Post by alyadmirer on Oct 20, 2015 7:19:46 GMT
For the FAWNatics who had gathered in their thousands within the Orlando Arena, it was no longer possible to ignore the contraption that remained suspended high above the ring, an ominous cage huge enough to encompass the entire squared circle and forged entirely from cold steel. It creaked and groaned and swayed with near silent menace, drawing every eye with dread intention, and just as the house lights lowered in sombre expectation...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrRcHVSV79w
...burst into life over the live speakers, heralding the arrival of the World’s Best Brits! While the impromptu tag team alliance didn’t officially fall under the banner of the Upstart Nation, the Legionnaire’s did not hesitate in letting themselves be heard, not as the Upstart Supreme, Samantha Sinclair, and ‘reformed’ Upstart-In-Law, Elizabeth Cromwell swept aside the curtains and emerged on stage with considerable swagger and an eruption of pyrokenetics, said explosion timed to precision with ‘Light ‘em Up!!’ blasting out from the speakers.
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
ELIZABETH CROMWELL
The brunette was predictably a step or two ahead in embracing the sold out audience, standing as tall as her perfectly petite mass would allow her, catching the light in all the right places as she whipped both her arms up high and waved. 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.
Despite the speculation that her new, in ring partnership would herald some manner of change in outfit, her attire remained the same, her sports bra smoothly curved about her small, proud bosom, leaving her softly sculptured tummy bare and her upraised arms the same way. Her boy cut shorts remained absent, replaced instead by a short skirt which, with a generous slit running up the right side, revealed a wonderful shot of her firm thigh as the baby brown eyed darling hopped up onto her tip toes and spiralled. Her boots were similarly altered, still bright blue and reaching upwards to just beneath her kneecaps, they were now tanned from firm leather and sported lacing right up the front.
With hands on hips she paused, a smirk in place as she waited for her partner to catch up, Cromwell quickening her pace as the former World’s Brattiest Brit was still adapting to the positive reinforcement from the audience. The moment she arrived by the side of Sinclair, the confidence of the Boarding School Princess appeared to sore, a strut doubling in her stride as the two lasses from the English Isle took off towards the ring, the two young women, in the eyes of many, representing the cream of the crop of their Generation from the United Kingdom.
Lizzie’s blue bikini bottoms are tied at each hip, ‘BSP’ emblazoned in bold white strokes across her backside. Above that is a sports bra containing a twisting blend of the colours of her UK with a black outline of the British flag on her right breast. Her one-time strawberry blonde pixie crop has grown longer, more luxurious and indeed darker than before, a shade closer to auburn.
As they approached the squared circle, Cromwell moved to make her way up the steel steps before a not so gentle nudge from Sinclair’s shoulder diverted her journey. As Sammie took her route around one side of the ring, clapping the outstretched hands of the Legionnaires in welcome, Lizzie found herself ‘forced’ to do likewise down the other. It didn’t take too long for them to meet again and, in unison, their approached the apron and hopped up. Turning their shoulders to the ropes they leaned backwards, flipping up and over with a spiral of beautifully athletic limbs that took them smartly down onto the canvas.
With a renewal of the crowd’s applause, the World’s Best Brits had returned to the ring, albeit only one of them would be about to compete within the unyielding confines of a brutal, manmade cell.
Cromwell’s gaze was inevitably drawn upwards, the cage still swaying and just waiting to descend, reminded without warning that her last FAWNmania had ended in abject failure, and tonight could quite literally end her career for good...
“You got this,” Sammie slapped both of Lizzie’s shoulders for emphasis, not a hint of doubt within the brunettes own tone, bitter rival turned tag team partner a voice of confidence that the redhead had lacked a year earlier. “Don’t play her games, stick to yours, and you can remind Bianchi just who the heck you are.”
As the crowd waits for Elizabeth’s erstwhile partner and current bitter enemy …the lights go out...
They stutter at first, the power flickering, the staggered illumination casting excessively long shadows where there should be none. Finally they shut off entirely, some manner of breaker slamming closed and, with an ominous THUNK the vast crowd plunges into darkness.
Long seconds pass. As puzzlement turns to worry, a dial tone begins ringing, one that is disturbingly old school. A hollow tone echoes over the arenas sound system, a puzzling ultimatum, before Local H’s remake of Toxic...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8XK0AZZlug
...crashes over the crowd.
The squeals and jarring guitar riff erupt, a deafening drum beat combining to create an attraction that could not be ignore
A single beam of illumination appears.
The reaction once both jeers and cheers upon her initial return is now only negative. Alessandra Bianchi, the Terrifying Techie stands centre stage with a familiar apparatus in either hand, a microphone and an iphone.
ALESSANDRA BIANCHI
JEWELL KEITH
Next to her is her recently initiated partner in California Dreamin, the ditchweed damsel from Humboldt County Jewell Keith. The duo stands in the focused beam for a long second or two before heading to the ring, the spotlight following them. Black leather apparently Bianchi’s friend, her stems are covered from hip to mid-thigh in the curve hugging material whilst buckled boots encased herself upwards past her calves. Her taut little tummy remains bare, unprotected by her jacket that reaches down to beneath her bosom, her cut off shirt doing likewise, her gaze obscured by the lenses of her aviator shades.
Alessandra holds her iphone upwards towards the ring she approaches at a casual saunter, one dexterous thumb tweeting furiously as, much to the shock of those watching, they all find themselves ‘followers’ without asking. It’s then, as Bianchi puts her phone away, slipping it securely inside her jacket, she ‘allows’ the house lights to come back up.
The Gorgeous Geek gazes at the cage hovering above the ring then down at Elizabeth, a predatory grin emerging. She raises the stick to her lips.
“Get your ass out, Sinclair,” Bianchi says. “Only one wimpy little English rat allowed.”
Sammie scrunches her nose, but after giving one final snug of encouragement she responds to the urging of a FAWN official on the floor, leaving her partner to battle.
Alessandra turns her attention to the task at hand.
“There’s no one to save you Bytch School Princess. There’s nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. You signed your career’s kill code, Red.”
Alessandra hands the microphone to Jewell; Bianchi’s second garbed in a tie-dye Grateful Dead tied-off t-shirt and Daisy Dukes denim shorts.
To make her point all the more stark, the raven-haired grappler punches into her cell and the steel mesh lowers at her command, Bianchi having hacked into FAWN’s system to send the cage into its descent.
Cromwell, not at all happy at this state of affairs, nevertheless does not evacuate the ring. She’s joined in confident fashion by Bianchi who ascends the steel steps before ducking inside just under the lowering metal grid work.
With a sharp tilt of her head, the bridge of her shades slips down to the tip of her nose, the Tantalising Tweeter peering contemptuously over the top at the fans. She removes the glasses and hands them through the grating to Jewell who places them on the top of her messy dark brown mop.
Bianchi removes her jacket and places it neatly on the top buckle behind her and motions to Cromwell, and anyone else who cares, she’s ready to finish this feud and make Cromwell an obsolete model in FAWN, to be quickly replaced and forgotten like a phone dropped on the sidewalk.
“Spoilers Lizzie,” Alessandra could barely suppress the corners of her lips from twitching, years of anticipation and preparation finally coming to fruition, stepping forwards with a strut as the bell rang as the bratty snot that she oh so hated had no-where else to run. Toying with a rodent was indeed a worthwhile indulgence, but in today’s cutthroat world, only results mattered, the bottom line was the only line, and tonight was the night to get it done as she raised her fingers high.
Wiggling her digits in invitation, she waited for the bull headed Brit to take the bait... before darting out her thumb to stab an unprotected peeper!!
“You’re leaving here on a stretcher!!”
Elizabeth had learned something of dander raising from her new partner and, though the butterflies are fluttering up a storm in her tummy, Cromwell strides forward to meet Bianchi. She hesitates with her hands raised; waiting a tick before sending them forward to lace with those of Alessandra so the women can test their strength. Cromwell's right set of digits meshes with Alessandra's left and Elizabeth reaches with her opposite hand to repeat the process. But before they're linked, the raven-haired techie jabs her thumb into the right eye of the redhead!
Lizzie squeals in pain, wheeling away from Bianchi. But she's still attached at one hand and Alessandra swings her back around with that grip and into a raised knee digging deep into Elizabeth's lower abdomen, doubling over Cromwell with a deep, loud 'GUHHH'.
