Post by bigfan on Jan 10, 2017 0:32:58 GMT
---Two weeks after FAWNAMANIA---
A young woman sat in the waiting area adjoining Edward Wayne Thomas’ executive office fidgeting nervously as she waited to be called for a face to face meeting with one of FAWN’s highest ranking brass. Not quite knowing what she would say, she pulled out her phone, opened Twitter, and read one particular chain of tweets dated three days after FAWNAMANIA for what must have been the hundredth time.
The first tweet contained a picture of two pairs of bare feet in the surf accompanied by the caption:
TheCoz94:
Celebrating a huge #FAWNAMANIA win with @y00ners! Thx to my fans! Couldn’t have done it w/o you guys! #BeachFeet #KeyWest #Vacay
That tweet was followed by a series of replies:
wrestlefan999:
@thecoz94 OMG ur match was amazing! I really want to wrestle but I don’t think I’d be any good, lol
TheCoz94:
@wrestlefan999 LOL, I was terribad too! No reason not to chase your dreams! Everyone takes their lumps at first!
y00ners:
@thecoz94 @wrestlefan999 Not me. I kicked ass in my audition match against some dumb bitch in a fake shitty lucha mask.
TheCoz94:
@y00ners SHUT UP @wrestlefan999 Someone smart told me ‘believe in the me that believes in you’ and I believe in you! #Hope #MagikarpPower
y00ners:
@thecoz94 @wrestlefan999 Whoever told you that sounds like a real fuckwad #Huge #Fucking #Doofus #Hashtag
All throughout her junior and senior years of high school she had been considering eschewing college in order to pursue a professional wrestling career, although a few months ago she had acceded to her family’s demands and matriculated at Cornell University. It was a fine school and college life was pleasant enough, but deep down she knew it wasn’t where she really wanted to be. Watching the action-packed FAWNAMANIA card only made her longing for a wrestling career more intense, and that Twitter exchange she had read over and over and over again was the final push she needed to commit to the arduous path of becoming a FAWN wrestler.
She clicked off her phone, closed her eyes, and repeated her mantra in a low whisper, “Believe in the you that believes in me. Believe in the you that believes in me. Believe --”
“Bianca Simpson,” the secretary called, “Mr. Thomas will see you now.”
Bianca swallowed a lump in her throat, then strode through the frosted glass door leading to Thomas’ office. Behind a large oaken desk was a heavy set, scraggly man with dark hair who was wearing a suit that likely cost more than a year of her college tuition.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tho --”
“Bianca! Welcome! Welcome!” the man greeted jovially. “Please, have a seat!”
Simpson took a seat on the other side of her desk, and then started to speak again, “It’s an honor to be here, Mr. Thomas. I --”
“-- Want to be a wrestler!” Edward interrupted once more.
Bianca wondered if the man suffered from some sort of manic mood disorder, but she pushed the thought out of her head and flashed her most charming smile.
Thomas continued to talk energetically, “We get dozens of applications every month! Hundreds, even! Do you know why you’re here, and they’re not?”
Bianca arched an eyebrow, then shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
“Because of this!” Edward said as he held up a sheet of paper with one hand and flicked it with the other. “Everyone else sends me a highlight video or a workout tape, but YOU --! You, and only you, sent me a resume. A resume! Hah! I knew right from that moment that I had someone special on my hands!”
Hearing the effusive praise, the young woman beamed with pride.
“Cornell University, 3.8 grade point average, 2350 SAT -- Wait, is that good or bad? They keep changing it. Ah, what am I saying?! It’s probably great! -- A summer spent volunteering at the VA hospital,” Thomas read from the resume. “Impressive stuff!”
“I play shortstop for the softball team too!” Bianca added. “Although… I took a leave of absence from school to come here, so I guess technically I used to play shortstop for the softball team... “
“Fascinating! Have you ever wrestled before?”
“Nope! But everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?”
“Fascinating indeed,” Thomas chuckled. “Can you do an impression of your favorite FAWN wrestler?”
Simpson hesitated for a moment. She had come to this interview dressed in a professional blouse and skirt combo, which was not suitable for doing an impression of anyone save perhaps a librarian. Nevertheless, this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“Believe in the you that believes in me,” she muttered under her breath as she slipped off her pumps and stepped onto the oaken table in front of the executive. Bianca took a couple of deep breaths, then put all of her heart and soul into a standing backflip.
Unfortunately for the would-be wrestler, heart and soul were not adequate substitutes for height and rotation when it came to performing a backflip. Instead of the required 360 degrees she could only manage 270, thus turning her backflip into a belly flop. To her credit, she immediately bounced up from the shaggy carpet on the floor with a smile plastered on her face, doing an admirable job hiding the fact that she had just rearranged her internal organs and was now in eye-watering pain.
At least Thomas seemed impressed.
“Bravo! Bravo!” he called while clapping and laughing. “You are really something else, Bianca Simpson! We could use more young ladies like you! You’ve met my executive assistant Mavis, yes? --Mavis! Mavis! Get Bianca set up with her paperwork!-- Talk to her all she’ll take care of everything! Welcome to FAWN!”
Still unable to talk or breathe, Bianca shook hands with Edward and gave a forced smile before leaving the office carrying her shoes in one hand. She made sure the frosted glass door was completely closed behind her before she crumpled to the floor and vomited.
---Season’s Beatings Pay-per-view event---
After officially signing her contract and undergoing a two month crash-course in wrestling fundamentals that involved a whole lot of crashing, Bianca had found her way to a major pay-per-view appearance. Her trainers had always been quite harsh in their critiques of her in-ring skills and technique, so it was quite a shock to her that she was receiving such a big push so quickly. She wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though, not when she had made so many sacrifices to get to this point, especially dropping out of university after less than a single semester, breaking up with her boyfriend and estranging her family in the process. Her rapid promotion within the federation was merely her being rewarded with good karma, she figured.
“Our next contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit… Introducing first, from Ithaca, New York, coming in at five foot six and one hundred and twenty pounds… BIANCA SIMPSON!”
BIANCA SIMPSON
The young blonde burst through the curtains, waving and smiling enthusiastically at the assembled crowd. The FAWNatics responded with a warm if not entirely passionate round of applause for the newcomer, perhaps out of politeness or perhaps out of appreciation for the way Simpson looked in her red one-piece and her white, knee-high boots.
