Post by bigfan on Feb 5, 2018 21:56:12 GMT
Kylie Sanders:
Jasmine Washington
“Are you ready?” the one-time Princess and now Pariah from Pleasant Valley nervously asks her partner. “I mean you’ve got to be ready at all times tonight. No wandering attention. OK?”
J-Dogg puts her palms on Sanders’ shoulders.
“Chill, Chill,” she says firmly. “You’re going to faint before you even get out there if you don’t calm the eff down.”
“Don’t even,” Ky responds. “I got this. She’s on one effin leg. I made sure of that. Didn’t I?”
“She’s been laying low, my Vanilla girl. There’s only one reason why Da Man’s champ would do that. Right? I bet she can barely walk.”
A small crease of a grin emerges on the elfin features of the Hawkeye.
“Yeah,” Sanders says softly then, rolling the thought around further in her mind, more confidently. “Yeah! I’m gonna pick dat bytch apart. Send her back to the frozen tundra not only without any gold but on a stretcher.”
“Damn straight!” Washington adds. “The taller they are the more they cry into your tummy when they’re kneeling in front of you pleading for mercy.”
Kylie clearly enjoys the sound of that idea, her disposition improving significantly.
“Yeah,” she adds, nodding. “<B>She’s</B> gonna be scared of <B>me</B>. She’s gonna beg me to take the gold just to leave her alone.”
Jasmine pushes Kylie’s right shoulder, spinning her 45 degrees with the force.
“Hell. Yeah. Now let’s go show these morons how the Chill can descend, even on Or-fuckin-lando.”
The platinum blonde bob of FAWN’s foremost traitor and troll pops up and down as she bounces, Ky fired up by her teammate.
“Let’s do it.”
With Demetria out on a scouting mission, Jasmine would be the only back-up against the oversized Mauler so, when Iggy and Charlie belt their anthem ‘Fancy’ throughout the arena, it’s the ignominious Iowan and the Badass from Hotlanta who respond to the call.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
The FAWN original shares a hug with J-Dogg and together they push through the curtain, and stride to the middle of the stage, Washington at the challenger’s side.
Kylie, 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 garb. She finishes things with black boots and pads.
(http://i.imgur.com/77i57hQ.jpg )
Behind, on the FAWNtron, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Jazzy shows Sanders off, the Nubian beauty raising a wrist of the former fan favorite, the boos falling like a downpour.
Vanilla Chill smirks at the Orlando lowlifes as the women head down the ramp and aisle together, Washington talking shyt about everyone and everything; Kylie eminently anxious about the night she’s facing, perhaps worried about the marvels of modern science and what could be accomplished in repairing Tricia’s bad wheel since Season’s Beatings.
Reaching the squared circle, Sanders dabs her partner, the Hawkeye sharing a moment of silent focus with her teammate. The elfin blonde turns a much sterner gaze to the multitudes heaping their disdain and tossing less than complimentary remarks at the turncoat.
Becoming agitated when a ‘TROLL’ chant breaks out, Kylie heads up the steps, leaving J-Dogg to her station on the outside, Washington dressed in a tiny black hoodie, (black version of the following: i2.photobucket.com/albums/y32/biggerb/Jasmine-clothing.jpg~original ), the grappler snapping her head back to clear the hood from her cranium and shoulder-length ebony locks. Beneath Jazzy wears camo boy-cut trunks (http://s2.photobucket.com/user/biggerb/media/Jasmine-clothing%20below.jpg.html ) which accentuate her bootylicious backside.
As Sanders moves to the middle, the ring announcer picks up his cue.
“Tonight’s next match is scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Intercontinental Championship. First, from da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Ky, stick already in hand, waves at the crowd to shut the hell up. They only turn up the volume of their hatred.
“Y’all ready for me to be a champion again?” Kylie shouts.
The crowd is fairly negative in their assessment to the point of every single person but Jasmine jeering the platinum blonde.
“Well, it doesn’t matter if you’re ready. Belle ain’t ready none, either. But she gonna be looking all Liberty after the night is up. The question is: Where do I put that big crack in her and I’m thinkin’ right up her ass with my boot.”
Kylie drops the stick, the microphone clunking to the canvas as the Hawkeye heads for her corner, and waits for the champ to limp into place for her beating.
Trisha knows that intimidation is half of her fight tonight. The entire reason Jasmine and Kylie assumed they could take on the bigger brunette was because of her injured leg sustained months ago. Belle's best option is to get in Kylie's head early and downplay her injury as well as she can. So, the Minnesotan tightens her wrap and knee brace firmly to reinforce the joint as well as she can and hopes the painkillers she took earlier are enough to get her through what she hopes is an easy match.
Her music starts and the crowd gets to their feet for the announcement, "And her opponent, standing 5'10" and weighing in at 150 lbs, from Minneapolis, Minnesota, your FAWN Intercontinental Champion, TRISHA BELLE!"
The crowd explodes with cheers as Belle bursts through the curtain, making a swift B-line to the ring in her burgundy one piece wrestling gear with her belt slung over her shoulder. Her tightened brace and the effect of the painkillers make it seem as if she isn't injured at all, her sprint seeming confident and powerful. She then slides head first under the ropes and pops up to her feet, bouncing on her toes, again seeming very agile for having a bum knee.
Belle hands her belt over to the ref for the match and runs a thumb across her throat as she looks at her smaller opponent, trying to keep Kylie scared.
The platinum blonde gulps hard, her hazel eyes turning to Jasmine who pumps a fist of encouragement at her reticent partner. Sanders’s gaze trails back to Belle’s left leg, peepers widening as Tricia powers through a couple squats in preparation.
Ky runs a hands through her close crop of silvery hair, unable to understand how the champ could be immune to the injury she’d made sure to exacerbate at the previous pay-per-view. Sure, there was still a brace on the limb, but it seems like the tall, burly brunette might not even need it.
The trepidation grows when the bell rings bringing the match to order and the Mauler bounces out on a quick-paced, counter-clockwise wheel. Kylie can do nothing but join her foe in the circling. Giving up nearly 40 pounds means coming together in a collar-and-elbow is a poor option at best, but as Tricia continues to close the gap between them and lessen the escape route of each successive corner, the Hawkeye throws herself into the tie-up when little option remains.
The brunette almost instantly heaves the lightweight to the corner behind her, the back of FAWN’s foremost traitor banging against the buckles. It’s more shock than pain on Kylie’s elfin features and she sticks a leg through the cables, demanding the official keep the champion back.
