Post by alyadmirer on Oct 20, 2015 6:47:14 GMT
JANEL MANNING
The former gymnast looks in fine fettle as she bounces backstage. But the chipmunk-cheeked champion mutters to herself, waiting for her accompaniment. She’d demanded a stage and now she was given it. And deservedly so.
Why in THE hell had a title match, her title match, gone on AFTER a non-title at the previous pay-per-view!?!
The ponytailed blonde made sure that wasn’t going to happen again at the biggest show on earth.
FAWNAMANIA.
By now it couldn’t be, with only championship contests remaining, and there was some satisfaction in that.
Another of her demands had been acceded to by Bethany, which, when the stirring guitar of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ ‘You Better Pray’ crashes over the arena, is time to make abundantly clear to Orlando’s unwashed.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_WxsL5q3I4
The diminutive, muscled champion slaps both lower cheeks and both upper cheeks in rapid succession then leaps into a perfect backflip, her habitual, lucky warm-up before readying herself at the curtain.
In the arena bowl, the disapproval of the assembled rains down even before the once upon a time lightweight champion is in view, the ring announcer’s pronouncement only drawing the decibels higher.
“The next match id one fall with a 45-minute time limit. First… hailing from the hallowed halls of Iowa City, Iowa…your reigning Intercontinental Champion, standing a full 4 feet 11 inches tall and weighing 117 pounds… The Golden Mite herself…JANEL MANNING!”
The fans are made to wait before the Mite-y One comes into view. The arena falls into darkness. A red spotlight illuminates the stage from the right, before winking out. The process is followed by a white spot from directly overhead, then a blue one from the left. As the sequence begins its second cycle, it provides the outline of a vertically challenged, strapping form and when the house lights rise, the tiny terror of vault, floor, and pommel horse parades down the ramp and aisle.
Riding a wave of success few could have seen coming, Janel has become quite comfortable as champion and she looks it, the golden faceplate covering her rock-hard abdomen proof of her hard-won success.
Janel’s familiar flaxen ponytail swishes from one side to the other as she moves down the aisle and finally up the steps. The champ is in a skin-tight, lime green leotard containing a leopard-spot pattern. The spandex has a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small turquoise strips across the opposite number. She sports white wrist and ankle tape, pads and, as always, has her feet bared, white chalk dust on both soles and palms.
Janel flexes her toes on the apron before flinging herself over the top cable without a hint of effort, dropping into a somersault on the inside, before popping gracefully to her feet.
The ferocious fireplug paces down the length of the ropes, looking around the arena with a curious beaming grin. Manning moves to the middle, unstraps her belt and raises it high with her left hand while brushing the back of her right across her flawless abs. She asks for a microphone and plucks one from the air after a toss from a FAWN flunky.
“I am here to right a wrong. Against me and against you.”
The crowd seems unhappy to have the Mite speaking for them.
“Even the best make mistakes. And so Bethany Christian did when placing one of these silly, pathetic challenge matches of an attention-grabbing thyroid case on AFTER my Intercontinental defence at Summertime Bruise.
Thankfully, she saw the error of her ways tonight and, in fact, eliminated that Teutonic distraction altogether. Instead, she has allowed me, your Intercontinental Champion and the top athlete in FAWN to make a challenge you, the people who love FAWN and me, will care about.”
The FAWNatics seem unsure why Janel is trying to curry favour but are silent in their intrigue of what this might be.
“Tonight. I challenge anyone and, unlike that pathetic excuse for an Iowan, Kylie Sanders, I mean ANYONE, to fight me for my title. If there’s going to be a challenge, let it be from someone people want to see and from someone who will put on the show that will make you forget the rest of the night.”
Clearly satisfied with herself, the Golden Mite tosses the microphone to the canvas with a loud ‘CA-LUNK’ and moves to her corner where she transfers her title belt to a lackey for safekeeping then turns to the stage to see who had the guts to lose to the best competitor FAWN had ever produced.
Despite the audacity of her various, hyperbole laced claims, the FAWNatics couldn’t help but be intrigued as all eyes turned expectantly to the unmoving curtains. Any number of names were bandied about with excited whispers as many voiced their favourites, a chance for anyone on the roster to step forwards and claim glory on the biggest night of the FAWN calendar, an opportunity to be seized.
It was a speculation filled with expectant hope, one waiting to be fulfilled...
Hope that vanished swiftly...
The houselights fell, an unnatural air of trepidation settling across the arena, the slow creep of darkness summoning a chill that was uncommon. A slim slit of crimson red illuminated through the curtains, the identity of the arriving competitor not a mystery and yet, from reputation and history, a palpable sense of unease gathered amongst those watching.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxlaJQGve7s
Erika Eisenberg emerged amongst the stark and piercing beat of that opening rhythm, the melody as unsettling as it was threatening, the curvaceous carnivore striding with purpose, with desire, her pace unceasing and her gaze entrancing, ice blue and calculating, alluring... perilous...
Erika Eisenberg
Attired in the skin of the dead, the blonde destroyer hugged tightly by the two piece, dark tan, snake skin top and slim line shorts, elbow long, fingerless gloves and knee high boots, she was every inch the Titan the FAWNatics feared her to be. Slowly, with cold, methodical, malicious intent, she circled the ring, refusing to acknowledge the shades that were the bystanders, moving like a predator pinning down her prey, that stare, that piercing, ravenous stare soaking in the ground upon which she would feed upon a morsel.
