Post by bigfan on Jul 23, 2017 20:48:45 GMT
With the crowd still buzzing from the previous FAWN conflagartion, the ring announcer breaks into the steady humming buzz of the fans to bring Summer Swelter back to order.
“Ladies and gentlemen. The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a 20 minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Charlotte, North Carolina, she stands five feet one inch tall, and weighs in this evening at one-hundred and fourteen pounds...please welcome... SKKKYYYLLLAAARRR MIIITTTCCCHHHEEELLLLLL!!!!!”
SKYLAR MITCHELL:
Deprived of the departed Cynthia and Sophie and yes, even Tamara, the FAWNatics respond with a rousing ovation as the FAWN Arena’s sound system pumps out the theme for the Li’lest Mitchell. The roar of the crowd speaks volumes for the hopes they have for her tonight, hoping she gets off the schneid in the big leagues.
While a force in the Desert and with reasonable success in The Jungle, Daddy’s Little Mitchell had yet to record a victory in Orlando. Still, young Skylar had made a considerable impression on the FAWN faithful with her plucky fighting spirit. Additionally, she now carried the Mitchell name forward alone. The assembled seem eager to see if that responsibility will raise her game.
With Darius Rucker’s ‘Southern Style’ playing over the speakers during her approach, the Lil’st Mitchell makes it a point to slap EVERY single hand offered her way-- ESPECIALLY the younger ones--as she lopes down the aisle and toward the ring.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpKFRP05Po4 )
Finally, Mitchell dives under the bottom rope, springing to her feet. Skye unzips her hot pink hoodie to reveal a royal purple lycra bikini top and short shorts, with white pads and boots.
Old school FAWN fans certainly note the distinct similarity in Skylar’s togs and the gear worn by her older sister Cynthia at the beginning of her career.
Settling into her corner, Mitchell takes in a deep breath, hoping to pacify the swarm of butterflies congregating in the pit of her stomach. Back in the bigs and knowing the detestable traitor she’s facing, one with many reasons to take out her frustrations for the losses she’d piled up against sister Cynthia, Skye seems to understand both the danger and opportunity Summer Swelter presents to her career in Orlando.
As the throng continues to throw their Mitchell love behind its lil’st member, the FAWNatics have to turn their lungs to the next test when Iggy and Charlie belt their anthem throughout the arena.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
‘Fancy’ blares over the speakers as the one and, thank god, only Pleasant Valley Pariah strides to the middle of the stage as if she owns the place.
Kylie, with her ever present Louis Vuitton clutch in hand, wears a black one-piece, black leather belt around her midriff, black lace covering her shoulders and upper arms, the Iowan in her signature LV. She finishes things with black boots and pads.
Behind, on the FAWNtron, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Noticeably absent are her previously ever-present partner Jasmine, and manager Demetria.
Vanilla Chill shakes her head, seemingly in disgust at both the Orlando lowlifes and the sacrificial lamb in the ring. The platinum blonde heads down the ramp and aisle, pointing and talking shyt about the “the Mitchell brat”.
Kylie Sanders:
Reaching the squared circle, the elfin blonde turns a stern gaze to the multitudes heaping their disdain upon her and tossing less than complimentary remarks at the turncoat.
The FAWN original heads up the steps and enters, the ring announcer picking up his cue.
“And her challenger, from da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 114 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Mid-ring, Ky, stick already in hand, waves at the crowd to shut the hell up. They only turn up the volume of their hatred.
“So Eliza Bliss wins the lottery and somehow, someway, picks up a win over me,” Kylie shouts. The crowd cheers gleefully, placing a sour puss on Kylie’s flawless features.
“And for that, da man puts me in here with this little mini-Cyn. Sure, she’s the only Mitchell with enough guts to remain in FAWN, but she’s also the only one stupid enough not to leave. They’re trying to put me at the bottom rung with crap like this.”
The crowd’s cheers turn to jeers as Sanders motions to Mitchell and Skye doesn’t seem at all amused with Kylie’s harsh words, stepping out toward the solitary Hawkeye.
“Back your ass up, lil girl,” Ky demands, holding up a palm that she expects to halt Skylar in her tracks.
With the diminutive, dark-haired grappler not stopping, Kylie brings the microphone down from her lips and takes a swing at Mitchell’s forehead, with the device firmly clenched in her right hand.
Skye ducks the cross and sends Sanders chin-first to the deck with a drop toe hold. The microphone pops out of Kylie’s hand, ‘clunking’ on the canvas. With the device unclaimed, the ref kicks it out of the ring and signals for the bell as a cursing Kylie struggles to her feet, cupping her aching chin with one hand and waving for a time out with the other as she turns toward the poised Skylar.
The Lil’st Mitchell takes off toward the veteran instantaneous to the bell and lifts into a perfectly placed dropkick that crashes into the jaw of FAWN’s most hated traitor. The former members of the Kylie Corps roar their approval as the crop-topped, platinum blonde hits the deck and rolls out under the ropes. Kylie’s boot leather hits the floor and she staggers in a backpedal, catching herself against the barricade.
“I said…” Kylie growls, holding up a palm. “I guess it’s nature not nurture when it comes to you Mitchells being inveterate cheats since both your mother and father turned out frauds.”
Skylar shakes her head, little grin in place. She sits on the middle rope, pushing up the top.
“Come on, Kylie. Let’s give the people a show. And I promise I have no Sharpie in my back pocket.”
A flustered Sanders stomps the cement floor in front of her, demanding Mitchell keep her mouth shut, particularly about one of Kylie’s most embarrassing moments, namely when sister Cynthia claimed ownership of Ky, writing it in black ink across Sanders’ chest.
Kylie moves to the apron then demands Skylar back off. Skye obliges, waving the platinum blonde in as she does. Carefully, the Pleasant Valley Pariah climbs to the apron and slides through.
“Every little thing Cynthia did to me. I’m going to do worse to you,” Kylie informs.
“Every big thing too?” Skye retorts cheekily.
The words cause Kylie’s face to flush. A Mitchell who’d rarely made it out of The Jungle taunting her over Cynthia’s domination of their rivalry. Blood boiling, Sanders charges the baby-faced brunette. Skye pivots and sweeps Kylie by. The Hawkeye hits the ropes and rebounds, only to immediately be NAILED by a heavy clothesline from Mitchell that sends Kylie tumbling over the ropes in a backflip.
Showing her ring awareness, Kylie manages to grasp the top rope after going over, but a scrambling Skye, already back to vertical, delivers a dropkick to the traitor’s chest and Kylie goes flying to the floor. She lands hard, unable to keep her feet, rolling to a seat against the metal divider.
Sanders’ hazel peepers stare lasers at Mitchell who again takes her seat, opening the strands wide for another return by the blonde, the crowd chuckling at Skye’s sass. Kylie slaps the cement with both palms, fuming.
Ky grabs the barricade and shoves her way up, turning on a fan who pats her on the shoulder, threatening to remove his pancreas. A call from Mitchell returns the platinum blonde’s attention to the ring and Sanders moves to the apron’s edge. This time, the elfin features of Kylie scrunch in worry but she doesn’t force Mitchell to back off, allowing the younger grappler to pay her respects. The Hawkeye slides through the widened opening and immediately shoots a toe kick at the Carolina cutie as Skye unseats herself.
