Post by bigfan on Apr 5, 2017 15:32:22 GMT
“Ladies and gentlemen, our next contest is a semi-finals match in the 2017 FAWN Rookies Tournament!” the announcer booms. FAWNatics erupt at the mere mention, almost drowning the unseen voice out as he continues. “First up, standing at five feet, six inches and one hundred thirty six pounds… hailing from the scenic Circus Maximus Casino in Las Vegas, home of the Golden Girls Burlesque and Catfight Revue… and accompanied by Circus Maximus rep Soléne Loree… ROULETTE!”
And as if a switch were hit, the cheers turn to boos. Fans remember all too well how the clown Roulette humiliated and demeaned Azul Aurora in the last round. No one seems excited to see how that will continue… except Roulette.
ROULETTE:
SOLÉNE LOREE:
"ARE WE HAVING FUN YET" BY DOCTOR STEEL
The clown steps onto the entry ramp with her shapely, smiling manager in tow. Soléne waves to the fans, doing her best to pretend everyone's actually happy to see the client forced upon her by her employers. The manager saunters down the aisle, occasionally stopping to sign eight-by-tens for fans who are fans of her indie wrestling career – all of whom let her know they are NOT fans of her client. Roulette, however, stalks towards the ring, crawling under the ropes like a lizard and moving towards the referee. She immediately demands he pat her down. Although confused, he does… more than once to make sure the shady clown isn't armed. He almost can't believe he hasn't found anything when Soléne enters the ring and takes a mic from a ring attendant.
“FAWN! How are you?” Soléne yells into the mic.
There is a smattering of applause and the manager shakes her head.
“Come on, FAWN! We can do better than that. HOW ARE YOU?!”
Even though the FAWNatics hate her client, they seem to love Soléne and speak up and cheer.
“That's better! C'mon! A lot of women are sweating and bleeding for you tonight! They need your energy!”
The attendees get on their feet, riled by her words, and get ecstatic. Soléne seems satisfied.
“Much better!”
“Now,” she continues, “last month you saw my client, Roulette, have a fun, spirited contest with the wonderful Azul Aurora!” The fact there's no irony dripping from her words is almost unbelievable. “Well, tonight she's facing another amazing lady and it's going to be great, RIGHT?!”
Soléne holds up the mic to catch the response, as if the arena wasn't wired to do so.
“And to celebrate not just Roulette, but her opponent and the lifestyle she enjoys which Circus Maximus Casino completely endorses because ALL LOVE IS VALID, if you log onto our website and enter the promocode ALLLOVEMATTERS you will get thirty percent off a reservation for our summer show, 'Yuri and Sappho: A Love Opera!' Now, it is only for adults because of content, so you must be eighteen or older to get tickets. Also, there is splashback so bring plastic tarps or panchos.”
Soléne takes in a deep breath, having done her required pitch.
“Now, let's bring out the next awesome fighter!”
Meanwhile, Camille Cosworth peeks out from behind the curtain as she awaits her cue to enter. Of all her fellow rookies in the tournament, Roulette was the one she least wanted to share a ring with.
“Why’d it have to be the clown?” she groans to her girlfriend who seems to be preoccupied with her phone.
“What’s wrong with clowns?” Yoona asks, never looking up from the mobile screen. “They make great hamburgers and never hurt anyone!”
“Clowns hurt people all the time!”
“Name one time, you big sissy!”
“Seriously, Yoona?!” Camille says as she throws up her hands in exasperation. “John Wayne Gacy! Pedophile. Rapist. Serial killer. Clown.”
“Oh,” Park answers flatly. “But at least he made some great cowboy movies…”
Before Cosworth can utter a sound, the announcer booms once more and her entrance music begins to play.
“And her opponent -- at five foot six inches and one hundred thirty pounds, hailing from San Antonio, Texas -- she is the Girl of Tomorrow, Camille Cosworth!”
“IS SHE WITH YOU?” -HANS ZIMMER
Camille sweeps aside the curtain and steps onto the entrance ramp, followed a few seconds later by Yoona who is still tapping away at her phone. Cosworth is decked out in a royal blue and electric green sports bra, a matching pair of skintight shorts extending from hip to mid-thigh, and a pair of low-cut royal blue wrestling shoes that completes the ensemble. Meanwhile, Park wears a pair of fuzzy bathroom slippers along with a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants combo that hides the ice packs taped to her ribs. Still feeling the effects of her match earlier in the evening, Yoona is in no condition to fight, although she reasons that unlike Kylie Sanders or Demetria Andrews, the clown’s manager would be far less likely to attempt any sneak attacks on her girlfriend.
CAMILLE COSWORTH:
YOONA PARK:
The couple make their way towards the ring with Camille out in front as she walks with arms held out to either side in order to slap hands with the lucky fans who have a front row seat. She spots a number of FAWNatics holding signs and posters bearing her name and words of support, although her favorite seems to be a young man frenetically twirling a simple piece of plasterboard with the words “SPIN TO WIN.”
As she approaches the ring, Cosworth speeds up the last couple of steps and leaps into the air before grabbing the top rope with both hands and hauling herself over the cable and into the ring, completely bypassing the ring apron. She immediately turns around, reaches her right hand out over the ropes to grab her girlfriend’s outstretched arm, and hauls Park up and into the ring as well, Yoona needing a little extra help to make the same leap that Camille could make alone.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Soléne cheers while gesturing for the FAWNatics to get even louder in their ovation. “What a marvelous display of athleticism and teamwork! Roulette, what do you think of these two lovely ladies?”