Suddenly, with a burst of speed, she all but leapt up onto the apron, proceeding to almost effortlessly lift one long, stunningly powerful leg over the top rope, followed quickly by the other, a slight, mirthless smile finally rising to her coldly intense features.
The Announcer, keeping his distance and finding his voice, cut through the pervading silence and made the coming contest official.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing the Challenger, hailing from Berlin, Germany, standing in at 5’9” and 140lbs, the Perfect Predator, ERIKA! EISENBERG!”
That smallest of mirthless smiles remained upon her features as the houselights returned with agonising slowness, finding her corner as though she owned it, her eyes unfaltering from their gaze of the IC Champion opposite. Perhaps mockingly, perhaps sincerely, she licked her lips, a long trailing of her tongue, the viper barely waiting to sink her teeth in...
The Eisenberg Open Challenge, a PPV staple this past year, where none, from Carol Courage to Becky Clayton, had proven worthy, had been usurped by Janel Manning’s ill considered temper tantrum, and so the Perfect Predator had slid into the breach.
“I accept,” she just barely exhaled with a intense, ravenous whisper, almost trembling with expectation...
Manning, who'd been pacing throughout the entirety of the ring the moment Eisenberg's music had struck chord one, is mid-conniption.
"No...no...no," Janel informs, shaking her head hard enough to send her ponytail flying like a flaxen whip. "Not you. Bethany said you wouldn't be making a challenge today."
"Indeed not," Erika interrupts firmly if calmly, "I would be answering one."
Janel tugs at her locks, shaking her head. "NO!" she insists and heads to the ropes, slipping through.
But before she can drop to the floor, a burst of static comes from the upper stage and there, in all her glory, is the FAWN commissioner in her customary tight business suit and skirt.
BETHANY CHRISTIAN
"Miss Manning. I'm sorry but you have made a verbal contract, and you will follow through or you will be stripped of your title..." Janel seemingly hyperventilates in frustration. The crowd, on the other hand, shows their delight. "And," Bethany continues, "you will be FIRED!"
Manning stomps up and down the length of the ring in a fit, but the furious Mite re-enters, backing her way through the ropes and toward the middle, staring lasers at Bethany until she feels something very sturdy and very tall behind her. Eyes going wide, she holds up her hands plaintively and turns, begging off and backing away from the blonde Amazon. With both women facing each other, though in very different states of mind, the ref feels it fair to call for the bell and get this title match underway.
The Curvaceous Carnivore was in no hurry, tilting her head slightly as her prey backed away, the smallest of amused smiles curling her lips as, with seductively long legs, she prowled in a wide circle that prevented the miniature Olympian from escaping. With Manning suitably penned in at centre ring, Eisenberg’s gaze was almost hypnotic, her stride deceptively languid before, with whipcord reflexes, she snatched out with her right hand to seize Janel by her throat.
“Clayton pined for me before the end,” she purred with venomous conviction, “I snapped her will as readily as her back, Clayton!! You have attempted to stand in my path once tonight; do not think to do so again. Yield... and I might yet let you leave.”
Janel, quickly becoming as angry as concerned at having to face the Amazon in front of her, knocks Erika's arm away. She backs up several steps and rubs at her reddening neck. "Let's not forget," she swallows. "who the champion is and who the challenger is, bytch." Manning circles around the stationed tower, not knowing exactly how to tackle a woman of Erika's size and strength, Manning turns and races to the ropes, rebounding and going low, trying to dropkick one of Eisenberg's knees, to knock her down to size.
Escape, perhaps, would have been the far more prudent course of action, pursuing gainful employment elsewhere as opposed to being crippled here; certainly there was no end of Federations willing to sign on an Olympian. Such a reaction would have not surprised the watching FAWNatics, they may have even found it within them to forgive her for it. Few had walked away from Eisenberg with their own careers still on track, if not painfully derailed. Escape, however shocking, was not to be Manning course of action.
Instead, like a missile made in miniature, the blonde of diminutive stature hurtled back towards the Sublime Serpent, fully extended before she SLAMMED her outstretched stems into the rigid thigh of her opponent.
She was rewarded with a hiss, irritated perhaps, but tinted with a hint of pain none the less, the titanic blonde forced into a half step, Erika surrendering the barest fraction of the canvas.
Janel scrambles to her feet and, when she turns to view Erika on the ground clutching her leg, she instead sees the blonde with pursed lips, more or less in the same position she was before. The champ swallows hard as her eyes widen, realizing all the more what a task she has in front of her. But it doesn't stop her. After all she was an Olympian. Eisenberg was a big oaf.
Manning turns and races into the ropes. She rebounds for her next run at the German viper. If low didn't work, maybe high would. Reaching Erika, Janel shows the power in her muscular if abbreviated stems by leaping high enough to send her extended legs toward either side of Eisenberg's head, planning to clamp on a momentary scissors and send the challenger twisting to the deck with a Hurricanrana.
Speed was perhaps Janel’s greatest ally; few would doubt that it was perhaps her only ally as Bethany Christian, Judge and Jury of this competition continued to watch on from the arenas only exit with a near callous, passive aggression filling out her pristine suit just as much as her shapely frame did. She watched on as the diminutive blonde who thought she had the swagger to dictate terms to her took flight, clamping down a pair of sturdy thighs about the skull of Eisenberg, a shout upon the lips of the IC Champ as she utilised momentum to swing herself about for a practiced take down...
