Post by hawkeye on Jun 15, 2016 23:13:07 GMT
Dixie Longstreet
Ivy Armstrong
Were it not for the Chattahoochee River that cuts between them, it could be hard to determine where Columbus, Georgia ends and Phenix City, Alabama begins. Collectively they make up the ‘Hub City’ metropolitan area, and residents on both sides of the river tend to consider themselves one people in one community.
Except, of course, when matters of state pride are on the line. The Georgia Bulldogs versus the Alabama Crimson tends to be the traditional line of demarcation. But tonight, the proud sons and daughters of Georgia and Alabama have a new cause to clash over, and the battleground is a Phenix City bar called Russell Lee’s.
A highly popular nightspot, Russell Lee’s is large enough to allow a couple of hundred line dancing couples on the floor, or to pack in a good thousand folks or so for one of the hot regional musical acts who frequently play. On this night however, it is the location for a fundraiser to beautify and clean up the Chattahoochee River, and at $100 a ticket, the place is packed, and not only for the good cause, but for the evening’s entertainment.
A ring sits in the center of the dance floor, and in it, the patrons have enjoyed several hours worth of a combination of local pro wrestling and boxing. But none can doubt that what the crowd is most anxious to witness is the main event: Alabama’s favorite daughter, Ivy Armstrong, versus the Georgia belle, Dixie Longstreet.
The two wrestlers have received special permission from their federation, FAWN, to participate in this fundraiser. But while it may not technically be a FAWN match in fact, the spectators are all quite hopeful it will be in spirit. And the crowd is more or less evenly split between the two, with many intentionally wearing college colors representing their respective state. Of course, plenty of others wear FAWN-licensed Dixie and Ivy t-shirts, and in this contest the two women come to a statistical draw.
The beer and bourbon flows all night long, putting the crowd in a giddy, rowdy mood. The roar that rises up from the throng when the announcer steps into the ring and the PA blares “And now, our main event!” seems to very nearly lift the roof up off of the building. This being on the Alabama side of the river, it was determined that Ivy would play “hostess” and be introduced first, so that she could then welcome Dixie to the ring. “Our first combatant, hailing from a little slice of Alabama heaven called Uriah, she makes the stars fall…IVY ARMSTRONG!”
“Wild Eyed Southern Boys” blasts through the speakers as the curtain across the door to a back room tears open, and there stands the second generation phenom. For this occasion she wears her much-hallowed denim shorts (thong, more precisely), and a black t-shirt cropped to show her taut belly, emblazoned with ‘Sassy Since Birth’ across the chest. Fiery red mane tousled and loose to her shoulders, she energetically slaps many of the outstretched hands as she works her way to the ring. Climbing the steps, she walks along the outer apron to the middle of the ropes, then turns to face the crowd. First she flings one rubber beach sandle to the crowd, and then the other, leaving her in her traditional barefoot style, her nails painted a darker shade of red. Then, grasping the top rope on either side of herself with her hands. Armstrong executes a slow backward flip over the strands, her fabled legs on full display. Ascending to the mat, she runs to a corner on the opposite side and jumps up to the middle turnbuckle, raising her arms to encourage a deafening cheer. She then takes her place in a corner to await her opponent.
“And now,” the announcer says. “The baddest girl from the Bad Street of Atlanta, Georgia, she makes a ramblin’ wreck of her opponents…DIXIE LONGSTREET!” The Georgia Peach looks as sweet as her nickname, wearing a sequin-covered red and black bikini top, her Daisy Dukes bearing a rhinestone peach on one buttock and a UGA bulldog on the other. Holding the Daisy Dukes up is a black leather belt with a big ‘G’ red and black belt buckle. Competing the ensemble are a pair of low-cut black wrestling shoes.
Generating a response from the crowd every bit as raucous as the one that greeted her adversary, Dixie wears a smile that bears a tantalizing trace of a smirk as she saunters to the ring, putting plenty of swish in her hips. Many of those present who would have sworn to the grave that no woman could wear denim shorts better than Ivy Armstrong are now second-guessing that belief after laying eyes on Longstreet’s denim-clad posterior as she passes.