When Tricia ignores the pleas of the zebra, the diminutive Sanders sends the other lower limb through and pops out on the other side of the ropes, remaining on the apron. Ky prepares to drop to the floor when Belle grasps what little hair is available, more scalp in her grasp than platinum bob. With Kylie yelping ‘HAIR” and Jasmine joining her in the complaint, a smirking Tricia prepares to pivot and bring Kylie back in the hard way.
But before she’s able, Sanders’ hands rise, cup behind Tricia’s noggin and, risking the loss of a few short strands, the Pleasant Valley Pariah drops to the floor and hotshots Belle’s throat across the top rope in the process. The brunette whiplashes away from the cables, grasping at her reddening neck. She staggers toward the opposite side, drawing in raspy breaths.
From outside one side of the ring, Washington shouts with delight at the successful tactic. From the other, a grinning Kylie turns to the fans after straightening her short silvery tousle and points at her temple.
“Mad her look like a Minnesota Moron,” Ky calls out confidently.
Kylie turns back to the ring and decides she better get after the bigger grappler while the gettin’ is good. Sanders slides in, hops to her feet, and sprints toward the turned Tricia. With Vanilla Chill a few feet out, the champ spins on a dime to face the charging challenger and Kylie slams on the brakes, eyes widening, palms raised plaintively.
Her planned sneak attack gone, Sanders shoots a front kick to Tricia’s left knee. It connects flush but Belle isn’t forced to genuflect. She grimaces but remains upright in front of the stunned Sanders.
Tricia reaches out her right hand and the palm collapses around Kylie’s ivory throat. Grabbing a handful of Kylie’s gear at the hip, Tricia propels the Hawkeye high above, several feet off the canvas, then deposits her to the deck with a resounding chokeslam that seems to break the pint-sized blonde.
Chokeslam (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHr9yXFgf-A )
Sanders lays splayed at Tricia’s feet, the FAWNatics roaring their approval. There’s a hint of a hitch in Belle’s step as she moves to the splattered platinum blonde, but lifting her squeaky wheel and placing the left boot on Kylie’s chest for the pin and the win proves no problem for the Intercontinental titleholder.
Arrogance and supremacy personified, Tricia enjoys her Gladiatrix cover shot and what comes with it, namely the…
ONE…
TWO…
One overriding characteristic exceeds all others when it comes to Sanders; taking punishment and proving ready for more. Kylie shows the trait once again, shoving a shoulder up before the third slap of the canvas.
The Iowan has carved out FAWN’s most ubiquitous career if not its most successful and she remains in the hunt, if barely, to join Shea London as the only other Grand Slammer, collecting the World Title, Lightweight Title, Tag Titles and the IC Title over the course of her career.
The possibility seems a pipe dream as Sanders skids along the canvas, slithering toward the nearest ropes for an escape. The slow motion retreat halts when a spiteful Mauler STOMPS on Kylie’s left hand, drawing a howl of pain from the challenger.
“You thought you’d have Washington try and cripple me, leaving you to collect the belt as an afterthought,” Tricia informs. She stomps the base of the blonde’s spine, sending Ky into a spasm as her back arches in agony. “Well it’ll be you leaving in a wheelchair. And I get the credit for finally stomping out the cockroach no one else could.”
Tricia stands in a straddle above Sanders as the diminutive grappler pushes up to all fours. The brunette drops to her knee, CRASHING her undercarriage atop the lower vertebrae of the Iowan, sending Ky’s body flat to the canvas.
Rising into a crouch above her challenger, the Mauler posts one of Sanders’ arms over her creaky left knee with only the hint of a wince. She does likewise on the right side then reaches cupped hands forward, scooping them under Kylie’s chin and drawing her foe’s head and upper body back in an agonizing arch with a wicked camel clutch.
Camel Clutch (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-vwCVj6cfI )
Kylie’s gaze is forced toward the rafters as the bigger, stronger champion continues to bend Ky’s backbone to the breaking point, taking the opportunity to break her grip for short periods to land forearm shots to the challenger’s chest.
The ref gets in Sanders’ pain-etched features and asks if Chill if she wants to surrender. Jasmine shouts out a loud ‘NO’ from the sidelines. Kylie’s refusal is more subtle with a grunt and almost unperceivable shake of her noggin. However, the ref catches it and motions the match to continue…for the moment.
Trisha throws five more hard forearms to the challenger's chest. Kylie groans heavily with each impact. After another long moment and a harsh pull back in the clutch, Belle finally releases the hold, all but throwing the blonde's face to the canvas. Before Sanders can even try to get to her hands and knees, the champ throws down a hard stomp to the small of her back.
Finally, the Minnesota Mauler drags the smaller girl up only to hit her with a harsh chop to the chest that forces her back, then another, then another. Each blow echoes loudly in the arena as she forces the former fan favorite to the corner, the crowd giving a hearty Ric Flair "WHOOO!" with each connected slap.
Trisha leans the Pleasant Valley Pariah's rump onto the second turnbuckle, preparing to deal out more damage to her opponent when Jasmine pipes up from the sidelines, jumping up on to the apron to protest some imagined infraction. Trisha turns from the corner, ready to put Washington down harshly if she has to, but she doesn't get the chance. As soon as she turns away from the blonde pixie, Kylie pushes out of the corner and kicks a hard punt between Belle's legs. Even the IC champ's good knee is turned to jello as she slowly sinks to the mat, her face frozen in silent pain.
Jasmine continues to argue with the official as Sanders slinks under the ropes, reaches in to grab the immobilized Minnesota Mauler by the boots, then pulls those long legs apart and back, aiming to slam the champ crotch first into the corner post. And sure enough, Belle's undercarriage slams into the post, a harsh moan coming through Trisha's gritted teeth. Then as a final piece to Kylie's offensive, she wraps Belle's wrapped and braced leg around the post, making sure the injured knee is tight against the steel as she twists and torques the limb to add further complications to the still very injured joint.
Finally, Belle starts screaming, getting the ref's attention away from Jasmine's distraction and finally getting him back into the match. The official immediately rushes to Trisha to check on her and then to inform an already well aware Sanders that her tactic isn't by the book. The pixie cut blonde plays dumb and forces the ref to start the count. Kylie wrenches the gam for as much of the count as she can, finally dropping Trisha's leg at the last second. Belle instantly attempts to crawl away from the corner upon release while Kylie rolls back into the ring, narrowly avoiding that count out as well.
