaced as she pulled the pad back into place. “I’ll be fine, Merle. Just gotta keep that evil feckin’ ginger from takin’ any more cheap shots.” A groan from her six o’clock indicated that said evil ginger was starting to stir, so Kinloch rolled over and got stood up, all while taking care to put a minimum of pressure on her bad leg. “Don’t ye dare start whinin’ and moanin’ now, sweet’eart.” Morgan grunted as she coiled Helena’s braid around her fist. “I ain’t given ya nothin’ worth tears… yet.”
On those delightfully ominous words she dragged the Englishwoman to her feet and immediately pounded a Kneelift deep into Graylock’s lower abdomen. It wasn’t a Low Blow, let us be clear on that much. But it still hit entirely too close to home, if Helena’s weak-kneed gaping was any indication. Feeling not the tiniest bit of guilt over this slightly questionable tactic, Morgan hooked her right arm over the redhead’s shoulder and slipped the left between her thighs, Body Slam style. In any other match Kinloch would’ve ‘hupped’ Helena onto her right shoulder, but tonight she slung the other Destroyer down her left shoulder to keep the extra weight off her wounded knee.
“NEVER FEAR, GOOD PEOPLE OF FAWN!” Morgan called to the crowd as she turned in a slow circle. “THE SUN’S ABOUT TO SHINE THROUGH THE GRAY ONCE AND FOR ERRRRRRGGGHH!”
Graylock’s left hand flew up from outta nowhere and raaaaaaaaaaaaked the brunette’s eyes with savage swipe. Morgan lurched back on instinct and the sudden pressure on her bum leg almost sent her to the mat in a tangle of sweat and curses. She was saved from this indignity by Helena herself, or rather Helena’s vacating her place on the Irishwoman’s shoulder. Of course this new arrangement meant Our Lady of the Mists was free to pursue her own agenda again and she got back to it by THWHACKING a kick into the back of, you guessed it, Kinloch’s right knee. Morgan’s leg flew up and the rest of her went down, the former Intercontinental Champion landing hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs.
“Speak of the sun all you want, little one.” Helena hissed to her prone opposition. “Neither it nor these people shine bright enough to save you from what lurks in the heart of the Gray.” Morgan could only clutch at her knee, so Graylock reached down, palmed her skull in both hands and scraped her off the mat. Forcing Kinloch to turn in a half circle simply because she could, Helena dipped down and forced her head between opposing thighs. Then she straightened up fast, boosting Morgan into an Electric Chair that raised a worried murmur from the FAWNatics. Their unease wasn’t helped when the redhead slipped her right arm free of the Irishwoman’s right leg and reached up to “AAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!”
Morgan crooked both hands into claws and went to work on Helena’s face, a vicious reprisal for the work done to her knee and every other indignity the bytch had heaped upon her. Merle didn’t exactly approve of this tactic, but turnabout was fair play and thusly he didn’t chide that loudly. A count wouldn’t have been necessary anyway, as Kinloch abandoned the gouging just as soon as she slipped free of the Electric Chair.
Gripping Helena’s shoulders in both hands to make sure her bad knee didn’t buckle, Morgan spun the Englishwoman to face her and this time the brunette’s Kneelift connected with the center of Graylock’s trunks. Helena sobbed, Merle barked a warning and the FAWNatics roared with delight. All three reactions got nothing from the Siren of Shannon, all of her considerable attention was focused on the Emerald Flowsion she’d been denied earlier. Injured knee be damned, Morgan hoisted Helena onto her right shoulder and wrapped that arm around the Silk Specter’s lower back. With her left hand cupped against the back of her prey’s neck, Kinloch pushed up on her toes, spun around as fast as she could and laid out on her right side to THAWHUNK Graylock headfirst into the mat with a thunderous Emerald Flowsion.
EMERALD FLOWSION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtQwuwf0I3Q
Helena flopped out in a flat, unresponsive sprawl and didn’t move save for her left leg, which Morgan in hooked in both hands for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
“YES!” Morgan tossed Graylock’s gam aside and shot both hands into the air as the bell sounded her victory.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Announcer confirmed, “your winner via pin-fall… MORGAN KINLOCH!”
Merle hurried over to offer her a hand in getting up. Now that the battle was over she had no problem accepting the offer. “How you feelin’ Morgan?” he asked after sidling in under her left arm. “Need me to have to doc waiting when you get through the curtain?”
Kinloch shook her head ‘no’. “I’ll see tha good doctor sometime tonight, but I intend to go to him, not tha’other way round, Merle. As fer ‘ow I’m feelin’, I just took a zero away from a big nasty bytch, so I’m feelin’ pretty damned good.”
“You need help on your victory lap?”
Morgan put some weight on her throbbing leg, grimaced, then offered the ref another negative. “Nah, it’ll ‘old. But if ya wouldn’t mind pullin’ the ropes down fer me when it’s time to go, I’d be in yer debt.”
“No problem. Great fight tonight, Morgan.” He slipped free of her and stepped back, letting the victrix set off on her trek alone.