The brunette climbs up on to the ring apron and slips through the ropes, taking her sweet time so that plenty of fans can get a good long look at her behind. She then walks over to the ropes, stands on the bottom cable and leans out over the top, calling out, “Welcome to Dixieland, y’all!” Hopping down to the canvas, she turns and looks at her opponent across the ring. Pointing her right index finger at Armstrong, Dixie with an arch of her eyebrow and a smug grin says, “And ah welcome you to Bad Street, sugar!”
Dixie flips her hair as she turns and heads to her corner, where Georgia Peach leans casually on the turnbuckle like she hasn’t a care in the world. Longstreet allows the zebra his inspection…for a moment, at least. She suddenly pulls her right leg away from him as his hands pass down the limb (although how he could expect her to somehow be hiding a foreign object on a bare leg, no one can say) and says tauntingly, “Nobody touches for free, zebra.” Deciding that he’s satisfied that the brunette is not carrying any contraband, he goes over to Ivy and gives her a quick check…and with the redhead, his efforts to check her legs are met with saucy giggles from Armstrong.
The requisite ritual completed, the referee calls for the bell, and with its clang the two combatants push out of their corners. But one might be forgiven for thinking that anything other than a wrestling match were about to begin, as the pair both saunter with practiced nonchalance in a slowly-closing circle, neither seeming terribly concerned about the other. Were it not for the taunts, it would almost be as if they weren’t even in the same room together. “So, how’s it gonna feel getting’ your ass kicked down home in Alabama, red?” Dixie scoffs. Dismissively, Armstrong responds, “Y’all are gonna make history tonight, shuge…Ah’m gonna beat ya in Alabama, then kick your ass across the river and pin ya over in Georgia, too!”
But as the distance between them narrows to just a few steps, their casualness suddenly evaporates, and they lunge at one another like wildcats. Locking up, the two beauties grunt as they strain against each other, both trying to drive her opponent back to the ropes. When this contest results only in stalemate, Longstreet suddenly shifts to an armbar on her adversary…which Armstrong reverses mere seconds later. The two wrestlers then trade wristlocks and hammerlocks back and forth, neither able to hold the other for more than a few heartbeats.
That is until Longstreet disappoints the home-state crowd. With Ivy behind her and in possession of her left elbow, Dixie throws her right behind and the bony joint CRAAACKS into the cheek of the redhead, freeing the beautiful Bulldog. Quickly spinning with backhand at the ready, Dixie finishes her Dixie Bell with a echoing SLAP across the same cheek, sending Ivy staggering a few steps.
The red-and-black half of the crowd starts to bark as Ivy tries to shake off the jarring combo, only to be PLANTED by a nasty clothesline, Longstreet’s drawn right arm crashing across the ivory skin of Ivy’s upper chest. The back of Armstrong’s head clunks against the canvas, sending her up to a dazed seated position. Dixie settles in a stance behind her.
Stepping over the Slamma’s shoulders, Longstreet collects Ivy’s left leg, the beautiful and powerful stem lifted and twisted viciously, the badass from Bad Street wasting no time in trying to eliminate Ivy’s most dangerous weapons with a Stump Puller.
Stump Puller:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=fayD-8G4ToY
The official asks Ivy if she wants to surrender, but to quit this early would mean never showing her face in her Sweet Home again. The redhead grits her teeth and shakes her noggin, auburn locks sent flying from side to side.
“Are y’sure sweetheart?” Dixie drawls. “I can make this here leg at least three inches longer than your other.” And the Georgia Peach gives another violent tug to prove it, drawing a yelp from the FAWN superstar.
Ivy outlasts the impatient nature of the Peach and Dixie throws the leg down, the limb striking the mat and causing a ‘yip’ from the Bama Slamma. Armstrong resists grabbing at her aching limb until she’s scurried/limped her way to vertical. Unfortunately for the Tide in the audience, her turn to face Dixie is met with a knee inserted into her navel and the alabaster frame of Armstrong folds around the invading kneecap.