But the brunette is ready, no doubt schooled by her older siblings about Sanders’ duplicitous ways. Skylar lifts Ky’s boot high, forcing Sanders to hop, though she doesn’t force Kylie to do it for long, sweeping the opposite leg out from under her foe.
Kylie plops to the canvas with Mitchell still in control of one ankle. Almost immediately, the baby-faced brunette leaps into the air, legs extended and drops both across the inner thigh of the captured stem.
The Pleasant Valley Pariah howls in pain, grasping at her throbbing, stretched hammy as a springy Mitchell hops to her feet. She grabs Kylie by the noggin and compels the veteran to her feet. Tucking Kylie’s head tight under her arm, Skylar races to the strands and leaps into the middle rope. Using the cable as a springboard, Skye sends the women in a whipping 180 and sits out, SLAMMING Kylie’s face into the canvas.
Springboard bulldog
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqWPGaB2ax0 )
Ky flops to her back from the forceful impact and the Lil’st Mitchell dives on top, pinning the FAWN original in a crossbody, hooking an ivory-skinned leg and rolling Ky up tight, shoulders plastered to the canvas for…
ONE…
TWO…
Kylie kicks her way out of the cradle, exploding to a dazed seat on the canvas, hazel eyes glassy.
The crowd, overcome by Mitchell’s outstanding start, chants “SKY-LAR. SKY-LAR.”
It’s hard to miss for the baby of the Mitchell clan who’s had a tough time living up to her siblings and staying in the bigs for more than cups of coffee. The support clearly fires her up for that very reason. She moves to the ring’s edge and claps along, delighted at the attention and positive reinforcement.
A few strides away, Kylie shakes out the cobwebs and rises slowly, in need of getting in gear and without the jump start Jasmine and Demetria could provide. It felt far from ‘Chilly’ in the ring, what with Kylie in with a Mitchell and the match remaining in ‘memory lane’ territory. Skylar returns her attention to the task at hand and races at the platinum blonde, PLANTING Kylie’s spine to canvas with a running STO.
Running STO
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjc_-bbGyT4 )
Skye dives into a schoolgirl pin, her knees atop Kylie’s biceps for…
ONE…
TWO…
Sanders curls her body and legs up and back, slipping the lower limbs under the arms of the brunette. When Ky throws her legs back toward the canvas, she frees herself in time and indeed pins Mitchell for…
ONE…
…before Skylar slides out of the pinning predicament.
Both women scramble to their feet, but having over a decade’s less pounding on her odometer, Skylar’s ready first. She scoops a rising Sanders off the mat and lifts her across her shoulders into a fireman’s carry.
Immediately, the former Corps members prepare for the just desserts of a Pleasant Valley Driver. Whether that’s what Skylar has in mind is never discovered as Kylie squirms her way down Mitchell’s back, leaps into a tight tuck, pressed to Mitchell’s shoulderblades, and lays out, blowing the hell out of Skylar’s lungs when the two hit the canvas.
The babyfaced brunette slops to her face and chest before curling to her side. Meanwhile, Kylie draws in deep breaths, staring at the lights in the ceiling. She slowly rises to a seat and surveys, enjoying the silence of the FAWNatics’ shut mouths.
Ky rears back like she’s going to kip to her feet then waves that idea off, slowly climbing there instead. Grinning maniacally, she puts boots to the ribs, chest, and head of Mitchell; any piece of the downed brunette she can find unguarded.
Having thoroughly pacified her foe for the time being, she hovers over Mitchell and addresses the crowd.
“The Chill has fallen on this bytch,” Kylie shouts. “Ain’t nothin’ da man or any Mitchell on the continent can do about it.”
Sanders sinks her nails into Skylar’s scalp and yanks the babyfaced brunette to her feet then gives Mitchell an echoing paintbrush of a slap to the cheek. Exchanging her grip for a shoulder and wrist, Kylie tosses Skye to the nearby buckles. There isn’t time or territory to turn into the collision and Mitchell THUMPS in chest-first. She rebounds toward the waiting Sanders, staggering in a backpedal into Kylie’s arms.
The Hawkeye wraps those arms around Mitchell’s ivory-skinned tummy and backlips the Lil’st Mitchell into a bridging German Suplex, Skylar Over and Done. Mitchell folds atop herself, ass pointed to the rafters, the crowd moaning, as Ky holds on for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Skye bicycles her legs into twisting a shoulder off the canvas and she tumbles to her side, breaking the bridge and escaping out of Kylie’s former finisher. The crowd leaps to its feet in surprise and delight. With the move perhaps used too soon, Kylie attempting to dismiss Mitchell with its early appearance, the escape still draws some joyous “YES” chants from former members of the Corps.
Kylie leaps to her feet and gets in the official’s face, certain there was no way the Jungle denizen could have kicked free, but the ref remains steadfast and when the crowd starts a “TWO” chant, a frustrated Chill gives them a one-fingered salute.
Sanders moves to Mitchell, Skylar on all fours and crawling to an empty corner, but Kylie gives her a taste of Vanilla, mounting Mitchell in a forward-facing straddle, ready to ride Skye. Ky lifts off her foe slightly then drives her backside into the base of Mitchell’s spine, flattening the brunette to the canvas.
Settling in a crouch, the veteran posts one arm of her aching foe over a bended knee and does likewise with the opposite number. Instead of cupping her hands for a standard camel, Kylie snakes her upper limbs under and around those of Mitchell, lacing and locking her fingers in a full nelson. It’s with that grip Sanders yanks Skye’s head and upper body off the deck until the Lil’st Mitchell is mewling in pain, her spinal column arched until her face is pointed to the rafters.
“One thing your sister should have told you. Don’t fuck with me,” the platinum blonde growls. “I can’t afford losses to girls like you.”
“I know. Too old,” Skylar grunts.
The words seem to strike a nerve as Kylie gives up the clutch to SLAM Mitchell’s face into the deck.
“There is a clock,” Kylie says matter-of-factly while thumping a boot into Skye’s right set of ribs, prompting the babyfaced brunette to roll to her back.
“But I have a feeling mine’s not as close to midnight as yours.”
Sanders leaps into the air above Mitchell and double mushroom stomps Skylar’s bosom, flattening, as best Ky can, breast to breastbone. Kylie grinds her boot soles into the thinly-covered tender tissue, drawing a yelp of pain and protest from Skylar.
Enjoying the mewls of pain, Kylie steps off her foe, the last surviving member of the Mitchell clan in FAWN, and delivers a stomp to her side before taking a victory lap. Every corner of the arena erupts with hate for the organization’s mother of all traitors. Sanders delights in the disdain, waving happily at her former Corps.
“You all want this and you know it,” Kylie shouts. “I was in her shoes, so I know.”
The boos only grow louder and the platinum blonde turns to track down Skye, the young brunette having made it up to one knee in the interim. The Pleasant Valley Pariah approaches one hand extended to take Skylar by her dark mop. Mitchell shoots upward, driving a right fist into Kylie’s gut, doubling the veteran over with a deep groan.
