Post by alyadmirer on Jan 14, 2016 0:36:27 GMT
As lockerroom gossip has it, it all started just a couple of weeks back, when a couple of staffers in the Booking Office, tossing around match ideas, came up with the idea of putting Ivy Armstrong up against Nyssa Bloodwind. "Good idea," one of them said. "Its been a while since they've fought, right? Anyone have any idea how many times they've faced off?"
"Gotta be two or three at least, I'm sure," someone else said with authority. Well, who won the last time, it was wondered aloud, in the thought of making this a direct rematch to that battle. "Ivy...right?" it was ventured by one. "No...I think maybe it was Nyssa," another contributed. Neither sounded terribly confident in their recollections...mostly because it was dawning on them that none of them could remember any of the details.
With well over a thousand matches in the FAWN history book, it's perfectly natural even for the whizzes in the B.O. to forget the facts of many of them. But a match between the 'Bama Slamma and the Nubile Navajo? There's no way that slips anyone's mind. Except that, apparently, it had.
A thorough study of the records indicates the rather shocking truth: With the exception of a tag team match between the Hellions (Armstrong and her then-partner, Cyn Mitchell) and the Bloodwind sisters, Ivy and Nyssa had never met in the squared circle.
Even Ivy, when first broached about the idea of having a match with Nyssa, was incredulous. "Of course Ah've rassled her before," the redhead insisted. But when pressed for recollections about the match, even she had to concede that she couldn't recall any. The memorable tag team match was still sharp in her mind, but any singles matches with the younger Bloodwind produced not the slightest of memory. "Ah'll be damned," Armstrong chuckled when she accepted the fact that no such match had ever taken place. "How did y'all let that one slip by? Me and the li'l Injun shoulda tussled ages ago!"
And so it came to pass that a match between Ivy and Nyssa, two of FAWN's most popular stars, was at long last booked. That both are coming off of heartbreaking title loses adds some spice to the already potent mix, insofar as both women are anxious to rebound from their setbacks with a strong win.
***
“Introducing first...standing five feet eight inches tall, and tipping the scale at one-hundred and twenty pounds...from Uriah, Alabama...she is IIIIVVVVVVYYYYYY ARMSTRONG!”
IVY ARMSTRONG:
“Wild Eyed Southern Boys” by .38 Special comes blasting through the arena's PA. Grabbing the curtain with both hands and tearing it open, the redhead struts down the aisleway, her hips sashaying with silent temptation. She wears a red and black satin corset and matching black panties that evokes a sense of Antebellum grandeur, even as the panties reveal a conspicuous degree of her backside, and instead of the discreet ankle which a saucy Southern belle might have once shown, the redhead has on display her full legs in all of their lithe splendor, perched lethally upon a pair of crimson stiletto heels. As she confidently swaggers toward the ring, she pauses before one avid fan at the barrier, waving a sign that reads THIS MATCH HAS BEEN A LONG TIME COMIN'...AND IT'S NYSSA WHO IVY WILL SOON BE NUMBIN'! Cupping his face with her hands, she plants a kiss on his forehead, then whispers something into his ear that causes his knees to buckle and his friends to whoop, holler and high five one another.
Never let it be said Ivy wasn’t willing to give her all for the fans.
Her fan outreach completed, Armstrong resumes her march to the ring, a contented smile on her ruby red lips, and her black eye-lined green eyes half-lidded like a jungle cat on the prowl. At ringside, she grabs the ropes and pulls herself up to the apron. Stepping over to the center of the ring apron, she turns to face the crowd even as her arms reach up on either side so that her hands can grasp the top cable. First she kicks off one shoe into the scrambling throng, and then the other, leaving her barefooted. Then, with a gracefulness that would put Cirque du Soleil to shame, she flips up and over the strands in a graceful arc, alighting gently inside of the ring. The end result is an eruption of gratitude from the entranced crowd.
“And her opponent," the announcer resumes, spawning another round of deafening cheers, jeers and whistles. “Hailing from Tempe, Arizona… She stands five feet three inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-two pounds… Ladies and gentlemen, she is the Nubile Navajo… NYYYYYSSSSSSSSA BLLLOOOOOOODDDDWWWWIIIIINNNNNNNDDD!”
NYSSA BLOODWIND:
The murmur of the crowd is interrupted by the first note of Rage Against the Machine. But instead of the elder Bloodwind's ‘Killing in the Name‘, the speakers blare the defiant chords of ‘Testify‘. An instant later and Nyssa pushes the curtains aside, bursting out onto the aisle, the fans bursting into warm cheers for the talented lightweight. The pedigree is no doubt responsible for part of her reception, but there is little denying that the tyro’s choice of ring gear also wins her a fair few whistles. The raven haired beauty stands clad in a faux deerskin halter, the shoulder straps eventually becoming two thin strings that crisscross her otherwise bare back. She also wears matching bikini bottoms, augmented by for lack of a better term a "half loin cloth" that descends to mid-thigh in the front, and that fails to obscure the view of her exquisite derriere in the back. Ugg boots molded to resemble moccasins complete the ensemble.
“TESTIFY”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_zyb-XXWz0
Admittedly, the younger member of the Bloodwind tribe’s career had not gotten off to the hottest start in FAWN history. In fact, Nyssa could once be said to have been the next in a long line of “lovable losers” that won the hearts of the Orlando faithful while losing matches--a lineage that traces all the way back to the likes of Kylie Sanders and Cynthia Mitchell. But, much like the Pleasant Valley Princess and the Cynful One before her, the Nubile Navajo had not just gained seasoning, but had become a champion three over, twice on her own and once alongside her big sister--and she’s managed to do so without sacrificing the adoration of the masses, the way Cynthia and Kylie had.
Buoyed by the support of the FAWNatics, a beaming Nyssa makes her way down the aisle, slapping hands along the guardrail, and doing her absolute best not to miss a single palm. Finally reaching the ring steps, Bloodwind takes them nearly two at a time, eager to get in the ring. Stopping just long enough to wipe her boots on the apron, the Nubile Navajo slips through the ropes and makes a beeline for the nearest corner. Nyssa bounds onto the middle rope, pumping a fist in the air, drawing another loud roar of support from the crowd in response.
Hopping down, Bloodwind begins to limber up, all the while keeping a minimum of one eye trained on the woman across the ring. Sure, Ivy possessed a shocking level of popularity in relation to the amount of her scruples, but even without having previously had the honor of facing Armstrong in the ring one-on-one (which the Nubile Navajo had to be assured of on no less than four separate occasions) Nyssa knew the woman underneath the bewitching smile, the sugary drawl, those sashaying hips and the legs of steel...
... and she would enjoy knocking that smile RIGHT off her lips.
Across the ring, elbow propped casually over the top rope, Armstrong stands with a look of bemusement. Nyssa’s elder sister, Juliet, has a reputation for stoicism in the ring bordering on aloofness, earning her the locker room sobriquet of ‘Big Chief Buzzkill’. Clearly, the redhead muses, the exuberance thread in the Bloodwind genetic pool bypassed the big sister and went straight to the littlest Injun.
From her position in the corner, Ivy calls out to Nyssa. “Hey, grasshopper…are y’all still wearing those things?” the redhead inquires sarcastically, pointing to her opponent’s Ugg boots. “Goodwill from 1997 called, and they want their fashion back.”
Hands on her hips, the brunette smirks and replies, “Backwoods hillbillies who don’t even know how to wear shoes shouldn’t critique the footwear of others. But if they bother you so much, why don’t you try and take them? I’ll be happy to show you the soles…right smack dab in your face.”
The ‘Bama Slamma merely smiles but says nothing more.
Both wrestlers are called to the center of the ring for final instructions, but they pay him little heed. Instead their eyes lock together, until the silence between them is broken by Ivy, who says in a low yet firm voice, “You’ve managed to stay off of my radar a good long while, sugah. But now your good luck is about to end.”
Eyes narrowing into slits of pure intensity, the Nubile Navajo hisses back, “What I told you after that tag match, years ago…about kicking your ass? Tonight’s the night I make good on that.”
The official orders them to their respective corners, but neither woman budges, instead glaring daggers at one another across the short expanse between them. After several elongated moments, realizing that neither wrestler is about to comply, the zebra just sighs and calls for the bell.
Before the clang can fade, Armstrong and Bloodwind are locked up, straining against one another. After several seconds, Nyssa manages to convert the lock-up into a wrist lock, twisting her opponent’s arm around and behind her. But Ivy deftly reverses the move, and within instants it is the brunette’s arm beings twisted.
Yet Bloodwind counters…followed mere seconds later by Armstrong. And so this contest of skills continues, the two battlers taking the measure of each other. Finally, the ‘Bama Slamma puts a halt to this with a sudden elbow smash to the jaw, stunning the Amerind. An Irish whip to the ropes sends Nyssa rebounding off of he strands, but she has the presence of mind to duck beneath her adversary’s proffered clothesline. Bloodwind increases her speed, bouncing off of the opposite cables, building momentum to go on the offensive herself…but she hadn’t realized that the redhead had cannily rushed after her. Not expecting Ivy to be Right There when she did her 180 degree turn off of the ropes, this time Bloodwind is caught flush across the chest by her rival’s arm. Her feet sweeping out from under her by the impact, the brunette lands flat on her back with a grunt, and she grunts once more…heavier this time…from a foot stomp flush to her taut abs.
A handful of hair yanks the panting Nyssa back up on her stems, and then she is whipped into the corner, her spine slamming into the padded turnbuckle. Arms draped over the top ropes, she is left wide open for a trio of kicks to her already tender tummy, leaving her gasping and momentarily dazed.
With surprising swiftness, Ivy first lifts her adversary’s right leg, then her left, each time sliding her boot off of her foot. She then throws the footwear to the crowd, leaving Bloodwind as barefooted as the Southern gal. “Well now, that was surprisingly easy,” Armstrong purrs with self-satisfaction. “What else can Ah take from you…other than your pride, of course.”
It isn’t pain that keeps Nyssa frozen, or even breathlessness. It’s disbelief. Oh, she had been de-booted a time or two in her FAWN career, sure--but it normally didn’t happen until AFTER the match was over. This was the first time she could remember it happening DURING a contest. “What the helllllllllllnnnnnnnnnpppppphhhhhhh!!!!”
