Post by bigfan on Nov 2, 2016 21:42:29 GMT
As the FAWNatics settle down to a dull roar, the PA system lets out a familiar song, starting up The Heavy's "Oh No Not You Again", which solicits a chorus of boos, with a few diehard fans cheering their favorite FAWN bad girl, Trisha Belle.
Belle stands at the top of the ramp for a moment, soaking in all the derision and admiration alike, then the Minnesota Mountain saunters down to the ring. She picks up a mic to start a promo, but then hands it back to the tech guy, turning to the crowd she shouts, "On second thought, you aren't worth it. What good is talking going to do? I we already know where we stand. You hate me, and I hate you all, and I wouldn't have it any other way, because I love it."
TRISHA BELLE:
The boos get even louder near the front where the hardcore fans heard Trisha clear as day. "So, let’s see what poor bitch FAWN convinced to face me tonight, shall we?" She shouts again, rolling into the ring and warming up.
The house lights of FAWN Arena dim, leading to the requisite hoots and hollers from the amped throng. A white-hot spotlight breaks the darkness, falling upon the upper stage and a lean, lithe brunette gracefully floats into view. The crowd explodes with a loud ovation worthy of Pavarotti. The PA is quick to announce the diva’s arrival before she can begin her breathtaking warbling.
“And her opponent. From London, England, at 5 feet 8 inches tall and 122 pounds…she is the sublime soprano, the British Blackbird…ELIZA BLISSSS!”
ELIZA BLISS:
A sweet melodious set of notes reach to the heights, the highest high of soprano superlatives cannot describe the beauty of the operatic ecstasy. Nor can it describe the beauty that has stepped from behind the curtain.
Eliza raises her arms dramatically and serenades the FAWNatics with her own entrance accompaniment, no one else able to reach the perfect notes of operatic rapture. Blissy sets herself on the upper stage. The slender, sinewy brunette, long locks falling in great cascades, is clad in a tight, lacy black one-piece that clings tightly to her lightly tanned form; curious, futuristic, metallic wristbands, glitter from each wrist to only a few inches short of her elbows. Below, she wears tempting, knee-high black leather boots. The Englishwoman strides down the aisle belting out the concluding aria of Giulio Cesare, the opera that had made her famous or infamous, depending on fan or foe.
The crowd, for the most part, are now loyal fans of the soprano, willing to take Bliss under their protective wing after her long time astray.
Still trying desperately to find the singles’ mojo that had at one time made her Lightweight champion, Eliza seems confident enough from recent Blackbird success to transfer it back to the singles scene.
As Bliss moves toward the ring, she finishes her beautiful verse and slaps hands with those on the aisle, waving and smiling, well removed from the Empire and her petty past.
Reaching the squared circle, Eliza circles, bowing and making contact with the crowd, particularly pleased with a placards that notes “There’s no bliss, like Eliza!”.
The brunette nods in agreement.
“Girl’s nothing but an understudy,” Eliza chuckles, “She’s going to feel what it’s like to be on stage with a star.”
The sinewy brunette turns to the squared circle and skips up the ring steps. Sliding through the ropes, she keeps an eye on Trisha as she moves to her corner, still owning the ‘stage’ in every sense of the word. Eliza, a performer of unequalled beauty and poise, flexes and stretches, preparing for the bell and Belle.
Trisha makes a face like she's smelled some sour milk.
"I think you're a little flat on those high notes, Bliss. But don't strain your voice too much. I'll be sure to make you sing soon enough."
She smiles as she sees Eliza's incredulous reaction to Trisha's musical critique. Then, Trisha turns to the rope nearest to her.
"And as for the crowd being on your side, don't let it go to your head, FAWN is known to be fickle, as you well know."
And with that Belle raised a leg, laying a boot on the top rope as she squats and stretches the long limb, then stands up and repeats with the opposite leg. As she does so, a considerable percentage of the crowd catcall and whistle at the sight of Belle's flexibility.
"See? What did I say? Fickle." Finally, as she finishes her stretch, Belle steps to mid ring, Bliss already there. The Minnesotan bumps chest to chest with the sexy soprano, no fear between the two women, but very little respect either.
Eliza’s bumped off the balls of her feet by Trisha’s chest to chest connection, the curvier Belle emphasizing her advantage. Eliza manages to smirk in response, but quickly spins into an echoing slap to Trisha’s cheek that turns the head of her fellow brunette.
Knowing things are about to explode, the referee quickly calls for the bell and, it’s just in time as a furious Trisha surges forward, swinging a big clothesline at the neck of the soprano, apparently hoping to rip Blissy’s head from her shoulders to start the match.
The wily Eliza ducks beneath the scythe-like swing and when Belle skids to a stop and turns, she’s met with a side kick to the solar plexus. With her foe slightly doubled, the diva slinks in close, pulling Trisha’s head into a front facelock. Eliza grabs Belle’s trunks at the hip and tries to flip her over with a German Suplex.
But the plan immediately seems premature when Trisha plants anchor and despite a second and a third try, Blissy can’t remove her foe’s boot soles from the canvas.
Instead, Trisha lifts a knee deep into Blissy’s tummy and the front facelock is transferred to the Minnesota Mauler. In a demonstration of what her additional mass can mean, the strength of Trisha sends Eliza easily up-n-over with a successful German, the soprano’s back SLAMMING against the canvas.
Eliza curls in an arch, face pinched in pain as she reaches for her lower spine. Trisha turns and collects Bliss by the head, tugging her up and into a side headlock. The bigger Belle grinds the side of Eliza’s noggin to her ribs, flexing her biceps as she turns the squirming Eliza’s face pink with effort and frustration.
Trisha surges forward with Bliss in tow and leaps after several steps, her legs extending in front of her, clearly maneuvering for a bulldog. But Eliza shows some fortitude, the veteran managing to get her hands down to Trisha’s hips and shove Belle off before she can plant the diva’s forehead into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Belle’s booty hits home hard, the base of her tailbone THUMPING into the canvas. Trisha curses as her hands move to her backside, massaging her derriere, her offense thwarted.
And Bliss isn’t done. She races to the ropes behind Belle and rebounds. Flying over Trisha’s right shoulder from behind, Eliza snatches her foe’s braincase as she somersaults by and PLANTS Trisha’s face into the deck between her outstretched stems.
Trisha’s head snaps back from the impact and she ends splayed, blinking her dark eyes wide and shaking out some cobwebs as she rolls to all fours.
Having gracefully popped back to her feet after the neck snap, Eliza is back on the move. Racing to Trisha, she leaps and lays out above Belle, flattening her foe to the canvas with a sprightly senton. If Trisha hadn’t ended on her chest and face, it might have been time for the first pin attempt of the night. As it was, Eliza scrambles to straddle the back of the horizontal brunette, but she hesitates to grab Trisha’s left leg and fold it in front of her as she gains her positioning.
Reaching forward, she wings her arms in front of Belle’s mug and locks her hands in a tightening Clutch. The diva adds a knee to the base of Trisha’s spine for good measure, capturing her foe in a Leghook Camel Clutch that has Trisha groaning in pain.