“Really Cromwell?” Bianchi cocked her eyebrow with resigned amusement, circling her ruthlessly gutted opponent to the mounting displeasure of the FAWNatics. “Did you think you were going to have a chance to match me? I left you a drooling mess the last time we met on equal terms inside this circle; you couldn’t lay a digit on me.” She paused her faintly exasperated lecture just long enough to snatch the reeling Brit by her shorts and her crimson curls, preparing to take early advantage of their environment by bull rushing her rival, thick head first, into the steel mesh!
“I’m not here to prove anything, you traitorous bytch, I’m just here to end you!”
With Elizabeth greatly distracted, rubbing furiously at her watering eye with one hand, she has a hard time breaking away from Alessandra's grip, particularly when Bianchi adds a hash wedgie of her lower togs, sending them far up her crack, raising a squeaking Lizzie to tiptoes. With the freckled Brit off balance, Bianchi bum rushes her former partner to the chain link in front of them, thrusting Elizabeth into the air over the top rope when she reaches the cables.
Elizabeth soars over the uppermost strand, her noggin THWAKKING into the steel. Cromwell bounces away from the impact, stumbling and bumbling, trying to keep her feet. She manages but it only gives Bianchi a chance to grab her again and run her to the opposite side, where the dark-haired grappler repeats the process.
This time Elizabeth staggers a few steps before taking a header to the mat.
“God, you’re embarrassing,” Bianchi condescended, Jewell Keith simultaneously revealing her primary purpose at ringside tonight as she utilised Alessandra’s phone (a sure sign of trust from the Gorgeous Geek if there ever was one), to take snapshots of the unfolding Beatdown, all of which were being rapidly uploaded and updated on Cromwell’s own, clearly hacked Face book page.
“What in the hell possessed me to pick you as a partner, I will never remember,” leaning down, the raven haired malcontent hooked both her arms beneath her rivals and prepared to hoist her off the canvas, stopping halfway to secure the noggin of the Boarding School Princess between her thighs so that she could deliver a dismissive pedigree.
“Some ventures are better left off stillborn!”
But before Bianchi can deliver, Cromwell's arms wraps around the thighs of the Silicon Valley Siren. With as big a roar as she can manage, Cromwell tries and bloody well succeeds in getting Alessandra off her feet. She sends the wide-eyed Bianchi up and over with a back body drop, the Gorgeous Geek landing on her tailbone with a THUMP.
Bianchi's hands race to her rump to massage away the ache.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth struggles to her feet and delivers a kick worthy of Steven Gerrard. Alessandra yelps in pain, her spine arching.
"I saved your foundering career when I PICKED YOU," Lizzie assures, "and then I ended it. Or so I thought. I might have to do better this time." Dropping her hands into Alessandra's raven tresses, Lizzie prepares to rip her foe to off the canvas and send her crashing back down with a hair pull mat slam.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7NM1qOUILA
“Now just you hold on a damn minuARRRRTTT!” Bianchi’s astonished snarl quickly turned into a squeal, the Legionnaire’s voicing their approval as the redheaded Hellcat remembered that she had claws. With her tresses almost ripped out by their roots, the Terrorising Techie was hoisted bodily off the canvas only to be whiplashed straight back down again, her spine THUMPING!! against the mat and emptying her petite body of air.
Sammie applauded with gusto on the outside of the steel mesh, whipping her arms upwards to rally her own supporters on behalf of the Upstart-In-Law inside the ring, the People responding with even more vigour at the urgings of their Princess.
A growly Cromwell flashes a smile at her partner, but quickly turns back to the task at hand. Again, she rips Alessandra back up by her hair, ignoring the admonishment by the official. Stuffing Bianchi's noggin into a side headlock, she gives the cranium a nasty twist and takes off on a run to the cage. Tugging the Gorgeous Geek along for the ride, Cromwell's plan seems to include slamming the forehead of her foe into the fencing before turning Bianchi in a 180 after that impact and bulldogging her to the canvas for another.
The Techie of Terror still had plenty of lead left in her legs as the redhead yanked her up into an unwilling headlock, the girl with raven tresses shoving at Elizabeth’s hips as she dug her own heels in. She was stubborn enough to slam the brakes on, Cromwell’s would be momentum halted... albeit only for a moment. A particularly severe twist of Bianchi’s noggin elicited from her pained grunt and a fresh shimmy in her knees, more than enough give for the Boarding School Princess to begin her charge.
That grunt was followed by a loud YELP!! as the crown of Alessandra’s head was spiked straight into the steel mesh, the cage wall shaking with a violent shimmer as skull was driven into metal. Both young women ricocheted away, Cromwell driving their course, and there was not even a hint of hesitation as, with headlock still firmly in place, she skipped into a hop and the Brit drove the American’s forehead STRAIGHT into the canvas by way of Bulldog!
Following a plywood rattling THUNK!! Bianchi all but spring boarded away from her months long victim, almost popping right back up to standing before, inevitably, teetering and stumbling away into a somewhat longwinded tumble towards the closest set of ropes. There she collapsed to her knees in a bleary eyed stupor, Alessandra cursing creatively, finding Jewell Keith on the apron beside her and separated by steel mesh.
“Hey, HEY!!” Sammie protested whilst beating a B-Line around the squared circle, suspecting shenanigans of some manner or other, her suspicions reflected by the Legionnaires as whole.
Jewell Keith quickly retreated from her own spot with an air of indifference, holding her palms up in half hearted innocence...
But Sammie isn't stopping and she leaps into Jewell with a Thesz Press. The People's Princess rides the brunette to the floor, ending in a straddle of Keith. "You better not try anything," she growls, scrunching her button nose adorably.
The official, distracted from his duties, casts a glance in the direction of the outside activity and that's all it takes for Alessandra to use the flash paper she'd been handed, sparking the material and throwing it at the face of an advancing Elizabeth.
Momentarily blinded, Cromwell turns and staggers, wiping at her eyes while Bianchi approaches from behind, wrapping her arms around the redhead's waist. "You're that desperate," Lizzie screeches, swinging her elbow blindly behind her, hoping to hit something.
Connecting with nothing but air, Lizzie’s wild swing accomplishes nothing but yank herself off balance, the adopted Upstart-In-Law spinning in an uneven circle with a smirking Bianchi strapped to her back. Alessandra tightened her grip, circling her arms and locking her wrists across the redheads trim tummy, earning a pained guff from her ensnared rival, shaking the Brit from left to right to keep her unsteady.
“You’re hardly one to talk for taking shortcuts,” Bianchi scolded as a teacher might an especially slow student, “and results are results.” Bracing her feet, the Gorgeous Geek tightened her grip a little more and prepared to pop her knees, a belly to back suplex clearly on the horizon.
And with Cromwell swinging her way into off-balance position after off-balance position, Alessandra times the last one perfectly in vaulting Lizzie off her boot leather. The BSP tumbles over Bianchi's shoulders and lands HARD on her own set. The tips of the redhead's boots touch the canvas next to her ears as her former partner holds onto the throw and with Elizabeth stacked atop herself, she squirms fruitlessly through...
ONE...
TWO...
...and half of THREE but not all of it, tumbling to her side, the Brit cradling her aching skull.
On the outside, Sammie yanks Jewell up to her feet and runs her to the barricade, tossing her into the fans, furious over the cheat and apparently wanting to make sure the Toker wouldn't be a factor for a while.
‘Watch her’ Sinclair requests of the FAWNatics after depositing the unwelcome Keith on the wrong side of the barricades, motioning with sign language and those loyal in the front rows agreeing with gusto. With the Legionnaires mobilised as a vocal, and very enthusiastic early warning system, Sammie felt confident in turning her full attention to the steel cage, dashing back on over and slapping her palms against the steel mesh, lending her fellow Best Brit her full support as her partner turtled on the canvas.
A slightly vexed Alessandra turned to the yelling Sinclair with a tut of disapproval, bringing a finger to her lips for silence and predictably not receiving it. Unconcerned by the infamous dander of the Upstart Supreme outside of the squared circle, the People’s Princess unable to interfere tonight, Bianchi turned her full attention back to Cromwell, calmly evaluating the freckled red heads fruitless endeavours to shake off her trauma, the Brit swaying her way up onto her knees.
“And that goes double for you!” she declared, suddenly darting forwards with one athletically luscious limb bent upwards to SMACK her own joint into her rival’s kisser, a straight forward yet brutally effective tenderiser.