Having turned her back to the corner-bound Native American beauty, Ivy cocks her elbows and launches them backwards, over her shoulders, peppering rights and lefts into Nyssa’s temples. “Honey,” the redhead drawls, “that was what we grown-ups call a rhetorical question.” Bringing the barrage to a halt, Armstrong grabs hold of Bloodwind’s pigtails, using them to deposit the Nubile Navajo flat on her backside with a hairmare. Quickly, the ‘Bama Slamma turns back to the corner and climbs her way onto the middle rope, facing the ring...
... and as Nyssa picks herself up and spins around, Armstrong takes flight, swinging her hand in a swift, downward motion to crown the Nubile Navajo with a tomahawk chop.
There’s a certain indignant quality to the FAWNatics’ gasp, witnessing the southern belle employing that particular maneuver on a member of the Bloodwind tribe, but there is little denying its effectiveness when Nyssa topples to her back. Ivy quickly drops to her knees alongside her opponent, applying the cover and scoring the...
ONE...
... but no more, Nyssa Bloodwind kicking out with some authority.
“Good, good,” Armstrong coos. “We’ve waited this long to face one another. Certainly don’t want it over TOO soon, do we?”
Rather than wait for an answer, the ‘Bama Slamma peels Nyssa off the mat and attempts to launch her toward the ropes with an Irish whip. But there’s no such thing as a Bloodwind who isn’t resilient, a fact that Nyssa demonstrates by reversing the whip and sending Ivy off for the ride. The leggy redhead sprints into the ropes, only to discover when she turns her back toward the rubber coated steel that the Nubile Navajo has taken a page out of HER book, extending an arm to SLAM across Armstrong’s sternum...
... only this time, Nyssa’s momentum not only lifts IVY off her feet, it does the same to Bloodwind herself, sending BOTH women flipping over the top rope and crashing to the thinly padded floor below. Ironically, the sight of these two lovely warriors toppling to the concrete and into a pool of tangled arms and legs brings just about every FAWNatic in attendance out of their seats and to their feet, cheering and applauding loudly...
... and only getting louder still when the Nubile Navajo proves the first to get herself extricated from the jumble.
Snatching a handful of hair, Nyssa tugs the southern beauty up to rubbery legs and prepares to send her racing into the security barrier just a few feet away. Alas, the Nubile Navajo is not the only woman in this contest capable of summoning a counter, Armstrong reversing the whip and launching Bloodwind on her way. Only instead of turning her back into the railing, Nyssa leaps into the air, landing one foot on the steel beam. And despite being unaccustomed to wrestling sans footwear, Bloodwind demonstrates little difficulty in springboarding off the barrier, propelling herself toward a suddenly wide-eyed Ivy with a Bloodhawk Press that was likely to leave the crowd chanting an impressed expletive or two, should it connect...
BLOODHAWK PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRpUTETSOIM
In mere instants, the look on Armstrong’s face goes from satisfaction to shock to thorough distress, as one hundred and twenty-two pounds of full-blooded Navajo comes crashing down on her like a wrecking ball. Impacting hard with the concrete floor of the arena, the redhead actually blacks out for a second; as she comes to, Nyssa is already pushing herself up off of the splayed Southerner.
If Ivy is sure of anything at this moment, it’s that she needs to put immediate distance between herself and her opponent. With a grunt, she makes her pain-wracked body roll over, and then she gets to her hands and knees, whereupon she starts to scramble on all fours away. But her retreat is quickly halted by a hand grasping the waistband of her panties, stretching them back and exposing the alabaster derriere of the ‘Bama Slamma in her own personal Coppertone moment.
Rising up, the raven-tressed Native American grabs her adversary by the hair and hauls her up as well. Ivy then suddenly finds her face slammed down upon the ring apron once…twice…thrice! Just narrowly beating the ref’s dawdling count to twenty, Bloodwind rolls her dazed foe into the ring and swiftly follows her. Desperate to turn the tide, Armstrong struggled up to her feet, but Nyssa steps up to her until they’re face to face. Then, with an impish little grin on her lips, she lifts her right leg up, and stomps the ball of her foot down onto the toes of Ivy’s left foot. The redhead yelps and begins hopping around on her right leg. But that ceases just as soon as the Nubile Navajo repeats the move on the Alabamian’s other foot, causing her to lose her balance and tumble to the mat on her backside.
Grabbing each of Armstrong’s ankles and spreading her legs wide, Nyssa smiles with evil intent as Ivy frantically window washes the air with her hands, pleading for mercy. Suddenly Bloodwind jumps up and drops to a seated position on the canvas, slamming both of her legs down hard into the inner thighs of her opponent. The redhead howls as she sits bolt upright…only to be met with a tomahawk chop to the forehead that sends her dazedly flopping to her back. “And that’s how that’s done, paleface!” Nyssa smirks as the crowd roars.
Rising, Nyssa turns her attention back to Ivy’s stems, certainly among the most dangerous in FAWN. But Armstrong’s legs aren’t lethal in the sense of a Shea London, carrying her around the ring at a blistering pace and propelling her to tremendous heights. Oh, she was nimble, sure, but the REAL danger in those gams comes in their sheer power--and the Nubile Navajo wants to ensure that their might wouldn’t be turned on her anytime soon.
Stepping her right foot in between the redhead’s thighs, Bloodwind bends down, grabbing Ivy’s left ankle and stuffing that foot into the pit of Armstrong’s right knee. Nyssa then folds the ‘Bama Slamma’s right leg, trapping Ivy’s left foot as she slips Armstrong’s right foot in front of her calf. When the Nubile Navajo straightens back to her full height, the result is Armstrong’s fearsome stems being tied into an ingenious knot, Nyssa’s foot holding the redhead’s legs trapped in a rather painful Indian-sitting style posture--and the pain only increases when Bloodwind abruptly throws her weight into reverse, falling to her back.
INDIAN DEATHLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKqOmTQiyx0
The Native American beauty quickly picks herself up--and, even more swiftly, drops to the mat a second time. And a third, with each fall sending an increased electric jolt of agony through Armstrong’s stems. “What do you say, Ivy?” the referee asks.
“Yeah, Ivy,” Nyssa hisses. “Had enough?”
Ivy’s only answer is a shake of the head, so the Nubile Navajo climbs to her feet and violently throws herself back to the canvas a FOURTH time.
“How ‘bout now?” the zebra asks.
“Aggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!” the ‘Bama Slamma moans, but follows up by adding, “Nuuuuuooooooaaaaaaggggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!”
Bloodwind picks herself up one more time, only this time, Ivy fights against the pain in her lower extremities to crunch up, swinging a punch to the Navajo warrior’s midriff. Nyssa grunts, but she quickly snatches a handful of hair, keeping Armstrong seated--and allowing Nyssa to deliver an elbow to the crown of the redhead’s skull. When Bloodwind releases her opponent’s tresses, the ‘Bama Slamma melts back to the canvas--and Nyssa falls backward one more time, only this time into a bridge, her arched frame keeping a steady torrent of pressure on Ivy’s knotted gams.
“How about now, Ivy?” the referee asks again, and as proud, as stubborn and as obstinate as the redhead might be, she knows it’s only a matter of time before her desire to keep working would force the unthinkable past her lips. So Armstrong digs her elbows into the mat, writhing as she tries to drag herself--and Nyssa--a little closer to the ropes. It’s an arduous task, the ‘Bama Slamma barely able to gain three inches...
... but those inches prove all the difference, as she coils her hand around the bottom rope.
“Break, Bloodwind!” the referee commands.
“What? Why?” the Native American questions.
“She has the rope,” comes the zebra’s response.
“I don’t think so, you’d better double-check,” impishly replies Nyssa, all the while keeping her Deathlock locked on.
“I know so! Now break!” the official barks.
Nyssa sits up, but instead of immediately releasing her hold, she takes her left fists and grinds her knuckles into the inside of Ivy’s left knee, drawing forth new howls of protest from the redhead, who now grabs the bottom cable with both hands and violently shakes it up and down. “I’M IN THE ROPES! MAKE HER BREAK!” she shrieks in protest.
The ref gets to the count of four before Bloodwind manages to unwind her legs from those of Armstrong. “Hold on,” she tells him. “This isn’t as easy to untie as Armstrong’s bra in the back of a pickup truck…or so a lot of the guys from her hometown say on Facebook.”
“Fuck you!” Ivy snarls, while the brunette merely smiles and acidly replies, “Yeah, they post that’s what you promise them a lot, too.”
Kipping back up to her feet, the Nubile Navajo wastes scant time bending down and grasping her opponent’s long stems, then with a jerk she lifts her up off of the mat. Ivy’s hands are pulled free of the rope, and she lands on her back with a jarring thud, and an instant later is dragged to the center of the ring, far from the safety of the strands. She then grabs tightly Armstrong’s left ankle and purrs, “We’re not finished with your leg work yet, red.” Wrapping the gam around her own leg, she begins to turn herself 180º, setting up a Spinning Toehold.
But in that brief moment when Bloodwind’s balance is precarious and her sightlines are turned away from her adversary, Armstrong brings her other leg up and thrusts it out, her foot kicking Nyssa in the hindquarters. Startled, the Indian is thrown forward and she belly flops to the canvas. Blocking out the lingering pain to her leg, the redhead moves like greased lightning, clambering to all fours and leaping at her opponent, and before Nyssa can gather her wits, she is left gurgling and gagging from an Asian Spike to the windpipe.
Knowing she’s not recovered enough to launch a full-scale counteroffensive, Ivy opts for a hold that requires minimal physical exertion from her, while still applying maximum pain to Bloodwind, and she achieves that with a Boston Crab. Now it’s Bloodwind’s cries that fill the arena, as her legs are bent back in all defiance to Nature, twisting her spine as if the ‘Bama Slamma where forging a steel rod into a horseshoe.
Now it’s Nyssa’s turn to drag herself toward the ropes, digging her elbows into the canvas and slooooowly crawling her way to safety--no easy task when your spine is being is being bent past a ‘U’ shape, Ivy leaning back almost as if she was wanting to transform Bloodwind into a perfect ‘O’. But after several seconds of struggling, the Nubile Navajo manages to latch her hand around the bottom rope. “Make her break, ref!”
“What, you think she’s gonna listen to me any more than you did?” the ref asks, still clearly a bit annoyed with Bloodwind’s earlier insolence.
