Post by alyadmirer on Nov 26, 2015 3:23:19 GMT
With the FAWNatics clamoring for more of the best in women’s wrestling, the arena’s speakers spark to life with the pounding of Metallica’s “Don’t Tread on Me”.
"DON’T TREAD ON ME":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPl2sTo_8-o
A few scattered ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet, saluting crisply. The other 98 percent of the FAWNatics make themselves known, raining a cascade of boos toward the upper stage.
And the haters only get louder when the familiar little blonde hardbody strides to center stage. If anyone thinks losing a chance to move up the World Title contending ladder by taking it on the chin from Ivy Armstrong and then being ‘dumpsterized’ at Mania by Nyssa Bloodwind would send the company’s favorite xenophobe into her bunker, they are quickly corrected.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
The blonde brings a salute to her brow. But when the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Lockwood adds her own little twist, a middle finger remaining straight and lifted while the others recede.
The lightweight title getting further in her rear view mirror and recent losses making the opportunity to get it back less likely, Lockwood is in a foul mood, scowling at the tired, poor unruly masses that, truth be told, deserve to get expelled from our shores.
Polly sports her customary hot pants and bikini top. Lockwood alternates her country’s colors between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in just the right spots, and shimmering red and white stripes below; with white pads and boots capping off the ensemble.
The ‘True American’ has her customary cape, Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak, a previous version still in the possession of one Ivy Armstrong.
Lockwood crow hops into a jog to the ring, snarling at the moronic hordes who infest this great land. She ignores their insults and jeers, taking a swipe at one sign proclaiming ’The Redcoats are coming! And we love’em!” as the ring announcer proclaims her arrival.
“Tonight’s next battle is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From Buffalo, New York…standing 5 foot 1 inch tall and weighing in at 118 scintillating pounds of All-American Awesome; ladies and gentlemen, she is the one and only TRUE AMEREICAN…Polly Lockwood.”
The patriot ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood holds the star-spangled banner high. She sneers at the crowd returning their disdain.
Moving to a corner, she exchanges her flag for a microphone and walks to the center of the ring, pulling it to her lips.
“It’s time, my fellow Americans. Time to expel the woman who made it alright to be a foreigner in this country by duping, well, most of you into thinking she’s some kind of heroine.”
Lockwood glances around the arena, enjoying the worms waiting with baited breath.
“God blessed only one country on this beautiful blue marble. And that country is the United States of America!. A person like my foe tonight soils our great land and, in her case, has done so for well over a dozen years. Tonight. I make sure her green card expires. So get your ass down here, bytch.”
Lockwood tosses the stick to the canvas with a ‘CLUNK’ and the blonde moves to her corner, stretching her arms with tugs of the top rope.
The crowd continues to unleash a torrent of jeers on their once beloved blonde, until the arena's speakers roar into life, posing their own question for one and all:
"Do you wanna get rocked?"
”LET’S GET ROCKED:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO1Nae_EBvQ
The audience responds with a roar worthy the main event at Mania WHEN Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" begins to pump over the PA. At which point the British Bombshell herself, Sensational Shea London, strides from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful.
SHEA LONDON:
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returns to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presents a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms are primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that start at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image is broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads display the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
Well, almost. Tonight, there DOES happen to be one additional flourish for Shea: much as Polly had done moments ago, London wears her own patriotic cape, in her case the Union Jack.
The gorgeous blonde makes a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Catching sight of one particular sign in the audience, Shea's grin grows even wider. Leaning over the railing, Shea swings her left arm around the shoulders of one fortunate fan, turning to the camera and pointing at the posterboard with her right. The placard reads, rather simply, “THE DARK AGE IS OVER! FAWN IS AGAIN SENSATIONAL!!!”
Further making the fan's day, London gives him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes, shrugs off her flag cum cape and sets it underneath the bottom turnbuckle of her corner. And as the Sensational One starts to stretch along the ropes, one particularly cheeky fan gets the idea of trying to start a chant...
“U-K! U-K! U-K!”
And despite the fact that Orlando is NOT a part of the United Kingdom, the chant actually begins to take hold, more voices joining in with each chorus. Shea can’t help but smile as the volume nears deafening levels, nor can she resist giving the audience an ever so brief, upward wave of her hand.
On the opposite side of the ring, an incredulous Polly covers her ears, shouting at the assembled to shut their mouths. They choose not to comply. So Lockwood leaves her corner and strides to London, chesting up against the living legend. "You're a cancer on this country and I'm cutting you out tonight. You ready for early retirement? Or considering your age, late retirement?" Polly adds several pokes of index finger to chest to emphasize her point, her last push of the finger moved up to between Shea's eyes.
That last jab finally brings about an end to the crowd's chant, London's Legion instead responding with an aghast "OOOOOOOOOOOH!" as a smirking Polly takes a step back. For her part, Shea utters a cold chuckle as she pushes away from the ropes. And, in spite of Polly's crack about her age, the Sensational One's hand still proves to be much quicker than Lockwood's eye--or her ability to turn her head, as the Brit lands a blistering slap to the TRUE American's cheek. The crowd's tenor shifts again, back to cheers as London remarks, "Do ya know just 'OW obnoxious someone's gotta be ta make me root fer IVY in a match? I almost feel like congratulations should be in order..."
Lockwood's reddened cheek turns back to London, but Polly isn't about to turn the other. "If you feel like congrulating me do it for being your superior, I'll accept that. Otherwise, I'm just in the mood for tearing you a new one before sending you back to Mum on a slow boat to Liverpool." The bite-sized blonde hardbody pivots and aims an open hand at Shea's face to even the score before the bell has brought the match to order.
But again, Shea's hand proves quick--this time in defense. London blocks the slap with a forearm, the fires a quick jab with her other hand that connects with Polly's jaw and staggers the TRUE American backward. That serves as the referee's cue to call for the bell, and as it sounds, the Sensational One follows up with a pair of forearm shots to the chest that send Lockwood back into the ropes. Bodying in against her adversary, Shea gathers a wrist and sets her feet, preparing to whip Polly into the ropes--and then catch her with a leg lariat.
LEG LARIAT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHa4Q3aJN0E
The startled Lockwood is sent off for the ride and throws her diminutive frame into the cables. She rebounds toward the waiting Brit and when London launches, the True American is able to duck under the lariat and race to the opposite cables. Again, Polly rebounds but with offense on her mind this time, dipping a shoulder for a good old fashioned American football tackle. But Shea, having landed cleanly after her miss, reverses the lariat in the opposite direction and LEVELS Polly to the deck. The blonde's tanned legs fly out in front of her as her back hits the canvas hard enough Lockwood bounces up to a dazed seat.
Seeing Polly swaying ever so slightly, Shea surges to her feet and keeps moving. Racing into the ropes behind Lockwood, the Sensational One shoots off the rubber coated strands and back toward the TRUE American. For those watching, there's little surprise when London leaves her feet and dives over Polly's right shoulder, her hands moving to snatch hold of Lockwood's locks. The question is, how surprised would Polly be when she found her face being pulled toward the canvas via the Brit's neck snap.
The answer is...surprised enough. For when London flips with Polly's head in her possession, the veteran THUMPS Lockwood's face into the deck with a significant impact. As Shea rolls up to her feet, the blonde's head whiplashes away from the mat, Lockwood ending horizontal on the canvas, both hands holding Polly's nose as she curses a red-white-and-blue streak, furious at the old maid's fast start.
Shea, meanwhile, takes advantage of Polly's concern for her beak to drape herself across the younger blonde's chest, London hooking a leg and scoring the...