Limping or not, Morgan made good time to the nearest corner and the pain sure as hell didn’t’ stop her from basking in the love from the crowd. She’d visited two buckles and was on her way to the third when the crowd exploded into boos. Morgan whirled, expecting to see Helena breathing down her neck. Instead she saw the redhead perched on one knee with Merle leaned down in front of her. For a moment Kinloch thought they were talking, then she realized that damned red glove was fastened tight to the squirming official’s face. “GET AWAY FROM ‘IM YE FECKIN BYTCH!”
Back to the Irishwoman, Helena paid her no mind. She only squeezed that much harder and started to rise. Not about to let the ginger tramp take out her frustrations on poor Merle, Morgan stomped across the canvas and clamped a five fingered manacle on her foe’s right shoulder. “Let ‘im go, bytch.” Morgan growled. “If ye wanna go another round, just NNNNNNGGGGHHH!”
Helena whipped a foot up and back, her heel striking the brunette’s womanhood in a heartless Low Blow. Tossing the breathless official aside like he was a bag of leaves, Helena rounded on the frozen Siren and gripped her throat in a crushing stranglehold. “You think you have thwarted the Gray, Morgan Kinloch? You have done nothing of the sort. All you’ve done is make it angry. The damage done by that wrath is on you, little one. Sleep well.”
Pulling the hobbled Irishwoman close, Helena slung Morgan’s left arm over her left shoulder and helped herself to a handful of waistband. Hooks buried deep, the redhead yanked Morgan into the air, then let loose of her trunks and THWHACKED the poor lass’s head with a mid-air Right Hook that made sure Kinloch was unconscious before she hit the mat.
SILVER PHANTOM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvvSNBXra0U
Breathing deep as she surveyed the destruction she’d wrought, Helena trained her eyes on the nearest camera and said, “Hear my words and hear them well, FAWN. Even if you leave the Gray, the Gray NEVER leaves you.” With that, Helena raised a boot, planted it on Kinloch’s chest and kept it there until more than half a dozen referees arrived to (hopefully) clear her off before the next match began.
SEVEN DEVILS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLkGKkfmgjU
Holy water cannot help you now
A thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
United by the chills running down their backs, the FAWNatics kept a silent vigil assisted by several low spotlights that made the murk flicker and glow. But seeing The Gray was little more than a minor victory. Laying eyes on the lurker therein, that was a challenge indeed.
Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out
I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out
A single spotlight hit the stage in time with the first chorus and there stood a tall figure in a hooded, storm gray cloak. For a moment it was still, then a hand encased in a dark red leather glove reached up and pulled the cowl back to reveal a pale skinned woman with dark eyes and a tangle of long, coppery locks.
HELENA GRAYLOCK:
Finding his voice now that the Silk Specter was in sight, the Announcer sputtered, “The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Crythin Gifford, England in the United Kingdom, she stands at five feet eight inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and forty pounds, she is the Gray Lady… HELENA GRAYLOCK!”
Finally breaking her repose, Helena shrugged the cloak from her shoulders and started down the aisle. The Gray made it quite trying to make out all the details at once, but who stared long enough learned more than they wanted. Tonight Our Lady of the Mists wore a dark gray one-piece with a wine red sash belted at the waist. Fans on the aisle thought they saw knee-high gray boots and matching elbow pads and it turned out they did, but these details weren’t confirmed until the mysterious Englishwoman climbed from the fog on the nearly obscured steel steps.
Gripping the top rope in her right hand, Graylock walked from one end of the apron to the other, the leather of her glove making and unpleasant ‘squeeeeeaaaak’ against the rubber-coated steel. Then she climbed over the ropes and went to the middle of the ring, where she was greeted by the ever industrious Merle. “I want a clean match tonight, Helena.” he said with as much authority as he could muster. “Obey my commands at all times and--”
Graylock reached for his throat, only to flatten out her hand and offer it for inspection. “Your civilized distinctions are meaningless in the Gray. You may speak them as loudly as you wish, but there is no guarantee you’ll like what hears them.” With that she backed into the far corner and looked to the entryway in search of pray that’d dare escape the questing tendrils of the Gray.
The crowd started buzzing once Helena’s anthem faded out and they got downright spirited when an Irish flag appeared on the FAWNtron. Flogging Molly kicked in immediately thereafter, the jaunty tune providing perfect accompaniment as Morgan Kinloch strolled out from behind the curtain. The Siren of Shannon broke into a run, crossing back and forth on the stage throwing an arm up and pumping her fist to the cheering fans.
DEVILS DANCE FLOOR:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSwaVvF7rdU
After a moment, the Announcer called, “And introducing her opponent, hailing from Shannon Ireland…She stands at five feet eight inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and forty-seven pounds, she is The Siren of Shannon…MORGAN KINLOCH!
MORGAN KINLOCH:
For her second run in with this escapee from a Hammer film Kinloch wore a green spandex top with black Celtic Cross design, black short shorts with a ’MORGAN’ scrolled across the seat in green and matching black pads and boots. Throwing the crowd a brawny salute, Morgan wound up a big bolo punch and hurled it toward the ring to start her trip down the aisle. Once she got started the Irishwoman made quick time to the squared circle, though she didn’t miss any opportunity to exchange high fives with the fans. Upon reaching the foot she slowed down and came to a stop, just taking a moment to stare down the smug British BEEYOTCH lurking in the far corner.
