Post by SammieSinclair on Jul 12, 2015 11:59:31 GMT
Seeing the Associates at a non-PPV event was a treat or a curse, depending on your viewpoint. Either way, each one pushes from behind the curtain in turn. Leading the way is the junior partner and muscle, Alexis Suguitan, the copper-skinned Filipino looking resplendent in black crop top and denim.
Next on the company train is the counsellor for VB&A, Rachel Raker, familiar in her tight blue pinstripe suit and skirt. The redhead grasps her ubiquitous clipboard and the legal pad atop it, scribbling notes.
Third in line is the head of the organization, Portia VanBuren. The blonde socialite seems more herself than in recent weeks, Baby having lost a quarter of her family fortune to her now officially former stepmom, Gretchen Vaughn. Clad in a skin tight, black cocktail dress and pumps, Baby looks ready to party, but apparently there would be business in the ring before the clubs would be hit later in the evening.
The caboose in this lethal locomotive is FAWN’s World Champion, clad in her battle gear. The Hawkeye wears a black one-piece, black leather belt around her midriff, black lace covering her shoulders and upper arms, the Iowan going all in with Louis Vuitton, sporting designer togs as well. She finishes things off with black boots and pads.
i2.photobucket.com/albums/y32/biggerb/louis_vuitton-31.jpg~original
A beige LV handbag is gripped tightly in her left hand, the ‘Big Belt’ lain over her opposite shoulder.
In single file, the Associates stride to the ring in condescending fashion, no musical accompaniment tonight, only the resounding jeers of FAWNatics surprised and hardly delighted as each traipses up the ring steps and enters, Alexis widening the ropes for those behind her as she sits on the middle and pushes up the top.
Once in, each woman moves to centre stage, a bowler hat more noticeable when it is handed from Baby to Alexis. Suguitan gives it a swirl while Kylie places down her thousand-dollar handbag and draws out a microphone.
Kylie offers it to Portia as a sign of respect, VanBuren shaking her head and consenting for Sanders to carry the ball on this occasion.
Ky doesn’t have to be asked twice, raising her World Championship belt high as she draws the stick to her lips, immediately the chants of “TROLL…TROLL…TROLLL,” echoing through the area.
Alexis circles the ring, demanding the crowd shut their mouths while Kylie’s face turns rosy, Sanders biting her lower lip.
“Do what you’re told,” the elfin blonde screams. “SHUT YOUR MOUTHS.”
The FAWNatics are not interested in the advice and only a steadying hand on Kylie’s shoulder from VanBuren keeps Ky from blowing her top.
“You’re right, Portia. They’re not worth it,” Sanders growls into the amplifier.
“My friend Alexis has a hat, as some of you may have noticed.”
The Filipino beauty raises the bowler high with a wide grin.
“In this hat, has been placed the name of every FAWN roster member deserving of a shot at the World Title.”
The FAWNatics groan, knowing very well the rumours afoot of Kylie and the Associates’ determination to keep the elfin blonde at the top of the ladder by feeding her handpicked mid-level morsels, even though the last one, AJ Swann, had very nearly backfired in the Hawkeye’s face by beating her.
Suguitan lowers and shakes the hat in front of a smirking Sanders. Those with good eyes can see some of the slips are pink, standing out from the majority white. Not surprisingly, Kylie plucks a pinky out of the bowler and lifts it high, the crowd booing at this obvious travesty in the making.
“And now we shall all find out the lucky and worthy competitor who gets to challenge me.”
Without really concentrating on the name, Kylie gleefully shouts out “SAMMIE SINCLAIR”.
Sanders chokes out the last syllable.
The crowd roars as the Hawkeye looks at Alexis with wide hazel eyes.
“Now wait, wait, wait,” Kylie stammers. “I meant…” Sanders scoops out another pink slip but doesn’t even bother to look at it.
“It says MARY!! …MARY SINCLAIR!!!”
The crowd, however, is having none of it, persistently chanting “SAM-EEE. SAM-EEE. SAM-EEE”
Kylie tugs at her platinum shoulder-length locks.