ONE...
TWNOOOOO!!!!!!
Polly kicks loose. Rising, the Sensational One grasps a handful of her opponent's hair and tugs the TRUE American up to verticality as well. Slipping Polly's noggin under her left arm, Shea's fingers slip into the former Lightweight and Tag Team champion's waistband, London intending to pop her hips and send the Benedict Arnold of FAWN's back SLAMMING into the mat via a snap suplex.
But when Shea tries to lift the testy patriot, Polly's grapevined her abbreviated stem around Shea's, grounding her. London tries to lift again but it's the same result. And before the stubborn Brit can try again, Lockwood sends the point of a knee barreling into Shea's navel, doubling her over with a deep grunt. Now, it's Polly who slips an arm behind London' neck and grabs a handful of the Union Jack to snap suplex Shea to the deck the right way. The American Way.
London's Legion wait and watch, hoping to see their heroine's boot slip behind Polly's calf. But the TRUE American's aim with her knee has been sharp, the blow knocking just enough of the steam out of the Sensational One that she has no answer when Lockwood muscles her into the air. It's a short flight, and a quick, sudden and painful landing for the British Bombshell, Shea bouncing up to a seated position with her back arched. But to her credit, London tries to quickly scramble back to her feet, her features etched in a grimace.
And London is only a tick behind the rising Lockwood. But it's time enough for the surly star-spangled beauty to drive a side kick into London's ribs and halt the dirty blonde Englishwoman in a bent stance in front of her. A smirking Polly sidles alongside, wrapping her left arm tightly around Shea's dipped noggin. She pulls London's cheek to the taut, tacky curve just over her hip and takes off for the other side of the ring with London in tow, Polly planning to leap, legs extended, and non-British bulldog Shea's face into the thinly-covered plywood.
Polly's backside hits the mat an instant before Shea's face does, but Lockwood's bum is simply pulled down by gravity. London's face has the might of FAWN's TRUE Patriot shoving her down into a vicious collision. The impact is harsh enough that the Sensational One is sent bouncing over to her back, arms and legs splayed--but instinct promptly compels the British blonde to tumble over one more time, leaving her face down, but more importantly with her shoulders up. Again, Shea tries to rise quickly in the aftermath of Polly's offense, but this time her arms and legs give way when she attempts to push up to all fours, sending her back to the mat with a groan.
Polly nods knowingly as she sits next to splayed Shea. "Can't do much against the best this country has to offer," the former lightweight champ spouts. Polly languidly turns to London and shoves the Brit's body in another half-turn, climbing on board for a lateral press and the...
ONE...
TWO...
... and the Sensational One kicks free with room to spare. The blonde grabs Shea's locks with her left hand and thumps two closed right fists into London's scalp before a scolding official convinces her to stop. The True American holds her hands high in innocence. Polly moves to a kneel and watches the FAWN icon push to all fours.
"LOOK," Lockwood shouts as she rises, moving to a standing forward straddle of the Brit. "It's time for Yankee Doodle to ride her pony!" Polly mounts her filly, wrapping her legs around Shea's middle with a scissors and reaching her arms around the front of Shea's face to slap on a crossface bridle.
The FAWNatics resort to intense booing as Polly subjects a living FAWN legend to such disrespectful conduct. But alas, there's not much Shea can do about, the blonde Briton uttering a sharp hiss of anguish as Lockwood joined hands crank back, just under her nose, forcing London's neck to crane at a most uncomfortable angle. Compounding matters, the constriction of the TRUE American's thighs around her midsection forces the Sensational One into an involuntary gallup, transporting Polly a couple of strides around the ring. But soon, London starts attempting to buck Lockwood out of her saddle, though it seems that Olivia Barker might have taught the blonde some Texas-style bareback riding during the days of the Young Americans.
Unhappy that she can't seem to break London of the bad habit of refusing to capitulate, Lockwood releases her crossface and bangs a nasty forearm smash across the right side of the Brit's mug. The impact sends London flopping to her side with the True American maintaining her crushing body scissors. Polly presses onto her palms to increase the pressure from her sinewy stems, working Shea's tummy and ribs unrelentingly. "I could beat you flying around," Polly claims. "Everyone knows that. But I'm just going to grind you down and wear you out and show all these fans, once and for all, YOU ARE a has been."
When you've experienced an Ivy Armstrong bodyscissors, it takes a lot for another set to impress. The Sensational One might not exactly be impressed, but she's forced to appreciate--particularly with each flex of Lockwood's stems. A grunting Shea shakes off the referee's request for a submission, the Brit fashioning her elbows into points and digging them into the meat of Polly's powerful inner thighs. Now it's the American blonde's turn to hiss through clenched teeth, but her ankles remained crossed. Abandoning the work of her elbows, Shea attempts to inch her way toward the ropes on her tush, hoping to draw close enough that she can hook a boot--or perhaps both--on the bottom cable.
And though she fights London's efforts for every inch, Polly can't deny the face of FAWN her escape. The Brit wraps a palm around the cable and the ref is quick to start his count, showing the legend her due respect. It seems Lockwood might for once as well, as she quickly unwraps her legs and rises, only to deliver an insulting slap to the top of Shea's braincase as she backs away. Polly raises her arms high and wide. "I'm covering you in Stars and Stripes when I'm done with you, grandma. It'll be your career's burial shroud."
Not appreciating the amount of time the Sensational One is taking to rise, Polly closes in and grabs a shock of dirty blonde locks, pulling London the rest of the way up. She pivots to Irish whip Shea away. As London heads off, Polly hops over the ropes, turns, and quickly grabs the middle cable, ready to deliver a signature Lockwood Lunge on the limey's return.
LOCKWOOD LUNGE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bX4B0_6k_rM
Only as Polly shoots through the ropes, Shea leaves her feet, leapfrogging the devastating Lunge and avoiding its damage. Of course, that doesn't leave much room for London to get her feet back down, but she manages to do so and continue on her way into the ropes...
... but the more impressive display of athleticism quite possibly comes behind the Brit, as Lockwood manages to audible from her spear into a diving forward roll, a roll that Polly gracefully comes out of on her feet. And, like Shea, she continues to sprint toward the cables in front of her. It no doubt comes as something of a shock to the Sensational One upon bounding off the rubber coated steel that she has the TRUE American charging toward her once again, which might be why she's too slow to respond when Lockwood leaps into the air and drives a SAVAGE knee into the Brit's mug!
BYTCHKILLA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQF2Hl20PK8
Stopped DEAD in her tracks, Shea plummets to the deck and into a roll of her own--a considerably less graceful backward roll that ends with the British Bombshell in a twitching, boneless spreadeagle. It's a display which the FAWNatics can't help but be impressed by--though any begrudging goodwill earned by the TRUE American is erased when Polly climbs to her feet and mockingly bows to all four sides of the arena. She then leisurely saunters over to the fallen Shea, dropping to a seat alongside London's right flank before reclining against her chest. And as the official starts to slap the canvas, Lockwood raises a hand and counts along on her fingers for the...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shea shrugs her right shoulder up.
Lockwood turns to the official. "Lemme guess. You're voting for Bernie, aren't you?"
Polly shakes her head in disgust. She rises and drives a boot into Shea's temple that quiets the legend's squirming. With London laid low, the True American strides dutifully to the corner and climbs crisply to the top. Looking out on the Polly Patriots, she offers a salute to the few, the proud and launches into a graceful backflip off the top buckle, Polly then plummeting toward the open tummy of the Manchester native for the splash, Lockwood ready to drive any last bit of oxygen out of London with an 'I Want You!' from an Uncle Sam of a moonsault.