Giddy with excitement, Bianca skipped her way down to the ring, the lack of musical accompaniment not dampening her spirits in the least. She climbed onto the ring apron and considered attempting a dramatic flip over the top rope, but after a moment of deliberation her common sense won out, and she elected to slide through the top and middle strands instead. Simpson claimed one corner as hers, and hopped up and down in eager anticipation of her opponent’s arrival. She didn’t know much about the girl facing her tonight, only that it was another very young woman just recently out of high school, much like herself.
“And her opponent…”
The speakers returned to action, catching both the blonde in the ring and the fans in attendance somewhat by surprise. Entrance music tended to be reserved for those the company saw a future for, meaning that the brass, at least, appeared to believe in the woman about to make her debut. It was a heavily industrial beat, but one with a decided twinge of pop as Porcelain and the Tramps’ “The Neighbor” pumped over the sound system.
The announcer resumed his introductions, “Introducing first, hailing from Winter Park, Florida…”
The mention of an Orlando suburb, despite this woman’s earlier actions, warrants her a small, approving pop.
“She stands five feet eight inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-four pounds, ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome... Allison Addison!”
ALLISON ADDISON
Stepping through the curtain, Addison doesn’t so much strut or saunter down the aisle as she did a simple dance toward the ring, moving and gyrating in time to her musical accompaniment -- but consciously positioned smack dab in the middle of the aisle the whole way, too far for any spectator to reach out and touch her. Reaching ringside, Allison jumped to take a seat on the edge of the apron, her back to the ropes. Climbing to her feet swiftly, the redhead strolled towards the far ringpost, stopping just past midway there. In one fluid motion, Addison swings her left left through the gap between the middle and top rope, hooking the cable with her knee and leaning back to drape herself across the rubber coated steel.
Raising her left hand to grab the top rope, Allison brought her right hand up over her face, waggling a reproachful finger at the jeering, whistling masses. She then added her right hand to secure her grip on the top rope, and once steadied, the leggy redhead swings her luscious right stem into the air, similarly hooking the uppermost cable against the pit of her knee. Addison’s left leg then joined her right, scissoring the top rope as she swings her back to hover over the floor. She released her hands from the cable, but just long enough to reposition herself. Claiming the rope again, her left foot settled down inside the ring first, followed by her right, Allison finally arching her back deeeeeep to draw her upper body through the cables.
The referee quickly checked both women for hidden weapons, and once he was satisfied he threw a hand signal towards the timekeeper who then rang the bell to get things officially started.
In spite of the audience warning her not to, Bianca strode to the center of the ring and held out her right hand as soon as the opening bell sounded, figuring that win, lose, or draw, a show of good sportsmanship was the least she could do. Allison merely regarded the proffered handshake with a bemused look for several seconds as the jeering and booing reached a crescendo, wondering how best to reestablish her Queen Bee credentials now that she was back on the big stage in Orlando. Eventually the redhead settled for spitting into her right palm before clasping it around her opponent’s, smearing Simpson’s hand with mucus and phlegm.
“Oh, eww!” yelped a startled Bianca, her face twisting with disgust as she recoiled and pulled her hand from Addison’s slimy grip.
“Welcome to FAWN, barbie!” Allison snarled as she took advantage of the blonde’s preoccupation with wiping off the spit to immediately deliver a Snap Kick to the gut that left Simpson doubled over and gasping for breath. Filling her hands with golden locks, Addison leapt up, splayed her legs out in a V, and fell to the mat, dragging her opponent along by the hair and smashing Bianca’s head into the canvas with a Sitout Facebuster.
The harsh impact against the canvas left Simpson’s eyes welling, and she curled into a fetal ball with her hands covering her face. Every time she had experienced a Sitout Facebuster during training it was with the benefit of crash pads, and now without the soft cushioning, the sheer amount of pain was absolutely shocking. It was even worse than the time at softball practice when she misjudged an infield pop-fly and had the ball strike her directly on the nose.
“Hey… are you crying?!” Allison asked incredulously. “Oh! Em! Gee! You totally are! Look, everyone! She’s crying! Barbie’s crying!”
“I am not!” Bianca vehemently denied, trying to find steel in her voice as she used the ropes to haul herself upright. “And quit calling me Barbie!”
“Yeah, whatever. LOSER!” the Mean Girl snorted and put her right hand to her forehead with her forefinger and thumb in the shape of an ‘L.’
Her anger over being mocked and bullied in front of a crowd of twenty thousand people served as an effective anesthetic, and Simpson launched herself forward with a growl of indignation. The aggressive move earned her a stinging slap across the face, although she was still able to power through the blow and tackle her opponent to the deck. The fans cheered and catcalled, taking salacious delight in what was ostensibly a wrestling match suddenly turning into a sorority catfight as blonde and redhead each grabbed handfuls of the other’s tresses and began pulling and yanking much to the dismay of the referee.
Bianca managed to gain the mount after a brief tussle, although she didn’t quite seem to know what to do next. That brief moment of hesitation was all Allison needed to slap her on the ears and then shove her aside. Simpson was still disoriented from the Ear Clapper when the Mean Girl took a seat on her back, looped both hands under her chin, and wrenched her backwards with a Camel Clutch.
“God, this fed must be circling the drain if they’re letting the likes of you into the ring,” Allison scoffed as Bianca fruitlessly pried at her hands in a futile attempt to escape, the blonde’s mewling and whimpering getting more pained by the second.
After about a minute in the Camel Clutch, Simpson already seemed to be at her limit. Her flattened right hand hovered over the mat as if to submit at any moment, and the FAWNatics let their disappointment be known via a collective groan. Her opponent seemed to have other plans, however. Deciding that it’d be no fun to force a surrender so early, especially when this was her first major appearance in nearly a year, Addison abruptly released the Chinlock.
Any sighs of relief from Bianca were premature though. Allison didn’t rise from her seat, and instead hooked her opponent’s biceps over the tops of her own thighs. Rather than re-apply the Chinlock and secure a victory then and there, Addison latched her fingers onto Simpson’s breasts and squeezed as hard as she could.
“AHHHH! AHHHHHH!!! DAMN IT!” Bianca shrieked. “STOP BEING CHEAP! OWWWWW!!!”
“Ecchhh! You have boobs like a thirty year old! So saggy and lumpy!” the redhead sneered in disgust, ignoring her opponent’s protestations. “Is there any part of you that’s not a disappointment?!”