She discretely clicks off the microphone before holding it to her charge who menacingly stares at Cosworth and growls, “I’m going to rip her open from mouth to anus and wear her corpse like a jacket.”
“Well said, Roulette! Theirs is a love story for the ages!” Loree says into her now reactivated microphone.
Camille starts to grumble something about her dislike of clowns when Yoona jabs her in the ribs with a sharp elbow to get her attention.
“Babe, are your brothers or your mom and pops allergic to silicone-based lubricants?”
“...what?! No... Yoona, what the heck are you doing?!”
“Booking tickets for the whole family for ‘Yuri and Sappho: A Love Opera!’ Thirty percent off is such a great deal, and the June show is just in time for your dad’s birthday! So do you think they’d want the package deal that includes the ‘All-You-Can-Eat Pussy Buffet’ or would they just --”
Cosworth immediately snatches the phone out of Park’s grasps and tosses the device as far as she can into the audience. The couple blithely watch as the iPhone sails to somewhere in the twentieth row or so, starting a frantic scrum when it lands. Camille dusts off her hands and allows herself a grin for a job well done.
“Sooooo… Cam, you realize that there were like a couple hundred nude photos of you on my phone, right? And not tasteful, artsy-fartsy nudes either, I’m talking nasty, sopping wet, ‘just got fucked with a double-ended dildo’ nudes...”
Camille blanches, the smile evaporating from her face as she mutters to herself, “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
Yoona just rolls her eyes as she steps out of the ring and climbs over the audience barricade, instructing her girlfriend to focus on the match while she retrieves her phone before any compromising pictures or videos could make their way onto the internet. Cosworth lets out a deep sigh, and turns towards the center of the ring just in time to see Soléne step out as well.
The referee comes over to perform a cursory inspection for illegal weapons and paraphernalia, even though everyone in the building knows that Camille is far too much of a goody-two-shoes to resort to such a tactic.
“You don’t have any hidden weapons, do you?” the referee asks.
“Just my magic gem,” Cosworth sarcastically scoffs. “It channels eldritch powers from the Crimson Realm and turns me into the unstoppable avatar of Cyttorak.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” the man reassures, the sarcasm apparently going over his head. “We’ve had that before, and it’s well within the rules.”
“Wait, what?!”
The referee doesn’t bother to clarify the long, weird history of FAWN, and instead signals for the bell to mark the start of the match.
The bell rings and both grapplers circle each other. Camille does her best to see beyond the make-up of Roulette and see just the woman she's fighting. She's just a woman, after all. A woman grinning and showing all of her teeth. All of her... slowly turning black... teeth.
Camille stops for a moment and blinks. Are Roulette's teeth really--
Before Camille can finish the thought, the clown bolts across the ring and locks up at the shoulders, driving Camille back to the cables. Roulette slams her forehead against Cosworth's and begins a shrill giggle. Sure enough, black liquid begins dripping from Roulette's teeth and onto Camille's chest. As Camille wonders if this could get any worse, the black liquid begins to foam. At that point, Roulette releases Cam and slams a loud crack across her breasts.
The referee steps forward.
"Come on, Roulette, get her off --" As the clown turns and he sees the bubbling black pouring from her mouth, he steps back. "-- Jesus Christ!"
The official turns and bolts to the other side of the ring. Roulette looks back to Camille and grabs her by the back of her hair, pulling her head back over the ropes.
"I kiss on the first date," Roulette hisses as she clamps her mouth down over Camille's.
The good girl can only flail in horror and syrupy, bitter black fluid - ink maybe? - and a tongue forcefully invade her mouth. She feels warm foam pour down her cheeks and into her hair and dribble down her front. Worse yet, a seemingly endless fount of the ichor fills up her throat, gagging and choking her. Roulette pulls back from the kiss and slams a fist in Camille's belly. Instantly, Cosworth spits forth a spray of black and stumbles forward, choking.
Camille falls to her knees, sputtering. The clown steps behind her and straddles Cam's neck, squeezing tightly. Dropping to her knees, Roulette drives Camille's face into the canvas. Roulette grinds the fellow rookie's face into plywood to drive the point home - she's in control.
Roulette rises just enough to flip Camille over and drag her to the center of the ring. This time, the clown sits on Camille's face and caresses her exposed abdomen.
"I want this," Roulette gurgles like a drowning demon.
With that, the clown sinks her nails into the sides of Camille's belly and begins to pull. Cosworth’s screeches are muffled by Roulette’s backside as welts form on the pale skin on her abdomen thanks to the clown’s clawing attack. Already choking on the black foam in her mouth, the smothering sends her into a panic, and it’s all she can do to stop herself from tapping out in a blind hysteria not even a minute into the match.
“Brush your teeth before the next time you go down on me!” a familiar voice calls from somewhere. “And stop getting your ass kicked!”
The snide, cutting remarks from her girlfriend bring a sense of normalcy back to Cosworth’s fading world. Gathering her wits and her strength, Camille stops her wild, useless flailing and instead starts pushing off against the canvas with her feet. She earns herself a couple of unpleasant mat burns on her back as she slides along the deck, but her efforts quickly propel both herself and the woman sitting on her head to a nearby set of ropes. Cosworth grabs onto the bottom cable, and after a five-count that feels more like fifty, the referee forces Roulette to relent under threat of disqualification.
