Post by bigfan on Oct 1, 2016 4:29:40 GMT
Knowing Janel’s interference at last month’s show, leaving both Shea London and Polly Lockwood smoking wreckage, shut up in the PPV before Mania, the stirring guitar of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ ‘You Better Pray’ crashing over the arena, surprises few. Still, the crowd is energized, the FAWNatics turning as one to the upper stage with lungs would cause the commissioner to force Manning to put up or at the ready.(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_WxsL5q3I4 ).
It’s hardly a hero’s welcome for the Malevolent Mite, the success of the Olympic women’s gymnastics team doing nothing to relieve the continued disdain the crowd holds toward the former Olympian. The ring announcer’s primer draws the decibels higher, the man barely heard over the roar. “Tonight’s next match is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. Introducing first…hailing from the hallowed halls of Iowa City, Iowa… standing a full 4 feet 11 inches tall and weighing 117 pounds… The Golden Mite herself…JANEL MANNING!”
JANEL MANNING:
With the opening remarks complete, the FAWNatics wait for the Mite-y One, the arena falling into darkness. A red spotlight illuminates the stage from the right, before winking out. The process is followed by a white spot from directly overhead, then a blue one from the left. As the sequence began its second cycle, it provides the outline of a diminutive, muscular form. As the house lights rise, the tiny terror of vault, balance beam, and uneven bars, parades down the ramp and aisle.
Janel’s flaxen ponytail swishes from one side to the other as she moves up the steps, the champ in a skin-tight, red-white-and-blue leotard, stars-and-stripes replacing her usual leopard spots. The spandex has a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small gold strips across the opposite number. She sports black wrist and ankle tape, pads and, as always, is without boots, the soles of her feet chalked for battle. Janel flexes her toes before flinging herself over the top cable without a hint of effort, dropping into a somersault, before popping gracefully to her feet.
The ferocious fireplug races across the ring and throws herself into a rebound off the cables, before skidding to a stop with a beaming smile. Though last seen losing to London, the former gymnast shows no lack of confidence whether tonight’s foe be Shea or a chance for Polly to battle the woman ‘borrowing’ her colors. Manning moves to the ropes nearest the timekeeper’s table and asks for a microphone, plucking one from the air after a toss from a FAWN flunky.
“You thought I’d let those pretenders not feel what the best athlete in this organization can do,” Janel says. “I don’t give a damn if it’s Shea, Polly or Erika Eisenberg with Pandora on her shoulders. I’m going to show whoever comes down that aisle and show YOU the reason I came back was to dominate, like my friends and colleagues in Rio did.” The Golden Mite tosses the microphone away and moves to her corner where she turns and casts an eye toward the upper stage, waiting to find out who Bethany Christian has in mind.
The answer comes in the form of a question, when suddenly, the arena's speakers roar into life following that small squall of feedback:
"Do you want to 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.
“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!!!!!”
SHEA LONDON:
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returns to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presents a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms are primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that start at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image is broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads display the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
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 posterboard sports a rather fetching picture of the Sensational One’s opponent this evening, but the caption is considerably less flattering: “THE GOLDEN GNAT”
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, turning and taking a step toward her corner... but only one step, after which she whips around, flaxen locks flying as she fixes Manning with a glare. “Funny,” London says. “Last time my back was turned ta ya, ya couldn’t wait ta jump it.”
"I'm going to jump you again. And again. And again. I'll do it as many times as they force me to do it until I show you it's seriously time to retire. You, Lisa and Portia. Things come in three and they go in threes. Except maybe The Three." And to show Manning means business, she doesn't wait for the bell. Janel races headlong at London only to pull up just short of her foe, hoping the Brit shows her hand. If so, she could react accordingly to take early control of the rematch.
Patience has never been much of a strong suit for the Sensational One, especially in relation to someone she might be itching to get her hands on. And as quick at Janel might be, so too is the British Bombshell, and she responds in the blink of an eye. But it’s not her hand that London shows, but rather a boot, shifting briefly into a subtle crouch before exploding out of it with a superkick aimed at Janel’s jaw--a target graciously much lower than most in the world of FAWN. But the lower tee shouldn’t stop the Golden Mite’s noggin from sailing into the second row, should Shea connect flush.
Using her vertically-challenged frame to her advantage, Manning ducks under London's effort. With only one of Shea's legs planted, the former gymnast scoops up the other and has the Brit in her control. She dumps Shea to the deck, landing on top of the Sensational One's back. Janel rides the living legend close, chest pressed into shoulderblades, doing her best impression of an Olympic wrestler. Shea tries to sit out and skid away but Manning skillfully slides with her and keeps her position, whispering in London's ear. "No repeat performance tonight, bytch. With you beat, they'll have to let me strip the stripes off Polly at Mania."
If there’s one silver lining for the Sensational One, it’s that she currently finds herself engulfed by Janel’s arms and not her legs. But having been in the ring once before with the Golden Mite, London knows that being trapped inside those thighs of steel is the absolute LAST place she wants to be. While Manning remains glued tightly to her back, the blonde Brit makes the calculation that trying to scoot her way to the ropes would be quicker than attempting to elbow her way to freedom, so she digs in her heels and attempts to use her feet to pull herself toward the cables before the American pix can add a bodyscissors to her current predicament.
London's quick thinking proves successful as when Manning tries to switch her grip to a full nelson, Shea uses the opportunity to reach the cables without much difficulty. She lays one boot atop the bottom strand. The official calls for the break and Janel obliges, raising her hands high and retreating several steps. She waits patiently for Shea to reach her feet. Turning to the crowd, beaming, Janel comments. "I'm full of the Olympic spirit. Come on over Shea and see what you can do with a world class athlete instead of a Fox News bimbo." Manning waits for Shea to step to the task before throwing her body forward in a collar-and-elbow, hoping to twist London into a side headlock where the little hardbody could work her considerable biceps around and pressing into Shea's nog
Janel might have initially achieved her fame with feats of acrobatic prowess, but the Golden Mite has proven an adept hand at the art of wrestling since transitioning to this sport. Manning’s natural quickness proves a boost to her efforts, but regardless, she manages to get London’s head locked underneath her arm with minimal difficulty. The British blonde grunts and groans as Manning’s arm grinds her noggin against her hip. But Shea is not without an answer. Wrapping her arms around her opponent’s waist, the Sensational One attempts to hoist her foe off her feet, intending to genuflect and deposit Manning’s backside against her posted knee with an atomic drop.
Expecting Shea to use her speed to grab a wrist and whip around for a hammerlock, Manning seems unprepared for the FAWN legend to 'get big' with the muscular if short grappler. And when the Brit attempts to launch the former gymnast, she succeeds without a hitch. Worse for Janel is the trip down as London lowers to her left knee and inserts her right HIGH and DEEP between Janel's muscular thighs. The Iowan bounces off the bony joint as if on a spring, hands rushing to her tailbone, the shockwave travelling up and down her spine. Janel sticks the landing but is frozen in place, rubbing at her undercarriage as she winces in pain.
The paralysis fades before too long, but as the Golden Mite turns, Shea takes flight, shooting out her boots and catching Manning in the chest with a dropkick. Both blondes go down--but the Sensational One kips right back up and, without breaking stride, sprints toward the ropes off Janel’s left flank. Once more, London goes airborne, this time landing on the middle cable and launching herself back in a breathtaking lionsault, perhaps looking to administer an early test to Manning’s eight-pack.
Janel looks aware of Shea's plan but the ache from below slows her ability to pull her knees up in time. They start to creep up, but the Bombshell SPLASHES across the midriff of the ponytailed blonde before she can manage fully. The chiseled abs of the athlete afforded her protection but not enough to prevent her from jackknifing around Shea. A groan escapes the American's lips as she fades back to the canvas. Manning rolls to her side before Shea can go for the pin, the Mite hoping to prevent an early count.
When the Sensational One reaches out for her retreating foe, most FAWNatics suspect she wants to pull Janel back to her. But instead, London pushes the Golden Mite over to her stomach--and, in the next moment, she crawls forward, slipping her knees onto Manning’s back. And when Shea begins to reach one hand toward the former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion’s chin and her other toward Manning’s ankle, London’s Legions ERUPT, the possibility of the Bridge bringing a very quick end to this mouthy brat’s night an EXTREMELY satisfying one.