Addison gave one last squeeze, then released her Breast Claws and thumped Simpson’s head into the mat before finally getting off her seat and letting the brutalized blonde scamper to the safety of the ropes for a brief respite. The thin lycra of her one-piece provided hardly any protection against the breast mauling, and having only seen such an attack on television, she had once again greatly underestimated just how painful such a non-technical, catty move could be. Nevertheless, she had seen Veronica Treymane and Camille Cosworth endure similar Breast and Crotch Claws at FAWNAMANIA, and if the Pinstripe Powerhouse and the Girl of Tomorrow could fight back to win their matches, then she figured there was no reason she couldn’t do the same.
Pounding a fist into the mat, Bianca rose to her feet and rolled her neck to check for lingering effects of the Camel Clutch. Once she was satisfied there was no lasting damage, Simpson beckoned her opponent forward with a Test of Strength.
Allison only laughed derisively.
“You know, I didn’t think anyone could be more hopeless than Charlie Dawson, and yet here you are. Life’s just full of surprises, isn’t it?”
“You are such a bitch,” Simpson growled.
“No, barbie,” Addison said with a condescending smirk as she moved forward to engage in the Test of Strength. “I’m THE bitch, and you’re about to learn why I run this town!”
The redhead was overconfident perhaps, as she failed to counter when her opponent used one half of the Test of Strength to pull her forward and off-balance. Just as Allison started stumbling forward, Bianca dipped into a crouch and the neatly secured a Fireman’s Carry as the redhead fell across her shoulders.
“Believe in the you that believes in me,” Simpson quickly whispered to herself, and then she leapt off the mat in an imitation of the spectacular vertical Samoan Drop she had seen Cosworth perform against Brewster.
It was a solid plan in theory, but in practice the blonde did not have the leaping ability to make it work, especially not with the weight of another wrestler across her shoulders. She couldn’t get enough air time to complete the 180 degree vertical rotation, and she took the landing on her own tailbone before flopping backwards onto the deck. The botched Samoan Drop still left Addison flattened and sputtering, but it was clear to everyone in attendance that Bianca herself had absorbed the worst of the impact through her bottom and spine.
The referee started his count towards a double knockout and a draw for the record books, and he was halfway through the requisite ten-count when the Mean Girl fought her way to her feet.
“THAT HURT, YOU IDIOT!” Allison screamed as she staggered upright. “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU TRYING TO DO?!”
Bianca wasn’t listening, she was too busy lying face down on the mat with a hand pressed to her lower back and her feet kicking against the canvas. She wasn’t down for too long though, as Addison hauled her up by the hair then sent her into a stumbling run towards a corner. Simpson still had the wherewithal to turn and take the impact on her back rather than her chest, not that it helped when Allison’s Running Hip Attack smashed into her sternum a second later.
Robbed of her oxygen, the blonde was helpless when her opponent dragged her to the center of one side of the ring, slammed a knee into her gut to bring her to her knees, then intertwined her arms between the middle and bottom cables. Once Addison was satisfied that Bianca was securely tied up, the redhead turned around, squatted down, and treated Simpson to her version of the Stinkface that she called the Brown Noser.
“You’re good at this, barbie! How many asses did you have to kiss to get into this ring?!” Allison shouted as she rubbed her undercarriage in Simpson’s face, drawing muffled squeals of protest from the trapped blonde and a cascade of catcalls from the FAWNatics.
Bianca was technically in the ropes, however, which made the attack illegal. After a rather generous five-count for the sake of lurid fanservice, the official forced Addison to cease her attack and then set about to disentangling Simpson from the steel cables.
Face flushed with a potent mixture of anger and shame, the blonde immediately rushed at her opponent the moment she was free from the ropes, letting out a war cry that she hoped was at least a little bit intimidating. Perhaps due to her complacency or surprise, Allison failed to react in time when Bianca leapt at her and smashed a forearm across the side of her jaw. The fans cheered Simpson’s unexpected burst of offense, and with the crowd on her side and her opponent momentarily reeling, Bianca grabbed a fistful of red hair and started hammering wild Haymakers into Addison’s forehead.
“Alright! Alright, that’s enough!” the referee yelled as he pulled the two wrestlers apart after the FAWNatics had counted off ten blows to the head. “I’m giving you some leeway ‘cause she mauled you in the ropes, but no closed fists from now on!”
“Okay, okay, geez!” Simpson said, backing off and holding her aching hand. “Oww, goddamn it…”
Despite the self-inflicted damage to her hand, Bianca’s flurry still left her opponent dazed and wobbling on unsteady legs. Simpson pressed the advantage and ducked under Addison’s right arm while throwing her own right arm across the redhead’s chest and neck. With a pop of her hips and a boost from her left hand, Bianca laid out on her back and tried to flip Allison up and over for a Uranage. She didn’t put quite enough force into the throw and her opponent simply flopped face first into the canvas, but even the half-botched Uranage managed to work as a reasonably effective if sloppy-looking Facebuster of sorts.
“JENNY-CIDE!” Simpson screamed as she popped to her feet, her excitement letting her ignore both the fact that her maneuver wasn’t anything even close to a Jenny-Cide, and the whiplash pain in her neck from when she laid out on the mat moments earlier.
Rather than cheering, the FAWNatics fell into a confused silence for what seemed like a long, long time.
“That -- That wasn’t a Jenny-Cide,” the referee sheepishly commented after a few seconds.
“Really? But I thought I…”
The official only pursed his lips and ruefully shook his head, unsure of what he could say without damaging the young wrestler’s self-esteem.
“Well… I’m sure I’ll nail it next time...” Bianca reassured herself while she dragged Allison back up. “Aaarggh… my neck…”
She quickly went through a mental catalogue of moves she had seen from other wrestlers before settling on a London Calling, a maneuver which Simpson thought was relatively simple to execute and unlikely to cause harm to herself. The blonde turned her back to her opponent, secured a Three Quarters Facelock on Addison, then kicked her own legs out in front and let gravity do the rest. Allison had far more left in the tank than Bianca figured, however, and the redhead shoved her way free just when Simpson was starting to fall to the deck. With her call disconnected Bianca made the fall alone, and lacking the sensational aerial ability to adjust and land on her feet, she took a second hard landing on her tailbone and screeched in agony.
Addison took a moment to regain her bearings, and she resumed her assault which her opponent had so rudely interrupted. She pulled Simpson to a standing position, then trapped both of the blonde’s arms from behind with a Double Chickenwing. With any chance for a counter-offensive negated, Allison flexed her knees and dipped down slightly to get a better angle of attack, then forcefully drove her right thigh into Bianca’s groin.
