FAWN Tag Team Champions – Ruili Kanes
With the matches at this year’s Thrills, Chills and Spills dwindling to a precious few, the sound of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus’ ‘You Better Pray’ starts to echo through the arena. The FAWNatics respond with resounding boos for this month’s tag challengers, for as devious as the Kanes could be, the trifecta of little, estrogen-filled Napoleons about to arrive are a plague of scheming, underhanded locusts.
The assembled turn to the upper stage and the arena falls into darkness. A red spotlight illuminates the stage from the right, before winking out. The process is followed by a white spot from directly overhead, then a blue one from the left. As the sequence began its second cycle and continues, it illuminates the outline of three diminutive but muscular forms. And, as the lights come up, the tiny terrors of gymnastics and ice skating start their parade down the ramp and up the aisle.
“The next match is for the FAWN Tag Team Championship and has a 60 minute time limit.”
The announcer is nearly drowned out by a resounding chorus of boos.
“Introducing, the challengers, accompanied to the ring by the Icy Mite herself, Jenny Lewis; she hails from Portland, Oregon and stands five feet two inches tall, weighs in at one hundred and six pounds and is the undisputed leader of the Domi-Nation…the Nasty Mite…DOMINIQUE DALY!”
“And her partner, from Iowa City, Iowa standing all of 4 feet 11 inches tall and weighing 117 pounds of pure gilded muscle, the Golden Mite, Janel Manning. Together they are the Mighty Mites!”
Manning, a star in the world of floor routine, pommel horse, and balance beam of even stronger repute than Daly, bounces along with the FAWN veteran high flyer Daly, the sometimes FAWN member and mostly Jungle denizen Lewis providing back-up for the gymnasts.
While Jenny had done little in the bigs, her stay in the Jungle had made her one to watch, as much from her out-of-the-ring antics as those in the ring. And outside the ring is where she might come into play tonight. The little schemer looks very confident in her cohorts as the threesome make their way to the ring.
Domi’s taut frame seems to vibrate in a gleaming ivory leotard, the slick material adorned with a smattering of tiny stars in black, red and blue. Held over by popular demand from her original red version, the strategic rips are still present and several swatches of Daly’s tawny midriff are clearly visible, as is the impressive musculature in her shoulders, arms and thighs. The look is completed with matching white tape on her wrists and ankles, her feet bare. Daly’s trademark long swishy chocolate-colored ponytail is back in place.
Janel has her familiar flaxen ponytail and she bounces down the aisle next to Domi in a bright blue leotard with a single solid strap over her left shoulder, a thin trio of small white strips across the opposite number. She sports red wrist and ankle tape and goes sans boots. For her part, Jenny also seems ready to rumble and tumble in a sequined red two-piece that shows off her incredibly chiseled abs, her gams and guns also on display.
Janel accompanies Daly up the steps and opens the top and middle ropes for the exotic little battler, hints of all parts of the Pac Rim in her features, her green eyes particularly hypnotizing. Daly slips through and flips to a handstand, ‘walking’ her way around the ring, finally somersaulting forward and hopping to her feet when she reaches her corner, in perfect position for she and Manning to share a high-five.
Janel, gripping the uppermost rope with both hands, flings herself over the top cable without a hint of effort and drops into a somersault, popping gracefully to her feet. The spandex-clad duo huddle in their corner, while Jenny remains on the floor below, offering words of encouragement.
The Ring Announcer then, in appropriately stentorian tones, proclaims, “And their opponents, hailing from Galway, Ireland, weighing in at a combined total of two hundred and forty-seven pounds, they are the reigning FAWN tag team champions…Maeve and Moira…. the RIUUUUUUUUIL KAAAAAANES!”
Celtic pipes wafted through the arena's sound system, but that quickly morphed into an electronica beat as the curtain tore open, the spotlight fixing upon the two women who emerge. The elder Kane, Maeve, was clad in a hunter green one-piece which hugged her lush curves, while her sister Moira was garbed in a two-piece ensemble that was of a darker shade of green than that of her sibling. The Irishwomen strode down to the ring exuding nothing but absolute confidence. They have faced...and beaten...the best teams in the sport, and they were once again the tag team champions of the world, and thus it was obvious to all observers that they had no doubt they'll make short work of their opponents on this night.
Climbing up the ring stairs to the apron, the Kanes demanded that the referee sit on the bottom rope and open the cables up for them. This he did, begrudgingly, and the Eire blondes stepped into the squared circle. The crowd exploded with a cacophony of noise…mostly cheers, but a scattering of boos mixed in, for it was nigh impossible for anyone to remain neutral on the subject of the Ríúil Kanes.