Shea had impressed everyone watching with her spasm of a kickout following the Bytchkilla, but surely that could be explained by the last flickers of instinct. After such a violent collision of knee and face, the Sensational One might have held onto consciousness for a few seconds, but no doubt that parting stomp to the temple had snuffed out the remains of her senses. However, as the TRUE American comes out of her rotation, Shea suddenly throws her weight to the right, leaving Polly to grow wide-eyed as she descends toward now-vacated canvas. Lockwood bounces up to her knees, cheeks puffed and both arms wrapped around her bronzed tummy before she pitches over to her left hip--but Shea's act of rebellion ends with her roll, the Brit falling motionless on her belly.
Both women remain down long enough the official is forced to start his count on London and Lockwood. The man reaches a full 'SIX' before they start to push to their feet with Polly slightly ahead of her counterpart. Each make unsteady feet at 'EIGHT' and it seems the Yankee Doodler is still the one with more life in her legs and light in her attic. Polly takes off at a solid sprint toward the ropes behind her and bounds into the rubber-coated cables. Picking up steam, she lowers a shoulder as she approaches the wobbly Brit. Though this spear might not be a Lockwood Lunge, it's going to be the best approximation the blonde could manage and it would surely rip the Bombshell in half.
Only as Polly ducks down, Shea swings a boot upward, connecting with Lockwood's chin and propelling the TRUE American back to her full height--and a little beyond as she rocks back onto the balls of her feet. In the next instant, the Sensational One pivots away from her opponent, reaching over her shoulder and claiming hold of Lockwood's noggin. London then starts to kick her legs outward, aiming to lay out and connect with her London Calling!
LONDON CALLING @0:28:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQx-0JQGH-E
Shea lays out like hundreds of times before and like 90-some percent of them, she brings her foe with her. Lockwood's chin is DRIVEN into the canvas with incredible force, Shea's Call reaching it's intended target. The force of the impact sends the blonde hardbody halfway up to kneeling before she barrel rolls to her back, out cold in a spreadeagle. Next to her, however, lays London. Slow to take advantage, the Brit doesn't move for several long seconds, turning the roaring crowd into a pleading one. Finally, Shea crawls to Polly's carcass and covers for the...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
From nowhere, the True American shows her colors and lifts a shoulder up by the scantiest of margins, drawing an enormous groan from the crowd and a look of pained surprise from FAWN's living legend.
It's hard to overstate the psychological impact of having your patented, almost guaranteed match-ending move kicked out of. It was only natural to be devastated, but the mark of a true veteran-and a true LEGEND--is being able to push that disappointment to the side and get back on the attack, which is what the Sensational One does now, climbing back to her feet with some effort and yanking the TRUE American up as well. Turning the woozy Polly to face away from her, London nuzzles in tight, wrapping her arms around the American blonde's waist. She then takes a page out of the book of another American turncoat blonde, one she used to tag with, preparing to bridge back and execute a German suplex.
And many of the former Corps roar as Shea vaults Lockwood off the deck, the blonde's arms pinwheeling, legs bicycling as she goes up and over. Beautifully, London plants Polly's shoulders to the canvas and holds her there, patriotic patootie pointed to the rafters. As London bridges, holding the star-spangled bytch in place, the crowd counts along with the official...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOO!
With the ref's hand no more than a few inches off the canvas, Lockwood manages to flop to her side out of the Brit's grasp and save herself, for the moment.
This time, there was no hesitation from the British Bombshell. No expression of utter disbelief. Just a determined glare as she pushed back to her feet--itself a more easily accomplished task than it had been just a few moments ago. Getting her second wind in earnest, Shea stoops down, gathering up a handful of Polly's flaxen tresses before tugging the former Lightweight champ back to verticality. Lining Lockwood up with the far corner, the Sensational One sets her feet and starts to send her opponent racing toward the buckles with an Irish whip. What follows next would very much depend on Polly--if her arms flopped over the top rope, she'd launch a tumbling run and deliver a handspring elbow, but if Lockwood's legs gave way and she plopped to a seat, then Shea would turn to busting this smug, obnoxious bronco.
Luck seems to be on the side of the FAWNatics as the 'Call' placed earlier by London has Lockwood struggling to take her gauge off 'E'. The vertically-challenged, blonde hardbody races across the canvas from Shea's whip and turns into a THUMPING impact with the buckles. The collision unhinges Polly's lower limbs and she plops to the canvas, legs extended in front of her, arms limp to the sides and head lolling. The position is like red to a bull for the Brit, who crow-hops into a sprint few could match in speed. Shea leaps legs wide and extended as she closes in and RAMS her backside into Polly's pert chest. And as Shea busts the increasingly rubbery Polly, the lowering blonde's face becomes the target, Shea buffeting her foe with crotch and bum until the 'patriot' is blasted to horizontal.
With Lockwood driven completely to her back, Shea uses the top rope to pull herself back up to her full height, then skips over the prone Polly. Grabbing a wrist and an ankle, the blonde Briton drags her foe just a little bit away from the corner, lining Lockwood up to her exact specifications. Satisfied, the Sensational One hops over the TRUE American and returns to the corner, once again grabbing the top rope with both hands, one on either side of the buckle. Rocking back, London propels herself to a perch on the top turnbuckle, her back to the ring. And with the FAWNatics on their feet and cheering wildly, Shea launches into a graceful moonsault, aiming to knock whatever fight remained in Polly right out of her when her tummy 'THWAP!'ed down across her foe's bronzed midriff.
But the True American shows she still has some fight left in her. Balling her knees up, Lockwood points them toward the gut of the descending London. And Shea only has time to widen her dark eyes, impaling herself on the bony joints when she lands. The Manchester native rolls away from the disaster, hugging her taut belly, while Polly stretches out but seems unable to take advantage. The ref is forced to begin his count and reaches a full FIVE before the women start toward standing. It's a close race and neither seems ready to attack when they cut the ref's count at 'EIGHT' but it's London who strikes first...
... or tries with a right forearm toward Lockwood's jaw. Unfortunately for her fans, Polly shoots a toe kick into the already aching abs of the dirty blonde and doubles her over with a great gust of a breath. A wicked bytch slap that takes the taste from Shea's mouth sends the Brit to one knee and sends Polly into a race to the ropes behind her. The blonde emerges with momentum and a ready-made foothold upon which to place her boot and swing the opposite toward Shea's noggin for a Shining Wizard.
And just like that, the leaping Lockwood lands one foot atop Shea's thigh, while her other foot swings into the side of the Brit's noggin, bootleather connecting with cranium with a loud, distressing 'THWACK!' As Polly tumbles off her perch and to the mat, London's arms fall limp at her sides, the Sensational One's eyes vacantly staring ahead as she sways in the wind. And then, apparently, a gust from the Arena's A/C system sends Shea toppling over to her chest, leaving her sprawled in a puddled heap, offering only the occasional twitch to indicate any form of consciousness still in her possession.
Lockwood isn't exactly up quickly from one knee, but she's showing signs of her nasty self when she rises and delivers a series of boots to Shea's shoulder and ribs nearest her. London reflexively rolls off her chest and Polly forces her the rest of the way to her back with a boot to the belly. The diminutive hardbody moves to a straddle of the splayed Shea and leaps high, drawing her knees into a tuck before shooting the legs down as she drops, ready to mushroom stomp both of London's plums.
