Post by bigfan on Oct 31, 2016 22:39:28 GMT
The magnificence of Mania continues to astound the FAWNatics and, when the stirring guitar of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ ‘You Better Pray’ fills the arena, the assembled know they are in for a menage a trois of lightweight athleticism and force of will. The crowd, well aware of the identity of the first guest of the three, turns to the upper stage in anticipation of the initial combatant.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_WxsL5q3I4 ).
It’s anything but a hero’s welcome for the Malevolent Mite and former Olympian. Before the vertically challenged blonde appears, the ring announcer’s primer draws the decibels higher, the man barely heard over the roar.
“Tonight’s next match is a Triple Threat Elimination Match with a 30-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…JANEL MANNING!”
JANEL MANNING:
With the introduction complete, the arena falls 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.
Reaching the ring with a final tumbling run, Janel’s flaxen ponytail swishes from side to side as she climbs the ring steps. Manning is clad in a skin-tight, red-white-and-blue leotard, stars-and-stripes replacing her usual leopard spots, the choice sure to piss off a certain True American. The spandex has a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small gold strips across the opposite side. 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 the cables, bouncing back and skidding to a stop with a beaming smile. Both a former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion, the former gymnast shows no lack of confidence she will emerge victorious from the three top talents in the ring tonight.
Janel 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.
“A little birdie told me some of the deadweight on the roster is not going to make it out of Mania,” Janel says. “I’m going to make sure both of the women joining me in the ring are part of the purge. A has-been and a Trumpette. Enjoy this match like it’s you’re last ladies, as it may just be.”
The Golden Mite tosses the microphone away and moves to her corner where she turns and casts an eye toward the upper stage, waiting for the rest of tonight’s trio.
It takes but a moment for the arena’s speakers to pound out Metallica’s “Don’t Tread on Me’
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZv_lvvIVoI )
The select group of ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet, saluting her anthem crisply. The other ninety-nine percent of the FAWNatics make themselves known in a completely different fashion, raining a cascade of boos toward the upper stage.
The ‘anti-American’ haters get louder still when a familiar little blonde hardbody strides to center stage. After a successful FAWN return from her stint at co-hosting Fox & Friends, Polly looks as confident as ever, obviously eager to nominate herself back into the lightweight title picture with a win over two of her bite-sized competition.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
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Lockwood brings a salute to her brow for her Tea Partying troop. But when the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Polly 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 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 standard cape as well, Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak.
Lockwood crow hops into a jog to the ring, snarling at the moronic hordes infesting this great land. She ignores their insults and jeers, taking a swipe at one sign proclaiming ‘Polly’s no patriot. Beat her over the head with your green card, Shea!’ Lockwood swings and misses as the ring announcer confirms her arrival.
“And next…from Buffalo, New York…standing five feet and one 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 star-spangled bytch ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood holds the banner of her land high. She sneers at the crowd and at Manning.
“None of you deserve to be in this country,” she shouts. Turning her attention to Janel, “How DARE you wear those colors? Those colors never run and now you’re going to make them when you run from me.”
After Janel feigns a move forward, forcing a flinch from Polly, Lockwood moves to her corner. She exchanges her flag for a microphone from a FAWN flunky.
“We should give this state back to Spain from what I see,” Polly says.
The crowd is not amused, doubling down on their dislike from the volume increase.
“And once and for all, I’m sending Shea London back to England after a Mania thrashing. Manning. I suggest you stay out of my way until then. I’ll send you back to that communist rathole Iowa when I’m done with her.”
Lockwood tosses the stick to the canvas with a ‘CLUNK’, poised for a move from the Mite, then smiling when she sees Janel is flashing her pearlies instead of attacking.
Before physical hostilities can break through the façade, the arena's speakers roar to life following a small squall of feedback:
"Do you want to get rocked?"
The audience responds with a roar that seems may shift the building’s foundation 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 the final participant...” 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 dirty 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 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 tanned 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 sports pictures of the Sensational One’s opponents, the caption reading: “Shea’s gonna flatten the Golden Gnat and the Yank Brat”.
Further making the fan's day, London gives the man a quick peck on the cheek before collecting a microphone and bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between. Keeping a close, wandering set of eyes on each foe, she takes a step toward her corner... but only one step, after which she whips around, locks flying. She fixes an alternating stare on both rivals.
“I swear this Mania will be among the finest hours of my career, showing FAWN and the world the both of you are, and will always be, far less than sensational.”
The assembled roar in approval as London tosses her stick to the outside and the bell brings the match to order, or more likely disorder, with all three women ready to make mayhem.
Make that <B>two</B> women, as Lockwood climbs through the ropes and drops to the mat, offering a dismissive backward wave.
“I’m singing the national anthem in my head,” Polly announces. “I’ll get back in when I’ve properly honored our country.”
Manning and London scoff at their match-mate and turn their attention to each other, the blondes surging forward and connecting in a collar-and-elbow tie-up.
Although shorter than her counterpart, the strength of Janel is evident as she walks Shea toward her corner, forcing London into a backpedal. But as the Brit’s back is a couple feet from the buckles, London suddenly spins and SLAMS the former gymnast’s frame against the corner.
Not waiting for the call for a break, London immediately releases and takes a step back only to level an open-hand slap of Janel’s cheek. Face turning rosy, both from the crack of London’s hand and the feeling of embarrassment, Manning charges out of the buckles.
Shea dips and collects Janel around her muscular thighs. Turning with Manning’s momentum, the Brit lifts the ponytailed blonde off the deck and SLAMS her to it with an abbreviated but still ring-rattling spinebuster.
The Mite arches her back in pain, but only for a moment, as Shea’s shoulders press against the pit of Manning’s knees. The Sensational One rolls Janel into a ball in front of her for an early pin that gathers a ONE…and a TWO…before Janel kicks her way free, ending on a shoulder, Manning reaching for the base of her backbone.
Shea takes a quick glance around the ring and finds Polly still loitering outside the squared circle, happy to take in the activity from afar if not particularly seeing Shea wrest early control. She golf claps for the British Bombshell, motioning London to go right ahead.
Not that she wants to accede to the True American’s wishes, but London tugs Janel to her feet and sends the Golden Mite off with an Irish whip. Janel sprints to the opposite ropes and rebounds at full speed toward a now charging London. Shea leaps into a spinning leg lariat the vertically-challenged Janel easily ducks under. Manning speeds into another 180 out of the ropes to take an offensive charge the second time around. As the combatants get close, Shea deftly spins into a karate kick to Manning’s midsection and no amount of six-pack can stop the buried foot from doubling over the gasping Janel.
With Manning stooped in front of her, the Sensational One snatches Janel’s head in a tight front facelock and drops to the deck, SPIKING Manning’s skull with a crisp DDT that sends Janel flipping over to her back, the former gymnast sliding to a stop a few feet from the ropes and the observing Polly.