Standing opposite the Irishwomen across the ring, the Mighty Mites were, singularly and mutually, unimpressed. Faces displaying blasé smirks that would do McKayla Maroney proud, the gymnasties stood self-assuredly, hands on their hips with just the barest dash of haughtiness. This was their night, their time…they could feel it in their bones. And they damned sure weren’t going to let these Mick scrubs deny them their rightful gold.
And although her function was to be at ringside tonight, Jenny Lewis knew well the role she would be playing, the one they had all practiced to pinpoint perfection. Even before the cheers for the Kanes began to dwindle, Lewis sauntered around to their side of the ring and, from the floor, called up to them. “On behalf of Janel and Domi, let me thank you two for somehow managing to hold onto the belts long enough for us to pick them up. Tell me, Maeve, how’s the leg? Lucy did a real number on it, didn’t she? Oh, and is that you, Moira? I almost didn’t recognize you, what with you not wearing Mina’s ass on your face tonight.”
Picking a fight with the Kanes is always a risky game, and taunting them with Scandalous just ups the ante for the brave/foolish soul who sticks her head into the lion’s den. The sisters step to the ropes and turn their venom on the insolent Lewis. “Best watch yer tongue, scranger,” Moira growls. “Or once we’re done with yer lassies, we’ll be invitin’ ye into th’ party.”
Maeve is about to add her commentary as well, when suddenly Jenny lunges forward and grabs the middle rope, yanking it down with all of her power. Battle instincts flaring, the Kanes whirl around…just in time to see the Mites in mid-leap. A fraction of an instant later, doubly-delivered dropkicks send the champs to the ropes…and through them, courtesy of Jenny pulling them apart. Maeve and Moira hit the unforgiving cement floor with heavy thuds, the blondes momentarily stunned. Lewis contributes her own handiwork, lashing some snap kicks to the heads of the Irishwomen, further reeling them.
In the ring, the Mites pick up the belts where they had fallen, each hoisting them up high over her head as if to claim them already. They then hand them to the ref and Janel snarls, “Ring the damned bell.” She then turns her gaze to ringside and, pointing at Maeve, purrs, “Her.”
Complying with the request, Jenny grabs the stunned battler by an arm and her hair and pulling her up from the floor, shoves her under the ropes into the ring. That leaves Moira alone at the mercy of the Icy Mite, but the referee barks at her, “Leave her be, and let her go to her corner!” Giving her very best innocent ingénue face, Jenny chirps, “Yes sir, Mr. Official. Heck, I’ll even be neighborly and help her there.” And sure enough, Jenny tenderly helps the younger Kane to her feet, throwing Moira’s arm around her shoulder as she slowly walks the limping lass to her corner; Kane, clearly not yet of lucid mind, doesn’t seem to realize who her Samaritan is. But she is rudely reminded as they approach the corner, and Lewis suddenly whips the blonde into the steel ring pole, which Moira crashes into chest and forehead first, sending her sprawling once again in a mewling heap to the floor. Her work done for now, Jenny grins broadly as she pantomimes wiping the dirt from her hands and struts back to the Mites’ corner.
Meanwhile, back in the squared circle, a moaning Maeve is struggling to her hands and knees as the zebra calls for the opening bell.
Dominique and Janel don’t hesitate when the tolling begins, each moving to the redhead and collecting a wrist. The diminutive duo hauls Maeve to her feet and flings the champ to the far ropes. As Kane rebounds toward them, the Mites spring into action, vaulting toward Maeve and clobbering her with double axhandles to the forehead. Kane drops to the canvas as if shot, her legs flying out in front of her while the back of her braincase crashes into the thinly-covered plywood.
Ignoring the plaintive demands of the ref, Manning and Daly scramble to their feet and remain in the game. The little muscular blonde rips Maeve to her feet while the Queen Bee of the trio, Domi, heads for the nearest corner, popping up to the top buckle like she’s taking a baby step. As the pony-tailed brunette sets for launch, all carved 59 inches of Manning sweep a dazed Maeve off her feet. Cradling the squirming redhead in her arms, the spandex-clad Janel carries her into place and drops to one knee, sending Kane THUMPING down on the pointy joint.
The title holder yelps in pain, her back arching around the upper leg of the blonde. Janel sends an axhandle blow into Maeve’s midriff. Kane jackknifes around the impact, retching, eyes popping wide, but Manning quickly spreads her out straight on the horizontal, just in time for Domi to go airborne. With the redhead like a balanced see-saw on the fulcrum of Janel’s knee, Daly goes all sensational, extending a leg for her drop. The muscular gam lands with a heavy THUD across Maeve’s throat and the champ is sent on a wild spin, vaulting through a 360 before landing on her back.