Going for checkmate from out of the blue, London seems to catch Janel without an inkling. Her hands wrap around the targets and, likewise, Shea's knees dig into her foe's upper and lower spine. But the crowd goes volcanic when Shea pulls the captured Janel with her as she rolls to her back, hoisting Manning into the air above her. The former gymnast's abs are arched to the sky, Manning stifling moans to whimpers as her hands flail wildly, trying to reach behind her to find a piece of Shea to latch onto, but unable. The ref sinks to one knee next to the tableau, London's Bridge tearing into the back muscles and spinal column of the Mite. "You wanna give, Janel?" the man asks sternly. Before she responds, there's a ruckus rolling through the crowd, many of the FAWNatics
The official pushes up to his feet, and the audience unleashes a deafening torrent of boos and jeers as he marches over to the new arrival. “Jenny, I know for a fact that your last contract was with Bangor and not here, and I’m pretty sure Bethany hasn’t issued you a manager’s license. Put another way, your ass has NO business in this arena. So turn it around, and take it back to the dressing room!”
Meanwhile, Shea continues to crank back on Janel’s jaw and ankles, her narrowed eyes focused solely on the woman strapped to her knees--and the roar of tonight’s capacity crowd prevents the Sensational One from being able to hear the conversation going on just a few feet away. “C’mon, Manning...” London hisses, teeth clenched in her exertion. “Ya’re not goin’ anywhere...”
Jenny checks the non-existent pockets in her sequined, white battle gear. Finding nothing, she squeals "It's in the back. Right next to your integrity." Behind the striped-shirt, Shea continues to curl the Golden Mite around her Bridge, forcing her knees foward to increase the pressure on Manning. Sweat pours through the pores of the baby-faced grappler, the anticipation in the FAWNatics growing. The legendary London adds a rocking motion from side to side to try and unhinge the vertebrae and it's all the further convincing Janel needs. She emphatically taps away at Shea's right thigh, the crowd roaring. But at the ropes, a panicked Jenny, seeing Janel's surrender, grabs the ref by the collar, determined to "convince" the zebra her appearance is above board.
Behind the striped-shirt, Shea continues to curl the Golden Mite around her Bridge, forcing her knees forward to increase the pressure on Manning. Sweat pours through the pores of the baby-faced grappler, the anticipation in the FAWNatics growing. The legendary London adds a rocking motion from side to side to try and unhinge the vertebrae and it's all the further convincing Janel needs. She emphatically taps away at Shea's right thigh, the crowd roaring. But at the ropes, a panicked Jenny, seeing Janel's surrender, grabs the ref by the collar, determined to "convince" the zebra her appearance is above board.
London certainly feels Manning’s hand slapping at her leg, and she can definitely hear the roar of the crowd... but as loud as the FAWNatics might be, they SHOULDN’T be loud enough to drown out the bell. And there remains no bell. A confused Sensational One releases her dual grips, and a flex of her legs sends Janel tumbling to her stomach, the Golden Mite reaching a hand toward the base of her spine as her tootsies drum at the canvas. Working her way to her knees, Shea’s head is on a swivel, seeking out the official...
... and when she finds him engaged with a woman it takes the Brit a second or so to even remember, she pushes to her feet with a snarl. Immediately, she starts marching that way, no doubt thinking about suplexing the intruder into the ring, if she’s so anxious to make herself a factor. But the sight of a livid Sensational One approaching appears to cure Jenny of any such thoughts, and she spins the official around to face London. “I’ve got this,” he says, reaching out both hands to keep Shea a safe distance from Lewis. “Stay back, Shea.”
The Icy Mite remains on the mat, but makes sure to shadow the outline of the referee. And with her lack of height, it isn't hard to do. With the zebra preoccupied in calming London, Jenny slips her head below the extended right arm of the ref, Cheshire grin in place. She waves cheekily at the Brit then hides behind the striped-shirt when London moves to grab her by her shoulder-length dark locks. Unable to get at Lewis, London instead pleads for the official to disregard the ex- skater and keep track of what's going on in the ring, namely the 'second' win she was going to wring out of Manning. For her part, a wincing Janel is on all fours and struggling to get to the ropes and through so she can have a tete-a-tete with her once and apparently now again fellow Mite.
By the time she’s done giving the referee several pieces of her mind, Shea turns to see Janel halfway through the ropes, one hand and one knee on the apron and the matching set still inside the ring. Shaking her head, the Sensational One hurries to the cables, not arriving in time to prevent Manning from exiting the ring, but just in time to shoot her upper body through the ropes and grab hold of the Golden Mite’s equally golden follicles. Pulling Janel up on the apron, London withdraws her upper body back into the ring before reaching over to lace her arm around Manning’s neck. Her other hand moves to grab a helping of leotard, so that she can suplex the former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion back into the ring.
But the pesky Jenny Lewis reaches her fellow Mite before London can complete the maneuver and clamps down on Janel's ankles, keeping her grounded. The ref seems torn on berating the 'manager' and Shea, but the anger of the crowd seems to sway him and he kicks at Jenny's hands, Lewis pulling them away to avoid the boot. The assist leaves Janel unbound and the Sensational One vaults Manning back into the squared circle. Unfortunately for Shea's legions, Manning lands on her chalked feet with a full back flip, instead of the back of her head. Her arms quickly surround the midriff of the tawny-skinned Brit and the Iowan tries to launch Shea with a belly-to-back of her own to get back in contention.
Shea can judge based on the feeling of her release that something is not quite right, and the Sensational One puts the brakes on her descent. But that effort gives Manning the opportunity she needs to wheel around and lock her arms around the Briton’s midriff. London quickly cocks an elbow, but before she can launch it backward, the Golden Mite pops her hips and muscles Shea off her feet. London’s eyes go wide as she’s hoisted... well, not super high, given the women through the suplex. But as they say, it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the landing--and Shea lands HARD on her back, the British blonde groaning as she rolls over to her belly.
London's impact rattles the ring, but the effort seems to send a painful spasm through Manning's spinal column. Janel collapses alongside London, grasping at her lower back in stereo with Shea. But only one of the two was caught in London's Bridge for interminable seconds and it's little surprise to most when Shea beats Janel to her feet, Manning on all fours as London sinks her nails into the former gymnast's ponytail. Surely knowing a second London Run would be fatal to her chances, Janel tries to sweep London's feet out from under her with a swing of her right arm and get to pounding away with balled fists.
Still a little dazed from the rattling impact of the belly to belly, Shea’s reactions are slowed JUST enough to allow the Golden Mite to trip her up, London dropping to her tush before falling to her back. Acting quickly, Manning scrambles to a mount of the Sensational One’s torso and starts throwing hands. Lefts and rights reign down, Shea’s arms rising to protect her face, at least initially. But after a couple of seconds of punches, London turns her focus from defense to rolling the duo over, and it’s now the British blonde setting up shop in the dominant position.
Shea lands a couple of blows, but then the Golden Mite returns the favor, rolling the Sensational One over and slinging blows. London is able to reverse positions one more time, but in the process, Janel manages to slip her legs around the Sensational One’s torso. Either unaware or unconcerned, Shea draws back her right fist... but a pulse of Manning’s thighs prevents that punch from ever being thrown. As the American blonde’s scissors loosen, London’s primary concern is to draw in a new breath--which allows Janel to roll the British Bombshell to her back one more time.
With London's dark eyes glazing after three 'THUMPS' into the deck, Janel finally has the opportunity to gather an extra breath. Passing on the pin, Manning drags Shea up with her, only to scoop through her foe's legs, lift and deposit London to the deck with a slam that puts London on a platter in front of the nearest set of buckles. With Jenny applauding on the outside, Janel hops to the bottom ropes and leaps in a smooth moonsault that CRASHES down across Shea's tummy, London jerking into a jackknife around the splashing Manning. Janel scrambles to her feet and heads for the middle ropes to follow suit and, despite the pleas and cheers from Shea's fans, Manning scores with another direct hit with her second moonsault.