“Do some of your flipping, spinning shit!” Park yells from the audience, still searching for the fan who has her phone. “Clowns are weak to spinning! Tornado beats clown in a one-on-one fight at least sixty percent of the time!”
Camille coughs up the last of the fetid, black liquid and climbs unsteadily to her feet. Roulette is immediately on the offense again and she whips Cosworth towards the opposite set of ropes, but instead of rebounding back, Camille exits the ring with a Baseball Slide. She starts to walk a lap on the outside, trying to regroup after an inauspicious start to her second round in the tournament.
“Poor, widdle baby…” Roulette sneers through a set of blackened teeth and a vacant stare.
“Ugh, you’re in my top five of FAWN weirdos, you know that?” Cosworth replies. “Probably even top three…”
She commandeers a cup of soda from a helpful fan and uses it to wash out the taste of the clown’s rancid kiss, then takes a running start and leaps over the top rope once more. Roulette comes charging at her with a Clothesline as soon as she touches down, but Camille manages to duck under the decapitating blow.
Presented with her opponent’s back, the rangy daredevil loops her right hand between Roulette’s thighs and clutches the scruff of the clown’s neck with her left hand. With a flex of the knees and a twist of the hips, Cosworth scoops Roulette up off the mat before pivoting and planting her back down with an Inverted Power Slam. Camille flips her over onto her back in preparation for a pin, but then Cosworth notices that Roulette’s cheeks are puffed as if to blow something into her face.
Having already experienced more Red Mists than she’d care to remember at the hands of Adelaide Brewster, Camille quickly scrambles backwards to a safe distance and watches as Roulette spews a stream of what appear to be ordinary soap bubbles. Cosworth cautiously reaches out with a finger to pop a bubble that floats nearby, and when it doesn’t cause her skin to melt or turn her into a frog or do anything that a normal bubble wouldn’t, she feels simultaneously relieved and chagrined.
“Okay, you’re definitely in my top three weirdos,” she says with a sheepish shake of her head.
The bubbles distract her just long enough for the clown to lunge forward from the mat and drive a fist directly into her groin. Caught off-guard by the sudden Low Blow, Camille sinks to her knees with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clasped between her thighs, and she clenches her jaw to hold back a flurry of exclamations that would have caused her to forfeit a handful of nickels to her Swear Jar at home. The FAWNatics boo their hearts out and the referee issues a stern reprimand, but Roulette pays them no mind as she rises and offers a taunting curtsey and bow, flashing her underwear to one side of the arena.
Returning her focus to the task at hand, Roulette quickly takes position behind her opponent, dropping down to one knee and posting the other one directly behind Cosworth’s shoulder blades. Next she crosses Camille’s arms into an X at neck level, takes a hold of a wrist in each hand, and pulls back as hard as she can. Camille starts to scream as her shoulders are stretched by Roulette’s Cross Arm Surfboard, but her cry is reduced to gagging when she finds herself being strangled by her own limbs.
“I’ll carve my portrait onto the insides of your eyelids,” the clown mutters into her opponent’s ear. “Then you can see my face even when you sleep.”
Soléne tries her best to hide her worried look, and motions for the fans to cheer while she says into her microphone, “Come on, Orlando! Let’s hear it for these two incredible athletes! Show’em some love!”
Loree sets the stick on the ring apron, raises her hands overhead, and begins clapping in a slow, staccato rhythm. Despite their animus towards Soléne’s client, the fans join in by adding their stomps and claps to the beat, and soon the entire arena is rocking with the percussive force of twenty thousand people urging Camille to fight her way out of Roulette’s hold.
Their efforts are rewarded when Cosworth manages to coil her legs underneath her hips, allowing her to power her way to a stand even as her arms are still trapped. With a sudden burst, Camille pitches forward while simultaneously jutting out her rear, driving her backside into her captor’s midriff and knocking the wind out of the clown. The grips on her wrists slacken thus letting Camille twist free, and she takes a couple of deep, panting breaths before she turns and faces her opponent.
Cosworth clasps her right hand on the nape of Roulette’s neck to keep the clown bent over, then she plants the fingers of her left hand in Roulette’s gut. With a lightning quick swivel of her powerful hips and a flex of her left shoulder, Camille’s unleashes a One Inch Punch that knocks her opponent back three feet and drops the clown to her knees.
“Wow! What a move!” Soléne theatrically shouts, hyping the FAWNatics and getting them on their feet once more. “Straight from the arsenal of Jet Li!”
“Bruce Lee, actually,” Cosworth softly corrects as she directs a subtle nod of appreciation towards the Circus Maximus manager for the earlier show of moral support, which in turn prompts Loree to respond with a quick wink that goes unnoticed by anyone other than Camille.
Meanwhile, Roulette has managed to rise to one knee in the center of the ring. She doesn’t stay that way for long, however, when Camille runs at her, plants one foot on her knee then the other on her shoulder, and pushes off into a sky-high vertical leap. The recoil from Cosworth’s jump knocks Roulette flat on her back, leaving her completely open when Camille turns a somersault in midair and comes splashing down across her stomach. The impact from Cosworth’s augmented Standing 360 Splash rattles the ring and sends the clown’s legs jackknifing skywards.