Ivy’s eyes bulge as a large and loud breath escapes her lips. Doubled over, she groans as Longstreet sinks her nails into the scalp of Armstrong and leads the redhead on a humiliating walk toward the side of the ring closest to her foe’s Alabama compatriots.
“Ah do believe you thought this lil tart was going to win. Tsk tsk,” Dixie chides. She yanks Ivy into a tight side headlock and with her free, balled right hand sends a punch into the chops of the second generation grappler. Armstrong’s head snaps back but is roughly tugged back into place with the headlock.
Dixie leads Ivy to the nearest buckles and exchanges her headlock for a grip full of auburn locks. She yanks Armstrong’s noggin back as far as it will go.
“Let’s see if all you hogsloppers can count to ten,” Longstreet hollers.
And the test begins with Dixie SLAMMING Ivy’s face into the top buckle time after time, the Georgia side of the room counting for their Bama brethren, particularly delighting in Ivy’s glazed eyes that accompany collisions EIGHT, NINE, AND TEN.
Dixie uses her grip on Armstrong’s mane to disdainfully toss the redhead aside and rises to the middle buckles.
“You may be able to play a little football in this hellhole. But there ain’t no comparison of a Bama Girl to a Georgia Peach.”
Dixie slaps the juicy fruit on her denim-clad backside and drops to the canvas. She turns and walks after the stumbling Ivy. Tracking down her rival, she sinks a hand into the Slamma’s follicles and spins Armstrong to face her. The only problem is Ivy brings a forearm shiver with her and THUMPS it into the jaw of the brunette.
Dixie loses her grip and wobbles in front of Armstrong, the feelings of the crowd on either side of the ring suddenly reversed.
Ivy follows with another and another, Dixie forced into a backpedal with each before Armstrong grabs her foe’s left wrist with her left palm to keep the brunette from retreating out of reach. She tugs Longstreet toward her, wrapping the left arm of the Peach behind her in a front hammerlock. With an open highway to the Georgian’s ticker in front of her, Ivy balls a fist and delivers a signature Heart Punch to the cleft of the bulldog’s bosom. Dixie’s eyes cross as she takes a halting breath, her bloodpumper no doubt skipping a beat from the precisely delivered blow.
The Slamma releases her grip and watches as Dixie struggles to remain upright. Dixie’s legs listen to her defibrillating heart rather than her muddled brain and she pitches forward to a face first pratfall. The Tide portion of the crowd has a good laugh at the fall of Atlanta and they count loudly when Ivy drops to her knees, shoves Longstreet to her back, and presses her palms into the flattened Peach, one on her chest, one on her gulping tummy, for ONE…TWO…and Dixie throws a shoulder up, keeping hope alive in the red-and-black.
Not downcast in the least, Ivy instead grabs the right ankle of the brunette and rises, lifting the leg with her. She steps over the dazed Longstreet, flipping Dixie from back to chest, ending in a reverse standing straddle of her rival. Dixie, starting to realize her predicament, claws at the canvas for an escape, but Ivy is already settling into a crouch with the captured limb in tow, curling both Longstreet’s lower limb and her vertebrae viciously with a half-Crab.
With Dixie’s ankle tucked into the pit of her arm, Armstong leeeeans back, drawing yelps of anguish from the hottie from Hotlanta. But it’s nothing compared to when Ivy delivers a full shot of White Lightning, the redhead adding a crushing crotch claw to the Crab. Ivy sinks her digits into the sweetmeat between Dixie’s stems and clenches tight. Dixie howls in anguish, her body attached on multiple fronts by an expert of the cruel game.
As the Bulldogs in the audience chant “Please…don’t…tap” it’s seems clear enough to Ivy’s Tide of fans, the brunette’s ready to capitulate with a few more tugs and squeeeezes.
But in an instant the scenario changes; as Ivy leans further back to add to the torque of her half-crab, Dixie frantically reaches up with her hands, her red-painted nails raking roughly across the Alabama gal's green eyes. Armstrong shrieks, releasing both the leg hold and the crotch claw as she rub s her now-blinded orbs with her knuckles.