Lockwood slides in under the bottom ropes and dives atop Janel, hooking a leg for the ONE…TWO…and Janel kicks free again. A hovering, vertical Shea, having let Polly take the pinning attempt, since the goal is to get Janel out by any means, is less ready to let Lockwood enter without paying the price.
After Janel’s survival, the frustrated patriot suddenly feels her scalp tighten noticeably has Shea yanks Lockwood up by her mane. Polly chirps out a shout of ‘HAIR’ to the ref, but both the official and Shea seem unconcerned about Polly’s complaint.
London spins Polly into a knee to the gut that shuts the star-spangled bytch up. She tosses a leaden arm of Lockwood over the back of her neck and delivers Polly to the mat with a lightning snap suplex. Shea quickly forces the True American up and repeats the process for a second and THIRD time. After number three, Shea floats over into a kneeling straddle of the dazed Lockwood and levels a series of right hands that Polly is only partially successful in blocking.
After the swings, the Sensational One is riding a bit high on her foe and Lockwood manages to shove Shea over her head, slipping out from between the Brit’s legs and struggling to her feet. Polly staggers to a corner where she throws her arms over either side and gets absolutely gutted by a charging Janel. The spear sends a breathless Lockwood plopping to her ass, tanned stems stretched out in front of her, Polly’s head bobbling as she chokes and gags.
Backing away to survey the damage, Janel catches a risen Shea out of the corner of her eye. With London mid-ring, she motions the Englishwoman to be her guest, directing traffic toward the downed Polly.
Shea abides and races at Lockwood. She leaps from a few feet out, her split, extended legs leading the way. London’s undercarriage THUMPS into Polly’s chest and Shea continues to use it as a crash pad. Grabbing the ropes on either side, she busts her True American bronco in violent fashion, getting a little extra oomph into each of ten PUMPS into the blasted Polly, the last couple directed into the face of the glassy-eyed Lockwood.
As Shea dismounts the gobsmacked Polly, Janel grabs Lockwood’s left ankle and drags her out a few feet, positioning the ‘patriot’ in a single file for an exit from the match. The former gymnast points Shea to the top buckle and London scrambles there out of instinct more than Manning’s direction. She turns for a frog splash, a big elbow or maybe even a Sensational Leg Drop. No one would know as when she seems ready to spring, Janel races into the ropes at her left side and London loses her footing and her balance.
Crotched in the corner, Shea’s privates ram against the wires that hold corner to post. London’s jaw drops her lips into a wide, silent ‘O’ as a delighted Janel raises her arms high and wide, receiving the full enmity of the FAWNatics. Before Shea can work her way out of the predicament, Janel climbs to a station on the middle ropes and starts to pull Shea into a front facelock. The bent, balled London ready to be launched in a superplex.
But before Janel can manage, she feels a head tuck between her thighs, arms wrapping around the outside of the muscular limbs. Already halfway into her heave, Janel can’t stop Polly from doing the same to her and it’s a tower of a three-woman superplex that delivers each combatant to the deck in a ring-rattling collision that has the crowd chanting “HO-LEE SHYT. HO-LEE SHYT”.
It’s clear from the wreckage, Shea and Janel have taken the worst of the flight, both blondes laid out in spreadeagles, each reaching for her back, arching in pain, face etched in agony. But both are moving and perhaps that’s why a risen Polly doesn’t go for a pin. Instead, she plucks Janel off the canvas and rushes her to the ropes where she tosses the former gymnast over, the Mite crashing to the floor below.
Lockwood turns her full attention to the FAWN icon, striding to Shea, who’s made it up to one knee, even if the there’s a foggy daze in her brown eyes.
But suddenly Polly speeds past. She rebounds off the ropes at a full sprint. Still not quite all there, London is too late to react to the True American using Shea’s raised knee as a launching point. Polly lands a boot atop it and sweeps a Shining Wizard kick to the Sensational One’s temple, sending the Brit sprawling.
London spills out of the ring, landing around the corner and ring steps from a bleary-eyed Janel who leans against the apron. In the ring, the Star-Spangled Bytch demands one or the other get back in the squared circle to take her beating and Shea seems ready to give it her best shot, pushing wearily to her feet. But as she does, Janel hops to the middle ring step and flies off with double axhandle raised overhead, ready to bring it crashing down on the crown of the dirty blonde’s skull.
One problem with Manning’s plan, Shea’s preternatural awareness. Her right arm shoots out, the palm wrapping around a suddenly bug-eyed Janel’s throat. The Manchester native adds a grasp on the hip of Janel’s leotard. But before she can launch and splatter her rival, a thumping patter from the ring catches her attention. Only a split-second separates Shea’s glance and the arrival of a diving Polly. Lockwood vaults through the ropes, crashing into both her foes.
Shea and Janel are both knocked to the steel barricade behind them, the spines of the duo SMACKING against the steel in unison. While the ponytailed blonde melts down the barrier, London leans against it, arms swept over the opposite side.
The True American collects Shea by her flaxen locks, straightening her with a tug. Polly aims the Brit down the side of the ring at the distant steel. She whips the living legend toward the barricade, but London holds on, plants and reverses. With a buggywhip action, it’s Polly’s tanned frame rushing to the metal divider. She turns at the last moment, flying into a violent CLANK.
Lockwood nearly rolls over the top, but catches herself, swinging her body back down, only to have a charging Shea clothesline her over, Lockwood landing in the laps of the first row, many a FAWNatic saluting in his own particular idiom.
The crowd roars as the quick-thinking veteran turns her head on a swivel to place Manning. Janel is up and advancing, but when she locks eyes with London, the Golden Mite halts in her tracks, throwing up her palms. Shea chuckles at the cowed Iowan, causing a flush from Janel.
“Get your ass back in the ring, London,” Manning demands, then offers the Brit a double bicep plenty impressive from the 59-inch tall grappler. Janel throws herself in under the bottom rope and Shea does likewise. The high flyers pop to their feet and throw simultaneous dropkicks at each other that come up empty.
Manning and London each kip to their feet and Shea beats her foe to the punch, or in this case the boot, shooting a superkick toward Manning’s chin the Mite manages to avoid. Janel sweeps a leg but Shea skips over. The bouncy pairing lock up and the Sensational One spins to send the former gymnast over with a hiptoss, but Janel deftly lands on her feet. She races to the strands and rebounds in a full tumbling run toward the poised Shea who leapfrogs in a highflying set of splits to let Janel pass beneath.
The show continues as Janel hops into the middle rope and springboards into a corkscrew flip toward the turning Shea, but the diminutive, spandex-clad grappler fails to hit in a crossbody splash when the living legend rotates. Instead, London catches Janel across her right shoulder and nearly drives her THROUGH the deck with a Sensational Powerslam.
The splattered Manning bounces a couple inches off the canvas from the force of the impact and Shea’s right there to scrape up what’s left into a tight cradle for the ONE…TWO…THRENOO!