Eisenberg did pivot, ripped into a painful half circle by the forcibly spinning Janel, but when she was supposed to have been ripped off her feet, instead the Perfect Predator almost fell to one knee. She didn’t, Erika bracing her back and halting the freefall before it could begin, her own arms swinging up and grabbing the girl who thought to topple her by her hips. With a forceful grunt, the German ominously straightened her frame, Janel still held aloft and now sat across her shoulders.
The FAWNatics expected a Powerbomb as a reward for Manning’s audacity, instead Erika merely shoved with her considerable might, shouting as she all but literally moved to throw the Featherweight away...
A fear stricken Manning, waiting for the Powerbomb to blow up in her face, is instead sent sailing into the air in front of the Sublime Serpent. With her innate ability to land on her feet, cat-like; the Golden Mite does just that, sticking the landing.
"I am not a toy," Janel growls at a smirking Erika. "You're going to learn not to play with me!"
Manning races at the towering blonde head on. But when she reaches Erika, she drops into a baseball slide and skids between Eisenberg's legs, quickly popping up on the other side. As the frightening challenger turns to find what might have seemed an annoying gnat to her, Janel lines up a punt to the privates that would knock the Amazon down to size and let her know she's in a real fight.
The breadths of uncounted witnesses inhaled sharply as Manning opted to pursue a liberty that, to her credit, none others had even thought to. The Harbinger of Horror dropped almost violently to one knee as the audacious punt struck home, the canvas rattling with the impact of snake sheathed joint meeting plywood, the head of Eisenberg hanging low.
With the slightest of pained shivers, the Harbinger of Horror ever so slowly raised her coldly sculptured, European features upwards, her eyes of crystal blue silent as her lips twisted into the pained mockery of a curled smile. “Amusing,” she intoned with a heavy inflection of malice, licking her lips as her nethers throbbed.
A growly Manning stares back at Eisenberg, furious her foe isn't showing more pain. "You think that's amusing? You're going to think this is hilarious."
Again, the former gymnast races to the ropes to gain added momentum for her short muscular frame. With Erika still teetering on one knee, the ponytailed blonde leaps, using the raised knee as a pedestal for her bare left foot. Meanwhile, she sends her right sweeping toward the back of Erika's cranium, hoping to nail the Amazon with a shining wizard and cut the redwood all the way to the mat floor.
Eisenberg surged, growling beneath her breadth as the Curvaceous Carnivore exploded forwards from her braced boot, revealing the sheer vitality of her offence for the first time this evening. She caught Janel even as the far smaller blonde launched off the Titans own knee, grasping the girl by her hips and shoving her skywards. There was no time spent on hesitation, not as Erika immediately began to swing downwards, determined to deliver a hellacious Spinebuster!
The size differential had been expertly mitigated by the Mite for a minute or two, but when Erika short circuits Janel's Wizard, instead lifting her HIGH into the air, it becomes all too prevalent.
There's no tossing aside the champion this time to make a show, Manning having gotten the German's attention with her kick to the kitty. This time, Erika delivers a message and Janel to the canvas with a ring-rattling explosion of a Spinebuster that surely had to have adjusted the spandex-clad blonde's vertebrae in several locations. The diminutive Manning bounces off the mat a few inches from the impact and arches in agonizing pain from the force, only truly realizing what Erika could bring to bear from feeling it.
With a chill that slithered over her meticulous complexion, amusement had become a stranger in her demeanour, Erika curling her lips into a sneer as she leant forwards. The Perfect Predator seized her opponent with nothing but her right hand by the girl’s throat, clenching her fingers tightly as, with what appeared to be the minimal of effort, ripped the featherweight off the canvas.
“You should have left me be,” Eisenberg sneered with the most vindictive of intent, her pace swift as she dragged and SHOVED the petite young women into the nearest corner and, with all of her one hundred and forty pounds, LEANT her talons in deep against the Champions neck.
“I was content with my morsels; I was amused by my diversions,” Erika explained with quite fever. “I would have left you to your squabbles, but you had to interfere, you had to intervene. Now I want it,” she leaned forwards further, the Sublime Serpent trailing the tip of her tongue across the Olympians forehead, “I want it ALL!”
A look of revulsion (with not a little fear) courses over the former gymnast's features as she's lolly-ed. "Ref," Janel gasps. "choke...and lick".
The man starts his count and at "FOUR", Erika releases, stepping away.
"Wanting," Manning spits between gasping breaths, "is not the same as having."
Janel pivots and threatens with a raised right forearm, but as quickly as she does, she drops to the canvas and rolls out onto the floor. "I DON’T NEED THIS," the champ shouts at the crowd when she's regained some oxygen, waving behind herself at the towering blonde. Manning strides for the timekeeper's table to pick up her gold and head for the exit.
"This snake can go to hell," she announces to all concerned.
Quite involuntarily, an arena wide cry of warning erupts around the stadium as Manning turns her back. Love for the former Mighty Mite was in short supply and yet, as the Harbinger of Horror exited the ring with shocking swiftness and bore down on the retreating Manning, the hearts of the FAWNatics were forced to skip in panic.
The silently furious Eisenberg would not be denied, spinning the petite blonde about even as the IC Champ slung her coveted belt over her shoulder. Seizing the astonished young women by her throat once more, Eisenberg heaved her up and every eye that was there to bear witness suddenly realised just how close the last remaining announce table for the evening was for a Choke Slam!