<B> Leghook Camel Clutch</B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPQsU4hiHxs )
“Ask her, if you please,” the Brit grunts, with perfect pitch.
The official does as he’s told, but Belle emphatically refuses to submit, spitting out a loud ‘no’.
Trisha raises her left hand, reaching behind her. She finds a handful of Eliza’s long locks and yanks away. Not surprisingly, Blissy decides it’s time to abandon her hold and shifts her grip to behind Belle’s noggin. She slams Trisha’s features into the canvas, Belle’s head bouncing up a few inches, a slight daze accumulating on her face as Eliza rises, unimpeded.
Blissy curtsies to the roaring crowd, never afraid to play to the fans. As she does, Trisha struggles to her feet beside her. Grabbing a wrist, the soprano tugs the wobbly Trisha toward her and ducks her head under the captured arm as they end side to side.
Dipping, she scoops the bigger brunette off her feet, Eliza grunting loudly to hoist Trisha in front of her then drop to one knee. The Minnesotan plummets into the posted joint, her vertebrae cracking across the knee courtesy the Backdrop Lift Backbreaker.
<B>Backdrop Lift Backbreaker</B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWthLMpEXw8 ).
Bliss shoves Trisha off her bony joint, Trisha barrel rolling to her back. This time Eliza dives atop her foe, hooking the far leg of the curvy brunette for ONE…TWO…and Trisha kicks free with strength to spare, Eliza shoved up to her haunches.
She looks at the ref hopefully, but nods along with his two raised fingers.
Bliss turns, grabs for Belle's hair and drags the Minnesota Mauler up again, but Eliza is too confident, too wrapped up in playing to the crowd some more to hear Trisha mutter, "Why don't you sing for me, bitch?" under her breath before swinging a forearm between the soprano's stems, connecting hard with Eliza's crotch.
Bliss' mouth forms a perfect "O" shape, betraying her pain and surprise, but the only noise she makes is a small, high pitched squeak that only Trisha can hear.
"Having trouble with that high note again?" The clearly angry Amazon says as she rolls her neck and shoulders, trying to shrug off some of the pain Eliza inflicted. "Let me see if I can help you get it out." Belle finishes as she wraps arms around Bliss' waist. For a moment it almost looks like an intimate, loving embrace between the two battlers, but then Trisha returns to the body language all the FAWNattics are used to, squeezing Eliza as they both kneel in the ring, arms just under the singer's ribcage in a tight bearhug.
Bliss immediately tries to struggle, but with the two on their knees she can't kick at Belle, or even relieve the pressure. Her hands instinctively gravitate toward Trisha's grip, trying to pry the hug open.
Failing that, Eliza begins raining down forearm strikes, slamming Trisha in the arms, shoulders and even head.
Trisha attempts to weather this storm of fists and forearms but eventually releases the hold, allowing the breathless Bliss to collapse to the mat, gulping down big breaths of air.
Belle doesn't stop for long, though. Soon the Minneapolis native rises to her feet, circling Bliss like a shark smelling blood in the water for just a moment. Then she grabs Eliza's wrists, plants a boot in the former opera star's spine and pulls her arms back, wracking Bliss' body with pain while also setting up a nasty curb stomp.
"Check her!" Trisha demands of the ref. The official closes in and calls, "How-" only to be immediately cut off by Belle brutally slamming Bliss’s face to the mat, executing the curb stomp before he can even ask for a submission.
"Sorry. Her wrists slipped out of my hands."
Trisha smiles evilly while giving the excuse, not fooling anyone.
Eliza is slow to react after the impact, the concussive force of the stomp leaving her in a fog. Deliberately, Blissy’s hands move to her nose, checking it isn’t pointed in a new direction. The diva reflexively rolls to her back, the soles of her boots pattering against the canvas as she preses against her proboscis.
Belle doesn’t look a gift horse or soprano in the mouth and slides down next to Eliza. She rolls the Brit into a cradled ball, Blissy’s shoulders pressed to the deck for ONE…TWO…
And Bliss is able to kick free, ending on her side, still appearing unsure of her location, her long career in the ring giving her an almost involuntary impulse when a pinfall against her is near.
For her part, the Mauler doesn’t look a bit perplexed by the nearfall. Instead, the curvy brunette tugs her slender counterpart between her outstretched and parted legs. The limbs snap shut like a beartrap around Eliza’s flat, ivory tummy, Trisha locking her lower limbs at the ankles and sending a muscular pulse through thighs and calves, drawing a breathy groan from the Blackbird.
Eliza pries at the powerful legs but a squeeze from Trisha is punishment enough to halt the effort. Eliza’s dark eyes bug as her abdomen is tightly cinched between the glossy thighs of her foe.
Realizing she doesn’t have to power to wrench her way free, Eliza takes a wild swing at Belle’s noggin and comes woefully short. She adjusts her target to Trisha’s gut and finds some success digging her fists into Trisha’s belly. But the Mauler adjusts, grabbing Eliza’s hands by the wrists and taking away her counterattack.
Trisha alters her positioning slightly and works another tightening of the scissors. It’s enough to force some worried mewls from the soprano, Blissy’s head on a swivel, eyes flashing concern as she looks for another way out of this predicament, while trying to pull her arms free.
The Brit finally gets one loose and pushes against the canvas, working her way to the nearby ropes and grabbing on.
“Let me loose,” Eliza cries. “REF!”
Trisha waits for the demand to come from the striped-shirt to pay any mind and then, only after four seconds elapse on his count, does she unknot her ankles and let Bliss roll free from between her devouring stems.
Having proven a point regarding who has the power, Trisha pushes to her feet and watches as Eliza grabs the ropes with one hand, while wrapping an arm around her aching midriff with the other.
Before Bliss can consider taking a timeout on the outside, Belle pushes past the official and sinks a hand into Eliza’s scalp. She drags her foe away from the cables. Blissy yelps as she’s violently tugged to the middle, where she’s hair-mared to a seat on the canvas.
However, Eliza uses the momentum from the toss to roll back up to her feet. Gamely, the soprano spins to face off against the bigger brunette and nearly has her head removed with a wicked clothesline that delivers Eliza to the deck, the diva’s legs folding atop her torso like a jackknife, the Englishwoman is hit with such force.
Ending splayed and barely moving, Bliss offers little in the way of defense when Tricia drags the rubbery diva to her feet. Belle dips and slips an arm between the Blackbird’s stems from behind. With a soft grunt, the curvy brunette ‘hups’ Eliza across her shoulders and straps down Bliss with one arm around her throat, the other around her thighs.
Captured in the Torture Rack, her spine bent around Trisha’s broad shoulders, Eliza hisses in pain, biting her lower lip as she flails fruitlessly to escape. Belle marches in a circuit around the ring, stomping her boot leather into the floorboards and, after half an orbit, Eliza can’t contain howls of anguish.
“I’ll break you in half and not even know it,” Belle growls as she continues her trek.
But the words seem to light a fire, or at least a flicker. Eliza points her left elbow and lands a series of blows to Trisha’s temple to disabuse the Mauler from continuing the backbreaking hike.
Three, four, five thumps but Belle continues to increase the agonizing arch in Eliza’s spinal column. The stubborn Bliss won’t give in and, after a few more bony points of the elbow to Trisha’s noggin, Belle throws her cargo off and away, Eliza landing on her face and chest.
