Jeanette Lansdale and Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV may have been partners this evening, but the pair had only one thing in common: neither one wanted to be here.

Yet here, more specifically the FAWN Arena in the first round of the inaugural tag team tournament, was exactly where they found themselves. Neither had an overwhelming desire to wear those bolts, and both women despised the other.

But what Maurie Devonshire wants, Maurie Devonshire gets.

The preliminaries were over. All four women were now in the ring, Rage Against the Machine's "Renegades of Funk", which had trumpeted the arrival of Betsy Margera and Cynthia Syxx, finally beginning to fade from the sound system. The Whores on Parole presented a far different picture. They were full of energy and zest, a lively, affectionate couple of friends who looked more than ready to go on to the next level. Quite the contrast from the cold and distant forms of Lansdale and VanBuren, and the simmering hostility between them. "Just you don't screw this up," Portia hissed to her partner.

"Oh, don't worry," Lansdale replied, slipping through the ropes. "I know exactly what I'm doing tonight."

Jeanette was halfway through the ropes when she felt Portia's hand on her shoulder, and she fought the overwhelming urge to rip the socialite's arm from its socket. "And just what do you think you're doing now?" Baby VanBuren hissed.

"Leaving the ring, stupid," Jeanette answered. "Only one of us can be in here at one time, you know? Or did your nanny never explain the rules of tag team matches to you?"

"Oh no, Jersey," Portia said with a shake of her head. "You're earning you keep to…"

Her sentence was brought to a premature end by a shoulder driven directly into the small of her back. Portia was thrust hard into her corner, Lansdale somehow avoiding contact with her, before VanBuren toppled backward to the mat. Jeanette smiled, her eyes crossing from Portia's dazed form to Precious, VanBuren's mallet of choice, resting on the apron beside her.

Portia blinked her eyes, her vision finally focusing on Betsy's features looking down on her. Helping herself to a handful of Portia's strawberry blonde looks, Margera pulls her up to her feet. Though dazed, Portia still possessed the wits to reach out and rake her nails across the taller blonde's eyes. Betsy staggered away, and Portia struck by charging forward, grabbing her head as she passed and dropping her with a bulldog

As Betsy's right leg twitched, Portia sat beside her with a smirk. True, she didn't want to be here. True, she had bigger fish to fry in the form of Chrissy Daniel next week. But she still delighted in inflicting pain, and her pride still smarted from her encounter with BabyGurl backstage, and stung even more so after seeing her assailant defeated by Cynthia Mitchell, of all people. She had a statement to make, and then she could hand things to Lansdale.

Getting back to her feet, Portia delivered a series of indiscriminant stomps to Betsy's back and head. Pulling Margera up, she wrapped her arms around Portia's waist before lifting her into the air. She kept Betsy airborne for a second or two, and then dropped to one knee, slamming Betsy crotch-first across her outstretched thigh. Betsy squealed in anguish, hopping up before flopping back to the mat.

"Remind me to have my thigh disinfected after the match," Portia sneered before rising. Stalking her prey, she lifted Betsy's leg, turning her into a half Boston. Betsy's hands flew to her face, clutching at her hair as her back seared in pain. The ref asked her if she wanted to give, but stubbornly she shook her head.

"The worst is still coming," Portia cooed over her shoulder. "Sure you don't want to rethink that?"

Betsy groaned, lifting her right hand from her face and stretching out her arm. Much to her relief, her fingers were able to coil around the bottom rope. Quickly, the ref stepped in and ordered a break. As one would expect, though, Portia refused, continuing to ride her hold until the brink of the five count.

Once released, Betsy reached around her body to massage the pain from the small of her back. "Baby," Portia spat. "You act like you've never had Crabs before. We both know how untrue that is."

Portia brought Betsy to her feet and backed her into the ropes. She started to send her for an Irish whip, but Margera put on the breaks, reversing it, and catches Portia on the rebound with a crisply executed kick that impacts just under VanBuren's chin. Nearly decapitated, Portia drops like a shot, and Betsy staggers into her corner, making the tag to Cynthia Syxx.

Bursting through the ropes, Syxx wastes no time in racing past her downed foe, bouncing off the ropes and dropping an elbow to VanBuren's chest, Portia's limbs spasming to life off the mat. Dragging Portia up by her hair, she sends her for the ride into the ropes. With remarkable precision, Cynthia hits her on her return with a dropkick squarely to Portia's right knee. Again, VanBuren goes down, this time clutching her knee.

Cynthia springs back to her feet, and tags out to Betsy. Refreshed, she advances on Portia, and pulls her into a standing headscissors. With Portia sufficiently trapped, Betsy reaches down, and flips VanBuren's skirt up to reveal the lace panties beneath. Raising her hand to the crowd, the fans (many of whom unsure of who to cheer for throughout the early going of the match) unite as one in a loud ovation.

The resounding smack of palm to buttock overwhelmed even that sound.

Before Portia even had a chance to react to this embarrassment, she felt Betsy's arms wrap around her waist, and felt herself being hoisted off the mat. With Portia airborne, Betsy dropped to the canvas with a powerbomb that fully lived up to its name, and left VanBuren a beautiful yet lifeless husk on the mat.

Betsy scrambled back to her feet, and again tagged her partner. Instead of entering the ring, though, Cynthia began to scale the turnbuckles, not stopping until she reached the top. Once there, Cynthia allowed herself a moment to showboat, swiveling her hips before launching herself into the air, twisting her body as she crashed to the canvas…

…and not across Portia, who had rolled out of the way.

Portia was hurting and disoriented. But she knew she had to get out of the ring. Rolling onto her belly, her eyes scanned for her corner, finding Jeanette with her left hand extended into the ring. Her knee aching the entire time, she dragged herself forward. On the other side of the ring, Cynthia was finally overcoming her own aches and pains and was beginning to crawl toward her corner. Portia had the head start, though, and she was going to make it. Pulling herself up to all fours, she propelled herself into the corner the final few feet for the tag.

Her eyes widened, first in shock as Lansdale left hand retracted, but then in horror as her right hand came out from behind Lansdale's back, with Precious in its company.

And then the lights went out.

As Portia dropped to the canvas, out cold, Jeanette dropped the mallet with a satisfied smile. Her work her complete, at least for the time being, she hopped off the apron, content to spend the rest of the match as a spectator. Across the ring, Cynthia made the tag, and Betsy entered. She wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, and she didn't really care. She wasn't about to let this opportunity go without capitalizing.

Pulling Portia's insensate form out of her corner, she again locked her in a standing headscissors, and again hoisted her into powerbomb position. This time, though, upon impact she remained atop Portia, holding her in a matchbook pin for an academic three count.

The crowd remained silent, for the most part, as Cynthia and Betsy embraced in the middle of the ring. No one in attendance had really known what to expect from this match coming in, and very few if any seemed to understand what had happened after it was over.

As Betsy and Syxx made their way backstage, Jeanette rolled back inside the ring, and slowly moved toward Portia's motionless body. Crouching beside her, Lansdale slipped her fingers into the waistband of VanBuren's skirt.

Portia's body didn't even twitch as the garment slid down her hips.

Once relieved from Portia's person, the skirt found its way into a sea of hands in the first few rows, numerous fans desperate for the souvenir. Her nearly translucent blouse followed suit, Portia's lithe form left merely in white lace panties. For a moment, an agonizingly long moment for the fans, it appeared that it, too, might join its brethren in the seats. But instead, Lansdale shook her head.

"I have to save something to take from you," she whispered. "But it won't be long."