Camille quickly loops an arm across both limbs without getting up from her splash, settling into the first pin of the match as the referee counts out…
ONE!
TWO!
...before Roulette bucks free. Cosworth tries to press her advantage and drags her opponent upright by an arm, but the tables are quickly turned when the clown sinks a claw onto her right breast and gives a vicious squeeze and twist.
“OWWW! OWWWW! THAT’S CHEATING, STOP IT!” Camille shrieks in protest, neither the thin material of her sports bra nor the FAWN rulebook offering much protection against the Breast Claw.
“Looky looky!” Roulette coos half a minute later, stroking Cosworth’s face with her left hand even as she attempts to perform a mastectomy with her right. “What’s this in your ear?”
It turns out to be a rhetorical question, as Roulette forcefully slaps her opponent directly on the ear, and a cloud of white powder explodes from the point of impact and covers Camille’s face. The pain in her breast is immediately forgotten as some of the irritant seeps under her eyelids, and Cosworth reflexively begins clawing and wiping at her own face, unfortunately accomplishing nothing except rubbing more of the powder into her eyes.
“What the hell was that?!” the referee demands as he forces the clown to release her foe and back off. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t disqualify you right now!”
Soléne is conflicted. She has no love lost for her client, and part of her thinks the honorable thing would be for Roulette to get thrown out of the tournament. On the other hand, her employers were explicit in their instructions that her duty is to get as much publicity as possible for the Circus Maximus -- no matter good or bad -- and that meant getting her charge as far in the tournament as she can. After a brief internal deliberation, duty wins out over honor, and Loree climbs onto the apron to offer an explanation for Roulette’s actions.
“Now, now, there’s nothing to get worked up about!” she says through a visibly strained smile. “I assure you that my client’s tactics are on the up and up! Roulette covers her palms in talcum powder to maintain her grip, that’s all! Isn’t that right, Roulette?”
“Yes. That is right,” the clown replies in a flat, emotionless voice.
The official appears unconvinced and seems about to call the match, but then he feels a hand tugging on his shirt from behind.
“I... I can continue…” Camille groans, using handfuls of the referee’s jersey to haul herself upright. “Don’t… Don’t wanna advance by… by default…”
The man directs a questioning glare at Cosworth, and she wordlessly nods her assent before wiping her face on his shoulder, getting most of the powder off after about five seconds of gentle scrubbing.
“Now would be a good time to use your magic gem,” the referee whispers to Camille once she’s had a few moments to regain her bearings.
“Wha -- What magic gem?!” Camille stutters in confusion. “Is everyone wearing their crazy town banana pants?!”
She doesn’t get an answer as the official signals for the match to resume, and Roulette immediately sweeps her into an Elbow and Collar tie-up. The pair of wrestlers are deadlocked for a barely a second before the clown stomps down on her opponent’s foot, drawing a loud squeak from her own boot and a yelp of pain from Cosworth. Camille’s brief lapse in focus is all Roulette needs to trap her head under an arm and transition to a Front Facelock, and a moment later the clown lays out on the canvas to drive the crown of her skull into the mat with a DDT.
The FAWNatics groan as Camille’s body shudders on impact before laying motionless, and Roulette rolls her onto her back and hooks a leg for a pin.
ONE!
TWO!
THR -- !
Cosworth manages to roll a shoulder off the mat to break the pin, although the vacant, glazed look in her eyes make it clear that she’s still not quite back in the fight yet.
“Oh, goody! Playtime isn’t over!” Roulette cheerfully exclaims as she gets up, walks to the nearest corner, and climbs the turnbuckles.
Camille is still laid out semi-conscious in the center of the ring, and the fans do their best to warn her of the impending danger. Their shouts are washed out by the ringing noise in Cosworth’s ears, but out of the corner of her eyes she sees Loree subtly shifting her gaze upwards, and Camille’s addled brain manages to put two and two together. She doesn’t even see Roulette leap from the top ropes, crunching in midair and then spreading out in a Frog Splash, and yet Soléne’s warning proves to be enough as she’s able to draw up her knees and cover her vulnerable abdomen.
Much to the delight of the audience, Roulette smashes herself across a pair of bony joints before bouncing off and laying in a heap. Camille stays down for a little longer too, trying to recover as much as she can before going on the offensive, safe in the knowledge that the official would be unwilling to issue a double countout when the tournament format requires exactly one winner and one loser from every match. Eventually she sees the clown begin to stagger upright, and Cosworth quickly scrambles to her feet as well.
Dashing forward and taking a hop onto her left leg, Camille fires a Super Kick which lands square on Roulette’s forehead. Unfortunately, the referee had been directly behind Roulette, and when the her head snaps back from the impact, she delivers an inadvertent Reverse Headbutt directly on the chin of the unsuspecting official. Both referee and clown collapse to the mat in unison, Cosworth having claimed two victims with the same kick.
“Oh my God, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” Camille groans in exasperation. “What the heck am I supposed to do now?!”
She knows the pragmatic thing might have been to keep heaping punishment on her downed opponent until the referee came back to his senses, but just the thought of it leaves a bad taste in Cosworth’s mouth. Psychotic, creepy clown or not, it still wouldn’t be a very sporting thing to do, so instead she begins to scan the audience for signs of her girlfriend to no avail. When several calls of “YOONA!” go unanswered as well, Camille figures that Yoona must have chased the fan who had her phone away from the ring area, which meant that Park was now completely incommunicado. She silently paces the ring for what feels like hours, debating what she should do next, and finally she notices signs of life as Roulette begins to stir. The official, however, is still laid out dead as a doornail.