Rolling into the ring only when Graylock showed no overt sign of aggression, the former Intercontinental Champ and first Eurasian Champion popped to her feet and claimed the middle of the ring as her own. Helena remained motionless, so the brunette whirled around and stomped to the opposite corner to better salute her followers. Morgan was still soaking in the love when the FAWNatics’ tone changed from joyous to warning. It came a split second too late, she’d only started to look over her shoulder when Helena pounded a vicious Uppercut between her thighs.
“HEY!” Merle shouted to the snarling redhead even as Kinloch doubled over in nauseated anguish. “Whadda ya think you’re doin’, Helena?! I’ve got every right to disqualify you for a stunt like that!”
Graylock grabbed hold of her foe’s waistband, either to keep Morgan from pitching over the ropes or to make sure the fall was nastier, no one knew for sure. Pausing her assault just long enough to glance at the official, she asked, “How do you intend to disqualify anyone when the bell has yet to sound?”
The ref cursed, whirled around and threw a signal to the Timekeeper, who CLANGED the match live.
Far from needing such a blessing to do her duties, Helena’s attention had already returned to the aching Irishwoman. Turning her back on Morgan, Graylock reached up with one arm and grabbed her rival about the bicep. After repeating the process on the opposite side she stepped out of the corner and ‘hupped’ Morgan that much higher, leaving her strapped to a very dangerous crucifix. Aware enough to know she was in deep trouble, Kinloch squirmed as hard as she could in hopes of breaking free of the redhead’s grip. “LEGGO A’ ME YE CHEATIN’ HOOR!” Morgan barked. “SET ME ON MY FEET AND WE’LL FIGHT FAIR AND NNNNNGGGGGHHHH!” Hardly interested in what this whimpering creature thought was fair, Helena took a few steps forward, pushed onto her toes and then dropped forward onto her knees to THWHAM Kinloch square on the back of her head and shoulders courtesy a Crucifix Powerbomb.
CRUCIFIX POWERBOMB:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=2K_MbfxV7YI
Morgan skidded a short distance before coming to a stop sprawled out in a pained starfish. She hadn’t done much more than groan when the Gray Lady crawled over, wedged her shoulders into the pits of the other woman’s knees and forced her ankles up over her head with a Matchbook. Sick over the thought that a lapse in his officiating might cost Morgan her chance at justice, Merle dropped to his knees and counted…
ONE…
TWO…
Kinloch shrugged loose, which kept her in the match albeit at a marked disadvantage against the redhead. Seemingly unconcerned by her foe’s escape, Helena buried her leather-gloved hand in Morgan’s hair and hauled her to woozy verticality. “You engaged the tawdriest of strategies to save yourself from The Gray during our first encounter, Kinloch. Now I shall use those same strategies to make sure you’re reduced to so much whimpering, shrieking meat when I offer you to the hungry mists.”
“Ye’re a filthy cheatin’ bytch, Helena.” Morgan grunted. “But all the shortcuts in the world won’t be enough to save ye from the arse-kicking I NNNNGGH!”
Helena crouched, wrapped her arms around the Siren’s upper thighs and pushed onto her toes. Holding her aloft just because she could, the Silk Specter let Morgan think about it for a few seconds before she dropped to one knee and THWHUMPED the other woman’s undercarriage against the plank of her thigh. Morgan’s knees turned to water but she couldn’t have baby-stepped away even if she’d tried. Helena squeezed her grip that much tighter, then muscled the wounded brunette off her feet again. Marching the other Destroyer around like it the most natural thing in the world, Graylock stomped over to the ropes, turned around and fell back at an angle to drop Morgan throat-first across the top rope.
The rubber-coated steel ‘TWANGED!’ and Kinloch staggered back, both hands clutching at her burning windpipe. She’d made it all of three steps when Helena seized her by trunks and tresses. “Such a civilized battleground is no place for the likes of us,” she told the rasping wrestler, “warriors like you and I require less…. refined arenas.”
With that, she swung around in a circle, thus building up a good head of steam when she charged forward and slung Morgan clear over the top rope. All due credit to the fightin’ spirit of Morgan Kinloch, she twisted in mid-air and made a desperate grab for the ropes but was a shade too late to stop her THWHUMPING collision with the barely-padded floor.
Lips turned up in an uncharacteristic smile, Graylock stalked to the edge of the squared circle and looked down. “On your feet, Lady Kinloch,” she demanded of the supine battler, “unless of course you deem yourself unworthy as both adversary and offering. If that is the case then by all means, stay down and let the count pass you by.”
Morgan heard all this, yet paid it very little attention. She was far more focused on the ache running the full length of her spine, and the ref’s count, which seemed to be moving far faster than normal. Closing her eyes to blot out the sickening swirl of the overhead lights, she waited for the tolling numbers to hit lucky ‘THIRTEEN!’ before she rolled over onto her stomach and pushed to one knee. Hands braced against the floor for support, she pushed to her feet at ‘FIFTEEN!’ and promptly exclaimed, “Oh you feckin’ bytCHHHEERRGGHH!” She got her hands up just as a low-flying Helena shot between the top and middle ropes and plowed into her with a near hundred and fifty pound Suicide Dive. Both ladies went down but Morgan definitely got the worst of it as she ended up on her back near the foot of the ramp while Graylock made it to her feet almost at once.