Longstreet wants nothing more than to take a good ten or fifteen minutes to shake off the lingering pain. She gives herself five seconds. Then she presses her palms to the mat, swiftly pushes herself up, and twists to the side. The result is that the redhead atop her is flung off and dumped onto the canvas. Her vision still blurred, Armstrong knows she can't afford to tangle with her opponent at this moment, so she starts to roll across the ring, seeking to put distance between herself and the brunette.
But even as she begins to roll, Ivy feels supple yet strong hands clasp around her right ankle. Now on her back, the 'Bama Slamma feels herself pulled across the canvas as Dixie slithers backwards on her belly, until Longstreet slips under the ropes and alights to the ringside floor. Moving with viper speed, she yanks her adversary over to the nearest corner, then reaches each arm around the ring post in order to grab hold of an ankle. Ivy doesn't need her eyesight to know what's coming next, and she starts to gasp, "No...no...don't...!" even as her open palms 'window wash' the air.
With a mighty tug, Longstreet pulls her opponent toward her, each lithe stem of the redhead passing either side of the post, until with a thud her crotch smashes into the unyielding steel. Arms now wrapped tight around the 'Bama gal's calves, Dixie presses her feet against the edge of the ring, leaning backward to maximize the pull. Now it's the Alabama half of the crowd who give the "DON'T TAP" chant, as their pulchritudinous paladin yowls in torment, feeling as if she's being torn straight up the middle, starting from her tender privates.
And she might well be, if the referee didn't intervene. His instructions had been clear: give the girls a wide leeway inside the ring. But now the action...or at least half of it...had spilled out, and so he began what he warned Longstreet would be only a ten count, and that he wouldn't go slow. Forced to release her grasp and free her opponent, Dixie was only able to roll back into the ring at the count of nine. But with Armstrong curled up tightly into a quivering ball, eyes tightly shut and biting her lower lip as her hands cup her mauled maidenhood, the brunette knew she could take her time concocting her next move.
Longstreet pushes to her feet and crisply salutes her fellow Bulldogs in the audience. With Ivy still turtled to protect her aching kitty, the brunette approaches confidently, sinking a set of talons into the scalp of the redhead. Dixie forcefully pulls Armstrong out of her ball with a vicious tug of the fire-engine-hued mane, forcing Ivy to her knees. Armstrong leans heavily against her foe, arms wrapped loosely around a tanned thigh. Dixie turns her grasp of Ivy’s locks into a gentle stroke.
“Momma’s little baby feeling under the weather?”
Longstreet scoops her arms under the pits of the second generation superstar, lifting her foe to knock-kneed pigeon toes. With Ivy still frozen from the pulsating pain from below, Dixie wraps her arms tightly around the ivory-skinned waist of the Slamma and pulls her close. It takes but a split second for the badass from Bad Street to launch Ivy up and over with a sweet belly-to-belly suplex. Armstrong front flips her way to a rattling collision with the canvas. The redhead slides to a stop, Ivy having instantly added a searing pain at the base of her spine to the ache in her undercarriage.
Belly-to-belly suplex:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Bl0D6xZjQM
Armstrong fights through the pain, forcing her way up only to be shoulderblocked by a charging Longstreet. Ivy stagers into a backpedal to the buckles, remaining upright only by the grace of her arms flopping over the top rope on either side of the corner. Dixie is on her instantly, delivering a Bad Street Flurry of elbows to the chest and jaw of Armstrong, taking some more of the Bama piss and vinegar right out of the veteran grappler.
Bad Street Flurry @ 00:35:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkt8vxKTPT4
Having unloaded a good half-dozen shots, Dixie scoops her arms under Ivy’s infamous sinewy thighs and launches her to a seat on the top buckle. The tanned Georgian quickly joins her rival, stepping up to a stance on the middle ropes in front of Ivy. Going high risk-high reward, Longstreet takes things to the penthouse and one final hop sends the Bulldog into a headscissors, her own powerful stems clamping down around Ivy’s noggin. A fateful aerial backflip peels the Bama Slamma off her perch and, while Dixie lands on her knees, unharmed after her backflip, the Avalanche Frankensteiner hurtles Armstrong halfway across the ring, Ivy SLAMMING to the deck, her vertebrae rearranged by her foe.