However, Sanders quickly responds, lifting out of her slumped position with a European Uppercut that straightens the Jungle denizen. A shooting toe kick to Skye’s tummy follows and a THUMPING forearm blow to Skylar’s spine. Mitchell’s backbone bows, her face etched in pain.
Taking a wrist, Kyle aims Skye at the far buckles and whips her away. The Lil’st Mitchell races into the corner and hits hard, but when Kylie charges after, she’s ready. Using the ropes on either side, Mitchell vaults into the air, extending her legs and SLAMMING them into Kylie’s chin.
Sanders is staggered for a moment and Skylar, now sitting on the top buckle, snatches her foe by her platinum bob from behind, pulling her in close, tugging a yipping Ky to a stance on the bottom ropes.
“Cynthia made some mistakes,” Skylar whispers, “but one of them wasn’t continually kicking your ass.”
Kylie reaches back, capturing Skye’s head with laced hands behind, pulling her foe’s chin to the crown of her skull. Sanders drops to the canvas, jacking Skye’s jaw. Ky turns and collects a still seated Skylar under both arms. She spins and sends Mitchell flipping to the canvas from the middle ropes with a ring-rattling Iconoclasm as the FAWN original sits out.
Iconoclasm
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=coGmj8Ru5eg )
The impact forces a spasm from the dazed brunette and Kylie snatches a raised leg to pull Mitchell into a tight cradle for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Skylar does her family proud, kicking her way free and spilling to her side. Sanders is less appreciative, joining her fists and slamming a double axhandle into Skye’s side.
“Brat,” Kylie grunts, latching onto a wrist and shoulder to ‘guide’ the brunette back to her feet for more punishment. Turning Skylar to face her, Sanders dips one arm between her opponent’s legs while forcing the opposite hand into Mitchell’s abdomen to help in lifting the Jungle native high above, stalling Skylar above for a vertical suplex. As Sanders is ready to drop, Ky shifts her extended foe toward the ropes, letting Skye’s shins drop across the top cable. The rebound assists in sending Mitchell over at an accelerated velocity in a slingshot suplex.
But Kylie undercompensates for both the speed and the resilience of the Lil’st Mitchell and Skye lands on her feet behind Sanders. The platinum blonde spins to survey the wreckage only to find Skylar turned and facing her. The babyfaced brunette leaps into Sanders, wrapping up Ky’s neck in a guillotine grip before throwing her bodyweight in reverse and taking Kylie down with a DDT that Skye rolls over into a schoolgirl pin.
Guillotine DDT
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfE-MyVCjX4 )
Skylar’s palms press against the shoulders of the wriggling Kylie for…
ONE…
TWO…
Ky kicks free but immediately gets tugged into a front facelock and is roughly yanked to her feet. Sanders manages to pivot and drive a series of elbows into Skylar’s gut, loosening the brunette’s hold on the crafty vet. Kylie shoves Skye to the cables a few feet afield and the blue-eyed brunette rebounds toward a waiting Sanders.
Kylie swivels and shifts her arms to pluck Skylar off the canvas, seemingly for a side slam, but the momentum created by Mitchell is more than Sanders plans for and the slippery Skye flips within the Hawkeye’s grasp then spins around the befuddled blonde and PLANTS Kylie’s skull into the canvas like a lawndart with a Satellite DDT that has the crowd ‘ooohing’ from the impact and roaring in anticipation of a career-making upset.
Satellite DDT
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgCcKowooOM )
Kylie’s flaccid frame tumbles over to a lifeless spreadeagle and Skylar quickly climbs aboard to continue her sister’s legacy of laying out the former Pleasant Valley Princess. She covers Kylie beneath her in a full body pin, strapping Kylie’s arms to the deck over the blonde’s head, nose to nose, a light Eskimo kiss provided as the ref counts out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
A glassy-eyed Ky reacts out of the survival instinct she’s built up in over a decade of FAWN wars, barely pushing a shoulder up in time to save herself. A hopeful Mitchell looks to the official but gets only two fingers raised. The babyfaced brunette’s head hangs for a split second, but she gets back to work.
Shoveling a punch-drunk Sanders to her chest, Skye straddles the flattened Sanders, plucking her feet off the canvas at the ankles. Slowly but surely, Mitchell brings Kylie back to full consciousness as she forces Ky’s spine into an ever more agonizing arch. Kylie’s elfin features are twisted in knots as is her backbone, Skye’s Boston Crab showing the second-generation crispness all of the current generation of Mitchells show.
“Give it up, Kylie,” Skylar advises over her shoulder, dropping to one knee with both her foe’s legs remaining in her possession, drawing a squeal of pain from Ky but no surrender.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I…”. Skylar stops herself, biting her lower lip. “Aw…who am I kidding?”
She tugs Kylie’s captured stems back even further until Sanders’ heels nearly touch the crown of her head.
“I said…GIVE…UP!”
The welled hazel pools of Sanders show Mitchell knows how to wrench every iota of pain out of the Crab and Kylie’s right hand hovers suspiciously over the canvas. The crowd picks up on it and starts to chant “TAP…TAP…TAP”.
Sanders strongly considers before sinking her nails into the canvas, FAWN’s Benedict Arnold pulling her way toward the ropes. Skye fights the Hawkeye’s efforts tooth and nail, but Kylie is eventually able to wrap a palm around the bottom rope and the ref dutifully calls for the break, which Mitchell provides instantly, the crowd politely clapping Mitchell’s decision while perhaps hoping she’d torture the traitor more.
Kylie embraces the lowermost rope with both arms and legs, making sweet love to it as she cries for Skylar to be kept at bay. The official steps between, asking the brunette to take a couple steps back. She obliges.
The platinum blonde rolls over the top of the rope and carefully rises. She rests against the cables from the outside, long enough for the striped-shirt to start his count. Mitchell isn’t any more patient, finally charging Ky, dipping a shoulder and gutting the inattentive Kylie. The platinum blonde gasps but manages to hold onto the top rope, preventing herself from flying to the floor.
Skylar snatches Kylie’s noggin, throwing one of Sanders’ limp arms over a shoulder and the Lil’st Mitchell shows her growing tenacity in vaulting Kylie up and over with a suplex that sends Kylie CRASHING to her back. Sanders sits up, arching her backbone and cursing a blue streak, hand reaching for the base of her spine.
Skylar slides behind the seated Sanders and snakes her arms around the neck of her foe, snatching a wrist in the process and drawing it across Kylie’s throat, securing a Cobra Clutch as best she can. Using the grip to tug Kylie to her feet, Mitchell pulls her foe to vertical and tightens her grasp on the flailing Sanders. Apparently fearing she won’t be able to keep it applied until the struggling blonde goes beddy-bye, Skylar takes Kylie to Tobacco Road by using the Cobra Clutch to launch Sanders into the air and SLAMMING her face and chest first to the deck.
There Kylie remains, motionless. A panting Mitchell takes a moment to compose and shoves Sanders to her back, the FAWN original spreading into a limp starfish, limbs pointing to all directions on the compass. Skylar grabs both legs and rolls into a recline atop the softly rolling chest of the blonde. The ref drops for the count and gets to…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOO!