Bianchi's boot finds its target with ruthless efficiency. The kick wouldn't be on any highlight reels but it snaps Cromwell's head back in violent fashion. The impact only doubles when the rear of Lizzie's skull THUMPS into the deck. Cromwell stares blankly into the lights above as Alessandra skids to a stop and turns, winking at Sammie, Sinclair going into dander overload.
Meanwhile Bianchi walks back to the dazed Elizabeth and places a boot on her foe's chest for the...
ONE...
TWO...
...Cromwell shoves the foot off and rolls to her chest. Mumbling incoherently, she pushes to all fours and crawls toward Sammie, perhaps not realizing in her stupor she can't magically materialize through the steel mesh to receive her protection.
Were it only in her power to do so, Sinclair would surely be inside the ring already and introducing Bianchi to a patented ‘FOOT TO FACE!!’ of her own, but with the hellacious contraption that was the steel cage separating her from her partner, there was little that the Tiny Titan could do. Never the less, the brunette was going no-where as the shell shocked red head came searching for her help, at the very least sticking her fingers through the mesh to link with those of her flagging partners.
“Come on Cromwell, you got this,” she urged, Sammie taking on the sternest tone that she summon (an commendable effort, if not entirely successful), “stop waiting on me to save you, and kick her ass already!!”
“Oh give it up Sinclair,” Bianchi growled in exasperation, marching in on over and, grabbing her hated rival by her crimson curls, yanking the Brits head back sharply and TORE her away from the cage wall. “Pretty Lizzie here is, and always has been a lost cause,” she surmounted, dropping down to one knee herself and, keeping to the side and behind her months long victim, curled her former partners spine into a painful arch, preparing to lock in a fateful Dragon Sleeper...
“We all know that, in the end, Cromwell is nothing but a quitter!”
And with Elizabeth's arms flailing at her sides, as Bianchi continues to increase the arc of the sleeper, it appears that will surely be the case. That or Cromwell will be taking a Mania nap at the Terrorizing Techie's feet...
But the cage comes in handy for Elizabeth on this occasion as she kicks her legs into the air in front of her and finds steel chain links to push off. With Lizzie flipping over Alessandra's shoulders, the raven-haired tormentor loses her grip on the Englishwoman, and Cromwell lands behind her foe.
She immediately grasps Bianchi's locks and runs her to the fence, ramming her face into the steel. With Alessandra's head bobbling, Elizabeth forces her eyes down onto the top rope in a side headlock, ready to run her rival's face along the length of the abrading, rubber-coated steel and deliver a signature ‘Saturday Evening Constitutional’ to Alessandra for Sammie and her newly, hard-won fans.
She was rewarded with a cheer, the Legionnaire’s voicing their approval along with Sinclair at ringside, the brunette stepping back and applauding as she followed alongside her partner, earning herself a front row seat of Bianchi howling as her peepers was draaaaaaaaaged along the ropes. Alessandra’s protests were indeed vocal as she struggled to halt her progress, failing utterly to avoid being rope burned, regardless of how much she grasped at steel mesh as she made the looooong trip around all four corners.
Eventually the constitutional ended, Lizzie making her point as she turned the blinded Bianchi about and bullied the Techie into a corner, the Hellcat squeezing the Geek into the buckles nice and tight. “I’m drilling your head through this canvas Cromwell,” Alessandra warned, regardless of her predicament, “you’re delaying the inevitable.”
“Don’t listen to her Lizzie,” Sammie corralled, keeping close at hand where needed, “you’re not trapped in there with her; she’s trapped in there with you!”
Elizabeth nods reflexively along with her friend's words. What's more, she leaps to the upper legs of her former partner, boots planting there as her hands wrap around the back of Bianchi's neck. Elizabeth throws her bodyweight in reverse and sends Alessandra monkeyflipping through the air landing hard and heavy on her tailbone.
As the Silicon Valley Siren yelps, kneading her aching posterior, Cromwell lands a football kick to her spine.
The raven-haired grappler flops to her chest, hands moving to her backbone from her tailbone.
Elizabeth plucks both ankles off the canvas and leans Bianchi's legs forward, stepping on her hamstrings.
Already aware of what Elizabeth has in mind, Sammie personally so, those on the outside roar their approval.
Pinning Bianchi's stems in place, Lizzie next gathers up her foe's wrists and yanks them back, apparently ready to remove them from their sockets, but actually more interested in leaning back to find a place on the mat, sending Alessandra overhead with her Liverpool Neck Massage, a Romero hold with Cromwell's little extra spin, trading in her grip of Bianchi's wrists for nerve pinches to both sides of evil wench's neck!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Im9jMT3zdcE&context=C369209dADOEgsToPDskJ-hSZtVZbgNOpmVdUvq1nR
The protests that were to quickly follow from between the clenched teeth of Alessandra were, despite being shockingly literate giving the pain she was immediately suffering, fell on nothing but the deafest of ears, Elizabeth’s grip only tightening as her tormentor hissed with impotent anger. Like the Hellcat she was often referred to being, Lizzie needled her nails in deeper into the lean muscles of her opponent’s shoulders, digging deep and pinching at the nerves with expert attention and playing the Gorgeous Geek like an instrument.
The Official leaned in as close as he dared to as Bianchi’s lithe frame was pushed up high above the canvas in a spine curling surfboard, the young women’s lungs emptying after deep gasps with fresh growls of increasing agony, arms shivering as she could feel them cramping and falling lifeless. Regardless of the temptation to cry out in submission, the Silicon Valley Siren shook her head vigorously, squeezing her own eyes shut as she refused to utter even the vaguest sound of surrender.
Not to Cromwell.
Not here, not today.
Not Ever!!
The enjoyment of having Bianchi in the signature predicament is obvious on Cromwell's face, but so is the growing weariness in her legs in keeping Alessandra elevated.
The returned Jewell bangs impotently on the outside of the cage, while Sammie cheers her friend on with chants of LIIIIVER-POOL. LIIIIIVER-POOL."
Elizabeth holds on for a further ten seconds of torture but Bianchi holds on longer and Cromwell finally dumps the raven-haired grappler to her side. The Brit rises and shakes out her limbs over a growly, but mewling Bianchi.
Sidling around to her foe's six, Bianchi rising to hands and knees, Elizabeth jumps to a straddle of the Terrorizing Techie's back. She drives her down with a booty bump and starts to secure an arm over each knee, ready to make her suffer all over again with a Camel Clutch, a special one of Lizzie's making where she eventually would fish-hook the corner of Alessandra's mouth to add to the pain.
Bianchi, more than capable of identifying a potential system crash, began to wriggle for all it was worth, forcing her tortured spine to pivot violently from left to right in a vain effort to dislodge her passenger. Cromwell, however, was going no-where, the red headed Brit as stubborn as all get out now that she had the bit between her teeth, and her fingers hooked between her tormentors, and yet the freckled fury growled impatiently as she failed to fully lock her hold in. With the Techie refusing to remain still, her left arm remained elusive, and the Camel Clutch, modified or otherwise, lost its potency as an inevitable outcome.
Keith, otherwise, even with the roll of her shoulders as languid as ever, was looking more animated than she had done in years, pacing back and forth just outside the squared circle, seemingly riled up after her unwanted stay amongst the audience, glaring daggers into Cromwell. Summertime Bruise remained a fresh annoyance on her otherwise ‘mellow’ karma, and tonight was not going at all like it was supposed to in order to compensate...
“HEY!” she suddenly shouted, the Ditch Weed Darling wide eyed with absolute horror, pointing with blind urgency to the opposite side of the squared circle. “HEY!!” Keith continued to SQUEAL, drawing the attention of everyone and all in the vague direction of her opposite number, the People’s Princess up to some manner or unseen shenanigans that were vile enough to fill even her with abject dread!!
Spurred on by the award winning display of Hollywood horror, the head of the Official snapped about on a swivel to catch Samantha Sinclair in the act of doing whatever it was she was about to do.
Sammie, meanwhile, was as surprised as anyone as she was attempting to do nothing, her own baby browns open wide with surprise and, in an admittedly rare occurrence in wrestling, was the picture genuine innocence, button nose and all.
Keith was anything but, dropping the act immediately and, with the man in black and white appropriately turned about, climbed up onto the apron. Something suspicious popped into her mouth, Jewell bit down on the capsule and, with a deep, almost violent exhale, sprayed a rapidly expanding cloud of green mist in the direction of Cromwell’s unsuspecting features...