“Note to self: petition front office to provide motorcycle helmets for all referees,” Cosworth mutters. “Hey… uhh… Roulette! You... uhh... you wanna take a break from beating the crap out of each other? Until the ref is up again?”
“I wanna use your femur as a flute,” the clown snarls as she tries to stand on unsteady legs. “First I’ll tear it from your flesh, then I’ll punch holes in the bone, suck out the marrow, and play a beautiful melody to accompany your crying and screaming.”
Camille sighs, “You could have just said, ‘No.’”
As Soléne tries and fails to reassure some upset fans that “I want to use your femur as a flute” is an idiomatic expression meaning “Do your best” among circus-folk, the two wrestlers lock up in the center of the ring once more. This time Cosworth gains the advantage by doubling her grip on Roulette’s left wrist, allowing her to stretch out the limb with an Arm Wringer. As soon as she has the clown’s arm at full extension to the side, Camille gives a quick twist to force her opponent to double over at the waist, and then she leaps up and slams both knees into Roulette’s back, driving the clown chest first into the canvas and securing a Fujiwara Armbar in spectacular fashion.
With no referee it’s impossible to elicit a submission, so Cosworth tries to merely restrain her opponent until the official returns to the land of the living. That plan proves to be untenable when Roulette immediately starts thrashing about, forcing Camille to either relinquish the hold or apply enough force to potentially cause injury. Unwilling to risk the latter, Cosworth releases her opponent and backs away to a safe distance as Roulette rubs the stiffness out of her arm and stands up.
“Bad move, Girl Scout. Now I’m gonna shove my hand down your throat and rip out your babymaker.”
“Ha, ha, ha! You’re so silly, Roulette!” Soléne says through forced, awkward laughter. “The uterus and digestive tract aren’t even connected! Ha, ha, ha!”
“Please tell me she doesn’t do kids’ birthday parties,” Camille groans.
“No. No she doesn’t,” Loree reassures. “The therapy bills make that unprofitable.”
Roulette storms forward and Camille gets ready to clinch again, but this time the clown goes low by ducking her shoulders, wrapping both arms around Cosworth’s thighs, and dumping her opponent to the mat with a simple takedown. She quickly scoots forward to take a seat on Camille’s stomach, and for a moment it seems that Roulette is intent on making good on her threat as she drops fist after fist at Cosworth’s face. The clown’s blows are wild, feral, and telegraphed, however, and Camille is able to parry or slip most of the punches to minimize the damage, and after fifteen seconds Roulette becomes frustrated.
“No one came here to watch you block. You’re boring the fans,” she growls.
“I’m not boring the fans! You’re boring the fans!” Cosworth retorts indignantly. “It’s like -- GGGHRRRRRKKK!”
Roulette interrupts her with a two-handed squeeze around her neck. The blatantly illegal choke causes the FAWNatics to erupt into a cacophony of boos and jeers, though their rage is impotent without a referee to enforce the rules. Eyes bulging and mouth frozen in a terrified gasp, Camille desperately tries to pry away the fingers crushing her windpipe. It’s a losing battle, however, as Roulette presses down with all her upper body weight, and Cosworth’s face begins to turn a sickly shade of purple.
“Roulette…” Soléne grits through clenched teeth, doing an admirable job of affecting cheerfulness. “Let’s not have another Disneyland fiasco now…”
That seems to trigger something in the clown’s mind, and her arms fall slack as she seems to be lost in thought for a brief moment. Camille’s face rapidly turns from purple to red to ghastly white to normal as she sputters, gasps, and coughs, but her reprieve does not last long as Roulette swivels around 180 degrees and shoves both hands under her waistband. Cosworth is too winded to provide much resistance, and she shuts her eyes and tries to steel herself for the imminent clawing, or stripping, or worse.
To her surprise, however, her opponent seems to have none of those things in mind.
“I’ve been looking for this everywhere!” Roulette shouts as she pulls a colorful streamer out of Camille’s trunks to a smattering of confused OOHs and AHHs from the FAWNatics.
The clown keeps pulling hand over hand, and the streamer keeps coming out as Camille becomes increasingly bewildered. At first she’s panicked that the streamer is coming from inside her, but then the rational portion of her mind concludes that would be impossible, and that this must be another cheap parlor trick -- humiliating yet harmless. The multi-colored strip of cloth eventually grows to about ten feet in length before the other end of it comes out of Camille’s trunks, and Roulette caps it off with a flourish and a shout of, “TA-DA!”
Cosworth’s predicament isn’t over though, as Roulette decides to add injury to insult by standing up and laying the boot to her head, chest, and abdomen, each stomp accompanied by a comically high-pitched squeak from the clown’s footwear. In a daze, Camille rolls onto her belly to protect herself, and Roulette takes a seat again on the small of her back, snatches one of her wrists, and begins wrapping the streamer around the captured limb. The clown quickly makes a dozen loops around one wrist, followed by a dozen loops around the other, then makes a knot to tie both of Camille’s arms behind her back.
“Don’t worry, it’s a Friendship Knot,” Soléne reassures one particularly distraught fan who is wearing one of Cosworth’s official FAWN t-shirts.