Janel keeps the match a three-way by the barest of margins, her squirming paying dividends with the official’s hand only a few inches off the mat. The Mite rolls to her chest and starts to slither on her spandex toward the ropes.
Shea watches with interest, but doesn’t follow, seeing Manning is heading for a waiting and somewhat recovered Polly on the outside.
Focused on escape and the Brit behind her, the ponytailed blonde crawls into a forearm smash to the jaw that sends Manning in a whiplash of a u-turn. The former gymnast ambles on all fours toward an approaching London who reaches down to cup a hand under the chin of the Iowan. Pulling Janel’s vacant stare up toward her, Shea smirks at the glassy-eyed gaze.
“Are we a bit off, luv?” London asks, sinking her opposite hand into the diminutive grappler’s shoulder and ‘helping’ her up. Behind, Polly slides into the squared circle and hops to her feet, the patriot looking recovered from her meeting with the metal.
Facing the Mite, Shea delivers a European Uppercut to Manning’s chin. The wallop spins Janel in a 180, Manning stepping in a few fencepost holes until she finds a right cross from the True American waiting. Polly’s fist CLUNKS into Janel’s jaw, rotating the stumbling Mite toward the Manchester native, London and Lockwood playing ping-pong with the Golden Mite.
Shea takes her turn, leaping into a dropkick that catches Janel flush in the chest. Manning backpedals toward the waiting Polly. Lockwood, in turn leaps into a dropkick of her own, her boots dissecting the shoulderblades of the former gymnast. A wincing and flustered Janel lurches forward from the impact and into a swift left jab from Shea that snaps Manning’s head back.
London adds another and another, each connection putting Janel in an increasingly dense fog. As Polly slips outside the ring, Shea winds up with the ‘go home’ right hand and NAILS the Mite. A wicked head snap accompanies the roar of the crowd. But to her credit, again the muscular fireplug remains vertical as she wobbles in a 180.
Barely cognizant of her location, she stumbles toward the ropes and the Star Spangled Bytch on the other side. Already lowered, tensed and grasping the middle ropes, Polly flings her way through the cables with her Lockwood Lunge, SPEARING the holy hell out of the former gymnast.
<B> Lockwood Lunge</B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhSX8bNbYGE )
Janel is flattened by the True American, no amount of chiseled abs saving her from being absolutely gutted by Janel’s signature. With Manning laid out in a gurgling spreadeagle, Polly pushes to all fours and readies a crossbody pin to bring the match down to two.
But before she can cover Manning, the nearby Bombshell blows her up, delivering another dropkick, this one on a lower level. Shea’s boots CLUNK into the left temple of the patriot, Polly sent sprawling. Using the momentum provided, the dazed blonde rolls her way under the ropes.
London’s brown eyes follow Polly as she drops off the apron and plops to the floor below. Slowly, her peepers turn to the starfished Mite and Shea is already moving to the nearest set of buckles.
Up the corner London clambers, reaching the top and turning to measure the spandex-clad Mite. The crowd rises as one in a special Mania moment that feels all about the deja-vous. The tanned blonde SKIES off her perch, legs outstretched, and lowers the most sensational of Sensational Leg Drops the organization had or would ever know.
London’s lower limbs CRASH down across the chest and throat of Manning, Janel spasming wildly for a second before falling still. Not taking the time to shift her frame, Shea keeps her legs in place across the demolished Mite, grabbing and hooking an abbreviated, sinewy stem of the ponytailed blonde for the ONE…TWO…THREE!!!!
The FAWNatics explode as one, the ring announcer barely heard as a supremely satisfied Shea remains seated atop her beaten foe.
“Janel Manning has been eliminated by pinfall by Shea London!”
The Brit lets Janel’s lifeless leg drop to the deck and she rolls up to one knee, placing it on the bruised tummy of the Mite. She raises her arms high and wide, indulging in a Mania Moment as Polly uses the apron to pull to her feet and stare jealously at the living legend who’s procured the first elimination.
“That’s the preliminaries, limey,” Lockwood shouts from the outside.
“What say you come in,” Shea responds, “and I can show you what I have left for a spoiled little Trumpette.
Lockwood climbs to the apron and has to leap out of the way of a homemade missile. Shea, having plucked Janel off the canvas, bumrushes the vertically-challenged ragdoll toward the True American, and Polly barely avoids being speared by the semiconscious babyfaced Mite.
Janel flies through the ropes and past the startled Lockwood, crashing to the thinly-padded cement, ready for pick-up by the ever vigilant FAWN EMT brigade.
With Manning left in her dust, a glistening Shea motions for Polly to rejoin the fray, the Brit poised as a wary Lockwood slowly sidles through the cables, clearly ready to eject at the slightest hint of a charge from the Englishwoman. None is forthcoming and Lockwood enters freely, if still with a hint of trepidation in her baby blues.
The survivors circle each other, an enormous Mania win now only three seconds away for each. The lightweights slap together in a collar-and-elbow and, while muscles flex and teeth grind, each woman trying to find an advantage, it’s a stalemate.
“You’re going to hand over that mantle if I have to break every bone in your body,” Polly growls.
Shea shifts her weight and lets Lockwood slide into a side headlock. She grinds the head of the True American against her hip.
“Poor Polly. You and your orange billionaire are going down within a week of each other,” Shea responds. “Such a shame you can’t make America or yourself great again.”
The Star-Spangled Bytch gets her hands on London’s hips and shoves the dirty blonde off to the ropes. The Brit uses the momentum provided and rebounds toward the centered Lockwood. London buries a shoulder and knocks the smaller blonde flat to her back.
An embarrassed Polly stares up at the smiling, nodding Shea. The Sensational One skips over the downed Lockwood, heading for the opposite ropes. She throws her body into the strands and returns at full speed toward a rising Lockwood.
Springing into action, Polly tries to leap over the sprinting Shea, but instead of the Brit ducking under, London skids to a stop and catches the wide-eyed blonde around her hips. Polly barely has time to shake her head, golden hair flying, before the Bombshell sites out and BUSTS Polly’s spine.
With Lockwood’s legs in her possession and Polly’s upper half spread on the mat before her, Shea scrambles to her knees, leaning forward to jackknife the patriot into a pin for ONE…TWO…THRNOOO!
Lockwood kicks her way free and rolls to her side, lids snapped shut in pain, lower lip bitten as she tries to fight off Shea grabbing at a wrist. Polly’s unable to slow the rampaging Englishwoman as Shea tugs her foe to her feet. The Sensational One whips Lockwood toward a corner and Polly turns into a spine-smashing collision with the buckles.
Perhaps knowing London’s penchant for bucking broncos, Lockwood manages to throw her arms over the top rope on either side. She hangs limply, head bowed, as the crowd loves every minute the Ugly American is under the tire treads of a patented London Run.
Shea speeds toward Polly and vaults into the air from several feet out, ready to splash her frame atop the blasted blonde. But as London is soaring in, Polly gets her legs up and extended and ‘catches’ the charging Shea in a scissors. The True American throws her upper body out of the corner and sends the Brit skidding away with a desperation rana.