"BLAHHHH," Elizabeth screams, her face instantly looking like she's turned into She-Hulk, without so much of the muscles. Blinded by the spray, Cromwell reflexively drops the squirming Alessandra to the deck and rises, spinning away from Jewell.
Keith quickly wipes her mouth as the official inspects the yelping, cursing Cromwell. He turns toward The Toker who innocently shrugs, making sure to keep her lips shut. Without a smoking gun, the referee keeps the match going and Elizabeth blindly finds a corner to begin scrubbing at her eyes.
Bianchi slowly rises, working at the knots in her aching back. She takes a glance at Cromwell then back to Jewell. This girl didn't have an Instagram account but she's damn well turning out to be useful as a blazing blunt.
Elizabeth can see a blur approach and takes wild swipes in front of her to try and keep Bianchi back, trying desperately to blink her full vision back into place.
From the moment that the air inside the squared circle had filled with an all too familiar green mist, Sammie’s explosive dander was in full swing. The scrunching of her button nose and reddening of her freckled cheeks were the sure signs of the young women’s flash pan temper, and it was all that she could to do to stop herself from climbing up the side of the steel mesh and dropping right on down into the contest herself.
Instead she quickly hopped away from the apron, huffing and puffing with the most shockingly PG Rated Huff to be recorded by live TV, and dashed on over to the closest spectators to the ringside. In a somewhat bizarre display, the Tiny Titan began franticly checking every beverage that was within her limited reach, finding not a single one filled with honest to goodness water, before she settled upon a new plan entirely, snagging a cup from the paws of a surprised (yet loyal, and later rewarded) Legionnaire (totally asking for permission first) and hastily returned to as close to the fray as she could reach...
Bianchi, meanwhile, easily sidestepped the clumsy swing of her former partner before grabbing the redhead by her mane and yanking the young women down onto her knees. A swift knee between Cromwell’s peepers stunned the already blinded Brit with savage efficiency and, with course adequately corrected, prepared to put the little bitch into permanent retirement. Even with the Official momentarily distracted with fruitless efforts to admonish Keith with ‘crimes’ he hadn’t witnessed, there would be no more forestalling the inevitable...
...Alessandria’s own eyes opened wide a moment too late as her heart skipped a beat, Sammie appearing on the apron over Cromwell’s shoulder with her Babyface Dander rising, the Upstart Supreme opting to keep things even as she HURLED the contents of her borrowed beverage into the squared circle, DOUSING Bianchi’s features with alcohol...
Bianchi's face is splashed with the golden contents of the cup. Though the liquid isn't as vile as the green gunk from Jewell's mouth, it's enough to send Alessandra spinning away, sputtering as she wipes at her eyes and spits out some of the beer from her mouth.
Blecch.
Bud Light.
Elizabeth kneels on her haunches, wobbling. Next to her, but with the steel mesh between, Sammie gives words of encouragement that don't seem to break through. Pouting slightly, she resorts to a different tact and shouts "WAKE UP" instead and Cromwell shakes her senses back into place.
She struggles to her feet just as Bianchi starts to return, furious at Sinclair and, by proxy, Cromwell. She rushes the redhead with right arm drawn for a HUGE forearm blast!!
But Elizabeth, with her sight slowly returning, dives to the right and the leaping Alessandra hits HARD into the buckles chest-first. She bounces out in a staggering backpedal and slowly turns toward Elizabeth. The Brit leaps toward Alessandra, her hands going for the back of the raven-haired grappler's neck, knees folding toward her foe's features to hit a mind numbing facebreaker!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=L85guDWTtOU
Bianchi wasn’t ready, not as she turned about in a haphazard half circle, and so it was with an inarticulate yelp that the leather clad torturer was yanked forwards with insistent force. The entirety of Cromwell’s (admittedly Lightweight) mass was far too much for her unbalanced frame to deny, and it was with a disastrous THUNK!! that her features met with a pair of weaponised knees, the raven haired grappler WHIPLASHING away from the skull jarring collision twice as violently as she had approached it. She reached vertical for but a moment, teetering with a drunken drawl before, with arms swaying, she toppled like a tree, crumbling to the canvas and barely moving.
Elizabeth tries to kip up like Sammie Sunshine, but the wear and tear on Cromwell makes the effort a failed one, Lizzie ending up on her bum. Redfaced, she pushes up, vainly hoping no one saw.
Grabbing Bianchi by her mane, Cromwell tugs Alessandra to her feet and runs her to the steel cage, tossing her over the ropes. Bianchi's face CLANGS into the metal and she bounces back, dazed, into Elizabeth's arms. The redhead spins Alessandra in place and runs her to the opposite side, CLANING her mug into the metal mesh once more. Rebounding from the collision, Alessandra drunkenly wobbles toward the centre where Elizabeth catches up with her, thrusting a boot into her foe's tummy, doubling over the Terrible Techie.
"Put this on your social media," Lizzie shouts, wrapping an arm around the back of Bianchi's head and slipping her noggin under the opposite loose limb of the raven-haired grappler.
"Time to 'Expel' this demon," Sammie shouts with a fist pumping whoop.
And Elizabeth complies, her right arm wrapping around her foe, ready to lift her off the canvas and deliver the Prep School Expulsion...
@ 00:07
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ttqciIH5dA
The Loyalist Legionnaires held their breathes collectively as Bianchi’s leather clad frame was hoisted skywards, held suspended upside down with her boots pointed towards the rafters. More than once they had witnessed the Brit’s Finisher executed this past year, but more often than not it had been Alessandria in the driver’s seat, mocking her intended victim as she intended to end Cromwell’s career. In one moment, that Phantom could be put to rest...
Elizabeth dropped, Bianchi fell with her... and the FAWNATICS erupted as Bianchi was DRIVEN into the canvas headfirst, the crown of her noggin SLAMMING into the plywood with enough brutal force to rattle all four of the ring posts and surely obliterate any further schemes she may have harboured for the evening.
Bianchi crumbled, spasming away from the emphatic landing and flopping, a puppet with her strings cut as she piled into an unconscious puddle. Cromwell had struck true, leaving devastation in her wake, claiming this FAWNMANIA as her own.
An excited Cromwell wastes no time in collecting Bianchi in a lateral press. With Jewell on the outside, bumming, her head drooping to her chin, Elizabeth collects both of Alessandra's legs behind the knees and rolls her into a tight ball, shoulders pressed to the mat, ass cheeks pointed to the ceiling.
Sammie counts for the ref in case he's forgotten how.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
Sinclair leaps into the air, deciding to high-five everyone in the front row on the way to the steps. She waits impatiently for a FAWN flunky to unlock the door.
In the meantime. Elizabeth lets Bianchi's legs flop lifelessly to the mat. She rises to all fours and hovers over Alessandra, staring down at her tormentor. "We're even," she mutters, deciding not to take further advantage of the woman she had, in another life, put on the FAWN shelf for years.
She could let the persistent vendetta against her these past months go, and was hoping Bianchi would be wise enough to do the same...when she woke up.
The freckled redhead turns to the door and starts complaining. "Get it open!" she shouts with a wide grin.
Sinclair, never entirely patient to begin with, had secured the keys herself, the ring attendee more than happy to allow the People’s Princess to have her way after the suitable, if insistent, please and Thankyouse had been exchanged, and the petite brunette soon popped the lock open. Swinging the door wide, Sammie ducked and hopped into the ring, dashing on over and reuniting the World’s Best Brit’s inside the squared circle, Upstart Supreme embracing the Upstart-In-Law in a congratulatory hug.
“Cutting it close there Cromwell,” the Tiny Titan prodded, “for a minute I thought I might have to climb in and kick all of the ass.”
"That ass was all mine, Sinclair," Lizzie assures, swallowing Sammie up in a super snug, Elizabeth going tight enough to force a soft 'ooof' from the People's Princess. Sammie coughs out a squeaky 'ok'. Cromwell loosens and lets Sammie pull back but not much more than an inch or two.
"Thanks Upstart. I might be fighting in some hall in Chelsea if not for you. Instead I just won at FAWNamaia."
Sammie nods. "And you could've done it all without me."
Lizzie tightens again, placing her chin on Sammie's left shoulder. "How did I EVER not like you?"
"I don't know," Sinclair smirked.
They break the hug as Jewell tends to a stirring Alessandra who looks up weakly and despondently at the duo above.