FAWN’s foremost traitor doesn’t hesitate, rising and putting boot after boot to Trisha’s left knee. Belle does her best to contort her body to protect it. Sanders isn’t the biggest, fastest, or most athletic but she is a professional and her hazel lasers stay glued to the Achilles’ knee of the big brunette.
There’s blood in the water and the platinum blonde shark swims circles around the Mauler, stomping on the joint when she can find an angle, drawing a howl from the champion.
“Can’t hide it anymore, can you?” Sanders shouts, pleased to know her plan from Seasons Beatings had been fruitful. On the sidelines, Jasmine perks up as well, knowing she caused some of the issue now plaguing Belle.
“Take Da Man’s bytch to the pound, Chill!” Washington hollers.
Kylie nods and moves to a reverse standing straddle of the back of the chest-down Tricia. Ky collects her foe’s left stem at the ankle and leans back in a crouch, securing a single-leg Crab. The Hawkeye hauls back on the limb viciously, apparently trying to touch Tricia’s toe tips to the back of her noggin, stretching Belle’s knee ligaments all the while.
Single Leg Crab (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkrAzY0XtAk )
“GIVE UP…” Kylie demands, but the champ shakes her head in defiance, pulling at her long dark locks to spread the pain.
“I SAID…”
Ky leans back even more, forcing Belle’s palm to hover over the canvas.
The FAWNatics begin a stirring “PLEASE…DON’T…TAP” chant and spurred on or not, the Mauler doesn’t. Instead, she digs her nails into the canvas and starts pulling herself and her rider to the ropes.
Furious and frustrated, Sanders gives up her Crab halfway to Tricia’s salvation. She rises from her crouch and THROWS the limb into the thinly-sheathed plywood, the knee banging against the deck.
With Belle yelping and reaching behind her to assuage the joint, Kylie drops her derriere into the lower spine of the champion, drawing a gasp from her foe. Raising her right mitt into the air and curling the fingers into talons, the crowd at once reflexively chants “FARM…HAND”.
Sure enough, Sanders digs her stilettoes into the muscle connecting thigh to glute to expand the war on Belle’s left gam. She gnaws away with her hammy clamp, pressing her left palm down atop the squeezing right to add to the pressure. Sinking her digits into the nerve bundle located in Tricia’s meaty hamstring, Belle’s leg starts to twitch and the brunette is forced to bite her lower lip to prevent a howl of anguish from the attack.
“You startin’ to understand, meathead?” Chill mocks over her shoulder. “It takes more than brawn and that’s all you got.”
Satisfied she’s left Tricia one leg to stand on, Kylie releases the Farm Hand and gets to work on the back and sides of Tricia’s angry joint, unbuckling and untying the weighty brace from around the injured knee.
If she could get Belle yelping in pain with the mechanical assistance in place, imagine what she could do with an unprotected knee. The blonde pixie gets the apparatus loosened while the Mauler’s leg fights to come back to life after the abuse. The big brunette manages to roll to her back and unseat the distracted Hawkeye, sending Sanders spilling a few feet away, unsatisfied the device remains mostly in working order. Still, there’s some slack and some bands hanging, the target looking juicier to Chill as she pushes up and watches Tricia use the nearby cables to pull up to a limping stance.
The champ turns her left side toward the ropes in protection and motions forward the hyena with the cropped silvery cut, apparently willing to show she could beat a FAWN legend on one lower limb.
Tricia drops her free hand to work on her brace and Kylie immediately jumps to the champ to attack while her foe is distracted. But when Sanders dips low to go for a single-leg pick-up, Belle uses her grip on the rope to steady herself and lift her right leg high enough to deliver a blasting boot to the blonde’s chest.
Caught by surprise, a gasping Chill takes a knee in front of the wobbly Tricia. The Mauler risks putting some weight on her left leg and finds it balky but functional. She steps to Sanders, wrapping her right arm around the lowered braincase of the Pleasant Valley Pariah, then lays out, PLANTING the crown of Kylie’s skull into the deck with a low-level but high-impact DDT.
Kylie bounces off the canvas from the force of the impact and flops to her back, eyes glazed. She rattles her noggin to bring some life back into the hazel pools, but finds herself under immediate assault, Belle taking advantage of the horizontal challenger. Climbing to a forward facing kneeling straddle over Ky’s waist, Tricia snags a half-handful of Vanilla Chill’s silvery mop and pulls Sanders’ fright-filled features in range to let loose with a barrage of blows, the balled rights coming fast and heavy, quickly leaving Kylie’s head swimming with each accumulating blow.
Tricia ends the battery by pulling Kylie’s cranium in close and butting her foe between the eyes. The impact sends Sanders’ head and shoulders rocketing to the canvas. Already well situated for a pinning predicament, the Mauler leans forward and places her palms on the front of the smaller grappler’s shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Sanders throws a shoulder up and tries to shove out from under the bigger Belle. The Hawkeye manages to slide up to a seat, but Tricia bears down from behind, wrapping her arms snake-like around the head and neck of the challenger. Jasmine shouts out a warning but the blue-eyed brunette quickly has her arms secured, one pressing into Kylie’s carotid to slow the blood flow, another tight against a temple to do the same and put Sanders’ head under dizzying pressure, Tricia’s sleeper one of the most slumber-inducing in the game.
A kneeling Mauler leans her mass into the back of the seated Kylie’s neck. Belle bears down and whispers into Sanders’ ear.
“Nice try, but you never stood a chance.”
Kylie’s lids flutter over increasingly worried eyes. She reaches back to pry at the Minnesotan’s cinching arms but it’s useless and instead the FAWN original tries to scoot on her ass, pivoting enough to lay a leg over the bottom rope.
Despite the champ’s best efforts to deny her, Sanders manages; half-gurgling, half-choking out a plea for a break. The ref more clearly and forcefully follows suit. After a count of ‘FOUR’, Belle unlocks her sleeper, disdainfully shoving the flaccid blonde away.
Trisha rolls the limp Kylie over onto her stomach, knowing the blonde can't have much left, and decides to put her away with something that has turned into one of her go-to maneuvers since her knee injury. Belle lays across Sanders' back and laces her hands over Vanilla Chill's chin, leaning back to lock in a crossface, the same maneuver that has put away a couple other Intercontinental Championship contenders, including Kylie's own Hot and Bothered teammate, Jasmine.