What goes up must come down, and Polly's soles go down HARD on the modest but pleasing bosom of the British Bombshell. Shea utters a loud yelp of anguish as Lockwood bounces off her gurls, landing just above London's head. And fortunately for the Sensational One, the TRUE American's boots miss any of her fanned locks, which allows Shea to roll over and push up to her knees, her left cheek remaining pressed against the mat as she tries to keep her tenderized juggs from rubbing against the abrasive canvas.
Polly adjusts her stars, obviously feeling more herself as she saunters around London. "Looks like I'm in the middle of a Run on London than a London Run". Lockwood reaches down to paintbrush Shea again, the crowd booing at the disrespect. With one message delivered, Lockwood moves to the nearest set of buckles and travels up. Apparently hungering to show what she can do from the top shelf, the blonde sets herself and leaps as Shea rises, planning on grabbing the legend's noggin on the fly by and PLANT Shea to the deck with a Flying Neckbreaker.
FLYING NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILZrVGvCktk
The TRUE American takes to the skies while her opponent is still doubled over, Shea's eyes filled with the canvas she'd just vacated, and entirely unaware of the skies from which danger descends. By the time London starts to lift her head, it's too late to react, one of Polly's hands catching her under the chin as the turncoat sails over her noggin and the other planting against London's shoulder for further guidance. Lockwood flips through the air as she flies by and yanks down the Sensational One, turning to land butt first to the mat as the back of Shea's neck CRASHES sickeningly into Polly's shoulder. As the TRUE American skips to a halt on her rump, Shea crumples into an ungainly tangle of arms and legs, face down, her left arm cradling her neck while her right boot drums the canvas weakly.
And Polly’s halt proves fleeting, the blonde pocket hardbody dropping and rolling to the apron. Climbing to her feet, Lockwood tenses as she waits for the FAWN Original to pick herself, encouraging the Sensational One with a wave of her hand. “That’s it, London,” the TRUE American whispers. “You’re time’s up, sweetheart. Your visa’s expired. And I’m about to send you on a one-way trip back to Blighty.” The blonde hardbody vaults onto the top rope as Shea sways before her, drunkenly beginning to turn...
... and when she does, Lockwood leaps into the skies, extending an arm to claim the blonde Briton’s noggin and SPIKE her skull into the canvas, detonating her Polly Rocket in legend-killing fashion.
POLLY ROCKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I
Shea staggers, seemingly toward her doom... but as Polly swoops toward claiming victory, London's legs stiffen, but in an instant they do considerably more than that, lifting her off her feet and leaping toward her foe. The Sensational One swings her upper body downward, while at the same time shooting both boots toward Polly's jaw, the FAWN Original, icon and legend digging DEEP into her bag of tricks to launch a desperation dropkick.
And no one has bigger, older bags than Shea. Though in this instance, she gets as high and timely a liftoff as anyone in Gen Next. The connection of boots to jaw sends a resounding CRAAACK through the arena. The blonde hardbody's head snaps back in a wicked whiplash. Polly's body quickly joins her braincase into a wobbly pirouette as she stumbles back to the ropes and bounces senselessly out of them, her finisher turned on its head by a woman who could still 'WOW' with the most sensational of moves. This one would certainly would rank near her all-time top.
As she plummets to the mat, some members of London's Legion are a little worried that their heroine may have exhausted the last of her reserves to stave off the executioner, remembering how slow she had been to respond following her London Calling and after her moonsault gone wrong. But those fears prove unfounded when the Sensational One rocks back onto her shoulders and EXPLODES into a kip up. With the FAWNatics rocking, Shea sprints into the ropes alongside the nearly senseless Polly, and the impact of Shea's back with the rubber coated steel cables sends Lockwood's arms slipping off the strands, the TRUE American drunkenly stumbling toward the middle of the ring. Charging up alongside, London leaves her feet, reaching out an arm to secure Polly's noggin and SLAM the American blonde's face into the mat with a bulldog.
Looking like she's had a few too many shots of Rocket's Red Glare at the Independence Day party, the glassy-eyed Polly is caught by Shea, the Brit blowing past courtesy of her legendary second wind. London snatches Lockwood's braincase as she sprints by and tugs the star-spangled bytch to the deck for a very short, violent ride. Shea BURIES Polly's face into the thinly sheathed plywood, Lockwood's head snapping off the canvas several inches before the blonde barrel rolls to her back in a starfish, her attempt to tarnish a legend turned on its head.
Rolling through to her knees, Shea plants both her hands against Polly's left flank, sending the American blonde over to her belly with a shove. The Sensational One scoots forward, planting her knees against Lockwood's back. London reaches her right hand toward Polly's chin, cupping her jaw, while the Brit's left hand moves to gather up the TRUE American's ankles. "Time ta go on tha Bridge, Pol," Shea mutters, then starts to rock back.
If Lockwood understands, she doesn't show it and London collects both handholds on the blonde without incident, digging her knees into the spine of the True American. Only when Shea leans back and rolls onto her backbone, vaulting the diminutive Lockwood into the air above her in the most painful bow-and-arrow submission known to womankind does Pol chirp back to life. It's quick pained bleats at first, Lockwood's arms waving wildly, trying to find something to grab, but finding nothing. But as Shea continues to further the arc in Polly's spinal column and keeps her extended in the air, the howls of anguish emerge from FAWN's answer to a Fox News anchor. When the ref asks Lockwood if she wants to give in, Polly spits in the man's face. "NO...AHHHH...no"
The man wipes his features and waves a 'no' to the timekeeper.
Shea grits her teeth, CRAAAANKING back on both Polly's jaw and her ankles, at the same time flexing her legs to push her knees and shins a little harder into Lockwood's back. "Wrong answer, Pol," the Sensational One hisses, pulling back on her handholds a little harder. "Ya wanna be up there 'til midnight? Cause I can keep ya there tha' long, ya know..."
A lie.
Already, Shea could feel her fingers beginning to rebel, and her legs starting to plead for a respite. But as long as SHE was the only one aware of those things, maybe there was a chance Polly would raise the white flag before London's own body started betraying her...
And almost immediately, falling for Shea's bluff, that and her hellacious hold, Polly shows the FAWNatics her colors DO indeed run. Lockwood enthusiastically nods her head, trying to slap something on Shea but unable, relegated to wildly whipping her arms, trying to find London meat to spank. Unable, the True American squeals loudly "I QUIT" following quickly behind with a ragged sob "STAHHHP. PLEEEEASE. I GIVE!"
As much as Shea wanted to let go as soon as Polly uttered the magic words, the British blonde waits for the toll of the bell--at which point she draws her hands away, sending the TRUE American tumbling off her knees with a nudge of her legs. "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer declares as London rolls up to her knees, settling back on her haunches as her hand is raised, "your winner, by submission... SHHHEEEAAA LOOONNNDDDOOONNN!!!!!"
With the official's assistance, she climbs to her feet, while poor Polly rolls over to her belly, reaching one hand to rub the small of her back. London walks past her foe, going to her corner and claiming the flag she had worn to the ring. With a flick of her wrists, Shea snaps the flag to its full length in the air before draping it over the prone form of the TRUE American. "Tha' felt good," Shea mutters, pretty much to herself. "But still bigger fish ta fry..."
Polly curses from below the draped Union Jack, squirming and fidgeting and starting to wrap one palm around the edge, preparing to tear the covering off. Shea takes a step back, seeming to measure the mostly covered "patriot". She launches high into the air, extending her flawless stems, and sends them CRASHING down across what seems likely to be the blonde's neck and chest. Though the legdrop is not quite Sensational, after one spasm, the shape under the 'Jack' is silent and motionless save a weary groan. Shea shifts her makeshift shroud over the fallen Polly once more and rises to stand in a straddle over Lockwood, yet another woman the media had tagged to take her status and career from her laid waste.