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth offers.
"Fuck you," Bianchi retorts, unrepentant, and unforgiving to the last.
And with that, Upstart Supreme and In-Law decide it's time to depart and celebrate with the other Upstarts backstage.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrRcHVSV79w
...burst into life over the live speakers, heralding the arrival of the World’s Best Brits! While the impromptu tag team alliance didn’t officially fall under the banner of the Upstart Nation, the Legionnaire’s did not hesitate in letting themselves be heard, not as the Upstart Supreme, Samantha Sinclair, and ‘reformed’ Upstart-In-Law, Elizabeth Cromwell swept aside the curtains and emerged on stage with considerable swagger and an eruption of pyrokenetics, said explosion timed to precision with ‘Light ‘em Up!!’ blasting out from the speakers.
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
ELIZABETH CROMWELL
The brunette was predictably a step or two ahead in embracing the sold out audience, standing as tall as her perfectly petite mass would allow her, catching the light in all the right places as she whipped both her arms up high and waved. 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.
Despite the speculation that her new, in ring partnership would herald some manner of change in outfit, her attire remained the same, her sports bra smoothly curved about her small, proud bosom, leaving her softly sculptured tummy bare and her upraised arms the same way. Her boy cut shorts remained absent, replaced instead by a short skirt which, with a generous slit running up the right side, revealed a wonderful shot of her firm thigh as the baby brown eyed darling hopped up onto her tip toes and spiralled. Her boots were similarly altered, still bright blue and reaching upwards to just beneath her kneecaps, they were now tanned from firm leather and sported lacing right up the front.
With hands on hips she paused, a smirk in place as she waited for her partner to catch up, Cromwell quickening her pace as the former World’s Brattiest Brit was still adapting to the positive reinforcement from the audience. The moment she arrived by the side of Sinclair, the confidence of the Boarding School Princess appeared to sore, a strut doubling in her stride as the two lasses from the English Isle took off towards the ring, the two young women, in the eyes of many, representing the cream of the crop of their Generation from the United Kingdom.
Lizzie’s blue bikini bottoms are tied at each hip, ‘BSP’ emblazoned in bold white strokes across her backside. Above that is a sports bra containing a twisting blend of the colours of her UK with a black outline of the British flag on her right breast. Her one-time strawberry blonde pixie crop has grown longer, more luxurious and indeed darker than before, a shade closer to auburn.
As they approached the squared circle, Cromwell moved to make her way up the steel steps before a not so gentle nudge from Sinclair’s shoulder diverted her journey. As Sammie took her route around one side of the ring, clapping the outstretched hands of the Legionnaires in welcome, Lizzie found herself ‘forced’ to do likewise down the other. It didn’t take too long for them to meet again and, in unison, their approached the apron and hopped up. Turning their shoulders to the ropes they leaned backwards, flipping up and over with a spiral of beautifully athletic limbs that took them smartly down onto the canvas.
With a renewal of the crowd’s applause, the World’s Best Brits had returned to the ring, albeit only one of them would be about to compete within the unyielding confines of a brutal, manmade cell.
Cromwell’s gaze was inevitably drawn upwards, the cage still swaying and just waiting to descend, reminded without warning that her last FAWNmania had ended in abject failure, and tonight could quite literally end her career for good...
“You got this,” Sammie slapped both of Lizzie’s shoulders for emphasis, not a hint of doubt within the brunettes own tone, bitter rival turned tag team partner a voice of confidence that the redhead had lacked a year earlier. “Don’t play her games, stick to yours, and you can remind Bianchi just who the heck you are.”
As the crowd waits for Elizabeth’s erstwhile partner and current bitter enemy …the lights go out...
They stutter at first, the power flickering, the staggered illumination casting excessively long shadows where there should be none. Finally they shut off entirely, some manner of breaker slamming closed and, with an ominous THUNK the vast crowd plunges into darkness.
Long seconds pass. As puzzlement turns to worry, a dial tone begins ringing, one that is disturbingly old school. A hollow tone echoes over the arenas sound system, a puzzling ultimatum, before Local H’s remake of Toxic...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8XK0AZZlug
...crashes over the crowd.
The squeals and jarring guitar riff erupt, a deafening drum beat combining to create an attraction that could not be ignore
A single beam of illumination appears.
The reaction once both jeers and cheers upon her initial return is now only negative. Alessandra Bianchi, the Terrifying Techie stands centre stage with a familiar apparatus in either hand, a microphone and an iphone.
ALESSANDRA BIANCHI
JEWELL KEITH
Next to her is her recently initiated partner in California Dreamin, the ditchweed damsel from Humboldt County Jewell Keith. The duo stands in the focused beam for a long second or two before heading to the ring, the spotlight following them. Black leather apparently Bianchi’s friend, her stems are covered from hip to mid-thigh in the curve hugging material whilst buckled boots encased herself upwards past her calves. Her taut little tummy remains bare, unprotected by her jacket that reaches down to beneath her bosom, her cut off shirt doing likewise, her gaze obscured by the lenses of her aviator shades.
Alessandra holds her iphone upwards towards the ring she approaches at a casual saunter, one dexterous thumb tweeting furiously as, much to the shock of those watching, they all find themselves ‘followers’ without asking. It’s then, as Bianchi puts her phone away, slipping it securely inside her jacket, she ‘allows’ the house lights to come back up.
The Gorgeous Geek gazes at the cage hovering above the ring then down at Elizabeth, a predatory grin emerging. She raises the stick to her lips.
“Get your ass out, Sinclair,” Bianchi says. “Only one wimpy little English rat allowed.”
Sammie scrunches her nose, but after giving one final snug of encouragement she responds to the urging of a FAWN official on the floor, leaving her partner to battle.
Alessandra turns her attention to the task at hand.
“There’s no one to save you Bytch School Princess. There’s nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. You signed your career’s kill code, Red.”
Alessandra hands the microphone to Jewell; Bianchi’s second garbed in a tie-dye Grateful Dead tied-off t-shirt and Daisy Dukes denim shorts.
To make her point all the more stark, the raven-haired grappler punches into her cell and the steel mesh lowers at her command, Bianchi having hacked into FAWN’s system to send the cage into its descent.
Cromwell, not at all happy at this state of affairs, nevertheless does not evacuate the ring. She’s joined in confident fashion by Bianchi who ascends the steel steps before ducking inside just under the lowering metal grid work.
With a sharp tilt of her head, the bridge of her shades slips down to the tip of her nose, the Tantalising Tweeter peering contemptuously over the top at the fans. She removes the glasses and hands them through the grating to Jewell who places them on the top of her messy dark brown mop.
Bianchi removes her jacket and places it neatly on the top buckle behind her and motions to Cromwell, and anyone else who cares, she’s ready to finish this feud and make Cromwell an obsolete model in FAWN, to be quickly replaced and forgotten like a phone dropped on the sidewalk.
“Spoilers Lizzie,” Alessandra could barely suppress the corners of her lips from twitching, years of anticipation and preparation finally coming to fruition, stepping forwards with a strut as the bell rang as the bratty snot that she oh so hated had no-where else to run. Toying with a rodent was indeed a worthwhile indulgence, but in today’s cutthroat world, only results mattered, the bottom line was the only line, and tonight was the night to get it done as she raised her fingers high.
Wiggling her digits in invitation, she waited for the bull headed Brit to take the bait... before darting out her thumb to stab an unprotected peeper!!
“You’re leaving here on a stretcher!!”
Elizabeth had learned something of dander raising from her new partner and, though the butterflies are fluttering up a storm in her tummy, Cromwell strides forward to meet Bianchi. She hesitates with her hands raised; waiting a tick before sending them forward to lace with those of Alessandra so the women can test their strength. Cromwell's right set of digits meshes with Alessandra's left and Elizabeth reaches with her opposite hand to repeat the process. But before they're linked, the raven-haired techie jabs her thumb into the right eye of the redhead!
Lizzie squeals in pain, wheeling away from Bianchi. But she's still attached at one hand and Alessandra swings her back around with that grip and into a raised knee digging deep into Elizabeth's lower abdomen, doubling over Cromwell with a deep, loud 'GUHHH'.
“Really Cromwell?” Bianchi cocked her eyebrow with resigned amusement, circling her ruthlessly gutted opponent to the mounting displeasure of the FAWNatics. “Did you think you were going to have a chance to match me? I left you a drooling mess the last time we met on equal terms inside this circle; you couldn’t lay a digit on me.” She paused her faintly exasperated lecture just long enough to snatch the reeling Brit by her shorts and her crimson curls, preparing to take early advantage of their environment by bull rushing her rival, thick head first, into the steel mesh!