For a split-second, Bliss is relieved to be free. But she gets a mouthful of mat for her efforts when reaching the deck. She twists in pain, reaching with a hand to massage away the ache in her vertebrae. But the length of her ride in the Rack is making Eliza’s effort useless.
Bliss rolls toward the ropes, trying to keep some distance from her rampaging rival. But Trisha won’t have it. She tracks down the diva, keeping her in the confines. The Minnesotan reaches down to collect Eliza from the deck and, suddenly, Bliss grabs an available wrist, laces her legs within Trisha’s and trips Belle to the canvas. In an instant, the Mauler is entwined in a small package, her body piled atop her shoulders for ONE…TWO…
The wriggling, blue-eyed brunette nearly takes too long breaking loose. Trisha flops to all fours and stares worriedly at the ref, sighing deeply when she sees two raised fingers.
Amidst the concern, Eliza makes her escape, reaching the floor and limping around the ring, her back still giving her fits, but pleased to see a furious Trisha has the ropes between them.
“I believe the people that want to fight, come in here,” a peeved Belle informs, waving Eliza in.
Bliss nods with a slight smile, trying to cover her pain. She proceeds up the ring steps and Trisha is waiting, reaching for the soprano greedily. Eliza slips the attempted grip and laces her fingers behind the braincase of her fellow brunette. She leaps off the apron, hotshotting Trisha’s throat across the top rope.
As Belle staggers away, choking and grasping at her reddened neck, the crowd roars for what they hope is a rejuvenated Eliza, Bliss sliding into the ring and stalking the Mauler from behind, falling into some old underhanded habits to start her comeback.
Trisha is so shaken and breathless from her sudden connection to the top ropes, she even goes down to one knee, back to Eliza. Blissy looks to the crowd, pointing to the ring post to see if they want to see her climb the corner. The FAWNattics give a predictability emphatic cheer and Eliza climbs the turnbuckles, perched and waiting for Trisha to get in range.
Unfortunately for Belle, she doesn't see this and turns to face her opponent. After the Minnesotan takes two steps toward the corner, Bliss flies from her perch, hands grabbing Trisha by the hair as she falls, dragging the big girl down. Bliss lands the controlled fall to her back, legs folded as she delivers a perfect rendition of her Sheer Bliss, slamming Belle’s chest into her knees before releasing.
Trisha is left breathless for the second time in one night, arms clutching her chest as she gasps, and coughs, her still aching throat making it especially hard.
Bliss doesn't give Belle the time to even think of recovering though. Rolling toward the downed Minnesota Mountain, Eliza throws herself across Trisha and hooks both legs in a rollup.
The ref slides in for the count.
One!
Two!
Kickout!
Belle throws all her strength behind her legs to throw Bliss off her, but the soprano is almost animalistic, pouncing back onto Trisha, raining down fists and forearms to keep Trisha down. After a flurry of blows land around the Minnesotan's skull and temple she's much more docile.
Eliza then goes for another pin attempt, hooking Trisha's right leg.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
This time Trisha, less forcefully, but just as defiantly rolls a shoulder up to stop the count.
Bliss grits her teeth and pulls her hair in frustration.
"Fine!" She says emphatically. "You want some more?"
The former opera star drags Trisha up by the hair. But Belle proves she may be battered, but she's far from beaten. The Minnesota Mauler grabs two handfuls of Eliza's long hair, at first looking like she's just steadying herself and using Bliss as support, but a half second later she pulls her head under Eliza's chin and suddenly drops to her knees, pulling Bliss into an expertly executed jawbreaker.
Eliza whiplashes away from the impact, staggered. She falls into the ropes, her chest pressing into the cables as she drapes her arms over the top. The Minnesota Mauler remains sluggish despite the counter. On her haunches, she shakes out some cobwebs.
The FAWNatics are in a frenzy; both brunettes putting on a Mania-worthy performance to the delight of the crowd. And it’s the woman more accustomed to the spotlight who recovers first. Bliss manages to turn and face her foe, massaging her jaw as she moves toward a rising Trisha.
As Bliss closes the gap, Belle takes a swipe, backing off the diva. But the Mauler buys herself only enough time to get all the way to vertical before a speedy toe kick connects deep into her gut courtesy the dark-haired soprano, doubling the bigger Belle over with a guttural groan.
Eliza steps to her rival, capturing Trisha in a tight front facelock with her left arm. Blissy raises her right arm high, the diva hitting a beautiful high C note, a sure sign the leaping DDT is close to follow.
The Blackbird launches, throwing her legs behind her to SPIKE Trisha’s skull into the canvas.
<B>Leaping DDT </B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKO7L7YztyQ )
But before Eliza can swing through and plant the crown of Belle’s noggin to the deck, the powerful Trisha heaves Eliza off. Bliss lands several feet away, though the Brit has the wherewithal to touch down on her boot leather.
Before Bliss has a chance to respond to Trisha’s well-timed escape, the Mauler is moving and…WHAM…Trisha strikes with a ridiculous Belle Ringer to Eliza’s chops that sends Bliss rocketing to the mat. The Big Boot forces the slender diva into a CRASHING collision with the canvas. After getting thoroughly jawjacked by boot leather, the back of Blissy’s braincase THUMPS to the mat, making Belle’s signature move a concussive daily double.
A sprawled Eliza spreads in a motionless starfish, arms and legs wide, the assembled instantly quieted by the massive connection.
A weary but satisfied Trisha strides to the semiconscious soprano and genuflects atop her chest for the ONE…TWO…THRNOOO!
Perhaps it’s the arrogant pin saving her, but the Blackbird manages to get a wing off the floorboards, startling both the FAWNatics and Trisha, though only the crowd offers Eliza applause for her effort.
Bliss ends on a shoulder and Belle shoves her foe the rest of the way to her chest. The blue-eyed brunette collects Eliza’s ankles as she rises from the mat, Belle ending in a standing, reverse straddle of the Brit with Blissy’s legs in tow. Slowly, Trisha lowers into a crouch and backs up Eliza’s frame.
Settling good and low, the bigger Belle tests the mettle of the diva, attempting to snap a vertebrae or two, having maneuvered Bliss into a backbreaking Boston Crab.
Eliza grunts and mewls with each increase in the arch of her back, Trisha progressively trying to get Eliza’s heels to her ears. In agony, Bliss shakes off the ref’s offer to give in. Instead, she digs her nails into the canvas and begins pulling her way toward the rubber-coated steel strands in front of her. It’s a long and arduous trek, but after a dozen anguish-inducing seconds, Bliss makes it to safety.
She wraps a palm around the bottom rope and squeals, again in perfect pitch, for Trisha to release. Belle does, but not in the manner the soprano might‘ve like, the Mauler raising both of Blissy’s legs as high as she can and throwing them to the mat, Eliza’s knees banging loudly into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Bliss yelps in pain, pulling into a tight fetal ball, one hand still white-knuckling the rope, the size and power of Trisha causing the Blackbird all sorts of problems.