"DON’T TREAD ON ME":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPl2sTo_8-o
A few scattered ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet, saluting crisply. The other 98 percent of the FAWNatics make themselves known, raining a cascade of boos toward the upper stage.
And the haters only get louder when the familiar little blonde hardbody strides to center stage. If anyone thinks losing a chance to move up the World Title contending ladder by taking it on the chin from Ivy Armstrong and then being ‘dumpsterized’ at Mania by Nyssa Bloodwind would send the company’s favorite xenophobe into her bunker, they are quickly corrected.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
The blonde brings a salute to her brow. But when the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Lockwood adds her own little twist, a middle finger remaining straight and lifted while the others recede.
The lightweight title getting further in her rear view mirror and recent losses making the opportunity to get it back less likely, Lockwood is in a foul mood, scowling at the tired, poor unruly masses that, truth be told, deserve to get expelled from our shores.
Polly sports her customary hot pants and bikini top. Lockwood alternates her country’s colors between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in just the right spots, and shimmering red and white stripes below; with white pads and boots capping off the ensemble.
The ‘True American’ has her customary cape, Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak, a previous version still in the possession of one Ivy Armstrong.
Lockwood crow hops into a jog to the ring, snarling at the moronic hordes who infest this great land. She ignores their insults and jeers, taking a swipe at one sign proclaiming ’The Redcoats are coming! And we love’em!” as the ring announcer proclaims her arrival.
“Tonight’s next battle is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From Buffalo, New York…standing 5 foot 1 inch tall and weighing in at 118 scintillating pounds of All-American Awesome; ladies and gentlemen, she is the one and only TRUE AMEREICAN…Polly Lockwood.”
The patriot ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood holds the star-spangled banner high. She sneers at the crowd returning their disdain.
Moving to a corner, she exchanges her flag for a microphone and walks to the center of the ring, pulling it to her lips.
“It’s time, my fellow Americans. Time to expel the woman who made it alright to be a foreigner in this country by duping, well, most of you into thinking she’s some kind of heroine.”
Lockwood glances around the arena, enjoying the worms waiting with baited breath.
“God blessed only one country on this beautiful blue marble. And that country is the United States of America!. A person like my foe tonight soils our great land and, in her case, has done so for well over a dozen years. Tonight. I make sure her green card expires. So get your ass down here, bytch.”
Lockwood tosses the stick to the canvas with a ‘CLUNK’ and the blonde moves to her corner, stretching her arms with tugs of the top rope.
The crowd continues to unleash a torrent of jeers on their once beloved blonde, until the arena's speakers roar into life, posing their own question for one and all:
"Do you wanna get rocked?"
”LET’S GET ROCKED:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO1Nae_EBvQ
The audience responds with a roar worthy the main event at Mania WHEN Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" begins to pump over the PA. At which point the British Bombshell herself, Sensational Shea London, strides from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful.
SHEA LONDON:
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returns to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presents a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms are primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that start at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image is broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads display the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
Well, almost. Tonight, there DOES happen to be one additional flourish for Shea: much as Polly had done moments ago, London wears her own patriotic cape, in her case the Union Jack.
The gorgeous blonde makes a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Catching sight of one particular sign in the audience, Shea's grin grows even wider. Leaning over the railing, Shea swings her left arm around the shoulders of one fortunate fan, turning to the camera and pointing at the posterboard with her right. The placard reads, rather simply, “THE DARK AGE IS OVER! FAWN IS AGAIN SENSATIONAL!!!”
Further making the fan's day, London gives him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes, shrugs off her flag cum cape and sets it underneath the bottom turnbuckle of her corner. And as the Sensational One starts to stretch along the ropes, one particularly cheeky fan gets the idea of trying to start a chant...
“U-K! U-K! U-K!”
And despite the fact that Orlando is NOT a part of the United Kingdom, the chant actually begins to take hold, more voices joining in with each chorus. Shea can’t help but smile as the volume nears deafening levels, nor can she resist giving the audience an ever so brief, upward wave of her hand.
On the opposite side of the ring, an incredulous Polly covers her ears, shouting at the assembled to shut their mouths. They choose not to comply. So Lockwood leaves her corner and strides to London, chesting up against the living legend. "You're a cancer on this country and I'm cutting you out tonight. You ready for early retirement? Or considering your age, late retirement?" Polly adds several pokes of index finger to chest to emphasize her point, her last push of the finger moved up to between Shea's eyes.
That last jab finally brings about an end to the crowd's chant, London's Legion instead responding with an aghast "OOOOOOOOOOOH!" as a smirking Polly takes a step back. For her part, Shea utters a cold chuckle as she pushes away from the ropes. And, in spite of Polly's crack about her age, the Sensational One's hand still proves to be much quicker than Lockwood's eye--or her ability to turn her head, as the Brit lands a blistering slap to the TRUE American's cheek. The crowd's tenor shifts again, back to cheers as London remarks, "Do ya know just 'OW obnoxious someone's gotta be ta make me root fer IVY in a match? I almost feel like congratulations should be in order..."
Lockwood's reddened cheek turns back to London, but Polly isn't about to turn the other. "If you feel like congrulating me do it for being your superior, I'll accept that. Otherwise, I'm just in the mood for tearing you a new one before sending you back to Mum on a slow boat to Liverpool." The bite-sized blonde hardbody pivots and aims an open hand at Shea's face to even the score before the bell has brought the match to order.
But again, Shea's hand proves quick--this time in defense. London blocks the slap with a forearm, the fires a quick jab with her other hand that connects with Polly's jaw and staggers the TRUE American backward. That serves as the referee's cue to call for the bell, and as it sounds, the Sensational One follows up with a pair of forearm shots to the chest that send Lockwood back into the ropes. Bodying in against her adversary, Shea gathers a wrist and sets her feet, preparing to whip Polly into the ropes--and then catch her with a leg lariat.
LEG LARIAT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHa4Q3aJN0E
The startled Lockwood is sent off for the ride and throws her diminutive frame into the cables. She rebounds toward the waiting Brit and when London launches, the True American is able to duck under the lariat and race to the opposite cables. Again, Polly rebounds but with offense on her mind this time, dipping a shoulder for a good old fashioned American football tackle. But Shea, having landed cleanly after her miss, reverses the lariat in the opposite direction and LEVELS Polly to the deck. The blonde's tanned legs fly out in front of her as her back hits the canvas hard enough Lockwood bounces up to a dazed seat.
Seeing Polly swaying ever so slightly, Shea surges to her feet and keeps moving. Racing into the ropes behind Lockwood, the Sensational One shoots off the rubber coated strands and back toward the TRUE American. For those watching, there's little surprise when London leaves her feet and dives over Polly's right shoulder, her hands moving to snatch hold of Lockwood's locks. The question is, how surprised would Polly be when she found her face being pulled toward the canvas via the Brit's neck snap.
The answer is...surprised enough. For when London flips with Polly's head in her possession, the veteran THUMPS Lockwood's face into the deck with a significant impact. As Shea rolls up to her feet, the blonde's head whiplashes away from the mat, Lockwood ending horizontal on the canvas, both hands holding Polly's nose as she curses a red-white-and-blue streak, furious at the old maid's fast start.
Shea, meanwhile, takes advantage of Polly's concern for her beak to drape herself across the younger blonde's chest, London hooking a leg and scoring the...
ONE...
TWNOOOOO!!!!!!