Again Ky survives, her legendary ability to withstand accumulating abuse in the ring proven true once again. The groaning crowd is echoed on Skylar’s face as she seems unsure how to beat the persistent Hawkeye. Skye raises an arm and twirls an invisible lasso, reenergizing the crowd as they realize she has something in mind. Tugging a wobbly Kylie to vertical, the babyface brunette takes a couple steps back as the faltering Sanders sways in front of her.
“In honor of all my sisters,” Skylar announces to the glassy-eyed blonde, “greetings from Charlotte.”
The Lil’st Mitchell stomps her boot to the deck, loading up her superkick finisher. She shoots the shoe leather at the point of the chin of one of her family’s most bitter rivals, but Kylie ducks underneath!
Mitchell pirouettes through the swing-and-miss, the brunette’s 360 ended by a weak but effective toe kick, the boot giving the gassed Kylie enough time to reach forward and sink her talons into Mitchell’s dark locks. Kylie instantly sends her tailbone to the canvas with Skye in tow and while the platinum blonde’s butt takes a bruise, the face of the Lil’st Mitchell is PLANTED to canvas with an X-factor that instantly changes the atmosphere in the arena.
With the Mitchell legacy face down and twitching, Kylie climbs aboard her back in a reverse straddle situated just above the brunette’s hips. Reaching a claw to the sky, some of the former Corps can’t help themselves, responding simultaneously out of years of instinct with a shout of “FARM…HAND”.
A smirking Kylie sinks her talons into the nerve cluster where Skylar’s left hamstring attaches to her gluteus and drives the digits DEEP into the muscle, digging in her infamous Hammy Clamp. Skye reacts as if 10,000 volts have entered her system and she thrashes wildly beneath the platinum blonde.
“I’m not asking you to give up, sweetheart,” Kylie manages between clenches of her palms and deep breaths. “I want you to suffer for your sister’s sins.”
Skye bucks the parts of her body that respond and she’s giving Sanders a tough ride, showing no intention to give way under Kylie’s signature attack. Ky rises off her haunches and plants her tailbone into the base of Mitchell’s spine, bringing her foe a bit more under control. She rises again to repeat the process, but this time Mitchell is ready and heaves her body in a spin, sending Kylie rolling off, her clamp lost.
Skylar pushes to her feet, limping significantly but improving with each step as blood starts to circulate and nerves start to fire. With the hitch in her giddy-up, she can’t stay in front of her pursuer for long. Ky sinks her nails into Skye’s dark locks from behind and brings her retreat to a halt. Mitchell spins to send an elbow into Kylie’s nose, but the platinum blonde slips under and proceeds to lift a knee, thrusting it into Skylar’s navel.
A gagging Mitchell is a doubled ragdoll at Ky’s right hip. The Hawkeye wraps both arms around Skye’s gulping midriff and launches the Lil’set Mitchell high onto her shoulders. Before the brunette can throw a clenched fist, the Pleasant Valley Pariah sits out, depositing Skylar to the deck with her Child of the Corn Driver.
Child of the Corn Driver
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UckX7ScRcY )
The gobsmacked Mitchell spills from between Kylie’s extended stems and Sanders leans leisurely atop what’s left of the Mitchell clan for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREENOOO!
The lax pin certainly helps, but Skylar shows how serious she is about staying in Orlando, peeling a shoulder off the canvas to remain viable. The question is for how long.
Furious, Kylie glares at the official as she grabs the demolished Skylar by her head and drags the limp remains to vertical. Kylie slips behind Mitchell and slides an arm between the brunette’s quaking legs. The FAWN original vaults Skylar across her shoulders in an inverted fireman’s carry, otherwise known as a torture rack, but destroying Skye immediately is more what Kylie has in mind and she immediately sends what’s left of the dark-haired cutie to the deck with the inverted Chilly Valley Driver.
Chilly Valley Driver
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pL_NJHr1_Ok )
Skylar plummets to earth, landing on the back of her skull and her shoulders. She ends in a motionless spreadeagle and Kylie takes no chances with her crossbody pin, hooking Mitchell’s far leg up for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
Sanders releases Skye’s stem, letting it drop to the canvas. She turns to lounge atop the defeated Mitchell as the official calls for the bell. The ring announcer makes the result a sanctioned one.
“Your winner…via pinfall…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders.”
An exhausted Kylie raises her arms in muted celebration and the platinum blonde notices, for some reason, the crowd’s standard level of disdain for a Sanders’ victory is quieter as well.
Perhaps, they’re as worn out as she. Kylie ignores she’s prompting murmurs instead of boos, recovering from the ordeal the Lil’st Mitchell had forced on her. It’s then Kylie’s jerked to her feet in violent fashion then swallowed in a bearhug by a vertically challenged fireplug of a woman in a black tank belly shirt and red bikini briefs. Her bosom overwhelmed by that of the intruder, Kylie gasps for breath, her hazel eyes bulging both from the position she’s in and recognizing who put her there.
“Chr…Chr…Chrissy,” she chokes out in surprise and alarm.
“Good to see you haven’t forgotten me, putz,” Daniel purrs, constricting her powerful arms to draw what’s left of Sanders’ energy and oxygen from her. “God knows Bethany and some of these people have. But I suspect that comes to an end tonight when Chill gets put on ice.”
Daniel gives up her embrace to send Kylie up and over with a belly-to-belly, the Hawkeye crashing to the canvas on her spine. The little fight left in Kylie drives her to roll to her chest and push toward all fours.
Chrissy is clearly in the ring to make a statement she’s the only FAWN original the organization is in need of employing and the Killer Imp grabs Kylie by the ankles, ‘hupping’ the blonde’s lower half up, snatching Sanders around the hips. The crowd and Kylie seem to understand what’s happening, the FAWNatics interest piqued, Kylie’s head shaking ‘no’ emphatically as Chrissy pulls the Hawkeye’s body up to vertical in front of her, then DRIVES Kylie’s skull and shoulders into the thinly-sheathed plywood with her devastating Implosion.
Implosion
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXucT0ZeMBY )
Daniel could have held onto Kylie for a count of 100, Sanders’ limp carcass bundled perfectly for just such an occurrence, but there’s no match and no need and she shoves the remains of the demolished Kylie to the side, the elfin blonde ending in a jumble of torso and limbs.
Chrissy pushes calmly to her feet and calls for a microphone, plucking it out of the air when tossed to her.
“It’s a joke that this pathetic fool reinvents herself as a pale Bates without the booty and keeps getting Pay-Per-Views when a former THREE-time World Champion sits on the sidelines, working the beaches instead of the ring because some commissioner can’t see straight. Well, I’m going to make my own opening. I’m going to take the Chill out of FAWN and bring the Imp back to the throne.”
Daniel tosses the stick away, grabs a wrist of an unconscious Kylie and drags her to Skylar, laying her atop a softly stirring Mitchell, piling blonde on brunette before making her exit to more than a little confusion. The crowd finds it hard to jeer someone who’s laid out Kylie, but as Chrissy continues to show her complete disregard for the fans, they rally with a loud set of catcalls for the Beach Cat to remember them by.
