Post by alyadmirer on Aug 12, 2016 22:33:03 GMT
With the FAWNatics clamoring for more of the best in women’s wrestling, the arena’s speakers spark to life with the pounding of Metallica’s “Don’t Tread on Me”.
"DON’T TREAD ON ME":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPl2sTo_8-o
Having spoiled a huge win by the face of FAWN with her underhanded antics at the previous Pay-Per-View, Shea London had demanded her chance to set things and Polly Lockwood right. A few scattered ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet, saluting her anthem crisply. The other 99 percent of the FAWNatics make themselves known in a completely different fashion, raining a cascade of boos toward the upper stage.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
The haters get louder still when a familiar little blonde hardbody strides to center stage. Looking anything but sorry for her Pearl Harbor job on the FAWN favorite, she isn’t showing it. Coming back from an extended period of guest hosting Fox&Friends, Lockwood hadn’t seen the inside of a ring in quite some time, but she seems eager to make a lesson in patriotism out of the limey.
The blonde brings a salute to her brow to her Tea Partying troop. But when the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Lockwood adds her own little twist, a middle finger remaining straight and lifted while the others recede, showing everyone what she thinks of them.
Polly sports her customary hot pants and bikini top. Lockwood alternates her country’s colors between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in just the right spots, and shimmering red and white stripes below; with white pads and boots capping off the ensemble.
The ‘True American’ has her customary cape, Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak.
Lockwood crow hops into a jog to the ring, snarling at the moronic hordes who infest this great land. She ignores their insults and jeers, taking a swipe at one sign proclaiming ’The Redcoats are coming! And she’s kicking your ass!” as the ring announcer proclaims her arrival.
“Tonight’s next battle is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From Buffalo, New York…standing 5 foot 1 inch tall and weighing in at 118 scintillating pounds of All-American Awesome; ladies and gentlemen, she is the one and only TRUE AMERICAN…Polly Lockwood.”
The patriot ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood holds the star-spangled banner high. She sneers at the crowd returning their disdain, though momentarily hers is silent.
Moving to a corner, she exchanges her flag for a microphone and walks to the center of the ring, pulling it to her lips.
“You all thought London had driven me into the sweet embrace of Roger Ailes and that I’d never be back to claim what’s mine. Well, I kicked that lardass in the balls and I’m about to treat Shea the same way. No English tart has ever kept a TRUE American down for long and tonight I make that plain as her face.”
Lockwood tosses the stick to the canvas with a ‘CLUNK’ and the blonde moves to her corner, stretching her arms with tugs of the top rope.
... when suddenly, the arena's speakers roar into life following that small squall of feedback, posing their own question for one and all:
"Do you wanna get rocked?"
”LET’S GET ROCKED:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO1Nae_EBvQ
The audience responds with a roar worthy the main event at Mania WHEN Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" begins to pump over the PA. At which point the British Bombshell herself, Sensational Shea London, strides from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful.
SHEA LONDON:
“And her opponent,” the announcer resumes, “hailing from Manchester, England in the United Kingdom. She stands five feet four inches tall and weighs in tonight as one hundred and twenty pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, she is THE FAWN Original... the Sensational One... ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... SENSATIONAL SHHHEEEAAA LOOONNNDDDOOONNN!!!!!”
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returns to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presents a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms are primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that start at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image is broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads display the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
The gorgeous blonde makes a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Catching sight of one particular sign in the audience, Shea's grin grows even wider. Leaning over the railing, Shea swings her left arm around the shoulders of one fortunate fan, turning to the camera and pointing at the posterboard with her right. The placard reads, rather simply, “GOD SAVE THE QUEEN? CAN THE QUEEN SAVE US FROM POLLY AND TAKE US BACK?”
Further making the fan's day, London gives him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes, and makes a beeline for the Polly Patriot--not to throw hands yet, but getting chest to chest and nose to nose to with the slightly smaller blonde, clearly sending the message that Lockwood’s ambush might have hurt her last month, but it had NOT left her intimidated. Nevertheless, before the situation CAN escalate any further, the referee pulls the Sensational One away from the TRUE American, and ushers her toward her corner, so that he can call for the bell to start the match.
For her part, Polly shows little concern over Shea's emotional state. If anything, she seems to revel, having gotten under the legend's skin. With the bell, she rotates out of her corner, but Shea wants nothing of a slow dance, cutting Polly into a corner. Lockwood throws her torso between the top and middle rope, demanding the ref get London back. After Shea steps off, Polly reenters. "Don't try and rush a True American. You won't like the results." Polly starts skipping to her right again, looking for an opening to swoop in and upend London with a double-leg takedown.
And, seeing her opening, Lockwood takes it... but not quickly enough. As the American blonde goes low, Shea does a little skipping of her own to the side, and before Polly can finish straightening herself up, the Sensational One is glued to her back, London's arms wrapping around her waist. "Ya call it 'rushing'," Shea hisses into Polly's ear. "I call it yer arse just bein' too f*ckin' slow..." The Brit then pulls up against Polly's belly, attempting to muscle Lockwood off her feet and take her to the mat with a waistlock takedown.
Polly tries to get her center of gravity low, but London won't be denied. Shea lifts Lockwood off the deck, the blonde's abbreviated legs flailing in front of her until the Brit turns and deposits Polly to the canvas. Shea lands on top of the patriot and grinds her into the deck. Polly's flawless face scrunches in effort, trying to wriggle and spin her way out from underneath, hoping not only to escape but reverse positions with the legend.
As FAWNatics had long ago learned, Polly Lockwood can be pretty stubborn in her own right, and now it’s the TRUE American who will not accept defeat. Lockwood manages to break the clasp of London’s arms around her waist and works her way on top of the Brit, but Shea is at least able to partially thwart Polly’s aims by getting to her butt and making it to a seated position before her opponent can get her waistlock clinched. Polly gets her arms secured around London’s midsection regardless, though, and the Sensational One cocks her left elbow, aiming to swing it back and hoping to catch Lockwood in the side of the head.
Cinching her bearhug, Polly tries to force the air from Shea's lungs, but before she can work London's chest like a bellows, the Brit connects with a pointy elbow to her jaw. Jacked, Polly's noggin snaps back and her grip melts from around the Englishwoman. The kneeling patriot manages to make her feet, but staggers once vertical, shaking out a cobweb and massaging her jaw. Face turning stern, she glares at the risen London and races with right arm drawn, ready to clothesline her way back to early control.
But again, the British Bombshell proves a little too nimble, ducking under that raised scythe and charging a few step past the sprinting Lockwood herself. Shea stops on a dime, turning back toward Polly and sinking into a crouch even as the TRUE American gets reigns in her momentum and starts to spin around herself. And as one former Lightweight champion begins to turn, another launches her boot toward where Polly’s jaw should be once she’s made her revolution, London perhaps looking to end things early tonight if she can land this superkick.
A furious star-spangled bytch spins to beat the snot out of the limey, but instead gets a chinful of London's boot sole. Shea's superkick is on supertarget and Polly's body is sent airborne from the clean connection. Polly sprawls to the canvas, stretched out in a spreadeagle, staring blankly at the rafters, her chance to re-enter FAWN with a bang turning into the wrong kind of BANG in a hurry. Shea scrambles atop the stunned blonde, curling Polly into a tight cradle for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
The True American shows her spirit and kicks her way free.
“Clearly, I’m targettin’ tha wrong part,” London mutters to herself as she rises, but then shakes her head. “Still think I’m gonna cave it in, though.” The Sensational One turns to the near ropes and slips through them, stationing herself on the apron in front of Polly as the American blonde manages to roll over and push up to her hands and knees. Shea claims the top rope with both hands and, as Lockwood forces herself to rise further, London rocks backward. But then, the British Bombshell launches herself over the top rope, hoping to catch the TRUE American around the neck and spike her skull with a slingshot DDT.