In fact, Jasmine looks on as her partner is brought screaming back to consciousness, knowing Sanders is in trouble. Jasmine's face is etched with worry and disbelief as the ref checks on the very dazed, but pained Kylie.
Washington feels she has to help Ky and finally finds the courage to do so. While the ref is distracted checking on Kylie's condition and willingness to continue, Jasmine reaches into the ring and picks up Sanders' nearly limp boot and JUST manages to put the toe on the bottom rope convincingly. Trisha had thought she'd dragged the blonde far enough from the ropes, but was just shy of being out of the range of the bottom rope.
Jasmine pops up on the apron, knowing what she's about to do is asking for trouble with Trisha, but she pipes up, "Hey, ref! Why don't you do your job!? Kylie's toe is on the rope!"
The ref looks back to see that this claim is in fact true and asks Trisha to break the hold. Belle refuses, waiting until the count of four before finally dropping the crossface. The champ then turns toward the now very vocal Washington, "Didn't you get enough attention in our match at Seasons Beatings? Or are you just a glutton for punishment?" Jasmine visibly gulps as Trisha approaches, but decides she's got to keep the champ distracted to give Kylie a chance to recover, even if it’s only a short time.
Wash leads with her chin, using it as honey to attract the Mauler, her hands tightly wrapping around the top rope.
“Bytch, you don’t even wanna know what I’ll do to your lily ass given the chance.”
Belle seems more than happy to find out, striding calmly to the African-American grappler, lifting her palms high and toward J-Dogg, showing she has no physical intent.
“Yeah,” an emboldened Washington blurts, “ya better beg off, bytch.”
With a lightning surge forward, the bigger Belle shoots her fingers into Jazzy’s ebony locks, cutting off Washington’s planned escape route of dropping to the floor. Not wanting to lose a couple big chunks of hair, a yelping Jasmine pleads with the ref to force Tricia to let her go.
The champ does, but not the way J-Dogg intends. Pivoting, Tricia hairmares Washington HIGH into the air, sending the café-au-lait-skinned beauty flipping over the ropes and CRASHING into the deck. Wash arches in pain after impact, reaching for the base of her spine, a delighted Mauler grinning at the sight. For a moment.
The pleasure is washed from her memory in an instant when a recovered Sanders throws a brutal clip into the back of Tricia’s balky knee, the sickening sound of a pop audible to those in the front row. Belle drops to the canvas, shrieking in pain, grasping at her mangled joint.
Next to the titleholder, Kylie’s on her knees looking particularly proud of herself as the FAWNatics boo her relentlessly. The Hawkeye taps the tip of her right index finger to her temple, making sure everyone knows she’s a ring genius.
As the ref scrapes Jasmine to her feet and assists Ky’s partner toward the ropes, Sanders limber fingers unbuckle the remaining fasteners on Belle’s brace and the platinum blonde pixie works it off, throwing the encumbrance to the crowd.
Rising to her feet, Kylie drags the bigger brunette up with her, the Mauler trying to defend her throbbing leg. But Sanders captures the limb, folding it at the aching joint. The Pleasant Valley Pariah shouts in effort as she lifts Tricia a couple feet into the air. It’s hardly a dominating launch but it’s plenty to deliver a shinbreaker that has Tricia howling in agony when the brunette’s stem comes down across bended knee.
Shinbreaker (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3bZFSbYBcU )
Still in possession of her foe’s leg, Sanders twists it while sweeping the other, dropping the teary-eyed Belle to her back. Immediately, Kylie ducks her head close, and wraps the apprehended limb around the back of her neck. Forcing the champ to her chest, the elfin blonde moves to a kneeling position beside Tricia’s opposite hip.
The worried murmurs grow in the crowd as Belle sweeps a hand back to try and get her lower limb loose only to have Sanders secure a grip around the wrist, bringing left ankle and left wrist painfully close, her Chill Out stretch muffler locked in. Kylie works the unbraced knee of the Mauler like a part-time job, forcing cringe-inducing screams of pain from the champ.
Chill Out (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVtOcOoAjCA )
Tricia holds on through a half-dozen seconds of anguish before she can take no more, tapping her own shoulder then the canvas, then shouting out ‘I QUIT’ when Vanilla is slow to release, testing the official, forcing him to start his count toward disqualification before relenting and releasing.
When Sanders frees Belle to curl into a ball, Tricia cradling her wounded wheel close, the ref motions for the bell and the announcement ruins everyone’s day save for Chill and J-Dogg.
“Your winner and NEW INTERCONTINETAL CHAMPION…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
The beaming, glistening Sanders adds a final stomp to Tricia’s knee as a parting gift and moves to the middle to bask in another title reign, a grand slam when added to her previous World, Tag and Lightweight titles.
A wincing Jasmine hustles to the announcer’s table and scoops up the belt. She slides into the ring, grinning at Belle like a Cheshire Cat as she passes and offers the NEW champ her prize.
Kylie asks for Wash to strap it in place and a cheery Jazzy does as asked. Glorious in triumph, Kylie pats her faceplate and calls for a microphone. Jasmine snatches one out of the air from the toss of a FAWN flunky and hands it over to her partner.
“Da Man ain’t got nuthin on me or the Dogg. Does he?” Kylie assures.
The arena walls feel like they might tumble like Jericho from the reverberating jeers and catcalls. EMTs assist Tricia under the ropes and, as she sits over the edge of the apron, groaning, they immobilize her left leg in an air cast.
“You take a look at my opponent, unworthy as she’s been proven, a champion whom many could not cut down. Da Man dared me. He was thinkin’ she’d tear me a new one. Well watch her head into obscurity, people.”
Indeed, to protect the stability of the limb, the first responders wheel Belle off on a stretcher despite objections from the furious Mauler.
“You thought those punk bytches, those so-called Sweethearts, proved I was reaching the end of the line. Man that wasn’t nuthin’ but a lightning strike for the lucky. FAWN is about to get so damn Chill it’s gonna need a sweater in the summer.”
Jasmine testifies next to her teammate, giving Sanders a series of salaams as the crowd protests Kylie’s success.
“I’m going to make this belt the foremost in the organization; so prestigious, they’ll throw out all the other ones. Cause man, when all is said and done, there ain’t no flavor like Vanilla and there ain’t no feelin’ like da Chill.”
Kylie drops the mike and walks arm in arm with her girl to the ropes where Hot&Bothered slip through, drop to the floor, and exit, heading for what no doubt would be Orlando’s most extravagant and select party.