The women are slowly to their feet nearly simultaneously and it’s Shea who remains ahead of the curve, launching into a spinning leg lariat. But Polly is ready. She steps toward the assault and catches London before she can fully rotate. Trapped in a lifted cradle by the True American, Shea is a sitting duck for an Exploder Suplex from Lockwood that PLANTS London HARD into the deck.
<B> Exploder Suplex</B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-XEfDpeTY4 )
Shea’s body barrel rolls to a stop, London arched in anguish, reaching for her lower vertebrae. A few feet away, Polly pushes up to a seated position and gathers her wits and breath. Lockwood kips to her feet, raising a crisp salute to her brow before bringing it down into a middle finger to the fans.
Hustling to the horizontal Brit, the blue-eyed blonde leaps into the air above London, pulling her legs into a tuck then exploding out and downward, sending both boots Mushroom Stomping into Shea’s pert chest. London yelps in pain as her bosom is flattened between boot soles and breastbone. Polly grits her perfect pearlies angrily as she grinds her leather into the thin sheath of material covering Shea’s tits.
The Sensational One yips in pain, grabbing at her own dirty blonde locks to spread the pain then pushing at Lockwood’s ankles, finally causing Polly to lose her balance and hop off.
Shea swathes her bust with an arm and rolls to her side while Lockwood stalks her foe, finally delivering a soccer kick to the back of London’s head when the Brit reaches a seat. Made glassy-eyed by the punt, London can offer little in the way of resistance as the patriot latches onto a wrist and the dirty blonde locks of the living legend.
Polly heaves Shea toward the far corner with an Irish whip. London’s back SLAMS into the buckles with a violent impact and the Brit’s lower limbs turn ‘off’, the Sensational One plopping to her back side, legs extended in front of her, arms limp at her sides, head lolled back.
A wicked spark flashes in Polly’s baby blues and the Star Spangled Bytch is off to the races for some payback. The diminutive blonde hardbody sprints to her target and launches, tanned stems splitting as they lead the way. Polly’s undercarriage THUMPS into Shea’s chest and, when Lockwood grabs the middle ropes on either side of Shea, she’s in place to bust her English bronco. Polly pulses forward in a frantic rhythm, her ass pumping into Shea’s chest, her crotch into the chin of the living legend.
The crowd boos through a ten-spot of pummeling pelvic thrusts and when Polly dismounts at the official’s insistence, Shea’s left a sleepy-eyed shell, for the first time in the match looking like her best days are behind her.
Lockwood grabs the blasted Brit by the ankles and drags her several feet from the corner, flipping the gobsmacked London to her chest. With Shea properly positioned, Polly heads for the buckles and scrambles to the top. She turns to face her target, Shea face down, inviting a Lockwood Leap. Polly doesn’t pass, vaulting high into the sky above London.
The True American doesn’t get the height of her legendary foe but she gets enough hang time to make the landing across Shea’s back an extremely harsh one. The crowd groans reflexively from Polly’s successful signature and they hold their breath as Lockwood shovels a motionless Shea to her back. Polly slaps her glistening frame down across Shea’s tanned body and hooks a leg for the ONE…TWO…THRENOOO!
Lockwood stares at the zebra in shock.
“Are you out of your mind? Shea should be in the retirement home and you should join her.”
The man remains silent, lifting two fingers as confirmation.
Polly offers a growl and mounts London in a straddle, slugging away with swiping right and left crosses, some of which the defenses of the Brit knock away, others connect, sending London’s head swiveling side to side until the True American’s had enough.
Polly hops to her feet, raises her right hand, lifts an index finger and gives it a twirl, signaling the end is near for FAWN’s living legend.
Lockwood moves to the ropes and slides through, turning and grabbing the top cable while Shea tries to shake the cobwebs from her cluttered attic. Polly stomps her right foot in anticipation, the throats of Shea’s legion of fans tightening as the Polly Rocket and the end are near.
Shea staggers to her feet, head turned from the poised Polly. She spins drunkenly toward the blue-eyed blonde, already barely able to retain verticality. Lockwood leaps into action. Landing on the top cable, in a tight crouch, Polly springboards from the uppermost rope to end Shea’s Mania with the Polly Rocket.
<B>Polly Rocket</BN> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-XEfDpeTY4 )
But with Lockwood at her zenith, London seems to snap to coherence. And, with Polly plummeting and reaching for Shea’s head to grab and twist into a match-ending DDT, the Brit pulls another magic trick out of her bottomless bag, shooting a superkick into the chin of the Star Spangled Bytch.
Polly’s taut little hardbody stiffens as her noggin snaps back from the incredible force driven into her mandible. The blonde timbers like a shapely tree, dropping frozen to the canvas in a wide spreadeagle, motionless after hitting the deck.
Shea leans heavily against the ropes, staring down at the demolished Polly, seemingly unsure of what she’s accomplished and how she accomplished it. London’s baby browns widen a little more when Lockwood rolls to her side, then her back, and begins to push her way up.
The adrenaline of a Mania match fueling the pernicious patriot, Polly reaches her knees and London shoves away from the ropes in the blonde’s six. Shea sweeps both upturned palms higher, motioning the True American to rise and meet the righteous exclamation point of months of battle between Janel, Polly and Shea. The crowd roars along with the rubbery rise of Lockwood and the stalking Bombshell.
Finally, London springs into action, grabbing the hanging, limp right arm of her fellow blonde by the wrist, yanking with both hands. Dispensing with any feint of an Irish Whip in the opposite direction, Shea tugs a bewildered Polly toward her, Lockwood lurching.
As the True American is pulled tight to the back of a spinning Shea, the Brit reaches over her shoulders with both hands, wrapping them tightly around the back of Polly’s noggin. In the splittest of seconds, Shea lays out and brings Polly with her for a mat-thumping London Calling that brings the fans to their feet and sends an unconscious Polly barrel rolling to her back.
<B> London Calling</B> @ 2:05 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rXrCezHw97E )
Shea turns and scrambles to her foe, not taking any chances with the moment. She drives her body into the lifeless frame of the patriot for a crossbody pin, hooking a leg for ONE…TWO…AND THREE!
The crowd, having chanted along with the slaps of the mat, explodes in ecstasy. Shea releases the defeated blonde’s leg and rolls to her back, lounging atop Polly’s chest. London raises her arms above her head in weary delight, wide smile emerging. She moves to a seated position, using Lockwood as a backrest as the ring announcer makes another London Mania victory official.
“Polly Lockwood has been eliminated by pinfall. Your winner is Sensational Shea London!”
The FAWNatics rise to their feet with a “YOU are awesome” chant and London seems taken aback for a moment but she kips to her feet off Polly to show the assembled they’re right.