The overwhelmed Maeve doesn’t seem to know which damage to salve, reaching toward her throat with one hand while the other moves to the base of her spine. With her groaning younger sister finally settling to her station, having shaken some senses back into place after the collision with the post, the redhead finally has an advocate. If still somewhat stunned, the blonde bitterly demands one of the lethal Lilliputians be removed.
The zebra grabs the closest, in this instance Daly, and spins her to the Mite corner. Domi, about a foot smaller than the man, looks as though she’s ready to turn the lug inside out, but instead the growly brunette slides through the ropes and joins the floorbound Jenny in the Mites corner.
Intent on making an immediate singular impression, Manning rips Kane back up to an increasingly jellied set of legs. The Mite makes no friends in Galway when she sends a vicious punt between Maeve’s thighs, turning the stems from jelly to rubber. Kane’s face is etched in agony, her eyes welling, lower lip aquiver, perhaps disbelief in how effective these little gnats, as she’d called them in pre-match pub, are doing. And it isn’t about to stop for the debilitated champ.
Janel swings her left arm around the back of the stooped Kane’s neck then ducks her head under Maeve’s opposite arm. Manning then shows off the impressive amount of power that could be charged into her fireplug body by lifting Kane off the deck with relative ease. She sends Maeve’s boots pointing to the lights above before dropping Kane on her cranium with a Brainbuster.
With the redhead splayed next to her, Janel rolls to her foe and collects Maeve in a tight cradle, the champ’s shoulders tight to the canvas for ONE…TWO…and Kane kicks out, sending the blonde ponytailed grappler off a couple feet.
But Manning hardly seems concerned. She scrambles to her feet and backpedals away from the wreckage, reveling in what she had wrought on the ivory-skinned Irishwoman. Bringing her thumbs and forefingers together in a box, the Mite mimes an impromptu photo shoot of the struggling Maeve as Kane fights her way up. Janel wanders off far enough to hear Moira’s threats over her shoulder and, in a blindingly fast spin, delivers a forearm shiver to the chin of the blonde lassie, knocking the younger Kane for a loop and a trip to the floor.
Manning then strides to Maeve and meets the rising redhead with a boot to the belly. With Maeve doubled, she turns her back on the champ then shows an incredible display of agility, backflipping over her foe, latching on with a hug, and ripping Maeve off her moorings with a german suplex.
The Mite holds on to her grip, bridging as she goes for the win. Kane’s cheeks point to the rafters as her legs bicycle for ONE…TWO…THRNOOO. The redhead manages to break loose and flop to her side, while an eager Janel stares in astonishment at the official. That the man holds two fingers aloft does nothing to change the Mite’s opinion.
Adding a good-bye boot to Maeve’s forehead that rolls Kane to her back, the blonde scoots to her corner and slaps hands with Dominique. Daly springs over the uppermost cable and plants a landing, using Maeve’s considerable mammaries as her pads. Kane yelps in pain from the impact and the furious scrubbing that ensues as Domi twists her ankles to and fro, going all Chubby Checker with her bare tootsies on Maeve’s thinly-sheathed jugs.
Daly steps off her foe’s rack and waves at a flustered and frustrated Moira, the blonde certainly not used to seeing her big sister treated so shabbily, but it seems Dominique is determined for the beat to go on against the trounced Irishwoman.
With Maeve on the deck, Domi gathers up her legs behind the knees and hauls the limbs heavenward. She spins and twists her body, doing likewise to the fidgeting Kane below until it appears she’s about to settle into a Boston. But Daly has something more creative and damaging in mind, as she keeps Maeve vertical and tries to shred the champ’s right knee with her Torture half Crab.
If she could get a submission, so much the better, but for the moment, she just wants to hear the overconfident, what was it, scranger, wail and sob.
Fingers clawing futilely at the canvas. Maeve wails like a banshee. Her magnificent body, now sweat-soaked and trembling, is little more than putty in the malicious hands of her adversary. The diminutive damsel of destruction gleefully Domi-nates the tag champ, mindful of curving her hips so seductively, it’s bound to be the money shot that makes the next cover of GLADIATRIX.
A screaming submission seems very likely on the near horizon…and were this a singles match, it would probably be inevitable. But an advantage of tag teaming (particularly if you aren’t overly concerned about minding the Marquees of bloody Queensberry’s rules) is having a partner near at hand.