“Get her off!!!” Nyssa pleads, wrapping a second set of fingers around the bottom rope for good measure.
The official takes a step back, turning his attention to Ivy--he DID have a duty, after all. “Come on, Armstrong,” he says, “she’s in the ropes. You know you’ve gotta let her go.”
“Ah gotta let her go,” the ‘Bama Slamma agrees with a nod. “But not until you start countin’, shoog.”
“Ivy...” the zebra starts to protest, only to be cut off by the redhead.
“Time’s a-wastin’, darlin’.”
At last, the ref complies.
“ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!”
Ivy tosses Nyssa’s gams away, straightening up to her full height. “Ah said, start countin’. Ah DIDN’T say y’all had to count so danggum FAST!”
The referee doesn’t bother arguing, which is fine, as Armstrong herself has already turned back to her prey. Peeling a mewling Bloodwind off the canvas, the Nubile Navajo using one hand to massage the ache out of the base of her spine, the redhead takes a wrist and launches her foe toward the ropes with an Irish whip...
... only Nyssa has other ideas. The raven haired Native American warrior reverses the whip, and it’s Ivy who finds herself sprinting toward the ropes. When the ‘Bama Slamma rebounds off the cables, she’s met with two soles to the jaw, a dropkick collapsing the redhead to the deck. To their credit, both women scramble up quickly--but Armstrong just ends up the recipient of a second dropkick, this one to the bust.
On this occasion, only the Nubile Navajo rises--Ivy remains flat on her back, whimpering softly, one arm folding across her throbbing chest. Nyssa marches over, grabs a handful of hair and tugs the ‘Bama Slamma up as far as her knees...
... but then, Armstrong’s OTHER arm swings upward, splitting Nyssa’s legs, an uppercut slamming SQUARELY into the juncture of the Nubile Navajo’s thighs.
“It’s called ‘playin’ possum, sweetheart,” Ivy coos as Nyssa’s fingers release her tresses, the Native American’s legs quaking as she turns away from Armstrong. And as the redhead pushes up to her feet, Bloodwind’s thighs slam together, her knees giving way as she plummets to the canvas. To fully cement this role reversal, Ivy gathers a handful of the Nubile Navajo’s locks, and forces Nyssa to make her way on her hands and knees over to the near ropes. The ‘Bama Slamma then SHOVES Bloodwind’s throat down across the middle rope, and quickly follows up by applying her shin to the back of Nyssa’s neck, using all her weight to choke the Native American beauty.
“You actually wanna give my five seconds this time?” Armstrong asks the official, leeeeaning ever more heavily down onto Bloodwind as the Nubile Navajo’s bared feet kick at the mat.
“ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!”
“Now, where in the world did you learn to tell time?” Ivy queries, pulling away and turning her back to Nyssa--and leaning back to rest her rump against the back of Bloodwind’s noggin, deftly applying a NEW rope choke. “We’re NOT in New York, honey. Down this way, we believe in takin’ our time...”
It may have been a nice trick, but this time the official sees through it, and he starts up a renewed count...
“ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOU...!”
Ivy steps forward, lifting her weight off of Nyssa.
“We’ll keep workin’ on in,” she purrs, giving the referee’s cheek a gentle pat as she pushes past him. For her part, Bloodwind greedily gulps down air, but she can’t quite summon the strength yet to push her way off the cables--which proves VERY helpful for the ‘Bama Slamma, who sprints into the opposite ropes, rebounds off them and LEAPS toward her foe. Ivy’s backside SLAMS down against Nyssa’s upper back, two shapely legs sliding over Bloodwind’s shoulders as the former Lightweight and Tag champion again finds her windpipe THRUST down onto harsh, rubber coated steel.
Only this time, Armstrong’s momentum keeps her slipping, from Nyssa’s back over her head, the southern beauty landing on her feet outside the ring. Deprived the resistance of Ivy’s one hundred and twenty pounds, the middle rope abruptly SNAPS back into its proper alignment--which, in turn, sends Nyssa Bloodwind spilling to her back, reaching one hand up to massage her throat as she tries to draw a pain-free breath.
From ringside, Ivy reaches in under the ropes and grabs her adversary's ankles, pulling the Native American toward her. With the lower half of Bloodwind's legs dangling over the edge of the apron, Armstrong wraps both hands around the brunette's right ankle, lifts the leg up, and then brings it crashing down, with the back of Nyssa's knee slamming into the edge of the ring. The Navajo princess howls in painful protest, and until the blinding agony subsides somewhat after a few long seconds, she fears her joint has been dislocated. Luckily for her, it hasn't...unluckily for her, the redhead isn't finished with her yet.
The ref's count nears the ten mark as Ivy rolls under the ropes into the ring, breaking the count...and then promptly rolls right back out again. Once more reaching under the strands, she grasps Nyssa's ankle and drags her over to the nearest corner. Pulling the Native American's legs around either side of the ring post, Armstrong presses her right leg against the post from the outside and wraps her opponent's limbs around her own. "Now then sugah, let's see just how nubile y'all are," the 'Bama Slamma coos as she leans backward, locking on a modified Figure Four, with the unyielding steel of the post pressed agonizingly into Nyssa's knee, tearing an ear-splitting bay from the brunette's throat.
The zebra gets very nearly to the full twenty before Ivy breaks the torturous hold and slides back into the ring. Bloodwind pulls her throbbing knee up into her chest, fighting back tears and she rocks back and forth. Rising to her feet, Armstrong moves menacingly toward her opponent, taking her by the other leg and dragging her to center ring. She then releases that limb and grabs the injured one, pulling it out and tucking Nyssa's shin under her left armpit, in seeming preparation for another maneuver on the leg...perhaps a crippling one.
But instead, the redhead merely smiles and, pinching her adversary's big toe between her thumb and forefinger, she says, "This little piggy went to Winn Dixie," giving the digit a wicked bend as she does so, drawing a yelp from her victim. Moving on to the next toe, Armstrong purrs, "and this little piggy stayed home," likewise giving an aching twist. Laughter starts to ripple through the audience, as the spectacle of the Nubile Navajo rendered as helpless as a small child is an amusing one to many. "This little piggy had a mess of grits 'n gravy," the redhead continues, working her way down the appendages, followed by, "And Ah do declare, this little piggy just went without," accompanying it with the appropriate toe twist.
Finally reaching the end, Ivy beams a smile and concludes with, "An this little ol' piggly wiggly went whee, whee, whee, all the way back to her teepee!" But rather than maul the pinky toe, the redhead instead uses her hold on Bloodwind's leg to suddenly flip the brunette over onto her belly. The Southern gal then lifts the leg high before throwing it down, smashing Nyssa's throbbing knee into the mat. The impact causes the Native American's body to jackknife up, bringing her up to her knees and thrusting her derriere up high. Dropping to one knee alongside her opponent, Ivy draws her left arm across her chest, and launches a backhand spank to the proffered posterior, the faux deerskin exposing far more skin than it covers. The slap loudly cracks across the Indian's skin, causing her body to plank on the canvas. "Well now, baby Bloodwind," Armstrong sinisterly purrs, "Ah do believe it's right time Ah got serious about teaching you a lesson."
Yanking the former Lightweight and Tag Team champion up to her feet, Ivy trades in her grip on Nyssa’s locks for her right wrist, and dipping under that arm, the southern charmer works that wing up behind Bloodwind’s back, slapping on a crisp hammerlock. As Armstrong slips out the other side, underneath he Nubile Navajo’s left arm, the redhead brings her free hand up to the back of her opponent’s head, pushing down and doubling Bloodwind over. Ivy then slipped her right leg in behind Nyssa’s right, hooking the Native American’s wounded knee as she drops to her tush.
When the ‘Bama Slamma rolls through to her left hip, Nyssa finds herself put on her back--but with the back of her head and her shoulders resting against Ivy’s extended left leg, thus preventing a pinning combination. Her right arm remains wrenched behind her back in a hammerlock, and Armstrong’s right leg STILL has her aching right knee hooked, her calf flexing to draw Bloodwind’s shapely gam further and further out to her side. In the next instant, the redhead’s free arm gathers up Nyssa’s left leg, trapping the limb underneath her arm and pulling it in the opposite direction as she stretches out.
Ever the embodiment of southern politeness, Ivy has at least done the Nubile Navajo the courtesy of leaving her one hand free, should she want to tap...
VENUS FLYTRAP/MORE IVY-FIED NAME OF YOUR CHOICE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RaqO5gNjEU
But while the only thing Nyssa can do is shake her head and thrash her hips side to side, wriggling her taut, upturned rump in the air, surrender is one thing the Native American warrior refuses to do. Oh, she cries out. She moans. She even screams a time or two. But she does not utter the two words Ivy most wants to hear. Feeling a little more playful, Ivy pulls her hand away from Bloodwind’s left thigh--but keeps her bicep close enough to keep the brunette’s gam under control.
“Ah thought you were supposed to be kickin’ my ass, darlin’,” the ‘Bama Slamma cooes... then brings her palm swooping downward, striking Nyssa’s helpless backside a second time. “Doesn’t look like it’s MY ass that’s in any trouble, does it?”
Instead of waiting for an answer, Armstrong delivers another blistering, possessive swat to Nyssa’s rump.
“DOES IT?” Ivy asks again, and AGAIN she delivers a resounding slap to Bloodwind’s tush before the Nubile Navajo can utter an anguished reply.
Maybe a few more seconds of this torture would have broken Nyssa’s resolve, but the ‘Bama Slamma seemingly grows bored with this hold, releasing her prey and rolling up to her knees. The Nubile Navajo instantly draws herself into a tight ball, hugging her right knee to her chest as Armstrong pushes up to her feet without a care in the world. Standing over the sobbing Native American beauty, Ivy looks down on her foe...
... and simply watches.
Watches, as Nyssa forces herself out of her protective shell.
Watches, as the Nubile Navajo drags herself toward the near ropes.
Watches, as Bloodwind starts to use those ropes to pull herself up to her feet.
Watches, as Nyssa takes one experimental step forward with her right leg, and lets out a plaintive cry as her knee buckles.
And then Ivy launches a kick, her foot meeting the pit of the Nubile Navajo’s right knee with a massive ‘THWAAACK!’