“HHRRRNNnnnngggghhhh…” Simpson moaned, the Low Blow so excruciating that it took away even her ability to scream.
Enjoying the agonized wheezing coming from the blonde, Addison repeated the Low Blow again and again and again -- one for every punch that Bianca landed on her earlier -- a maneuver that she had dubbed the Dirty Rushing. When the referee finally forced her to relent under threat of disqualification, the Mean Girl proved her technical chops by arching backwards and hurling her opponent away with a Tiger Suplex.
Simpson landed hard on her shoulders, bounced once onto her stomach, then tumbled out under the bottom rope not entirely of her own volition. It was for the best though, as Allison opted to primp and preen inside the ring rather than push the offensive, thus giving Bianca some much needed time to recover and wipe away the tears while the cameras and everyone’s attention were focused on the redhead.
As she laid face down on the thinly padded cement floor with both hands pressed to her throbbing undercarriage, Bianca was having a moment of self-doubt. While she didn’t expect to dominate from day one, she was certainly expecting to do better than what she was currently managing, especially since the woman in front of her was also a relative newcomer to the business. She wondered how she would fare against the sharks in the federation, if she was already struggling against a guppy.
Then again, Camille had warned her during their Twitter exchange that the life of a wrestler was filled with bumps and bruises, and something about Pokemon which went over her head but which she guessed was meant to be encouraging. It wasn’t just Cosworth who believed in her either. FAWN management, marketing, and talent development all surely saw something special in her in order to push her into the limelight so quickly. The pain was only temporary, Bianca reasoned to herself, and soon she would take her place among the stars of the federation.
The sound of the referee asking if her she could continue in-between his count towards a ring-out stirred Simpson from her reverie, however. Simpson sniffled once and rubbed her eyes, then nodded silently and slipped back into the ring under the ropes.
“Back for more already? You blondes really are dumb…” Addison scoffed, apparently not concerned about what her tag-team partner Piper Sexton might think about the remark blonde intelligence.
“If you think I’m going to let some alpha-bitch wannabe keep me down, then you’ve got another thing coming!” Bianca snapped back. “COME ON, ORLANDO! LET ME HEAR YOU!”
Clapping her hands overhead and stomping her right foot to the same rhythm, Simpson tried to rally the FAWNatics to her side. The fans were understandably skeptical at first, but soon Bianca’s sheer pluck and determination won them over and they added their claps and stomps to the beat.
“Do you hear that, Allison?” Simpson triumphantly asked. “That’s the sound of twenty thousand people at my back! Twenty thousand people who are going to tear the roof off this place when I pin your ass one-two-three!”
Allison silently mouthed the word ‘Loser’ while making an ‘L’ shape with her fingers again, and then she closed in to finish off her opponent. Once the redhead got within six feet or so, Bianca abruptly stopped her one-woman pep rally and leapt forward to meet her foe. Pirouetting in mid-air, Simpson landed on her left leg while smoothly shooting her right foot out in a Big Boot, imitating Treymane’s signature Chicago Lightning. Although the spin left her a bit disoriented, the loud smack of boot leather against flesh, the shock of the impact on her right heel, and the collective ‘OHHHHH’ from the audience let her know that she had hit her target.
“YES! YES! YES!” Bianca jubilantly shouted while pumping her arms overhead in an attempt to get a chant going.
“Ugggghhh… you… you knocked out... my toooof…” mumbled a voice from the mat that most definitely did not belong to Addison.
Simpson looked down and saw the now gap-toothed referee sprawled on the canvas holding his jaw with a little trickle of red coming from one corner of his mouth. It was only then that she realized she had rotated too far on the pirouette, causing her Big Boot to go off-target and hit the official rather than her opponent.
“Oh my God! Oh my God, I’m so, so sorry!” Bianca stammered, unsure of what to do now. “I didn’t mean to! Please don’t disqualify me, I don’t -- GGAAAAAHHH!!!”
After indulging in a few chuckles at the farce playing out in front of her, Allison resumed her assault by digging her fingernails into the blonde’s shoulder blades and giving her a vicious Back Rake that extended all the way down to the curve of her buttocks, the lycra of Simpson’s swimsuit the only thing preventing Addison from drawing blood with her attack. Staggering around with her back arched in pain, Bianca made for the perfect target when the Mean Girl trapped her neck under an arm with an Inverted Front Facelock.
“God, you’re so pathetic you don’t even know how pathetic you are,” snorted Allison while she reached down with a free hand to grab a handful of Simpson’s one-piece just above below the belly button, and then forcefully yanked up and back to apply a Front Wedgie that had the blonde howling in misery.
After working the Front Wedgie for about thirty seconds to increasingly virulent boos from the crowd and increasingly desperate shrieks from her opponent, Addison decided that it was time to bring things to a conclusion. Gathering her strength, Allison pulled on the swimsuit so hard that she actually lifted Bianca’s feet off the mat for a brief moment, and then she immediately laid out on her back to drive the crown of the blonde’s skull into the deck.
Bianca shivered once at the moment of impact, and then laid absolutely still on her back, the latest victim of Addison’s Not-So-Fresh DDT.
Addison quickly pivoted into a Reverse Facesit and treated herself to a few sweeps of her undercarriage across Simpson’s face. Her opponent’s unconsciousness and lack of response made it a much less exhilarating ride however, not so much 911 as Camry, and when even a few hatefully applied Crotch Claws and Breast Claws failed to rouse the blonde, Allison motioned for the referee and then placed on palms on Bianca’s chest for a lackadaisical pin.
Despite the earlier kick to the mouth, the official remained cognizant of his duties and he crawled over to count out a…
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
...before quickly signalling to the timekeeper, rolling out of the ring, and staggering backstage to call an emergency dentist.
“Your winner, via pinfall, Allison Addison!” the PA boomed.
The Mean Girl rose from her perch, then spread her arms wide and beckoned with her fingers as if welcoming the cacophony of boos showering her.
“TAKE A GOOD LOOK, MOUTH-BREATHERS!” she disdainfully shouted at the crowd. “TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT THE HOTTEST THING THAT’S EVER HIT THIS TOWN! TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT WHAT YOU’LL NEVER, EEEEEEVER HAVE!”
Relishing in being at the center of attention, Allison posed for one final shot for the photographers, then stomped out of the ring and headed towards the locker room, leaving the EMTs to dispose of what was left of her opponent.