Of course, Moira Kane was only marginally in better condition than her sister. Despite not having actually been an official participant in this match as yet, she already is being made to call upon her second wind. But as she painfully collects herself from the arena floor and lifts her head up over the edge of the ring apron, she witnesses her older sibling’s dire straits, and a burst of adrenalin courses through her veins. She slides under the bottom rope, and kips up in a flash to her feet, bounders up behind Dominique and slams a double axe handle blow between her shoulder blades.
The sudden and unexpected impact forces Daly to release her hold, and as the referee tries to physically manhandle Moira out of the ring, the brunette shakes her head and rises up. However, rather than resume her assault on her victim, she turns and charges at Moira.
The ref finds himself the slab of meat between two slices of wildcatting pulchritude as he now struggles to separate them and get some semblance of control over the match. From ringside, the broadcast team comment that Domi has seemingly made a critical error, turning her attention away from the reeling Maeve to engage in a pointless spat with Moira…but very quickly, it becomes obvious that Daly’s actions are not the rash spasm of fiery emotionalism, but rather a cannily crafted strategy to distract the zebra.
For, while the referee has his attention riveted elsewhere (and Moira is likewise engaged), Manning has slipped stealthily back into the ring, and is almost immediately joined by Jenny. The embattled Irishwoman can muster no more than a slurred “Whaaaa….?” as she finds her ankles grasped by the two Mites. Janel and Jenny then slide out of the ring, pulling the unwilling Kane with them; however, as each woman has alit on either side of the ring post, that means that as they continue to yank their victim toward them, Maeve’s reverse progress is only stopped as her crotch is slammed into the unyielding steel. The Kanes aren’t the only ones who can act as a team.
The scream is ripped from the redhead’s throat, finally catching the attention of the official, who whips her head around…only to see Maeve curling into the fetal position, Lewis standing innocently at ringside and Manning jumping back up to the apron. Clearly, some chicanery was afoot, but lacking visual evidence, the ref can only scowl.
Satisfied her compatriots have done their duty; Dominique suddenly loses all interest in hairpulling with Moira, and turns away from her. That lets the ref finally push the Irish blonde back out between the ropes. Carrying herself with a strut that all but shouts supreme self-confidence, Daly walks over to the mewling heap that is one half of the FAWN tag champions and, taking her by the arm and with a handful of matted hair, she hauls the dazed Irish lass back up to uncertain verticality.
Grasping the redhead in a simple wrist lock, Dominique forces her to limp closer to the opposite corner. There, still holding tight to Maeve’s right wrist, the brunette deftly scales the turnbuckles, then gracefully balances herself atop the rope. Walking across the cable as if it were a tightrope, Domi forces Kane to haplessly walk alongside her, the redhead’s arm still agonizingly twisted. This move is pure showboating, but the dropped elbow smash she intends to deliver in a few moments is decidedly more damaging.
Suddenly, shouts of warning from Lewis and Manning, with Janel hurriedly trying to scramble through the ropes into the ring…and then the sensation of falling, following a half-instant later by a starburst of agony between her thighs. In a few moments, once the initial flare of pain has subsided a bit, Daly will realize that Moira had rushed back into the ring and grabbed the rope which the brunette was balanced upon, giving it a shake and causing Dominique to lose her footing and fall straight down. Now, the Mite found herself astraddle the rope in a most precarious position.
Janel desperately tries to assist her partner, but the exasperated referee blocks her way, ordering her to vacate the ring or he’ll end the match. That gives Moira the few precious moments she needs to grab the top rope with both hands and yank it up and down. Domi rides it like a cowgirl, the thinly-sheathed steel cable cutting deep into her womanhood with every bounce. Unable to stay upright any longer, she tumbles to her side…and unfortunately for the gymnast, the side she chooses leads to the cement floor far below. She hits it with a wet thud, curling into a tight ball as her hands gingerly massage her aching nether region.
Now the official turns his angry attention toward Moira, making the same threat of disqualification if she does not likewise get the hell out of the ring. Showing a marked degree of maturity, she complies without complaint…but also uses the opportunity to grab Maeve, who has fall to her hands and knees, and drag her closer to the sisters’ corner.
Maeve has to crawl the last few feet, but she’s finally able to reach up and brush fingers with her sister, who has repositioned herself in her legal spot outside of the ring again. The crowd gives a lusty cheer as Moira steps between the ropes and helps her bedraggled sibling out of the ring. Meanwhile, Domi is agonizingly pulling herself back into the ring under the ropes.
Her sister safely off of the battlefield, Moira gives a sneering look back over her shoulder at the sight of her opponent, now getting up to her hands and knees. “Round two,” she purrs with a devilish grin.