SLINGSHOT DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgB4IR2_UAY
A bent Lockwood stares at the canvas, looking tipsy. She tries to gather, but London is doing a little gathering of her own. Shea launches her way over the ropes and smoothly circles her left arm around the back of Polly's neck. Gravity does the rest for London. And while Shea drops to her backside, Polly's braincase is SPIKED into the canvas in brutal fashion. The crowd roars as the True American slops on to her back, arms and legs in wide 'V's, lids fluttering.
The Sensational One rolls over, draping herself across Lockwood’s chest and gathering up and hooking the outside leg.
ONE...
TWO...
THNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Polly gets a shoulder up.
There’s no surprise on Shea’s part as she pushes to her feet, nor any signs of disappointment or frustration. Bending down, the blonde Brit snatches up a handful of Lockwood’s locks and tugs the TRUE American up to her feet. Spinning around so that her back is to the smaller blonde’s shoulder, Shea slings an arm around her foe’s neck and starts to charge forward across the ring with Polly in tow, fully prepared to SLAM Lockwood’s mug into the mat with a bulldog.
The dazed Lockwood, looking for the world like her early YA jobber days, is drawn up and along by the living legend. Reaching mid-ring, Shea leaps into the air. But determined to start making her own story, Polly gets her palms up and on either of London's hips. With a breathy grunt, Lockwood shoves Shea forward, removing the Brit's headlock as she does. Having saved herself, Polly sighs as London's flight is extended by the True American. But unbeknownst to the blonde, Shea doesn't crack her tailbone on the canvas. Instead, she's airborne into the ropes. The dirty blonde shows the cat-like reflexes of a woman ten years younger. Her boots land on the middle ropes as she grabs onto the top. Almost instantly, Shea springboards in a 180 and sweeps a soccer kick into the temple of the True American. Polly pirouettes into a jumbled heap at Shea's feet.
This time, Shea elects to stay on the attack rather than go for what would most likely be only a nearfall. Yanking the TRUE American up to her feet with a handful of flaxen locks, London lines Lockwood up with the far corner before shifting her grip from the smaller girl’s hair to her wrist. Setting her feet, the Sensational One whips Polly toward the buckles with all her might, the former Lightweight champion only just managing to turn her back into the collision.
She lets out a groan as her arms spill over the top rope, Lockwood’s gams visibly buckling, but she remains upright as London retreats to the opposite corner. The British Bombshell then takes off toward her opponent, a sprint that soon becomes a tumbling run--which would ideally end with Shea SLAMMING a back elbow into the bosom of FAWN’s least favorite Benedict Arnold.
A rocked Polly, struggling to do more than remain upright, watches with glassy baby blues as the Brit shows off her gymnastic tumbling. Lockwood digs deep and is able to push herself out of the corner. She catches Shea before London can execute the final backward leap to deliver the elbow to the cleft of Polly's bosom. The patriot manages to wrap her arms around the tanned tummy of Shea. Cinching tight, she tries to launch her foe in altogether different manner, namely with a belly-to-back suplex that could send the Manchester native airborne and crashing into the buckles behind the women.
Just as London starts to propel herself into her final ascent, she feels Polly’s arms draw shut around her waist--but it’s too late to apply the brakes. Instead, Shea’s shapely, powerful legs become rocket boosters for Lockwood as she bridges back and tosses the Sensational One over head. The British blonde’s eyes barely have time to widen before her altered flight comes to an abrupt and alarming end, the back of her skull ‘THWAP’ing into the leather padding of the middle turnbuckle and snapping her forward in a most distressing manner. And with that, Shea’s opening London Run comes to a chilling end, the crowd hushed into concerned silence as the FAWN icon crumples into a heap in the corner, both hands clutching the back of her neck, one boot gently drumming at the canvas.
More relieved than anything to have turned the tables, Polly drops to her knees and shakes out a cobweb or two. Slowly, she rises to her feet and turns to survey the upended London. As Shea starts to pull her way up to a seated position in the corner, the True American backpedals to the opposite set of buckles. She puts the only wrestler to hold three singles titles simultaneously in the frame of her thumbs and forefingers. With the Sensational One perfectly situated, Polly races toward her foe with no tumbling necessary. It's all dead sprint, at least until a few feet out, where she leaps with legs extended, planning on crashing down astride Shea's chest to bust the legendary British bronco.
Lockwood’s taut little tush finds a perfect saddle in the form of the Sensational One’s sternum, the TRUE American wasting little time in claiming the top rope with both hands and lifting her body into the air. Instantly, a sizable chunk of the FAWNatics turns traitorous toward the first ever FAWN World champion, lustful cheers--and certainly a hearty number of boos as well--filling the air as Polly THRUSTS her hips forward, dropping her backside heavily against London’s clavicle, the Sensational One getting considerably more intimately acquainted with Lockwood’s nether regions than she would no doubt ever consciously choose to be through the baker’s dozen of pelvic thrusts that force the legend deeper and deeper toward the mat.
Pushing the ref's patience to its limit, Lockwood dismounts but doesn't let the shellshocked Shea linger on the canvas. Instead, Polly tugs the Brit up and sneaks in behind her, the blonde's back to the buckles. With her hands in Shea's dirty blonde locks, to make sure London doesn't wander, the patriot takes a seat on the top buckle. She sneaks her legs around the noggin of the Englishwoman, planning on locking down a scissors, sliding her rump to the ropes, and tumbling over to stretch the back and neck of the British Bombshell with a Hanging Figure Four Necklock.
HANGING FIGURE FOUR NECKLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=29nOqLWFxLA
Crossing her ankles over one another, the American blonde throws it into reverse, her arms and locks spilling toward the floor as she hangs upside down--and the whole of her one hundred and eighteen pounds supported only by the Sensational One, who also found her skull being crushed between Lockwood’s knees. The crowd unloads with jeers as London’s hands rise to pry at Polly’s legs, her feet kicking at the air--and Polly stokes the passions of the FAWNatics further by treating them to a sassy swivel of her hips even as she hangs down. Fortunately for Shea, the TRUE American only had a “FOUR!” count to work with, at which point she breaks her scissors and flips through the air, landing on her feet in a manner befitting of Shea--who, for her part, collapses to a heap on the mat, one hand massaging her windpipe.
Polly turns to the liberal bleeding hearts in the front row and scowls. "Are you ALL traitors? I'm your ideal. Hot as hell and a TRUE American heroine."
The FAWNatics seems to disagree and Lockwood takes a swipe at one of them. The fan falls into the second row to avoid the slap and the Star-Spangled Bytch gets a good laugh. Turning her attention back to the flagging fighter who belonged back in yesteryear, Lockwood moves to the steps and climbs up. Remaining on the outside of the ropes, the blonde reaches through and pull Shea up by a handful of hair.
Blindly, London fires an elbow behind her that collides with Polly's chin, freeing the FAWN legend. As if shot out of a cannon, Shea hustles to the opposite side of the ring and rebounds back at Polly, the True American shifting her jaw, but also grabbing the middle rope with both hands. As Shea narrows the gap, ready to Suicide Dive through and send Polly flying, Lockwood tries to beat Shea to the punch with her signature Lunge.
LOCKWOOD LUNGE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhSX8bNbYGE
Polly shoots through the gap between the middle and top ropes, and Shea sprints head on into Lockwood’s shoulder DRIVING into her abdomen. The TRUE American projectile stops the Sensational One dead in her tracks, London folding across Polly’s shoulders, her eyes nearly popping out of her head and her tongue absolutely, if momentarily, forced out of her mouth. American and British blonde hit the deck with a thud, Shea rolling away and coming to rest on her back, both arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, struggling desperately to draw a breath into her burning lungs.
Polly is on her chest, next to the gutted Shea. She drapes an arm across London's midriff for...
ONE...
and TWO...