The young woman has little reason to believe Loree, as the clown hauls Camille upright and blasts her undefended midsection with several hateful Knee Strikes. Roulette drags her slumping, staggering opponent to the nearest corner, then climbs onto the top turnbuckle before forcing Cosworth to do the same with a couple handfuls of hair. She starts to secure a Front Facelock in order to set up her Big Top Flop finishing move, but in a last ditch effort Camille kicks out one of the clown’s legs out from under her.
Cosworth is unbalanced by her own kick, and she falls off the ropes and lands on her side with a grunt. Roulette, on the other hand, has a much shorter fall with a much rougher landing, as she hits her crotch on the top turnbuckle -- the impact somehow making a loud, cartoonish honk that draws a few tittering laughs from the audience.
Camille knows that she should work on either untying her hands or reviving the referee, but the sight of her opponent sitting on the turnbuckle facing outwards is just too good of an opportunity to pass up. She crunches onto her shoulders then launches to her feet with an impressive hands-free kip-up, and then she dashes for the ropes next to where Roulette is seated. With one smooth, graceful motion, she leaps up, plants both feet on the top rope, and uses the springy tension of the steel cable to propel herself to a perch on the clown’s shoulders. For a fraction of a second Cosworth sits on her opponent’s shoulders Electric Chair-style, then she squeezes her thighs together and throws herself into a backflip.
Roulette is ripped from her seat and sent flying halfway across the ring before she lands face first on the canvas. She bounces once and does another quarter rotation backwards before settling into a semi-upright position on her haunches with her eyes grotesquely rolled back in her head. Meanwhile, Camille climbs to her feet accompanied by a raucous ovation and a chant of “HOLY SHIT!”
“Yoona, THAT’S how you do a Springboard Avalanche Inverted Hurricanrana!” Cosworth says to a ringside camera while sticking out her tongue.
Not bothering to work on her bonds, Camille runs at her opponent and launches into a midair pirouette, turning one complete revolution and half of another that ends with a Roundhouse Kick to the side of Roulette’s head, knocking the clown to the mat.
“THAT’S how you do a 540 Kick!” she calls to the camera again.
“Have you ever considered a career in the circus?” Soléne asks earnestly. “We have a few openings this one act where the performers jump through hoops of electrified barbed wire.”
Loree strokes her chin thoughtfully before quietly adding, “Come to think of it, we always have openings for that act…”
Cosworth responds with a good-natured smile and a roll of her eyes before walking over to Roulette who is crawling to hands and knees, and then Camille clamps on a tight Standing Headscissor. The FAWNatics aren’t sure what she intends to do with both hands still tied behind her back, and indeed there’s a collective murmur of concern when the clown attempts to rise and lift Cosworth off the deck for a Back Body Drop. It was all part of the plan, however, and Camille throws herself into a perfectly timed front flip, the combined momentum of the somersault and the Back Body Drop allowing her to bring Roulette along for the ride. The pair of wrestlers tumble in the air before crashing to the deck, Camille landing on the seat of her pants and Roulette landing on the crown of her skull.
Soléne whistles her appreciation and asks, “What’s that one called?”
“Canadian Destroyer,” Cosworth replies with a slight grimace. “Ugh, they really should call it the Butt Destroyer though…”
She wiggles her rear end against the canvas to take out some of the sting from the impact, and then knee walks over to the crumpled form of her adversary. Normally, Camille would have gone for a pin, but then remembers that referee is still out cold, which leaves her with few options. Left with nothing else to do, she lays down on top of the clown and curls herself into a ball in an attempt to pass her bound hands out from under her legs.
Suddenly, Roulette’s eyes snap open, causing Cosworth to yelp in shock and abandon her Houdini act. She tries to scramble away, though from her awkward position with her hands looped behind her knees she doesn’t get very far before the clown slams a Hammerfist into the side of her head. The concussive blow quells any resistance for the time being, and Roulette lays out Camille flat on her back with her hands still tied.
“You’re a little sleepy looking,” the clown says as she climbs into a reverse straddle on Cosworth’s stomach. “I know a great way to get buzzed.”
She shoves her right hand into her opponent’s trunks once again, and this time Roulette does not hesitate in applying a devastating Crotch Claw. Camille screams in agony and horror, immediately brought back to her senses by the sensation of fingernails digging into her bare flesh.
Through the inferno of pain, however, she feels something else.
Coming from the palm of her tormentor’s hand is a high-pitched buzzing, an almost-electric trill that’s not entirely unpleasant. For the first twenty seconds, Cosworth thinks she’s just imagining it, but then Roulette pours more strength into her squeeze and the intensity of the sensation increases tenfold. Camille opens her mouth to scream again, except all that comes out is a throaty moan.
“You likey?” Roulette asks while she pumps her right hand, rhythmically clenching and unclenching. “I think you likey.”
Not wanting another moan to escape her traitorous mouth, Cosworth bites down on her bottom lip so hard that she draws blood. The metallic taste in her mouth serves as an effective wet blanket and allows her to somewhat collect her thoughts. She takes a few deep breaths to gather herself, and with a sudden scream of effort, she pitches to one side to throw off her attacker, and then quickly scrambles to her feet.
Camille breathes a sigh of relief at having escaped the Crotch Claw, and from the other side of the ring Roulette waves at her with an open right hand and a leering smile. At first she doesn’t know what the clown is doing, but then she notices that while the clawing and tearing and gouging in her groin have stopped, the vibrating and buzzing have not. A stricken look of terror washes across her face when Cosworth realizes that with her hands still bound she has no way of removing whatever devious device Roulette had planted in her trunks.