Collecting Daly around the head, a smirking Moira roughly hauls the lead Mite to her feet and slides behind her. She gives Domi a shove, the pony-tailed brunette lurching forward to the middle of the ring, still a bit pigeon-toed. Kane quickly closes the gap between them pressing her chest into the diminutive challenger’s shoulders. Wrapping a long tawny leg around Domi’s right hip, the blonde crosses Daly’s back on a horizontal. Sliding her right arm under Daly’s left, she ducks her head and shoulders under soon after and gets to shredding Dominique’s abs with a taffy pull of a Stretch.
With Daly’s gymnastic background and corresponding chiseled abdomen, it’s a slow process, but each violent tug comes closer to breaking Daly’s initial resolve, until a dozen seconds later, the tears in the brunette’s spandex echo those in her abs, Domi chirping as Moira continues to pour on the pressure. Not satisfied, Kane levels a pointed elbow into Domi’s side and she quickly has the exotic cutie mewling. Daly shifts one foot forward at a time, bow-legged cowboy-style. It’s a painful journey, but a successful one, as she clamps a hand around the top rope, immediately squealing for release. And when the ref seems a bit slow, two other Mites join in the whiny serenade.
Only when the zebra gets his count to ‘FOUR’ does Kane slide loose from her abdominal torture, sending a farewell THUMP of a forearm smash into Daly’s ribs. The Mite limps away, folding to the side of the attack, keeping a grip on the cable for protection. Finally, she lets loose, trying to dodge her way past the blonde to the Mite corner and a little relief.
She drops into a somersault to slip past Moira on mat level, but the surly Irishwoman lays a well-placed boot to Daly, sending her off course and toward a neutral corner before cracking open her protective ball. Reaching down, the champ plucks a twisting, flailing Domi off the deck. Kane sends a harsh kneelift deep into Daly’s tummy and the already aching muscles in her midriff cave in, Daly doubling over, her feet lifted off the canvas.
Falling upon her victim from behind once more, the younger sibling of the titleholders captures a wrist of the former gymnast’s, pulls it high and tight and knots her arms within it and the brunette’s braincase, capturing the challenger in a tight cobra clutch that sends the crowd into wild cheers, Jenny immediately shouting at them to “SHUT UP”. But shut up they do not. In fact, they grow even louder when Moira takes her power advantage out for a spin, lifting Domi off the deck with the Clutch and swinging her back and forth like a featherweight pendulum.
Having seen enough, Janel pops her tensile frame over the cables and races at Moira from behind. She leaps into a high dropkick, for someone not reaching five feet tall, which shoots toward a spot between Kane’s shoulderblades. The only problem is the champs have shared a look between them and that’s all Moira needs to know to spin on a dime. Manning’s boots THUMP into Domi’s open breadbasket, folding her up with a pitiful groan. Moira completes the unfortunate exercise for Dominique by vaulting her overhead with a clutch suplex.
Perhaps not surprisingly, Daly is somehow able to plant the landing with only a minor deduction, but the blonde is more than ready for the circumstance, spinning into a superkick to the jaw that sends Domi airborne, this time landing splayed on her back.
With an embarrassed Janel herded back to the Mite corner by the referee, Maeve peels a reeling Domi to all fours by her ‘tail and leads her to the Kanes’ corner like a whipped puppy on a leash. Sister tags sister and while Maeve slides through to join her kin, Moira yanks her bytch up to wobbly feet. The redhead hops to the middle ropes on either side of the buckles as Moira scoops a dazed Domi up like a babe in her arms and drops her across bended knee. With Daly arched over the bony joint in a backbreaker, Maeve leaps from her perch, legs extended and scrapes Domi off her sister’s knee with a stem across the diminutive brunette’s throat. Daly flips violently to her chest, Maeve ending on her bum but happy about the wreckage to her side.
With Manning back in place and Jenny Lewis shouting and tugging her hair over the double team, the official turns to find Moira exiting and the ivory-skinned redhead securing an ankle lock. The busty Irishwoman twists a shrieking Domi’s lower limb like she means to remove the foot, but thankfully for Daly, the ropes aren’t far and she wraps a palm around one, quickly pleading for release. Maeve does so, but only by lifting the former gymnast’s limb high and throwing it to the canvas. Domi’s knee bangs into the deck, the Portland native sobbing as she cradles the joint close.
Domi uses the ropes to gingerly pull herself up and Maeve steps in close to sweep her good leg out from under her. But Daly has other ideas. With the help of her grip, she hops over Maeve’s swinging stem then launches again a split-second later, thwacking Maeve’s temple with a wicked enziguri to the redhead’s temple. The champ is sent stumbling, ending on one knee, while the Mite, on all fours, gallops like a lame filly toward the waiting tag of her eager partner.