Up the flyweight is sent, to Erika's shoulders, not a short trip by any means, particularly for a woman measuring less than five feet tall. The bugeyed Manning, having dropped her belt, shakes her head as much as she's able as Erika pivots toward the folding furniture. The power of the Serpent is unleashed in a violent moment's notice.
Holding her prey to the heavens, Eisenberg forces the spandex-clad Mite to consider her fate before making it happen. Throwing the champion down with all the considerable force she can muster, Erika DRIVES the ponytailed blonde Mite THROUGH the table reducing it to broken shards and the wrestler between either end to a splayed, unmoving heap.
The official, knowing his place, looks to Bethany before calling for the disqualification. A firm shake of her head turns his reaction into a stern 'talking to' to the Teutonic Amazon, scolding her, but keeping the title match continuing.
If Eisenberg even acknowledged the admonishment of the Official, she made no show of it, the intensity of her crystal gaze focused entirely upon the demolished Champion. Her lip remained curled, her long and languid stride filled with malice, and she allowed her shattered morsel to quiver for several moments before she leant forwards and snatched the groaning Manning by her blonde tail.
“Hopkins didn’t run,” she sneered, draaaaaaging Janel from the wreckage that had been the announce table by the young women’s hair as though the Curvaceous Carnivore were a sublime Cavewomen and Manning were her meat. “Mitchell didn’t run. Courage didn’t run. Bloodwind didn’t run. Clayton didn’t run.”
Erika’s sermon continued as she reached the apron with her burden in toe, affording only what effort was needed to both lift and all but toss the IC Champion back into the squared circle. Eisenberg followed, sliding in across the apron with hypnotic grace, fluidly uncurling her way back up to vertical and forcing her opponent to reach some manner of it herself.
“There. Is. No. Running.”
Folding the petite Olympian forwards, Erika crossed the young women’s arms into an X beneath her own, rock hard tummy, tying her up fiercely for a Straightjacket Piledriver at centre ring...
STRAIGHTJACKET PILEDRIVER: @0:55
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ef9FDOWVwQ
The muscular if vertically-challenged frame of Janel is easily vaulted into the air and the challenger catches her overturned prey in front of her. The crown of Janel's skull is pointed to the thinly-covered plywood, Manning aware enough of her situation to plead for mercy, but none is forthcoming.
Again, the cruel Serpent delays, making Manning dwell on her fate. The Amazon drops to her gluteus, SPIKING Janel's braincase into the deck. Manning's slack body bounces from between Erika's long, sinewy lower limbs and flops into a lifeless spread eagle, the crowd not holding back their cheers, a somewhat odd circumstance for offense from the snakeskin-clad blonde.
There is no more acknowledgement for the audience than Eisenberg had been prepared to spare the Official, Erika equally indifferent to his continued pleas concerning Janel’s well being. Instead, as she sat with the wreckage of the IC Champion splayed out between her unflinching thighs; the Harbinger of Horror tilted her head ever so slightly sideways. She got up slowly, forgoing to the obvious opportunity to secure a pinfall, and once again brought the quivering, near oblivious Manning with her.
“You should have let it be,” Erika explained as, from the ramp, an intensely pleased appearing Bethany sauntered her way down the aisle and towards the squared circle, looking all the world like a cat who had caught a canary. For the approaching Christian, finally there was a hint of notice from Eisenberg as the Commissioner drew closer, a fleeting glance before she focused fully on her morsel, plucking the young blonde high up into the air... and SEIZING the barely conscious girl in a backbreaking Bearhug!!
“I take what I WANT!!”
Janel is shaken like a ragdoll and the spine-rattling twisting of her body draws Manning back from semi consciousness almost immediately. The former Olympian's yelps turn to sobs as Eisenberg adjusts her foe's spinal column in a most unappreciated manner. The sweat pours down Janel's face, her features morphing into a mask of supreme pain, toes straining for a mat that is FAR away.
"And I WANT the title!!" Erika adds maliciously in the blonde flyweight's ear.
The official moves in close, asking if Manning's had enough when, somehow, Erika tightens her grip further and a sickening snap emanates from low on Janel's backbone.
"YESSS!" the former gymnast screams quickly behind. "You can have it! You can have anything! I QUIT."
No sooner had the words escaped from the now former IC Champions lips was the world’s most pleased spectator, Bethany Christian, entering the ring, her polite applause deliberately visible even as the yelling gymnast was being merciless compressed by the victor. Eisenberg was kind enough to release the former owner of what was now HER gold, albeit only after several more sickening wrenches from one side to the other to further dislodge the broken girls abused vertebra. That kindness was not long in lasting, not as the Curvaceous Carnivore popped her skywards one last time, seized her by her one piece and DROVE!! Her earthwards in a BLISTERING!! Powerbomb!!
Little was left of the former Mighty Mite after the plywood buckling impact but groaning wreckage, the petite young women barely moving and strung out into a starfish, a pedestal for Eisenberg to plant a possessive boot down on the young women’s pert bosom.
Christian’s applause ended as the bell was chimed at her discretion and, as she dismissed the Official with a curt nod, the Commissioner proudly took the wrist of the Perfect Predator and raised it skywards. “Ladies and Gentlemen, your winner, undeniably by Submission, and your NEW INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION... ERIKA! EISENBERG!!”
For the FAWNatics, as the horror of the development was allowed to settle in, it was not with the same joy as Bethany that this news was welcomed.
“Make no mistake, this my dears,” Christian continued, as pleased as she had been all evening, “this is what a Champion looks like.”