The British Bombshell plants a boot atop Polly’s chest for the conquering heroine meme and it’s the greatest Mania cherry on top ever, Shea proving AGAIN she remains among FAWN’s best and would not disappear violently into the night like Portia and Lisa before her.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_WxsL5q3I4 ).
It’s anything but a hero’s welcome for the Malevolent Mite and former Olympian. Before the vertically challenged blonde appears, the ring announcer’s primer draws the decibels higher, the man barely heard over the roar.
“Tonight’s next match is a Triple Threat Elimination Match with a 30-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…JANEL MANNING!”
JANEL MANNING:
With the introduction complete, the arena falls 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.
Reaching the ring with a final tumbling run, Janel’s flaxen ponytail swishes from side to side as she climbs the ring steps. Manning is clad in a skin-tight, red-white-and-blue leotard, stars-and-stripes replacing her usual leopard spots, the choice sure to piss off a certain True American. The spandex has a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small gold strips across the opposite side. 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 the cables, bouncing back and skidding to a stop with a beaming smile. Both a former Lightweight and Intercontinental champion, the former gymnast shows no lack of confidence she will emerge victorious from the three top talents in the ring tonight.
Janel 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.
“A little birdie told me some of the deadweight on the roster is not going to make it out of Mania,” Janel says. “I’m going to make sure both of the women joining me in the ring are part of the purge. A has-been and a Trumpette. Enjoy this match like it’s you’re last ladies, as it may just be.”
The Golden Mite tosses the microphone away and moves to her corner where she turns and casts an eye toward the upper stage, waiting for the rest of tonight’s trio.
It takes but a moment for the arena’s speakers to pound out Metallica’s “Don’t Tread on Me’
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZv_lvvIVoI )
The select group of ‘Polly Patriots’ shoot to their feet, saluting her anthem crisply. The other ninety-nine percent of the FAWNatics make themselves known in a completely different fashion, raining a cascade of boos toward the upper stage.
The ‘anti-American’ haters get louder still when a familiar little blonde hardbody strides to center stage. After a successful FAWN return from her stint at co-hosting Fox & Friends, Polly looks as confident as ever, obviously eager to nominate herself back into the lightweight title picture with a win over two of her bite-sized competition.
POLLY LOCKWOOD:
Lockwood brings a salute to her brow for her Tea Partying troop. But when the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Polly 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 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 standard cape as well, Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak.
Lockwood crow hops into a jog to the ring, snarling at the moronic hordes infesting this great land. She ignores their insults and jeers, taking a swipe at one sign proclaiming ‘Polly’s no patriot. Beat her over the head with your green card, Shea!’ Lockwood swings and misses as the ring announcer confirms her arrival.
“And next…from Buffalo, New York…standing five feet and one 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 star-spangled bytch ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood holds the banner of her land high. She sneers at the crowd and at Manning.
“None of you deserve to be in this country,” she shouts. Turning her attention to Janel, “How DARE you wear those colors? Those colors never run and now you’re going to make them when you run from me.”
After Janel feigns a move forward, forcing a flinch from Polly, Lockwood moves to her corner. She exchanges her flag for a microphone from a FAWN flunky.
“We should give this state back to Spain from what I see,” Polly says.
The crowd is not amused, doubling down on their dislike from the volume increase.
“And once and for all, I’m sending Shea London back to England after a Mania thrashing. Manning. I suggest you stay out of my way until then. I’ll send you back to that communist rathole Iowa when I’m done with her.”
Lockwood tosses the stick to the canvas with a ‘CLUNK’, poised for a move from the Mite, then smiling when she sees Janel is flashing her pearlies instead of attacking.
Before physical hostilities can break through the façade, the arena's speakers roar to life following a small squall of feedback:
"Do you want to get rocked?"
The audience responds with a roar that seems may shift the building’s foundation 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 the final participant...” 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 dirty 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 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 tanned 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 sports pictures of the Sensational One’s opponents, the caption reading: “Shea’s gonna flatten the Golden Gnat and the Yank Brat”.
Further making the fan's day, London gives the man a quick peck on the cheek before collecting a microphone and bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slips between. Keeping a close, wandering set of eyes on each foe, she takes a step toward her corner... but only one step, after which she whips around, locks flying. She fixes an alternating stare on both rivals.
“I swear this Mania will be among the finest hours of my career, showing FAWN and the world the both of you are, and will always be, far less than sensational.”
The assembled roar in approval as London tosses her stick to the outside and the bell brings the match to order, or more likely disorder, with all three women ready to make mayhem.
Make that <B>two</B> women, as Lockwood climbs through the ropes and drops to the mat, offering a dismissive backward wave.
“I’m singing the national anthem in my head,” Polly announces. “I’ll get back in when I’ve properly honored our country.”
Manning and London scoff at their match-mate and turn their attention to each other, the blondes surging forward and connecting in a collar-and-elbow tie-up.
Although shorter than her counterpart, the strength of Janel is evident as she walks Shea toward her corner, forcing London into a backpedal. But as the Brit’s back is a couple feet from the buckles, London suddenly spins and SLAMS the former gymnast’s frame against the corner.
Not waiting for the call for a break, London immediately releases and takes a step back only to level an open-hand slap of Janel’s cheek. Face turning rosy, both from the crack of London’s hand and the feeling of embarrassment, Manning charges out of the buckles.
Shea dips and collects Janel around her muscular thighs. Turning with Manning’s momentum, the Brit lifts the ponytailed blonde off the deck and SLAMS her to it with an abbreviated but still ring-rattling spinebuster.
The Mite arches her back in pain, but only for a moment, as Shea’s shoulders press against the pit of Manning’s knees. The Sensational One rolls Janel into a ball in front of her for an early pin that gathers a ONE…and a TWO…before Janel kicks her way free, ending on a shoulder, Manning reaching for the base of her backbone.
Shea takes a quick glance around the ring and finds Polly still loitering outside the squared circle, happy to take in the activity from afar if not particularly seeing Shea wrest early control. She golf claps for the British Bombshell, motioning London to go right ahead.
Not that she wants to accede to the True American’s wishes, but London tugs Janel to her feet and sends the Golden Mite off with an Irish whip. Janel sprints to the opposite ropes and rebounds at full speed toward a now charging London. Shea leaps into a spinning leg lariat the vertically-challenged Janel easily ducks under. Manning speeds into another 180 out of the ropes to take an offensive charge the second time around. As the combatants get close, Shea deftly spins into a karate kick to Manning’s midsection and no amount of six-pack can stop the buried foot from doubling over the gasping Janel.
With Manning stooped in front of her, the Sensational One snatches Janel’s head in a tight front facelock and drops to the deck, SPIKING Manning’s skull with a crisp DDT that sends Janel flipping over to her back, the former gymnast sliding to a stop a few feet from the ropes and the observing Polly.
Lockwood slides in under the bottom ropes and dives atop Janel, hooking a leg for the ONE…TWO…and Janel kicks free again. A hovering, vertical Shea, having let Polly take the pinning attempt, since the goal is to get Janel out by any means, is less ready to let Lockwood enter without paying the price.