Bloodwind collapses as if it had been a 22 caliber slug that struck her rather than Armstrong’s foot, letting out a distressing wail as she again curls into a tight, fetal ball. Still moving with all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning in Uriah, Ivy stoops down, gathers a handful of hair and starts to pull Nyssa up off the deck...
... when Bloodwind snakes a leg through Armstrong’s, dropping back and pulling the off balance ‘Bama Slamma into a sudden small package!
ONE...
TWO...
THRE...
Ivy bucks loose, Nyssa spilling over to her stomach and again reaching for her knee as a fearful redhead sinks back on her haunches, wide-eyed as she turns to the official...
... and letting out a sigh of relief when he holds up a mere two fingers.
Satisfied that the match was still her's to win, Ivy returns her attention to her opponent, shoving Nyssa onto her belly and grasping her wrists to pull her arms back. Pressing her head into the small of her rival's back, the Southern gal then executes a somersault, the FAWNatics gasping in affront as Armstrong slaps the Dineh Deathlock on its most accomplished practitioner.
DINEH DEATHLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZXxAwXW9UQ
Bloodwind shrieks in pain, her cheeks flushing in a bit of indignation as well, but she also flails about with her right leg, her foot hooking the rope she instinctively knew was near.
Not unexpectedly, Armstrong waits until a full count of four before releasing her hold. Kneeling on the mat, she pauses to take a deep breath and wipe the sweat from her brow, then rises up, pulling a wincing Bloodwind up with her by the hair. Bullying the Native American toward the nearest corner, Ivy slips one hand down between Nyssa's thighs and the other around her shoulder, dips her knees, and with a small grunt lifts her up. She then drops her across the turnbuckle, draping her back over the padding, steel and cables. "Let's see just how nubile you really are," the 'Bama Slamma says, the menacing tone honey-coated by her drawl.
Her right hand pressing down on Nyssa's pelvis, the other down across her throat, Armstrong bends the Amerind's spine agonizingly across the turnbuckle. Bloodwind writhes in torment as the referee once more counts off, with the redhead waiting until the last possible instant before relenting. The zebra orders Ivy back, and she complies...but only for a few steps. She then lunges at her opponent, delivered a double axe handle blow to her midriff that drives a whoosh of air from Nyssa's lungs.
Now the official muscles his way between the two combatants, keeping Armstrong at bay while helping the dazed Navajo down from her perch of peril. Back on her feet, Nyssa slumps against the turnbuckles, held up by her arms draped over the top strands, her head lolling from side to side with her eyes barely open as she gives a low, soft moan. With a cruel half-smile, Ivy shoves the ref aside, grabs the top rope for stability, and lifts her shapely left leg, pressing her sole against her adversary's throat. Bloodwind's feet kick at the mat as she's choked, and when the redhead finally pulls her foot away, the Native American's legs give out from under her, sending her sliding down the turnbuckles and landing with a thud on her butt.
Now the second generation superstar stalks around the ring like a predator shark, arms raised to encourage ever-louder the roar from the spectators. Finally she takes her place in the corner opposite her embattled opponent, hungrily licks her upper lip with the tip of her tongue, and then dashes at full throttle toward Bloodwind. Nyssa tilts her head up, glazed eyes seemingly oblivious of what is about to befall her.
But then, a sudden flash of comprehension comes to her dark orbs. With a show of strength, swiftness and above all, willpower, she commands herself to get out of the way. She rolls to the side, sliding under the ropes and crashing to the arena floor in a pained heap. But the important thing is, she is no longer at ground zero. and that's unfortunate for Ivy Armstrong, who was already fully committed to executing a Bronco Buster, her body hurtling legs-first toward a target that was no longer there. She sails past the point where she would have crashed into Nyssa...but not by much. For instead of the soft facial features of her adversary, Armstrong's satin-clad groin smashes full into the steel ringpost! The redhead lets out a bestial wail, tears filling her eyes as she agonizingly pulls her legs off of the bottom ropes and curls into a fetal position, hands clutching her traumatized womanhood.
Looking first at the redhead wrapped into a trembling ball at his feet, and next at the Native American still splayed upon the concrete floor, the referee begins his slow count to the score of twenty.
It took very nearly to the count of ten for Nyssa Bloodwind to pull herself up to her knees, and just past if for Ivy Armstrong to pull herself out of her ball and roll to her belly. By twelve, the Nubile Navajo has gamely managed to climb onto the apron... only instead of breaking the count by rolling under the ropes, the Native American beauty hobbles over to the near corner, scaling the ropes.
The official keeps counting, even as the Nubile Navajo crouches on her perch. Fortunately, the danger of Bloodwind being counted out appears to fade as the redhead struggles up to her feet, her back to the corner. At the count of fifteen, the ‘Bama Slamma turns... and Nyssa takes flight, landing in front of her foe as delivering a mighty Tomahawk chop to the crown of Ivy’s skull. Armstrong’s luscious stems buckle, the southern legend tumbling to her back...
... but alas, Nyssa’s right knee does much the same, the brunette staggering into the nearby ropes with a howl of anguish. However, when Ivy rolls over to her stomach, Bloodwind ignores the fresh waves of pain shooting from her knee to limps over to the ‘Bama Slamma. Bending over deep at the waist, the Nubile Navajo presses the crown of her skull into Ivy’s back, just below the shoulderblades, and gathers up her foe’s arms. And then, bracing herself against the jolt of agony she knew would be coming, Bloodwind flipped over her prey, letting out a cry as her feet land, but the PROPER Dineh Deathlock locked in.
DINEH DEATHLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZXxAwXW9UQ
Armstrong starts shrieking almost right away, her feet kicking madly at the canvas, but interspersed with her wails and cries are also several emphatic shouts of, “Noooooooooaaaaahhhhh!!!!!” Of course, there was only so long even someone as pigheaded as the ‘Bama Slamma could hold out against such torture...
... but, unfortunately for Navajo Nation, there is also only so long that Nyssa’s battered knee can withstand the strain of her bridge. And before she can wring that satisfying submission out of Armstrong, Bloodwind releases Ivy’s arms with an anguished, disgusted, and exceedingly frustrated sigh. Hitting the mat, the Nubile Navajo rolls away from her adversary, while Armstrong does much the same, spilling out of the ring and down to the floor below.
“How are you doing, Nyssa?” the referee asks, Bloodwind allowing herself a moment’s respite to tend to her throbbing knee. “You sure you can keep going?”
A wincing Nubile Navajo starts to pull herself up. “Just you watch me...”
As she instructed the official to watch HER, however, Nyssa’s eyes were locked on the ‘Bama Slamma, Ivy struggling to her feet as well out on the floor. Again forcing her own pain as far from her mind as she can manage, Bloodwind turns and races into the ropes behind her, as fast as her balking knee will allow. Her stride might not be as fast or as graceful as usual, but still the Native American warrior sprints toward the rubber coated steel cables. And refusing to concede to the protests of her knee, the Nubile Navajo launches herself OVER the top rope, crashing into Armstrong with a breathtaking somersault plancha that sends brunette and redhead alike down in a tangle of sweat drenched arms and legs...
SOMERSAULT PLANCHA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=joCMF6xBYHE
Both beauties hit the concrete arena floor HARD, but of course Ivy takes more of the brunt. They both lay in pulchritudinous heaps, their lithe bodies wracked with pain. Finally, both begin to stir, but it is Nyssa who manages to achingly climb back up to her feet first. Grabbing Armstrong by her matted mane, she "helps" her back up as well, then grabs a wrist in preparation for whipping the Southerner into the ring post.
But that intent is brought to a gagging halt, courtesy of a thumb thrust to the Nubile Navajo's windpipe, courtesy of the 'Bama Slamma. Bloodwind stumbles backward, hands clutching her throat as she coughs and gasps. With a pronounced limp, Ivy pursues her, muscling her back against the steel ring barrier. Dipping her knees and grabbing her opponent around the thighs, Armstrong lifts her up and over the barrier, depositing the brunette on the other side...or, as it's known in the FAWN locker room, No Woman's Land. For Ivy knows that there will be no shortage of fans eager to assist Nyssa back over the railing...but that their concept of assistance is more along the lines of grabbing and groping the Arizonian. Extricating herself from these over-sexed frat boys will cost Nyssa time and energy, which are two commodities she can least afford to sacrifice now.
Ivy rolls under the ropes, putting a halt to the referee's count just as he reaches nineteen. She lay there on her back for a good fifteen seconds, right arm across her face to shield her eyes from the glaring arena lights above, as she gathers her wits and marshals her last precious ounces of strength. Then, she rolls back out of the ring, alighting to the floor just as Nyssa...hair half-covering her face, right halter strap hanging loose down her shoulder...manages to flop over the railing and escape the clutches of fandom.
Before the Nubile Navajo can gather her wits, the redhead lunges at her, delivering a massive chop to the chest that staggers the Arizonian, and is accompanied by a significant segment of the crowd howling "WHOOOOO!" But although she is taken aback by the blow for a few moments, Bloodwind then retaliates with a chop of her own. And so the two battlers war, trading chops back and forth, the skin of their chests turning red as a precursor to the bruises they will be sporting in the days to come. Suddenly with a growl that builds to a roar, Nyssa fires chop after chop, driving the gasping Ivy backward until she's pressed against the ring guard. The brunette raises her right arm, stepping in to her adversary to deliver a patented Bloodwind tomahawk chop to the forehead. But instead Armstrong grasps the railing at her back with both hands, lifts her legs, and lashes out, slamming both feet flush into Nyssa's breasts, sending her reeling backward until she slams against the ring apron, panting for breath.
With a pained groan, the exhausted and aching 'Bama Slamma rushes toward her opponent, arm raised, and she delivers a tomahawk of her own to Bloodwind's skull. The blow causes the redhead to grimace and rub her now-aching hand, but its done definite damage to the Amerind. Nonetheless, Nyssa isn't about to let some freckled ginger take her out with one of her own signature moves, so she rallies herself and delivers a tomahawk of her own. Now both grapplers are left trembling on uncertain legs, but they refuse to relent, even though they're reduces to just grabbing and yanking hair, Nyssa and Ivy yelping and moaning as the ringside floor is littered with strands of ebony and red.