The former gymnast looks in fine fettle as she bounces backstage. But the chipmunk-cheeked champion mutters to herself, waiting for her accompaniment. She’d demanded a stage and now she was given it. And deservedly so.
Why in THE hell had a title match, her title match, gone on AFTER a non-title at the previous pay-per-view!?!
The ponytailed blonde made sure that wasn’t going to happen again at the biggest show on earth.
FAWNAMANIA.
By now it couldn’t be, with only championship contests remaining, and there was some satisfaction in that.
Another of her demands had been acceded to by Bethany, which, when the stirring guitar of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ ‘You Better Pray’ crashes over the arena, is time to make abundantly clear to Orlando’s unwashed.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_WxsL5q3I4
The diminutive, muscled champion slaps both lower cheeks and both upper cheeks in rapid succession then leaps into a perfect backflip, her habitual, lucky warm-up before readying herself at the curtain.
In the arena bowl, the disapproval of the assembled rains down even before the once upon a time lightweight champion is in view, the ring announcer’s pronouncement only drawing the decibels higher.
“The next match id one fall with a 45-minute time limit. First… hailing from the hallowed halls of Iowa City, Iowa…your reigning Intercontinental Champion, standing a full 4 feet 11 inches tall and weighing 117 pounds… The Golden Mite herself…JANEL MANNING!”
The fans are made to wait before the Mite-y One comes into view. The arena falls into darkness. A red spotlight illuminates the stage from the right, before winking out. The process is followed by a white spot from directly overhead, then a blue one from the left. As the sequence begins its second cycle, it provides the outline of a vertically challenged, strapping form and when the house lights rise, the tiny terror of vault, floor, and pommel horse parades down the ramp and aisle.
Riding a wave of success few could have seen coming, Janel has become quite comfortable as champion and she looks it, the golden faceplate covering her rock-hard abdomen proof of her hard-won success.
Janel’s familiar flaxen ponytail swishes from one side to the other as she moves down the aisle and finally up the steps. The champ is in a skin-tight, lime green leotard containing a leopard-spot pattern. The spandex has a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small turquoise strips across the opposite number. She sports white wrist and ankle tape, pads and, as always, has her feet bared, white chalk dust on both soles and palms.
Janel flexes her toes on the apron before flinging herself over the top cable without a hint of effort, dropping into a somersault on the inside, before popping gracefully to her feet.
The ferocious fireplug paces down the length of the ropes, looking around the arena with a curious beaming grin. Manning moves to the middle, unstraps her belt and raises it high with her left hand while brushing the back of her right across her flawless abs. She asks for a microphone and plucks one from the air after a toss from a FAWN flunky.
“I am here to right a wrong. Against me and against you.”
The crowd seems unhappy to have the Mite speaking for them.
“Even the best make mistakes. And so Bethany Christian did when placing one of these silly, pathetic challenge matches of an attention-grabbing thyroid case on AFTER my Intercontinental defence at Summertime Bruise.
Thankfully, she saw the error of her ways tonight and, in fact, eliminated that Teutonic distraction altogether. Instead, she has allowed me, your Intercontinental Champion and the top athlete in FAWN to make a challenge you, the people who love FAWN and me, will care about.”
The FAWNatics seem unsure why Janel is trying to curry favour but are silent in their intrigue of what this might be.
“Tonight. I challenge anyone and, unlike that pathetic excuse for an Iowan, Kylie Sanders, I mean ANYONE, to fight me for my title. If there’s going to be a challenge, let it be from someone people want to see and from someone who will put on the show that will make you forget the rest of the night.”
Clearly satisfied with herself, the Golden Mite tosses the microphone to the canvas with a loud ‘CA-LUNK’ and moves to her corner where she transfers her title belt to a lackey for safekeeping then turns to the stage to see who had the guts to lose to the best competitor FAWN had ever produced.
Despite the audacity of her various, hyperbole laced claims, the FAWNatics couldn’t help but be intrigued as all eyes turned expectantly to the unmoving curtains. Any number of names were bandied about with excited whispers as many voiced their favourites, a chance for anyone on the roster to step forwards and claim glory on the biggest night of the FAWN calendar, an opportunity to be seized.
It was a speculation filled with expectant hope, one waiting to be fulfilled...
Hope that vanished swiftly...
The houselights fell, an unnatural air of trepidation settling across the arena, the slow creep of darkness summoning a chill that was uncommon. A slim slit of crimson red illuminated through the curtains, the identity of the arriving competitor not a mystery and yet, from reputation and history, a palpable sense of unease gathered amongst those watching.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxlaJQGve7s
Erika Eisenberg emerged amongst the stark and piercing beat of that opening rhythm, the melody as unsettling as it was threatening, the curvaceous carnivore striding with purpose, with desire, her pace unceasing and her gaze entrancing, ice blue and calculating, alluring... perilous...
Erika Eisenberg
Attired in the skin of the dead, the blonde destroyer hugged tightly by the two piece, dark tan, snake skin top and slim line shorts, elbow long, fingerless gloves and knee high boots, she was every inch the Titan the FAWNatics feared her to be. Slowly, with cold, methodical, malicious intent, she circled the ring, refusing to acknowledge the shades that were the bystanders, moving like a predator pinning down her prey, that stare, that piercing, ravenous stare soaking in the ground upon which she would feed upon a morsel.