After Janel’s survival, the frustrated patriot suddenly feels her scalp tighten noticeably has Shea yanks Lockwood up by her mane. Polly chirps out a shout of ‘HAIR’ to the ref, but both the official and Shea seem unconcerned about Polly’s complaint.
London spins Polly into a knee to the gut that shuts the star-spangled bytch up. She tosses a leaden arm of Lockwood over the back of her neck and delivers Polly to the mat with a lightning snap suplex. Shea quickly forces the True American up and repeats the process for a second and THIRD time. After number three, Shea floats over into a kneeling straddle of the dazed Lockwood and levels a series of right hands that Polly is only partially successful in blocking.
After the swings, the Sensational One is riding a bit high on her foe and Lockwood manages to shove Shea over her head, slipping out from between the Brit’s legs and struggling to her feet. Polly staggers to a corner where she throws her arms over either side and gets absolutely gutted by a charging Janel. The spear sends a breathless Lockwood plopping to her ass, tanned stems stretched out in front of her, Polly’s head bobbling as she chokes and gags.
Backing away to survey the damage, Janel catches a risen Shea out of the corner of her eye. With London mid-ring, she motions the Englishwoman to be her guest, directing traffic toward the downed Polly.
Shea abides and races at Lockwood. She leaps from a few feet out, her split, extended legs leading the way. London’s undercarriage THUMPS into Polly’s chest and Shea continues to use it as a crash pad. Grabbing the ropes on either side, she busts her True American bronco in violent fashion, getting a little extra oomph into each of ten PUMPS into the blasted Polly, the last couple directed into the face of the glassy-eyed Lockwood.
As Shea dismounts the gobsmacked Polly, Janel grabs Lockwood’s left ankle and drags her out a few feet, positioning the ‘patriot’ in a single file for an exit from the match. The former gymnast points Shea to the top buckle and London scrambles there out of instinct more than Manning’s direction. She turns for a frog splash, a big elbow or maybe even a Sensational Leg Drop. No one would know as when she seems ready to spring, Janel races into the ropes at her left side and London loses her footing and her balance.
Crotched in the corner, Shea’s privates ram against the wires that hold corner to post. London’s jaw drops her lips into a wide, silent ‘O’ as a delighted Janel raises her arms high and wide, receiving the full enmity of the FAWNatics. Before Shea can work her way out of the predicament, Janel climbs to a station on the middle ropes and starts to pull Shea into a front facelock. The bent, balled London ready to be launched in a superplex.
But before Janel can manage, she feels a head tuck between her thighs, arms wrapping around the outside of the muscular limbs. Already halfway into her heave, Janel can’t stop Polly from doing the same to her and it’s a tower of a three-woman superplex that delivers each combatant to the deck in a ring-rattling collision that has the crowd chanting “HO-LEE SHYT. HO-LEE SHYT”.
It’s clear from the wreckage, Shea and Janel have taken the worst of the flight, both blondes laid out in spreadeagles, each reaching for her back, arching in pain, face etched in agony. But both are moving and perhaps that’s why a risen Polly doesn’t go for a pin. Instead, she plucks Janel off the canvas and rushes her to the ropes where she tosses the former gymnast over, the Mite crashing to the floor below.
Lockwood turns her full attention to the FAWN icon, striding to Shea, who’s made it up to one knee, even if the there’s a foggy daze in her brown eyes.
But suddenly Polly speeds past. She rebounds off the ropes at a full sprint. Still not quite all there, London is too late to react to the True American using Shea’s raised knee as a launching point. Polly lands a boot atop it and sweeps a Shining Wizard kick to the Sensational One’s temple, sending the Brit sprawling.
London spills out of the ring, landing around the corner and ring steps from a bleary-eyed Janel who leans against the apron. In the ring, the Star-Spangled Bytch demands one or the other get back in the squared circle to take her beating and Shea seems ready to give it her best shot, pushing wearily to her feet. But as she does, Janel hops to the middle ring step and flies off with double axhandle raised overhead, ready to bring it crashing down on the crown of the dirty blonde’s skull.
One problem with Manning’s plan, Shea’s preternatural awareness. Her right arm shoots out, the palm wrapping around a suddenly bug-eyed Janel’s throat. The Manchester native adds a grasp on the hip of Janel’s leotard. But before she can launch and splatter her rival, a thumping patter from the ring catches her attention. Only a split-second separates Shea’s glance and the arrival of a diving Polly. Lockwood vaults through the ropes, crashing into both her foes.
Shea and Janel are both knocked to the steel barricade behind them, the spines of the duo SMACKING against the steel in unison. While the ponytailed blonde melts down the barrier, London leans against it, arms swept over the opposite side.
The True American collects Shea by her flaxen locks, straightening her with a tug. Polly aims the Brit down the side of the ring at the distant steel. She whips the living legend toward the barricade, but London holds on, plants and reverses. With a buggywhip action, it’s Polly’s tanned frame rushing to the metal divider. She turns at the last moment, flying into a violent CLANK.
Lockwood nearly rolls over the top, but catches herself, swinging her body back down, only to have a charging Shea clothesline her over, Lockwood landing in the laps of the first row, many a FAWNatic saluting in his own particular idiom.
The crowd roars as the quick-thinking veteran turns her head on a swivel to place Manning. Janel is up and advancing, but when she locks eyes with London, the Golden Mite halts in her tracks, throwing up her palms. Shea chuckles at the cowed Iowan, causing a flush from Janel.
“Get your ass back in the ring, London,” Manning demands, then offers the Brit a double bicep plenty impressive from the 59-inch tall grappler. Janel throws herself in under the bottom rope and Shea does likewise. The high flyers pop to their feet and throw simultaneous dropkicks at each other that come up empty.
Manning and London each kip to their feet and Shea beats her foe to the punch, or in this case the boot, shooting a superkick toward Manning’s chin the Mite manages to avoid. Janel sweeps a leg but Shea skips over. The bouncy pairing lock up and the Sensational One spins to send the former gymnast over with a hiptoss, but Janel deftly lands on her feet. She races to the strands and rebounds in a full tumbling run toward the poised Shea who leapfrogs in a highflying set of splits to let Janel pass beneath.
The show continues as Janel hops into the middle rope and springboards into a corkscrew flip toward the turning Shea, but the diminutive, spandex-clad grappler fails to hit in a crossbody splash when the living legend rotates. Instead, London catches Janel across her right shoulder and nearly drives her THROUGH the deck with a Sensational Powerslam.
The splattered Manning bounces a couple inches off the canvas from the force of the impact and Shea’s right there to scrape up what’s left into a tight cradle for the ONE…TWO…THRENOO!
Janel keeps the match a three-way by the barest of margins, her squirming paying dividends with the official’s hand only a few inches off the mat. The Mite rolls to her chest and starts to slither on her spandex toward the ropes.