... but the Brit shoves it off to break the count. "Yeah," Polly bleats, apparently knowing well that wouldn't be enough to keep down the bellwether. Pushing up to her knees, she mounts Shea in a forward facing straddle of the Bombshell's waist. Polly lays in with closed right hands, swabbing the Brit's left jaw with a series of three right crosses. She dismounts and draws Shea up with her, tucking the dipped head of the dirty blonde under her left arm. "Let's see if an American can't show you how this is done." Racing forward with London in tow, Polly leaps with legs extended, planning on bulldogging the woman that had sent her to Fox&Friends to regain her focus.
As Lockwood starts to leave her feet, Shea’s right hand move to press against the small of the American’s back... but London’s left arm remains pressed against her gulping midsection. And only one hand is not enough to propel the Sensational One to freedom. Moreover, Lockwood’s descent proves too brief for Shea’s left hand to move away from her tummy enough to attempt to break her fall, and the FAWN legend is served up a vicious faceful of canvas that leaves the British blonde face down and spasming, her noggin resting just off Lockwood’s left hip.
Polly shoves Shea to her back, cradling the Brit in a ball and locking up her legs in a small package with Shea's shoulders plastered to the canvas. The ref drops next to the twosome and slaps for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shea bucks free, but it’s close enough call to leave many FAWNatics sighing in relief, and to draw the ire of the TRUE American. Rolling up to a seated position, Polly glares at the referee and demands to know whether or not his parents were born in Mexico. London, meanwhile, begins to drag herself on her stomach toward the ropes, but whether her intention is to use the cables to pull herself up or to roll underneath them and out to the floor for a breather is difficult to ascertain.
Polly shakes her head, her disbelief turning from the zebra to Shea's effort to escape. The blonde pushes to her feet and walks after the slithering Shea. She SLAMS a boot down on the base of London's spine and raises her hands high, drawing a loud bout of ire from the FAWNatics.
"Get up, Bytch," Polly demands, ripping her foe up by the hair until a slumping Shea rests on her haunches. "It's time for a 'killing'". Polly jogs across the ring and sets herself for the coupe de grace, crouching in anticipation of Shea rising. As London does, Polly shoots toward her, ready to raise her right knee to Shea's forehead and knock her into next week, putting Polly on a trajectory for lightweight contender status at Mania.
BYTCHKILLA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wrn-k3TPel4
Breathless but determined, the Sensational One pushes up from her knees, one arm STILL forced to tend to her abdomen as she starts to straighten up...
... and she never even sees what hits her.
The charging TRUE American’s knee sweeps into view for only a blinding millisecond before SLAMMING directly between London’s eyes. The British Bombshell’s legs fly out from underneath her, those eyes crossing and rolling back as Shea plummets to the mat. She hits the deck with a dull thud and a soft groan, legs splayed, one arm falling limp across her forehead while the other spills away from her body, palm upturned.
Lockwood skids to a stop, knowing the match is over and she's put London down to the great and silent displeasure of the crowd. She shrugs giddily at the assembled. "God bless America!" she shouts. "And more importantly, God bless Polly Lockwood."
The TRUE American moves to the splayed Shea and drops next to her, finally reclining across the carcass of the demolished London, her arms swept over her head as if she's lounging, using Shea's body as a pillow/mattress. The official drops next to the duo for the formality and slaps for...
ONE...
TWO...
and...
... Polly rolls to the side, down Shea's body. And with her hand in London's locks, proceeds to pull Shea's shoulders off the deck, stopping the count. A snickering Lockwood, raises an index finger and waggles. "No, no, no. I'm not done with this loser yet." She slowly rolls to her feet, dragging Shea's deadweight along with her. Polly considering what to do with her ragdoll next.
London’s Legion UNLOADS on the obnoxious blonde turncoat with both barrels, but that only seems to make Polly’s lips curl into an ever more wicked smirk. And sadly, the fans’ response seems to be considerably more than Shea herself is capable of, the British Bombshell hanging from her opponent’s grasp. Still, they’re given a reason to hope when London’s fingers curl into a fist, her arm sweeping off. Unfortunately, the swing is both sloppy and considerably short on power, and with Shea’s eyes still sealed shut, there’s little in the way of guidance other than instinct and Polly’s positioning--but there was still life in the icon, which means that there might still be hope.
The fist thumps into Polly's flat belly and draws a soft grunt, but more a growl than a grimace afterward. Dipping, Lockwood slips an arm through Shea's legs and scoops the Brit up and onto her right shoulder. The diminutive blonde shows off the surprising power for her size, walking the squirming London in a short lap until the patriot gets a head of steam and powerslams Shea to the deck, London spreading in a starfish. The pleased Star-Spangled Bytch trundles to the nearest corner, making a spectacle of herself as she climbs to the top. She looks out on the FAWNatics with a sneer. "I'm the only one that can save this organization and you're too stupid to see. Sad. But nothing can save Shea." With her piece said, Polly launches in a soaring backflip, the True American moonsaulting toward the splayed Shea to cut her in half with an acrobatic splash.
It’s then that the Sensational One displays an attribute which, under other circumstances, would probably be extolled by one Polly Lockwood: self-reliance. This takes the form of London summoning what embers of strength she can manage to draw her knees up to her chest, depriving the TRUE American of the soft and yielding landing strip she had been counting on. Lockwood bounces away, gutted and deflated, while Shea rolls to her stomach and reaches out an arm... which drops all but limp across the bottom rope.
Slowly, though, even as Polly fights to catch her breath, Shea begins to pull herself up along the ropes. Lockwood, meanwhile, struggles to her feet. Though still in some pain, there’s a sense of relief that her ribs seem to be more or less undamaged, but that relief gives way to anger when she spots London upright, though sagging against the cables. “Huge mistake, Little Shea,” the American blonde hisses as she approaches...
... and marches straight into a mule kick that catches Polly at the naval. The former Lightweight and Tag Team champion spins around, doubling slightly with a gasp. And Shea spins around as well, pushing off the ropes and leaping into the air. Again, the Sensational One draws her knees up toward her chest, only this time they also sail toward Lockwood’s shoulderblades, Shea reaching out to slip her hands around Polly’s chin to execute a lungblower.
London tucks tightly against Polly's back as she cups her hands under Lockwood's chin. Yanking back as she lays out to the canvas, the Brit rips the Yank off her moorings. As Shea's back hits the deck, Polly is skewered atop London's knees. The short but sturdy blonde pops off the Sensational One and flops to her side, both aching and in a state of confusion from the rattling of her braincase. Even with Shea still on the mat, the crowd's excitement rises with the possible genesis of another London Run, this one perhaps sending Polly back to being a Fox News presenter.
And that excitement reaches a fever pitch when the Sensational One rocks to her shoulders and suddenly kips up to her feet. Oh, her chest still heaves with each heavy breath she draws, and her body glistens under the FAWN Arena lights with the sheen of a battle that has extracted a heavy toll on her, but still London stands... and Polly is having more than her fair share of difficulty in doing the same. Gradually, though, the TRUE American makes it up to somewhat rubbery legs, her back turned to the surefire future first ballot FAWN Hall of Famer. Still facing away from Shea, Polly head darts from left to right before she begins to spin around...
... and Shea immediately charges toward her, leaping into the skies and--for a THIRD time--drawing up her knees, this time aiming to catch Lockwood with her signature London Blitz.
LONDON BLITZ:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODfj5aTY5TU
London leaps and Polly tries to counter the sky high Shea into something destructive, the blonde launching her foe a bit higher in the effort. But the forward momentum of the Brit proves too much for Lockwood to fully control. She's knocked over with London landing in a schoolgirl pin, her knees atop Polly's biceps. The Sensational One reaches back and collects the blonde's raised stems then leans forward in a perfect pin, Polly's lower half folded atop her upper. The official slides down to make the whole arena a happy one with the...
ONE...
TWO...
Lockwood forces a shoulder up, sliding to her side if still beneath Shea's undercarriage.