There’s a danger in going to the well one too many times... but it appears that in this case, three times is just right. As fatigued as the Golden Mite might have appeared making her way to the top turnbuckle, Manning’s flight is both graceful and flawless, and Shea’s belly once again plays the role of a welcoming landing pad, the Sensational One’s eyes and cheeks both bulging as she folds up across Janel’s compact but rock solid frame with a loud, gasping moan. As London’s body settles back to the canvas, the American blonde remains draped across Shea’s torso, too spent to reach for and secure a leg...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
London gets a shoulder up.
On the outside, Jenny complains bitterly about the inability of the ref to make it to 'THREE'. Inside, Janel is more businesslike, knowing well how difficult it is to finish off London. Having failed to keep her down, Manning pulls Shea up and doubles her over with a deep toe kick to the belly. Wrapping her arms tightly around the gulping tanned midriff of London, the former gymnast goes for a submission rather than a pin. Dipping and thrusting Shea off the canvas, Janel juggles a front flipping London up her body, planning on catching her across the right shoulder and shaking the will to fight right out of the legend with a Canadian Backbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXhgq6AV7VA ).
As tiny as Janel is, it is sometimes easy to forget just how much strength is packed into that four foot eleven inch frame--that is, unless you’re unfortunate to find yourself strapped across one of those muscular shoulders. As Shea’s legs tumble down behind the Golden Mite, Manning broadens her stance, capturing London’s boots and hooking them against her thighs. Janel cranks down with her arms, adding a cruel bounce on her heels for good measure. With no ability to steer Manning any closer to the ropes, the Sensational One can only flail her arms, fingers flexing, searching out the cables... none of which are anywhere near close enough to grab, which forces the Brit to instead wave off the official’s attempts to see if she wants to surrender.
Not getting the answer she wants from the stubborn Shea, Manning drops to her knees, sending a shockwave through London's spine. Shea flops to her back after the impact, seemingly temporarily paralyzed. Wincing, but mobile, Manning again makes for her friendly neighborhood corner and travels up, this time reaching the top pointed toward London instead of the jeering FAWNatics. She takes a moment to gather her reserves and leaps skyward, flipping through her Shooting Star to aim an elbow between the breasts of the flattened Bombshell.
The point of Manning’s elbow drills into the Sensational One’s bosom, and roughly expels a jagged cough from her lungs. For her part, Janel bounces up to a seated position, which allows London to slop over onto her hip, mewling softly. There she remains for a brief moment, until instinct compels the blonde Brit to start rolling toward the ropes--at least, as much and as fast as her aching body will allow her to do so.
Instead of chasing after London, Janel asks the official his opinion on how proficient Manning was with her previous maneuver. Could it use another rotation? Is right elbow better than left? And while she quizzes the man, Shea reaches the ropes. But she finds Jenny Lewis waiting. Drawing the Brit's head over the bottom rope, the Icy Mite yanks London's neck across the cable, using her limited mass to choke out the flailing Shea. "Remember me now? Pretty soon, these people are going to forget I was ever sent to The Jungle." Releasing her grip, Lewis balls a right hand and delivers a cross to Shea's jaw that spins the dirty blonde grappler back into the squared circle.
Her discussion concluded, Janel saunters by the ref and plucks London off the canvas. She juggles the flagging frame of Englishwoman around her body, preparing to deliver another test to Shea's spinal column with a backbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsuY4pSNLvA ).
The Golden Mite scoops the Sensational One to her chest and from there shuffles the breathless blonde up across her shoulders. Manning then whips into rotation, completed one full spin before dropping to her knees and sending another vicious jolt of agony through London’s vertebrae. Shea spills from Janel’s shoulders to the canvas and again starts to roll, but with two differences on this occasion: one being increased speed, and the other being her course taking her practically to the center of the ring.
Janel kips to her feet with a beaming smile. "How do you like a 'Golden Run', Shea? God knows you aren't stopping it." Manning makes her way to London, who rests on her side, and delivers a series of stomps, bare foot to ribs. She then takes a victory lap around the ring, giving a nod to Jenny as she drinks in the jeers of the crowd. Noticing out of the corner of her eye Shea is rising, she turns back to London and strides toward her imperiously. When Shea dips to collect Janel, Manning plays along and leaps into her grasp, planning to spin around the legendary lightweight and capture Shea in a tilt-a-whirl octopus submission ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1AAFsLqXZU ).
The thought that is all perhaps a little too easy springs into London’s mind about an instant before Janel’s lethal legs slip around her head. Securing her scissors, Manning swings the rest of her body around and behind the back of the Sensational One, latching on to and pulling back on the bigger blonde’s wrist. The armbar secured, the Golden Mite’s thighs soon go to work constricting around and crushing Shea’s skull...
It’s hard enough to try dragging yourself toward the ropes with one hundred and seventeen pounds of solid muscle strapped to your back. It’s even harder to accomplish that feat DOUBLED OVER, further amplifying the struggle for balance. But the British blonde manages a couple of faltering strides toward the cables... until a particularly vindictive pulse from Manning’s thighs send London dropping to her knees. Janel cranks back harder on Shea’s captured right arm, dropping the FAWN Original’s forehead to rest against the canvas, her one free arm outstretched and trembling, fingers open... but the rubber coated steel remaining nearly a full yard away from those fingertips.
Manning wrenches away on the pretzeled frame of the mewling Shea. "Ask her!" Jenny shouts from nearby. Janel seems less concerned with a submission than tearing Shea apart. The ref lowers next to London and before he gets the words out, the Sensational One shakes her head. "Are you sure?" Manning grunts. When there's no response Janel relents and unknots herself, loosening her scissors and dismounting. She rises to her full 59 inches and strides around the ring, dewy in her skin-tight spandex. "Time to end this," she shouts to the FAWNatics and only a few seem to believe she won't. As she approaches Shea, London somehow up to one knee, she reaches for a double-hand grip on London's noggin. But before she can sink the nails in, Shea delivers an elbow to Manning's chiseled abs.
There's only a slight give and a grunt, but the second and especially the third in succession have the ex-gymnast bent over. Unwilling to accept a comeback, the ponytailed blonde raises a double axhandle only for a rising Shea to sink a blistering toe kick into Janel's tummy that freezes Manning in place, doubled and gasping. Shea spins away from Janel, reaching over her right shoulder to corral Manning's skull. The crowd explodes with excitement for the long-distance London Calling. But the weakened Shea can't make the call, Janel countering.
Manning draws London's arms across her foe's throat in a straightjacket, getting ready to lay out and puncture Shea's lungs with a blower that she'd turn into the Perfect Ten with a roll to Janel's favorite version of a camel clutch ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0xBW3wZGOM ).
London lets out a strangled gurgle of a cry when Manning’s back hits the canvas, and Shea’s back is cruelly slammed down onto the Golden Mite’s tucked knees. The lungblower on its own is a devastating move, and tonight it leaves the Sensational One all but putty as Janel pushes the British Bombshell over to her belly and takes a seat atop the small of London’s back. With her foe’s wrists still in her possession, Manning pulls back with all her might, lifting Shea’s upper body of the canvas and bending her spine at a savage angle. London’s boots POUND at the mat, her top STRAINING in a desperate attempt to keep the Brit’s heaving chest confined and her modesty preserved.
Undeterred and unwilling to give up on forcing a surrender when the reputation of her finisher is on the line, Janel hauls back on her straightjacket clutch with all the power her considerable biceps can produce. "Quit!" Manning shouts and Jenny makes it a chant of one. "Quit...Quit...QUIT!" The sweat pours across the faces of both blondes. "I'll stay here all day," the former gymnast threatens. "I'll never quit!" Manning affirms. "NEVER!" The crowd jeers, knowing much better than the official she already had earlier in the match. But Janel appears serious in her control and her concentration. Outside, Jenny starts to slap the mat in rhythm with her chant "QUIT...QUIT....QUIT".
“NOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...” Shea repeats, defiant, managing to increase her volume... but it’s only an instant before her voice starts to trail off. Her boots continue to kick and stomp at the mat, but their pace soon begins to diminish, and their force weakens. And Janel Manning just leans back further, her own spine beginning to curve in a manner that perhaps only something with the years upon years of gymnastics training might be capable of. The crown of her skull pointed toward the mat, Manning’s golden mane hangs down, the tips of her hair pooling slightly between Shea’s parted stems.