Avalanche Frankensteiner:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=zD6aqc8GElk
The battered Armstrong ends in a seated position, face twisted in pain, her green eyes slitted as she winces toward her fellow worried Crimson Tide. The mass of humanity on the Bama side of the ring clap for their girl and a nodding Armstrong raises an arm high in response, softly pumping the limb as she fights her way up.
Unfortunately, it provides the perfect handle for Longstreet. She tugs Armstrong to her feet with violent abandon and buggywhips the left arm in her dual-hand grip, sending a bolt of pain down the limb. Ivy deftly uses the arm to draw Ivy into a tight headlock. But this is no ordinary side headlock. Instead, Longstreet makes sure Ivy’s face gets thrust under her arm instead. Dixie clamps down on her signature Peach Pit, locking in what is not only an embarrassing hold but damn effective smother, Ivy’s nose and lips getting the full Pit.
The redhead flails wildly, the ignominy and increasing lack of oxygen sending Armstrong into a frantic frenzy. Dixie’s perfect pearlies grit and grind as she endeavors to keep the thrashing redhead’s features tucked neatly in place, but finally a shove by Armstrong frees her after a ten-second test of Dixie’s deodorant. Ivy escapes with a breathy gasp, her face greasy. She staggers in a u-turn away from the oppressive Bulldog from Bad Street. But this bytch doesn’t want to let go of her bone.
Instead, Dixie strides after the retreating redhead. Longstreet grabs a left wrist and spins the wobbly Ivy toward her. The brunette dips and slips an arm between the alabaster thighs of Bama’s Best. Dixie launches her foe across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and instantly starts to spin in place, her revolutions picking up speed in a hurry, Ivy made the propeller for this old school Airplane Spin.
Airplane Spin:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dc2Xe9GJjMA
The lithe brunette gets some serious RPMs with her gorgeous bundle, Dixie making a good dozen revolutions before sending Ivy flying off her shoulders for one more rotation on her own before the auburn-haired beauty splatters to the canvas; burning, dizzied wreckage at Longstreet’s feet.
Ivy’s emerald eyes are as big as saucers as she flops to her back. Dixie plants a boot square in the cleft of her foe’s pale bosom, pinning the starfished Slamma to the canvas, the usurpers from across the state line going nuts as the official counts out ONE…TWO…and Ivy, her palms wrapping around the ankle of her rival, pushes the domineering Dixie off in time. Armstrong starts to rise but Longstreet plants her boot back in Ivy’s chest and STOMPS the superstar flat to the canvas.
“Did I say the Bama trash could get up? Because I sure as hell don’t remember it.”
Enjoying herself perhaps a little too much, Dixie barely notices as the redhead encircles her ankle with both hands, expecting only that the desperate Slamma will shove her off again. But this time, Ivy twists Dixie’s lower limb by twisting her own frame and tripping the brunette to the canvas. With Longstreet’s right leg still in her possession, Ivy starts to snake her legendary gams around the captured stem for a scissors she could work into a submission given the right torque and leverage.
Eyes bulging in a sudden panic, Dixie tries to scramble free, but Ivy clamps down and wrenches away, drawing pained yelps, the badass from Bad Street looking anything but as she claws toward the ropes, hoping to grab them and force a break before Ivy could do some breaking of her own.
Her face twisted into a steely mask of both pain and determination, Dixie slooooooooowly drags herself and her tormentor inch by inch across the canvas, until at long last she is able to hook the bottom rope with her index finger. The referee starts his count, and it comes as no surprise that Ivy waits to just shy of the full five before releasing her hold. Longstreet gives an audible sigh of relief as her braided branch is freed. She pulls her aching limb in tight, hands massaging it...after first strategically looping an arm around the rope, and technically keep the match in limbo, providing her precious time for recovery.. When the redhead steps closer to resume her attack, the referee blocks her way, ordering her back to a neutral corner. To better protect Longstreet, the zebra kneels down close to her, shielding her from Armstrong with his own body.