Any thoughts of rolling out of the ring are dashed when the Mauler stomps Blissy’s wrist, Eliza losing her grip around and contact with the ropes. Trisha snatches an ankle and pulls her catch toward center stage.
After a vicious stomp to Eliza’s lower abdomen, Trisha spins a mock lasso overhead with her free hand. The signal fails to induce any cheers, but it portends Trisha working her away around Eliza’s raised stem, Belle starting to apply an agonizing knot in the figure of a four as she drops to a spot on the mat opposite the wide-eyed, worried Bliss.
Trisha wrenches the Figure Four leglock tight, forcing a high C sharp scream from the soprano. "Sing for us, bitch." Trisha mocks as she leans back with a smile.
The ref checks Eliza for a submission, but only gets an emphatic, "Nooo!" Instead, Bliss reaches, stretching her fingers out toward the bottom rope.
Trisha plants her palms and pulls one way while Bliss pulls the other. The two put more pressure on the leglock, forcing another scream from the soprano.
Belle untangles her stems from Bliss's, "That's all I needed to hear." she taunts Eliza as she slides in closer. "Now for your final aria of the night."
Trisha sits Blissy up and places one of her thighs in Eliza's lap, the other behind her, wrapping the former opera star in a vice like body scissors. Then as Blissy's mouth opens, gasping for air, Trisha clamps her hand down on Bliss's jaw, locking in the Mandible Claw and in so doing, putting Eliza Bliss through her own finisher, The Cleft Note.
Bliss's hands claw and pry at Trisha's forearm, but Belle has it all locked in, leaving nowhere for the soprano to go. Trisha squeezes her thighs around Eliza's waist and pulls and jerks her jaw in the claw, forcing Bliss to scream another gurgled high note.
"Ah, music to my ears." Belle says, mockingly stealing Eliza's catchphrase for the finisher.
The ref closes in and asks Bliss for a submission, but Eliza shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes as Trisha bears down on her.
Bliss’ dark eyes grow glassy. Eliza tries to blink them wide as she struggles to escape, the Brit knowing better than anyone she’s on the clock, particularly with the forceful version Belle has clamped into her jaw.
The Blackbird writhes, trying to fight her way free of the claw, but the powerful bracketing legs of her fellow brunette are keeping her well-controlled. Eliza’s palms surround Trisha’s wrist, the diva desperate to remove the fingers plunged deep into her gullet. But as the Mauler forces her deeper toward horizontal, there’s increasingly less leverage to break out.
Bending Bliss in an arc over the leg underneath the base of Blissy’s spine, Trisha sets the soprano on a crash course toward her doom. Slowly, the Minnesota Mauler gives up her loose scissors and shifts to a straddling schoolgirl, pressing her fingers deep into Eliza’s mandible. The final embarrassing triumph of Belle in using Eliza’s own finisher to finish her seems inevitable.
Bliss burbles softly, her arms sway around Trisha’s controlling grip. Eliza’s sinewy, ivory stems push against the canvas, but more weakly by the second, before shutting down completely.
The official drops next to the Brit. But before he can check the diva’s state, Trisha unhooks her digits and pulls them from between Eliza’s lips. Belle wipes the drool on Blissy’s chest and ‘tsk tsk’s at the barely conscious Bliss.
“Thank God I never have to know what it’s like to be put down by my own finisher. You? You got yours and you get mine.”
Bliss pulls a ragdolled Bliss up with her, Trisha waving to the crowd as Eliza can manage little more than leaning into Belle to stay upright.
Trisha sings out a garbled warble that is anything but close to Blissy’s perfect pitch, but she adds a raised knee to Eliza’s crotch that does the job. The THUMP is joined by a soft cry from the soprano who rises to tiptoes, face etched in agony. The Blackbird doubles slowly, as if turned to jelly.
Forcefully, Trisha pulls Eliza’s head between her thighs, clamping down on a standing head scissors. One by one, she captures Blissy’s arms in underhooks. Belle nods to the crowd knowingly then leaps and drops to her knees, violently PLANTING Eliza’s face to the deck with The Belle Toll.
<B> The Belle Toll</B> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fo44c0VoYjM ).
The sickening thud of skull to floorboards is one everyone outside of Bliss will remember for the rest of the night. The impact sends Eliza flopping to her back in a wide starfish.
Trisha doesn’t bother with a leg hook, instead she plants a flattened palm atop the Blackbird’s chest as she kneels next to her demolished foe for the ONE…TWO…THREE!
Belle all but ignores the announcement, but the announcer does his job even as Trisha rolls from the ring, digging under the ring apron for something as its all made official. "Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall, The Minnesota Mauler herself, TRISHA BELLE!"
The crowd lets Trisha hear their disapproval immediately with a loud chorus of boos and hisses. But that jeering somehow gets louder as Trisha emerges from under the ring, holding a steel chair. "You thought the fun was over? I want to give the opera girl her curtain call!" she sneers loudly to the crowd.
Belle rolls into the ring with her weapon of choice. She preps a swing at the ref before he can even protest, the official flinches and rolls out of the ring, forgetting to even call for the bell or a reverse decision before heading up the ramp for FAWN security. With that taken care of, Trisha turns to her newest victim.
Belle first drives the edge of the chair into Bliss's belly, getting a weak, "OOOMPH!" from the soprano before she weakly stirs with some slight groans, barely waking. That’s enough for Trisha, however, and she lays the chair on the mat before forcing Eliza up, placing the singer's head between her thighs again, giving a good squeeze to the skull before lifting Bliss's body vertical. Trisha then takes a deep breath acknowledging the crowd's jeers and protests before hopping up and falling to her knees.
A loud clang rings out, another noise the FAWNattics won't forget from the night's events. A shudder runs through Eliza's body, but only Trisha can hear the soft, whimpering grunt she lets out as she's driven into the metal.
Sadly, the Minnesota Mauler isn't finished yet. Still holding Bliss in position, Belle gets to her feet again, backing up to the corner and slowly climbing the turnbuckles, the crowd pleading as she ascends, she readies a second piledriver that only a certain few girls have experienced. The crowd grows quiet now, some shouting out pleas for Trisha to stop. "Stop? Now?! She knew what she was in for when she stepped into the ring with me. There's a REASON people call me the Minnesota Mauler more than the Mountain now." And without another word Belle jumps from the second rope, the crowd lets out an audible collective gasp for the long second Trisha and Eliza hang in the air. Then am even more dreadful clang of metal meeting flesh and bone is heard throughout the arena. Bliss' body convulses harshly as Belle finally drops her to the mat, a small bit of foaming drool escaping from the corner of Eliza's lips.
Trisha lifts Bliss head slightly by her now matted brown hair, presenting what's left of the former singer. "Encore?" she mocks the audience with the possibility of extending her deconstruction of Eliza. "NOOO!" the crowd shouts at her repeatedly, pleading for the chaos to stop. Belle drops Bliss's head to fall limply to the steel chair's seat, "Fine. Broken toys aren't as much fun anyway." she jokes as she rolles under the bottom rope to exit the ring. She struts up the ramp as her exit music blares, Bliss left battered and motionless. The paramedics even pass Trisha on the ramp as she leaves. She just smiles, "Just making sure you boys have a reason to be here tonight. " she jokes as she blows a final kiss, to Bliss or the crowd, no one can tell, but the cynicism behind the gesture is definitely clear.