And up in the ring, despite his best efforts to draw the count out, the referee finally reaches twenty and calls for the bell. Armstrong and Bloodwind ignore the clanging, continuing to tear at each other's mane, until the ref jumps out of the ring and forcibly pries them apart. He's joined moments later by two other zebras, and it takes all three to keep the wildcats apart.
"Gotta be two or three at least, I'm sure," someone else said with authority. Well, who won the last time, it was wondered aloud, in the thought of making this a direct rematch to that battle. "Ivy...right?" it was ventured by one. "No...I think maybe it was Nyssa," another contributed. Neither sounded terribly confident in their recollections...mostly because it was dawning on them that none of them could remember any of the details.
With well over a thousand matches in the FAWN history book, it's perfectly natural even for the whizzes in the B.O. to forget the facts of many of them. But a match between the 'Bama Slamma and the Nubile Navajo? There's no way that slips anyone's mind. Except that, apparently, it had.
A thorough study of the records indicates the rather shocking truth: With the exception of a tag team match between the Hellions (Armstrong and her then-partner, Cyn Mitchell) and the Bloodwind sisters, Ivy and Nyssa had never met in the squared circle.
Even Ivy, when first broached about the idea of having a match with Nyssa, was incredulous. "Of course Ah've rassled her before," the redhead insisted. But when pressed for recollections about the match, even she had to concede that she couldn't recall any. The memorable tag team match was still sharp in her mind, but any singles matches with the younger Bloodwind produced not the slightest of memory. "Ah'll be damned," Armstrong chuckled when she accepted the fact that no such match had ever taken place. "How did y'all let that one slip by? Me and the li'l Injun shoulda tussled ages ago!"
And so it came to pass that a match between Ivy and Nyssa, two of FAWN's most popular stars, was at long last booked. That both are coming off of heartbreaking title loses adds some spice to the already potent mix, insofar as both women are anxious to rebound from their setbacks with a strong win.
***
“Introducing first...standing five feet eight inches tall, and tipping the scale at one-hundred and twenty pounds...from Uriah, Alabama...she is IIIIVVVVVVYYYYYY ARMSTRONG!”
IVY ARMSTRONG:
“Wild Eyed Southern Boys” by .38 Special comes blasting through the arena's PA. Grabbing the curtain with both hands and tearing it open, the redhead struts down the aisleway, her hips sashaying with silent temptation. She wears a red and black satin corset and matching black panties that evokes a sense of Antebellum grandeur, even as the panties reveal a conspicuous degree of her backside, and instead of the discreet ankle which a saucy Southern belle might have once shown, the redhead has on display her full legs in all of their lithe splendor, perched lethally upon a pair of crimson stiletto heels. As she confidently swaggers toward the ring, she pauses before one avid fan at the barrier, waving a sign that reads THIS MATCH HAS BEEN A LONG TIME COMIN'...AND IT'S NYSSA WHO IVY WILL SOON BE NUMBIN'! Cupping his face with her hands, she plants a kiss on his forehead, then whispers something into his ear that causes his knees to buckle and his friends to whoop, holler and high five one another.
Never let it be said Ivy wasn’t willing to give her all for the fans.
Her fan outreach completed, Armstrong resumes her march to the ring, a contented smile on her ruby red lips, and her black eye-lined green eyes half-lidded like a jungle cat on the prowl. At ringside, she grabs the ropes and pulls herself up to the apron. Stepping over to the center of the ring apron, she turns to face the crowd even as her arms reach up on either side so that her hands can grasp the top cable. First she kicks off one shoe into the scrambling throng, and then the other, leaving her barefooted. Then, with a gracefulness that would put Cirque du Soleil to shame, she flips up and over the strands in a graceful arc, alighting gently inside of the ring. The end result is an eruption of gratitude from the entranced crowd.
“And her opponent," the announcer resumes, spawning another round of deafening cheers, jeers and whistles. “Hailing from Tempe, Arizona… She stands five feet three inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-two pounds… Ladies and gentlemen, she is the Nubile Navajo… NYYYYYSSSSSSSSA BLLLOOOOOOODDDDWWWWIIIIINNNNNNNDDD!”
NYSSA BLOODWIND:
The murmur of the crowd is interrupted by the first note of Rage Against the Machine. But instead of the elder Bloodwind's ‘Killing in the Name‘, the speakers blare the defiant chords of ‘Testify‘. An instant later and Nyssa pushes the curtains aside, bursting out onto the aisle, the fans bursting into warm cheers for the talented lightweight. The pedigree is no doubt responsible for part of her reception, but there is little denying that the tyro’s choice of ring gear also wins her a fair few whistles. The raven haired beauty stands clad in a faux deerskin halter, the shoulder straps eventually becoming two thin strings that crisscross her otherwise bare back. She also wears matching bikini bottoms, augmented by for lack of a better term a "half loin cloth" that descends to mid-thigh in the front, and that fails to obscure the view of her exquisite derriere in the back. Ugg boots molded to resemble moccasins complete the ensemble.
“TESTIFY”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_zyb-XXWz0
Admittedly, the younger member of the Bloodwind tribe’s career had not gotten off to the hottest start in FAWN history. In fact, Nyssa could once be said to have been the next in a long line of “lovable losers” that won the hearts of the Orlando faithful while losing matches--a lineage that traces all the way back to the likes of Kylie Sanders and Cynthia Mitchell. But, much like the Pleasant Valley Princess and the Cynful One before her, the Nubile Navajo had not just gained seasoning, but had become a champion three over, twice on her own and once alongside her big sister--and she’s managed to do so without sacrificing the adoration of the masses, the way Cynthia and Kylie had.
Buoyed by the support of the FAWNatics, a beaming Nyssa makes her way down the aisle, slapping hands along the guardrail, and doing her absolute best not to miss a single palm. Finally reaching the ring steps, Bloodwind takes them nearly two at a time, eager to get in the ring. Stopping just long enough to wipe her boots on the apron, the Nubile Navajo slips through the ropes and makes a beeline for the nearest corner. Nyssa bounds onto the middle rope, pumping a fist in the air, drawing another loud roar of support from the crowd in response.
Hopping down, Bloodwind begins to limber up, all the while keeping a minimum of one eye trained on the woman across the ring. Sure, Ivy possessed a shocking level of popularity in relation to the amount of her scruples, but even without having previously had the honor of facing Armstrong in the ring one-on-one (which the Nubile Navajo had to be assured of on no less than four separate occasions) Nyssa knew the woman underneath the bewitching smile, the sugary drawl, those sashaying hips and the legs of steel...
... and she would enjoy knocking that smile RIGHT off her lips.
Across the ring, elbow propped casually over the top rope, Armstrong stands with a look of bemusement. Nyssa’s elder sister, Juliet, has a reputation for stoicism in the ring bordering on aloofness, earning her the locker room sobriquet of ‘Big Chief Buzzkill’. Clearly, the redhead muses, the exuberance thread in the Bloodwind genetic pool bypassed the big sister and went straight to the littlest Injun.
From her position in the corner, Ivy calls out to Nyssa. “Hey, grasshopper…are y’all still wearing those things?” the redhead inquires sarcastically, pointing to her opponent’s Ugg boots. “Goodwill from 1997 called, and they want their fashion back.”
Hands on her hips, the brunette smirks and replies, “Backwoods hillbillies who don’t even know how to wear shoes shouldn’t critique the footwear of others. But if they bother you so much, why don’t you try and take them? I’ll be happy to show you the soles…right smack dab in your face.”
The ‘Bama Slamma merely smiles but says nothing more.
Both wrestlers are called to the center of the ring for final instructions, but they pay him little heed. Instead their eyes lock together, until the silence between them is broken by Ivy, who says in a low yet firm voice, “You’ve managed to stay off of my radar a good long while, sugah. But now your good luck is about to end.”
Eyes narrowing into slits of pure intensity, the Nubile Navajo hisses back, “What I told you after that tag match, years ago…about kicking your ass? Tonight’s the night I make good on that.”
The official orders them to their respective corners, but neither woman budges, instead glaring daggers at one another across the short expanse between them. After several elongated moments, realizing that neither wrestler is about to comply, the zebra just sighs and calls for the bell.
Before the clang can fade, Armstrong and Bloodwind are locked up, straining against one another. After several seconds, Nyssa manages to convert the lock-up into a wrist lock, twisting her opponent’s arm around and behind her. But Ivy deftly reverses the move, and within instants it is the brunette’s arm beings twisted.
Yet Bloodwind counters…followed mere seconds later by Armstrong. And so this contest of skills continues, the two battlers taking the measure of each other. Finally, the ‘Bama Slamma puts a halt to this with a sudden elbow smash to the jaw, stunning the Amerind. An Irish whip to the ropes sends Nyssa rebounding off of he strands, but she has the presence of mind to duck beneath her adversary’s proffered clothesline. Bloodwind increases her speed, bouncing off of the opposite cables, building momentum to go on the offensive herself…but she hadn’t realized that the redhead had cannily rushed after her. Not expecting Ivy to be Right There when she did her 180 degree turn off of the ropes, this time Bloodwind is caught flush across the chest by her rival’s arm. Her feet sweeping out from under her by the impact, the brunette lands flat on her back with a grunt, and she grunts once more…heavier this time…from a foot stomp flush to her taut abs.
A handful of hair yanks the panting Nyssa back up on her stems, and then she is whipped into the corner, her spine slamming into the padded turnbuckle. Arms draped over the top ropes, she is left wide open for a trio of kicks to her already tender tummy, leaving her gasping and momentarily dazed.
With surprising swiftness, Ivy first lifts her adversary’s right leg, then her left, each time sliding her boot off of her foot. She then throws the footwear to the crowd, leaving Bloodwind as barefooted as the Southern gal. “Well now, that was surprisingly easy,” Armstrong purrs with self-satisfaction. “What else can Ah take from you…other than your pride, of course.”
It isn’t pain that keeps Nyssa frozen, or even breathlessness. It’s disbelief. Oh, she had been de-booted a time or two in her FAWN career, sure--but it normally didn’t happen until AFTER the match was over. This was the first time she could remember it happening DURING a contest. “What the helllllllllllnnnnnnnnnpppppphhhhhhh!!!!”