A young woman sat in the waiting area adjoining Edward Wayne Thomas’ executive office fidgeting nervously as she waited to be called for a face to face meeting with one of FAWN’s highest ranking brass. Not quite knowing what she would say, she pulled out her phone, opened Twitter, and read one particular chain of tweets dated three days after FAWNAMANIA for what must have been the hundredth time.
The first tweet contained a picture of two pairs of bare feet in the surf accompanied by the caption:
TheCoz94:
Celebrating a huge #FAWNAMANIA win with @y00ners! Thx to my fans! Couldn’t have done it w/o you guys! #BeachFeet #KeyWest #Vacay
That tweet was followed by a series of replies:
wrestlefan999:
@thecoz94 OMG ur match was amazing! I really want to wrestle but I don’t think I’d be any good, lol
TheCoz94:
@wrestlefan999 LOL, I was terribad too! No reason not to chase your dreams! Everyone takes their lumps at first!
y00ners:
@thecoz94 @wrestlefan999 Not me. I kicked ass in my audition match against some dumb bitch in a fake shitty lucha mask.
TheCoz94:
@y00ners SHUT UP @wrestlefan999 Someone smart told me ‘believe in the me that believes in you’ and I believe in you! #Hope #MagikarpPower
y00ners:
@thecoz94 @wrestlefan999 Whoever told you that sounds like a real fuckwad #Huge #Fucking #Doofus #Hashtag
All throughout her junior and senior years of high school she had been considering eschewing college in order to pursue a professional wrestling career, although a few months ago she had acceded to her family’s demands and matriculated at Cornell University. It was a fine school and college life was pleasant enough, but deep down she knew it wasn’t where she really wanted to be. Watching the action-packed FAWNAMANIA card only made her longing for a wrestling career more intense, and that Twitter exchange she had read over and over and over again was the final push she needed to commit to the arduous path of becoming a FAWN wrestler.
She clicked off her phone, closed her eyes, and repeated her mantra in a low whisper, “Believe in the you that believes in me. Believe in the you that believes in me. Believe --”
“Bianca Simpson,” the secretary called, “Mr. Thomas will see you now.”
Bianca swallowed a lump in her throat, then strode through the frosted glass door leading to Thomas’ office. Behind a large oaken desk was a heavy set, scraggly man with dark hair who was wearing a suit that likely cost more than a year of her college tuition.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tho --”
“Bianca! Welcome! Welcome!” the man greeted jovially. “Please, have a seat!”
Simpson took a seat on the other side of her desk, and then started to speak again, “It’s an honor to be here, Mr. Thomas. I --”
“-- Want to be a wrestler!” Edward interrupted once more.
Bianca wondered if the man suffered from some sort of manic mood disorder, but she pushed the thought out of her head and flashed her most charming smile.
Thomas continued to talk energetically, “We get dozens of applications every month! Hundreds, even! Do you know why you’re here, and they’re not?”
Bianca arched an eyebrow, then shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
“Because of this!” Edward said as he held up a sheet of paper with one hand and flicked it with the other. “Everyone else sends me a highlight video or a workout tape, but YOU --! You, and only you, sent me a resume. A resume! Hah! I knew right from that moment that I had someone special on my hands!”
Hearing the effusive praise, the young woman beamed with pride.
“Cornell University, 3.8 grade point average, 2350 SAT -- Wait, is that good or bad? They keep changing it. Ah, what am I saying?! It’s probably great! -- A summer spent volunteering at the VA hospital,” Thomas read from the resume. “Impressive stuff!”
“I play shortstop for the softball team too!” Bianca added. “Although… I took a leave of absence from school to come here, so I guess technically I used to play shortstop for the softball team... “
“Fascinating! Have you ever wrestled before?”
“Nope! But everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?”
“Fascinating indeed,” Thomas chuckled. “Can you do an impression of your favorite FAWN wrestler?”
Simpson hesitated for a moment. She had come to this interview dressed in a professional blouse and skirt combo, which was not suitable for doing an impression of anyone save perhaps a librarian. Nevertheless, this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“Believe in the you that believes in me,” she muttered under her breath as she slipped off her pumps and stepped onto the oaken table in front of the executive. Bianca took a couple of deep breaths, then put all of her heart and soul into a standing backflip.
Unfortunately for the would-be wrestler, heart and soul were not adequate substitutes for height and rotation when it came to performing a backflip. Instead of the required 360 degrees she could only manage 270, thus turning her backflip into a belly flop. To her credit, she immediately bounced up from the shaggy carpet on the floor with a smile plastered on her face, doing an admirable job hiding the fact that she had just rearranged her internal organs and was now in eye-watering pain.
At least Thomas seemed impressed.
“Bravo! Bravo!” he called while clapping and laughing. “You are really something else, Bianca Simpson! We could use more young ladies like you! You’ve met my executive assistant Mavis, yes? --Mavis! Mavis! Get Bianca set up with her paperwork!-- Talk to her all she’ll take care of everything! Welcome to FAWN!”
Still unable to talk or breathe, Bianca shook hands with Edward and gave a forced smile before leaving the office carrying her shoes in one hand. She made sure the frosted glass door was completely closed behind her before she crumpled to the floor and vomited.
---Season’s Beatings Pay-per-view event---
After officially signing her contract and undergoing a two month crash-course in wrestling fundamentals that involved a whole lot of crashing, Bianca had found her way to a major pay-per-view appearance. Her trainers had always been quite harsh in their critiques of her in-ring skills and technique, so it was quite a shock to her that she was receiving such a big push so quickly. She wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though, not when she had made so many sacrifices to get to this point, especially dropping out of university after less than a single semester, breaking up with her boyfriend and estranging her family in the process. Her rapid promotion within the federation was merely her being rewarded with good karma, she figured.
“Our next contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit… Introducing first, from Ithaca, New York, coming in at five foot six and one hundred and twenty pounds… BIANCA SIMPSON!”
BIANCA SIMPSON
The young blonde burst through the curtains, waving and smiling enthusiastically at the assembled crowd. The FAWNatics responded with a warm if not entirely passionate round of applause for the newcomer, perhaps out of politeness or perhaps out of appreciation for the way Simpson looked in her red one-piece and her white, knee-high boots.