“Bit forward,” London muses with a sly grin, pushing up from her knees, “but play yer cards right...” Stooping down, the Sensational One snatches up a handful of hair and pulls the TRUE American up to her feet, Polly’s back to the British blonde. Nuzzling in tight against her opponent, Shea slips her arms around Lockwood’s waist, and promptly takes a page out of her original tag team partner’s book by popping her hips and attempting to RIP Polly off her feet, bridge back, and DRIVE the American’s head and shoulders into the mat with a German suplex.
The smaller Lockwood tries to keep herself grounded, lowering her gravity further, but Shea's too strong to be stopped in this instance. The reeling blonde is hauled off the canvas and backflipped over Shea's shoulders, at least partially. The patriot thumps to the mat, heels over head. London lands in a perfect bridge, if not a London Bridge, stacking Polly on her neck and shoulders and forcing the official down to show his prowess with the new math.
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
Lockwood kicks free and rolls to her side once more, drawing a disappointed groan from the crowd.
London rolls to her knees and slaps the canvas with both hands, frustrated, but far from discouraged. Pulling Polly up, the FAWN Original lines the American blonde up with the far corner and apparently looks to revisit an earlier line of attack, launching Lockwood toward the buckles with an Irish whip. But there is considerably more juice behind this Irish whip, more than likely enough to overwhelm Polly’s gams when her back hits the buckles--which would be exactly what the Sensational One is hoping for, with memories of Lockwood’s bronco buster still very fresh in her mind.
The little blonde hardbody is sent scooting on her way across the canvas at Shea's insistence. Lockwood turns and SLAMS into the buckles at full speed. Polly pops into the air from the impact and falls all the way to the canvas, her bubble-butt dropping to the mat, flagging frame loose as she leans heavily into the corner, legs extended in front of her. Shea is already on the way for a little payback and she launches her buster high, coming crashing in against Polly's chin, snapping the True American's head back in the process. Shea, showing more than a little excitement at her dominating Run, lets Polly have it. The crowd counts up ten pelvic thrusts and, with the ref tardy, caught in the excitement of the buffeting of the increasingly dazed Polly, lets eleven and twelve accumulate as well before London dismounts the bobbling noggin of the blasted patriot.
Taking a wrist and an elbow, Shea drags Polly just a few feet out of the corner, lining the American blonde up with her right hip facing the ringpost. And, apparently not yet satisfied that she had shown the FAWNatics that anything Lockwood can do London can indeed do better, the blonde Briton hisses, “Take notes, duchess.” She then steps over the TRUE American’s prone form, and begins scaling her way to the top turnbuckle from inside the ring. Reaching her perch with her back to the action, the Sensational One directs her next remarks to the frenzied FAWNatics.
“THIS IS ‘OW YA MOONSAULT!”
Little, sweat-soaked, tanned body placed on a platter, Polly's baby blues, though glazed, seem to see Shea high above. Her boots push weakly at the canvas as London launches. Even Polly's Patriots have to admit Shea's sault reaches a noticeably higher than Lockwood's and when Shea body SPLASHES against the open tummy of the True American, it's much more successful. The blasted Lockwood jackknifes around the impact, lips bursting open with a deep breath expunged. Polly melts back to the canvas beneath the legend, who, after her previous win, is again proving herself Polly's daddy...
... errr... mommy?
Better!
The Sensational One bounces up to her knees, but only for a moment. London tumbles forward, dropping across Lockwood’s midsection and scooping up the TRUE American’s outside leg. As the referee slides into position, the crowd vaults to its feet, shouting along the count with each slap of his hand against the canvas...
“ONE!
TWO!!
THREEOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
Alas, before the count can be completed, Polly shrugs a shoulder off the mat. Even if by only a few inches, it proves sufficient to keep her in the contest. “Bloody...” Shea exhales in a mixture of disbelief and disgust, but she stifles the thought before its conclusion, willing herself instead to rise and hairhaul the TRUE American up as well. “I know somethin’ ya’re NOT kickin’ out of...” London assures her, taking possession of Polly’s wrist. London would soon be calling...
LONDON CALLING @2:34:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCtNBQtj1_E
Shea spins and tugs the rubbery Polly to her so the women are side by side. London starts to transfer her grip to a two-handed, 3/4 facelock, but before she can clamp it down, Polly shows the True American spirit, sweeping her left leg through Shea's right, sending the back of the Brit's head in a blistering pace to the thinly-covered plywood below. London cradles her aching braincase with both hands, the FAWNatics in stunned silence. Lockwood staggers to the nearby corner, but instead of going up, a task she seems completely unable to do in her state, she slides through the ropes, turns and grabs the top with both hands. Shea rises, as surprised as anyone to have to seek out Lockwood. As she spins in the blonde's direction, mouths fall agape as Polly leaps to the top rope and springboards toward a dazzled Shea. Lockwood reaches for Shea's head, hoping to encircle it and blow up London's Run and everyone's night with a Polly Rocket.
POLLY ROCKET:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I
In what amounts to a display of agility and determination worthy of the woman who ends up on the receiving end of, Polly sails through the air, claiming possession of Shea’s noggin under her arm before the gobsmacked Briton can fully process what’s about to transpire. Her prize secured, Lockwood kicks her legs as high into the air as she can, as HARD as she can--an act which turns the TRUE American’s back to the canvas and sends her plummeting toward it, with the Sensational One in tow. Polly touches down, DRILLING the crown of London’s skull into the mat, both women flopping over to their backs in boneless, splayed heaps. And regardless of their feelings for the woman who had done it, the FAWNatics nevertheless express their appreciation in perhaps a unique chant...
“HO-LY F*CK! HO-LY F*CK!”
The audience is undeniably awed, and London clearly obliterated... but Polly, too, lies motionless for the moment, the sweat drenched blonde’s side by side. If either one could just tumble over and drape an arm across the other’s chest, a three count would all but assured--even, possibly, for the British Bombshell that had found herself at Ground Zero for the Polly Rocket...
Considering the history each had, even with the last blow being Polly's, it seems a twitching Shea might be the one to survive. Each turns toward the other simultaneously to throw that arm. But when they meet midway and their bodies 'smeck' together with a meaty connection, it's Lockwood who has enough force to roll Shea backwards. The tanned arm of the True American flops weakly but there it lies as the official slides in for...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE...
Shea’s balled fist flies into the air...
... but it does so just a heartbeat too late. Rising to his knees, the official shakes his head, turning and waving toward the timekeeper’s table, calling for the bell. Even before the announcer can make it official, a disappointed groan runs through the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, via pinfall... POOOLLLLLLYYY LOOOCCCKKKWWWOOOOOODDD!!!!!”
Only once those words are echoing through the FAWN Arena does Shea’s raised arm fall back to the canvas, limp, the TRUE American’s wing still resting against her heaving bosom.
Polly tries to push up, using Shea to do so, but she only manages to flop to her back, chest heaving as she draws in big tugs of oxygen. Shea lies alongside doing the same. Despite the disappointment in the result, the crowd rises as one to give both women a hand. The forest of people provides great cover to a diminutive ponytailed blonde racing down the aisle.
JANEL MANNING:
Janel Manning, clad in her battle gear, slides onto the canvas, rising and shoving the ref aside. Janel grabs Polly by the head and rips the ragdoll to her feet. Manning launches her fellow lightweight with the greatest of ease and keeps her elevated with the crown of the blonde's skull pointed to the canvas.
The former gymnast drops Lockwood straight down with a brutal brainbuster knocking Polly two or three blocks down Dream Street, the patriot ending in a motionless spreadeagle. Seemingly only aware there’s a ruckus, Shea tries to push up but only serves to deliver herself into the hands of the approaching Manning.
BRAINBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpKu656ILto
Janel sends Shea skyward in identical fashion to Polly and the results are as clean and crisp and violent with Janel spiking London with another brainbuster. Manning leaps to her feet over an unconscious and starfished Shea, pointing and jawing at both comatose bodies.