A scowling Moira shouts at Maeve and the busty auburn-haired beauty does see Domi’s retreat, but too late. The charge by Kane gets her only halfway there when the tag comes and Janel leaps, a tiny house afire. Popping to the top cable like gravity doesn’t matter, Manning lands on the rope and springboards toward Maeve in a high-flying crossbody, thumping in a ‘T’ formation into the redhead’s chest and shoulders. But instead of being flattened, the crafty vet staggers and remains upright, a squirming 59 inches of muscle wriggling in her grip before Maeve drops to her knees and nearly sends Janel THROUGH the canvas with a ring-rattling slam.
Manning bounces a couple inches off the deck from the force of the impact and settles in a daze below the kneeling, grinning champion. “Ye are welcome ya tiddling, tyre biter. Yer muscles must seep into yer head tinkin ya could take me down.”
Kane drapes her body across the stilled, spandex-sheathed body of Manning and hooks a sinewy leg, pulling Janel into a tight cradle, muscular buttocks pointed to the rafters for ONE…TWO…and a kickout.
A nervous Domi claps her hands together HARD while little Jenny on the block pumps her fist nervously. “COME ON!” she shouts.
“Yeah,” Maeve adds, hovering over the wide-eyed Mite. “Ye should really come on now. Cause I’m about to put ya on your Gary Glitter more times than ya care to count.”
Bending down, the Galwegian makes a point of getting a solid grip on her opponent’s golden locks, nice and close to the roots, causing Janel to “yeep” as she is roughly hauled back up to her feet. But the moment the handholds on her mane are released, the Mite tries to take control of the situation again, swinging a right cross at the face of the Irish lass.
However, Maeve easily leans back, letting the blow pass by her chin by mere inches. The momentum causes Manning to spin around, and the redhead steps up close behind her, wrapping her arms around the blonde’s midriff. Snuggle time is brief, though, as Kane with a small grunt lifts the Mite up into the air.
For an extended heartbeat or two, fans…and all three Mighty Mites…wonder which direction Maeve intends to take her unwilling passenger. The question is answered as she suddenly pulls Janel back down, where her tailbone impacts with the redhead’s jutting knee.
The collision causes Manning to sail forward, until she skids chest-first to the canvas, where her hands instants reach behind to try and massage the throbbing agony in her posterior. In her corner, Domi frantically stretches out her hand, but her embattled partner remains several feet shy of making the tag, and in no condition at the moment to close the gap between them.
All of the earlier pain and exhaustion has washed away from Maeve as she saunters over toward her fallen adversary, the very study in supremacy. Looking down at the prostrate blonde, she suddenly drops a knee into Janel’s back, digging it into her spine. Manning’s body convulsively jackknives, and Kane uses that motion to cup one hand under the Mite’s chin, while her other finds and grabs the blonde’s left ankle.
“Oi confess,” the Irishwoman says, “Oi’ve always been a smidge envious of ‘ow flexible ye tumblers are. Moira says ye’ve got to ‘ave double joints in yer spine to pull it off as ye do, but Oi’m dubious of that. What say we put the theory to the test?” And with that, the redhead does her level best to make both ends meet.
Manning gives forth a scream worthy of a banshee as her head and leg are both bent up and back. Her body quivers as electric agony courses through her diminutive frame, for unlike a taller girl, her shorter stature makes a move such as this all the more excruciating. The crowd seems to hold its collective breath as Maeve brings head and foot closer and closer, until finally the toes are made to touch the crown, and the audience bursts forth with a cheer. Dominique screams expletives at Maeve, to no effect, while Jenny covers her eyes with her hands and grimaces in sympathy pain.
All she need do is maintain this hold, and Kane will undoubtedly draw forth a pleading submission within just a few moments more. Jenny Lewis realizes this, and knows she has to do what she can to prevent it. Rushing to the ropes, she reaches under and grabs at Maeve’s ankle, tugging it. The move itself doesn’t accomplish much, other than to draw the wrath of the referee, who focuses his full attention on the perpetrator of the illegal interference. It also catches both eyes of Moira in her corner, meaning she isn’t paying attention to Daly for a few precious seconds, and unable to give warning to her sibling.
Indeed, deciding she has had enough of having to face three Mites in this match, the blonde suddenly bolts along the apron, then jumps off, pulling her knees in tight before suddenly lashing out with her legs. The dropkick catches Jenny flush, sending her toppling to the floor in a moaning heap. This outbreak of ringside brawling continues to enrapt the ref, keeping him from turning his attention back to the legal match behind him.