“I SAID MUHHH”
The World Champion is cut off before she can finish the Mouse’s Christian name, upbeat Upstart music flowing through the arena bowl over her protests.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=b5zXinAj5TI
Nothing cut through a tirade quite like a Babyface intro, and no amount of red faced, hand wringing from the Associates could prevent the small arena from collectively losing their sh*t as Sanders attempts to ‘rig the election’ backfired spectacularly. The speakers erupted and the FAWNatics erupted right along with them, the Loyalist Legionnaires cheering even louder as the Upstart Supreme pushed out from between the curtains and stepped out into the light.
Five foot four and one hundred and ten pounds of athletically sculptured, miniature might, Sammie Sinclair was every inch the People’s Princess as she cheered back, shimmering in her golden/yellow attire and blushing fiercely with her dimple, freckled cheeks flushing a delightful crimson. She held her hands up and waved, just as willing to embrace this small crowd as she was the packed, far larger arena in Orlando, the Little Sparrow her Father’s Daughter now as much as ever.
There was little time to lose as she marched down the short aisle, freely slapping as many outstretched palms as she was able as she quickly approached the packed ring, seemingly undaunted by the number of unfriendly faces waiting for her inside the squared circle. With a spring in her step, the young women hopped up onto the apron, grasping the ropes and pausing for just a moment. After the barest hint of consideration, she proved the lyrics of her intro true and, with a smirk, ducked her way into the lion’s den.
With chocolate curls bobbing in almost impish fasion across her slender shoulders, Sammie accepted an offered microphone from a nearby (and clearly smitten) stagehand, the former Lightweight Champion and, with a cheeky smile, paused for just a moment longer.
She forced Sanders to wait just long enough for Kylie’s face to turn red and, just as the elfin blonde looked fit to burst, the equally elfin brunette cut her off.
“Now see, as much as we would love to see Mary wipe the smug right off your face,” Sinclair began, forced to let the comment linger as the Legionnaires shouted in agreement, Sammie’s little sister almost as adored as the People’s Princess, “I can’t be playing favourites. Last year Kylie, I would have done anything for you, I would have stood beside you against everyone in that locker room. But now, this year... this year I’ll settle for kicking your fake ass all over this ring!!”
Kylie calms herself as best she can. "I'm as real as real gets," Sanders insists over the cheers of the crowd. "And if you want to go all Hunger Games and take your sister's beat down, far be it from me."
The rest of the Associates bracket Kylie's shoulders. "But Sammie. While you're cute and peppy and OH SO adorable." The disdain drips off every word. "What do you suppose is going to save you from us beating the holy hell out of you right now and making sure you're not available to be in the Summer Swelter PPV."
Kylie glances to Rachel on her left and Alexis and Portia on her right. "If anyone is getting her ass kicked right now, it's you little Upstart." Sanders balls the microphone within her right fist and steps forward with a volley toward Sammie's jaw.
Which Sinclair, perhaps choosing the better part of valour on at least one occasion, neatly ducked beneath with a swishing of her chocolate curls and darted through the gap between the Associates presented by the wild swing from Sanders. Securing the smallest of escape roots, the People spied the opportunity for their Princess to escape the beat down and willed her towards it with a fresh cheer, Sammie sprinting across the ring and swiftly reaching the ropes... which she did not duck between to the outside...
Instead she astonished everyone, although perhaps they shouldn’t have been surprised as she bunny hopped up onto the middle rope. With momentum behind her and a spring in her launch, the Little Sparrow took flight, soaring through the air as she spun herself about, aiming to collide with the Associates with an audacious splash of miniature might!!
Sammie u-turns with escape in her reach and flies toward the row of VB&A. As surprised, no astonished as the Associates are, and as much spring and momentum as Sinclair creates, the splash staggers the foursome little more than a step before they recover, each possessing a part of the Upstart.
"Seriously," Kylie chuckles as Sammie squirms in the Associates' grip. "Maybe you are the right Sinclair to fight."
"Ladies," Portia says, her commanding tone catching every Associate's attention, not to mention a panicky Sammie. "Fallaway slam, please. Then fire at will."