Giddy with excitement, Bianca skipped her way down to the ring, the lack of musical accompaniment not dampening her spirits in the least. She climbed onto the ring apron and considered attempting a dramatic flip over the top rope, but after a moment of deliberation her common sense won out, and she elected to slide through the top and middle strands instead. Simpson claimed one corner as hers, and hopped up and down in eager anticipation of her opponent’s arrival. She didn’t know much about the girl facing her tonight, only that it was another very young woman just recently out of high school, much like herself.
“And her opponent…”
The speakers returned to action, catching both the blonde in the ring and the fans in attendance somewhat by surprise. Entrance music tended to be reserved for those the company saw a future for, meaning that the brass, at least, appeared to believe in the woman about to make her debut. It was a heavily industrial beat, but one with a decided twinge of pop as Porcelain and the Tramps’ “The Neighbor” pumped over the sound system.
The announcer resumed his introductions, “Introducing first, hailing from Winter Park, Florida…”
The mention of an Orlando suburb, despite this woman’s earlier actions, warrants her a small, approving pop.
“She stands five feet eight inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-four pounds, ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome... Allison Addison!”
ALLISON ADDISON
Stepping through the curtain, Addison doesn’t so much strut or saunter down the aisle as she did a simple dance toward the ring, moving and gyrating in time to her musical accompaniment -- but consciously positioned smack dab in the middle of the aisle the whole way, too far for any spectator to reach out and touch her. Reaching ringside, Allison jumped to take a seat on the edge of the apron, her back to the ropes. Climbing to her feet swiftly, the redhead strolled towards the far ringpost, stopping just past midway there. In one fluid motion, Addison swings her left left through the gap between the middle and top rope, hooking the cable with her knee and leaning back to drape herself across the rubber coated steel.
Raising her left hand to grab the top rope, Allison brought her right hand up over her face, waggling a reproachful finger at the jeering, whistling masses. She then added her right hand to secure her grip on the top rope, and once steadied, the leggy redhead swings her luscious right stem into the air, similarly hooking the uppermost cable against the pit of her knee. Addison’s left leg then joined her right, scissoring the top rope as she swings her back to hover over the floor. She released her hands from the cable, but just long enough to reposition herself. Claiming the rope again, her left foot settled down inside the ring first, followed by her right, Allison finally arching her back deeeeeep to draw her upper body through the cables.
The referee quickly checked both women for hidden weapons, and once he was satisfied he threw a hand signal towards the timekeeper who then rang the bell to get things officially started.
In spite of the audience warning her not to, Bianca strode to the center of the ring and held out her right hand as soon as the opening bell sounded, figuring that win, lose, or draw, a show of good sportsmanship was the least she could do. Allison merely regarded the proffered handshake with a bemused look for several seconds as the jeering and booing reached a crescendo, wondering how best to reestablish her Queen Bee credentials now that she was back on the big stage in Orlando. Eventually the redhead settled for spitting into her right palm before clasping it around her opponent’s, smearing Simpson’s hand with mucus and phlegm.
“Oh, eww!” yelped a startled Bianca, her face twisting with disgust as she recoiled and pulled her hand from Addison’s slimy grip.
“Welcome to FAWN, barbie!” Allison snarled as she took advantage of the blonde’s preoccupation with wiping off the spit to immediately deliver a Snap Kick to the gut that left Simpson doubled over and gasping for breath. Filling her hands with golden locks, Addison leapt up, splayed her legs out in a V, and fell to the mat, dragging her opponent along by the hair and smashing Bianca’s head into the canvas with a Sitout Facebuster.
The harsh impact against the canvas left Simpson’s eyes welling, and she curled into a fetal ball with her hands covering her face. Every time she had experienced a Sitout Facebuster during training it was with the benefit of crash pads, and now without the soft cushioning, the sheer amount of pain was absolutely shocking. It was even worse than the time at softball practice when she misjudged an infield pop-fly and had the ball strike her directly on the nose.
“Hey… are you crying?!” Allison asked incredulously. “Oh! Em! Gee! You totally are! Look, everyone! She’s crying! Barbie’s crying!”
“I am not!” Bianca vehemently denied, trying to find steel in her voice as she used the ropes to haul herself upright. “And quit calling me Barbie!”
“Yeah, whatever. LOSER!” the Mean Girl snorted and put her right hand to her forehead with her forefinger and thumb in the shape of an ‘L.’
Her anger over being mocked and bullied in front of a crowd of twenty thousand people served as an effective anesthetic, and Simpson launched herself forward with a growl of indignation. The aggressive move earned her a stinging slap across the face, although she was still able to power through the blow and tackle her opponent to the deck. The fans cheered and catcalled, taking salacious delight in what was ostensibly a wrestling match suddenly turning into a sorority catfight as blonde and redhead each grabbed handfuls of the other’s tresses and began pulling and yanking much to the dismay of the referee.
Bianca managed to gain the mount after a brief tussle, although she didn’t quite seem to know what to do next. That brief moment of hesitation was all Allison needed to slap her on the ears and then shove her aside. Simpson was still disoriented from the Ear Clapper when the Mean Girl took a seat on her back, looped both hands under her chin, and wrenched her backwards with a Camel Clutch.
“God, this fed must be circling the drain if they’re letting the likes of you into the ring,” Allison scoffed as Bianca fruitlessly pried at her hands in a futile attempt to escape, the blonde’s mewling and whimpering getting more pained by the second.
After about a minute in the Camel Clutch, Simpson already seemed to be at her limit. Her flattened right hand hovered over the mat as if to submit at any moment, and the FAWNatics let their disappointment be known via a collective groan. Her opponent seemed to have other plans, however. Deciding that it’d be no fun to force a surrender so early, especially when this was her first major appearance in nearly a year, Addison abruptly released the Chinlock.
Any sighs of relief from Bianca were premature though. Allison didn’t rise from her seat, and instead hooked her opponent’s biceps over the tops of her own thighs. Rather than re-apply the Chinlock and secure a victory then and there, Addison latched her fingers onto Simpson’s breasts and squeezed as hard as she could.
“AHHHH! AHHHHHH!!! DAMN IT!” Bianca shrieked. “STOP BEING CHEAP! OWWWWW!!!”
“Ecchhh! You have boobs like a thirty year old! So saggy and lumpy!” the redhead sneered in disgust, ignoring her opponent’s protestations. “Is there any part of you that’s not a disappointment?!”