Jasmine Washington
“Are you ready?” the one-time Princess and now Pariah from Pleasant Valley nervously asks her partner. “I mean you’ve got to be ready at all times tonight. No wandering attention. OK?”
J-Dogg puts her palms on Sanders’ shoulders.
“Chill, Chill,” she says firmly. “You’re going to faint before you even get out there if you don’t calm the eff down.”
“Don’t even,” Ky responds. “I got this. She’s on one effin leg. I made sure of that. Didn’t I?”
“She’s been laying low, my Vanilla girl. There’s only one reason why Da Man’s champ would do that. Right? I bet she can barely walk.”
A small crease of a grin emerges on the elfin features of the Hawkeye.
“Yeah,” Sanders says softly then, rolling the thought around further in her mind, more confidently. “Yeah! I’m gonna pick dat bytch apart. Send her back to the frozen tundra not only without any gold but on a stretcher.”
“Damn straight!” Washington adds. “The taller they are the more they cry into your tummy when they’re kneeling in front of you pleading for mercy.”
Kylie clearly enjoys the sound of that idea, her disposition improving significantly.
“Yeah,” she adds, nodding. “<B>She’s</B> gonna be scared of <B>me</B>. She’s gonna beg me to take the gold just to leave her alone.”
Jasmine pushes Kylie’s right shoulder, spinning her 45 degrees with the force.
“Hell. Yeah. Now let’s go show these morons how the Chill can descend, even on Or-fuckin-lando.”
The platinum blonde bob of FAWN’s foremost traitor and troll pops up and down as she bounces, Ky fired up by her teammate.
“Let’s do it.”
With Demetria out on a scouting mission, Jasmine would be the only back-up against the oversized Mauler so, when Iggy and Charlie belt their anthem ‘Fancy’ throughout the arena, it’s the ignominious Iowan and the Badass from Hotlanta who respond to the call.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
The FAWN original shares a hug with J-Dogg and together they push through the curtain, and stride to the middle of the stage, Washington at the challenger’s side.
Kylie, 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 garb. She finishes things with black boots and pads.
(http://i.imgur.com/77i57hQ.jpg )
Behind, on the FAWNtron, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Jazzy shows Sanders off, the Nubian beauty raising a wrist of the former fan favorite, the boos falling like a downpour.
Vanilla Chill smirks at the Orlando lowlifes as the women head down the ramp and aisle together, Washington talking shyt about everyone and everything; Kylie eminently anxious about the night she’s facing, perhaps worried about the marvels of modern science and what could be accomplished in repairing Tricia’s bad wheel since Season’s Beatings.
Reaching the squared circle, Sanders dabs her partner, the Hawkeye sharing a moment of silent focus with her teammate. The elfin blonde turns a much sterner gaze to the multitudes heaping their disdain and tossing less than complimentary remarks at the turncoat.
Becoming agitated when a ‘TROLL’ chant breaks out, Kylie heads up the steps, leaving J-Dogg to her station on the outside, Washington dressed in a tiny black hoodie, (black version of the following: i2.photobucket.com/albums/y32/biggerb/Jasmine-clothing.jpg~original ), the grappler snapping her head back to clear the hood from her cranium and shoulder-length ebony locks. Beneath Jazzy wears camo boy-cut trunks (http://s2.photobucket.com/user/biggerb/media/Jasmine-clothing%20below.jpg.html ) which accentuate her bootylicious backside.
As Sanders moves to the middle, the ring announcer picks up his cue.
“Tonight’s next match is scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Intercontinental Championship. First, from da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Ky, stick already in hand, waves at the crowd to shut the hell up. They only turn up the volume of their hatred.
“Y’all ready for me to be a champion again?” Kylie shouts.
The crowd is fairly negative in their assessment to the point of every single person but Jasmine jeering the platinum blonde.
“Well, it doesn’t matter if you’re ready. Belle ain’t ready none, either. But she gonna be looking all Liberty after the night is up. The question is: Where do I put that big crack in her and I’m thinkin’ right up her ass with my boot.”
Kylie drops the stick, the microphone clunking to the canvas as the Hawkeye heads for her corner, and waits for the champ to limp into place for her beating.
Trisha knows that intimidation is half of her fight tonight. The entire reason Jasmine and Kylie assumed they could take on the bigger brunette was because of her injured leg sustained months ago. Belle's best option is to get in Kylie's head early and downplay her injury as well as she can. So, the Minnesotan tightens her wrap and knee brace firmly to reinforce the joint as well as she can and hopes the painkillers she took earlier are enough to get her through what she hopes is an easy match.
Her music starts and the crowd gets to their feet for the announcement, "And her opponent, standing 5'10" and weighing in at 150 lbs, from Minneapolis, Minnesota, your FAWN Intercontinental Champion, TRISHA BELLE!"
The crowd explodes with cheers as Belle bursts through the curtain, making a swift B-line to the ring in her burgundy one piece wrestling gear with her belt slung over her shoulder. Her tightened brace and the effect of the painkillers make it seem as if she isn't injured at all, her sprint seeming confident and powerful. She then slides head first under the ropes and pops up to her feet, bouncing on her toes, again seeming very agile for having a bum knee.
Belle hands her belt over to the ref for the match and runs a thumb across her throat as she looks at her smaller opponent, trying to keep Kylie scared.
The platinum blonde gulps hard, her hazel eyes turning to Jasmine who pumps a fist of encouragement at her reticent partner. Sanders’s gaze trails back to Belle’s left leg, peepers widening as Tricia powers through a couple squats in preparation.
Ky runs a hands through her close crop of silvery hair, unable to understand how the champ could be immune to the injury she’d made sure to exacerbate at the previous pay-per-view. Sure, there was still a brace on the limb, but it seems like the tall, burly brunette might not even need it.
The trepidation grows when the bell rings bringing the match to order and the Mauler bounces out on a quick-paced, counter-clockwise wheel. Kylie can do nothing but join her foe in the circling. Giving up nearly 40 pounds means coming together in a collar-and-elbow is a poor option at best, but as Tricia continues to close the gap between them and lessen the escape route of each successive corner, the Hawkeye throws herself into the tie-up when little option remains.
The brunette almost instantly heaves the lightweight to the corner behind her, the back of FAWN’s foremost traitor banging against the buckles. It’s more shock than pain on Kylie’s elfin features and she sticks a leg through the cables, demanding the official keep the champion back.