“That’s what you get, bytches!” she shouts. She plants a chalked bare foot atop London’s tummy and gives a flex of her impressive biceps. Polly and Shea weren’t saying anything different tonight.
"DON’T TREAD ON ME":
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPl2sTo_8-o
Having spoiled a huge win by the face of FAWN with her underhanded antics at the previous Pay-Per-View, Shea London had demanded her chance to set things and Polly Lockwood right. A few scattered ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet, saluting her anthem crisply. The other 99 percent of the FAWNatics make themselves known in a completely different fashion, raining a cascade of boos toward the upper stage.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
The haters get louder still when a familiar little blonde hardbody strides to center stage. Looking anything but sorry for her Pearl Harbor job on the FAWN favorite, she isn’t showing it. Coming back from an extended period of guest hosting Fox&Friends, Lockwood hadn’t seen the inside of a ring in quite some time, but she seems eager to make a lesson in patriotism out of the limey.
The blonde brings a salute to her brow to her Tea Partying troop. But when the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Lockwood adds her own little twist, a middle finger remaining straight and lifted while the others recede, showing everyone what she thinks of them.
Polly sports her customary hot pants and bikini top. Lockwood alternates her country’s colors between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in just the right spots, and shimmering red and white stripes below; with white pads and boots capping off the ensemble.
The ‘True American’ has her customary cape, Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak.
Lockwood crow hops into a jog to the ring, snarling at the moronic hordes who infest this great land. She ignores their insults and jeers, taking a swipe at one sign proclaiming ’The Redcoats are coming! And she’s kicking your ass!” as the ring announcer proclaims her arrival.
“Tonight’s next battle is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From Buffalo, New York…standing 5 foot 1 inch tall and weighing in at 118 scintillating pounds of All-American Awesome; ladies and gentlemen, she is the one and only TRUE AMERICAN…Polly Lockwood.”
The patriot ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood holds the star-spangled banner high. She sneers at the crowd returning their disdain, though momentarily hers is silent.
Moving to a corner, she exchanges her flag for a microphone and walks to the center of the ring, pulling it to her lips.
“You all thought London had driven me into the sweet embrace of Roger Ailes and that I’d never be back to claim what’s mine. Well, I kicked that lardass in the balls and I’m about to treat Shea the same way. No English tart has ever kept a TRUE American down for long and tonight I make that plain as her face.”
Lockwood tosses the stick to the canvas with a ‘CLUNK’ and the blonde moves to her corner, stretching her arms with tugs of the top rope.
... when suddenly, the arena's speakers roar into life following that small squall of feedback, posing their own question for one and all:
"Do you wanna get rocked?"
”LET’S GET ROCKED:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO1Nae_EBvQ
The audience responds with a roar worthy the main event at Mania WHEN Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" begins to pump over the PA. At which point the British Bombshell herself, Sensational Shea London, strides from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful.
SHEA LONDON:
“And her opponent,” the announcer resumes, “hailing from Manchester, England in the United Kingdom. She stands five feet four inches tall and weighs in tonight as one hundred and twenty pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, she is THE FAWN Original... the Sensational One... ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... SENSATIONAL SHHHEEEAAA LOOONNNDDDOOONNN!!!!!”
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returns to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presents a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms are primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that start at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image is broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads display the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
The gorgeous blonde makes a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Catching sight of one particular sign in the audience, Shea's grin grows even wider. Leaning over the railing, Shea swings her left arm around the shoulders of one fortunate fan, turning to the camera and pointing at the posterboard with her right. The placard reads, rather simply, “GOD SAVE THE QUEEN? CAN THE QUEEN SAVE US FROM POLLY AND TAKE US BACK?”
Further making the fan's day, London gives him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between the ropes, and makes a beeline for the Polly Patriot--not to throw hands yet, but getting chest to chest and nose to nose to with the slightly smaller blonde, clearly sending the message that Lockwood’s ambush might have hurt her last month, but it had NOT left her intimidated. Nevertheless, before the situation CAN escalate any further, the referee pulls the Sensational One away from the TRUE American, and ushers her toward her corner, so that he can call for the bell to start the match.
For her part, Polly shows little concern over Shea's emotional state. If anything, she seems to revel, having gotten under the legend's skin. With the bell, she rotates out of her corner, but Shea wants nothing of a slow dance, cutting Polly into a corner. Lockwood throws her torso between the top and middle rope, demanding the ref get London back. After Shea steps off, Polly reenters. "Don't try and rush a True American. You won't like the results." Polly starts skipping to her right again, looking for an opening to swoop in and upend London with a double-leg takedown.
And, seeing her opening, Lockwood takes it... but not quickly enough. As the American blonde goes low, Shea does a little skipping of her own to the side, and before Polly can finish straightening herself up, the Sensational One is glued to her back, London's arms wrapping around her waist. "Ya call it 'rushing'," Shea hisses into Polly's ear. "I call it yer arse just bein' too f*ckin' slow..." The Brit then pulls up against Polly's belly, attempting to muscle Lockwood off her feet and take her to the mat with a waistlock takedown.
Polly tries to get her center of gravity low, but London won't be denied. Shea lifts Lockwood off the deck, the blonde's abbreviated legs flailing in front of her until the Brit turns and deposits Polly to the canvas. Shea lands on top of the patriot and grinds her into the deck. Polly's flawless face scrunches in effort, trying to wriggle and spin her way out from underneath, hoping not only to escape but reverse positions with the legend.
As FAWNatics had long ago learned, Polly Lockwood can be pretty stubborn in her own right, and now it’s the TRUE American who will not accept defeat. Lockwood manages to break the clasp of London’s arms around her waist and works her way on top of the Brit, but Shea is at least able to partially thwart Polly’s aims by getting to her butt and making it to a seated position before her opponent can get her waistlock clinched. Polly gets her arms secured around London’s midsection regardless, though, and the Sensational One cocks her left elbow, aiming to swing it back and hoping to catch Lockwood in the side of the head.
Cinching her bearhug, Polly tries to force the air from Shea's lungs, but before she can work London's chest like a bellows, the Brit connects with a pointy elbow to her jaw. Jacked, Polly's noggin snaps back and her grip melts from around the Englishwoman. The kneeling patriot manages to make her feet, but staggers once vertical, shaking out a cobweb and massaging her jaw. Face turning stern, she glares at the risen London and races with right arm drawn, ready to clothesline her way back to early control.
But again, the British Bombshell proves a little too nimble, ducking under that raised scythe and charging a few step past the sprinting Lockwood herself. Shea stops on a dime, turning back toward Polly and sinking into a crouch even as the TRUE American gets reigns in her momentum and starts to spin around herself. And as one former Lightweight champion begins to turn, another launches her boot toward where Polly’s jaw should be once she’s made her revolution, London perhaps looking to end things early tonight if she can land this superkick.
A furious star-spangled bytch spins to beat the snot out of the limey, but instead gets a chinful of London's boot sole. Shea's superkick is on supertarget and Polly's body is sent airborne from the clean connection. Polly sprawls to the canvas, stretched out in a spreadeagle, staring blankly at the rafters, her chance to re-enter FAWN with a bang turning into the wrong kind of BANG in a hurry. Shea scrambles atop the stunned blonde, curling Polly into a tight cradle for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
The True American shows her spirit and kicks her way free.
“Clearly, I’m targettin’ tha wrong part,” London mutters to herself as she rises, but then shakes her head. “Still think I’m gonna cave it in, though.” The Sensational One turns to the near ropes and slips through them, stationing herself on the apron in front of Polly as the American blonde manages to roll over and push up to her hands and knees. Shea claims the top rope with both hands and, as Lockwood forces herself to rise further, London rocks backward. But then, the British Bombshell launches herself over the top rope, hoping to catch the TRUE American around the neck and spike her skull with a slingshot DDT.