Suddenly, with a burst of speed, she all but leapt up onto the apron, proceeding to almost effortlessly lift one long, stunningly powerful leg over the top rope, followed quickly by the other, a slight, mirthless smile finally rising to her coldly intense features.
The Announcer, keeping his distance and finding his voice, cut through the pervading silence and made the coming contest official.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing the Challenger, hailing from Berlin, Germany, standing in at 5’9” and 140lbs, the Perfect Predator, ERIKA! EISENBERG!”
That smallest of mirthless smiles remained upon her features as the houselights returned with agonising slowness, finding her corner as though she owned it, her eyes unfaltering from their gaze of the IC Champion opposite. Perhaps mockingly, perhaps sincerely, she licked her lips, a long trailing of her tongue, the viper barely waiting to sink her teeth in...
The Eisenberg Open Challenge, a PPV staple this past year, where none, from Carol Courage to Becky Clayton, had proven worthy, had been usurped by Janel Manning’s ill considered temper tantrum, and so the Perfect Predator had slid into the breach.
“I accept,” she just barely exhaled with a intense, ravenous whisper, almost trembling with expectation...
Manning, who'd been pacing throughout the entirety of the ring the moment Eisenberg's music had struck chord one, is mid-conniption.
"No...no...no," Janel informs, shaking her head hard enough to send her ponytail flying like a flaxen whip. "Not you. Bethany said you wouldn't be making a challenge today."
"Indeed not," Erika interrupts firmly if calmly, "I would be answering one."
Janel tugs at her locks, shaking her head. "NO!" she insists and heads to the ropes, slipping through.
But before she can drop to the floor, a burst of static comes from the upper stage and there, in all her glory, is the FAWN commissioner in her customary tight business suit and skirt.
BETHANY CHRISTIAN
"Miss Manning. I'm sorry but you have made a verbal contract, and you will follow through or you will be stripped of your title..." Janel seemingly hyperventilates in frustration. The crowd, on the other hand, shows their delight. "And," Bethany continues, "you will be FIRED!"
Manning stomps up and down the length of the ring in a fit, but the furious Mite re-enters, backing her way through the ropes and toward the middle, staring lasers at Bethany until she feels something very sturdy and very tall behind her. Eyes going wide, she holds up her hands plaintively and turns, begging off and backing away from the blonde Amazon. With both women facing each other, though in very different states of mind, the ref feels it fair to call for the bell and get this title match underway.
The Curvaceous Carnivore was in no hurry, tilting her head slightly as her prey backed away, the smallest of amused smiles curling her lips as, with seductively long legs, she prowled in a wide circle that prevented the miniature Olympian from escaping. With Manning suitably penned in at centre ring, Eisenberg’s gaze was almost hypnotic, her stride deceptively languid before, with whipcord reflexes, she snatched out with her right hand to seize Janel by her throat.
“Clayton pined for me before the end,” she purred with venomous conviction, “I snapped her will as readily as her back, Clayton!! You have attempted to stand in my path once tonight; do not think to do so again. Yield... and I might yet let you leave.”
Janel, quickly becoming as angry as concerned at having to face the Amazon in front of her, knocks Erika's arm away. She backs up several steps and rubs at her reddening neck. "Let's not forget," she swallows. "who the champion is and who the challenger is, bytch." Manning circles around the stationed tower, not knowing exactly how to tackle a woman of Erika's size and strength, Manning turns and races to the ropes, rebounding and going low, trying to dropkick one of Eisenberg's knees, to knock her down to size.
Escape, perhaps, would have been the far more prudent course of action, pursuing gainful employment elsewhere as opposed to being crippled here; certainly there was no end of Federations willing to sign on an Olympian. Such a reaction would have not surprised the watching FAWNatics, they may have even found it within them to forgive her for it. Few had walked away from Eisenberg with their own careers still on track, if not painfully derailed. Escape, however shocking, was not to be Manning course of action.
Instead, like a missile made in miniature, the blonde of diminutive stature hurtled back towards the Sublime Serpent, fully extended before she SLAMMED her outstretched stems into the rigid thigh of her opponent.
She was rewarded with a hiss, irritated perhaps, but tinted with a hint of pain none the less, the titanic blonde forced into a half step, Erika surrendering the barest fraction of the canvas.
Janel scrambles to her feet and, when she turns to view Erika on the ground clutching her leg, she instead sees the blonde with pursed lips, more or less in the same position she was before. The champ swallows hard as her eyes widen, realizing all the more what a task she has in front of her. But it doesn't stop her. After all she was an Olympian. Eisenberg was a big oaf.
Manning turns and races into the ropes. She rebounds for her next run at the German viper. If low didn't work, maybe high would. Reaching Erika, Janel shows the power in her muscular if abbreviated stems by leaping high enough to send her extended legs toward either side of Eisenberg's head, planning to clamp on a momentary scissors and send the challenger twisting to the deck with a Hurricanrana.
Speed was perhaps Janel’s greatest ally; few would doubt that it was perhaps her only ally as Bethany Christian, Judge and Jury of this competition continued to watch on from the arenas only exit with a near callous, passive aggression filling out her pristine suit just as much as her shapely frame did. She watched on as the diminutive blonde who thought she had the swagger to dictate terms to her took flight, clamping down a pair of sturdy thighs about the skull of Eisenberg, a shout upon the lips of the IC Champ as she utilised momentum to swing herself about for a practiced take down...