Each nod in unison, but before they can follow VanBuren's orders, a redhead in the colours of her country is on the apron. Hands clenched around the top rope.
Elizabeth Cromwell launches, lands on the top of the cable and springboards off, delivering a drop kick to Sammie's back. With the force and the lack of proper balance in the Associates combining, Rachel, Kylie, Portia and Alexis are sent tumbling.
Sammie lands atop each, the FAWNatics on their feet, cheering at the sight of Sinclair pinning all four, if only for a half-second.
It was more than long enough for the Gladiatrix Photographer’s in attendance to capture the moment for Upstart Nation prosperity, just as it was long enough for even Sammie to consider that perhaps the better part of valour really was the better option tonight. With a little bit of prompting from the Upstart in Law, Elizabeth Cromwell, Sinclair rolled free from her landing and ducked outside the squared circle while the going was good.
That didn’t stop her from securing one last prize for the night as, with sneaky paws, she snagged herself the cute little bowler hat Sanders had used to draw her name from. Spinning the headwear with an impish twirl, the lass from England popped it atop her chocolate curls and smirked as she backpedalled alongside Lizzie, the World’s Best Brit’s united and drawing a loud cheer from the amused crowd.
Somehow, from somewhere, Sammie had also snagged herself a fresh mic, bringing it to her lips as the Associates pulled themselves off their backsides. “That’s right, of course, you brought along some friends, wish I’d thought of that. Oh wait,” with an adorable scrunching of her button nose, the elfin brunette, and now number one contender for the World Title, smirked all the more, “I did!”
Kylie grabs the top rope closest to her challenger, knuckles turning white as she moves it up and down in anger. She stomps in frustration. "Get your ass back in here," Kylie shouts but Sammie only waves.
"I'll be bahhk," Sinclair responds in her cutest bestest Arnold accent.
Behind Sanders, the other Associates are on their feet, Rachel the most emotionally contained, Alexis the least, Suguitan joining Kylie with threats aplenty directed at the departing pair. Lizzie and Sammie cheerfully wave to those in the ring and share slaps with the crowd on their way out. Sammie's music re-emerges through the speakers as some in the crowd might be able to see steam billow from Kylie's ears if they look closely.
Next on the company train is the counsellor for VB&A, Rachel Raker, familiar in her tight blue pinstripe suit and skirt. The redhead grasps her ubiquitous clipboard and the legal pad atop it, scribbling notes.
Third in line is the head of the organization, Portia VanBuren. The blonde socialite seems more herself than in recent weeks, Baby having lost a quarter of her family fortune to her now officially former stepmom, Gretchen Vaughn. Clad in a skin tight, black cocktail dress and pumps, Baby looks ready to party, but apparently there would be business in the ring before the clubs would be hit later in the evening.
The caboose in this lethal locomotive is FAWN’s World Champion, clad in her battle gear. The Hawkeye wears a black one-piece, black leather belt around her midriff, black lace covering her shoulders and upper arms, the Iowan going all in with Louis Vuitton, sporting designer togs as well. She finishes things off with black boots and pads.
i2.photobucket.com/albums/y32/biggerb/louis_vuitton-31.jpg~original
A beige LV handbag is gripped tightly in her left hand, the ‘Big Belt’ lain over her opposite shoulder.
In single file, the Associates stride to the ring in condescending fashion, no musical accompaniment tonight, only the resounding jeers of FAWNatics surprised and hardly delighted as each traipses up the ring steps and enters, Alexis widening the ropes for those behind her as she sits on the middle and pushes up the top.
Once in, each woman moves to centre stage, a bowler hat more noticeable when it is handed from Baby to Alexis. Suguitan gives it a swirl while Kylie places down her thousand-dollar handbag and draws out a microphone.
Kylie offers it to Portia as a sign of respect, VanBuren shaking her head and consenting for Sanders to carry the ball on this occasion.
Ky doesn’t have to be asked twice, raising her World Championship belt high as she draws the stick to her lips, immediately the chants of “TROLL…TROLL…TROLLL,” echoing through the area.