SUICIDE DIVE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvK7PKfrWo4
“You’ll notice that the little man’s count has reset.” she said of Merle’s toll, which was back at ‘THREE!’ “That’s more than enough time to teach you the error of your ways.” Morgan sat up by way of response, unfortunately that just made it easier for the Gray Lady to grab hold of her hair. Forcing the wounded brunette to stand, Graylock stepped in behind her and slipped her right arm under Morgan’s fight bicep to get that arm out of the way with a Half Nelson. Her other arm went around the Irishwoman’s waist, meaning there was very little Kinloch could do, save stand there and listen to Helena’s words warm and mean in her ear. “Rings are all well and good for mere wrestling matches, but when justice must be served all that canvas, rubber and steel can be far too confining. Don’t you agree?” Graylock didn’t find out because she didn’t wait for an answer. Rather she wrenched Morgan high into the air, shifted to the other woman’s right and laid out on her tummy to THWHUMP the Siren of Shannon into the floor with a Half Nelson Slam.
HALF NELSON SLAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Dnti7ZUcu4
Morgan bounced to a seat, clutched at the back of her head and toppled to one side when Helena stuffed a dismissive hand in her face. Careful to remember his place in the count (it was at nine) Merle broke off long enough to bark, “C’mon Helena, get her back in the ring!”
Graylock looked up from the devastation and snarled, “If you want her back in there, you’ll have to come out here, little man.” That didn’t appeal to Merle in the least, so he resumed the count in hopes Our Lady of the Mists wanted an actual victory instead of a count out. Meanwhile Helena grabbed hold of the brunette’s wrist and used it to peel her off the thin blue mats. Glancing around for something she could hurl her prey on or into, she took note of the ring steps and smiled wickedly. “I believe I spoke too soon about the appeal of steel in battle.”
She stepped back, dropped her hips and slung Morgan toward the steps with an Irish Whip. Graylock fully expected Kinloch to hit them with her knees or back, so she was doubly irritated when the Irishwoman sprang onto the top step and leapt off on the other side as neat as you please. Not about to let that self-appointed agent of The Green escape her punishment, Helena charged after her, leapt onto the steps and dove-- OOOOOHHHHH! Morgan caught the redhead in mid-flight, spun in a half circle and dropped to her knees to THWHUNK the Gray Lady against the floor with a Spinebuster from deep in left field.
Laid out on the arena floor, Helena groaned and rocked from side to side as Morgan planted her palms on the Englishwoman’s stomach and rose to verticality. Glad to see the more reasonable wrestler rising first, Merle said, “Bring it back into the ring, Morgan.”
Kinloch stepped over Helena and rolled into the ring, laying on her back she waved to Merle and reversed her direction heading back the way she came. Merle threw his arms up, but there was nothing he could do except start the count all over.
The Celtic Crusher dropped back to the floor and found Helena’s rolled over onto all fours, the coughing gives her the hint that Our Lady of the Mists was having trouble getting air back into her lungs. Morgan reached down, hair hauled Helena back to her boots and promptly rammed a knee into the redhead’s tummy just before she shoved Graylock into the ring apron spine-first. Digging her fingers into Helena’s cheeks, Morgan snarled “Ye wanna be brawlin’ like a common Hoor? I can fight tat way too.”
Morgan moved her hand to Helena’s shoulders and gives the Briton a little payback for the Low Blow that started the match by ramming her knee into the redhead’s womanhood. The Celtic Crusher hugged Graylock around the waist to keep her upright, then took the Gray Lady’s wrist and spun / whipped her toward the steel barrier all in one roaring motion. The Silk Specter barely had time to get turned around taking the metal to her spine instead of going ass over tin cup into the front row.
Merle halted his count to plead one more time. “Morgan please bring it back in the ring, I don’t want to disqualify you tonight.”
Kinloch nodded, but proceeded swiftly after her wounded enemy. Helena tried pushing off the railing, but Morgan grabbed her by the neck and gave her the Bums Rush under the bottom rope. Graylock rolled several times before coming to a stop, but she shot to her feet as Morgan climbed onto the ring apron. The Vaporous Vixen rushed looking to hammer a forearm into the green-clad warrior. Morgan saw the move coming though and ducked down letting Helena swing herself around so forcefully she almost fell over the top rope.
The off balance Englishwoman couldn’t extract herself from the ropes fast enough to keep Morgan from grabbing hold and spinning her around so Helena’s back was to the strands. Kinloch held Graylock by the chin with one hand, the other she used to pull the redhead’s arms over the top rope. Usually the positions were reversed and Morgan was on the inside of the ring, but this would do. The Siren of Shannon raised her right arm high the FAWNatics cheering as they wanted to see their Lady of the Mists played like a bass drum.
“Don’t Morgan, Let me go!” Helena protested.
Morgan just smirks, and the crowd counted the blows out for the Celtic Crusher
THUMP! ONE!
Helena grunted, “Stop!”
THUMP! TWO!
“Don’t!” she wheezed.
THUMP! THREE!
Helena whimpered, “Please.”