Addison gave one last squeeze, then released her Breast Claws and thumped Simpson’s head into the mat before finally getting off her seat and letting the brutalized blonde scamper to the safety of the ropes for a brief respite. The thin lycra of her one-piece provided hardly any protection against the breast mauling, and having only seen such an attack on television, she had once again greatly underestimated just how painful such a non-technical, catty move could be. Nevertheless, she had seen Veronica Treymane and Camille Cosworth endure similar Breast and Crotch Claws at FAWNAMANIA, and if the Pinstripe Powerhouse and the Girl of Tomorrow could fight back to win their matches, then she figured there was no reason she couldn’t do the same.
Pounding a fist into the mat, Bianca rose to her feet and rolled her neck to check for lingering effects of the Camel Clutch. Once she was satisfied there was no lasting damage, Simpson beckoned her opponent forward with a Test of Strength.
Allison only laughed derisively.
“You know, I didn’t think anyone could be more hopeless than Charlie Dawson, and yet here you are. Life’s just full of surprises, isn’t it?”
“You are such a bitch,” Simpson growled.
“No, barbie,” Addison said with a condescending smirk as she moved forward to engage in the Test of Strength. “I’m THE bitch, and you’re about to learn why I run this town!”
The redhead was overconfident perhaps, as she failed to counter when her opponent used one half of the Test of Strength to pull her forward and off-balance. Just as Allison started stumbling forward, Bianca dipped into a crouch and the neatly secured a Fireman’s Carry as the redhead fell across her shoulders.
“Believe in the you that believes in me,” Simpson quickly whispered to herself, and then she leapt off the mat in an imitation of the spectacular vertical Samoan Drop she had seen Cosworth perform against Brewster.
It was a solid plan in theory, but in practice the blonde did not have the leaping ability to make it work, especially not with the weight of another wrestler across her shoulders. She couldn’t get enough air time to complete the 180 degree vertical rotation, and she took the landing on her own tailbone before flopping backwards onto the deck. The botched Samoan Drop still left Addison flattened and sputtering, but it was clear to everyone in attendance that Bianca herself had absorbed the worst of the impact through her bottom and spine.
The referee started his count towards a double knockout and a draw for the record books, and he was halfway through the requisite ten-count when the Mean Girl fought her way to her feet.
“THAT HURT, YOU IDIOT!” Allison screamed as she staggered upright. “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU TRYING TO DO?!”
Bianca wasn’t listening, she was too busy lying face down on the mat with a hand pressed to her lower back and her feet kicking against the canvas. She wasn’t down for too long though, as Addison hauled her up by the hair then sent her into a stumbling run towards a corner. Simpson still had the wherewithal to turn and take the impact on her back rather than her chest, not that it helped when Allison’s Running Hip Attack smashed into her sternum a second later.
Robbed of her oxygen, the blonde was helpless when her opponent dragged her to the center of one side of the ring, slammed a knee into her gut to bring her to her knees, then intertwined her arms between the middle and bottom cables. Once Addison was satisfied that Bianca was securely tied up, the redhead turned around, squatted down, and treated Simpson to her version of the Stinkface that she called the Brown Noser.
“You’re good at this, barbie! How many asses did you have to kiss to get into this ring?!” Allison shouted as she rubbed her undercarriage in Simpson’s face, drawing muffled squeals of protest from the trapped blonde and a cascade of catcalls from the FAWNatics.
Bianca was technically in the ropes, however, which made the attack illegal. After a rather generous five-count for the sake of lurid fanservice, the official forced Addison to cease her attack and then set about to disentangling Simpson from the steel cables.
Face flushed with a potent mixture of anger and shame, the blonde immediately rushed at her opponent the moment she was free from the ropes, letting out a war cry that she hoped was at least a little bit intimidating. Perhaps due to her complacency or surprise, Allison failed to react in time when Bianca leapt at her and smashed a forearm across the side of her jaw. The fans cheered Simpson’s unexpected burst of offense, and with the crowd on her side and her opponent momentarily reeling, Bianca grabbed a fistful of red hair and started hammering wild Haymakers into Addison’s forehead.
“Alright! Alright, that’s enough!” the referee yelled as he pulled the two wrestlers apart after the FAWNatics had counted off ten blows to the head. “I’m giving you some leeway ‘cause she mauled you in the ropes, but no closed fists from now on!”
“Okay, okay, geez!” Simpson said, backing off and holding her aching hand. “Oww, goddamn it…”
Despite the self-inflicted damage to her hand, Bianca’s flurry still left her opponent dazed and wobbling on unsteady legs. Simpson pressed the advantage and ducked under Addison’s right arm while throwing her own right arm across the redhead’s chest and neck. With a pop of her hips and a boost from her left hand, Bianca laid out on her back and tried to flip Allison up and over for a Uranage. She didn’t put quite enough force into the throw and her opponent simply flopped face first into the canvas, but even the half-botched Uranage managed to work as a reasonably effective if sloppy-looking Facebuster of sorts.
“JENNY-CIDE!” Simpson screamed as she popped to her feet, her excitement letting her ignore both the fact that her maneuver wasn’t anything even close to a Jenny-Cide, and the whiplash pain in her neck from when she laid out on the mat moments earlier.
Rather than cheering, the FAWNatics fell into a confused silence for what seemed like a long, long time.
“That -- That wasn’t a Jenny-Cide,” the referee sheepishly commented after a few seconds.
“Really? But I thought I…”
The official only pursed his lips and ruefully shook his head, unsure of what he could say without damaging the young wrestler’s self-esteem.
“Well… I’m sure I’ll nail it next time...” Bianca reassured herself while she dragged Allison back up. “Aaarggh… my neck…”
She quickly went through a mental catalogue of moves she had seen from other wrestlers before settling on a London Calling, a maneuver which Simpson thought was relatively simple to execute and unlikely to cause harm to herself. The blonde turned her back to her opponent, secured a Three Quarters Facelock on Addison, then kicked her own legs out in front and let gravity do the rest. Allison had far more left in the tank than Bianca figured, however, and the redhead shoved her way free just when Simpson was starting to fall to the deck. With her call disconnected Bianca made the fall alone, and lacking the sensational aerial ability to adjust and land on her feet, she took a second hard landing on her tailbone and screeched in agony.
Addison took a moment to regain her bearings, and she resumed her assault which her opponent had so rudely interrupted. She pulled Simpson to a standing position, then trapped both of the blonde’s arms from behind with a Double Chickenwing. With any chance for a counter-offensive negated, Allison flexed her knees and dipped down slightly to get a better angle of attack, then forcefully drove her right thigh into Bianca’s groin.