“Ladies and gentlemen. The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a 20 minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Charlotte, North Carolina, she stands five feet one inch tall, and weighs in this evening at one-hundred and fourteen pounds...please welcome... SKKKYYYLLLAAARRR MIIITTTCCCHHHEEELLLLLL!!!!!”
SKYLAR MITCHELL:
Deprived of the departed Cynthia and Sophie and yes, even Tamara, the FAWNatics respond with a rousing ovation as the FAWN Arena’s sound system pumps out the theme for the Li’lest Mitchell. The roar of the crowd speaks volumes for the hopes they have for her tonight, hoping she gets off the schneid in the big leagues.
While a force in the Desert and with reasonable success in The Jungle, Daddy’s Little Mitchell had yet to record a victory in Orlando. Still, young Skylar had made a considerable impression on the FAWN faithful with her plucky fighting spirit. Additionally, she now carried the Mitchell name forward alone. The assembled seem eager to see if that responsibility will raise her game.
With Darius Rucker’s ‘Southern Style’ playing over the speakers during her approach, the Lil’st Mitchell makes it a point to slap EVERY single hand offered her way-- ESPECIALLY the younger ones--as she lopes down the aisle and toward the ring.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpKFRP05Po4 )
Finally, Mitchell dives under the bottom rope, springing to her feet. Skye unzips her hot pink hoodie to reveal a royal purple lycra bikini top and short shorts, with white pads and boots.
Old school FAWN fans certainly note the distinct similarity in Skylar’s togs and the gear worn by her older sister Cynthia at the beginning of her career.
Settling into her corner, Mitchell takes in a deep breath, hoping to pacify the swarm of butterflies congregating in the pit of her stomach. Back in the bigs and knowing the detestable traitor she’s facing, one with many reasons to take out her frustrations for the losses she’d piled up against sister Cynthia, Skye seems to understand both the danger and opportunity Summer Swelter presents to her career in Orlando.
As the throng continues to throw their Mitchell love behind its lil’st member, the FAWNatics have to turn their lungs to the next test when Iggy and Charlie belt their anthem throughout the arena.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
‘Fancy’ blares over the speakers as the one and, thank god, only Pleasant Valley Pariah strides to the middle of the stage as if she owns the place.
Kylie, with her ever present Louis Vuitton clutch in hand, wears a black one-piece, black leather belt around her midriff, black lace covering her shoulders and upper arms, the Iowan in her signature LV. She finishes things with black boots and pads.
Behind, on the FAWNtron, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Noticeably absent are her previously ever-present partner Jasmine, and manager Demetria.
Vanilla Chill shakes her head, seemingly in disgust at both the Orlando lowlifes and the sacrificial lamb in the ring. The platinum blonde heads down the ramp and aisle, pointing and talking shyt about the “the Mitchell brat”.
Kylie Sanders:
Reaching the squared circle, the elfin blonde turns a stern gaze to the multitudes heaping their disdain upon her and tossing less than complimentary remarks at the turncoat.
The FAWN original heads up the steps and enters, the ring announcer picking up his cue.
“And her challenger, from da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 114 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Mid-ring, Ky, stick already in hand, waves at the crowd to shut the hell up. They only turn up the volume of their hatred.
“So Eliza Bliss wins the lottery and somehow, someway, picks up a win over me,” Kylie shouts. The crowd cheers gleefully, placing a sour puss on Kylie’s flawless features.
“And for that, da man puts me in here with this little mini-Cyn. Sure, she’s the only Mitchell with enough guts to remain in FAWN, but she’s also the only one stupid enough not to leave. They’re trying to put me at the bottom rung with crap like this.”
The crowd’s cheers turn to jeers as Sanders motions to Mitchell and Skye doesn’t seem at all amused with Kylie’s harsh words, stepping out toward the solitary Hawkeye.
“Back your ass up, lil girl,” Ky demands, holding up a palm that she expects to halt Skylar in her tracks.
With the diminutive, dark-haired grappler not stopping, Kylie brings the microphone down from her lips and takes a swing at Mitchell’s forehead, with the device firmly clenched in her right hand.
Skye ducks the cross and sends Sanders chin-first to the deck with a drop toe hold. The microphone pops out of Kylie’s hand, ‘clunking’ on the canvas. With the device unclaimed, the ref kicks it out of the ring and signals for the bell as a cursing Kylie struggles to her feet, cupping her aching chin with one hand and waving for a time out with the other as she turns toward the poised Skylar.
The Lil’st Mitchell takes off toward the veteran instantaneous to the bell and lifts into a perfectly placed dropkick that crashes into the jaw of FAWN’s most hated traitor. The former members of the Kylie Corps roar their approval as the crop-topped, platinum blonde hits the deck and rolls out under the ropes. Kylie’s boot leather hits the floor and she staggers in a backpedal, catching herself against the barricade.
“I said…” Kylie growls, holding up a palm. “I guess it’s nature not nurture when it comes to you Mitchells being inveterate cheats since both your mother and father turned out frauds.”
Skylar shakes her head, little grin in place. She sits on the middle rope, pushing up the top.
“Come on, Kylie. Let’s give the people a show. And I promise I have no Sharpie in my back pocket.”
A flustered Sanders stomps the cement floor in front of her, demanding Mitchell keep her mouth shut, particularly about one of Kylie’s most embarrassing moments, namely when sister Cynthia claimed ownership of Ky, writing it in black ink across Sanders’ chest.
Kylie moves to the apron then demands Skylar back off. Skye obliges, waving the platinum blonde in as she does. Carefully, the Pleasant Valley Pariah climbs to the apron and slides through.
“Every little thing Cynthia did to me. I’m going to do worse to you,” Kylie informs.
“Every big thing too?” Skye retorts cheekily.
The words cause Kylie’s face to flush. A Mitchell who’d rarely made it out of The Jungle taunting her over Cynthia’s domination of their rivalry. Blood boiling, Sanders charges the baby-faced brunette. Skye pivots and sweeps Kylie by. The Hawkeye hits the ropes and rebounds, only to immediately be NAILED by a heavy clothesline from Mitchell that sends Kylie tumbling over the ropes in a backflip.
Showing her ring awareness, Kylie manages to grasp the top rope after going over, but a scrambling Skye, already back to vertical, delivers a dropkick to the traitor’s chest and Kylie goes flying to the floor. She lands hard, unable to keep her feet, rolling to a seat against the metal divider.
Sanders’ hazel peepers stare lasers at Mitchell who again takes her seat, opening the strands wide for another return by the blonde, the crowd chuckling at Skye’s sass. Kylie slaps the cement with both palms, fuming.
Ky grabs the barricade and shoves her way up, turning on a fan who pats her on the shoulder, threatening to remove his pancreas. A call from Mitchell returns the platinum blonde’s attention to the ring and Sanders moves to the apron’s edge. This time, the elfin features of Kylie scrunch in worry but she doesn’t force Mitchell to back off, allowing the younger grappler to pay her respects. The Hawkeye slides through the widened opening and immediately shoots a toe kick at the Carolina cutie as Skye unseats herself.