Alexis circles the ring, demanding the crowd shut their mouths while Kylie’s face turns rosy, Sanders biting her lower lip.
“Do what you’re told,” the elfin blonde screams. “SHUT YOUR MOUTHS.”
The FAWNatics are not interested in the advice and only a steadying hand on Kylie’s shoulder from VanBuren keeps Ky from blowing her top.
“You’re right, Portia. They’re not worth it,” Sanders growls into the amplifier.
“My friend Alexis has a hat, as some of you may have noticed.”
The Filipino beauty raises the bowler high with a wide grin.
“In this hat, has been placed the name of every FAWN roster member deserving of a shot at the World Title.”
The FAWNatics groan, knowing very well the rumours afoot of Kylie and the Associates’ determination to keep the elfin blonde at the top of the ladder by feeding her handpicked mid-level morsels, even though the last one, AJ Swann, had very nearly backfired in the Hawkeye’s face by beating her.
Suguitan lowers and shakes the hat in front of a smirking Sanders. Those with good eyes can see some of the slips are pink, standing out from the majority white. Not surprisingly, Kylie plucks a pinky out of the bowler and lifts it high, the crowd booing at this obvious travesty in the making.
“And now we shall all find out the lucky and worthy competitor who gets to challenge me.”
Without really concentrating on the name, Kylie gleefully shouts out “SAMMIE SINCLAIR”.
Sanders chokes out the last syllable.
The crowd roars as the Hawkeye looks at Alexis with wide hazel eyes.
“Now wait, wait, wait,” Kylie stammers. “I meant…” Sanders scoops out another pink slip but doesn’t even bother to look at it.
“It says MARY!! …MARY SINCLAIR!!!”
The crowd, however, is having none of it, persistently chanting “SAM-EEE. SAM-EEE. SAM-EEE”
Kylie tugs at her platinum shoulder-length locks.
“I SAID MUHHH”
The World Champion is cut off before she can finish the Mouse’s Christian name, upbeat Upstart music flowing through the arena bowl over her protests.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=b5zXinAj5TI
Nothing cut through a tirade quite like a Babyface intro, and no amount of red faced, hand wringing from the Associates could prevent the small arena from collectively losing their sh*t as Sanders attempts to ‘rig the election’ backfired spectacularly. The speakers erupted and the FAWNatics erupted right along with them, the Loyalist Legionnaires cheering even louder as the Upstart Supreme pushed out from between the curtains and stepped out into the light.
Five foot four and one hundred and ten pounds of athletically sculptured, miniature might, Sammie Sinclair was every inch the People’s Princess as she cheered back, shimmering in her golden/yellow attire and blushing fiercely with her dimple, freckled cheeks flushing a delightful crimson. She held her hands up and waved, just as willing to embrace this small crowd as she was the packed, far larger arena in Orlando, the Little Sparrow her Father’s Daughter now as much as ever.
There was little time to lose as she marched down the short aisle, freely slapping as many outstretched palms as she was able as she quickly approached the packed ring, seemingly undaunted by the number of unfriendly faces waiting for her inside the squared circle. With a spring in her step, the young women hopped up onto the apron, grasping the ropes and pausing for just a moment. After the barest hint of consideration, she proved the lyrics of her intro true and, with a smirk, ducked her way into the lion’s den.
With chocolate curls bobbing in almost impish fasion across her slender shoulders, Sammie accepted an offered microphone from a nearby (and clearly smitten) stagehand, the former Lightweight Champion and, with a cheeky smile, paused for just a moment longer.
She forced Sanders to wait just long enough for Kylie’s face to turn red and, just as the elfin blonde looked fit to burst, the equally elfin brunette cut her off.
“Now see, as much as we would love to see Mary wipe the smug right off your face,” Sinclair began, forced to let the comment linger as the Legionnaires shouted in agreement, Sammie’s little sister almost as adored as the People’s Princess, “I can’t be playing favourites. Last year Kylie, I would have done anything for you, I would have stood beside you against everyone in that locker room. But now, this year... this year I’ll settle for kicking your fake ass all over this ring!!”