Eisenberg did pivot, ripped into a painful half circle by the forcibly spinning Janel, but when she was supposed to have been ripped off her feet, instead the Perfect Predator almost fell to one knee. She didn’t, Erika bracing her back and halting the freefall before it could begin, her own arms swinging up and grabbing the girl who thought to topple her by her hips. With a forceful grunt, the German ominously straightened her frame, Janel still held aloft and now sat across her shoulders.
The FAWNatics expected a Powerbomb as a reward for Manning’s audacity, instead Erika merely shoved with her considerable might, shouting as she all but literally moved to throw the Featherweight away...
A fear stricken Manning, waiting for the Powerbomb to blow up in her face, is instead sent sailing into the air in front of the Sublime Serpent. With her innate ability to land on her feet, cat-like; the Golden Mite does just that, sticking the landing.
"I am not a toy," Janel growls at a smirking Erika. "You're going to learn not to play with me!"
Manning races at the towering blonde head on. But when she reaches Erika, she drops into a baseball slide and skids between Eisenberg's legs, quickly popping up on the other side. As the frightening challenger turns to find what might have seemed an annoying gnat to her, Janel lines up a punt to the privates that would knock the Amazon down to size and let her know she's in a real fight.
The breadths of uncounted witnesses inhaled sharply as Manning opted to pursue a liberty that, to her credit, none others had even thought to. The Harbinger of Horror dropped almost violently to one knee as the audacious punt struck home, the canvas rattling with the impact of snake sheathed joint meeting plywood, the head of Eisenberg hanging low.
With the slightest of pained shivers, the Harbinger of Horror ever so slowly raised her coldly sculptured, European features upwards, her eyes of crystal blue silent as her lips twisted into the pained mockery of a curled smile. “Amusing,” she intoned with a heavy inflection of malice, licking her lips as her nethers throbbed.
A growly Manning stares back at Eisenberg, furious her foe isn't showing more pain. "You think that's amusing? You're going to think this is hilarious."
Again, the former gymnast races to the ropes to gain added momentum for her short muscular frame. With Erika still teetering on one knee, the ponytailed blonde leaps, using the raised knee as a pedestal for her bare left foot. Meanwhile, she sends her right sweeping toward the back of Erika's cranium, hoping to nail the Amazon with a shining wizard and cut the redwood all the way to the mat floor.
Eisenberg surged, growling beneath her breadth as the Curvaceous Carnivore exploded forwards from her braced boot, revealing the sheer vitality of her offence for the first time this evening. She caught Janel even as the far smaller blonde launched off the Titans own knee, grasping the girl by her hips and shoving her skywards. There was no time spent on hesitation, not as Erika immediately began to swing downwards, determined to deliver a hellacious Spinebuster!
The size differential had been expertly mitigated by the Mite for a minute or two, but when Erika short circuits Janel's Wizard, instead lifting her HIGH into the air, it becomes all too prevalent.
There's no tossing aside the champion this time to make a show, Manning having gotten the German's attention with her kick to the kitty. This time, Erika delivers a message and Janel to the canvas with a ring-rattling explosion of a Spinebuster that surely had to have adjusted the spandex-clad blonde's vertebrae in several locations. The diminutive Manning bounces off the mat a few inches from the impact and arches in agonizing pain from the force, only truly realizing what Erika could bring to bear from feeling it.
With a chill that slithered over her meticulous complexion, amusement had become a stranger in her demeanour, Erika curling her lips into a sneer as she leant forwards. The Perfect Predator seized her opponent with nothing but her right hand by the girl’s throat, clenching her fingers tightly as, with what appeared to be the minimal of effort, ripped the featherweight off the canvas.
“You should have left me be,” Eisenberg sneered with the most vindictive of intent, her pace swift as she dragged and SHOVED the petite young women into the nearest corner and, with all of her one hundred and forty pounds, LEANT her talons in deep against the Champions neck.
“I was content with my morsels; I was amused by my diversions,” Erika explained with quite fever. “I would have left you to your squabbles, but you had to interfere, you had to intervene. Now I want it,” she leaned forwards further, the Sublime Serpent trailing the tip of her tongue across the Olympians forehead, “I want it ALL!”
A look of revulsion (with not a little fear) courses over the former gymnast's features as she's lolly-ed. "Ref," Janel gasps. "choke...and lick".
The man starts his count and at "FOUR", Erika releases, stepping away.
"Wanting," Manning spits between gasping breaths, "is not the same as having."
Janel pivots and threatens with a raised right forearm, but as quickly as she does, she drops to the canvas and rolls out onto the floor. "I DON’T NEED THIS," the champ shouts at the crowd when she's regained some oxygen, waving behind herself at the towering blonde. Manning strides for the timekeeper's table to pick up her gold and head for the exit.
"This snake can go to hell," she announces to all concerned.
Quite involuntarily, an arena wide cry of warning erupts around the stadium as Manning turns her back. Love for the former Mighty Mite was in short supply and yet, as the Harbinger of Horror exited the ring with shocking swiftness and bore down on the retreating Manning, the hearts of the FAWNatics were forced to skip in panic.
The silently furious Eisenberg would not be denied, spinning the petite blonde about even as the IC Champ slung her coveted belt over her shoulder. Seizing the astonished young women by her throat once more, Eisenberg heaved her up and every eye that was there to bear witness suddenly realised just how close the last remaining announce table for the evening was for a Choke Slam!