Belle stands at the top of the ramp for a moment, soaking in all the derision and admiration alike, then the Minnesota Mountain saunters down to the ring. She picks up a mic to start a promo, but then hands it back to the tech guy, turning to the crowd she shouts, "On second thought, you aren't worth it. What good is talking going to do? I we already know where we stand. You hate me, and I hate you all, and I wouldn't have it any other way, because I love it."
TRISHA BELLE:
The boos get even louder near the front where the hardcore fans heard Trisha clear as day. "So, let’s see what poor bitch FAWN convinced to face me tonight, shall we?" She shouts again, rolling into the ring and warming up.
The house lights of FAWN Arena dim, leading to the requisite hoots and hollers from the amped throng. A white-hot spotlight breaks the darkness, falling upon the upper stage and a lean, lithe brunette gracefully floats into view. The crowd explodes with a loud ovation worthy of Pavarotti. The PA is quick to announce the diva’s arrival before she can begin her breathtaking warbling.
“And her opponent. From London, England, at 5 feet 8 inches tall and 122 pounds…she is the sublime soprano, the British Blackbird…ELIZA BLISSSS!”
ELIZA BLISS:
A sweet melodious set of notes reach to the heights, the highest high of soprano superlatives cannot describe the beauty of the operatic ecstasy. Nor can it describe the beauty that has stepped from behind the curtain.
Eliza raises her arms dramatically and serenades the FAWNatics with her own entrance accompaniment, no one else able to reach the perfect notes of operatic rapture. Blissy sets herself on the upper stage. The slender, sinewy brunette, long locks falling in great cascades, is clad in a tight, lacy black one-piece that clings tightly to her lightly tanned form; curious, futuristic, metallic wristbands, glitter from each wrist to only a few inches short of her elbows. Below, she wears tempting, knee-high black leather boots. The Englishwoman strides down the aisle belting out the concluding aria of Giulio Cesare, the opera that had made her famous or infamous, depending on fan or foe.
The crowd, for the most part, are now loyal fans of the soprano, willing to take Bliss under their protective wing after her long time astray.
Still trying desperately to find the singles’ mojo that had at one time made her Lightweight champion, Eliza seems confident enough from recent Blackbird success to transfer it back to the singles scene.
As Bliss moves toward the ring, she finishes her beautiful verse and slaps hands with those on the aisle, waving and smiling, well removed from the Empire and her petty past.
Reaching the squared circle, Eliza circles, bowing and making contact with the crowd, particularly pleased with a placards that notes “There’s no bliss, like Eliza!”.
The brunette nods in agreement.
“Girl’s nothing but an understudy,” Eliza chuckles, “She’s going to feel what it’s like to be on stage with a star.”
The sinewy brunette turns to the squared circle and skips up the ring steps. Sliding through the ropes, she keeps an eye on Trisha as she moves to her corner, still owning the ‘stage’ in every sense of the word. Eliza, a performer of unequalled beauty and poise, flexes and stretches, preparing for the bell and Belle.
Trisha makes a face like she's smelled some sour milk.
"I think you're a little flat on those high notes, Bliss. But don't strain your voice too much. I'll be sure to make you sing soon enough."
She smiles as she sees Eliza's incredulous reaction to Trisha's musical critique. Then, Trisha turns to the rope nearest to her.
"And as for the crowd being on your side, don't let it go to your head, FAWN is known to be fickle, as you well know."
And with that Belle raised a leg, laying a boot on the top rope as she squats and stretches the long limb, then stands up and repeats with the opposite leg. As she does so, a considerable percentage of the crowd catcall and whistle at the sight of Belle's flexibility.
"See? What did I say? Fickle." Finally, as she finishes her stretch, Belle steps to mid ring, Bliss already there. The Minnesotan bumps chest to chest with the sexy soprano, no fear between the two women, but very little respect either.
Eliza’s bumped off the balls of her feet by Trisha’s chest to chest connection, the curvier Belle emphasizing her advantage. Eliza manages to smirk in response, but quickly spins into an echoing slap to Trisha’s cheek that turns the head of her fellow brunette.
Knowing things are about to explode, the referee quickly calls for the bell and, it’s just in time as a furious Trisha surges forward, swinging a big clothesline at the neck of the soprano, apparently hoping to rip Blissy’s head from her shoulders to start the match.
The wily Eliza ducks beneath the scythe-like swing and when Belle skids to a stop and turns, she’s met with a side kick to the solar plexus. With her foe slightly doubled, the diva slinks in close, pulling Trisha’s head into a front facelock. Eliza grabs Belle’s trunks at the hip and tries to flip her over with a German Suplex.
But the plan immediately seems premature when Trisha plants anchor and despite a second and a third try, Blissy can’t remove her foe’s boot soles from the canvas.
Instead, Trisha lifts a knee deep into Blissy’s tummy and the front facelock is transferred to the Minnesota Mauler. In a demonstration of what her additional mass can mean, the strength of Trisha sends Eliza easily up-n-over with a successful German, the soprano’s back SLAMMING against the canvas.
Eliza curls in an arch, face pinched in pain as she reaches for her lower spine. Trisha turns and collects Bliss by the head, tugging her up and into a side headlock. The bigger Belle grinds the side of Eliza’s noggin to her ribs, flexing her biceps as she turns the squirming Eliza’s face pink with effort and frustration.
Trisha surges forward with Bliss in tow and leaps after several steps, her legs extending in front of her, clearly maneuvering for a bulldog. But Eliza shows some fortitude, the veteran managing to get her hands down to Trisha’s hips and shove Belle off before she can plant the diva’s forehead into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Belle’s booty hits home hard, the base of her tailbone THUMPING into the canvas. Trisha curses as her hands move to her backside, massaging her derriere, her offense thwarted.
And Bliss isn’t done. She races to the ropes behind Belle and rebounds. Flying over Trisha’s right shoulder from behind, Eliza snatches her foe’s braincase as she somersaults by and PLANTS Trisha’s face into the deck between her outstretched stems.
Trisha’s head snaps back from the impact and she ends splayed, blinking her dark eyes wide and shaking out some cobwebs as she rolls to all fours.
Having gracefully popped back to her feet after the neck snap, Eliza is back on the move. Racing to Trisha, she leaps and lays out above Belle, flattening her foe to the canvas with a sprightly senton. If Trisha hadn’t ended on her chest and face, it might have been time for the first pin attempt of the night. As it was, Eliza scrambles to straddle the back of the horizontal brunette, but she hesitates to grab Trisha’s left leg and fold it in front of her as she gains her positioning.
Reaching forward, she wings her arms in front of Belle’s mug and locks her hands in a tightening Clutch. The diva adds a knee to the base of Trisha’s spine for good measure, capturing her foe in a Leghook Camel Clutch that has Trisha groaning in pain.
<B> Leghook Camel Clutch</B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPQsU4hiHxs )
“Ask her, if you please,” the Brit grunts, with perfect pitch.
The official does as he’s told, but Belle emphatically refuses to submit, spitting out a loud ‘no’.