Moving with quicksilver swiftness, Domi scurries into the ring and rushes toward the unsuspecting tag champ, and from behind rakes her nails across Maeve’s eyes, bringing forth a raspy screech; more importantly, it causes Kane to release her holds upon Janel’s limbered extremities. Although momentarily blinded, the elder Kane starts to rise up, ready to whirl about to face this new threat. However, before she’s barely even fully upright, the redhead feels hands cupping around her chin.
An instant later, Daly jumps up, plants her knees against the Irishwoman’s back, and lets gravity do its work. As they hit the mat, the lungblower succeeds in painfully driving a significant portion of oxygen from Maeve’s chest, leaving her badly stunned and panting for breath. Like a viper, Dominique rolls to all fours, grabs the still-stupefied Manning’s wrist, and drags her body atop the prone form of Kane. She then hurries out of the ring, and as if on cue, the official chooses now to turn around.
See a pinning situation, the zebra drops to the mat with dramatic flair and starts slapping his hand to canvas…
Just narrowly able to kick out, Kane with a whimper rolls over to her belly and, almost instinctively, starts to claw and drag herself across the ring, desperate to reach her corner. At ringside, Moira stands over the quivering body of Lewis, who now clings tenuously to consciousness and is no longer a factor in this match. Looking into the ring, she spots her sister’s anxious struggle, and she quickly reclaims her place up on the apron, stretching her arm as much as humanly possible, and calling on Maeve to come just a little…bit…closer…!
Meanwhile, Janel has likewise begun to pull herself slowly across the canvas toward her own corner, and now it was a seemingly snail’s pace contest to find which beleaguered beauty would reach salvation first.
With neither woman even making it to all fours, Maeve and Janel slithering along the canvas, the contest is an extended one. It ends extremely close, Manning slapping her partner simultaneously to the Kanes’ exchange.
Fresh blood hustles into the ring and both take off on a sprint toward each other, Dominique fast enough to make the seeming collision point on the champ’s side of the squared circle. But as Moira braces, her legs widening so she can lift Daly up and down with a spinebuster, the ponytailed brunette goes low instead of high and slides her little spandex-covered derriere between Kane’s stems.
Popping up on the other side, Domi nails the spinning Moira with a leaping enziguri to the temple that turns Kane’s 180 into a 360. With the blonde facing the opposite direction, Domi, who’d skillfully landed on her feet after her kick, leaps toward Moira’s back. Her hands cups around the Irishwoman’s chin. But instead of a lungblower, the Mite drags the titleholder straight to the canvas with her Leaping Russian Legsweep.
Moira’s back and shoulders THUNK against the canvas. A snarling Domi’s landing isn’t exactly pleasant but it’s nothing like the champ’s and Daly scrambles to her feet, eschewing the pin and rapidly heading for a corner. Vaulting to the top buckle, the Pac Rim beauty spins to face the splayed blonde and immediately launches to a height rivaled only by Shea London and her own partner Janel. Domi’s body tucks into a cannonball at its height, but as she begins to plummet toward her target, her limbs explode out like she’s a flying squirrel and the former gymnast CRUSHES Kane under a bullish frog splash.
Daly bounces atop her demolished foe, swaddling her tummy. She grimaces, but drapes her taut frame across Kane, the Mite’s abs aching too much to hook a leg. Still, it doesn’t seem it’s going to matter when she gets the ONE…TWO…THRNOOO.
Moira keeps her and her sibling’s title reign in place for at least three more seconds. The groaning blonde rolls to her chest and pushes to hands and knees. With Domi hovering, Moira treks toward her sister on all fours, but it’s a short trip.
Daly hops on her gift-wrapped filly, cinching her muscular if abbreviated stems around Moira’s midsection. But riding the Irishwoman until her ribs are powdered isn’t nearly enough, Domi adding a vicious crossface to complete her signature Daly Double. Scissoring below and trying to rip Kane’s head off above, Daly demands the ref ask for the champ’s submission, but Moira grunts in the negative.
“You want more pain Eurotrash?” Daly asks with a growl. “More pain you get.”
Domi dismounts and waits till Moira starts to rise. She heads for the ropes and rebounds back at a wavering Kane. Daly skies toward the waiting champ, ready to plant skull to canvas and end the bytch’s night with a front flip DDT.
But even with her momentum, Dominique doesn’t have enough force to pull the champ over and spike her. Instead, Kane shows the perseverance and toughness that made her and her sister tag titleholders again. Collecting the leaping Domi, she reverses the ex-gymnast’s course and PLANTS her to the deck with a vertebrae-rattling spinebuster.
The crowd explodes with the reversal of fortune, Domi splayed between Moira’s extended legs. The blonde pushes against the back of Daly’s knees, folding her up in a semi-matchbook. She gets the ONE…TWO…THRNOOO.