“My Crotch Claw is the gift that keeps on giving,” the clown informs her. “Just like herpes.”
“Don’t worry. She doesn’t really have herpes.” Soléne helpfully reassures.
“G -- Good to kn -- knnnnooooooow…” Camille moans as the buzzer continues to work its magic.
She tries to fill her mind with the un-sexiest thoughts possible, everything ranging from macroeconomics to baseball, and finally the mental image of a naked Donald Trump in a tub of pudding manages to temporarily stem the tide. Knowing that she was now working with a very short time limit, Cosworth charges at her opponent, looking to end the match before her orgasm is broadcast live across six continents.
Camille tackles Roulette to the ground with a Flying Shoulder Block, then immediately scrambles upright. She’s up a fraction of a second before her opponent, and she throws herself into another high arcing front flip, this time slamming both heels into the back of Roulette’s head just as the clown is trying to stand up. The Flip Kick knocks Roulette to the ground, and wasting no time, Cosworth dashes for the nearest corner and summits the top turnbuckle with a single leap. Her feet have barely touched the ropes before she backflips off, blindly launching her Moonsault without taking a moment to glance back at her target.
That proves to be her undoing when Roulette rolls clear of the landing zone, leaving Camille to splatter herself on the deck with a massive belly flop. She bounces from the impact and miraculously maintains consciousness, but that turns out to be more of a curse than a blessing when a pair of arms hook her by her elbows and drag her up onto wobbly legs. Cosworth’s bound hands make it impossible for her to resist the Double Chickenwing, and things get much worse for her when Roulette lifts hoists her high into the air by her trapped arms.
“AAHHHHHHH GOD! NO! NOOOO!” Camille wails, fighting against both the pain in her shoulders and the pleasure in her loins. “PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOOWWWWWWN!”
Roulette does no such thing, opting instead to parade around the ring and display her opponent like a piece of meat to the audience. The FAWNatics start booing, but after about a minute the jeers turn into catcalls as Cosworth seems to be at her limit for self control, and as much as they love to see a babyface prevail, they love to see a babyface orgasm just as much.
Still suspended in the air, Camille rubs her thighs together in an attempt to dislodge the buzzer, although she only succeeds in working the fans into even more of a lustful lather. Combined with her moans and the way the Elevated Chickenwing pulls back her shoulders and accentuates her breasts, Cosworth looks very much like a woman in the throes of ecstasy.
She’s not quite there yet, however, and she still has fight left in her. Camille raises her right leg and forcefully swings it backwards, smashing her heel into the clown’s kneecap. The blow drops Roulette to the mat, and Cosworth tumbles free then rolls to the other side of the ring. The fans cheer her escape, although there is a palpable undercurrent of disappointment as well.
Camille rises to one knee with her eyes tightly shut, the buzzer still stimulating her both in the best and the worst of ways. Her moans turn into a blend of rapid, high-pitched wheezes and sobs, and every sinew in her body stands out in sharp relief as her muscles clench and stiffen. The cameras zoom in for an extreme close-up, and her visage is plastered onto the FAWNtron so that the fans may better see her impending O-face. Meanwhile, Roulette appears content to let her buzzer finish off her opponent, watching from a distance as Cosworth struggles to control herself.
“What's the matter?” the clown asks. “You getting horny?”
“No…” Camille pants in between her rasping breaths. “I'm getting awesome…”
Her eyelids snap open to reveal a pair of fully dilated pupils, a side effect of her overwhelming adrenaline rush that turns her eyes from hazel to black. Thanks to the close-up on the FAWNtron, everyone in the arena sees this as well, and the audience rises to their feet and roars with approval in anticipation of the first public sighting of Cosworth’s Ninety Seconds of Awesome since FAWNAMANIA.
Roulette is decidedly less impressed, and she charges forward and attempts to tackle her opponent. A heartbeat before contact, however, Camille springs up from her crouch and soars clear over the clown, turning 180 degrees mid-flight so that she's facing her opponent’s back when she lands. Roulette spins around to reacquire her target, but all she sees are the soles of Cosworth’s shoes moments before they slam into her face and send her to the mat.
Camille pushes off of Roulette’s face into a backflip to complete a gorgeous Dropsault. She even manages pass her hands out from under her tucked legs mid-flip, so that she lands with her hands tied in front rather than behind her back. This allows her a much greater degree of freedom, and she quickly uses her teeth to pull apart the knotted streamer and free her hands. Cosworth shoots a knowing glance at the production booth in the upper decks of the arena, then she shouts the magic word.
“SHAZAM!”
Rather than calling down a bolt of lightning, it's a signal for one of the technicians in the booth to activate a black light filter for the ring lights. Under the ultraviolet rays, every inch of Camille’s exposed skin glows blue with a complex pattern of circuit lines, drawn on with special paint invisible under normal lights. The audience collectively gasps in amazement at the futuristic body art, but when Roulette rises to her feet their awe turns into terror. The clown’s face paint also glows under the black light, but the smudged, runny makeup gives the appearance that her face is deformed and melting, and when the grotesque image is featured on the FAWNtron, there are quite a few blood-curdling shrieks of horror from the audience.