THUMP! FOUR! THUMP! FIVE! THUMP! SIX! THUMP! SEVEN! THUMP! EIGHT! THUMP! NINE!
Morgan paused and grinned to the crowd as she then delivered the tenth and final Forearm Smash to Graylock’s cleavage.
THUMP! TEN!
The FAWNatics let out a raucous cheer, Morgan released Helena and she dropped slowly to her knees before pitching to the canvas face-first.
Morgan climbed through the ropes and moved up along Helena’s side. Staying out of range of the action, Merle warned, “That’s it Morgan, keep it in the ring or else.”
The Siren of Shannon nods, “Aye Mate, I ear ye.”
Turning to Helena, the Celtic Crusher reached down and hauled her upright with a handful of braid. Positioned beside the redhead, Morgan lifted her near arm, shot the other between her thighs and hoisted Helena up onto her shoulders in a Torture Rack. Kinloch stomped around the ring and bellowed, “TERE BE NOTHING TO FEAR IN TA GREY!”
After delivering her message Morgan dropped to her backside, bringing Helena down with her. The sudden impact bounced Graylock out of the Irish Lass’s grip and sent her to the canvas in a groaning heap. Morgan quickly spun around and crawled across Helena’s chest, going for a pin.
GREEN CRUSH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTMEp1q0lV4
ONE…
TWO…
KICKOUT!
The Lady of the Mist still had something left in her, it’s not an impressive display, but it kept the match going. Morgan looked at Merle, but the referee held up two fingers confirming Helena’s escape. The explosion of offense and the earlier beating had Morgan a bit winded so she took a moment to stand and flick her trunks back over the curve of her buttocks. The Siren of Shannon bent over reaching for Graylock again, but the Gray Lady’s right hand shot up and raked the other Destroyer’s eyes.
Morgan screamed, “AAHAHAAAFECK!”
Merle stepped up immediately. “Off the eyes Helena! That’s too far!”
Helena ripped her claw away, glaring in anger as she climbed to her feet giving chase to the wounded Siren. Unable to see where she’s going Kinloch staggered around never reaching the ropes, Helena moved behind the green-clad battler and Chopblocked the back of her knee. Morgan fell to the mat screaming in new pain and clutching her knees as a penitent Helena basked in her misery.
Slightly rejuvenated by the sight of Kinloch prone and suffering, the redhead clambered to her feet and took a few steps back. Holding one arm pressed to her aching ribs, Graylock sidled around to Morgan’s six where she waited grim, silent and implacable as looming tragedy. Attention divided between her stinging eyes and throbbing knee, Morgan slowly turned onto her stomach and put both hands against the mat. Pushing up slow, she got her feet under her and rose, careful to keep most of her weight off the wounded right knee. She’d just put a little more pressure on the joint when Helena lunged, dropped to one knee and PWAAAKED her left forearm into the pit of Morgan’s knee. Kinloch bellowed in rage and pain, spun to her hands and knees and scrambled up as quickly as the gimpy stem would allow.
“FECKIN CHEAT!” she roared. “WHY DON’T YOU COME AT ME FACE TA FACEERRRGGGHHHH!”
Graylock did as bade, closing on her foe with what was surely a Collar & Elbow Lock-up. But when Morgan raised her hands to meet it the Englishwoman pulled back and drilled a stabby little kick into her foe’s vulnerable kneecap. The Siren pitched forward into a sloppy clinch which turned into an equally ragged Side Headlock when Graylock voluntarily offered up her noggin to snuggle in against the other woman’s right side. Bearing down with the sort of pressure that could water Pandora’s eyes, Morgan snarled, “No more Gray for you, girlie. You’re gettin’ pitched inta the heart of the blackHEEEYY NO! NO! NO! LET GO OF MY LEGAAHH NNNNNGGGGGHHHH!”
Hardly one to put her head in a vise if there wasn’t something in it for her, Graylock snatched hold of Kinloch’s right ankle and folded her lower leg up so heel met buttock in most unpleasant fashion. In the next instant she hoisted Morgan into the air like she was little more than a sack of grain, then took a couple steps forward and went down on one knee to THWHUMP Morgan’s exposed shin against the strong plank of her thigh.
SHINBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3bZFSbYBcU
Hitting the mat in a heap following the Shinbreaker, Morgan resisted the urge to curl into a ball and instead barrel rolled toward the bottom ropes in search of a breather on the floor. She’d actually made it to safety of the apron when a scrambling Helena reached through the strands and grabbed a double handful of hair.
“No escape from me now, little one,” the Gray Lady cooed while forcing the hobbled Irish lass to stand. “You doubted the power of the Gray and I mean to see you answer for it.”
Kinloch didn’t say much of anything just then, she’d curled one arm around the top rope and was holding on for dear life in hopes that Merle would call for a break. The ref came through almost immediately, patting at Helena’s shoulder and demanding she honor the rules of sanctuary. Alas Graylock had no place for such trivial concerns and so she abandoned the hair hold to reach between the top and middle ropes to grab the brunette’s left thigh. Free hand curled into a fist, Morgan leaned in as close as she could and just pounded away on her attacker’s upper back and shoulders. Fat lot of good it did, Our Lady of the Mists soaked it all up to thread Kinloch’s wayward stem through the rubber-coated steel. Shifting her grip to Morgan’s ankle, Helena took a giant step back, thus stretching her foe’s leg full length.