SLINGSHOT DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgB4IR2_UAY
A bent Lockwood stares at the canvas, looking tipsy. She tries to gather, but London is doing a little gathering of her own. Shea launches her way over the ropes and smoothly circles her left arm around the back of Polly's neck. Gravity does the rest for London. And while Shea drops to her backside, Polly's braincase is SPIKED into the canvas in brutal fashion. The crowd roars as the True American slops on to her back, arms and legs in wide 'V's, lids fluttering.
The Sensational One rolls over, draping herself across Lockwood’s chest and gathering up and hooking the outside leg.
ONE...
TWO...
THNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Polly gets a shoulder up.
There’s no surprise on Shea’s part as she pushes to her feet, nor any signs of disappointment or frustration. Bending down, the blonde Brit snatches up a handful of Lockwood’s locks and tugs the TRUE American up to her feet. Spinning around so that her back is to the smaller blonde’s shoulder, Shea slings an arm around her foe’s neck and starts to charge forward across the ring with Polly in tow, fully prepared to SLAM Lockwood’s mug into the mat with a bulldog.
The dazed Lockwood, looking for the world like her early YA jobber days, is drawn up and along by the living legend. Reaching mid-ring, Shea leaps into the air. But determined to start making her own story, Polly gets her palms up and on either of London's hips. With a breathy grunt, Lockwood shoves Shea forward, removing the Brit's headlock as she does. Having saved herself, Polly sighs as London's flight is extended by the True American. But unbeknownst to the blonde, Shea doesn't crack her tailbone on the canvas. Instead, she's airborne into the ropes. The dirty blonde shows the cat-like reflexes of a woman ten years younger. Her boots land on the middle ropes as she grabs onto the top. Almost instantly, Shea springboards in a 180 and sweeps a soccer kick into the temple of the True American. Polly pirouettes into a jumbled heap at Shea's feet.
This time, Shea elects to stay on the attack rather than go for what would most likely be only a nearfall. Yanking the TRUE American up to her feet with a handful of flaxen locks, London lines Lockwood up with the far corner before shifting her grip from the smaller girl’s hair to her wrist. Setting her feet, the Sensational One whips Polly toward the buckles with all her might, the former Lightweight champion only just managing to turn her back into the collision.
She lets out a groan as her arms spill over the top rope, Lockwood’s gams visibly buckling, but she remains upright as London retreats to the opposite corner. The British Bombshell then takes off toward her opponent, a sprint that soon becomes a tumbling run--which would ideally end with Shea SLAMMING a back elbow into the bosom of FAWN’s least favorite Benedict Arnold.
A rocked Polly, struggling to do more than remain upright, watches with glassy baby blues as the Brit shows off her gymnastic tumbling. Lockwood digs deep and is able to push herself out of the corner. She catches Shea before London can execute the final backward leap to deliver the elbow to the cleft of Polly's bosom. The patriot manages to wrap her arms around the tanned tummy of Shea. Cinching tight, she tries to launch her foe in altogether different manner, namely with a belly-to-back suplex that could send the Manchester native airborne and crashing into the buckles behind the women.
Just as London starts to propel herself into her final ascent, she feels Polly’s arms draw shut around her waist--but it’s too late to apply the brakes. Instead, Shea’s shapely, powerful legs become rocket boosters for Lockwood as she bridges back and tosses the Sensational One over head. The British blonde’s eyes barely have time to widen before her altered flight comes to an abrupt and alarming end, the back of her skull ‘THWAP’ing into the leather padding of the middle turnbuckle and snapping her forward in a most distressing manner. And with that, Shea’s opening London Run comes to a chilling end, the crowd hushed into concerned silence as the FAWN icon crumples into a heap in the corner, both hands clutching the back of her neck, one boot gently drumming at the canvas.
More relieved than anything to have turned the tables, Polly drops to her knees and shakes out a cobweb or two. Slowly, she rises to her feet and turns to survey the upended London. As Shea starts to pull her way up to a seated position in the corner, the True American backpedals to the opposite set of buckles. She puts the only wrestler to hold three singles titles simultaneously in the frame of her thumbs and forefingers. With the Sensational One perfectly situated, Polly races toward her foe with no tumbling necessary. It's all dead sprint, at least until a few feet out, where she leaps with legs extended, planning on crashing down astride Shea's chest to bust the legendary British bronco.
Lockwood’s taut little tush finds a perfect saddle in the form of the Sensational One’s sternum, the TRUE American wasting little time in claiming the top rope with both hands and lifting her body into the air. Instantly, a sizable chunk of the FAWNatics turns traitorous toward the first ever FAWN World champion, lustful cheers--and certainly a hearty number of boos as well--filling the air as Polly THRUSTS her hips forward, dropping her backside heavily against London’s clavicle, the Sensational One getting considerably more intimately acquainted with Lockwood’s nether regions than she would no doubt ever consciously choose to be through the baker’s dozen of pelvic thrusts that force the legend deeper and deeper toward the mat.
Pushing the ref's patience to its limit, Lockwood dismounts but doesn't let the shellshocked Shea linger on the canvas. Instead, Polly tugs the Brit up and sneaks in behind her, the blonde's back to the buckles. With her hands in Shea's dirty blonde locks, to make sure London doesn't wander, the patriot takes a seat on the top buckle. She sneaks her legs around the noggin of the Englishwoman, planning on locking down a scissors, sliding her rump to the ropes, and tumbling over to stretch the back and neck of the British Bombshell with a Hanging Figure Four Necklock.
HANGING FIGURE FOUR NECKLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=29nOqLWFxLA
Crossing her ankles over one another, the American blonde throws it into reverse, her arms and locks spilling toward the floor as she hangs upside down--and the whole of her one hundred and eighteen pounds supported only by the Sensational One, who also found her skull being crushed between Lockwood’s knees. The crowd unloads with jeers as London’s hands rise to pry at Polly’s legs, her feet kicking at the air--and Polly stokes the passions of the FAWNatics further by treating them to a sassy swivel of her hips even as she hangs down. Fortunately for Shea, the TRUE American only had a “FOUR!” count to work with, at which point she breaks her scissors and flips through the air, landing on her feet in a manner befitting of Shea--who, for her part, collapses to a heap on the mat, one hand massaging her windpipe.
Polly turns to the liberal bleeding hearts in the front row and scowls. "Are you ALL traitors? I'm your ideal. Hot as hell and a TRUE American heroine."
The FAWNatics seems to disagree and Lockwood takes a swipe at one of them. The fan falls into the second row to avoid the slap and the Star-Spangled Bytch gets a good laugh. Turning her attention back to the flagging fighter who belonged back in yesteryear, Lockwood moves to the steps and climbs up. Remaining on the outside of the ropes, the blonde reaches through and pull Shea up by a handful of hair.
Blindly, London fires an elbow behind her that collides with Polly's chin, freeing the FAWN legend. As if shot out of a cannon, Shea hustles to the opposite side of the ring and rebounds back at Polly, the True American shifting her jaw, but also grabbing the middle rope with both hands. As Shea narrows the gap, ready to Suicide Dive through and send Polly flying, Lockwood tries to beat Shea to the punch with her signature Lunge.
LOCKWOOD LUNGE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhSX8bNbYGE
Polly shoots through the gap between the middle and top ropes, and Shea sprints head on into Lockwood’s shoulder DRIVING into her abdomen. The TRUE American projectile stops the Sensational One dead in her tracks, London folding across Polly’s shoulders, her eyes nearly popping out of her head and her tongue absolutely, if momentarily, forced out of her mouth. American and British blonde hit the deck with a thud, Shea rolling away and coming to rest on her back, both arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, struggling desperately to draw a breath into her burning lungs.
Polly is on her chest, next to the gutted Shea. She drapes an arm across London's midriff for...
ONE...
and TWO...