When Tricia ignores the pleas of the zebra, the diminutive Sanders sends the other lower limb through and pops out on the other side of the ropes, remaining on the apron. Ky prepares to drop to the floor when Belle grasps what little hair is available, more scalp in her grasp than platinum bob. With Kylie yelping ‘HAIR” and Jasmine joining her in the complaint, a smirking Tricia prepares to pivot and bring Kylie back in the hard way.
But before she’s able, Sanders’ hands rise, cup behind Tricia’s noggin and, risking the loss of a few short strands, the Pleasant Valley Pariah drops to the floor and hotshots Belle’s throat across the top rope in the process. The brunette whiplashes away from the cables, grasping at her reddening neck. She staggers toward the opposite side, drawing in raspy breaths.
From outside one side of the ring, Washington shouts with delight at the successful tactic. From the other, a grinning Kylie turns to the fans after straightening her short silvery tousle and points at her temple.
“Mad her look like a Minnesota Moron,” Ky calls out confidently.
Kylie turns back to the ring and decides she better get after the bigger grappler while the gettin’ is good. Sanders slides in, hops to her feet, and sprints toward the turned Tricia. With Vanilla Chill a few feet out, the champ spins on a dime to face the charging challenger and Kylie slams on the brakes, eyes widening, palms raised plaintively.
Her planned sneak attack gone, Sanders shoots a front kick to Tricia’s left knee. It connects flush but Belle isn’t forced to genuflect. She grimaces but remains upright in front of the stunned Sanders.
Tricia reaches out her right hand and the palm collapses around Kylie’s ivory throat. Grabbing a handful of Kylie’s gear at the hip, Tricia propels the Hawkeye high above, several feet off the canvas, then deposits her to the deck with a resounding chokeslam that seems to break the pint-sized blonde.
Chokeslam (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHr9yXFgf-A )
Sanders lays splayed at Tricia’s feet, the FAWNatics roaring their approval. There’s a hint of a hitch in Belle’s step as she moves to the splattered platinum blonde, but lifting her squeaky wheel and placing the left boot on Kylie’s chest for the pin and the win proves no problem for the Intercontinental titleholder.
Arrogance and supremacy personified, Tricia enjoys her Gladiatrix cover shot and what comes with it, namely the…
ONE…
TWO…
One overriding characteristic exceeds all others when it comes to Sanders; taking punishment and proving ready for more. Kylie shows the trait once again, shoving a shoulder up before the third slap of the canvas.
The Iowan has carved out FAWN’s most ubiquitous career if not its most successful and she remains in the hunt, if barely, to join Shea London as the only other Grand Slammer, collecting the World Title, Lightweight Title, Tag Titles and the IC Title over the course of her career.
The possibility seems a pipe dream as Sanders skids along the canvas, slithering toward the nearest ropes for an escape. The slow motion retreat halts when a spiteful Mauler STOMPS on Kylie’s left hand, drawing a howl of pain from the challenger.
“You thought you’d have Washington try and cripple me, leaving you to collect the belt as an afterthought,” Tricia informs. She stomps the base of the blonde’s spine, sending Ky into a spasm as her back arches in agony. “Well it’ll be you leaving in a wheelchair. And I get the credit for finally stomping out the cockroach no one else could.”
Tricia stands in a straddle above Sanders as the diminutive grappler pushes up to all fours. The brunette drops to her knee, CRASHING her undercarriage atop the lower vertebrae of the Iowan, sending Ky’s body flat to the canvas.
Rising into a crouch above her challenger, the Mauler posts one of Sanders’ arms over her creaky left knee with only the hint of a wince. She does likewise on the right side then reaches cupped hands forward, scooping them under Kylie’s chin and drawing her foe’s head and upper body back in an agonizing arch with a wicked camel clutch.
Camel Clutch (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-vwCVj6cfI )
Kylie’s gaze is forced toward the rafters as the bigger, stronger champion continues to bend Ky’s backbone to the breaking point, taking the opportunity to break her grip for short periods to land forearm shots to the challenger’s chest.
The ref gets in Sanders’ pain-etched features and asks if Chill if she wants to surrender. Jasmine shouts out a loud ‘NO’ from the sidelines. Kylie’s refusal is more subtle with a grunt and almost unperceivable shake of her noggin. However, the ref catches it and motions the match to continue…for the moment.
Trisha throws five more hard forearms to the challenger's chest. Kylie groans heavily with each impact. After another long moment and a harsh pull back in the clutch, Belle finally releases the hold, all but throwing the blonde's face to the canvas. Before Sanders can even try to get to her hands and knees, the champ throws down a hard stomp to the small of her back.
Finally, the Minnesota Mauler drags the smaller girl up only to hit her with a harsh chop to the chest that forces her back, then another, then another. Each blow echoes loudly in the arena as she forces the former fan favorite to the corner, the crowd giving a hearty Ric Flair "WHOOO!" with each connected slap.
Trisha leans the Pleasant Valley Pariah's rump onto the second turnbuckle, preparing to deal out more damage to her opponent when Jasmine pipes up from the sidelines, jumping up on to the apron to protest some imagined infraction. Trisha turns from the corner, ready to put Washington down harshly if she has to, but she doesn't get the chance. As soon as she turns away from the blonde pixie, Kylie pushes out of the corner and kicks a hard punt between Belle's legs. Even the IC champ's good knee is turned to jello as she slowly sinks to the mat, her face frozen in silent pain.
Jasmine continues to argue with the official as Sanders slinks under the ropes, reaches in to grab the immobilized Minnesota Mauler by the boots, then pulls those long legs apart and back, aiming to slam the champ crotch first into the corner post. And sure enough, Belle's undercarriage slams into the post, a harsh moan coming through Trisha's gritted teeth. Then as a final piece to Kylie's offensive, she wraps Belle's wrapped and braced leg around the post, making sure the injured knee is tight against the steel as she twists and torques the limb to add further complications to the still very injured joint.
Finally, Belle starts screaming, getting the ref's attention away from Jasmine's distraction and finally getting him back into the match. The official immediately rushes to Trisha to check on her and then to inform an already well aware Sanders that her tactic isn't by the book. The pixie cut blonde plays dumb and forces the ref to start the count. Kylie wrenches the gam for as much of the count as she can, finally dropping Trisha's leg at the last second. Belle instantly attempts to crawl away from the corner upon release while Kylie rolls back into the ring, narrowly avoiding that count out as well.