Having turned her back to the corner-bound Native American beauty, Ivy cocks her elbows and launches them backwards, over her shoulders, peppering rights and lefts into Nyssa’s temples. “Honey,” the redhead drawls, “that was what we grown-ups call a rhetorical question.” Bringing the barrage to a halt, Armstrong grabs hold of Bloodwind’s pigtails, using them to deposit the Nubile Navajo flat on her backside with a hairmare. Quickly, the ‘Bama Slamma turns back to the corner and climbs her way onto the middle rope, facing the ring...
... and as Nyssa picks herself up and spins around, Armstrong takes flight, swinging her hand in a swift, downward motion to crown the Nubile Navajo with a tomahawk chop.
There’s a certain indignant quality to the FAWNatics’ gasp, witnessing the southern belle employing that particular maneuver on a member of the Bloodwind tribe, but there is little denying its effectiveness when Nyssa topples to her back. Ivy quickly drops to her knees alongside her opponent, applying the cover and scoring the...
ONE...
... but no more, Nyssa Bloodwind kicking out with some authority.
“Good, good,” Armstrong coos. “We’ve waited this long to face one another. Certainly don’t want it over TOO soon, do we?”
Rather than wait for an answer, the ‘Bama Slamma peels Nyssa off the mat and attempts to launch her toward the ropes with an Irish whip. But there’s no such thing as a Bloodwind who isn’t resilient, a fact that Nyssa demonstrates by reversing the whip and sending Ivy off for the ride. The leggy redhead sprints into the ropes, only to discover when she turns her back toward the rubber coated steel that the Nubile Navajo has taken a page out of HER book, extending an arm to SLAM across Armstrong’s sternum...
... only this time, Nyssa’s momentum not only lifts IVY off her feet, it does the same to Bloodwind herself, sending BOTH women flipping over the top rope and crashing to the thinly padded floor below. Ironically, the sight of these two lovely warriors toppling to the concrete and into a pool of tangled arms and legs brings just about every FAWNatic in attendance out of their seats and to their feet, cheering and applauding loudly...
... and only getting louder still when the Nubile Navajo proves the first to get herself extricated from the jumble.
Snatching a handful of hair, Nyssa tugs the southern beauty up to rubbery legs and prepares to send her racing into the security barrier just a few feet away. Alas, the Nubile Navajo is not the only woman in this contest capable of summoning a counter, Armstrong reversing the whip and launching Bloodwind on her way. Only instead of turning her back into the railing, Nyssa leaps into the air, landing one foot on the steel beam. And despite being unaccustomed to wrestling sans footwear, Bloodwind demonstrates little difficulty in springboarding off the barrier, propelling herself toward a suddenly wide-eyed Ivy with a Bloodhawk Press that was likely to leave the crowd chanting an impressed expletive or two, should it connect...
BLOODHAWK PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRpUTETSOIM
In mere instants, the look on Armstrong’s face goes from satisfaction to shock to thorough distress, as one hundred and twenty-two pounds of full-blooded Navajo comes crashing down on her like a wrecking ball. Impacting hard with the concrete floor of the arena, the redhead actually blacks out for a second; as she comes to, Nyssa is already pushing herself up off of the splayed Southerner.
If Ivy is sure of anything at this moment, it’s that she needs to put immediate distance between herself and her opponent. With a grunt, she makes her pain-wracked body roll over, and then she gets to her hands and knees, whereupon she starts to scramble on all fours away. But her retreat is quickly halted by a hand grasping the waistband of her panties, stretching them back and exposing the alabaster derriere of the ‘Bama Slamma in her own personal Coppertone moment.
Rising up, the raven-tressed Native American grabs her adversary by the hair and hauls her up as well. Ivy then suddenly finds her face slammed down upon the ring apron once…twice…thrice! Just narrowly beating the ref’s dawdling count to twenty, Bloodwind rolls her dazed foe into the ring and swiftly follows her. Desperate to turn the tide, Armstrong struggled up to her feet, but Nyssa steps up to her until they’re face to face. Then, with an impish little grin on her lips, she lifts her right leg up, and stomps the ball of her foot down onto the toes of Ivy’s left foot. The redhead yelps and begins hopping around on her right leg. But that ceases just as soon as the Nubile Navajo repeats the move on the Alabamian’s other foot, causing her to lose her balance and tumble to the mat on her backside.
Grabbing each of Armstrong’s ankles and spreading her legs wide, Nyssa smiles with evil intent as Ivy frantically window washes the air with her hands, pleading for mercy. Suddenly Bloodwind jumps up and drops to a seated position on the canvas, slamming both of her legs down hard into the inner thighs of her opponent. The redhead howls as she sits bolt upright…only to be met with a tomahawk chop to the forehead that sends her dazedly flopping to her back. “And that’s how that’s done, paleface!” Nyssa smirks as the crowd roars.
Rising, Nyssa turns her attention back to Ivy’s stems, certainly among the most dangerous in FAWN. But Armstrong’s legs aren’t lethal in the sense of a Shea London, carrying her around the ring at a blistering pace and propelling her to tremendous heights. Oh, she was nimble, sure, but the REAL danger in those gams comes in their sheer power--and the Nubile Navajo wants to ensure that their might wouldn’t be turned on her anytime soon.
Stepping her right foot in between the redhead’s thighs, Bloodwind bends down, grabbing Ivy’s left ankle and stuffing that foot into the pit of Armstrong’s right knee. Nyssa then folds the ‘Bama Slamma’s right leg, trapping Ivy’s left foot as she slips Armstrong’s right foot in front of her calf. When the Nubile Navajo straightens back to her full height, the result is Armstrong’s fearsome stems being tied into an ingenious knot, Nyssa’s foot holding the redhead’s legs trapped in a rather painful Indian-sitting style posture--and the pain only increases when Bloodwind abruptly throws her weight into reverse, falling to her back.
INDIAN DEATHLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKqOmTQiyx0
The Native American beauty quickly picks herself up--and, even more swiftly, drops to the mat a second time. And a third, with each fall sending an increased electric jolt of agony through Armstrong’s stems. “What do you say, Ivy?” the referee asks.
“Yeah, Ivy,” Nyssa hisses. “Had enough?”
Ivy’s only answer is a shake of the head, so the Nubile Navajo climbs to her feet and violently throws herself back to the canvas a FOURTH time.
“How ‘bout now?” the zebra asks.
“Aggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!” the ‘Bama Slamma moans, but follows up by adding, “Nuuuuuooooooaaaaaaggggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!”
Bloodwind picks herself up one more time, only this time, Ivy fights against the pain in her lower extremities to crunch up, swinging a punch to the Navajo warrior’s midriff. Nyssa grunts, but she quickly snatches a handful of hair, keeping Armstrong seated--and allowing Nyssa to deliver an elbow to the crown of the redhead’s skull. When Bloodwind releases her opponent’s tresses, the ‘Bama Slamma melts back to the canvas--and Nyssa falls backward one more time, only this time into a bridge, her arched frame keeping a steady torrent of pressure on Ivy’s knotted gams.
“How about now, Ivy?” the referee asks again, and as proud, as stubborn and as obstinate as the redhead might be, she knows it’s only a matter of time before her desire to keep working would force the unthinkable past her lips. So Armstrong digs her elbows into the mat, writhing as she tries to drag herself--and Nyssa--a little closer to the ropes. It’s an arduous task, the ‘Bama Slamma barely able to gain three inches...
... but those inches prove all the difference, as she coils her hand around the bottom rope.
“Break, Bloodwind!” the referee commands.
“What? Why?” the Native American questions.
“She has the rope,” comes the zebra’s response.
“I don’t think so, you’d better double-check,” impishly replies Nyssa, all the while keeping her Deathlock locked on.
“I know so! Now break!” the official barks.
Nyssa sits up, but instead of immediately releasing her hold, she takes her left fists and grinds her knuckles into the inside of Ivy’s left knee, drawing forth new howls of protest from the redhead, who now grabs the bottom cable with both hands and violently shakes it up and down. “I’M IN THE ROPES! MAKE HER BREAK!” she shrieks in protest.
The ref gets to the count of four before Bloodwind manages to unwind her legs from those of Armstrong. “Hold on,” she tells him. “This isn’t as easy to untie as Armstrong’s bra in the back of a pickup truck…or so a lot of the guys from her hometown say on Facebook.”
“Fuck you!” Ivy snarls, while the brunette merely smiles and acidly replies, “Yeah, they post that’s what you promise them a lot, too.”
Kipping back up to her feet, the Nubile Navajo wastes scant time bending down and grasping her opponent’s long stems, then with a jerk she lifts her up off of the mat. Ivy’s hands are pulled free of the rope, and she lands on her back with a jarring thud, and an instant later is dragged to the center of the ring, far from the safety of the strands. She then grabs tightly Armstrong’s left ankle and purrs, “We’re not finished with your leg work yet, red.” Wrapping the gam around her own leg, she begins to turn herself 180º, setting up a Spinning Toehold.
But in that brief moment when Bloodwind’s balance is precarious and her sightlines are turned away from her adversary, Armstrong brings her other leg up and thrusts it out, her foot kicking Nyssa in the hindquarters. Startled, the Indian is thrown forward and she belly flops to the canvas. Blocking out the lingering pain to her leg, the redhead moves like greased lightning, clambering to all fours and leaping at her opponent, and before Nyssa can gather her wits, she is left gurgling and gagging from an Asian Spike to the windpipe.
Knowing she’s not recovered enough to launch a full-scale counteroffensive, Ivy opts for a hold that requires minimal physical exertion from her, while still applying maximum pain to Bloodwind, and she achieves that with a Boston Crab. Now it’s Bloodwind’s cries that fill the arena, as her legs are bent back in all defiance to Nature, twisting her spine as if the ‘Bama Slamma where forging a steel rod into a horseshoe.
Now it’s Nyssa’s turn to drag herself toward the ropes, digging her elbows into the canvas and slooooowly crawling her way to safety--no easy task when your spine is being is being bent past a ‘U’ shape, Ivy leaning back almost as if she was wanting to transform Bloodwind into a perfect ‘O’. But after several seconds of struggling, the Nubile Navajo manages to latch her hand around the bottom rope. “Make her break, ref!”
“What, you think she’s gonna listen to me any more than you did?” the ref asks, still clearly a bit annoyed with Bloodwind’s earlier insolence.
“Get her off!!!” Nyssa pleads, wrapping a second set of fingers around the bottom rope for good measure.