Frustrated but hardly stymied, from the opposite side of the ring Ivy suddenly dashes toward the pair. Catching sight of the oncoming Alabamian with his peripheral vision, the official spreads his arms wide to block Ivy from charging around him. But instead, she leapfrogs over him and lands squarely atop the brunette, grabbing the Georgian's dark mane with her left mitt while her right curls into a ball and she begins to rain punches to the yowling Dixie's face and head. It is only when the ref wraps his arms around Ivy's waist and roughly hauls her off of her victim that the assault is finally halted.
Pulling free of the referee's unwelcome embrace, Armstrong reaches down and grabs Longstreet by her left ankle, dragging her away from the safety of the ropes towards the center of the ring. There, she gives her opponent a stomp to the bread basket, Dixie's belly folding around the redhead's dainty foot. But Armstrong doesn't press her advantage. Instead, she walks over to the ropes and leans on them, taking deep breaths as she rallies her second (third?) wind. She remains unperturbed as the groaning Longstreet achingly rolls herself over onto her stomach, then slowly pushes herself up to all fours, and then starts to rise up from her knees. Only then does the 'Bama Slamma suddenly go from zero to sixty, bounding off of the strands and racing toward her opponent. Wrapping an arm around the brunette's neck, Ivy leaps up, lifting Dixie, and as Armstrong twists her lithe body in mid-air, she pulls the brunette along in a flip, delivering her with jarring impact to the mat with a corkscrew neckbreaker. Throwing herself bodily across her rival, Ivy tries for the pin.
One...
Two...
ThrNOOOOOO! Kickout at the last possible instant.
The crowd is baying at a fevered pitch now. acolytes of both beauties a-hollerin' and contorting themselves as if caught in the grip of an old-timey religious revival. Ivy seemingly feeds on the intensity, jumping up and stomping her left foot repeatedly to the canvas to encourage an even louder reaction from the fans. Grabbing the mewling Longstreet by her much-disheveled hair, she drags her vertical, then hair whips her into the nearest corner. Her spine smashing into the turnbuckle, Dixie with a grimace of pain slides downward, landing with a thump on her butt.
Now the redhead moves as if she has all the time in the world, saucily sauntering over to her dazed opponent, putting some extra swivel in her hips that elicits rebel yells from both contingents. Standing before Longstreet, Armstrong whirls around 180, then bends forward a bit and moves backward. Her denim-clad behind presses firmly upon Dixie's sweaty face, smothering her. The brunette's arms and legs thrash frantically, but without conscious guidance, so they are unsuccessful in freeing her. A beaming Ivy happily grinds her tushy into her victim's mug, until she finally breaks the move and steps forward. No one present has to verbalize the now-understood fact that the Alabama angel has establishes derriere dominance over her similarly-clad rival.
Turning again to face her panting, doe-eyed adversary, Armstrong cocks a hip and says with works as sweet as molasses, "Ah do believe it's time to draw the curtain down on this, don't y'all agree, sugah?"
Many of the Georgians in the audience shout out a “HELL NO!”
Noticeable by her absence of agreement is Dixie, her head bobbling, face greasy from the time in Armstrong’s homemade oven.
“Don’t worry, shug. It’ll all be over soon,” Ivy assures the Peach as she captures Longstreet in a headlock and guides the faltering brunette to her feet, the brunette’s legs rubbery.
The redhead pats Dixie on the head and draws her to a sweet smooch on the forehead, Armstrong leaving a blood red set of lip marks on her foe before punting Dixie in the crotch. Longstreet rises to tiptoes, her mouth formed into a silent ‘O’, eyes welling. She reaches deep between her thighs as she doubles over at the waist.
Next to the bent badass from Bad Street, Ivy lifts her right knee to the left side of Dixie’s face and reaches across Longstreet’s frame to grab a handhold around the brunette’s opposite arm. Throwing her body in reverse, the Bama Slamma lays out and draws Dixie with her, apparently trying to snap her neck by showing ‘Mama Knows Best’.
Mama Knows Best:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJmrOSHMhwI
A gobsmacked Longstreet slops into a puddle Ivy collects and pulls into a tight cradle for ONE…TWO…and Dixie fights her way free, showing the Confederate still has some life, if not as much fight.