FAWN’s foremost traitor doesn’t hesitate, rising and putting boot after boot to Trisha’s left knee. Belle does her best to contort her body to protect it. Sanders isn’t the biggest, fastest, or most athletic but she is a professional and her hazel lasers stay glued to the Achilles’ knee of the big brunette.
There’s blood in the water and the platinum blonde shark swims circles around the Mauler, stomping on the joint when she can find an angle, drawing a howl from the champion.
“Can’t hide it anymore, can you?” Sanders shouts, pleased to know her plan from Seasons Beatings had been fruitful. On the sidelines, Jasmine perks up as well, knowing she caused some of the issue now plaguing Belle.
“Take Da Man’s bytch to the pound, Chill!” Washington hollers.
Kylie nods and moves to a reverse standing straddle of the back of the chest-down Tricia. Ky collects her foe’s left stem at the ankle and leans back in a crouch, securing a single-leg Crab. The Hawkeye hauls back on the limb viciously, apparently trying to touch Tricia’s toe tips to the back of her noggin, stretching Belle’s knee ligaments all the while.
Single Leg Crab (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkrAzY0XtAk )
“GIVE UP…” Kylie demands, but the champ shakes her head in defiance, pulling at her long dark locks to spread the pain.
“I SAID…”
Ky leans back even more, forcing Belle’s palm to hover over the canvas.
The FAWNatics begin a stirring “PLEASE…DON’T…TAP” chant and spurred on or not, the Mauler doesn’t. Instead, she digs her nails into the canvas and starts pulling herself and her rider to the ropes.
Furious and frustrated, Sanders gives up her Crab halfway to Tricia’s salvation. She rises from her crouch and THROWS the limb into the thinly-sheathed plywood, the knee banging against the deck.
With Belle yelping and reaching behind her to assuage the joint, Kylie drops her derriere into the lower spine of the champion, drawing a gasp from her foe. Raising her right mitt into the air and curling the fingers into talons, the crowd at once reflexively chants “FARM…HAND”.
Sure enough, Sanders digs her stilettoes into the muscle connecting thigh to glute to expand the war on Belle’s left gam. She gnaws away with her hammy clamp, pressing her left palm down atop the squeezing right to add to the pressure. Sinking her digits into the nerve bundle located in Tricia’s meaty hamstring, Belle’s leg starts to twitch and the brunette is forced to bite her lower lip to prevent a howl of anguish from the attack.
“You startin’ to understand, meathead?” Chill mocks over her shoulder. “It takes more than brawn and that’s all you got.”
Satisfied she’s left Tricia one leg to stand on, Kylie releases the Farm Hand and gets to work on the back and sides of Tricia’s angry joint, unbuckling and untying the weighty brace from around the injured knee.
If she could get Belle yelping in pain with the mechanical assistance in place, imagine what she could do with an unprotected knee. The blonde pixie gets the apparatus loosened while the Mauler’s leg fights to come back to life after the abuse. The big brunette manages to roll to her back and unseat the distracted Hawkeye, sending Sanders spilling a few feet away, unsatisfied the device remains mostly in working order. Still, there’s some slack and some bands hanging, the target looking juicier to Chill as she pushes up and watches Tricia use the nearby cables to pull up to a limping stance.
The champ turns her left side toward the ropes in protection and motions forward the hyena with the cropped silvery cut, apparently willing to show she could beat a FAWN legend on one lower limb.
Tricia drops her free hand to work on her brace and Kylie immediately jumps to the champ to attack while her foe is distracted. But when Sanders dips low to go for a single-leg pick-up, Belle uses her grip on the rope to steady herself and lift her right leg high enough to deliver a blasting boot to the blonde’s chest.
Caught by surprise, a gasping Chill takes a knee in front of the wobbly Tricia. The Mauler risks putting some weight on her left leg and finds it balky but functional. She steps to Sanders, wrapping her right arm around the lowered braincase of the Pleasant Valley Pariah, then lays out, PLANTING the crown of Kylie’s skull into the deck with a low-level but high-impact DDT.
Kylie bounces off the canvas from the force of the impact and flops to her back, eyes glazed. She rattles her noggin to bring some life back into the hazel pools, but finds herself under immediate assault, Belle taking advantage of the horizontal challenger. Climbing to a forward facing kneeling straddle over Ky’s waist, Tricia snags a half-handful of Vanilla Chill’s silvery mop and pulls Sanders’ fright-filled features in range to let loose with a barrage of blows, the balled rights coming fast and heavy, quickly leaving Kylie’s head swimming with each accumulating blow.
Tricia ends the battery by pulling Kylie’s cranium in close and butting her foe between the eyes. The impact sends Sanders’ head and shoulders rocketing to the canvas. Already well situated for a pinning predicament, the Mauler leans forward and places her palms on the front of the smaller grappler’s shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Sanders throws a shoulder up and tries to shove out from under the bigger Belle. The Hawkeye manages to slide up to a seat, but Tricia bears down from behind, wrapping her arms snake-like around the head and neck of the challenger. Jasmine shouts out a warning but the blue-eyed brunette quickly has her arms secured, one pressing into Kylie’s carotid to slow the blood flow, another tight against a temple to do the same and put Sanders’ head under dizzying pressure, Tricia’s sleeper one of the most slumber-inducing in the game.
A kneeling Mauler leans her mass into the back of the seated Kylie’s neck. Belle bears down and whispers into Sanders’ ear.
“Nice try, but you never stood a chance.”
Kylie’s lids flutter over increasingly worried eyes. She reaches back to pry at the Minnesotan’s cinching arms but it’s useless and instead the FAWN original tries to scoot on her ass, pivoting enough to lay a leg over the bottom rope.
Despite the champ’s best efforts to deny her, Sanders manages; half-gurgling, half-choking out a plea for a break. The ref more clearly and forcefully follows suit. After a count of ‘FOUR’, Belle unlocks her sleeper, disdainfully shoving the flaccid blonde away.
Trisha rolls the limp Kylie over onto her stomach, knowing the blonde can't have much left, and decides to put her away with something that has turned into one of her go-to maneuvers since her knee injury. Belle lays across Sanders' back and laces her hands over Vanilla Chill's chin, leaning back to lock in a crossface, the same maneuver that has put away a couple other Intercontinental Championship contenders, including Kylie's own Hot and Bothered teammate, Jasmine.