“I’m not here to prove anything, you traitorous bytch, I’m just here to end you!”
With Elizabeth greatly distracted, rubbing furiously at her watering eye with one hand, she has a hard time breaking away from Alessandra's grip, particularly when Bianchi adds a hash wedgie of her lower togs, sending them far up her crack, raising a squeaking Lizzie to tiptoes. With the freckled Brit off balance, Bianchi bum rushes her former partner to the chain link in front of them, thrusting Elizabeth into the air over the top rope when she reaches the cables.
Elizabeth soars over the uppermost strand, her noggin THWAKKING into the steel. Cromwell bounces away from the impact, stumbling and bumbling, trying to keep her feet. She manages but it only gives Bianchi a chance to grab her again and run her to the opposite side, where the dark-haired grappler repeats the process.
This time Elizabeth staggers a few steps before taking a header to the mat.
“God, you’re embarrassing,” Bianchi condescended, Jewell Keith simultaneously revealing her primary purpose at ringside tonight as she utilised Alessandra’s phone (a sure sign of trust from the Gorgeous Geek if there ever was one), to take snapshots of the unfolding Beatdown, all of which were being rapidly uploaded and updated on Cromwell’s own, clearly hacked Face book page.
“What in the hell possessed me to pick you as a partner, I will never remember,” leaning down, the raven haired malcontent hooked both her arms beneath her rivals and prepared to hoist her off the canvas, stopping halfway to secure the noggin of the Boarding School Princess between her thighs so that she could deliver a dismissive pedigree.
“Some ventures are better left off stillborn!”
But before Bianchi can deliver, Cromwell's arms wraps around the thighs of the Silicon Valley Siren. With as big a roar as she can manage, Cromwell tries and bloody well succeeds in getting Alessandra off her feet. She sends the wide-eyed Bianchi up and over with a back body drop, the Gorgeous Geek landing on her tailbone with a THUMP.
Bianchi's hands race to her rump to massage away the ache.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth struggles to her feet and delivers a kick worthy of Steven Gerrard. Alessandra yelps in pain, her spine arching.
"I saved your foundering career when I PICKED YOU," Lizzie assures, "and then I ended it. Or so I thought. I might have to do better this time." Dropping her hands into Alessandra's raven tresses, Lizzie prepares to rip her foe to off the canvas and send her crashing back down with a hair pull mat slam.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7NM1qOUILA
“Now just you hold on a damn minuARRRRTTT!” Bianchi’s astonished snarl quickly turned into a squeal, the Legionnaire’s voicing their approval as the redheaded Hellcat remembered that she had claws. With her tresses almost ripped out by their roots, the Terrorising Techie was hoisted bodily off the canvas only to be whiplashed straight back down again, her spine THUMPING!! against the mat and emptying her petite body of air.
Sammie applauded with gusto on the outside of the steel mesh, whipping her arms upwards to rally her own supporters on behalf of the Upstart-In-Law inside the ring, the People responding with even more vigour at the urgings of their Princess.
A growly Cromwell flashes a smile at her partner, but quickly turns back to the task at hand. Again, she rips Alessandra back up by her hair, ignoring the admonishment by the official. Stuffing Bianchi's noggin into a side headlock, she gives the cranium a nasty twist and takes off on a run to the cage. Tugging the Gorgeous Geek along for the ride, Cromwell's plan seems to include slamming the forehead of her foe into the fencing before turning Bianchi in a 180 after that impact and bulldogging her to the canvas for another.
The Techie of Terror still had plenty of lead left in her legs as the redhead yanked her up into an unwilling headlock, the girl with raven tresses shoving at Elizabeth’s hips as she dug her own heels in. She was stubborn enough to slam the brakes on, Cromwell’s would be momentum halted... albeit only for a moment. A particularly severe twist of Bianchi’s noggin elicited from her pained grunt and a fresh shimmy in her knees, more than enough give for the Boarding School Princess to begin her charge.
That grunt was followed by a loud YELP!! as the crown of Alessandra’s head was spiked straight into the steel mesh, the cage wall shaking with a violent shimmer as skull was driven into metal. Both young women ricocheted away, Cromwell driving their course, and there was not even a hint of hesitation as, with headlock still firmly in place, she skipped into a hop and the Brit drove the American’s forehead STRAIGHT into the canvas by way of Bulldog!
Following a plywood rattling THUNK!! Bianchi all but spring boarded away from her months long victim, almost popping right back up to standing before, inevitably, teetering and stumbling away into a somewhat longwinded tumble towards the closest set of ropes. There she collapsed to her knees in a bleary eyed stupor, Alessandra cursing creatively, finding Jewell Keith on the apron beside her and separated by steel mesh.
“Hey, HEY!!” Sammie protested whilst beating a B-Line around the squared circle, suspecting shenanigans of some manner or other, her suspicions reflected by the Legionnaires as whole.
Jewell Keith quickly retreated from her own spot with an air of indifference, holding her palms up in half hearted innocence...
But Sammie isn't stopping and she leaps into Jewell with a Thesz Press. The People's Princess rides the brunette to the floor, ending in a straddle of Keith. "You better not try anything," she growls, scrunching her button nose adorably.
The official, distracted from his duties, casts a glance in the direction of the outside activity and that's all it takes for Alessandra to use the flash paper she'd been handed, sparking the material and throwing it at the face of an advancing Elizabeth.
Momentarily blinded, Cromwell turns and staggers, wiping at her eyes while Bianchi approaches from behind, wrapping her arms around the redhead's waist. "You're that desperate," Lizzie screeches, swinging her elbow blindly behind her, hoping to hit something.
Connecting with nothing but air, Lizzie’s wild swing accomplishes nothing but yank herself off balance, the adopted Upstart-In-Law spinning in an uneven circle with a smirking Bianchi strapped to her back. Alessandra tightened her grip, circling her arms and locking her wrists across the redheads trim tummy, earning a pained guff from her ensnared rival, shaking the Brit from left to right to keep her unsteady.
“You’re hardly one to talk for taking shortcuts,” Bianchi scolded as a teacher might an especially slow student, “and results are results.” Bracing her feet, the Gorgeous Geek tightened her grip a little more and prepared to pop her knees, a belly to back suplex clearly on the horizon.
And with Cromwell swinging her way into off-balance position after off-balance position, Alessandra times the last one perfectly in vaulting Lizzie off her boot leather. The BSP tumbles over Bianchi's shoulders and lands HARD on her own set. The tips of the redhead's boots touch the canvas next to her ears as her former partner holds onto the throw and with Elizabeth stacked atop herself, she squirms fruitlessly through...
ONE...
TWO...
...and half of THREE but not all of it, tumbling to her side, the Brit cradling her aching skull.
On the outside, Sammie yanks Jewell up to her feet and runs her to the barricade, tossing her into the fans, furious over the cheat and apparently wanting to make sure the Toker wouldn't be a factor for a while.
‘Watch her’ Sinclair requests of the FAWNatics after depositing the unwelcome Keith on the wrong side of the barricades, motioning with sign language and those loyal in the front rows agreeing with gusto. With the Legionnaires mobilised as a vocal, and very enthusiastic early warning system, Sammie felt confident in turning her full attention to the steel cage, dashing back on over and slapping her palms against the steel mesh, lending her fellow Best Brit her full support as her partner turtled on the canvas.
A slightly vexed Alessandra turned to the yelling Sinclair with a tut of disapproval, bringing a finger to her lips for silence and predictably not receiving it. Unconcerned by the infamous dander of the Upstart Supreme outside of the squared circle, the People’s Princess unable to interfere tonight, Bianchi turned her full attention back to Cromwell, calmly evaluating the freckled red heads fruitless endeavours to shake off her trauma, the Brit swaying her way up onto her knees.
“And that goes double for you!” she declared, suddenly darting forwards with one athletically luscious limb bent upwards to SMACK her own joint into her rival’s kisser, a straight forward yet brutally effective tenderiser.
Bianchi's boot finds its target with ruthless efficiency. The kick wouldn't be on any highlight reels but it snaps Cromwell's head back in violent fashion. The impact only doubles when the rear of Lizzie's skull THUMPS into the deck. Cromwell stares blankly into the lights above as Alessandra skids to a stop and turns, winking at Sammie, Sinclair going into dander overload.