Up the flyweight is sent, to Erika's shoulders, not a short trip by any means, particularly for a woman measuring less than five feet tall. The bugeyed Manning, having dropped her belt, shakes her head as much as she's able as Erika pivots toward the folding furniture. The power of the Serpent is unleashed in a violent moment's notice.
Holding her prey to the heavens, Eisenberg forces the spandex-clad Mite to consider her fate before making it happen. Throwing the champion down with all the considerable force she can muster, Erika DRIVES the ponytailed blonde Mite THROUGH the table reducing it to broken shards and the wrestler between either end to a splayed, unmoving heap.
The official, knowing his place, looks to Bethany before calling for the disqualification. A firm shake of her head turns his reaction into a stern 'talking to' to the Teutonic Amazon, scolding her, but keeping the title match continuing.
If Eisenberg even acknowledged the admonishment of the Official, she made no show of it, the intensity of her crystal gaze focused entirely upon the demolished Champion. Her lip remained curled, her long and languid stride filled with malice, and she allowed her shattered morsel to quiver for several moments before she leant forwards and snatched the groaning Manning by her blonde tail.
“Hopkins didn’t run,” she sneered, draaaaaaging Janel from the wreckage that had been the announce table by the young women’s hair as though the Curvaceous Carnivore were a sublime Cavewomen and Manning were her meat. “Mitchell didn’t run. Courage didn’t run. Bloodwind didn’t run. Clayton didn’t run.”
Erika’s sermon continued as she reached the apron with her burden in toe, affording only what effort was needed to both lift and all but toss the IC Champion back into the squared circle. Eisenberg followed, sliding in across the apron with hypnotic grace, fluidly uncurling her way back up to vertical and forcing her opponent to reach some manner of it herself.
“There. Is. No. Running.”
Folding the petite Olympian forwards, Erika crossed the young women’s arms into an X beneath her own, rock hard tummy, tying her up fiercely for a Straightjacket Piledriver at centre ring...
STRAIGHTJACKET PILEDRIVER: @0:55
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ef9FDOWVwQ
The muscular if vertically-challenged frame of Janel is easily vaulted into the air and the challenger catches her overturned prey in front of her. The crown of Janel's skull is pointed to the thinly-covered plywood, Manning aware enough of her situation to plead for mercy, but none is forthcoming.
Again, the cruel Serpent delays, making Manning dwell on her fate. The Amazon drops to her gluteus, SPIKING Janel's braincase into the deck. Manning's slack body bounces from between Erika's long, sinewy lower limbs and flops into a lifeless spread eagle, the crowd not holding back their cheers, a somewhat odd circumstance for offense from the snakeskin-clad blonde.
There is no more acknowledgement for the audience than Eisenberg had been prepared to spare the Official, Erika equally indifferent to his continued pleas concerning Janel’s well being. Instead, as she sat with the wreckage of the IC Champion splayed out between her unflinching thighs; the Harbinger of Horror tilted her head ever so slightly sideways. She got up slowly, forgoing to the obvious opportunity to secure a pinfall, and once again brought the quivering, near oblivious Manning with her.
“You should have let it be,” Erika explained as, from the ramp, an intensely pleased appearing Bethany sauntered her way down the aisle and towards the squared circle, looking all the world like a cat who had caught a canary. For the approaching Christian, finally there was a hint of notice from Eisenberg as the Commissioner drew closer, a fleeting glance before she focused fully on her morsel, plucking the young blonde high up into the air... and SEIZING the barely conscious girl in a backbreaking Bearhug!!
“I take what I WANT!!”
Janel is shaken like a ragdoll and the spine-rattling twisting of her body draws Manning back from semi consciousness almost immediately. The former Olympian's yelps turn to sobs as Eisenberg adjusts her foe's spinal column in a most unappreciated manner. The sweat pours down Janel's face, her features morphing into a mask of supreme pain, toes straining for a mat that is FAR away.
"And I WANT the title!!" Erika adds maliciously in the blonde flyweight's ear.
The official moves in close, asking if Manning's had enough when, somehow, Erika tightens her grip further and a sickening snap emanates from low on Janel's backbone.
"YESSS!" the former gymnast screams quickly behind. "You can have it! You can have anything! I QUIT."
No sooner had the words escaped from the now former IC Champions lips was the world’s most pleased spectator, Bethany Christian, entering the ring, her polite applause deliberately visible even as the yelling gymnast was being merciless compressed by the victor. Eisenberg was kind enough to release the former owner of what was now HER gold, albeit only after several more sickening wrenches from one side to the other to further dislodge the broken girls abused vertebra. That kindness was not long in lasting, not as the Curvaceous Carnivore popped her skywards one last time, seized her by her one piece and DROVE!! Her earthwards in a BLISTERING!! Powerbomb!!
Little was left of the former Mighty Mite after the plywood buckling impact but groaning wreckage, the petite young women barely moving and strung out into a starfish, a pedestal for Eisenberg to plant a possessive boot down on the young women’s pert bosom.
Christian’s applause ended as the bell was chimed at her discretion and, as she dismissed the Official with a curt nod, the Commissioner proudly took the wrist of the Perfect Predator and raised it skywards. “Ladies and Gentlemen, your winner, undeniably by Submission, and your NEW INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION... ERIKA! EISENBERG!!”
For the FAWNatics, as the horror of the development was allowed to settle in, it was not with the same joy as Bethany that this news was welcomed.
“Make no mistake, this my dears,” Christian continued, as pleased as she had been all evening, “this is what a Champion looks like.”