... but the Brit shoves it off to break the count. "Yeah," Polly bleats, apparently knowing well that wouldn't be enough to keep down the bellwether. Pushing up to her knees, she mounts Shea in a forward facing straddle of the Bombshell's waist. Polly lays in with closed right hands, swabbing the Brit's left jaw with a series of three right crosses. She dismounts and draws Shea up with her, tucking the dipped head of the dirty blonde under her left arm. "Let's see if an American can't show you how this is done." Racing forward with London in tow, Polly leaps with legs extended, planning on bulldogging the woman that had sent her to Fox&Friends to regain her focus.
As Lockwood starts to leave her feet, Shea’s right hand move to press against the small of the American’s back... but London’s left arm remains pressed against her gulping midsection. And only one hand is not enough to propel the Sensational One to freedom. Moreover, Lockwood’s descent proves too brief for Shea’s left hand to move away from her tummy enough to attempt to break her fall, and the FAWN legend is served up a vicious faceful of canvas that leaves the British blonde face down and spasming, her noggin resting just off Lockwood’s left hip.
Polly shoves Shea to her back, cradling the Brit in a ball and locking up her legs in a small package with Shea's shoulders plastered to the canvas. The ref drops next to the twosome and slaps for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shea bucks free, but it’s close enough call to leave many FAWNatics sighing in relief, and to draw the ire of the TRUE American. Rolling up to a seated position, Polly glares at the referee and demands to know whether or not his parents were born in Mexico. London, meanwhile, begins to drag herself on her stomach toward the ropes, but whether her intention is to use the cables to pull herself up or to roll underneath them and out to the floor for a breather is difficult to ascertain.
Polly shakes her head, her disbelief turning from the zebra to Shea's effort to escape. The blonde pushes to her feet and walks after the slithering Shea. She SLAMS a boot down on the base of London's spine and raises her hands high, drawing a loud bout of ire from the FAWNatics.
"Get up, Bytch," Polly demands, ripping her foe up by the hair until a slumping Shea rests on her haunches. "It's time for a 'killing'". Polly jogs across the ring and sets herself for the coupe de grace, crouching in anticipation of Shea rising. As London does, Polly shoots toward her, ready to raise her right knee to Shea's forehead and knock her into next week, putting Polly on a trajectory for lightweight contender status at Mania.
BYTCHKILLA:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wrn-k3TPel4
Breathless but determined, the Sensational One pushes up from her knees, one arm STILL forced to tend to her abdomen as she starts to straighten up...
... and she never even sees what hits her.
The charging TRUE American’s knee sweeps into view for only a blinding millisecond before SLAMMING directly between London’s eyes. The British Bombshell’s legs fly out from underneath her, those eyes crossing and rolling back as Shea plummets to the mat. She hits the deck with a dull thud and a soft groan, legs splayed, one arm falling limp across her forehead while the other spills away from her body, palm upturned.
Lockwood skids to a stop, knowing the match is over and she's put London down to the great and silent displeasure of the crowd. She shrugs giddily at the assembled. "God bless America!" she shouts. "And more importantly, God bless Polly Lockwood."
The TRUE American moves to the splayed Shea and drops next to her, finally reclining across the carcass of the demolished London, her arms swept over her head as if she's lounging, using Shea's body as a pillow/mattress. The official drops next to the duo for the formality and slaps for...
ONE...
TWO...
and...
... Polly rolls to the side, down Shea's body. And with her hand in London's locks, proceeds to pull Shea's shoulders off the deck, stopping the count. A snickering Lockwood, raises an index finger and waggles. "No, no, no. I'm not done with this loser yet." She slowly rolls to her feet, dragging Shea's deadweight along with her. Polly considering what to do with her ragdoll next.
London’s Legion UNLOADS on the obnoxious blonde turncoat with both barrels, but that only seems to make Polly’s lips curl into an ever more wicked smirk. And sadly, the fans’ response seems to be considerably more than Shea herself is capable of, the British Bombshell hanging from her opponent’s grasp. Still, they’re given a reason to hope when London’s fingers curl into a fist, her arm sweeping off. Unfortunately, the swing is both sloppy and considerably short on power, and with Shea’s eyes still sealed shut, there’s little in the way of guidance other than instinct and Polly’s positioning--but there was still life in the icon, which means that there might still be hope.
The fist thumps into Polly's flat belly and draws a soft grunt, but more a growl than a grimace afterward. Dipping, Lockwood slips an arm through Shea's legs and scoops the Brit up and onto her right shoulder. The diminutive blonde shows off the surprising power for her size, walking the squirming London in a short lap until the patriot gets a head of steam and powerslams Shea to the deck, London spreading in a starfish. The pleased Star-Spangled Bytch trundles to the nearest corner, making a spectacle of herself as she climbs to the top. She looks out on the FAWNatics with a sneer. "I'm the only one that can save this organization and you're too stupid to see. Sad. But nothing can save Shea." With her piece said, Polly launches in a soaring backflip, the True American moonsaulting toward the splayed Shea to cut her in half with an acrobatic splash.
It’s then that the Sensational One displays an attribute which, under other circumstances, would probably be extolled by one Polly Lockwood: self-reliance. This takes the form of London summoning what embers of strength she can manage to draw her knees up to her chest, depriving the TRUE American of the soft and yielding landing strip she had been counting on. Lockwood bounces away, gutted and deflated, while Shea rolls to her stomach and reaches out an arm... which drops all but limp across the bottom rope.
Slowly, though, even as Polly fights to catch her breath, Shea begins to pull herself up along the ropes. Lockwood, meanwhile, struggles to her feet. Though still in some pain, there’s a sense of relief that her ribs seem to be more or less undamaged, but that relief gives way to anger when she spots London upright, though sagging against the cables. “Huge mistake, Little Shea,” the American blonde hisses as she approaches...
... and marches straight into a mule kick that catches Polly at the naval. The former Lightweight and Tag Team champion spins around, doubling slightly with a gasp. And Shea spins around as well, pushing off the ropes and leaping into the air. Again, the Sensational One draws her knees up toward her chest, only this time they also sail toward Lockwood’s shoulderblades, Shea reaching out to slip her hands around Polly’s chin to execute a lungblower.
London tucks tightly against Polly's back as she cups her hands under Lockwood's chin. Yanking back as she lays out to the canvas, the Brit rips the Yank off her moorings. As Shea's back hits the deck, Polly is skewered atop London's knees. The short but sturdy blonde pops off the Sensational One and flops to her side, both aching and in a state of confusion from the rattling of her braincase. Even with Shea still on the mat, the crowd's excitement rises with the possible genesis of another London Run, this one perhaps sending Polly back to being a Fox News presenter.
And that excitement reaches a fever pitch when the Sensational One rocks to her shoulders and suddenly kips up to her feet. Oh, her chest still heaves with each heavy breath she draws, and her body glistens under the FAWN Arena lights with the sheen of a battle that has extracted a heavy toll on her, but still London stands... and Polly is having more than her fair share of difficulty in doing the same. Gradually, though, the TRUE American makes it up to somewhat rubbery legs, her back turned to the surefire future first ballot FAWN Hall of Famer. Still facing away from Shea, Polly head darts from left to right before she begins to spin around...
... and Shea immediately charges toward her, leaping into the skies and--for a THIRD time--drawing up her knees, this time aiming to catch Lockwood with her signature London Blitz.
LONDON BLITZ:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODfj5aTY5TU
London leaps and Polly tries to counter the sky high Shea into something destructive, the blonde launching her foe a bit higher in the effort. But the forward momentum of the Brit proves too much for Lockwood to fully control. She's knocked over with London landing in a schoolgirl pin, her knees atop Polly's biceps. The Sensational One reaches back and collects the blonde's raised stems then leans forward in a perfect pin, Polly's lower half folded atop her upper. The official slides down to make the whole arena a happy one with the...
ONE...
TWO...
Lockwood forces a shoulder up, sliding to her side if still beneath Shea's undercarriage.