Kylie calms herself as best she can. "I'm as real as real gets," Sanders insists over the cheers of the crowd. "And if you want to go all Hunger Games and take your sister's beat down, far be it from me."
The rest of the Associates bracket Kylie's shoulders. "But Sammie. While you're cute and peppy and OH SO adorable." The disdain drips off every word. "What do you suppose is going to save you from us beating the holy hell out of you right now and making sure you're not available to be in the Summer Swelter PPV."
Kylie glances to Rachel on her left and Alexis and Portia on her right. "If anyone is getting her ass kicked right now, it's you little Upstart." Sanders balls the microphone within her right fist and steps forward with a volley toward Sammie's jaw.
Which Sinclair, perhaps choosing the better part of valour on at least one occasion, neatly ducked beneath with a swishing of her chocolate curls and darted through the gap between the Associates presented by the wild swing from Sanders. Securing the smallest of escape roots, the People spied the opportunity for their Princess to escape the beat down and willed her towards it with a fresh cheer, Sammie sprinting across the ring and swiftly reaching the ropes... which she did not duck between to the outside...
Instead she astonished everyone, although perhaps they shouldn’t have been surprised as she bunny hopped up onto the middle rope. With momentum behind her and a spring in her launch, the Little Sparrow took flight, soaring through the air as she spun herself about, aiming to collide with the Associates with an audacious splash of miniature might!!
Sammie u-turns with escape in her reach and flies toward the row of VB&A. As surprised, no astonished as the Associates are, and as much spring and momentum as Sinclair creates, the splash staggers the foursome little more than a step before they recover, each possessing a part of the Upstart.
"Seriously," Kylie chuckles as Sammie squirms in the Associates' grip. "Maybe you are the right Sinclair to fight."
"Ladies," Portia says, her commanding tone catching every Associate's attention, not to mention a panicky Sammie. "Fallaway slam, please. Then fire at will."
Each nod in unison, but before they can follow VanBuren's orders, a redhead in the colours of her country is on the apron. Hands clenched around the top rope.
Elizabeth Cromwell launches, lands on the top of the cable and springboards off, delivering a drop kick to Sammie's back. With the force and the lack of proper balance in the Associates combining, Rachel, Kylie, Portia and Alexis are sent tumbling.
Sammie lands atop each, the FAWNatics on their feet, cheering at the sight of Sinclair pinning all four, if only for a half-second.
It was more than long enough for the Gladiatrix Photographer’s in attendance to capture the moment for Upstart Nation prosperity, just as it was long enough for even Sammie to consider that perhaps the better part of valour really was the better option tonight. With a little bit of prompting from the Upstart in Law, Elizabeth Cromwell, Sinclair rolled free from her landing and ducked outside the squared circle while the going was good.
That didn’t stop her from securing one last prize for the night as, with sneaky paws, she snagged herself the cute little bowler hat Sanders had used to draw her name from. Spinning the headwear with an impish twirl, the lass from England popped it atop her chocolate curls and smirked as she backpedalled alongside Lizzie, the World’s Best Brit’s united and drawing a loud cheer from the amused crowd.
Somehow, from somewhere, Sammie had also snagged herself a fresh mic, bringing it to her lips as the Associates pulled themselves off their backsides. “That’s right, of course, you brought along some friends, wish I’d thought of that. Oh wait,” with an adorable scrunching of her button nose, the elfin brunette, and now number one contender for the World Title, smirked all the more, “I did!”
Kylie grabs the top rope closest to her challenger, knuckles turning white as she moves it up and down in anger. She stomps in frustration. "Get your ass back in here," Kylie shouts but Sammie only waves.
"I'll be bahhk," Sinclair responds in her cutest bestest Arnold accent.
Behind Sanders, the other Associates are on their feet, Rachel the most emotionally contained, Alexis the least, Suguitan joining Kylie with threats aplenty directed at the departing pair. Lizzie and Sammie cheerfully wave to those in the ring and share slaps with the crowd on their way out. Sammie's music re-emerges through the speakers as some in the crowd might be able to see steam billow from Kylie's ears if they look closely.