Jenny Lewis continues her chant from ringside, but everyone in the building is on their feet, shouting and pleading with the Sensational One to do the opposite. It’s a matter of debate how long it takes either the audience or the official to recognize that London’s feet have fallen still. “Shea?” the referee asks, reaching out gently to brush a few locks of hair away from London’s eyes--a gesture which reveals them to be closed. “You there, Shea?”
No answer.
"She quit!" Jenny squeals. "You heard her. The great Shea London surrendered." The official checks again, lightly tapping London on the cheek. Still nothing. It's enough for him. He turns to the timekeeper and waves off the match, shouting the result to the announcer so he can quickly turn and get to prying Janel off the unconscious form of the Manchester native. "Let her go, Manning," he demands. "Let her go or you give up your win." Those seem the magic words as the blonde releases her grips on Shea's wrists and lets her foe plop face-first to the canvas. As Janel wearily climbs to her feet, the PA gives the FAWNatics the unhappy news. "Your winner...by knockout...Janel Manning."
Jenny turns to the crowd, hoping to lead them in an ovation, but the assembled aren't having it. Inside, Janel rises and plants a foot on London's lower back. She grinds her sole in, drawing a semiconscious chirp from the Briton. "All mine, Shea. That's what you are."
The Golden Mite shifts a little more of her weight down into her heel, grinding it in slightly harder... and smiling as London’s soft cry becomes a little louder and a little more plaintive. Once the FAWN legend shows enough renewed life--if not necessarily renewed awareness--for her liking, Janel lifts her foot, and allows the Brit to begin pushing up to her hands and knees.
BEGIN to.
Manning STOMPS her foot back down against the base of London’s spine, dropping the British Bombshell to her stomach again. With Shea flattened, Janel shifts her position slightly, circling her foe enough to plant her foot against the back of the Sensational One’s head. Pressing down, the Golden Mite mashes London’s features against the mat, and grins at the Brit’s pained groan. “ALL mine,” Manning repeats.
Shea ATTEMPTS to answer, but the canvas swallows most of the sound, leaving the rest an unintelligible gurgle.
On the outside, Jenny Lewis is loud and intelligible, proclaiming that Shea is "ALL HERS", pointing over her shoulder at the Golden Mite as she moves to the bottom step on her way into the ring. But for those paying close attention, a hooded figure leaps out from the front row, vaulting the barricade. With Janel distracted, spewing her vitriol down on a flattened Shea, Jenny notices the woman and strides to intercept. The figure turns from entering the ring to the Icy Mite and becomes a patriot missile within a few steps, SPEARING Janel into ice cubes, nearly ripping Lewis in half with the buried right shoulder.
As the female hops to her feet above the demolished wreckage of Jenny, she flips off her hood and hops to the top of the apron, Janel's eyes most definitely trained on the True American Polly Lockwood. Manning threatens the blonde hardbody, advising the Star Spangled Bytch to keep her distance.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
Lockwood shows EXACTLY what she thinks of Janel’s advisory when she pulls herself through the ropes almost the instant the Golden Mite is finished talking. Manning moves to intercept, but not before delivering a stomp to the back of Shea’s head, turning the Brit’s lights back out and ensuring she doesn’t try to interject herself into this discussion. The Golden Mite and the TRUE American go face to face, nose to nose and chest to chest, neither one saying a word--but both speaking volumes with their eyes.
Finally, someone speaks, but it’s not Polly or Janel. Nor is it Shea. It’s not even Jenny Lewis, who remains a puddled mess on the floor. No, the voice belongs to no one presently in the arena, instead drifting from the speakers over the crowd. “Ladies, ladies, ladies...”
BETHANY CHRISTIAN:
![]()
![]()
All eyes turn, to witness none other than Bethany Christian striding out onto the ramp, the statuesque brunette managing to look stunning in a somewhat conservative, dark blue blazer and slacks and a red, silk blouse unbutton just enough to reveal plenty of ample cleavage. “It seems the three of you just can’t stay away from each other, can you?” Christian asks. “Shea beats Janel? Out comes Polly. Polly beats Shea? Out comes Janel. Janel beats Shea? Here comes Polly. It occurs to me that, maybe, I should save you three some effort and put you all in the ring at the same time. So, at Mania, we’re going to have a three way elimination match between you, Polly... you, Janel... and Shea. And maybe then, we’ll see just who is whose.”
"Now it's my turn to make a suggestion," Polly informs. "Go pick up your little lackey and cartwheel your ass out of here before I hurt you." A drained Manning doesn't give an inch, literally going nose to nose. "You might be the best athlete on Fox&Friends, but I'm the best in this ring, so watch your mouth," Janel retorts. The duo continues to glare daggers through the raining boos. They spin in an awkward dance, neither giving an inch, at least until Lockwood's claimed a position between victor and vanquished.
Polly backsteps over Shea's stirring form and reaches down to collect the Brit's head and pull her up. "By illustration," Polly says, "let me show you what being a True American means." Lockwood tugs Shea toward her feet, Janel watching intently whether out of honest interest or to spy a chance to attack the patriot.
Lockwood locks an arm around London’s neck... but before she can go any further, the Sensational One drives a short jab into Polly’s stomach, followed by a second, and a third. A fourth allows the British Bombshell to extract her noggin from the TRUE American’s grasp, and she secures a hold of her own on Lockwood’s head--after spinning away from the former Lightweight and Tag Team champion. London starts to charge forward, apparently intending a bulldog... but unfortunately, Janel Manning is in her way.
So the British blonde calls an audible. She leaps into the air, but instead of laying out, she captures the Golden Mite’s head between her calves. Pushing off of Polly, London flies through the sky and uses her headscissors to rip Manning off her feet and send her flying across the ring. Shea quickly kips back up... but Polly is already charging toward her, right arm extended, aiming to decapitate her with a massive clothesline.
Crashing across the Lockwood's chest, Shea takes Polly off her feet, SPLASHING the newly arrived patriot underneath. The crowd erupts in response to Shea's adrenaline burst, the energy careening through the crowd and bouncing back to London like a boomerang. Shea lands a few filthy right crosses to Lockwood's jaw when a returning Manning snatches her dirty blonde mane from behind and tugs a wincing London to her feet. "Forget about me?" Janel asks with a growl. "Hardly," comes the reply. Shea mule kicks blindly behind her, splitting Janel's wickets. With Manning bent and frozen, Shea reaches over her shoulders with both hands and snatches Janel's head, pulling the chin of the ponytailed blonde tight to her right shoulder, ready to make a tardy but oh so satisfying Call to London.
The Sensational One sprints forward, kicking her legs into the air and laying out, dropping Manning’s jaw across her shoulder. The Golden Mite vaults back into the air, her eyes crossing for a fleeting moment before she pitches to the left and lands in a tangle of arms and legs. London kips up again... and Polly is stirring, the TRUE American woozy but pulling herself back to her full height.
She becomes woozier still when Shea connects with a superkick that spins the pocket hardbody 180 degrees before she pitches forward, dropping face first to the canvas. Polly helpfully rolls over to her back, eyes glazed but blinking, and the Sensational One can’t help but notice how conveniently lined up she is with the near corner. Slipping out onto the apron, Shea makes a beeline for the buckles, the FAWNatics getting louder by the second in anticipation of London dropping an oh so Sensational leg.
Shea launches high into the Orlando sky, the crowd threatening to tear the roof off the arena as she soars. Polly's baby blues widen, her boots pushing ineffectually against the canvas and THWAM. Shea's homemade double gam guillotine drops across the chest and throat of the splayed patriot. Polly's tawny stems spasm high into the air, her upper torso pinned tightly beneath the extended legs of the legend. A weary grin emerges on London's face and she enjoys a few seconds atop the demolished Lockwood, taking a further moment to make sure Janel remains horizontal, the Golden Mite staring blankly at the rafters.
The crowd serenades the Icy Mite with boos and a few clucks, prompting her to turn and scream at them to keep their mouths shut. But if the party won’t come to Shea, London is apparently willing to take the party to Jenny Lewis. The Sensational One turns and charges into the opposite ropes, picking up a head of steam as she barrels across the ring toward a turning Jenny. The expelled FAWN star goes wide-eyed as Shea appears ready to take flight, Lewis scurrying out of the way...