But the brunette is ready, no doubt schooled by her older siblings about Sanders’ duplicitous ways. Skylar lifts Ky’s boot high, forcing Sanders to hop, though she doesn’t force Kylie to do it for long, sweeping the opposite leg out from under her foe.
Kylie plops to the canvas with Mitchell still in control of one ankle. Almost immediately, the baby-faced brunette leaps into the air, legs extended and drops both across the inner thigh of the captured stem.
The Pleasant Valley Pariah howls in pain, grasping at her throbbing, stretched hammy as a springy Mitchell hops to her feet. She grabs Kylie by the noggin and compels the veteran to her feet. Tucking Kylie’s head tight under her arm, Skylar races to the strands and leaps into the middle rope. Using the cable as a springboard, Skye sends the women in a whipping 180 and sits out, SLAMMING Kylie’s face into the canvas.
Springboard bulldog
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqWPGaB2ax0 )
Ky flops to her back from the forceful impact and the Lil’st Mitchell dives on top, pinning the FAWN original in a crossbody, hooking an ivory-skinned leg and rolling Ky up tight, shoulders plastered to the canvas for…
ONE…
TWO…
Kylie kicks her way out of the cradle, exploding to a dazed seat on the canvas, hazel eyes glassy.
The crowd, overcome by Mitchell’s outstanding start, chants “SKY-LAR. SKY-LAR.”
It’s hard to miss for the baby of the Mitchell clan who’s had a tough time living up to her siblings and staying in the bigs for more than cups of coffee. The support clearly fires her up for that very reason. She moves to the ring’s edge and claps along, delighted at the attention and positive reinforcement.
A few strides away, Kylie shakes out the cobwebs and rises slowly, in need of getting in gear and without the jump start Jasmine and Demetria could provide. It felt far from ‘Chilly’ in the ring, what with Kylie in with a Mitchell and the match remaining in ‘memory lane’ territory. Skylar returns her attention to the task at hand and races at the platinum blonde, PLANTING Kylie’s spine to canvas with a running STO.
Running STO
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjc_-bbGyT4 )
Skye dives into a schoolgirl pin, her knees atop Kylie’s biceps for…
ONE…
TWO…
Sanders curls her body and legs up and back, slipping the lower limbs under the arms of the brunette. When Ky throws her legs back toward the canvas, she frees herself in time and indeed pins Mitchell for…
ONE…
…before Skylar slides out of the pinning predicament.
Both women scramble to their feet, but having over a decade’s less pounding on her odometer, Skylar’s ready first. She scoops a rising Sanders off the mat and lifts her across her shoulders into a fireman’s carry.
Immediately, the former Corps members prepare for the just desserts of a Pleasant Valley Driver. Whether that’s what Skylar has in mind is never discovered as Kylie squirms her way down Mitchell’s back, leaps into a tight tuck, pressed to Mitchell’s shoulderblades, and lays out, blowing the hell out of Skylar’s lungs when the two hit the canvas.
The babyfaced brunette slops to her face and chest before curling to her side. Meanwhile, Kylie draws in deep breaths, staring at the lights in the ceiling. She slowly rises to a seat and surveys, enjoying the silence of the FAWNatics’ shut mouths.
Ky rears back like she’s going to kip to her feet then waves that idea off, slowly climbing there instead. Grinning maniacally, she puts boots to the ribs, chest, and head of Mitchell; any piece of the downed brunette she can find unguarded.
Having thoroughly pacified her foe for the time being, she hovers over Mitchell and addresses the crowd.
“The Chill has fallen on this bytch,” Kylie shouts. “Ain’t nothin’ da man or any Mitchell on the continent can do about it.”
Sanders sinks her nails into Skylar’s scalp and yanks the babyfaced brunette to her feet then gives Mitchell an echoing paintbrush of a slap to the cheek. Exchanging her grip for a shoulder and wrist, Kylie tosses Skye to the nearby buckles. There isn’t time or territory to turn into the collision and Mitchell THUMPS in chest-first. She rebounds toward the waiting Sanders, staggering in a backpedal into Kylie’s arms.
The Hawkeye wraps those arms around Mitchell’s ivory-skinned tummy and backlips the Lil’st Mitchell into a bridging German Suplex, Skylar Over and Done. Mitchell folds atop herself, ass pointed to the rafters, the crowd moaning, as Ky holds on for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Skye bicycles her legs into twisting a shoulder off the canvas and she tumbles to her side, breaking the bridge and escaping out of Kylie’s former finisher. The crowd leaps to its feet in surprise and delight. With the move perhaps used too soon, Kylie attempting to dismiss Mitchell with its early appearance, the escape still draws some joyous “YES” chants from former members of the Corps.
Kylie leaps to her feet and gets in the official’s face, certain there was no way the Jungle denizen could have kicked free, but the ref remains steadfast and when the crowd starts a “TWO” chant, a frustrated Chill gives them a one-fingered salute.
Sanders moves to Mitchell, Skylar on all fours and crawling to an empty corner, but Kylie gives her a taste of Vanilla, mounting Mitchell in a forward-facing straddle, ready to ride Skye. Ky lifts off her foe slightly then drives her backside into the base of Mitchell’s spine, flattening the brunette to the canvas.
Settling in a crouch, the veteran posts one arm of her aching foe over a bended knee and does likewise with the opposite number. Instead of cupping her hands for a standard camel, Kylie snakes her upper limbs under and around those of Mitchell, lacing and locking her fingers in a full nelson. It’s with that grip Sanders yanks Skye’s head and upper body off the deck until the Lil’st Mitchell is mewling in pain, her spinal column arched until her face is pointed to the rafters.
“One thing your sister should have told you. Don’t fuck with me,” the platinum blonde growls. “I can’t afford losses to girls like you.”
“I know. Too old,” Skylar grunts.
The words seem to strike a nerve as Kylie gives up the clutch to SLAM Mitchell’s face into the deck.
“There is a clock,” Kylie says matter-of-factly while thumping a boot into Skye’s right set of ribs, prompting the babyfaced brunette to roll to her back.
“But I have a feeling mine’s not as close to midnight as yours.”
Sanders leaps into the air above Mitchell and double mushroom stomps Skylar’s bosom, flattening, as best Ky can, breast to breastbone. Kylie grinds her boot soles into the thinly-covered tender tissue, drawing a yelp of pain and protest from Skylar.
Enjoying the mewls of pain, Kylie steps off her foe, the last surviving member of the Mitchell clan in FAWN, and delivers a stomp to her side before taking a victory lap. Every corner of the arena erupts with hate for the organization’s mother of all traitors. Sanders delights in the disdain, waving happily at her former Corps.
“You all want this and you know it,” Kylie shouts. “I was in her shoes, so I know.”
The boos only grow louder and the platinum blonde turns to track down Skye, the young brunette having made it up to one knee in the interim. The Pleasant Valley Pariah approaches one hand extended to take Skylar by her dark mop. Mitchell shoots upward, driving a right fist into Kylie’s gut, doubling the veteran over with a deep groan.