Polly kicks loose. Rising, the Sensational One grasps a handful of her opponent's hair and tugs the TRUE American up to verticality as well. Slipping Polly's noggin under her left arm, Shea's fingers slip into the former Lightweight and Tag Team champion's waistband, London intending to pop her hips and send the Benedict Arnold of FAWN's back SLAMMING into the mat via a snap suplex.
But when Shea tries to lift the testy patriot, Polly's grapevined her abbreviated stem around Shea's, grounding her. London tries to lift again but it's the same result. And before the stubborn Brit can try again, Lockwood sends the point of a knee barreling into Shea's navel, doubling her over with a deep grunt. Now, it's Polly who slips an arm behind London' neck and grabs a handful of the Union Jack to snap suplex Shea to the deck the right way. The American Way.
London's Legion wait and watch, hoping to see their heroine's boot slip behind Polly's calf. But the TRUE American's aim with her knee has been sharp, the blow knocking just enough of the steam out of the Sensational One that she has no answer when Lockwood muscles her into the air. It's a short flight, and a quick, sudden and painful landing for the British Bombshell, Shea bouncing up to a seated position with her back arched. But to her credit, London tries to quickly scramble back to her feet, her features etched in a grimace.
And London is only a tick behind the rising Lockwood. But it's time enough for the surly star-spangled beauty to drive a side kick into London's ribs and halt the dirty blonde Englishwoman in a bent stance in front of her. A smirking Polly sidles alongside, wrapping her left arm tightly around Shea's dipped noggin. She pulls London's cheek to the taut, tacky curve just over her hip and takes off for the other side of the ring with London in tow, Polly planning to leap, legs extended, and non-British bulldog Shea's face into the thinly-covered plywood.
Polly's backside hits the mat an instant before Shea's face does, but Lockwood's bum is simply pulled down by gravity. London's face has the might of FAWN's TRUE Patriot shoving her down into a vicious collision. The impact is harsh enough that the Sensational One is sent bouncing over to her back, arms and legs splayed--but instinct promptly compels the British blonde to tumble over one more time, leaving her face down, but more importantly with her shoulders up. Again, Shea tries to rise quickly in the aftermath of Polly's offense, but this time her arms and legs give way when she attempts to push up to all fours, sending her back to the mat with a groan.
Polly nods knowingly as she sits next to splayed Shea. "Can't do much against the best this country has to offer," the former lightweight champ spouts. Polly languidly turns to London and shoves the Brit's body in another half-turn, climbing on board for a lateral press and the...
ONE...
TWO...
... and the Sensational One kicks free with room to spare. The blonde grabs Shea's locks with her left hand and thumps two closed right fists into London's scalp before a scolding official convinces her to stop. The True American holds her hands high in innocence. Polly moves to a kneel and watches the FAWN icon push to all fours.
"LOOK," Lockwood shouts as she rises, moving to a standing forward straddle of the Brit. "It's time for Yankee Doodle to ride her pony!" Polly mounts her filly, wrapping her legs around Shea's middle with a scissors and reaching her arms around the front of Shea's face to slap on a crossface bridle.
The FAWNatics resort to intense booing as Polly subjects a living FAWN legend to such disrespectful conduct. But alas, there's not much Shea can do about, the blonde Briton uttering a sharp hiss of anguish as Lockwood joined hands crank back, just under her nose, forcing London's neck to crane at a most uncomfortable angle. Compounding matters, the constriction of the TRUE American's thighs around her midsection forces the Sensational One into an involuntary gallup, transporting Polly a couple of strides around the ring. But soon, London starts attempting to buck Lockwood out of her saddle, though it seems that Olivia Barker might have taught the blonde some Texas-style bareback riding during the days of the Young Americans.
Unhappy that she can't seem to break London of the bad habit of refusing to capitulate, Lockwood releases her crossface and bangs a nasty forearm smash across the right side of the Brit's mug. The impact sends London flopping to her side with the True American maintaining her crushing body scissors. Polly presses onto her palms to increase the pressure from her sinewy stems, working Shea's tummy and ribs unrelentingly. "I could beat you flying around," Polly claims. "Everyone knows that. But I'm just going to grind you down and wear you out and show all these fans, once and for all, YOU ARE a has been."
When you've experienced an Ivy Armstrong bodyscissors, it takes a lot for another set to impress. The Sensational One might not exactly be impressed, but she's forced to appreciate--particularly with each flex of Lockwood's stems. A grunting Shea shakes off the referee's request for a submission, the Brit fashioning her elbows into points and digging them into the meat of Polly's powerful inner thighs. Now it's the American blonde's turn to hiss through clenched teeth, but her ankles remained crossed. Abandoning the work of her elbows, Shea attempts to inch her way toward the ropes on her tush, hoping to draw close enough that she can hook a boot--or perhaps both--on the bottom cable.
And though she fights London's efforts for every inch, Polly can't deny the face of FAWN her escape. The Brit wraps a palm around the cable and the ref is quick to start his count, showing the legend her due respect. It seems Lockwood might for once as well, as she quickly unwraps her legs and rises, only to deliver an insulting slap to the top of Shea's braincase as she backs away. Polly raises her arms high and wide. "I'm covering you in Stars and Stripes when I'm done with you, grandma. It'll be your career's burial shroud."
Not appreciating the amount of time the Sensational One is taking to rise, Polly closes in and grabs a shock of dirty blonde locks, pulling London the rest of the way up. She pivots to Irish whip Shea away. As London heads off, Polly hops over the ropes, turns, and quickly grabs the middle cable, ready to deliver a signature Lockwood Lunge on the limey's return.
LOCKWOOD LUNGE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bX4B0_6k_rM
Only as Polly shoots through the ropes, Shea leaves her feet, leapfrogging the devastating Lunge and avoiding its damage. Of course, that doesn't leave much room for London to get her feet back down, but she manages to do so and continue on her way into the ropes...
... but the more impressive display of athleticism quite possibly comes behind the Brit, as Lockwood manages to audible from her spear into a diving forward roll, a roll that Polly gracefully comes out of on her feet. And, like Shea, she continues to sprint toward the cables in front of her. It no doubt comes as something of a shock to the Sensational One upon bounding off the rubber coated steel that she has the TRUE American charging toward her once again, which might be why she's too slow to respond when Lockwood leaps into the air and drives a SAVAGE knee into the Brit's mug!
BYTCHKILLA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQF2Hl20PK8
Stopped DEAD in her tracks, Shea plummets to the deck and into a roll of her own--a considerably less graceful backward roll that ends with the British Bombshell in a twitching, boneless spreadeagle. It's a display which the FAWNatics can't help but be impressed by--though any begrudging goodwill earned by the TRUE American is erased when Polly climbs to her feet and mockingly bows to all four sides of the arena. She then leisurely saunters over to the fallen Shea, dropping to a seat alongside London's right flank before reclining against her chest. And as the official starts to slap the canvas, Lockwood raises a hand and counts along on her fingers for the...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shea shrugs her right shoulder up.
Lockwood turns to the official. "Lemme guess. You're voting for Bernie, aren't you?"
Polly shakes her head in disgust. She rises and drives a boot into Shea's temple that quiets the legend's squirming. With London laid low, the True American strides dutifully to the corner and climbs crisply to the top. Looking out on the Polly Patriots, she offers a salute to the few, the proud and launches into a graceful backflip off the top buckle, Polly then plummeting toward the open tummy of the Manchester native for the splash, Lockwood ready to drive any last bit of oxygen out of London with an 'I Want You!' from an Uncle Sam of a moonsault.