In fact, Jasmine looks on as her partner is brought screaming back to consciousness, knowing Sanders is in trouble. Jasmine's face is etched with worry and disbelief as the ref checks on the very dazed, but pained Kylie.
Washington feels she has to help Ky and finally finds the courage to do so. While the ref is distracted checking on Kylie's condition and willingness to continue, Jasmine reaches into the ring and picks up Sanders' nearly limp boot and JUST manages to put the toe on the bottom rope convincingly. Trisha had thought she'd dragged the blonde far enough from the ropes, but was just shy of being out of the range of the bottom rope.
Jasmine pops up on the apron, knowing what she's about to do is asking for trouble with Trisha, but she pipes up, "Hey, ref! Why don't you do your job!? Kylie's toe is on the rope!"
The ref looks back to see that this claim is in fact true and asks Trisha to break the hold. Belle refuses, waiting until the count of four before finally dropping the crossface. The champ then turns toward the now very vocal Washington, "Didn't you get enough attention in our match at Seasons Beatings? Or are you just a glutton for punishment?" Jasmine visibly gulps as Trisha approaches, but decides she's got to keep the champ distracted to give Kylie a chance to recover, even if it’s only a short time.
Wash leads with her chin, using it as honey to attract the Mauler, her hands tightly wrapping around the top rope.
“Bytch, you don’t even wanna know what I’ll do to your lily ass given the chance.”
Belle seems more than happy to find out, striding calmly to the African-American grappler, lifting her palms high and toward J-Dogg, showing she has no physical intent.
“Yeah,” an emboldened Washington blurts, “ya better beg off, bytch.”
With a lightning surge forward, the bigger Belle shoots her fingers into Jazzy’s ebony locks, cutting off Washington’s planned escape route of dropping to the floor. Not wanting to lose a couple big chunks of hair, a yelping Jasmine pleads with the ref to force Tricia to let her go.
The champ does, but not the way J-Dogg intends. Pivoting, Tricia hairmares Washington HIGH into the air, sending the café-au-lait-skinned beauty flipping over the ropes and CRASHING into the deck. Wash arches in pain after impact, reaching for the base of her spine, a delighted Mauler grinning at the sight. For a moment.
The pleasure is washed from her memory in an instant when a recovered Sanders throws a brutal clip into the back of Tricia’s balky knee, the sickening sound of a pop audible to those in the front row. Belle drops to the canvas, shrieking in pain, grasping at her mangled joint.
Next to the titleholder, Kylie’s on her knees looking particularly proud of herself as the FAWNatics boo her relentlessly. The Hawkeye taps the tip of her right index finger to her temple, making sure everyone knows she’s a ring genius.
As the ref scrapes Jasmine to her feet and assists Ky’s partner toward the ropes, Sanders limber fingers unbuckle the remaining fasteners on Belle’s brace and the platinum blonde pixie works it off, throwing the encumbrance to the crowd.
Rising to her feet, Kylie drags the bigger brunette up with her, the Mauler trying to defend her throbbing leg. But Sanders captures the limb, folding it at the aching joint. The Pleasant Valley Pariah shouts in effort as she lifts Tricia a couple feet into the air. It’s hardly a dominating launch but it’s plenty to deliver a shinbreaker that has Tricia howling in agony when the brunette’s stem comes down across bended knee.
Shinbreaker (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3bZFSbYBcU )
Still in possession of her foe’s leg, Sanders twists it while sweeping the other, dropping the teary-eyed Belle to her back. Immediately, Kylie ducks her head close, and wraps the apprehended limb around the back of her neck. Forcing the champ to her chest, the elfin blonde moves to a kneeling position beside Tricia’s opposite hip.
The worried murmurs grow in the crowd as Belle sweeps a hand back to try and get her lower limb loose only to have Sanders secure a grip around the wrist, bringing left ankle and left wrist painfully close, her Chill Out stretch muffler locked in. Kylie works the unbraced knee of the Mauler like a part-time job, forcing cringe-inducing screams of pain from the champ.
Chill Out (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVtOcOoAjCA )
Tricia holds on through a half-dozen seconds of anguish before she can take no more, tapping her own shoulder then the canvas, then shouting out ‘I QUIT’ when Vanilla is slow to release, testing the official, forcing him to start his count toward disqualification before relenting and releasing.
When Sanders frees Belle to curl into a ball, Tricia cradling her wounded wheel close, the ref motions for the bell and the announcement ruins everyone’s day save for Chill and J-Dogg.
“Your winner and NEW INTERCONTINETAL CHAMPION…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
The beaming, glistening Sanders adds a final stomp to Tricia’s knee as a parting gift and moves to the middle to bask in another title reign, a grand slam when added to her previous World, Tag and Lightweight titles.
A wincing Jasmine hustles to the announcer’s table and scoops up the belt. She slides into the ring, grinning at Belle like a Cheshire Cat as she passes and offers the NEW champ her prize.
Kylie asks for Wash to strap it in place and a cheery Jazzy does as asked. Glorious in triumph, Kylie pats her faceplate and calls for a microphone. Jasmine snatches one out of the air from the toss of a FAWN flunky and hands it over to her partner.
“Da Man ain’t got nuthin on me or the Dogg. Does he?” Kylie assures.
The arena walls feel like they might tumble like Jericho from the reverberating jeers and catcalls. EMTs assist Tricia under the ropes and, as she sits over the edge of the apron, groaning, they immobilize her left leg in an air cast.
“You take a look at my opponent, unworthy as she’s been proven, a champion whom many could not cut down. Da Man dared me. He was thinkin’ she’d tear me a new one. Well watch her head into obscurity, people.”
Indeed, to protect the stability of the limb, the first responders wheel Belle off on a stretcher despite objections from the furious Mauler.
“You thought those punk bytches, those so-called Sweethearts, proved I was reaching the end of the line. Man that wasn’t nuthin’ but a lightning strike for the lucky. FAWN is about to get so damn Chill it’s gonna need a sweater in the summer.”
Jasmine testifies next to her teammate, giving Sanders a series of salaams as the crowd protests Kylie’s success.
“I’m going to make this belt the foremost in the organization; so prestigious, they’ll throw out all the other ones. Cause man, when all is said and done, there ain’t no flavor like Vanilla and there ain’t no feelin’ like da Chill.”
Kylie drops the mike and walks arm in arm with her girl to the ropes where Hot&Bothered slip through, drop to the floor, and exit, heading for what no doubt would be Orlando’s most extravagant and select party.