Domi shows her ability to escape, kicking free and rolling to her side. A still smarting Moira pushes to her feet and collects the near Olympian by the ponytail, yanking her up to rubbery legs.
Pivoting so the women are side by side, Kane hairmares Domi to the canvas not once, not twice, but three times. Only with the third does she release, leaving the Mite to thump down on her tailbone again, Daly’s hands working under her ass to provide some form of relief.
A cheery champ flips a fuming Janel the bird, then returns her attention to Domi, pulling the challenger up, hands buried into each nape of the ex-gymnast’s neck. She hauls the Mite up easily from bum to boots and shoves her toward the Kanes’ corner, Daly’s pert chest thumping into the top buckle in front of a beaming Maeve. The redhead spins Daly and traps her arms at the elbows.
“Whaddya say ya crush this little slapper,” Maeve shouts. “Let me finish her off and the Vitamin G is on me.” (Guinness for all you stupid Yanks).
Moira nods and puts it in high gear up to ramming speed. Domi flails in Maeve’s grip, desperate to evacuate, but finding flight difficult to come by.
How many times had the fans seen scenarios such as this? And how many times had the intended victim managed to escape her entrapment at the very last possible instant, with the end result of her adversaries damaging only one another as they collide? Already astonishingly surprised by the performance of the Mites in this one, no one in the crowd was willing to rule out the possibility that Domi might well be able to pull out the miracle.
Alas, her allotment of miracles seems to be exhausted now, as in spite of her squirmings, she remains firmly held in the corner. Meanwhile, the charging Moira has leapt into the air, and she brings her body splashing hard into that of the brunette in a spray of perspiration, driving the air from Daly’s already panting lungs with a heavy, rasping grunt, and reducing her finely sculpted legs to something with the consistency of orange marmalade.
The only thing keeping the gymnasty from collapsing in a heap, apart from the remnants of her own indomitable will, is Moira’s hand in her hair, pulling her sluggishly stumbling out of the corner even as the retreating younger Kane slaps the hand of her sister. The lawful tag made, Maeve slips between the ropes and, working in concert with her sibling, lifts the moaning Dominique into the air; Moira holds her aloft by the legs, and Maeve by the head. “Get the table!” a fan bellows from ringside, but the Kanes aren’t inclined to wait for someone to somehow provide one, and instead they execute the 3D down upon the mat. Daly’s petite body slams heavily upon the canvas-sheathed plywood, expelling whatever lucidity remains in her Machiavellian mind.
Reduced to little more than a flesh and bone rag doll, the Mite offers no resistance as Maeve rolls her over. Rather than go for her usual figure four-derived submission, the elder Kane simply throws herself atop her opponent’s chest, hooks a leg, and lets the referee do his job.
Of course, Manning isn’t about to let this happen if she can help it; even as the redhead throws herself upon Domi for the cover, Janel musters what little fuel she has left in the tank and dashes between the ropes, intent on breaking up the pinfall. However, so focused is she on Maeve, she fails to take into account that Moira is still in the ring as well. The Irish blonde takes the Mite down face-first with a Russian leg sweep, putting an end to Manning’s hopes of staving off defeat. With a groan, she plants her palms to the canvas and starts to push herself back up, even as the mournful sound of the bell tolls in her ears. But a sudden kick to the ribcage causes her to flop over onto her back. Eyes blinking to adjust to the glare of the arena lights overhead, she suddenly sees the menacing figure of the blonde Kane standing over her.
Hands on her hips and a sneering grin on her face, Moira’s eyes lock with those of the dazed woman before her. Then, she does something she has never done before: Moira Kane plays cheerleader. A lifelong Galway Shamrock Rovers FC fan, she bellows a chant she had shared with many another hooligan:
“Oi see the green flag fans are rising,
Oi see there’s trouble on the way,
An’ if yer red ‘n black,
Yer ass’ll get a smack,
Oi see the Bohs run, runaway…”
The blonde then executes a splits drop, landing with perfect precision as her groin settles over the sweat-soaked face of the startled Mite. This unique employment of her traditional ‘Emerald Ire’ finisher makes its point of mocking its gymnast victim. Janel thrashes haplessly beneath her tormentor, but cannot escape, and very quickly the smothering combines with her overall exhaustion to leave her motionless.
Kipping back up to her feet, Moira joins Maeve as they are handed their belts; each throwing their ten pounds of leather and gold over a shoulder, they then allow the ref to raise their arms in victory, the thousands-strong crowd lustily cheering, while FAWN attendants collect the unmoving bodies of the three slumbering Mighty Mites.
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