“This is almost as bad as that Make-A-Wish disaster,“ Soléne sighs to herself.
Her opponent’s suddenly monstrous appearance spurs Camille into action, and she closes the distance with a lightning quick dash. Roulette swings at her head with a wild, looping Haymaker, but Cosworth ducks the blow by crouching lower into her stance before popping up and smashing her right bicep into the clown’s chin. Not content with such a mundane move, Camille smoothly transitions the follow-through of her European Uppercut into a Three Quarters Facelock, even as she twists in her stance and launches into yet another backflip while still clasping Roulette’s head. Cosworth lands on her knees rather than her feet, and the rotational inertia of the flip slams the back of the clown’s skull into the mat.
Immediately after her incredible Standing Shiranui, Camille shifts her grip to a Reverse Front Facelock and climbs to her feet with her opponent in tow. She has Roulette in perfect position for a Dragon Sleeper, although once again she elects for something more spectacular, hauling the clown upside down and vertical before laying out on her back to complete the Inverted Brainbuster, once again driving Roulette’s head into the deck. Roulette sticks upright like a lawn dart for a moment or two, then she crumples face down to the mat.
Camille isn’t done, however, as she wants to make extra sure the monstrous clown is down and out. She secures a Half-Nelson with her right arm and drags her opponent up again, then she drops to one knee and slams Roulette’s spine across her posted thigh. The STO Backbreaker draws a slight shiver from the semi-conscious clown, and to Cosworth that’s a sign that she’s not finished yet. She plants her left hand in Roulette’s back for support, then explodes into a vertical leap, twisting and flipping in mid-air. After a textbook Fosbury flop, both wrestlers are upside down and four feet in the air, and then gravity does the rest, slamming the clown’s head into the canvas for the third time.
Camille pops up immediately after her Meteor Slam finishing move to a raucous standing ovation, but she seems to be in great distress. Both hands clasped between her thighs, she rapidly shifts her weight from one foot to the other, as she looks at the entrance ramp, then Soléne, then the still-unconscious referee, then the entrance ramp once more.
“Nnnnnnrrrggh… c -- c -- can’t hold it… anymore…!” she groans, before she quickly slides out under the bottom rope and then rolls under the apron to hopefully get some privacy beneath the ring.
Cosworth’s unexpected disappearance seems to be a cue for the lights to return to normal, and the fans sit in confused silence. With Camille suddenly AWOL, and both Roulette and the referee out cold, they are unsure if the match has ended. Even the ring announcer and timekeeper appear confused as they glance at each other before exchanging helpless shrugs.
Fortunately, Soléne still has her wits about her. She grabs a 64 ounce soda from a fan in the front row, slides into the ring, and dumps the ice cold drink on the referee. That brings the man sputtering back to life, and Loree quickly makes her exit before the official fully regains his senses.
“Wha -- What happened…?” he asks groggily.
“You just missed the match of the year!” Soléne replies. “Isn’t that right, Orlando?!”
The FAWNatics enthusiastically shout their agreement.
“Any funny business?” the referee demands.
“Why, of course not! My client most certainly did not erotically assault her opponent with a streamer and a hand buzzer!”
Loree’s suspiciously specific denial is utterly unconvincing, but according to the rulebook the official can only call what he sees, and he did not see much of anything. With a shake of his head, he begins counting, and when he reaches “TEN!” and Roulette still has not stirred, he calls for the bell.
“Your winner, by knockout, and moving on to the final round…the Girl of Tomorrow... Camille Cosworth!”
The audience cheers the result, as does Soléne. She checks her cellphone, then procures a microphone to do some post-match promotion for her employer.
“What a fantastic display of athleticism! Almost as fantastic as the latest deals from the Circus Maximus! Book a three night stay and receive a complimentary Roulette wind-up doll! Pull the string on her back and listen as she says her favorite clever catch phrases such as, ‘I’ll eat your firstborn!’ or ‘Your soul is mine!’ Platinum rewards members may also enjoy --”
“Hey, did I miss anything?” Yoona interrupts as she walks up from behind, prompting Loree to stare at her in disbelief. “Slippery little bastard got all the way to the parking lot, but I got him. I got him real fucking good --”
She cuts herself off to take a look around the arena.
“Aw shit, the match is over, isn't it?! Fuck! FUCK! Did Cam do that shit with the black lights?” Park asks in exasperation.
Soléne wordlessly nods.
“GODDAMN IT!” Yoona roars. “I’ve been painting that shit on her every match for the last three months, and the ONE TIME she uses it, I’m not even around?! And where the fuck is she anyway?!”
Loree points to underneath the ring, and Park lifts up the apron and squats down to take a look.
“Cam! What the hell are you doing? It’s so dark in there I can’t see shit! Get your ass out here so we can -- ARRGGGHH!”
Yoona shrieks as she’s suddenly pulled into the crawlspace beneath the ring, though her screams remain clearly audible.
“NO! NOO! GET AWAY, YOU MANIAC! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME, DAMN IT! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO MEEEEEEEEE!”
Park rolls out from under the apron, pants gone and shirt in tatters, and she starts desperately crawling towards Soléne.
“HELP ME! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T JUST FUCKING STAND THERE! SHE’S AN ANIMAL! SHE’S AN AAAARRRRRGGGHHH!”
Something latches around her ankle and drags her kicking and screaming into the darkness.
Soléne sighs wistfully, “Oh, to be young and in love…”