Shea watches with interest, but doesn’t follow, seeing Manning is heading for a waiting and somewhat recovered Polly on the outside.
Focused on escape and the Brit behind her, the ponytailed blonde crawls into a forearm smash to the jaw that sends Manning in a whiplash of a u-turn. The former gymnast ambles on all fours toward an approaching London who reaches down to cup a hand under the chin of the Iowan. Pulling Janel’s vacant stare up toward her, Shea smirks at the glassy-eyed gaze.
“Are we a bit off, luv?” London asks, sinking her opposite hand into the diminutive grappler’s shoulder and ‘helping’ her up. Behind, Polly slides into the squared circle and hops to her feet, the patriot looking recovered from her meeting with the metal.
Facing the Mite, Shea delivers a European Uppercut to Manning’s chin. The wallop spins Janel in a 180, Manning stepping in a few fencepost holes until she finds a right cross from the True American waiting. Polly’s fist CLUNKS into Janel’s jaw, rotating the stumbling Mite toward the Manchester native, London and Lockwood playing ping-pong with the Golden Mite.
Shea takes her turn, leaping into a dropkick that catches Janel flush in the chest. Manning backpedals toward the waiting Polly. Lockwood, in turn leaps into a dropkick of her own, her boots dissecting the shoulderblades of the former gymnast. A wincing and flustered Janel lurches forward from the impact and into a swift left jab from Shea that snaps Manning’s head back.
London adds another and another, each connection putting Janel in an increasingly dense fog. As Polly slips outside the ring, Shea winds up with the ‘go home’ right hand and NAILS the Mite. A wicked head snap accompanies the roar of the crowd. But to her credit, again the muscular fireplug remains vertical as she wobbles in a 180.
Barely cognizant of her location, she stumbles toward the ropes and the Star Spangled Bytch on the other side. Already lowered, tensed and grasping the middle ropes, Polly flings her way through the cables with her Lockwood Lunge, SPEARING the holy hell out of the former gymnast.
<B> Lockwood Lunge</B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhSX8bNbYGE )
Janel is flattened by the True American, no amount of chiseled abs saving her from being absolutely gutted by Janel’s signature. With Manning laid out in a gurgling spreadeagle, Polly pushes to all fours and readies a crossbody pin to bring the match down to two.
But before she can cover Manning, the nearby Bombshell blows her up, delivering another dropkick, this one on a lower level. Shea’s boots CLUNK into the left temple of the patriot, Polly sent sprawling. Using the momentum provided, the dazed blonde rolls her way under the ropes.
London’s brown eyes follow Polly as she drops off the apron and plops to the floor below. Slowly, her peepers turn to the starfished Mite and Shea is already moving to the nearest set of buckles.
Up the corner London clambers, reaching the top and turning to measure the spandex-clad Mite. The crowd rises as one in a special Mania moment that feels all about the deja-vous. The tanned blonde SKIES off her perch, legs outstretched, and lowers the most sensational of Sensational Leg Drops the organization had or would ever know.
London’s lower limbs CRASH down across the chest and throat of Manning, Janel spasming wildly for a second before falling still. Not taking the time to shift her frame, Shea keeps her legs in place across the demolished Mite, grabbing and hooking an abbreviated, sinewy stem of the ponytailed blonde for the ONE…TWO…THREE!!!!
The FAWNatics explode as one, the ring announcer barely heard as a supremely satisfied Shea remains seated atop her beaten foe.
“Janel Manning has been eliminated by pinfall by Shea London!”
The Brit lets Janel’s lifeless leg drop to the deck and she rolls up to one knee, placing it on the bruised tummy of the Mite. She raises her arms high and wide, indulging in a Mania Moment as Polly uses the apron to pull to her feet and stare jealously at the living legend who’s procured the first elimination.
“That’s the preliminaries, limey,” Lockwood shouts from the outside.
“What say you come in,” Shea responds, “and I can show you what I have left for a spoiled little Trumpette.
Lockwood climbs to the apron and has to leap out of the way of a homemade missile. Shea, having plucked Janel off the canvas, bumrushes the vertically-challenged ragdoll toward the True American, and Polly barely avoids being speared by the semiconscious babyfaced Mite.
Janel flies through the ropes and past the startled Lockwood, crashing to the thinly-padded cement, ready for pick-up by the ever vigilant FAWN EMT brigade.
With Manning left in her dust, a glistening Shea motions for Polly to rejoin the fray, the Brit poised as a wary Lockwood slowly sidles through the cables, clearly ready to eject at the slightest hint of a charge from the Englishwoman. None is forthcoming and Lockwood enters freely, if still with a hint of trepidation in her baby blues.
The survivors circle each other, an enormous Mania win now only three seconds away for each. The lightweights slap together in a collar-and-elbow and, while muscles flex and teeth grind, each woman trying to find an advantage, it’s a stalemate.
“You’re going to hand over that mantle if I have to break every bone in your body,” Polly growls.
Shea shifts her weight and lets Lockwood slide into a side headlock. She grinds the head of the True American against her hip.
“Poor Polly. You and your orange billionaire are going down within a week of each other,” Shea responds. “Such a shame you can’t make America or yourself great again.”
The Star-Spangled Bytch gets her hands on London’s hips and shoves the dirty blonde off to the ropes. The Brit uses the momentum provided and rebounds toward the centered Lockwood. London buries a shoulder and knocks the smaller blonde flat to her back.
An embarrassed Polly stares up at the smiling, nodding Shea. The Sensational One skips over the downed Lockwood, heading for the opposite ropes. She throws her body into the strands and returns at full speed toward a rising Lockwood.
Springing into action, Polly tries to leap over the sprinting Shea, but instead of the Brit ducking under, London skids to a stop and catches the wide-eyed blonde around her hips. Polly barely has time to shake her head, golden hair flying, before the Bombshell sites out and BUSTS Polly’s spine.
With Lockwood’s legs in her possession and Polly’s upper half spread on the mat before her, Shea scrambles to her knees, leaning forward to jackknife the patriot into a pin for ONE…TWO…THRNOOO!
Lockwood kicks her way free and rolls to her side, lids snapped shut in pain, lower lip bitten as she tries to fight off Shea grabbing at a wrist. Polly’s unable to slow the rampaging Englishwoman as Shea tugs her foe to her feet. The Sensational One whips Lockwood toward a corner and Polly turns into a spine-smashing collision with the buckles.
Perhaps knowing London’s penchant for bucking broncos, Lockwood manages to throw her arms over the top rope on either side. She hangs limply, head bowed, as the crowd loves every minute the Ugly American is under the tire treads of a patented London Run.
Shea speeds toward Polly and vaults into the air from several feet out, ready to splash her frame atop the blasted blonde. But as London is soaring in, Polly gets her legs up and extended and ‘catches’ the charging Shea in a scissors. The True American throws her upper body out of the corner and sends the Brit skidding away with a desperation rana.