“You wish release from suffering, Morgan Kinloch?” she murmured. “Throw yourself at the mercy of the Gray and I will consider it.”
Doubled down on the top rope again, Morgan twisted and writhed, all to no avail. Though she was quite certain that extreme pain lurked just around the corner, it didn’t stop the Celtic Crusher from snarling, “I’d sooner take the knee for the Court than beg for the likes of AAARRGHH!”
Helena spun under the extended limb and laid out on her back to drive the side of Kinloch’s knee into the middle strand with a cringe-inducing ‘TWANG!’
DRAGON SCREW IN ROPES:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEnmWjMeCZE
Only upright by grace of her death-grip on the top rope, Morgan could offer no resistance when Graylock bundled her head under one arm with an unpleasant Front Facelock. Working her own head under the Irishwoman’s left arm, Helena climbed onto the middle rope, reached over and helped herself to a handful of waistband. With the crowd buzzing over just what the hell she had in mind, the enigmatic redhead dipped her knees and hoisted Morgan up, over and most importantly down, the wounded European grappler THWHAMMING against the thinly-sheathed plywood full force.
APRON SUPERPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Qdf1873v_Y
Perhaps the only person in the arena not stunned by the impressive show of strength, Helena floated over onto a Lateral Press that got considerably stronger when she hooked Morgan’s injured wheel. Pulling it up to the Siren’s chest, she stared daggers into the crowd while Merle counted…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Morgan shot an arm into the air with a half tick remaining, though it should be noted that she didn’t (or couldn’t) wrest her cradled leg free of Graylock’s clutches.
Helena leaned back on her haunches and searched the official’s face for some sign that he was brave or foolish enough to hinder her with a slow count. Finding no trace of either, she took claim of Kinloch’s right ankle and got to her feet. “It is trial enough to face the Gray on your feet,” she told the Irishwoman while dragging her around in an ungentle half circle, “I hesitate to comprehend your chances should you have to do it on your knees.”
Morgan was too caught up in her own pain to reply, so Graylock pulled her right leg away from her torso at a wide angle, then dropped it on the canvas. The crowd, which had been chattering excitedly ever since the Superplex, got loud again when Helena turned away from her prey and made a beeline to the nearest corner. Paying the noise no mind, she slipped through the ropes and climbed to the top turnbuckle like it was something she did all the time. A single glance at the redhead’s arc of descent told those assembled exactly what she had in mind and they tried to pass the information along to Morgan at the top of their lungs. Kinloch heard them, even processed the gist of it but she was just too weary to act upon it, meaning she was still dead center of the bull’s eye when Helena came off the top and THWHAMMED down across her exposed leg with a perfectly placed Diving Splash.
Brought back to reality by the velvet-wrapped lead safe weight of the Splash’s impact, Morgan sat bolt upright and now she pulled her tormented knee to her chest, as if simple proximity to her heart would somehow ease the pain. Not moved in the slightest by this painful display, Helena grabbed Morgan’s ankle yet again and straightened her leg with a few awful yanks.
Fighting a life and death battle with the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks at any moment, Kinloch drew her free leg close and pistoned it forward over and over again, a mindless barrage of kicks aimed at whatever part of the Englishwoman she could find. Morgan’s heel struck Graylock’s thigh and hip several times, but she endured the blows long enough to tuck the brunette’s shin under her left arm. “Struggle all you can, Morgan Kinloch. Adrenaline makes for an excellent tenderizer.” With Morgan corralled at shin and thigh, the Gray Lady hoisted her burden into a near headstand, then rolled her onto her stomach and stepped over. Soon as her feet were planted Helena sank into a deep crouch, the curve of her buttocks hanging less than an inch above the hollow of Kinloch’s back.
Biting her tongue to keep from screaming herself hoarse, the Siren of Shannon dug white-knuckled claws into the mat and ever so slowly started inching toward the ropes.
While she’s in incredible pain, Morgan still made the slow progress dragging the both of them to safety. The going was tough, but the Celtic Crusher steeled her nerves and finally, mercifully, she wrapped her outstretched hand around the lowest strand.
Watching closely, Merle called for the break, but Graylock refused to give up Morgan’s limb without a count. Morgan put her forehead on the canvas as her leg burned, just gritting her teeth as the Mistress of the Mist waited until four and a half before dumping Kinloch’s leg. “There’s nothing more to be done, little one.” Helena muttered once she was on her feet. “Just give up to the mercy of the Gray.”
Morgan shook her head as she used the ropes to get back to verticality. One step told her the injured leg wouldn’t support her weight at the moment. Merle saw the trouble and moved closer. “Morgan I can stop this, just say the word.”
“Bugger off Merle!” Kinloch screamed as she limped down along the ropes, leaning heavily on the strands to keep from falling. Helena looked on, the dark-eyed beauty grinning at her handiwork. “Why do you run, Kinloch? There is no escape from the Gray. Not now. Not ever.”