... but it’s a wasted effort, as it’s only a feint on the Sensational One’s part, London beaming as she pulls up short and takes a step back toward the center of the ring, between the fallen TRUE American and the Golden Mite. Victory might not have been hers tonight, but even so, Shea happens to the only woman left standing in the ring--and the FAWNatics give her an ovation worthy of a winning effort.
It’s hardly a hero’s welcome for the Malevolent Mite, the success of the Olympic women’s gymnastics team doing nothing to relieve the continued disdain the crowd holds toward the former Olympian. The ring announcer’s primer draws the decibels higher, the man barely heard over the roar. “Tonight’s next match is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. Introducing first…hailing from the hallowed halls of Iowa City, Iowa… standing a full 4 feet 11 inches tall and weighing 117 pounds… The Golden Mite herself…JANEL MANNING!”
JANEL MANNING:
With the opening remarks complete, the FAWNatics wait for the Mite-y One, the arena falling into darkness. A red spotlight illuminates the stage from the right, before winking out. The process is followed by a white spot from directly overhead, then a blue one from the left. As the sequence began its second cycle, it provides the outline of a diminutive, muscular form. As the house lights rise, the tiny terror of vault, balance beam, and uneven bars, parades down the ramp and aisle.
Janel’s flaxen ponytail swishes from one side to the other as she moves up the steps, the champ in a skin-tight, red-white-and-blue leotard, stars-and-stripes replacing her usual leopard spots. The spandex has a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small gold strips across the opposite number. She sports black wrist and ankle tape, pads and, as always, is without boots, the soles of her feet chalked for battle. Janel flexes her toes before flinging herself over the top cable without a hint of effort, dropping into a somersault, before popping gracefully to her feet.
The ferocious fireplug races across the ring and throws herself into a rebound off the cables, before skidding to a stop with a beaming smile. Though last seen losing to London, the former gymnast shows no lack of confidence whether tonight’s foe be Shea or a chance for Polly to battle the woman ‘borrowing’ her colors. Manning moves to the ropes nearest the timekeeper’s table and asks for a microphone, plucking one from the air after a toss from a FAWN flunky.
“You thought I’d let those pretenders not feel what the best athlete in this organization can do,” Janel says. “I don’t give a damn if it’s Shea, Polly or Erika Eisenberg with Pandora on her shoulders. I’m going to show whoever comes down that aisle and show YOU the reason I came back was to dominate, like my friends and colleagues in Rio did.” The Golden Mite tosses the microphone away and moves to her corner where she turns and casts an eye toward the upper stage, waiting to find out who Bethany Christian has in mind.
The answer comes in the form of a question, when suddenly, the arena's speakers roar into life following that small squall of feedback:
"Do you want to 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.
“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!!!!!”
SHEA LONDON:
The blonde Briton darts down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returns to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presents a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms are primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that start at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image is broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads display the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
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 posterboard sports a rather fetching picture of the Sensational One’s opponent this evening, but the caption is considerably less flattering: “THE GOLDEN GNAT”
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, turning and taking a step toward her corner... but only one step, after which she whips around, flaxen locks flying as she fixes Manning with a glare. “Funny,” London says. “Last time my back was turned ta ya, ya couldn’t wait ta jump it.”
"I'm going to jump you again. And again. And again. I'll do it as many times as they force me to do it until I show you it's seriously time to retire. You, Lisa and Portia. Things come in three and they go in threes. Except maybe The Three." And to show Manning means business, she doesn't wait for the bell. Janel races headlong at London only to pull up just short of her foe, hoping the Brit shows her hand. If so, she could react accordingly to take early control of the rematch.
Patience has never been much of a strong suit for the Sensational One, especially in relation to someone she might be itching to get her hands on. And as quick at Janel might be, so too is the British Bombshell, and she responds in the blink of an eye. But it’s not her hand that London shows, but rather a boot, shifting briefly into a subtle crouch before exploding out of it with a superkick aimed at Janel’s jaw--a target graciously much lower than most in the world of FAWN. But the lower tee shouldn’t stop the Golden Mite’s noggin from sailing into the second row, should Shea connect flush.
Using her vertically-challenged frame to her advantage, Manning ducks under London's effort. With only one of Shea's legs planted, the former gymnast scoops up the other and has the Brit in her control. She dumps Shea to the deck, landing on top of the Sensational One's back. Janel rides the living legend close, chest pressed into shoulderblades, doing her best impression of an Olympic wrestler. Shea tries to sit out and skid away but Manning skillfully slides with her and keeps her position, whispering in London's ear. "No repeat performance tonight, bytch. With you beat, they'll have to let me strip the stripes off Polly at Mania."
If there’s one silver lining for the Sensational One, it’s that she currently finds herself engulfed by Janel’s arms and not her legs. But having been in the ring once before with the Golden Mite, London knows that being trapped inside those thighs of steel is the absolute LAST place she wants to be. While Manning remains glued tightly to her back, the blonde Brit makes the calculation that trying to scoot her way to the ropes would be quicker than attempting to elbow her way to freedom, so she digs in her heels and attempts to use her feet to pull herself toward the cables before the American pix can add a bodyscissors to her current predicament.
London's quick thinking proves successful as when Manning tries to switch her grip to a full nelson, Shea uses the opportunity to reach the cables without much difficulty. She lays one boot atop the bottom strand. The official calls for the break and Janel obliges, raising her hands high and retreating several steps. She waits patiently for Shea to reach her feet. Turning to the crowd, beaming, Janel comments. "I'm full of the Olympic spirit. Come on over Shea and see what you can do with a world class athlete instead of a Fox News bimbo." Manning waits for Shea to step to the task before throwing her body forward in a collar-and-elbow, hoping to twist London into a side headlock where the little hardbody could work her considerable biceps around and pressing into Shea's nog
Janel might have initially achieved her fame with feats of acrobatic prowess, but the Golden Mite has proven an adept hand at the art of wrestling since transitioning to this sport. Manning’s natural quickness proves a boost to her efforts, but regardless, she manages to get London’s head locked underneath her arm with minimal difficulty. The British blonde grunts and groans as Manning’s arm grinds her noggin against her hip. But Shea is not without an answer. Wrapping her arms around her opponent’s waist, the Sensational One attempts to hoist her foe off her feet, intending to genuflect and deposit Manning’s backside against her posted knee with an atomic drop.
Expecting Shea to use her speed to grab a wrist and whip around for a hammerlock, Manning seems unprepared for the FAWN legend to 'get big' with the muscular if short grappler. And when the Brit attempts to launch the former gymnast, she succeeds without a hitch. Worse for Janel is the trip down as London lowers to her left knee and inserts her right HIGH and DEEP between Janel's muscular thighs. The Iowan bounces off the bony joint as if on a spring, hands rushing to her tailbone, the shockwave travelling up and down her spine. Janel sticks the landing but is frozen in place, rubbing at her undercarriage as she winces in pain.
The paralysis fades before too long, but as the Golden Mite turns, Shea takes flight, shooting out her boots and catching Manning in the chest with a dropkick. Both blondes go down--but the Sensational One kips right back up and, without breaking stride, sprints toward the ropes off Janel’s left flank. Once more, London goes airborne, this time landing on the middle cable and launching herself back in a breathtaking lionsault, perhaps looking to administer an early test to Manning’s eight-pack.
Janel looks aware of Shea's plan but the ache from below slows her ability to pull her knees up in time. They start to creep up, but the Bombshell SPLASHES across the midriff of the ponytailed blonde before she can manage fully. The chiseled abs of the athlete afforded her protection but not enough to prevent her from jackknifing around Shea. A groan escapes the American's lips as she fades back to the canvas. Manning rolls to her side before Shea can go for the pin, the Mite hoping to prevent an early count.
When the Sensational One reaches out for her retreating foe, most FAWNatics suspect she wants to pull Janel back to her. But instead, London pushes the Golden Mite over to her stomach--and, in the next moment, she crawls forward, slipping her knees onto Manning’s back. And when Shea begins to reach one hand toward the former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion’s chin and her other toward Manning’s ankle, London’s Legions ERUPT, the possibility of the Bridge bringing a very quick end to this mouthy brat’s night an EXTREMELY satisfying one.