The women are slowly to their feet nearly simultaneously and it’s Shea who remains ahead of the curve, launching into a spinning leg lariat. But Polly is ready. She steps toward the assault and catches London before she can fully rotate. Trapped in a lifted cradle by the True American, Shea is a sitting duck for an Exploder Suplex from Lockwood that PLANTS London HARD into the deck.
<B> Exploder Suplex</B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-XEfDpeTY4 )
Shea’s body barrel rolls to a stop, London arched in anguish, reaching for her lower vertebrae. A few feet away, Polly pushes up to a seated position and gathers her wits and breath. Lockwood kips to her feet, raising a crisp salute to her brow before bringing it down into a middle finger to the fans.
Hustling to the horizontal Brit, the blue-eyed blonde leaps into the air above London, pulling her legs into a tuck then exploding out and downward, sending both boots Mushroom Stomping into Shea’s pert chest. London yelps in pain as her bosom is flattened between boot soles and breastbone. Polly grits her perfect pearlies angrily as she grinds her leather into the thin sheath of material covering Shea’s tits.
The Sensational One yips in pain, grabbing at her own dirty blonde locks to spread the pain then pushing at Lockwood’s ankles, finally causing Polly to lose her balance and hop off.
Shea swathes her bust with an arm and rolls to her side while Lockwood stalks her foe, finally delivering a soccer kick to the back of London’s head when the Brit reaches a seat. Made glassy-eyed by the punt, London can offer little in the way of resistance as the patriot latches onto a wrist and the dirty blonde locks of the living legend.
Polly heaves Shea toward the far corner with an Irish whip. London’s back SLAMS into the buckles with a violent impact and the Brit’s lower limbs turn ‘off’, the Sensational One plopping to her back side, legs extended in front of her, arms limp at her sides, head lolled back.
A wicked spark flashes in Polly’s baby blues and the Star Spangled Bytch is off to the races for some payback. The diminutive blonde hardbody sprints to her target and launches, tanned stems splitting as they lead the way. Polly’s undercarriage THUMPS into Shea’s chest and, when Lockwood grabs the middle ropes on either side of Shea, she’s in place to bust her English bronco. Polly pulses forward in a frantic rhythm, her ass pumping into Shea’s chest, her crotch into the chin of the living legend.
The crowd boos through a ten-spot of pummeling pelvic thrusts and when Polly dismounts at the official’s insistence, Shea’s left a sleepy-eyed shell, for the first time in the match looking like her best days are behind her.
Lockwood grabs the blasted Brit by the ankles and drags her several feet from the corner, flipping the gobsmacked London to her chest. With Shea properly positioned, Polly heads for the buckles and scrambles to the top. She turns to face her target, Shea face down, inviting a Lockwood Leap. Polly doesn’t pass, vaulting high into the sky above London.
The True American doesn’t get the height of her legendary foe but she gets enough hang time to make the landing across Shea’s back an extremely harsh one. The crowd groans reflexively from Polly’s successful signature and they hold their breath as Lockwood shovels a motionless Shea to her back. Polly slaps her glistening frame down across Shea’s tanned body and hooks a leg for the ONE…TWO…THRENOOO!
Lockwood stares at the zebra in shock.
“Are you out of your mind? Shea should be in the retirement home and you should join her.”
The man remains silent, lifting two fingers as confirmation.
Polly offers a growl and mounts London in a straddle, slugging away with swiping right and left crosses, some of which the defenses of the Brit knock away, others connect, sending London’s head swiveling side to side until the True American’s had enough.
Polly hops to her feet, raises her right hand, lifts an index finger and gives it a twirl, signaling the end is near for FAWN’s living legend.
Lockwood moves to the ropes and slides through, turning and grabbing the top cable while Shea tries to shake the cobwebs from her cluttered attic. Polly stomps her right foot in anticipation, the throats of Shea’s legion of fans tightening as the Polly Rocket and the end are near.
Shea staggers to her feet, head turned from the poised Polly. She spins drunkenly toward the blue-eyed blonde, already barely able to retain verticality. Lockwood leaps into action. Landing on the top cable, in a tight crouch, Polly springboards from the uppermost rope to end Shea’s Mania with the Polly Rocket.
<B>Polly Rocket</BN> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-XEfDpeTY4 )
But with Lockwood at her zenith, London seems to snap to coherence. And, with Polly plummeting and reaching for Shea’s head to grab and twist into a match-ending DDT, the Brit pulls another magic trick out of her bottomless bag, shooting a superkick into the chin of the Star Spangled Bytch.
Polly’s taut little hardbody stiffens as her noggin snaps back from the incredible force driven into her mandible. The blonde timbers like a shapely tree, dropping frozen to the canvas in a wide spreadeagle, motionless after hitting the deck.
Shea leans heavily against the ropes, staring down at the demolished Polly, seemingly unsure of what she’s accomplished and how she accomplished it. London’s baby browns widen a little more when Lockwood rolls to her side, then her back, and begins to push her way up.
The adrenaline of a Mania match fueling the pernicious patriot, Polly reaches her knees and London shoves away from the ropes in the blonde’s six. Shea sweeps both upturned palms higher, motioning the True American to rise and meet the righteous exclamation point of months of battle between Janel, Polly and Shea. The crowd roars along with the rubbery rise of Lockwood and the stalking Bombshell.
Finally, London springs into action, grabbing the hanging, limp right arm of her fellow blonde by the wrist, yanking with both hands. Dispensing with any feint of an Irish Whip in the opposite direction, Shea tugs a bewildered Polly toward her, Lockwood lurching.
As the True American is pulled tight to the back of a spinning Shea, the Brit reaches over her shoulders with both hands, wrapping them tightly around the back of Polly’s noggin. In the splittest of seconds, Shea lays out and brings Polly with her for a mat-thumping London Calling that brings the fans to their feet and sends an unconscious Polly barrel rolling to her back.
<B> London Calling</B> @ 2:05 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rXrCezHw97E )
Shea turns and scrambles to her foe, not taking any chances with the moment. She drives her body into the lifeless frame of the patriot for a crossbody pin, hooking a leg for ONE…TWO…AND THREE!
The crowd, having chanted along with the slaps of the mat, explodes in ecstasy. Shea releases the defeated blonde’s leg and rolls to her back, lounging atop Polly’s chest. London raises her arms above her head in weary delight, wide smile emerging. She moves to a seated position, using Lockwood as a backrest as the ring announcer makes another London Mania victory official.
“Polly Lockwood has been eliminated by pinfall. Your winner is Sensational Shea London!”
The FAWNatics rise to their feet with a “YOU are awesome” chant and London seems taken aback for a moment but she kips to her feet off Polly to show the assembled they’re right.
The British Bombshell plants a boot atop Polly’s chest for the conquering heroine meme and it’s the greatest Mania cherry on top ever, Shea proving AGAIN she remains among FAWN’s best and would not disappear violently into the night like Portia and Lisa before her.