If Morgan would not accept the Gray, the Silk Specter would force her to it. Helena moved toward the wounded Siren but Kinloch stepped out to meet her, shooting one hand to the back of the redhead’s skull while her other arm sliced up and caught Graylock across the jaw with a hellacious European Uppercut. Both Morgan and Helena staggered, banging against each other a couple of times before Morgan gained her balance and cupped the back of the Brit’s head and delivered a second European Uppercut.
This time there was nothing Helena could do to stay upright. Reeling off the ropes she tripped over her own feet and fell face-first to the canvas. Morgan stumbled too, she was more in control, but still wobbly. The Siren of Shannon steadied herself and took a deep breath, walking around the grounded Graylock she limped a little less with each step. By the time she reached the redhead’s noggin Morgan only grimaced a bit when the bent down and hair hauled Helena to her feet.
Morgan hooked her arms around Helena’s from the outside in, just above the Brit’s elbows. Then she snapped her head forward, slamming into Graylock’s chest and cleavage. Three times her forehead thumped into the other woman’s décolletage. The Englishwoman moaned breathlessly as the Celtic Crusher lifted and tossed Helena over her head with a Double Arm Belly to Belly Suplex.
DOUBLE ARM BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyPhb-BQNbk
Morgan crawled across the mat, threw her body across Helena’s bosom and lifted the far leg off the canvas. Merle was in place instantly…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Helena bust free and threw an arm into the arm, turning to her side. Morgan rocked back on her haunches with both hands on her knees. She looked at Merle, but knew the count was beat. “Good on ye, lass, I wanna bit more of yer sorry arse.”
Morgan put a hand on hip and the other on Helena’s top bicep pushing the arm behind the redhead’s back. Kinloch rose onto her toes, and using her good leg rammed a knee into Graylock’s tummy. The grunt and groan of pain was music to the Celt’s ears as she sent half a dozen of the knees crushing into Helena’s tummy and tits, alternating between her targets. Unable to curl up to protect herself, Helena tried scooting toward the ropes with each blow to stave off some of the pain, but that had limited results. When Morgan was done battering her opponent she shoved Helena to her back again going for a second cover.
ONE…
TWO…
Merle leapt up with a cry of, “BREAK!”
Merle pointed Morgan toward the ropes and the boot draped on the bottom strand. The Irishwoman shook her head and growled. “Aye see ya wee wanker, ye can’t be kicking out by tree so ye take a shortcut.”
Morgan brought Helena back to vertical as she rose and led the Englishwoman to the center of the ring. The Celtic Crusher grabbed a wrist, put Graylock’s arm over her own shoulders, grabbed a rowdy handful of British Backside and humped the redhead up across her shoulders in a Torture Rack. Kinloch’s weakened leg began to quiver almost immediately, but she turned ninety degrees with her load and then with a little hop threw her legs out in front of her bringing Helena down across those broad shoulders. Helen’s spine was torqued the wrong directions as she bounced off and landed in a heap behind Morgan.
TORTURE RACK DROP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTMEp1q0lV4
Though she came down on her butt the landing send an unpleasant jolt through Kinloch’s right knee, so much so in fact that the tough Irishwoman pulled down the pad and tended to the brutalized joint with both hands. Merle didn’t like the looks of that one bit, which was why he knelt beside her and asked, “Can you move around ok, Morgan? I don’t want you tearing a meniscus or rupturing a patella trying to win this damned match.”
Morgan grimaced as she pulled the pad back into place. “I’ll be fine, Merle. Just gotta keep that evil feckin’ ginger from takin’ any more cheap shots.” A groan from her six o’clock indicated that said evil ginger was starting to stir, so Kinloch rolled over and got stood up, all while taking care to put a minimum of pressure on her bad leg. “Don’t ye dare start whinin’ and moanin’ now, sweet’eart.” Morgan grunted as she coiled Helena’s braid around her fist. “I ain’t given ya nothin’ worth tears… yet.”
On those delightfully ominous words she dragged the Englishwoman to her feet and immediately pounded a Kneelift deep into Graylock’s lower abdomen. It wasn’t a Low Blow, let us be clear on that much. But it still hit entirely too close to home, if Helena’s weak-kneed gaping was any indication. Feeling not the tiniest bit of guilt over this slightly questionable tactic, Morgan hooked her right arm over the redhead’s shoulder and slipped the left between her thighs, Body Slam style. In any other match Kinloch would’ve ‘hupped’ Helena onto her right shoulder, but tonight she slung the other Destroyer down her left shoulder to keep the extra weight off her wounded knee.
“NEVER FEAR, GOOD PEOPLE OF FAWN!” Morgan called to the crowd as she turned in a slow circle. “THE SUN’S ABOUT TO SHINE THROUGH THE GRAY ONCE AND FOR ERRRRRRGGGHH!”
Graylock’s left hand flew up from outta nowhere and raaaaaaaaaaaaked the brunette’s eyes with savage swipe. Morgan lurched back on instinct and the sudden pressure on her bum leg almost sent her to the mat in a tangle of sweat and curses. She was saved from this indignity by Helena herself, or rather Helena’s vacating her place on the Irishwoman’s shoulder. Of course this new arrangement meant Our Lady of the Mists was free to pursue her own agenda again and she got back to it by THWHACKING a kick into the back of, you guessed it, Kinloch’s right knee. Morgan’s leg flew up and the rest of her went down, the former Intercontinental Champion landing hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs.