“Bit forward,” London muses with a sly grin, pushing up from her knees, “but play yer cards right...” Stooping down, the Sensational One snatches up a handful of hair and pulls the TRUE American up to her feet, Polly’s back to the British blonde. Nuzzling in tight against her opponent, Shea slips her arms around Lockwood’s waist, and promptly takes a page out of her original tag team partner’s book by popping her hips and attempting to RIP Polly off her feet, bridge back, and DRIVE the American’s head and shoulders into the mat with a German suplex.
The smaller Lockwood tries to keep herself grounded, lowering her gravity further, but Shea's too strong to be stopped in this instance. The reeling blonde is hauled off the canvas and backflipped over Shea's shoulders, at least partially. The patriot thumps to the mat, heels over head. London lands in a perfect bridge, if not a London Bridge, stacking Polly on her neck and shoulders and forcing the official down to show his prowess with the new math.
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOO!
Lockwood kicks free and rolls to her side once more, drawing a disappointed groan from the crowd.
London rolls to her knees and slaps the canvas with both hands, frustrated, but far from discouraged. Pulling Polly up, the FAWN Original lines the American blonde up with the far corner and apparently looks to revisit an earlier line of attack, launching Lockwood toward the buckles with an Irish whip. But there is considerably more juice behind this Irish whip, more than likely enough to overwhelm Polly’s gams when her back hits the buckles--which would be exactly what the Sensational One is hoping for, with memories of Lockwood’s bronco buster still very fresh in her mind.
The little blonde hardbody is sent scooting on her way across the canvas at Shea's insistence. Lockwood turns and SLAMS into the buckles at full speed. Polly pops into the air from the impact and falls all the way to the canvas, her bubble-butt dropping to the mat, flagging frame loose as she leans heavily into the corner, legs extended in front of her. Shea is already on the way for a little payback and she launches her buster high, coming crashing in against Polly's chin, snapping the True American's head back in the process. Shea, showing more than a little excitement at her dominating Run, lets Polly have it. The crowd counts up ten pelvic thrusts and, with the ref tardy, caught in the excitement of the buffeting of the increasingly dazed Polly, lets eleven and twelve accumulate as well before London dismounts the bobbling noggin of the blasted patriot.
Taking a wrist and an elbow, Shea drags Polly just a few feet out of the corner, lining the American blonde up with her right hip facing the ringpost. And, apparently not yet satisfied that she had shown the FAWNatics that anything Lockwood can do London can indeed do better, the blonde Briton hisses, “Take notes, duchess.” She then steps over the TRUE American’s prone form, and begins scaling her way to the top turnbuckle from inside the ring. Reaching her perch with her back to the action, the Sensational One directs her next remarks to the frenzied FAWNatics.
“THIS IS ‘OW YA MOONSAULT!”
Little, sweat-soaked, tanned body placed on a platter, Polly's baby blues, though glazed, seem to see Shea high above. Her boots push weakly at the canvas as London launches. Even Polly's Patriots have to admit Shea's sault reaches a noticeably higher than Lockwood's and when Shea body SPLASHES against the open tummy of the True American, it's much more successful. The blasted Lockwood jackknifes around the impact, lips bursting open with a deep breath expunged. Polly melts back to the canvas beneath the legend, who, after her previous win, is again proving herself Polly's daddy...
... errr... mommy?
Better!
The Sensational One bounces up to her knees, but only for a moment. London tumbles forward, dropping across Lockwood’s midsection and scooping up the TRUE American’s outside leg. As the referee slides into position, the crowd vaults to its feet, shouting along the count with each slap of his hand against the canvas...
“ONE!
TWO!!
THREEOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
Alas, before the count can be completed, Polly shrugs a shoulder off the mat. Even if by only a few inches, it proves sufficient to keep her in the contest. “Bloody...” Shea exhales in a mixture of disbelief and disgust, but she stifles the thought before its conclusion, willing herself instead to rise and hairhaul the TRUE American up as well. “I know somethin’ ya’re NOT kickin’ out of...” London assures her, taking possession of Polly’s wrist. London would soon be calling...
LONDON CALLING @2:34:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCtNBQtj1_E
Shea spins and tugs the rubbery Polly to her so the women are side by side. London starts to transfer her grip to a two-handed, 3/4 facelock, but before she can clamp it down, Polly shows the True American spirit, sweeping her left leg through Shea's right, sending the back of the Brit's head in a blistering pace to the thinly-covered plywood below. London cradles her aching braincase with both hands, the FAWNatics in stunned silence. Lockwood staggers to the nearby corner, but instead of going up, a task she seems completely unable to do in her state, she slides through the ropes, turns and grabs the top with both hands. Shea rises, as surprised as anyone to have to seek out Lockwood. As she spins in the blonde's direction, mouths fall agape as Polly leaps to the top rope and springboards toward a dazzled Shea. Lockwood reaches for Shea's head, hoping to encircle it and blow up London's Run and everyone's night with a Polly Rocket.
POLLY ROCKET:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I
In what amounts to a display of agility and determination worthy of the woman who ends up on the receiving end of, Polly sails through the air, claiming possession of Shea’s noggin under her arm before the gobsmacked Briton can fully process what’s about to transpire. Her prize secured, Lockwood kicks her legs as high into the air as she can, as HARD as she can--an act which turns the TRUE American’s back to the canvas and sends her plummeting toward it, with the Sensational One in tow. Polly touches down, DRILLING the crown of London’s skull into the mat, both women flopping over to their backs in boneless, splayed heaps. And regardless of their feelings for the woman who had done it, the FAWNatics nevertheless express their appreciation in perhaps a unique chant...
“HO-LY F*CK! HO-LY F*CK!”
The audience is undeniably awed, and London clearly obliterated... but Polly, too, lies motionless for the moment, the sweat drenched blonde’s side by side. If either one could just tumble over and drape an arm across the other’s chest, a three count would all but assured--even, possibly, for the British Bombshell that had found herself at Ground Zero for the Polly Rocket...
Considering the history each had, even with the last blow being Polly's, it seems a twitching Shea might be the one to survive. Each turns toward the other simultaneously to throw that arm. But when they meet midway and their bodies 'smeck' together with a meaty connection, it's Lockwood who has enough force to roll Shea backwards. The tanned arm of the True American flops weakly but there it lies as the official slides in for...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE...
Shea’s balled fist flies into the air...
... but it does so just a heartbeat too late. Rising to his knees, the official shakes his head, turning and waving toward the timekeeper’s table, calling for the bell. Even before the announcer can make it official, a disappointed groan runs through the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, via pinfall... POOOLLLLLLYYY LOOOCCCKKKWWWOOOOOODDD!!!!!”
Only once those words are echoing through the FAWN Arena does Shea’s raised arm fall back to the canvas, limp, the TRUE American’s wing still resting against her heaving bosom.
Polly tries to push up, using Shea to do so, but she only manages to flop to her back, chest heaving as she draws in big tugs of oxygen. Shea lies alongside doing the same. Despite the disappointment in the result, the crowd rises as one to give both women a hand. The forest of people provides great cover to a diminutive ponytailed blonde racing down the aisle.
JANEL MANNING:
Janel Manning, clad in her battle gear, slides onto the canvas, rising and shoving the ref aside. Janel grabs Polly by the head and rips the ragdoll to her feet. Manning launches her fellow lightweight with the greatest of ease and keeps her elevated with the crown of the blonde's skull pointed to the canvas.
The former gymnast drops Lockwood straight down with a brutal brainbuster knocking Polly two or three blocks down Dream Street, the patriot ending in a motionless spreadeagle. Seemingly only aware there’s a ruckus, Shea tries to push up but only serves to deliver herself into the hands of the approaching Manning.
BRAINBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpKu656ILto
Janel sends Shea skyward in identical fashion to Polly and the results are as clean and crisp and violent with Janel spiking London with another brainbuster. Manning leaps to her feet over an unconscious and starfished Shea, pointing and jawing at both comatose bodies.
“That’s what you get, bytches!” she shouts. She plants a chalked bare foot atop London’s tummy and gives a flex of her impressive biceps. Polly and Shea weren’t saying anything different tonight.