Going for checkmate from out of the blue, London seems to catch Janel without an inkling. Her hands wrap around the targets and, likewise, Shea's knees dig into her foe's upper and lower spine. But the crowd goes volcanic when Shea pulls the captured Janel with her as she rolls to her back, hoisting Manning into the air above her. The former gymnast's abs are arched to the sky, Manning stifling moans to whimpers as her hands flail wildly, trying to reach behind her to find a piece of Shea to latch onto, but unable. The ref sinks to one knee next to the tableau, London's Bridge tearing into the back muscles and spinal column of the Mite. "You wanna give, Janel?" the man asks sternly. Before she responds, there's a ruckus rolling through the crowd, many of the FAWNatics
The official pushes up to his feet, and the audience unleashes a deafening torrent of boos and jeers as he marches over to the new arrival. “Jenny, I know for a fact that your last contract was with Bangor and not here, and I’m pretty sure Bethany hasn’t issued you a manager’s license. Put another way, your ass has NO business in this arena. So turn it around, and take it back to the dressing room!”
Meanwhile, Shea continues to crank back on Janel’s jaw and ankles, her narrowed eyes focused solely on the woman strapped to her knees--and the roar of tonight’s capacity crowd prevents the Sensational One from being able to hear the conversation going on just a few feet away. “C’mon, Manning...” London hisses, teeth clenched in her exertion. “Ya’re not goin’ anywhere...”
Jenny checks the non-existent pockets in her sequined, white battle gear. Finding nothing, she squeals "It's in the back. Right next to your integrity." Behind the striped-shirt, Shea continues to curl the Golden Mite around her Bridge, forcing her knees foward to increase the pressure on Manning. Sweat pours through the pores of the baby-faced grappler, the anticipation in the FAWNatics growing. The legendary London adds a rocking motion from side to side to try and unhinge the vertebrae and it's all the further convincing Janel needs. She emphatically taps away at Shea's right thigh, the crowd roaring. But at the ropes, a panicked Jenny, seeing Janel's surrender, grabs the ref by the collar, determined to "convince" the zebra her appearance is above board.
Behind the striped-shirt, Shea continues to curl the Golden Mite around her Bridge, forcing her knees forward to increase the pressure on Manning. Sweat pours through the pores of the baby-faced grappler, the anticipation in the FAWNatics growing. The legendary London adds a rocking motion from side to side to try and unhinge the vertebrae and it's all the further convincing Janel needs. She emphatically taps away at Shea's right thigh, the crowd roaring. But at the ropes, a panicked Jenny, seeing Janel's surrender, grabs the ref by the collar, determined to "convince" the zebra her appearance is above board.
London certainly feels Manning’s hand slapping at her leg, and she can definitely hear the roar of the crowd... but as loud as the FAWNatics might be, they SHOULDN’T be loud enough to drown out the bell. And there remains no bell. A confused Sensational One releases her dual grips, and a flex of her legs sends Janel tumbling to her stomach, the Golden Mite reaching a hand toward the base of her spine as her tootsies drum at the canvas. Working her way to her knees, Shea’s head is on a swivel, seeking out the official...
... and when she finds him engaged with a woman it takes the Brit a second or so to even remember, she pushes to her feet with a snarl. Immediately, she starts marching that way, no doubt thinking about suplexing the intruder into the ring, if she’s so anxious to make herself a factor. But the sight of a livid Sensational One approaching appears to cure Jenny of any such thoughts, and she spins the official around to face London. “I’ve got this,” he says, reaching out both hands to keep Shea a safe distance from Lewis. “Stay back, Shea.”
The Icy Mite remains on the mat, but makes sure to shadow the outline of the referee. And with her lack of height, it isn't hard to do. With the zebra preoccupied in calming London, Jenny slips her head below the extended right arm of the ref, Cheshire grin in place. She waves cheekily at the Brit then hides behind the striped-shirt when London moves to grab her by her shoulder-length dark locks. Unable to get at Lewis, London instead pleads for the official to disregard the ex- skater and keep track of what's going on in the ring, namely the 'second' win she was going to wring out of Manning. For her part, a wincing Janel is on all fours and struggling to get to the ropes and through so she can have a tete-a-tete with her once and apparently now again fellow Mite.
By the time she’s done giving the referee several pieces of her mind, Shea turns to see Janel halfway through the ropes, one hand and one knee on the apron and the matching set still inside the ring. Shaking her head, the Sensational One hurries to the cables, not arriving in time to prevent Manning from exiting the ring, but just in time to shoot her upper body through the ropes and grab hold of the Golden Mite’s equally golden follicles. Pulling Janel up on the apron, London withdraws her upper body back into the ring before reaching over to lace her arm around Manning’s neck. Her other hand moves to grab a helping of leotard, so that she can suplex the former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion back into the ring.
But the pesky Jenny Lewis reaches her fellow Mite before London can complete the maneuver and clamps down on Janel's ankles, keeping her grounded. The ref seems torn on berating the 'manager' and Shea, but the anger of the crowd seems to sway him and he kicks at Jenny's hands, Lewis pulling them away to avoid the boot. The assist leaves Janel unbound and the Sensational One vaults Manning back into the squared circle. Unfortunately for Shea's legions, Manning lands on her chalked feet with a full back flip, instead of the back of her head. Her arms quickly surround the midriff of the tawny-skinned Brit and the Iowan tries to launch Shea with a belly-to-back of her own to get back in contention.
Shea can judge based on the feeling of her release that something is not quite right, and the Sensational One puts the brakes on her descent. But that effort gives Manning the opportunity she needs to wheel around and lock her arms around the Briton’s midriff. London quickly cocks an elbow, but before she can launch it backward, the Golden Mite pops her hips and muscles Shea off her feet. London’s eyes go wide as she’s hoisted... well, not super high, given the women through the suplex. But as they say, it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the landing--and Shea lands HARD on her back, the British blonde groaning as she rolls over to her belly.
London's impact rattles the ring, but the effort seems to send a painful spasm through Manning's spinal column. Janel collapses alongside London, grasping at her lower back in stereo with Shea. But only one of the two was caught in London's Bridge for interminable seconds and it's little surprise to most when Shea beats Janel to her feet, Manning on all fours as London sinks her nails into the former gymnast's ponytail. Surely knowing a second London Run would be fatal to her chances, Janel tries to sweep London's feet out from under her with a swing of her right arm and get to pounding away with balled fists.
Still a little dazed from the rattling impact of the belly to belly, Shea’s reactions are slowed JUST enough to allow the Golden Mite to trip her up, London dropping to her tush before falling to her back. Acting quickly, Manning scrambles to a mount of the Sensational One’s torso and starts throwing hands. Lefts and rights reign down, Shea’s arms rising to protect her face, at least initially. But after a couple of seconds of punches, London turns her focus from defense to rolling the duo over, and it’s now the British blonde setting up shop in the dominant position.
Shea lands a couple of blows, but then the Golden Mite returns the favor, rolling the Sensational One over and slinging blows. London is able to reverse positions one more time, but in the process, Janel manages to slip her legs around the Sensational One’s torso. Either unaware or unconcerned, Shea draws back her right fist... but a pulse of Manning’s thighs prevents that punch from ever being thrown. As the American blonde’s scissors loosen, London’s primary concern is to draw in a new breath--which allows Janel to roll the British Bombshell to her back one more time.
With London's dark eyes glazing after three 'THUMPS' into the deck, Janel finally has the opportunity to gather an extra breath. Passing on the pin, Manning drags Shea up with her, only to scoop through her foe's legs, lift and deposit London to the deck with a slam that puts London on a platter in front of the nearest set of buckles. With Jenny applauding on the outside, Janel hops to the bottom ropes and leaps in a smooth moonsault that CRASHES down across Shea's tummy, London jerking into a jackknife around the splashing Manning. Janel scrambles to her feet and heads for the middle ropes to follow suit and, despite the pleas and cheers from Shea's fans, Manning scores with another direct hit with her second moonsault.
There’s a danger in going to the well one too many times... but it appears that in this case, three times is just right. As fatigued as the Golden Mite might have appeared making her way to the top turnbuckle, Manning’s flight is both graceful and flawless, and Shea’s belly once again plays the role of a welcoming landing pad, the Sensational One’s eyes and cheeks both bulging as she folds up across Janel’s compact but rock solid frame with a loud, gasping moan. As London’s body settles back to the canvas, the American blonde remains draped across Shea’s torso, too spent to reach for and secure a leg...