“Speak of the sun all you want, little one.” Helena hissed to her prone opposition. “Neither it nor these people shine bright enough to save you from what lurks in the heart of the Gray.” Morgan could only clutch at her knee, so Graylock reached down, palmed her skull in both hands and scraped her off the mat. Forcing Kinloch to turn in a half circle simply because she could, Helena dipped down and forced her head between opposing thighs. Then she straightened up fast, boosting Morgan into an Electric Chair that raised a worried murmur from the FAWNatics. Their unease wasn’t helped when the redhead slipped her right arm free of the Irishwoman’s right leg and reached up to “AAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!”
Morgan crooked both hands into claws and went to work on Helena’s face, a vicious reprisal for the work done to her knee and every other indignity the bytch had heaped upon her. Merle didn’t exactly approve of this tactic, but turnabout was fair play and thusly he didn’t chide that loudly. A count wouldn’t have been necessary anyway, as Kinloch abandoned the gouging just as soon as she slipped free of the Electric Chair.
Gripping Helena’s shoulders in both hands to make sure her bad knee didn’t buckle, Morgan spun the Englishwoman to face her and this time the brunette’s Kneelift connected with the center of Graylock’s trunks. Helena sobbed, Merle barked a warning and the FAWNatics roared with delight. All three reactions got nothing from the Siren of Shannon, all of her considerable attention was focused on the Emerald Flowsion she’d been denied earlier. Injured knee be damned, Morgan hoisted Helena onto her right shoulder and wrapped that arm around the Silk Specter’s lower back. With her left hand cupped against the back of her prey’s neck, Kinloch pushed up on her toes, spun around as fast as she could and laid out on her right side to THAWHUNK Graylock headfirst into the mat with a thunderous Emerald Flowsion.
EMERALD FLOWSION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtQwuwf0I3Q
Helena flopped out in a flat, unresponsive sprawl and didn’t move save for her left leg, which Morgan in hooked in both hands for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
“YES!” Morgan tossed Graylock’s gam aside and shot both hands into the air as the bell sounded her victory.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Announcer confirmed, “your winner via pin-fall… MORGAN KINLOCH!”
Merle hurried over to offer her a hand in getting up. Now that the battle was over she had no problem accepting the offer. “How you feelin’ Morgan?” he asked after sidling in under her left arm. “Need me to have to doc waiting when you get through the curtain?”
Kinloch shook her head ‘no’. “I’ll see tha good doctor sometime tonight, but I intend to go to him, not tha’other way round, Merle. As fer ‘ow I’m feelin’, I just took a zero away from a big nasty bytch, so I’m feelin’ pretty damned good.”
“You need help on your victory lap?”
Morgan put some weight on her throbbing leg, grimaced, then offered the ref another negative. “Nah, it’ll ‘old. But if ya wouldn’t mind pullin’ the ropes down fer me when it’s time to go, I’d be in yer debt.”
“No problem. Great fight tonight, Morgan.” He slipped free of her and stepped back, letting the victrix set off on her trek alone.
Limping or not, Morgan made good time to the nearest corner and the pain sure as hell didn’t’ stop her from basking in the love from the crowd. She’d visited two buckles and was on her way to the third when the crowd exploded into boos. Morgan whirled, expecting to see Helena breathing down her neck. Instead she saw the redhead perched on one knee with Merle leaned down in front of her. For a moment Kinloch thought they were talking, then she realized that damned red glove was fastened tight to the squirming official’s face. “GET AWAY FROM ‘IM YE FECKIN BYTCH!”
Back to the Irishwoman, Helena paid her no mind. She only squeezed that much harder and started to rise. Not about to let the ginger tramp take out her frustrations on poor Merle, Morgan stomped across the canvas and clamped a five fingered manacle on her foe’s right shoulder. “Let ‘im go, bytch.” Morgan growled. “If ye wanna go another round, just NNNNNNGGGGHHH!”
Helena whipped a foot up and back, her heel striking the brunette’s womanhood in a heartless Low Blow. Tossing the breathless official aside like he was a bag of leaves, Helena rounded on the frozen Siren and gripped her throat in a crushing stranglehold. “You think you have thwarted the Gray, Morgan Kinloch? You have done nothing of the sort. All you’ve done is make it angry. The damage done by that wrath is on you, little one. Sleep well.”
Pulling the hobbled Irishwoman close, Helena slung Morgan’s left arm over her left shoulder and helped herself to a handful of waistband. Hooks buried deep, the redhead yanked Morgan into the air, then let loose of her trunks and THWHACKED the poor lass’s head with a mid-air Right Hook that made sure Kinloch was unconscious before she hit the mat.
SILVER PHANTOM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvvSNBXra0U
Breathing deep as she surveyed the destruction she’d wrought, Helena trained her eyes on the nearest camera and said, “Hear my words and hear them well, FAWN. Even if you leave the Gray, the Gray NEVER leaves you.” With that, Helena raised a boot, planted it on Kinloch’s chest and kept it there until more than half a dozen referees arrived to (hopefully) clear her off before the next match began.