Trisha raises her left hand, reaching behind her. She finds a handful of Eliza’s long locks and yanks away. Not surprisingly, Blissy decides it’s time to abandon her hold and shifts her grip to behind Belle’s noggin. She slams Trisha’s features into the canvas, Belle’s head bouncing up a few inches, a slight daze accumulating on her face as Eliza rises, unimpeded.
Blissy curtsies to the roaring crowd, never afraid to play to the fans. As she does, Trisha struggles to her feet beside her. Grabbing a wrist, the soprano tugs the wobbly Trisha toward her and ducks her head under the captured arm as they end side to side.
Dipping, she scoops the bigger brunette off her feet, Eliza grunting loudly to hoist Trisha in front of her then drop to one knee. The Minnesotan plummets into the posted joint, her vertebrae cracking across the knee courtesy the Backdrop Lift Backbreaker.
<B>Backdrop Lift Backbreaker</B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWthLMpEXw8 ).
Bliss shoves Trisha off her bony joint, Trisha barrel rolling to her back. This time Eliza dives atop her foe, hooking the far leg of the curvy brunette for ONE…TWO…and Trisha kicks free with strength to spare, Eliza shoved up to her haunches.
She looks at the ref hopefully, but nods along with his two raised fingers.
Bliss turns, grabs for Belle's hair and drags the Minnesota Mauler up again, but Eliza is too confident, too wrapped up in playing to the crowd some more to hear Trisha mutter, "Why don't you sing for me, bitch?" under her breath before swinging a forearm between the soprano's stems, connecting hard with Eliza's crotch.
Bliss' mouth forms a perfect "O" shape, betraying her pain and surprise, but the only noise she makes is a small, high pitched squeak that only Trisha can hear.
"Having trouble with that high note again?" The clearly angry Amazon says as she rolls her neck and shoulders, trying to shrug off some of the pain Eliza inflicted. "Let me see if I can help you get it out." Belle finishes as she wraps arms around Bliss' waist. For a moment it almost looks like an intimate, loving embrace between the two battlers, but then Trisha returns to the body language all the FAWNattics are used to, squeezing Eliza as they both kneel in the ring, arms just under the singer's ribcage in a tight bearhug.
Bliss immediately tries to struggle, but with the two on their knees she can't kick at Belle, or even relieve the pressure. Her hands instinctively gravitate toward Trisha's grip, trying to pry the hug open.
Failing that, Eliza begins raining down forearm strikes, slamming Trisha in the arms, shoulders and even head.
Trisha attempts to weather this storm of fists and forearms but eventually releases the hold, allowing the breathless Bliss to collapse to the mat, gulping down big breaths of air.
Belle doesn't stop for long, though. Soon the Minneapolis native rises to her feet, circling Bliss like a shark smelling blood in the water for just a moment. Then she grabs Eliza's wrists, plants a boot in the former opera star's spine and pulls her arms back, wracking Bliss' body with pain while also setting up a nasty curb stomp.
"Check her!" Trisha demands of the ref. The official closes in and calls, "How-" only to be immediately cut off by Belle brutally slamming Bliss’s face to the mat, executing the curb stomp before he can even ask for a submission.
"Sorry. Her wrists slipped out of my hands."
Trisha smiles evilly while giving the excuse, not fooling anyone.
Eliza is slow to react after the impact, the concussive force of the stomp leaving her in a fog. Deliberately, Blissy’s hands move to her nose, checking it isn’t pointed in a new direction. The diva reflexively rolls to her back, the soles of her boots pattering against the canvas as she preses against her proboscis.
Belle doesn’t look a gift horse or soprano in the mouth and slides down next to Eliza. She rolls the Brit into a cradled ball, Blissy’s shoulders pressed to the deck for ONE…TWO…
And Bliss is able to kick free, ending on her side, still appearing unsure of her location, her long career in the ring giving her an almost involuntary impulse when a pinfall against her is near.
For her part, the Mauler doesn’t look a bit perplexed by the nearfall. Instead, the curvy brunette tugs her slender counterpart between her outstretched and parted legs. The limbs snap shut like a beartrap around Eliza’s flat, ivory tummy, Trisha locking her lower limbs at the ankles and sending a muscular pulse through thighs and calves, drawing a breathy groan from the Blackbird.
Eliza pries at the powerful legs but a squeeze from Trisha is punishment enough to halt the effort. Eliza’s dark eyes bug as her abdomen is tightly cinched between the glossy thighs of her foe.
Realizing she doesn’t have to power to wrench her way free, Eliza takes a wild swing at Belle’s noggin and comes woefully short. She adjusts her target to Trisha’s gut and finds some success digging her fists into Trisha’s belly. But the Mauler adjusts, grabbing Eliza’s hands by the wrists and taking away her counterattack.
Trisha alters her positioning slightly and works another tightening of the scissors. It’s enough to force some worried mewls from the soprano, Blissy’s head on a swivel, eyes flashing concern as she looks for another way out of this predicament, while trying to pull her arms free.
The Brit finally gets one loose and pushes against the canvas, working her way to the nearby ropes and grabbing on.
“Let me loose,” Eliza cries. “REF!”
Trisha waits for the demand to come from the striped-shirt to pay any mind and then, only after four seconds elapse on his count, does she unknot her ankles and let Bliss roll free from between her devouring stems.
Having proven a point regarding who has the power, Trisha pushes to her feet and watches as Eliza grabs the ropes with one hand, while wrapping an arm around her aching midriff with the other.
Before Bliss can consider taking a timeout on the outside, Belle pushes past the official and sinks a hand into Eliza’s scalp. She drags her foe away from the cables. Blissy yelps as she’s violently tugged to the middle, where she’s hair-mared to a seat on the canvas.
However, Eliza uses the momentum from the toss to roll back up to her feet. Gamely, the soprano spins to face off against the bigger brunette and nearly has her head removed with a wicked clothesline that delivers Eliza to the deck, the diva’s legs folding atop her torso like a jackknife, the Englishwoman is hit with such force.
Ending splayed and barely moving, Bliss offers little in the way of defense when Tricia drags the rubbery diva to her feet. Belle dips and slips an arm between the Blackbird’s stems from behind. With a soft grunt, the curvy brunette ‘hups’ Eliza across her shoulders and straps down Bliss with one arm around her throat, the other around her thighs.
Captured in the Torture Rack, her spine bent around Trisha’s broad shoulders, Eliza hisses in pain, biting her lower lip as she flails fruitlessly to escape. Belle marches in a circuit around the ring, stomping her boot leather into the floorboards and, after half an orbit, Eliza can’t contain howls of anguish.
“I’ll break you in half and not even know it,” Belle growls as she continues her trek.
But the words seem to light a fire, or at least a flicker. Eliza points her left elbow and lands a series of blows to Trisha’s temple to disabuse the Mauler from continuing the backbreaking hike.
Three, four, five thumps but Belle continues to increase the agonizing arch in Eliza’s spinal column. The stubborn Bliss won’t give in and, after a few more bony points of the elbow to Trisha’s noggin, Belle throws her cargo off and away, Eliza landing on her face and chest.