ONE...
TWO...
THRNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
London gets a shoulder up.
On the outside, Jenny complains bitterly about the inability of the ref to make it to 'THREE'. Inside, Janel is more businesslike, knowing well how difficult it is to finish off London. Having failed to keep her down, Manning pulls Shea up and doubles her over with a deep toe kick to the belly. Wrapping her arms tightly around the gulping tanned midriff of London, the former gymnast goes for a submission rather than a pin. Dipping and thrusting Shea off the canvas, Janel juggles a front flipping London up her body, planning on catching her across the right shoulder and shaking the will to fight right out of the legend with a Canadian Backbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXhgq6AV7VA ).
As tiny as Janel is, it is sometimes easy to forget just how much strength is packed into that four foot eleven inch frame--that is, unless you’re unfortunate to find yourself strapped across one of those muscular shoulders. As Shea’s legs tumble down behind the Golden Mite, Manning broadens her stance, capturing London’s boots and hooking them against her thighs. Janel cranks down with her arms, adding a cruel bounce on her heels for good measure. With no ability to steer Manning any closer to the ropes, the Sensational One can only flail her arms, fingers flexing, searching out the cables... none of which are anywhere near close enough to grab, which forces the Brit to instead wave off the official’s attempts to see if she wants to surrender.
Not getting the answer she wants from the stubborn Shea, Manning drops to her knees, sending a shockwave through London's spine. Shea flops to her back after the impact, seemingly temporarily paralyzed. Wincing, but mobile, Manning again makes for her friendly neighborhood corner and travels up, this time reaching the top pointed toward London instead of the jeering FAWNatics. She takes a moment to gather her reserves and leaps skyward, flipping through her Shooting Star to aim an elbow between the breasts of the flattened Bombshell.
The point of Manning’s elbow drills into the Sensational One’s bosom, and roughly expels a jagged cough from her lungs. For her part, Janel bounces up to a seated position, which allows London to slop over onto her hip, mewling softly. There she remains for a brief moment, until instinct compels the blonde Brit to start rolling toward the ropes--at least, as much and as fast as her aching body will allow her to do so.
Instead of chasing after London, Janel asks the official his opinion on how proficient Manning was with her previous maneuver. Could it use another rotation? Is right elbow better than left? And while she quizzes the man, Shea reaches the ropes. But she finds Jenny Lewis waiting. Drawing the Brit's head over the bottom rope, the Icy Mite yanks London's neck across the cable, using her limited mass to choke out the flailing Shea. "Remember me now? Pretty soon, these people are going to forget I was ever sent to The Jungle." Releasing her grip, Lewis balls a right hand and delivers a cross to Shea's jaw that spins the dirty blonde grappler back into the squared circle.
Her discussion concluded, Janel saunters by the ref and plucks London off the canvas. She juggles the flagging frame of Englishwoman around her body, preparing to deliver another test to Shea's spinal column with a backbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsuY4pSNLvA ).
The Golden Mite scoops the Sensational One to her chest and from there shuffles the breathless blonde up across her shoulders. Manning then whips into rotation, completed one full spin before dropping to her knees and sending another vicious jolt of agony through London’s vertebrae. Shea spills from Janel’s shoulders to the canvas and again starts to roll, but with two differences on this occasion: one being increased speed, and the other being her course taking her practically to the center of the ring.
Janel kips to her feet with a beaming smile. "How do you like a 'Golden Run', Shea? God knows you aren't stopping it." Manning makes her way to London, who rests on her side, and delivers a series of stomps, bare foot to ribs. She then takes a victory lap around the ring, giving a nod to Jenny as she drinks in the jeers of the crowd. Noticing out of the corner of her eye Shea is rising, she turns back to London and strides toward her imperiously. When Shea dips to collect Janel, Manning plays along and leaps into her grasp, planning to spin around the legendary lightweight and capture Shea in a tilt-a-whirl octopus submission ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1AAFsLqXZU ).
The thought that is all perhaps a little too easy springs into London’s mind about an instant before Janel’s lethal legs slip around her head. Securing her scissors, Manning swings the rest of her body around and behind the back of the Sensational One, latching on to and pulling back on the bigger blonde’s wrist. The armbar secured, the Golden Mite’s thighs soon go to work constricting around and crushing Shea’s skull...
It’s hard enough to try dragging yourself toward the ropes with one hundred and seventeen pounds of solid muscle strapped to your back. It’s even harder to accomplish that feat DOUBLED OVER, further amplifying the struggle for balance. But the British blonde manages a couple of faltering strides toward the cables... until a particularly vindictive pulse from Manning’s thighs send London dropping to her knees. Janel cranks back harder on Shea’s captured right arm, dropping the FAWN Original’s forehead to rest against the canvas, her one free arm outstretched and trembling, fingers open... but the rubber coated steel remaining nearly a full yard away from those fingertips.
Manning wrenches away on the pretzeled frame of the mewling Shea. "Ask her!" Jenny shouts from nearby. Janel seems less concerned with a submission than tearing Shea apart. The ref lowers next to London and before he gets the words out, the Sensational One shakes her head. "Are you sure?" Manning grunts. When there's no response Janel relents and unknots herself, loosening her scissors and dismounting. She rises to her full 59 inches and strides around the ring, dewy in her skin-tight spandex. "Time to end this," she shouts to the FAWNatics and only a few seem to believe she won't. As she approaches Shea, London somehow up to one knee, she reaches for a double-hand grip on London's noggin. But before she can sink the nails in, Shea delivers an elbow to Manning's chiseled abs.
There's only a slight give and a grunt, but the second and especially the third in succession have the ex-gymnast bent over. Unwilling to accept a comeback, the ponytailed blonde raises a double axhandle only for a rising Shea to sink a blistering toe kick into Janel's tummy that freezes Manning in place, doubled and gasping. Shea spins away from Janel, reaching over her right shoulder to corral Manning's skull. The crowd explodes with excitement for the long-distance London Calling. But the weakened Shea can't make the call, Janel countering.
Manning draws London's arms across her foe's throat in a straightjacket, getting ready to lay out and puncture Shea's lungs with a blower that she'd turn into the Perfect Ten with a roll to Janel's favorite version of a camel clutch ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0xBW3wZGOM ).
London lets out a strangled gurgle of a cry when Manning’s back hits the canvas, and Shea’s back is cruelly slammed down onto the Golden Mite’s tucked knees. The lungblower on its own is a devastating move, and tonight it leaves the Sensational One all but putty as Janel pushes the British Bombshell over to her belly and takes a seat atop the small of London’s back. With her foe’s wrists still in her possession, Manning pulls back with all her might, lifting Shea’s upper body of the canvas and bending her spine at a savage angle. London’s boots POUND at the mat, her top STRAINING in a desperate attempt to keep the Brit’s heaving chest confined and her modesty preserved.
Undeterred and unwilling to give up on forcing a surrender when the reputation of her finisher is on the line, Janel hauls back on her straightjacket clutch with all the power her considerable biceps can produce. "Quit!" Manning shouts and Jenny makes it a chant of one. "Quit...Quit...QUIT!" The sweat pours across the faces of both blondes. "I'll stay here all day," the former gymnast threatens. "I'll never quit!" Manning affirms. "NEVER!" The crowd jeers, knowing much better than the official she already had earlier in the match. But Janel appears serious in her control and her concentration. Outside, Jenny starts to slap the mat in rhythm with her chant "QUIT...QUIT....QUIT".
“NOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...” Shea repeats, defiant, managing to increase her volume... but it’s only an instant before her voice starts to trail off. Her boots continue to kick and stomp at the mat, but their pace soon begins to diminish, and their force weakens. And Janel Manning just leans back further, her own spine beginning to curve in a manner that perhaps only something with the years upon years of gymnastics training might be capable of. The crown of her skull pointed toward the mat, Manning’s golden mane hangs down, the tips of her hair pooling slightly between Shea’s parted stems.
Jenny Lewis continues her chant from ringside, but everyone in the building is on their feet, shouting and pleading with the Sensational One to do the opposite. It’s a matter of debate how long it takes either the audience or the official to recognize that London’s feet have fallen still. “Shea?” the referee asks, reaching out gently to brush a few locks of hair away from London’s eyes--a gesture which reveals them to be closed. “You there, Shea?”