Shea had impressed everyone watching with her spasm of a kickout following the Bytchkilla, but surely that could be explained by the last flickers of instinct. After such a violent collision of knee and face, the Sensational One might have held onto consciousness for a few seconds, but no doubt that parting stomp to the temple had snuffed out the remains of her senses. However, as the TRUE American comes out of her rotation, Shea suddenly throws her weight to the right, leaving Polly to grow wide-eyed as she descends toward now-vacated canvas. Lockwood bounces up to her knees, cheeks puffed and both arms wrapped around her bronzed tummy before she pitches over to her left hip--but Shea's act of rebellion ends with her roll, the Brit falling motionless on her belly.
Both women remain down long enough the official is forced to start his count on London and Lockwood. The man reaches a full 'SIX' before they start to push to their feet with Polly slightly ahead of her counterpart. Each make unsteady feet at 'EIGHT' and it seems the Yankee Doodler is still the one with more life in her legs and light in her attic. Polly takes off at a solid sprint toward the ropes behind her and bounds into the rubber-coated cables. Picking up steam, she lowers a shoulder as she approaches the wobbly Brit. Though this spear might not be a Lockwood Lunge, it's going to be the best approximation the blonde could manage and it would surely rip the Bombshell in half.
Only as Polly ducks down, Shea swings a boot upward, connecting with Lockwood's chin and propelling the TRUE American back to her full height--and a little beyond as she rocks back onto the balls of her feet. In the next instant, the Sensational One pivots away from her opponent, reaching over her shoulder and claiming hold of Lockwood's noggin. London then starts to kick her legs outward, aiming to lay out and connect with her London Calling!
LONDON CALLING @0:28:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQx-0JQGH-E
Shea lays out like hundreds of times before and like 90-some percent of them, she brings her foe with her. Lockwood's chin is DRIVEN into the canvas with incredible force, Shea's Call reaching it's intended target. The force of the impact sends the blonde hardbody halfway up to kneeling before she barrel rolls to her back, out cold in a spreadeagle. Next to her, however, lays London. Slow to take advantage, the Brit doesn't move for several long seconds, turning the roaring crowd into a pleading one. Finally, Shea crawls to Polly's carcass and covers for the...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
From nowhere, the True American shows her colors and lifts a shoulder up by the scantiest of margins, drawing an enormous groan from the crowd and a look of pained surprise from FAWN's living legend.
It's hard to overstate the psychological impact of having your patented, almost guaranteed match-ending move kicked out of. It was only natural to be devastated, but the mark of a true veteran-and a true LEGEND--is being able to push that disappointment to the side and get back on the attack, which is what the Sensational One does now, climbing back to her feet with some effort and yanking the TRUE American up as well. Turning the woozy Polly to face away from her, London nuzzles in tight, wrapping her arms around the American blonde's waist. She then takes a page out of the book of another American turncoat blonde, one she used to tag with, preparing to bridge back and execute a German suplex.
And many of the former Corps roar as Shea vaults Lockwood off the deck, the blonde's arms pinwheeling, legs bicycling as she goes up and over. Beautifully, London plants Polly's shoulders to the canvas and holds her there, patriotic patootie pointed to the rafters. As London bridges, holding the star-spangled bytch in place, the crowd counts along with the official...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOO!
With the ref's hand no more than a few inches off the canvas, Lockwood manages to flop to her side out of the Brit's grasp and save herself, for the moment.
This time, there was no hesitation from the British Bombshell. No expression of utter disbelief. Just a determined glare as she pushed back to her feet--itself a more easily accomplished task than it had been just a few moments ago. Getting her second wind in earnest, Shea stoops down, gathering up a handful of Polly's flaxen tresses before tugging the former Lightweight champ back to verticality. Lining Lockwood up with the far corner, the Sensational One sets her feet and starts to send her opponent racing toward the buckles with an Irish whip. What follows next would very much depend on Polly--if her arms flopped over the top rope, she'd launch a tumbling run and deliver a handspring elbow, but if Lockwood's legs gave way and she plopped to a seat, then Shea would turn to busting this smug, obnoxious bronco.
Luck seems to be on the side of the FAWNatics as the 'Call' placed earlier by London has Lockwood struggling to take her gauge off 'E'. The vertically-challenged, blonde hardbody races across the canvas from Shea's whip and turns into a THUMPING impact with the buckles. The collision unhinges Polly's lower limbs and she plops to the canvas, legs extended in front of her, arms limp to the sides and head lolling. The position is like red to a bull for the Brit, who crow-hops into a sprint few could match in speed. Shea leaps legs wide and extended as she closes in and RAMS her backside into Polly's pert chest. And as Shea busts the increasingly rubbery Polly, the lowering blonde's face becomes the target, Shea buffeting her foe with crotch and bum until the 'patriot' is blasted to horizontal.
With Lockwood driven completely to her back, Shea uses the top rope to pull herself back up to her full height, then skips over the prone Polly. Grabbing a wrist and an ankle, the blonde Briton drags her foe just a little bit away from the corner, lining Lockwood up to her exact specifications. Satisfied, the Sensational One hops over the TRUE American and returns to the corner, once again grabbing the top rope with both hands, one on either side of the buckle. Rocking back, London propels herself to a perch on the top turnbuckle, her back to the ring. And with the FAWNatics on their feet and cheering wildly, Shea launches into a graceful moonsault, aiming to knock whatever fight remained in Polly right out of her when her tummy 'THWAP!'ed down across her foe's bronzed midriff.
But the True American shows she still has some fight left in her. Balling her knees up, Lockwood points them toward the gut of the descending London. And Shea only has time to widen her dark eyes, impaling herself on the bony joints when she lands. The Manchester native rolls away from the disaster, hugging her taut belly, while Polly stretches out but seems unable to take advantage. The ref is forced to begin his count and reaches a full FIVE before the women start toward standing. It's a close race and neither seems ready to attack when they cut the ref's count at 'EIGHT' but it's London who strikes first...
... or tries with a right forearm toward Lockwood's jaw. Unfortunately for her fans, Polly shoots a toe kick into the already aching abs of the dirty blonde and doubles her over with a great gust of a breath. A wicked bytch slap that takes the taste from Shea's mouth sends the Brit to one knee and sends Polly into a race to the ropes behind her. The blonde emerges with momentum and a ready-made foothold upon which to place her boot and swing the opposite toward Shea's noggin for a Shining Wizard.
And just like that, the leaping Lockwood lands one foot atop Shea's thigh, while her other foot swings into the side of the Brit's noggin, bootleather connecting with cranium with a loud, distressing 'THWACK!' As Polly tumbles off her perch and to the mat, London's arms fall limp at her sides, the Sensational One's eyes vacantly staring ahead as she sways in the wind. And then, apparently, a gust from the Arena's A/C system sends Shea toppling over to her chest, leaving her sprawled in a puddled heap, offering only the occasional twitch to indicate any form of consciousness still in her possession.
Lockwood isn't exactly up quickly from one knee, but she's showing signs of her nasty self when she rises and delivers a series of boots to Shea's shoulder and ribs nearest her. London reflexively rolls off her chest and Polly forces her the rest of the way to her back with a boot to the belly. The diminutive hardbody moves to a straddle of the splayed Shea and leaps high, drawing her knees into a tuck before shooting the legs down as she drops, ready to mushroom stomp both of London's plums.
What goes up must come down, and Polly's soles go down HARD on the modest but pleasing bosom of the British Bombshell. Shea utters a loud yelp of anguish as Lockwood bounces off her gurls, landing just above London's head. And fortunately for the Sensational One, the TRUE American's boots miss any of her fanned locks, which allows Shea to roll over and push up to her knees, her left cheek remaining pressed against the mat as she tries to keep her tenderized juggs from rubbing against the abrasive canvas.