For a split-second, Bliss is relieved to be free. But she gets a mouthful of mat for her efforts when reaching the deck. She twists in pain, reaching with a hand to massage away the ache in her vertebrae. But the length of her ride in the Rack is making Eliza’s effort useless.
Bliss rolls toward the ropes, trying to keep some distance from her rampaging rival. But Trisha won’t have it. She tracks down the diva, keeping her in the confines. The Minnesotan reaches down to collect Eliza from the deck and, suddenly, Bliss grabs an available wrist, laces her legs within Trisha’s and trips Belle to the canvas. In an instant, the Mauler is entwined in a small package, her body piled atop her shoulders for ONE…TWO…
The wriggling, blue-eyed brunette nearly takes too long breaking loose. Trisha flops to all fours and stares worriedly at the ref, sighing deeply when she sees two raised fingers.
Amidst the concern, Eliza makes her escape, reaching the floor and limping around the ring, her back still giving her fits, but pleased to see a furious Trisha has the ropes between them.
“I believe the people that want to fight, come in here,” a peeved Belle informs, waving Eliza in.
Bliss nods with a slight smile, trying to cover her pain. She proceeds up the ring steps and Trisha is waiting, reaching for the soprano greedily. Eliza slips the attempted grip and laces her fingers behind the braincase of her fellow brunette. She leaps off the apron, hotshotting Trisha’s throat across the top rope.
As Belle staggers away, choking and grasping at her reddened neck, the crowd roars for what they hope is a rejuvenated Eliza, Bliss sliding into the ring and stalking the Mauler from behind, falling into some old underhanded habits to start her comeback.
Trisha is so shaken and breathless from her sudden connection to the top ropes, she even goes down to one knee, back to Eliza. Blissy looks to the crowd, pointing to the ring post to see if they want to see her climb the corner. The FAWNattics give a predictability emphatic cheer and Eliza climbs the turnbuckles, perched and waiting for Trisha to get in range.
Unfortunately for Belle, she doesn't see this and turns to face her opponent. After the Minnesotan takes two steps toward the corner, Bliss flies from her perch, hands grabbing Trisha by the hair as she falls, dragging the big girl down. Bliss lands the controlled fall to her back, legs folded as she delivers a perfect rendition of her Sheer Bliss, slamming Belle’s chest into her knees before releasing.
Trisha is left breathless for the second time in one night, arms clutching her chest as she gasps, and coughs, her still aching throat making it especially hard.
Bliss doesn't give Belle the time to even think of recovering though. Rolling toward the downed Minnesota Mountain, Eliza throws herself across Trisha and hooks both legs in a rollup.
The ref slides in for the count.
One!
Two!
Kickout!
Belle throws all her strength behind her legs to throw Bliss off her, but the soprano is almost animalistic, pouncing back onto Trisha, raining down fists and forearms to keep Trisha down. After a flurry of blows land around the Minnesotan's skull and temple she's much more docile.
Eliza then goes for another pin attempt, hooking Trisha's right leg.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
This time Trisha, less forcefully, but just as defiantly rolls a shoulder up to stop the count.
Bliss grits her teeth and pulls her hair in frustration.
"Fine!" She says emphatically. "You want some more?"
The former opera star drags Trisha up by the hair. But Belle proves she may be battered, but she's far from beaten. The Minnesota Mauler grabs two handfuls of Eliza's long hair, at first looking like she's just steadying herself and using Bliss as support, but a half second later she pulls her head under Eliza's chin and suddenly drops to her knees, pulling Bliss into an expertly executed jawbreaker.
Eliza whiplashes away from the impact, staggered. She falls into the ropes, her chest pressing into the cables as she drapes her arms over the top. The Minnesota Mauler remains sluggish despite the counter. On her haunches, she shakes out some cobwebs.
The FAWNatics are in a frenzy; both brunettes putting on a Mania-worthy performance to the delight of the crowd. And it’s the woman more accustomed to the spotlight who recovers first. Bliss manages to turn and face her foe, massaging her jaw as she moves toward a rising Trisha.
As Bliss closes the gap, Belle takes a swipe, backing off the diva. But the Mauler buys herself only enough time to get all the way to vertical before a speedy toe kick connects deep into her gut courtesy the dark-haired soprano, doubling the bigger Belle over with a guttural groan.
Eliza steps to her rival, capturing Trisha in a tight front facelock with her left arm. Blissy raises her right arm high, the diva hitting a beautiful high C note, a sure sign the leaping DDT is close to follow.
The Blackbird launches, throwing her legs behind her to SPIKE Trisha’s skull into the canvas.
<B>Leaping DDT </B> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKO7L7YztyQ )
But before Eliza can swing through and plant the crown of Belle’s noggin to the deck, the powerful Trisha heaves Eliza off. Bliss lands several feet away, though the Brit has the wherewithal to touch down on her boot leather.
Before Bliss has a chance to respond to Trisha’s well-timed escape, the Mauler is moving and…WHAM…Trisha strikes with a ridiculous Belle Ringer to Eliza’s chops that sends Bliss rocketing to the mat. The Big Boot forces the slender diva into a CRASHING collision with the canvas. After getting thoroughly jawjacked by boot leather, the back of Blissy’s braincase THUMPS to the mat, making Belle’s signature move a concussive daily double.
A sprawled Eliza spreads in a motionless starfish, arms and legs wide, the assembled instantly quieted by the massive connection.
A weary but satisfied Trisha strides to the semiconscious soprano and genuflects atop her chest for the ONE…TWO…THRNOOO!
Perhaps it’s the arrogant pin saving her, but the Blackbird manages to get a wing off the floorboards, startling both the FAWNatics and Trisha, though only the crowd offers Eliza applause for her effort.
Bliss ends on a shoulder and Belle shoves her foe the rest of the way to her chest. The blue-eyed brunette collects Eliza’s ankles as she rises from the mat, Belle ending in a standing, reverse straddle of the Brit with Blissy’s legs in tow. Slowly, Trisha lowers into a crouch and backs up Eliza’s frame.
Settling good and low, the bigger Belle tests the mettle of the diva, attempting to snap a vertebrae or two, having maneuvered Bliss into a backbreaking Boston Crab.
Eliza grunts and mewls with each increase in the arch of her back, Trisha progressively trying to get Eliza’s heels to her ears. In agony, Bliss shakes off the ref’s offer to give in. Instead, she digs her nails into the canvas and begins pulling her way toward the rubber-coated steel strands in front of her. It’s a long and arduous trek, but after a dozen anguish-inducing seconds, Bliss makes it to safety.
She wraps a palm around the bottom rope and squeals, again in perfect pitch, for Trisha to release. Belle does, but not in the manner the soprano might‘ve like, the Mauler raising both of Blissy’s legs as high as she can and throwing them to the mat, Eliza’s knees banging loudly into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Bliss yelps in pain, pulling into a tight fetal ball, one hand still white-knuckling the rope, the size and power of Trisha causing the Blackbird all sorts of problems.
Any thoughts of rolling out of the ring are dashed when the Mauler stomps Blissy’s wrist, Eliza losing her grip around and contact with the ropes. Trisha snatches an ankle and pulls her catch toward center stage.