No answer.
"She quit!" Jenny squeals. "You heard her. The great Shea London surrendered." The official checks again, lightly tapping London on the cheek. Still nothing. It's enough for him. He turns to the timekeeper and waves off the match, shouting the result to the announcer so he can quickly turn and get to prying Janel off the unconscious form of the Manchester native. "Let her go, Manning," he demands. "Let her go or you give up your win." Those seem the magic words as the blonde releases her grips on Shea's wrists and lets her foe plop face-first to the canvas. As Janel wearily climbs to her feet, the PA gives the FAWNatics the unhappy news. "Your winner...by knockout...Janel Manning."
Jenny turns to the crowd, hoping to lead them in an ovation, but the assembled aren't having it. Inside, Janel rises and plants a foot on London's lower back. She grinds her sole in, drawing a semiconscious chirp from the Briton. "All mine, Shea. That's what you are."
The Golden Mite shifts a little more of her weight down into her heel, grinding it in slightly harder... and smiling as London’s soft cry becomes a little louder and a little more plaintive. Once the FAWN legend shows enough renewed life--if not necessarily renewed awareness--for her liking, Janel lifts her foot, and allows the Brit to begin pushing up to her hands and knees.
BEGIN to.
Manning STOMPS her foot back down against the base of London’s spine, dropping the British Bombshell to her stomach again. With Shea flattened, Janel shifts her position slightly, circling her foe enough to plant her foot against the back of the Sensational One’s head. Pressing down, the Golden Mite mashes London’s features against the mat, and grins at the Brit’s pained groan. “ALL mine,” Manning repeats.
Shea ATTEMPTS to answer, but the canvas swallows most of the sound, leaving the rest an unintelligible gurgle.
On the outside, Jenny Lewis is loud and intelligible, proclaiming that Shea is "ALL HERS", pointing over her shoulder at the Golden Mite as she moves to the bottom step on her way into the ring. But for those paying close attention, a hooded figure leaps out from the front row, vaulting the barricade. With Janel distracted, spewing her vitriol down on a flattened Shea, Jenny notices the woman and strides to intercept. The figure turns from entering the ring to the Icy Mite and becomes a patriot missile within a few steps, SPEARING Janel into ice cubes, nearly ripping Lewis in half with the buried right shoulder.
As the female hops to her feet above the demolished wreckage of Jenny, she flips off her hood and hops to the top of the apron, Janel's eyes most definitely trained on the True American Polly Lockwood. Manning threatens the blonde hardbody, advising the Star Spangled Bytch to keep her distance.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
Lockwood shows EXACTLY what she thinks of Janel’s advisory when she pulls herself through the ropes almost the instant the Golden Mite is finished talking. Manning moves to intercept, but not before delivering a stomp to the back of Shea’s head, turning the Brit’s lights back out and ensuring she doesn’t try to interject herself into this discussion. The Golden Mite and the TRUE American go face to face, nose to nose and chest to chest, neither one saying a word--but both speaking volumes with their eyes.
Finally, someone speaks, but it’s not Polly or Janel. Nor is it Shea. It’s not even Jenny Lewis, who remains a puddled mess on the floor. No, the voice belongs to no one presently in the arena, instead drifting from the speakers over the crowd. “Ladies, ladies, ladies...”
BETHANY CHRISTIAN:
All eyes turn, to witness none other than Bethany Christian striding out onto the ramp, the statuesque brunette managing to look stunning in a somewhat conservative, dark blue blazer and slacks and a red, silk blouse unbutton just enough to reveal plenty of ample cleavage. “It seems the three of you just can’t stay away from each other, can you?” Christian asks. “Shea beats Janel? Out comes Polly. Polly beats Shea? Out comes Janel. Janel beats Shea? Here comes Polly. It occurs to me that, maybe, I should save you three some effort and put you all in the ring at the same time. So, at Mania, we’re going to have a three way elimination match between you, Polly... you, Janel... and Shea. And maybe then, we’ll see just who is whose.”
"Now it's my turn to make a suggestion," Polly informs. "Go pick up your little lackey and cartwheel your ass out of here before I hurt you." A drained Manning doesn't give an inch, literally going nose to nose. "You might be the best athlete on Fox&Friends, but I'm the best in this ring, so watch your mouth," Janel retorts. The duo continues to glare daggers through the raining boos. They spin in an awkward dance, neither giving an inch, at least until Lockwood's claimed a position between victor and vanquished.
Polly backsteps over Shea's stirring form and reaches down to collect the Brit's head and pull her up. "By illustration," Polly says, "let me show you what being a True American means." Lockwood tugs Shea toward her feet, Janel watching intently whether out of honest interest or to spy a chance to attack the patriot.
Lockwood locks an arm around London’s neck... but before she can go any further, the Sensational One drives a short jab into Polly’s stomach, followed by a second, and a third. A fourth allows the British Bombshell to extract her noggin from the TRUE American’s grasp, and she secures a hold of her own on Lockwood’s head--after spinning away from the former Lightweight and Tag Team champion. London starts to charge forward, apparently intending a bulldog... but unfortunately, Janel Manning is in her way.
So the British blonde calls an audible. She leaps into the air, but instead of laying out, she captures the Golden Mite’s head between her calves. Pushing off of Polly, London flies through the sky and uses her headscissors to rip Manning off her feet and send her flying across the ring. Shea quickly kips back up... but Polly is already charging toward her, right arm extended, aiming to decapitate her with a massive clothesline.
Crashing across the Lockwood's chest, Shea takes Polly off her feet, SPLASHING the newly arrived patriot underneath. The crowd erupts in response to Shea's adrenaline burst, the energy careening through the crowd and bouncing back to London like a boomerang. Shea lands a few filthy right crosses to Lockwood's jaw when a returning Manning snatches her dirty blonde mane from behind and tugs a wincing London to her feet. "Forget about me?" Janel asks with a growl. "Hardly," comes the reply. Shea mule kicks blindly behind her, splitting Janel's wickets. With Manning bent and frozen, Shea reaches over her shoulders with both hands and snatches Janel's head, pulling the chin of the ponytailed blonde tight to her right shoulder, ready to make a tardy but oh so satisfying Call to London.
The Sensational One sprints forward, kicking her legs into the air and laying out, dropping Manning’s jaw across her shoulder. The Golden Mite vaults back into the air, her eyes crossing for a fleeting moment before she pitches to the left and lands in a tangle of arms and legs. London kips up again... and Polly is stirring, the TRUE American woozy but pulling herself back to her full height.
She becomes woozier still when Shea connects with a superkick that spins the pocket hardbody 180 degrees before she pitches forward, dropping face first to the canvas. Polly helpfully rolls over to her back, eyes glazed but blinking, and the Sensational One can’t help but notice how conveniently lined up she is with the near corner. Slipping out onto the apron, Shea makes a beeline for the buckles, the FAWNatics getting louder by the second in anticipation of London dropping an oh so Sensational leg.
Shea launches high into the Orlando sky, the crowd threatening to tear the roof off the arena as she soars. Polly's baby blues widen, her boots pushing ineffectually against the canvas and THWAM. Shea's homemade double gam guillotine drops across the chest and throat of the splayed patriot. Polly's tawny stems spasm high into the air, her upper torso pinned tightly beneath the extended legs of the legend. A weary grin emerges on London's face and she enjoys a few seconds atop the demolished Lockwood, taking a further moment to make sure Janel remains horizontal, the Golden Mite staring blankly at the rafters.
The crowd serenades the Icy Mite with boos and a few clucks, prompting her to turn and scream at them to keep their mouths shut. But if the party won’t come to Shea, London is apparently willing to take the party to Jenny Lewis. The Sensational One turns and charges into the opposite ropes, picking up a head of steam as she barrels across the ring toward a turning Jenny. The expelled FAWN star goes wide-eyed as Shea appears ready to take flight, Lewis scurrying out of the way...
... but it’s a wasted effort, as it’s only a feint on the Sensational One’s part, London beaming as she pulls up short and takes a step back toward the center of the ring, between the fallen TRUE American and the Golden Mite. Victory might not have been hers tonight, but even so, Shea happens to the only woman left standing in the ring--and the FAWNatics give her an ovation worthy of a winning effort.