However, Sanders quickly responds, lifting out of her slumped position with a European Uppercut that straightens the Jungle denizen. A shooting toe kick to Skye’s tummy follows and a THUMPING forearm blow to Skylar’s spine. Mitchell’s backbone bows, her face etched in pain.
Taking a wrist, Kyle aims Skye at the far buckles and whips her away. The Lil’st Mitchell races into the corner and hits hard, but when Kylie charges after, she’s ready. Using the ropes on either side, Mitchell vaults into the air, extending her legs and SLAMMING them into Kylie’s chin.
Sanders is staggered for a moment and Skylar, now sitting on the top buckle, snatches her foe by her platinum bob from behind, pulling her in close, tugging a yipping Ky to a stance on the bottom ropes.
“Cynthia made some mistakes,” Skylar whispers, “but one of them wasn’t continually kicking your ass.”
Kylie reaches back, capturing Skye’s head with laced hands behind, pulling her foe’s chin to the crown of her skull. Sanders drops to the canvas, jacking Skye’s jaw. Ky turns and collects a still seated Skylar under both arms. She spins and sends Mitchell flipping to the canvas from the middle ropes with a ring-rattling Iconoclasm as the FAWN original sits out.
Iconoclasm
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=coGmj8Ru5eg )
The impact forces a spasm from the dazed brunette and Kylie snatches a raised leg to pull Mitchell into a tight cradle for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Skylar does her family proud, kicking her way free and spilling to her side. Sanders is less appreciative, joining her fists and slamming a double axhandle into Skye’s side.
“Brat,” Kylie grunts, latching onto a wrist and shoulder to ‘guide’ the brunette back to her feet for more punishment. Turning Skylar to face her, Sanders dips one arm between her opponent’s legs while forcing the opposite hand into Mitchell’s abdomen to help in lifting the Jungle native high above, stalling Skylar above for a vertical suplex. As Sanders is ready to drop, Ky shifts her extended foe toward the ropes, letting Skye’s shins drop across the top cable. The rebound assists in sending Mitchell over at an accelerated velocity in a slingshot suplex.
But Kylie undercompensates for both the speed and the resilience of the Lil’st Mitchell and Skye lands on her feet behind Sanders. The platinum blonde spins to survey the wreckage only to find Skylar turned and facing her. The babyfaced brunette leaps into Sanders, wrapping up Ky’s neck in a guillotine grip before throwing her bodyweight in reverse and taking Kylie down with a DDT that Skye rolls over into a schoolgirl pin.
Guillotine DDT
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfE-MyVCjX4 )
Skylar’s palms press against the shoulders of the wriggling Kylie for…
ONE…
TWO…
Ky kicks free but immediately gets tugged into a front facelock and is roughly yanked to her feet. Sanders manages to pivot and drive a series of elbows into Skylar’s gut, loosening the brunette’s hold on the crafty vet. Kylie shoves Skye to the cables a few feet afield and the blue-eyed brunette rebounds toward a waiting Sanders.
Kylie swivels and shifts her arms to pluck Skylar off the canvas, seemingly for a side slam, but the momentum created by Mitchell is more than Sanders plans for and the slippery Skye flips within the Hawkeye’s grasp then spins around the befuddled blonde and PLANTS Kylie’s skull into the canvas like a lawndart with a Satellite DDT that has the crowd ‘ooohing’ from the impact and roaring in anticipation of a career-making upset.
Satellite DDT
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgCcKowooOM )
Kylie’s flaccid frame tumbles over to a lifeless spreadeagle and Skylar quickly climbs aboard to continue her sister’s legacy of laying out the former Pleasant Valley Princess. She covers Kylie beneath her in a full body pin, strapping Kylie’s arms to the deck over the blonde’s head, nose to nose, a light Eskimo kiss provided as the ref counts out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
A glassy-eyed Ky reacts out of the survival instinct she’s built up in over a decade of FAWN wars, barely pushing a shoulder up in time to save herself. A hopeful Mitchell looks to the official but gets only two fingers raised. The babyfaced brunette’s head hangs for a split second, but she gets back to work.
Shoveling a punch-drunk Sanders to her chest, Skye straddles the flattened Sanders, plucking her feet off the canvas at the ankles. Slowly but surely, Mitchell brings Kylie back to full consciousness as she forces Ky’s spine into an ever more agonizing arch. Kylie’s elfin features are twisted in knots as is her backbone, Skye’s Boston Crab showing the second-generation crispness all of the current generation of Mitchells show.
“Give it up, Kylie,” Skylar advises over her shoulder, dropping to one knee with both her foe’s legs remaining in her possession, drawing a squeal of pain from Ky but no surrender.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I…”. Skylar stops herself, biting her lower lip. “Aw…who am I kidding?”
She tugs Kylie’s captured stems back even further until Sanders’ heels nearly touch the crown of her head.
“I said…GIVE…UP!”
The welled hazel pools of Sanders show Mitchell knows how to wrench every iota of pain out of the Crab and Kylie’s right hand hovers suspiciously over the canvas. The crowd picks up on it and starts to chant “TAP…TAP…TAP”.
Sanders strongly considers before sinking her nails into the canvas, FAWN’s Benedict Arnold pulling her way toward the ropes. Skye fights the Hawkeye’s efforts tooth and nail, but Kylie is eventually able to wrap a palm around the bottom rope and the ref dutifully calls for the break, which Mitchell provides instantly, the crowd politely clapping Mitchell’s decision while perhaps hoping she’d torture the traitor more.
Kylie embraces the lowermost rope with both arms and legs, making sweet love to it as she cries for Skylar to be kept at bay. The official steps between, asking the brunette to take a couple steps back. She obliges.
The platinum blonde rolls over the top of the rope and carefully rises. She rests against the cables from the outside, long enough for the striped-shirt to start his count. Mitchell isn’t any more patient, finally charging Ky, dipping a shoulder and gutting the inattentive Kylie. The platinum blonde gasps but manages to hold onto the top rope, preventing herself from flying to the floor.
Skylar snatches Kylie’s noggin, throwing one of Sanders’ limp arms over a shoulder and the Lil’st Mitchell shows her growing tenacity in vaulting Kylie up and over with a suplex that sends Kylie CRASHING to her back. Sanders sits up, arching her backbone and cursing a blue streak, hand reaching for the base of her spine.
Skylar slides behind the seated Sanders and snakes her arms around the neck of her foe, snatching a wrist in the process and drawing it across Kylie’s throat, securing a Cobra Clutch as best she can. Using the grip to tug Kylie to her feet, Mitchell pulls her foe to vertical and tightens her grasp on the flailing Sanders. Apparently fearing she won’t be able to keep it applied until the struggling blonde goes beddy-bye, Skylar takes Kylie to Tobacco Road by using the Cobra Clutch to launch Sanders into the air and SLAMMING her face and chest first to the deck.
There Kylie remains, motionless. A panting Mitchell takes a moment to compose and shoves Sanders to her back, the FAWN original spreading into a limp starfish, limbs pointing to all directions on the compass. Skylar grabs both legs and rolls into a recline atop the softly rolling chest of the blonde. The ref drops for the count and gets to…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOO!