The official takes a step back, turning his attention to Ivy--he DID have a duty, after all. “Come on, Armstrong,” he says, “she’s in the ropes. You know you’ve gotta let her go.”
“Ah gotta let her go,” the ‘Bama Slamma agrees with a nod. “But not until you start countin’, shoog.”
“Ivy...” the zebra starts to protest, only to be cut off by the redhead.
“Time’s a-wastin’, darlin’.”
At last, the ref complies.
“ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!”
Ivy tosses Nyssa’s gams away, straightening up to her full height. “Ah said, start countin’. Ah DIDN’T say y’all had to count so danggum FAST!”
The referee doesn’t bother arguing, which is fine, as Armstrong herself has already turned back to her prey. Peeling a mewling Bloodwind off the canvas, the Nubile Navajo using one hand to massage the ache out of the base of her spine, the redhead takes a wrist and launches her foe toward the ropes with an Irish whip...
... only Nyssa has other ideas. The raven haired Native American warrior reverses the whip, and it’s Ivy who finds herself sprinting toward the ropes. When the ‘Bama Slamma rebounds off the cables, she’s met with two soles to the jaw, a dropkick collapsing the redhead to the deck. To their credit, both women scramble up quickly--but Armstrong just ends up the recipient of a second dropkick, this one to the bust.
On this occasion, only the Nubile Navajo rises--Ivy remains flat on her back, whimpering softly, one arm folding across her throbbing chest. Nyssa marches over, grabs a handful of hair and tugs the ‘Bama Slamma up as far as her knees...
... but then, Armstrong’s OTHER arm swings upward, splitting Nyssa’s legs, an uppercut slamming SQUARELY into the juncture of the Nubile Navajo’s thighs.
“It’s called ‘playin’ possum, sweetheart,” Ivy coos as Nyssa’s fingers release her tresses, the Native American’s legs quaking as she turns away from Armstrong. And as the redhead pushes up to her feet, Bloodwind’s thighs slam together, her knees giving way as she plummets to the canvas. To fully cement this role reversal, Ivy gathers a handful of the Nubile Navajo’s locks, and forces Nyssa to make her way on her hands and knees over to the near ropes. The ‘Bama Slamma then SHOVES Bloodwind’s throat down across the middle rope, and quickly follows up by applying her shin to the back of Nyssa’s neck, using all her weight to choke the Native American beauty.
“You actually wanna give my five seconds this time?” Armstrong asks the official, leeeeaning ever more heavily down onto Bloodwind as the Nubile Navajo’s bared feet kick at the mat.
“ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!”
“Now, where in the world did you learn to tell time?” Ivy queries, pulling away and turning her back to Nyssa--and leaning back to rest her rump against the back of Bloodwind’s noggin, deftly applying a NEW rope choke. “We’re NOT in New York, honey. Down this way, we believe in takin’ our time...”
It may have been a nice trick, but this time the official sees through it, and he starts up a renewed count...
“ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOU...!”
Ivy steps forward, lifting her weight off of Nyssa.
“We’ll keep workin’ on in,” she purrs, giving the referee’s cheek a gentle pat as she pushes past him. For her part, Bloodwind greedily gulps down air, but she can’t quite summon the strength yet to push her way off the cables--which proves VERY helpful for the ‘Bama Slamma, who sprints into the opposite ropes, rebounds off them and LEAPS toward her foe. Ivy’s backside SLAMS down against Nyssa’s upper back, two shapely legs sliding over Bloodwind’s shoulders as the former Lightweight and Tag champion again finds her windpipe THRUST down onto harsh, rubber coated steel.
Only this time, Armstrong’s momentum keeps her slipping, from Nyssa’s back over her head, the southern beauty landing on her feet outside the ring. Deprived the resistance of Ivy’s one hundred and twenty pounds, the middle rope abruptly SNAPS back into its proper alignment--which, in turn, sends Nyssa Bloodwind spilling to her back, reaching one hand up to massage her throat as she tries to draw a pain-free breath.
From ringside, Ivy reaches in under the ropes and grabs her adversary's ankles, pulling the Native American toward her. With the lower half of Bloodwind's legs dangling over the edge of the apron, Armstrong wraps both hands around the brunette's right ankle, lifts the leg up, and then brings it crashing down, with the back of Nyssa's knee slamming into the edge of the ring. The Navajo princess howls in painful protest, and until the blinding agony subsides somewhat after a few long seconds, she fears her joint has been dislocated. Luckily for her, it hasn't...unluckily for her, the redhead isn't finished with her yet.
The ref's count nears the ten mark as Ivy rolls under the ropes into the ring, breaking the count...and then promptly rolls right back out again. Once more reaching under the strands, she grasps Nyssa's ankle and drags her over to the nearest corner. Pulling the Native American's legs around either side of the ring post, Armstrong presses her right leg against the post from the outside and wraps her opponent's limbs around her own. "Now then sugah, let's see just how nubile y'all are," the 'Bama Slamma coos as she leans backward, locking on a modified Figure Four, with the unyielding steel of the post pressed agonizingly into Nyssa's knee, tearing an ear-splitting bay from the brunette's throat.
The zebra gets very nearly to the full twenty before Ivy breaks the torturous hold and slides back into the ring. Bloodwind pulls her throbbing knee up into her chest, fighting back tears and she rocks back and forth. Rising to her feet, Armstrong moves menacingly toward her opponent, taking her by the other leg and dragging her to center ring. She then releases that limb and grabs the injured one, pulling it out and tucking Nyssa's shin under her left armpit, in seeming preparation for another maneuver on the leg...perhaps a crippling one.
But instead, the redhead merely smiles and, pinching her adversary's big toe between her thumb and forefinger, she says, "This little piggy went to Winn Dixie," giving the digit a wicked bend as she does so, drawing a yelp from her victim. Moving on to the next toe, Armstrong purrs, "and this little piggy stayed home," likewise giving an aching twist. Laughter starts to ripple through the audience, as the spectacle of the Nubile Navajo rendered as helpless as a small child is an amusing one to many. "This little piggy had a mess of grits 'n gravy," the redhead continues, working her way down the appendages, followed by, "And Ah do declare, this little piggy just went without," accompanying it with the appropriate toe twist.
Finally reaching the end, Ivy beams a smile and concludes with, "An this little ol' piggly wiggly went whee, whee, whee, all the way back to her teepee!" But rather than maul the pinky toe, the redhead instead uses her hold on Bloodwind's leg to suddenly flip the brunette over onto her belly. The Southern gal then lifts the leg high before throwing it down, smashing Nyssa's throbbing knee into the mat. The impact causes the Native American's body to jackknife up, bringing her up to her knees and thrusting her derriere up high. Dropping to one knee alongside her opponent, Ivy draws her left arm across her chest, and launches a backhand spank to the proffered posterior, the faux deerskin exposing far more skin than it covers. The slap loudly cracks across the Indian's skin, causing her body to plank on the canvas. "Well now, baby Bloodwind," Armstrong sinisterly purrs, "Ah do believe it's right time Ah got serious about teaching you a lesson."
Yanking the former Lightweight and Tag Team champion up to her feet, Ivy trades in her grip on Nyssa’s locks for her right wrist, and dipping under that arm, the southern charmer works that wing up behind Bloodwind’s back, slapping on a crisp hammerlock. As Armstrong slips out the other side, underneath he Nubile Navajo’s left arm, the redhead brings her free hand up to the back of her opponent’s head, pushing down and doubling Bloodwind over. Ivy then slipped her right leg in behind Nyssa’s right, hooking the Native American’s wounded knee as she drops to her tush.
When the ‘Bama Slamma rolls through to her left hip, Nyssa finds herself put on her back--but with the back of her head and her shoulders resting against Ivy’s extended left leg, thus preventing a pinning combination. Her right arm remains wrenched behind her back in a hammerlock, and Armstrong’s right leg STILL has her aching right knee hooked, her calf flexing to draw Bloodwind’s shapely gam further and further out to her side. In the next instant, the redhead’s free arm gathers up Nyssa’s left leg, trapping the limb underneath her arm and pulling it in the opposite direction as she stretches out.
Ever the embodiment of southern politeness, Ivy has at least done the Nubile Navajo the courtesy of leaving her one hand free, should she want to tap...
VENUS FLYTRAP/MORE IVY-FIED NAME OF YOUR CHOICE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RaqO5gNjEU
But while the only thing Nyssa can do is shake her head and thrash her hips side to side, wriggling her taut, upturned rump in the air, surrender is one thing the Native American warrior refuses to do. Oh, she cries out. She moans. She even screams a time or two. But she does not utter the two words Ivy most wants to hear. Feeling a little more playful, Ivy pulls her hand away from Bloodwind’s left thigh--but keeps her bicep close enough to keep the brunette’s gam under control.
“Ah thought you were supposed to be kickin’ my ass, darlin’,” the ‘Bama Slamma cooes... then brings her palm swooping downward, striking Nyssa’s helpless backside a second time. “Doesn’t look like it’s MY ass that’s in any trouble, does it?”
Instead of waiting for an answer, Armstrong delivers another blistering, possessive swat to Nyssa’s rump.
“DOES IT?” Ivy asks again, and AGAIN she delivers a resounding slap to Bloodwind’s tush before the Nubile Navajo can utter an anguished reply.
Maybe a few more seconds of this torture would have broken Nyssa’s resolve, but the ‘Bama Slamma seemingly grows bored with this hold, releasing her prey and rolling up to her knees. The Nubile Navajo instantly draws herself into a tight ball, hugging her right knee to her chest as Armstrong pushes up to her feet without a care in the world. Standing over the sobbing Native American beauty, Ivy looks down on her foe...
... and simply watches.
Watches, as Nyssa forces herself out of her protective shell.
Watches, as the Nubile Navajo drags herself toward the near ropes.
Watches, as Bloodwind starts to use those ropes to pull herself up to her feet.
Watches, as Nyssa takes one experimental step forward with her right leg, and lets out a plaintive cry as her knee buckles.
And then Ivy launches a kick, her foot meeting the pit of the Nubile Navajo’s right knee with a massive ‘THWAAACK!’
Bloodwind collapses as if it had been a 22 caliber slug that struck her rather than Armstrong’s foot, letting out a distressing wail as she again curls into a tight, fetal ball. Still moving with all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning in Uriah, Ivy stoops down, gathers a handful of hair and starts to pull Nyssa up off the deck...