Meanwhile Bianchi walks back to the dazed Elizabeth and places a boot on her foe's chest for the...
ONE...
TWO...
...Cromwell shoves the foot off and rolls to her chest. Mumbling incoherently, she pushes to all fours and crawls toward Sammie, perhaps not realizing in her stupor she can't magically materialize through the steel mesh to receive her protection.
Were it only in her power to do so, Sinclair would surely be inside the ring already and introducing Bianchi to a patented ‘FOOT TO FACE!!’ of her own, but with the hellacious contraption that was the steel cage separating her from her partner, there was little that the Tiny Titan could do. Never the less, the brunette was going no-where as the shell shocked red head came searching for her help, at the very least sticking her fingers through the mesh to link with those of her flagging partners.
“Come on Cromwell, you got this,” she urged, Sammie taking on the sternest tone that she summon (an commendable effort, if not entirely successful), “stop waiting on me to save you, and kick her ass already!!”
“Oh give it up Sinclair,” Bianchi growled in exasperation, marching in on over and, grabbing her hated rival by her crimson curls, yanking the Brits head back sharply and TORE her away from the cage wall. “Pretty Lizzie here is, and always has been a lost cause,” she surmounted, dropping down to one knee herself and, keeping to the side and behind her months long victim, curled her former partners spine into a painful arch, preparing to lock in a fateful Dragon Sleeper...
“We all know that, in the end, Cromwell is nothing but a quitter!”
And with Elizabeth's arms flailing at her sides, as Bianchi continues to increase the arc of the sleeper, it appears that will surely be the case. That or Cromwell will be taking a Mania nap at the Terrorizing Techie's feet...
But the cage comes in handy for Elizabeth on this occasion as she kicks her legs into the air in front of her and finds steel chain links to push off. With Lizzie flipping over Alessandra's shoulders, the raven-haired tormentor loses her grip on the Englishwoman, and Cromwell lands behind her foe.
She immediately grasps Bianchi's locks and runs her to the fence, ramming her face into the steel. With Alessandra's head bobbling, Elizabeth forces her eyes down onto the top rope in a side headlock, ready to run her rival's face along the length of the abrading, rubber-coated steel and deliver a signature ‘Saturday Evening Constitutional’ to Alessandra for Sammie and her newly, hard-won fans.
She was rewarded with a cheer, the Legionnaire’s voicing their approval along with Sinclair at ringside, the brunette stepping back and applauding as she followed alongside her partner, earning herself a front row seat of Bianchi howling as her peepers was draaaaaaaaaged along the ropes. Alessandra’s protests were indeed vocal as she struggled to halt her progress, failing utterly to avoid being rope burned, regardless of how much she grasped at steel mesh as she made the looooong trip around all four corners.
Eventually the constitutional ended, Lizzie making her point as she turned the blinded Bianchi about and bullied the Techie into a corner, the Hellcat squeezing the Geek into the buckles nice and tight. “I’m drilling your head through this canvas Cromwell,” Alessandra warned, regardless of her predicament, “you’re delaying the inevitable.”
“Don’t listen to her Lizzie,” Sammie corralled, keeping close at hand where needed, “you’re not trapped in there with her; she’s trapped in there with you!”
Elizabeth nods reflexively along with her friend's words. What's more, she leaps to the upper legs of her former partner, boots planting there as her hands wrap around the back of Bianchi's neck. Elizabeth throws her bodyweight in reverse and sends Alessandra monkeyflipping through the air landing hard and heavy on her tailbone.
As the Silicon Valley Siren yelps, kneading her aching posterior, Cromwell lands a football kick to her spine.
The raven-haired grappler flops to her chest, hands moving to her backbone from her tailbone.
Elizabeth plucks both ankles off the canvas and leans Bianchi's legs forward, stepping on her hamstrings.
Already aware of what Elizabeth has in mind, Sammie personally so, those on the outside roar their approval.
Pinning Bianchi's stems in place, Lizzie next gathers up her foe's wrists and yanks them back, apparently ready to remove them from their sockets, but actually more interested in leaning back to find a place on the mat, sending Alessandra overhead with her Liverpool Neck Massage, a Romero hold with Cromwell's little extra spin, trading in her grip of Bianchi's wrists for nerve pinches to both sides of evil wench's neck!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Im9jMT3zdcE&context=C369209dADOEgsToPDskJ-hSZtVZbgNOpmVdUvq1nR
The protests that were to quickly follow from between the clenched teeth of Alessandra were, despite being shockingly literate giving the pain she was immediately suffering, fell on nothing but the deafest of ears, Elizabeth’s grip only tightening as her tormentor hissed with impotent anger. Like the Hellcat she was often referred to being, Lizzie needled her nails in deeper into the lean muscles of her opponent’s shoulders, digging deep and pinching at the nerves with expert attention and playing the Gorgeous Geek like an instrument.
The Official leaned in as close as he dared to as Bianchi’s lithe frame was pushed up high above the canvas in a spine curling surfboard, the young women’s lungs emptying after deep gasps with fresh growls of increasing agony, arms shivering as she could feel them cramping and falling lifeless. Regardless of the temptation to cry out in submission, the Silicon Valley Siren shook her head vigorously, squeezing her own eyes shut as she refused to utter even the vaguest sound of surrender.
Not to Cromwell.
Not here, not today.
Not Ever!!
The enjoyment of having Bianchi in the signature predicament is obvious on Cromwell's face, but so is the growing weariness in her legs in keeping Alessandra elevated.
The returned Jewell bangs impotently on the outside of the cage, while Sammie cheers her friend on with chants of LIIIIVER-POOL. LIIIIIVER-POOL."
Elizabeth holds on for a further ten seconds of torture but Bianchi holds on longer and Cromwell finally dumps the raven-haired grappler to her side. The Brit rises and shakes out her limbs over a growly, but mewling Bianchi.
Sidling around to her foe's six, Bianchi rising to hands and knees, Elizabeth jumps to a straddle of the Terrorizing Techie's back. She drives her down with a booty bump and starts to secure an arm over each knee, ready to make her suffer all over again with a Camel Clutch, a special one of Lizzie's making where she eventually would fish-hook the corner of Alessandra's mouth to add to the pain.
Bianchi, more than capable of identifying a potential system crash, began to wriggle for all it was worth, forcing her tortured spine to pivot violently from left to right in a vain effort to dislodge her passenger. Cromwell, however, was going no-where, the red headed Brit as stubborn as all get out now that she had the bit between her teeth, and her fingers hooked between her tormentors, and yet the freckled fury growled impatiently as she failed to fully lock her hold in. With the Techie refusing to remain still, her left arm remained elusive, and the Camel Clutch, modified or otherwise, lost its potency as an inevitable outcome.
Keith, otherwise, even with the roll of her shoulders as languid as ever, was looking more animated than she had done in years, pacing back and forth just outside the squared circle, seemingly riled up after her unwanted stay amongst the audience, glaring daggers into Cromwell. Summertime Bruise remained a fresh annoyance on her otherwise ‘mellow’ karma, and tonight was not going at all like it was supposed to in order to compensate...
“HEY!” she suddenly shouted, the Ditch Weed Darling wide eyed with absolute horror, pointing with blind urgency to the opposite side of the squared circle. “HEY!!” Keith continued to SQUEAL, drawing the attention of everyone and all in the vague direction of her opposite number, the People’s Princess up to some manner or unseen shenanigans that were vile enough to fill even her with abject dread!!
Spurred on by the award winning display of Hollywood horror, the head of the Official snapped about on a swivel to catch Samantha Sinclair in the act of doing whatever it was she was about to do.
Sammie, meanwhile, was as surprised as anyone as she was attempting to do nothing, her own baby browns open wide with surprise and, in an admittedly rare occurrence in wrestling, was the picture genuine innocence, button nose and all.
Keith was anything but, dropping the act immediately and, with the man in black and white appropriately turned about, climbed up onto the apron. Something suspicious popped into her mouth, Jewell bit down on the capsule and, with a deep, almost violent exhale, sprayed a rapidly expanding cloud of green mist in the direction of Cromwell’s unsuspecting features...
"BLAHHHH," Elizabeth screams, her face instantly looking like she's turned into She-Hulk, without so much of the muscles. Blinded by the spray, Cromwell reflexively drops the squirming Alessandra to the deck and rises, spinning away from Jewell.