Polly adjusts her stars, obviously feeling more herself as she saunters around London. "Looks like I'm in the middle of a Run on London than a London Run". Lockwood reaches down to paintbrush Shea again, the crowd booing at the disrespect. With one message delivered, Lockwood moves to the nearest set of buckles and travels up. Apparently hungering to show what she can do from the top shelf, the blonde sets herself and leaps as Shea rises, planning on grabbing the legend's noggin on the fly by and PLANT Shea to the deck with a Flying Neckbreaker.
FLYING NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILZrVGvCktk
The TRUE American takes to the skies while her opponent is still doubled over, Shea's eyes filled with the canvas she'd just vacated, and entirely unaware of the skies from which danger descends. By the time London starts to lift her head, it's too late to react, one of Polly's hands catching her under the chin as the turncoat sails over her noggin and the other planting against London's shoulder for further guidance. Lockwood flips through the air as she flies by and yanks down the Sensational One, turning to land butt first to the mat as the back of Shea's neck CRASHES sickeningly into Polly's shoulder. As the TRUE American skips to a halt on her rump, Shea crumples into an ungainly tangle of arms and legs, face down, her left arm cradling her neck while her right boot drums the canvas weakly.
And Polly’s halt proves fleeting, the blonde pocket hardbody dropping and rolling to the apron. Climbing to her feet, Lockwood tenses as she waits for the FAWN Original to pick herself, encouraging the Sensational One with a wave of her hand. “That’s it, London,” the TRUE American whispers. “You’re time’s up, sweetheart. Your visa’s expired. And I’m about to send you on a one-way trip back to Blighty.” The blonde hardbody vaults onto the top rope as Shea sways before her, drunkenly beginning to turn...
... and when she does, Lockwood leaps into the skies, extending an arm to claim the blonde Briton’s noggin and SPIKE her skull into the canvas, detonating her Polly Rocket in legend-killing fashion.
POLLY ROCKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I
Shea staggers, seemingly toward her doom... but as Polly swoops toward claiming victory, London's legs stiffen, but in an instant they do considerably more than that, lifting her off her feet and leaping toward her foe. The Sensational One swings her upper body downward, while at the same time shooting both boots toward Polly's jaw, the FAWN Original, icon and legend digging DEEP into her bag of tricks to launch a desperation dropkick.
And no one has bigger, older bags than Shea. Though in this instance, she gets as high and timely a liftoff as anyone in Gen Next. The connection of boots to jaw sends a resounding CRAAACK through the arena. The blonde hardbody's head snaps back in a wicked whiplash. Polly's body quickly joins her braincase into a wobbly pirouette as she stumbles back to the ropes and bounces senselessly out of them, her finisher turned on its head by a woman who could still 'WOW' with the most sensational of moves. This one would certainly would rank near her all-time top.
As she plummets to the mat, some members of London's Legion are a little worried that their heroine may have exhausted the last of her reserves to stave off the executioner, remembering how slow she had been to respond following her London Calling and after her moonsault gone wrong. But those fears prove unfounded when the Sensational One rocks back onto her shoulders and EXPLODES into a kip up. With the FAWNatics rocking, Shea sprints into the ropes alongside the nearly senseless Polly, and the impact of Shea's back with the rubber coated steel cables sends Lockwood's arms slipping off the strands, the TRUE American drunkenly stumbling toward the middle of the ring. Charging up alongside, London leaves her feet, reaching out an arm to secure Polly's noggin and SLAM the American blonde's face into the mat with a bulldog.
Looking like she's had a few too many shots of Rocket's Red Glare at the Independence Day party, the glassy-eyed Polly is caught by Shea, the Brit blowing past courtesy of her legendary second wind. London snatches Lockwood's braincase as she sprints by and tugs the star-spangled bytch to the deck for a very short, violent ride. Shea BURIES Polly's face into the thinly sheathed plywood, Lockwood's head snapping off the canvas several inches before the blonde barrel rolls to her back in a starfish, her attempt to tarnish a legend turned on its head.
Rolling through to her knees, Shea plants both her hands against Polly's left flank, sending the American blonde over to her belly with a shove. The Sensational One scoots forward, planting her knees against Lockwood's back. London reaches her right hand toward Polly's chin, cupping her jaw, while the Brit's left hand moves to gather up the TRUE American's ankles. "Time ta go on tha Bridge, Pol," Shea mutters, then starts to rock back.
If Lockwood understands, she doesn't show it and London collects both handholds on the blonde without incident, digging her knees into the spine of the True American. Only when Shea leans back and rolls onto her backbone, vaulting the diminutive Lockwood into the air above her in the most painful bow-and-arrow submission known to womankind does Pol chirp back to life. It's quick pained bleats at first, Lockwood's arms waving wildly, trying to find something to grab, but finding nothing. But as Shea continues to further the arc in Polly's spinal column and keeps her extended in the air, the howls of anguish emerge from FAWN's answer to a Fox News anchor. When the ref asks Lockwood if she wants to give in, Polly spits in the man's face. "NO...AHHHH...no"
The man wipes his features and waves a 'no' to the timekeeper.
Shea grits her teeth, CRAAAANKING back on both Polly's jaw and her ankles, at the same time flexing her legs to push her knees and shins a little harder into Lockwood's back. "Wrong answer, Pol," the Sensational One hisses, pulling back on her handholds a little harder. "Ya wanna be up there 'til midnight? Cause I can keep ya there tha' long, ya know..."
A lie.
Already, Shea could feel her fingers beginning to rebel, and her legs starting to plead for a respite. But as long as SHE was the only one aware of those things, maybe there was a chance Polly would raise the white flag before London's own body started betraying her...
And almost immediately, falling for Shea's bluff, that and her hellacious hold, Polly shows the FAWNatics her colors DO indeed run. Lockwood enthusiastically nods her head, trying to slap something on Shea but unable, relegated to wildly whipping her arms, trying to find London meat to spank. Unable, the True American squeals loudly "I QUIT" following quickly behind with a ragged sob "STAHHHP. PLEEEEASE. I GIVE!"
As much as Shea wanted to let go as soon as Polly uttered the magic words, the British blonde waits for the toll of the bell--at which point she draws her hands away, sending the TRUE American tumbling off her knees with a nudge of her legs. "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer declares as London rolls up to her knees, settling back on her haunches as her hand is raised, "your winner, by submission... SHHHEEEAAA LOOONNNDDDOOONNN!!!!!"
With the official's assistance, she climbs to her feet, while poor Polly rolls over to her belly, reaching one hand to rub the small of her back. London walks past her foe, going to her corner and claiming the flag she had worn to the ring. With a flick of her wrists, Shea snaps the flag to its full length in the air before draping it over the prone form of the TRUE American. "Tha' felt good," Shea mutters, pretty much to herself. "But still bigger fish ta fry..."
Polly curses from below the draped Union Jack, squirming and fidgeting and starting to wrap one palm around the edge, preparing to tear the covering off. Shea takes a step back, seeming to measure the mostly covered "patriot". She launches high into the air, extending her flawless stems, and sends them CRASHING down across what seems likely to be the blonde's neck and chest. Though the legdrop is not quite Sensational, after one spasm, the shape under the 'Jack' is silent and motionless save a weary groan. Shea shifts her makeshift shroud over the fallen Polly once more and rises to stand in a straddle over Lockwood, yet another woman the media had tagged to take her status and career from her laid waste.