“HHRRRNNnnnngggghhhh…” Simpson moaned, the Low Blow so excruciating that it took away even her ability to scream.
Enjoying the agonized wheezing coming from the blonde, Addison repeated the Low Blow again and again and again -- one for every punch that Bianca landed on her earlier -- a maneuver that she had dubbed the Dirty Rushing. When the referee finally forced her to relent under threat of disqualification, the Mean Girl proved her technical chops by arching backwards and hurling her opponent away with a Tiger Suplex.
Simpson landed hard on her shoulders, bounced once onto her stomach, then tumbled out under the bottom rope not entirely of her own volition. It was for the best though, as Allison opted to primp and preen inside the ring rather than push the offensive, thus giving Bianca some much needed time to recover and wipe away the tears while the cameras and everyone’s attention were focused on the redhead.
As she laid face down on the thinly padded cement floor with both hands pressed to her throbbing undercarriage, Bianca was having a moment of self-doubt. While she didn’t expect to dominate from day one, she was certainly expecting to do better than what she was currently managing, especially since the woman in front of her was also a relative newcomer to the business. She wondered how she would fare against the sharks in the federation, if she was already struggling against a guppy.
Then again, Camille had warned her during their Twitter exchange that the life of a wrestler was filled with bumps and bruises, and something about Pokemon which went over her head but which she guessed was meant to be encouraging. It wasn’t just Cosworth who believed in her either. FAWN management, marketing, and talent development all surely saw something special in her in order to push her into the limelight so quickly. The pain was only temporary, Bianca reasoned to herself, and soon she would take her place among the stars of the federation.
The sound of the referee asking if her she could continue in-between his count towards a ring-out stirred Simpson from her reverie, however. Simpson sniffled once and rubbed her eyes, then nodded silently and slipped back into the ring under the ropes.
“Back for more already? You blondes really are dumb…” Addison scoffed, apparently not concerned about what her tag-team partner Piper Sexton might think about the remark blonde intelligence.
“If you think I’m going to let some alpha-bitch wannabe keep me down, then you’ve got another thing coming!” Bianca snapped back. “COME ON, ORLANDO! LET ME HEAR YOU!”
Clapping her hands overhead and stomping her right foot to the same rhythm, Simpson tried to rally the FAWNatics to her side. The fans were understandably skeptical at first, but soon Bianca’s sheer pluck and determination won them over and they added their claps and stomps to the beat.
“Do you hear that, Allison?” Simpson triumphantly asked. “That’s the sound of twenty thousand people at my back! Twenty thousand people who are going to tear the roof off this place when I pin your ass one-two-three!”
Allison silently mouthed the word ‘Loser’ while making an ‘L’ shape with her fingers again, and then she closed in to finish off her opponent. Once the redhead got within six feet or so, Bianca abruptly stopped her one-woman pep rally and leapt forward to meet her foe. Pirouetting in mid-air, Simpson landed on her left leg while smoothly shooting her right foot out in a Big Boot, imitating Treymane’s signature Chicago Lightning. Although the spin left her a bit disoriented, the loud smack of boot leather against flesh, the shock of the impact on her right heel, and the collective ‘OHHHHH’ from the audience let her know that she had hit her target.
“YES! YES! YES!” Bianca jubilantly shouted while pumping her arms overhead in an attempt to get a chant going.
“Ugggghhh… you… you knocked out... my toooof…” mumbled a voice from the mat that most definitely did not belong to Addison.
Simpson looked down and saw the now gap-toothed referee sprawled on the canvas holding his jaw with a little trickle of red coming from one corner of his mouth. It was only then that she realized she had rotated too far on the pirouette, causing her Big Boot to go off-target and hit the official rather than her opponent.
“Oh my God! Oh my God, I’m so, so sorry!” Bianca stammered, unsure of what to do now. “I didn’t mean to! Please don’t disqualify me, I don’t -- GGAAAAAHHH!!!”
After indulging in a few chuckles at the farce playing out in front of her, Allison resumed her assault by digging her fingernails into the blonde’s shoulder blades and giving her a vicious Back Rake that extended all the way down to the curve of her buttocks, the lycra of Simpson’s swimsuit the only thing preventing Addison from drawing blood with her attack. Staggering around with her back arched in pain, Bianca made for the perfect target when the Mean Girl trapped her neck under an arm with an Inverted Front Facelock.
“God, you’re so pathetic you don’t even know how pathetic you are,” snorted Allison while she reached down with a free hand to grab a handful of Simpson’s one-piece just above below the belly button, and then forcefully yanked up and back to apply a Front Wedgie that had the blonde howling in misery.
After working the Front Wedgie for about thirty seconds to increasingly virulent boos from the crowd and increasingly desperate shrieks from her opponent, Addison decided that it was time to bring things to a conclusion. Gathering her strength, Allison pulled on the swimsuit so hard that she actually lifted Bianca’s feet off the mat for a brief moment, and then she immediately laid out on her back to drive the crown of the blonde’s skull into the deck.
Bianca shivered once at the moment of impact, and then laid absolutely still on her back, the latest victim of Addison’s Not-So-Fresh DDT.
Addison quickly pivoted into a Reverse Facesit and treated herself to a few sweeps of her undercarriage across Simpson’s face. Her opponent’s unconsciousness and lack of response made it a much less exhilarating ride however, not so much 911 as Camry, and when even a few hatefully applied Crotch Claws and Breast Claws failed to rouse the blonde, Allison motioned for the referee and then placed on palms on Bianca’s chest for a lackadaisical pin.
Despite the earlier kick to the mouth, the official remained cognizant of his duties and he crawled over to count out a…
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
...before quickly signalling to the timekeeper, rolling out of the ring, and staggering backstage to call an emergency dentist.
“Your winner, via pinfall, Allison Addison!” the PA boomed.
The Mean Girl rose from her perch, then spread her arms wide and beckoned with her fingers as if welcoming the cacophony of boos showering her.
“TAKE A GOOD LOOK, MOUTH-BREATHERS!” she disdainfully shouted at the crowd. “TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT THE HOTTEST THING THAT’S EVER HIT THIS TOWN! TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT WHAT YOU’LL NEVER, EEEEEEVER HAVE!”
Relishing in being at the center of attention, Allison posed for one final shot for the photographers, then stomped out of the ring and headed towards the locker room, leaving the EMTs to dispose of what was left of her opponent.