... when Bloodwind snakes a leg through Armstrong’s, dropping back and pulling the off balance ‘Bama Slamma into a sudden small package!
ONE...
TWO...
THRE...
Ivy bucks loose, Nyssa spilling over to her stomach and again reaching for her knee as a fearful redhead sinks back on her haunches, wide-eyed as she turns to the official...
... and letting out a sigh of relief when he holds up a mere two fingers.
Satisfied that the match was still her's to win, Ivy returns her attention to her opponent, shoving Nyssa onto her belly and grasping her wrists to pull her arms back. Pressing her head into the small of her rival's back, the Southern gal then executes a somersault, the FAWNatics gasping in affront as Armstrong slaps the Dineh Deathlock on its most accomplished practitioner.
DINEH DEATHLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZXxAwXW9UQ
Bloodwind shrieks in pain, her cheeks flushing in a bit of indignation as well, but she also flails about with her right leg, her foot hooking the rope she instinctively knew was near.
Not unexpectedly, Armstrong waits until a full count of four before releasing her hold. Kneeling on the mat, she pauses to take a deep breath and wipe the sweat from her brow, then rises up, pulling a wincing Bloodwind up with her by the hair. Bullying the Native American toward the nearest corner, Ivy slips one hand down between Nyssa's thighs and the other around her shoulder, dips her knees, and with a small grunt lifts her up. She then drops her across the turnbuckle, draping her back over the padding, steel and cables. "Let's see just how nubile you really are," the 'Bama Slamma says, the menacing tone honey-coated by her drawl.
Her right hand pressing down on Nyssa's pelvis, the other down across her throat, Armstrong bends the Amerind's spine agonizingly across the turnbuckle. Bloodwind writhes in torment as the referee once more counts off, with the redhead waiting until the last possible instant before relenting. The zebra orders Ivy back, and she complies...but only for a few steps. She then lunges at her opponent, delivered a double axe handle blow to her midriff that drives a whoosh of air from Nyssa's lungs.
Now the official muscles his way between the two combatants, keeping Armstrong at bay while helping the dazed Navajo down from her perch of peril. Back on her feet, Nyssa slumps against the turnbuckles, held up by her arms draped over the top strands, her head lolling from side to side with her eyes barely open as she gives a low, soft moan. With a cruel half-smile, Ivy shoves the ref aside, grabs the top rope for stability, and lifts her shapely left leg, pressing her sole against her adversary's throat. Bloodwind's feet kick at the mat as she's choked, and when the redhead finally pulls her foot away, the Native American's legs give out from under her, sending her sliding down the turnbuckles and landing with a thud on her butt.
Now the second generation superstar stalks around the ring like a predator shark, arms raised to encourage ever-louder the roar from the spectators. Finally she takes her place in the corner opposite her embattled opponent, hungrily licks her upper lip with the tip of her tongue, and then dashes at full throttle toward Bloodwind. Nyssa tilts her head up, glazed eyes seemingly oblivious of what is about to befall her.
But then, a sudden flash of comprehension comes to her dark orbs. With a show of strength, swiftness and above all, willpower, she commands herself to get out of the way. She rolls to the side, sliding under the ropes and crashing to the arena floor in a pained heap. But the important thing is, she is no longer at ground zero. and that's unfortunate for Ivy Armstrong, who was already fully committed to executing a Bronco Buster, her body hurtling legs-first toward a target that was no longer there. She sails past the point where she would have crashed into Nyssa...but not by much. For instead of the soft facial features of her adversary, Armstrong's satin-clad groin smashes full into the steel ringpost! The redhead lets out a bestial wail, tears filling her eyes as she agonizingly pulls her legs off of the bottom ropes and curls into a fetal position, hands clutching her traumatized womanhood.
Looking first at the redhead wrapped into a trembling ball at his feet, and next at the Native American still splayed upon the concrete floor, the referee begins his slow count to the score of twenty.
It took very nearly to the count of ten for Nyssa Bloodwind to pull herself up to her knees, and just past if for Ivy Armstrong to pull herself out of her ball and roll to her belly. By twelve, the Nubile Navajo has gamely managed to climb onto the apron... only instead of breaking the count by rolling under the ropes, the Native American beauty hobbles over to the near corner, scaling the ropes.
The official keeps counting, even as the Nubile Navajo crouches on her perch. Fortunately, the danger of Bloodwind being counted out appears to fade as the redhead struggles up to her feet, her back to the corner. At the count of fifteen, the ‘Bama Slamma turns... and Nyssa takes flight, landing in front of her foe as delivering a mighty Tomahawk chop to the crown of Ivy’s skull. Armstrong’s luscious stems buckle, the southern legend tumbling to her back...
... but alas, Nyssa’s right knee does much the same, the brunette staggering into the nearby ropes with a howl of anguish. However, when Ivy rolls over to her stomach, Bloodwind ignores the fresh waves of pain shooting from her knee to limps over to the ‘Bama Slamma. Bending over deep at the waist, the Nubile Navajo presses the crown of her skull into Ivy’s back, just below the shoulderblades, and gathers up her foe’s arms. And then, bracing herself against the jolt of agony she knew would be coming, Bloodwind flipped over her prey, letting out a cry as her feet land, but the PROPER Dineh Deathlock locked in.
DINEH DEATHLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZXxAwXW9UQ
Armstrong starts shrieking almost right away, her feet kicking madly at the canvas, but interspersed with her wails and cries are also several emphatic shouts of, “Noooooooooaaaaahhhhh!!!!!” Of course, there was only so long even someone as pigheaded as the ‘Bama Slamma could hold out against such torture...
... but, unfortunately for Navajo Nation, there is also only so long that Nyssa’s battered knee can withstand the strain of her bridge. And before she can wring that satisfying submission out of Armstrong, Bloodwind releases Ivy’s arms with an anguished, disgusted, and exceedingly frustrated sigh. Hitting the mat, the Nubile Navajo rolls away from her adversary, while Armstrong does much the same, spilling out of the ring and down to the floor below.
“How are you doing, Nyssa?” the referee asks, Bloodwind allowing herself a moment’s respite to tend to her throbbing knee. “You sure you can keep going?”
A wincing Nubile Navajo starts to pull herself up. “Just you watch me...”
As she instructed the official to watch HER, however, Nyssa’s eyes were locked on the ‘Bama Slamma, Ivy struggling to her feet as well out on the floor. Again forcing her own pain as far from her mind as she can manage, Bloodwind turns and races into the ropes behind her, as fast as her balking knee will allow. Her stride might not be as fast or as graceful as usual, but still the Native American warrior sprints toward the rubber coated steel cables. And refusing to concede to the protests of her knee, the Nubile Navajo launches herself OVER the top rope, crashing into Armstrong with a breathtaking somersault plancha that sends brunette and redhead alike down in a tangle of sweat drenched arms and legs...
SOMERSAULT PLANCHA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=joCMF6xBYHE
Both beauties hit the concrete arena floor HARD, but of course Ivy takes more of the brunt. They both lay in pulchritudinous heaps, their lithe bodies wracked with pain. Finally, both begin to stir, but it is Nyssa who manages to achingly climb back up to her feet first. Grabbing Armstrong by her matted mane, she "helps" her back up as well, then grabs a wrist in preparation for whipping the Southerner into the ring post.
But that intent is brought to a gagging halt, courtesy of a thumb thrust to the Nubile Navajo's windpipe, courtesy of the 'Bama Slamma. Bloodwind stumbles backward, hands clutching her throat as she coughs and gasps. With a pronounced limp, Ivy pursues her, muscling her back against the steel ring barrier. Dipping her knees and grabbing her opponent around the thighs, Armstrong lifts her up and over the barrier, depositing the brunette on the other side...or, as it's known in the FAWN locker room, No Woman's Land. For Ivy knows that there will be no shortage of fans eager to assist Nyssa back over the railing...but that their concept of assistance is more along the lines of grabbing and groping the Arizonian. Extricating herself from these over-sexed frat boys will cost Nyssa time and energy, which are two commodities she can least afford to sacrifice now.
Ivy rolls under the ropes, putting a halt to the referee's count just as he reaches nineteen. She lay there on her back for a good fifteen seconds, right arm across her face to shield her eyes from the glaring arena lights above, as she gathers her wits and marshals her last precious ounces of strength. Then, she rolls back out of the ring, alighting to the floor just as Nyssa...hair half-covering her face, right halter strap hanging loose down her shoulder...manages to flop over the railing and escape the clutches of fandom.
Before the Nubile Navajo can gather her wits, the redhead lunges at her, delivering a massive chop to the chest that staggers the Arizonian, and is accompanied by a significant segment of the crowd howling "WHOOOOO!" But although she is taken aback by the blow for a few moments, Bloodwind then retaliates with a chop of her own. And so the two battlers war, trading chops back and forth, the skin of their chests turning red as a precursor to the bruises they will be sporting in the days to come. Suddenly with a growl that builds to a roar, Nyssa fires chop after chop, driving the gasping Ivy backward until she's pressed against the ring guard. The brunette raises her right arm, stepping in to her adversary to deliver a patented Bloodwind tomahawk chop to the forehead. But instead Armstrong grasps the railing at her back with both hands, lifts her legs, and lashes out, slamming both feet flush into Nyssa's breasts, sending her reeling backward until she slams against the ring apron, panting for breath.
With a pained groan, the exhausted and aching 'Bama Slamma rushes toward her opponent, arm raised, and she delivers a tomahawk of her own to Bloodwind's skull. The blow causes the redhead to grimace and rub her now-aching hand, but its done definite damage to the Amerind. Nonetheless, Nyssa isn't about to let some freckled ginger take her out with one of her own signature moves, so she rallies herself and delivers a tomahawk of her own. Now both grapplers are left trembling on uncertain legs, but they refuse to relent, even though they're reduces to just grabbing and yanking hair, Nyssa and Ivy yelping and moaning as the ringside floor is littered with strands of ebony and red.
And up in the ring, despite his best efforts to draw the count out, the referee finally reaches twenty and calls for the bell. Armstrong and Bloodwind ignore the clanging, continuing to tear at each other's mane, until the ref jumps out of the ring and forcibly pries them apart. He's joined moments later by two other zebras, and it takes all three to keep the wildcats apart.