After a vicious stomp to Eliza’s lower abdomen, Trisha spins a mock lasso overhead with her free hand. The signal fails to induce any cheers, but it portends Trisha working her away around Eliza’s raised stem, Belle starting to apply an agonizing knot in the figure of a four as she drops to a spot on the mat opposite the wide-eyed, worried Bliss.
Trisha wrenches the Figure Four leglock tight, forcing a high C sharp scream from the soprano. "Sing for us, bitch." Trisha mocks as she leans back with a smile.
The ref checks Eliza for a submission, but only gets an emphatic, "Nooo!" Instead, Bliss reaches, stretching her fingers out toward the bottom rope.
Trisha plants her palms and pulls one way while Bliss pulls the other. The two put more pressure on the leglock, forcing another scream from the soprano.
Belle untangles her stems from Bliss's, "That's all I needed to hear." she taunts Eliza as she slides in closer. "Now for your final aria of the night."
Trisha sits Blissy up and places one of her thighs in Eliza's lap, the other behind her, wrapping the former opera star in a vice like body scissors. Then as Blissy's mouth opens, gasping for air, Trisha clamps her hand down on Bliss's jaw, locking in the Mandible Claw and in so doing, putting Eliza Bliss through her own finisher, The Cleft Note.
Bliss's hands claw and pry at Trisha's forearm, but Belle has it all locked in, leaving nowhere for the soprano to go. Trisha squeezes her thighs around Eliza's waist and pulls and jerks her jaw in the claw, forcing Bliss to scream another gurgled high note.
"Ah, music to my ears." Belle says, mockingly stealing Eliza's catchphrase for the finisher.
The ref closes in and asks Bliss for a submission, but Eliza shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes as Trisha bears down on her.
Bliss’ dark eyes grow glassy. Eliza tries to blink them wide as she struggles to escape, the Brit knowing better than anyone she’s on the clock, particularly with the forceful version Belle has clamped into her jaw.
The Blackbird writhes, trying to fight her way free of the claw, but the powerful bracketing legs of her fellow brunette are keeping her well-controlled. Eliza’s palms surround Trisha’s wrist, the diva desperate to remove the fingers plunged deep into her gullet. But as the Mauler forces her deeper toward horizontal, there’s increasingly less leverage to break out.
Bending Bliss in an arc over the leg underneath the base of Blissy’s spine, Trisha sets the soprano on a crash course toward her doom. Slowly, the Minnesota Mauler gives up her loose scissors and shifts to a straddling schoolgirl, pressing her fingers deep into Eliza’s mandible. The final embarrassing triumph of Belle in using Eliza’s own finisher to finish her seems inevitable.
Bliss burbles softly, her arms sway around Trisha’s controlling grip. Eliza’s sinewy, ivory stems push against the canvas, but more weakly by the second, before shutting down completely.
The official drops next to the Brit. But before he can check the diva’s state, Trisha unhooks her digits and pulls them from between Eliza’s lips. Belle wipes the drool on Blissy’s chest and ‘tsk tsk’s at the barely conscious Bliss.
“Thank God I never have to know what it’s like to be put down by my own finisher. You? You got yours and you get mine.”
Bliss pulls a ragdolled Bliss up with her, Trisha waving to the crowd as Eliza can manage little more than leaning into Belle to stay upright.
Trisha sings out a garbled warble that is anything but close to Blissy’s perfect pitch, but she adds a raised knee to Eliza’s crotch that does the job. The THUMP is joined by a soft cry from the soprano who rises to tiptoes, face etched in agony. The Blackbird doubles slowly, as if turned to jelly.
Forcefully, Trisha pulls Eliza’s head between her thighs, clamping down on a standing head scissors. One by one, she captures Blissy’s arms in underhooks. Belle nods to the crowd knowingly then leaps and drops to her knees, violently PLANTING Eliza’s face to the deck with The Belle Toll.
<B> The Belle Toll</B> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fo44c0VoYjM ).
The sickening thud of skull to floorboards is one everyone outside of Bliss will remember for the rest of the night. The impact sends Eliza flopping to her back in a wide starfish.
Trisha doesn’t bother with a leg hook, instead she plants a flattened palm atop the Blackbird’s chest as she kneels next to her demolished foe for the ONE…TWO…THREE!
Belle all but ignores the announcement, but the announcer does his job even as Trisha rolls from the ring, digging under the ring apron for something as its all made official. "Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall, The Minnesota Mauler herself, TRISHA BELLE!"
The crowd lets Trisha hear their disapproval immediately with a loud chorus of boos and hisses. But that jeering somehow gets louder as Trisha emerges from under the ring, holding a steel chair. "You thought the fun was over? I want to give the opera girl her curtain call!" she sneers loudly to the crowd.
Belle rolls into the ring with her weapon of choice. She preps a swing at the ref before he can even protest, the official flinches and rolls out of the ring, forgetting to even call for the bell or a reverse decision before heading up the ramp for FAWN security. With that taken care of, Trisha turns to her newest victim.
Belle first drives the edge of the chair into Bliss's belly, getting a weak, "OOOMPH!" from the soprano before she weakly stirs with some slight groans, barely waking. That’s enough for Trisha, however, and she lays the chair on the mat before forcing Eliza up, placing the singer's head between her thighs again, giving a good squeeze to the skull before lifting Bliss's body vertical. Trisha then takes a deep breath acknowledging the crowd's jeers and protests before hopping up and falling to her knees.
A loud clang rings out, another noise the FAWNattics won't forget from the night's events. A shudder runs through Eliza's body, but only Trisha can hear the soft, whimpering grunt she lets out as she's driven into the metal.
Sadly, the Minnesota Mauler isn't finished yet. Still holding Bliss in position, Belle gets to her feet again, backing up to the corner and slowly climbing the turnbuckles, the crowd pleading as she ascends, she readies a second piledriver that only a certain few girls have experienced. The crowd grows quiet now, some shouting out pleas for Trisha to stop. "Stop? Now?! She knew what she was in for when she stepped into the ring with me. There's a REASON people call me the Minnesota Mauler more than the Mountain now." And without another word Belle jumps from the second rope, the crowd lets out an audible collective gasp for the long second Trisha and Eliza hang in the air. Then am even more dreadful clang of metal meeting flesh and bone is heard throughout the arena. Bliss' body convulses harshly as Belle finally drops her to the mat, a small bit of foaming drool escaping from the corner of Eliza's lips.
Trisha lifts Bliss head slightly by her now matted brown hair, presenting what's left of the former singer. "Encore?" she mocks the audience with the possibility of extending her deconstruction of Eliza. "NOOO!" the crowd shouts at her repeatedly, pleading for the chaos to stop. Belle drops Bliss's head to fall limply to the steel chair's seat, "Fine. Broken toys aren't as much fun anyway." she jokes as she rolles under the bottom rope to exit the ring. She struts up the ramp as her exit music blares, Bliss left battered and motionless. The paramedics even pass Trisha on the ramp as she leaves. She just smiles, "Just making sure you boys have a reason to be here tonight. " she jokes as she blows a final kiss, to Bliss or the crowd, no one can tell, but the cynicism behind the gesture is definitely clear.