Keith quickly wipes her mouth as the official inspects the yelping, cursing Cromwell. He turns toward The Toker who innocently shrugs, making sure to keep her lips shut. Without a smoking gun, the referee keeps the match going and Elizabeth blindly finds a corner to begin scrubbing at her eyes.
Bianchi slowly rises, working at the knots in her aching back. She takes a glance at Cromwell then back to Jewell. This girl didn't have an Instagram account but she's damn well turning out to be useful as a blazing blunt.
Elizabeth can see a blur approach and takes wild swipes in front of her to try and keep Bianchi back, trying desperately to blink her full vision back into place.
From the moment that the air inside the squared circle had filled with an all too familiar green mist, Sammie’s explosive dander was in full swing. The scrunching of her button nose and reddening of her freckled cheeks were the sure signs of the young women’s flash pan temper, and it was all that she could to do to stop herself from climbing up the side of the steel mesh and dropping right on down into the contest herself.
Instead she quickly hopped away from the apron, huffing and puffing with the most shockingly PG Rated Huff to be recorded by live TV, and dashed on over to the closest spectators to the ringside. In a somewhat bizarre display, the Tiny Titan began franticly checking every beverage that was within her limited reach, finding not a single one filled with honest to goodness water, before she settled upon a new plan entirely, snagging a cup from the paws of a surprised (yet loyal, and later rewarded) Legionnaire (totally asking for permission first) and hastily returned to as close to the fray as she could reach...
Bianchi, meanwhile, easily sidestepped the clumsy swing of her former partner before grabbing the redhead by her mane and yanking the young women down onto her knees. A swift knee between Cromwell’s peepers stunned the already blinded Brit with savage efficiency and, with course adequately corrected, prepared to put the little bitch into permanent retirement. Even with the Official momentarily distracted with fruitless efforts to admonish Keith with ‘crimes’ he hadn’t witnessed, there would be no more forestalling the inevitable...
...Alessandria’s own eyes opened wide a moment too late as her heart skipped a beat, Sammie appearing on the apron over Cromwell’s shoulder with her Babyface Dander rising, the Upstart Supreme opting to keep things even as she HURLED the contents of her borrowed beverage into the squared circle, DOUSING Bianchi’s features with alcohol...
Bianchi's face is splashed with the golden contents of the cup. Though the liquid isn't as vile as the green gunk from Jewell's mouth, it's enough to send Alessandra spinning away, sputtering as she wipes at her eyes and spits out some of the beer from her mouth.
Blecch.
Bud Light.
Elizabeth kneels on her haunches, wobbling. Next to her, but with the steel mesh between, Sammie gives words of encouragement that don't seem to break through. Pouting slightly, she resorts to a different tact and shouts "WAKE UP" instead and Cromwell shakes her senses back into place.
She struggles to her feet just as Bianchi starts to return, furious at Sinclair and, by proxy, Cromwell. She rushes the redhead with right arm drawn for a HUGE forearm blast!!
But Elizabeth, with her sight slowly returning, dives to the right and the leaping Alessandra hits HARD into the buckles chest-first. She bounces out in a staggering backpedal and slowly turns toward Elizabeth. The Brit leaps toward Alessandra, her hands going for the back of the raven-haired grappler's neck, knees folding toward her foe's features to hit a mind numbing facebreaker!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=L85guDWTtOU
Bianchi wasn’t ready, not as she turned about in a haphazard half circle, and so it was with an inarticulate yelp that the leather clad torturer was yanked forwards with insistent force. The entirety of Cromwell’s (admittedly Lightweight) mass was far too much for her unbalanced frame to deny, and it was with a disastrous THUNK!! that her features met with a pair of weaponised knees, the raven haired grappler WHIPLASHING away from the skull jarring collision twice as violently as she had approached it. She reached vertical for but a moment, teetering with a drunken drawl before, with arms swaying, she toppled like a tree, crumbling to the canvas and barely moving.
Elizabeth tries to kip up like Sammie Sunshine, but the wear and tear on Cromwell makes the effort a failed one, Lizzie ending up on her bum. Redfaced, she pushes up, vainly hoping no one saw.
Grabbing Bianchi by her mane, Cromwell tugs Alessandra to her feet and runs her to the steel cage, tossing her over the ropes. Bianchi's face CLANGS into the metal and she bounces back, dazed, into Elizabeth's arms. The redhead spins Alessandra in place and runs her to the opposite side, CLANING her mug into the metal mesh once more. Rebounding from the collision, Alessandra drunkenly wobbles toward the centre where Elizabeth catches up with her, thrusting a boot into her foe's tummy, doubling over the Terrible Techie.
"Put this on your social media," Lizzie shouts, wrapping an arm around the back of Bianchi's head and slipping her noggin under the opposite loose limb of the raven-haired grappler.
"Time to 'Expel' this demon," Sammie shouts with a fist pumping whoop.
And Elizabeth complies, her right arm wrapping around her foe, ready to lift her off the canvas and deliver the Prep School Expulsion...
@ 00:07
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ttqciIH5dA
The Loyalist Legionnaires held their breathes collectively as Bianchi’s leather clad frame was hoisted skywards, held suspended upside down with her boots pointed towards the rafters. More than once they had witnessed the Brit’s Finisher executed this past year, but more often than not it had been Alessandria in the driver’s seat, mocking her intended victim as she intended to end Cromwell’s career. In one moment, that Phantom could be put to rest...
Elizabeth dropped, Bianchi fell with her... and the FAWNATICS erupted as Bianchi was DRIVEN into the canvas headfirst, the crown of her noggin SLAMMING into the plywood with enough brutal force to rattle all four of the ring posts and surely obliterate any further schemes she may have harboured for the evening.
Bianchi crumbled, spasming away from the emphatic landing and flopping, a puppet with her strings cut as she piled into an unconscious puddle. Cromwell had struck true, leaving devastation in her wake, claiming this FAWNMANIA as her own.
An excited Cromwell wastes no time in collecting Bianchi in a lateral press. With Jewell on the outside, bumming, her head drooping to her chin, Elizabeth collects both of Alessandra's legs behind the knees and rolls her into a tight ball, shoulders pressed to the mat, ass cheeks pointed to the ceiling.
Sammie counts for the ref in case he's forgotten how.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
Sinclair leaps into the air, deciding to high-five everyone in the front row on the way to the steps. She waits impatiently for a FAWN flunky to unlock the door.
In the meantime. Elizabeth lets Bianchi's legs flop lifelessly to the mat. She rises to all fours and hovers over Alessandra, staring down at her tormentor. "We're even," she mutters, deciding not to take further advantage of the woman she had, in another life, put on the FAWN shelf for years.
She could let the persistent vendetta against her these past months go, and was hoping Bianchi would be wise enough to do the same...when she woke up.
The freckled redhead turns to the door and starts complaining. "Get it open!" she shouts with a wide grin.
Sinclair, never entirely patient to begin with, had secured the keys herself, the ring attendee more than happy to allow the People’s Princess to have her way after the suitable, if insistent, please and Thankyouse had been exchanged, and the petite brunette soon popped the lock open. Swinging the door wide, Sammie ducked and hopped into the ring, dashing on over and reuniting the World’s Best Brit’s inside the squared circle, Upstart Supreme embracing the Upstart-In-Law in a congratulatory hug.
“Cutting it close there Cromwell,” the Tiny Titan prodded, “for a minute I thought I might have to climb in and kick all of the ass.”
"That ass was all mine, Sinclair," Lizzie assures, swallowing Sammie up in a super snug, Elizabeth going tight enough to force a soft 'ooof' from the People's Princess. Sammie coughs out a squeaky 'ok'. Cromwell loosens and lets Sammie pull back but not much more than an inch or two.
"Thanks Upstart. I might be fighting in some hall in Chelsea if not for you. Instead I just won at FAWNamaia."
Sammie nods. "And you could've done it all without me."
Lizzie tightens again, placing her chin on Sammie's left shoulder. "How did I EVER not like you?"
"I don't know," Sinclair smirked.
They break the hug as Jewell tends to a stirring Alessandra who looks up weakly and despondently at the duo above.
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth offers.
"Fuck you," Bianchi retorts, unrepentant, and unforgiving to the last.
And with that, Upstart Supreme and In-Law decide it's time to depart and celebrate with the other Upstarts backstage.