Again Ky survives, her legendary ability to withstand accumulating abuse in the ring proven true once again. The groaning crowd is echoed on Skylar’s face as she seems unsure how to beat the persistent Hawkeye. Skye raises an arm and twirls an invisible lasso, reenergizing the crowd as they realize she has something in mind. Tugging a wobbly Kylie to vertical, the babyface brunette takes a couple steps back as the faltering Sanders sways in front of her.
“In honor of all my sisters,” Skylar announces to the glassy-eyed blonde, “greetings from Charlotte.”
The Lil’st Mitchell stomps her boot to the deck, loading up her superkick finisher. She shoots the shoe leather at the point of the chin of one of her family’s most bitter rivals, but Kylie ducks underneath!
Mitchell pirouettes through the swing-and-miss, the brunette’s 360 ended by a weak but effective toe kick, the boot giving the gassed Kylie enough time to reach forward and sink her talons into Mitchell’s dark locks. Kylie instantly sends her tailbone to the canvas with Skye in tow and while the platinum blonde’s butt takes a bruise, the face of the Lil’st Mitchell is PLANTED to canvas with an X-factor that instantly changes the atmosphere in the arena.
With the Mitchell legacy face down and twitching, Kylie climbs aboard her back in a reverse straddle situated just above the brunette’s hips. Reaching a claw to the sky, some of the former Corps can’t help themselves, responding simultaneously out of years of instinct with a shout of “FARM…HAND”.
A smirking Kylie sinks her talons into the nerve cluster where Skylar’s left hamstring attaches to her gluteus and drives the digits DEEP into the muscle, digging in her infamous Hammy Clamp. Skye reacts as if 10,000 volts have entered her system and she thrashes wildly beneath the platinum blonde.
“I’m not asking you to give up, sweetheart,” Kylie manages between clenches of her palms and deep breaths. “I want you to suffer for your sister’s sins.”
Skye bucks the parts of her body that respond and she’s giving Sanders a tough ride, showing no intention to give way under Kylie’s signature attack. Ky rises off her haunches and plants her tailbone into the base of Mitchell’s spine, bringing her foe a bit more under control. She rises again to repeat the process, but this time Mitchell is ready and heaves her body in a spin, sending Kylie rolling off, her clamp lost.
Skylar pushes to her feet, limping significantly but improving with each step as blood starts to circulate and nerves start to fire. With the hitch in her giddy-up, she can’t stay in front of her pursuer for long. Ky sinks her nails into Skye’s dark locks from behind and brings her retreat to a halt. Mitchell spins to send an elbow into Kylie’s nose, but the platinum blonde slips under and proceeds to lift a knee, thrusting it into Skylar’s navel.
A gagging Mitchell is a doubled ragdoll at Ky’s right hip. The Hawkeye wraps both arms around Skye’s gulping midriff and launches the Lil’set Mitchell high onto her shoulders. Before the brunette can throw a clenched fist, the Pleasant Valley Pariah sits out, depositing Skylar to the deck with her Child of the Corn Driver.
Child of the Corn Driver
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UckX7ScRcY )
The gobsmacked Mitchell spills from between Kylie’s extended stems and Sanders leans leisurely atop what’s left of the Mitchell clan for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREENOOO!
The lax pin certainly helps, but Skylar shows how serious she is about staying in Orlando, peeling a shoulder off the canvas to remain viable. The question is for how long.
Furious, Kylie glares at the official as she grabs the demolished Skylar by her head and drags the limp remains to vertical. Kylie slips behind Mitchell and slides an arm between the brunette’s quaking legs. The FAWN original vaults Skylar across her shoulders in an inverted fireman’s carry, otherwise known as a torture rack, but destroying Skye immediately is more what Kylie has in mind and she immediately sends what’s left of the dark-haired cutie to the deck with the inverted Chilly Valley Driver.
Chilly Valley Driver
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pL_NJHr1_Ok )
Skylar plummets to earth, landing on the back of her skull and her shoulders. She ends in a motionless spreadeagle and Kylie takes no chances with her crossbody pin, hooking Mitchell’s far leg up for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
Sanders releases Skye’s stem, letting it drop to the canvas. She turns to lounge atop the defeated Mitchell as the official calls for the bell. The ring announcer makes the result a sanctioned one.
“Your winner…via pinfall…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders.”
An exhausted Kylie raises her arms in muted celebration and the platinum blonde notices, for some reason, the crowd’s standard level of disdain for a Sanders’ victory is quieter as well.
Perhaps, they’re as worn out as she. Kylie ignores she’s prompting murmurs instead of boos, recovering from the ordeal the Lil’st Mitchell had forced on her. It’s then Kylie’s jerked to her feet in violent fashion then swallowed in a bearhug by a vertically challenged fireplug of a woman in a black tank belly shirt and red bikini briefs. Her bosom overwhelmed by that of the intruder, Kylie gasps for breath, her hazel eyes bulging both from the position she’s in and recognizing who put her there.
“Chr…Chr…Chrissy,” she chokes out in surprise and alarm.
“Good to see you haven’t forgotten me, putz,” Daniel purrs, constricting her powerful arms to draw what’s left of Sanders’ energy and oxygen from her. “God knows Bethany and some of these people have. But I suspect that comes to an end tonight when Chill gets put on ice.”
Daniel gives up her embrace to send Kylie up and over with a belly-to-belly, the Hawkeye crashing to the canvas on her spine. The little fight left in Kylie drives her to roll to her chest and push toward all fours.
Chrissy is clearly in the ring to make a statement she’s the only FAWN original the organization is in need of employing and the Killer Imp grabs Kylie by the ankles, ‘hupping’ the blonde’s lower half up, snatching Sanders around the hips. The crowd and Kylie seem to understand what’s happening, the FAWNatics interest piqued, Kylie’s head shaking ‘no’ emphatically as Chrissy pulls the Hawkeye’s body up to vertical in front of her, then DRIVES Kylie’s skull and shoulders into the thinly-sheathed plywood with her devastating Implosion.
Implosion
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXucT0ZeMBY )
Daniel could have held onto Kylie for a count of 100, Sanders’ limp carcass bundled perfectly for just such an occurrence, but there’s no match and no need and she shoves the remains of the demolished Kylie to the side, the elfin blonde ending in a jumble of torso and limbs.
Chrissy pushes calmly to her feet and calls for a microphone, plucking it out of the air when tossed to her.
“It’s a joke that this pathetic fool reinvents herself as a pale Bates without the booty and keeps getting Pay-Per-Views when a former THREE-time World Champion sits on the sidelines, working the beaches instead of the ring because some commissioner can’t see straight. Well, I’m going to make my own opening. I’m going to take the Chill out of FAWN and bring the Imp back to the throne.”
Daniel tosses the stick away, grabs a wrist of an unconscious Kylie and drags her to Skylar, laying her atop a softly stirring Mitchell, piling blonde on brunette before making her exit to more than a little confusion. The crowd finds it hard to jeer someone who’s laid out Kylie, but as Chrissy continues to show her complete disregard for the fans, they rally with a loud set of catcalls for the Beach Cat to remember them by.