The alabaster-skinned Ivy, glistening as she sits next to her faltering foe, shrugs.
“Stupid is as stupid does across the border,” Armstrong drawls, winking at the Crimson Tide cohorts on her side of the audience.
As she rises, Ivy tugs what’s left of Longstreet with her. When Dixie raises her hands to Armstrong’s shoulders to shove her foe away, the redhead responds with a boot to the belly, bending Dixie in half. Instantly, Ivy turns away from the Bulldog and reaches over her shoulder for a ¾ facelock.
In the blink of an eye, the auburn-haired grappler drops to her keister and BLASTS Longstreet with her SoCo Stunner, the Impact sending Dixie into orbit from the mighty force of the Slamma’s signature. Longstreet lands on her back, out cold.
SoCo Stunner:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysvpoIjCs9I
Ivy takes a victory lap, reaching over the ropes and slapping hands with her fellow Crimson. By the time she circles back to Longstreet, the brunette beauty is stirring, rolling vacantly to her chest. Ivy nods with smirk firmly in place. She drops to her backside in front of the path of the Bulldog from Bad Street.
Dixie presents her head on a silver platter as she unknowingly slithers toward her doom. Ivy assists, pulling Dixie’s head up and toward her lap, then encircling her braincase with the infamous figure-four that had ‘Charmed’ damn near every big name that had been in FAWN for more than a couple drinks of water.
As the steel bands of ivory clamp shut around Dixie’s head, Longstreet realizes her predicament and, like a wild animal caught in a trap, flails as best she can, pushing and scratching at Ivy’s stems, far from able to pry them open. Not so slowly, Dixie’s struggles become weak and uncoordinated, her eyelids fluttering. Ivy shifts her hips and her scissors to send Dixie’s mouth tight to her crotch.
“MMMmmmpphhhmmmmpph.”
Longstreet’s muffled cries grow softer and her arms fall leaden as her face sinks deeper between the crushing power of the ‘Southern Charm’. Already some of the fans on the Georgia side of the house are heading for the exits, the Bama Slamma’s backers waving them good riddance. And Ivy chips in with a wave as well, though she uses Dixie’s limp arm to provide the good-bye, Longstreet on Dream Street instead of Bad Street.
The ref, caught gawking, finally steps in and lifts Dixie’s opposite arm once, twice and thrice, each time the limb dropping limp to confirm the obvious.
Ivy is the only wild eyed Southern Girl tonight. She peels her scissoring stems away from Dixie’s reddened face and lets Longstreet slump into her slumber. Armstrong slides out from underneath and rises to her bare feet. She places one on the cleft of Dixie’s heaving bosom and lets there be no mistake, she is, once and for all, the Queen of the Confederacy.
The ref having dutifully raised the redhead's arm in victory, Ivy staggers toward the ropes, climbs through the strands, and jumps down a bit clumsily to the floor. She then limps her way through the parting crowd, as multiple congratulatory backslaps nearly cause her to stumble. But she keeps moving forward, keen and true, until she reaches the bar. There, she simply holds up two fingers for the barkeep. Equally wordlessly, he sets two shot glasses on the counter and fills both with some top shelf Kentucky bourbon.
Taking the glasses, Armstrong then reels back toward the ring, cautious to not spill any of her precious cargo. She climbs the steps and carefully slips back into the ring between the ropes, where she finds Dixie now sitting up, the referee tending to the still-dazed Georgian. Longstreet looks up to see her rival standing before her, and then Ivy kneels down and hands a glass to the brunette.
The two battlers silently raise their glasses to one another, and both down their drinks in single gulps. Armstrong then stands up and extends a hand to Longstreet, who after a long moment accepts it. Both now upright, Ivy takes Dixie's hand and they raise their arms together, a rare show of solidarity between FAWN combatants. But then, this wasn't officially a FAWN match, and they did raise a hell of a lot of charity money tonight. And besides, no matter what side of the border they're from, they're both Southern gals, and that makes 'em kin. And while no one fights harder than family, at the end of the day, kin is still kin.