Chrissy Daniel could rail against the idea till she was blue in her bounteous breast. Portia could stick up her nose and pull it back down with a face that looked as if she had swallowed an entire lemon. And Shea, what would she know, off playing sensei to some chick from the sticks. No, all three champions of FAWN, one current, two past, could not deny the heat the next match had acquired, well beyond anything any of those three champions had been involved in.

The media build-up and accompanying coast-to-coast sniping had brought this battle to a level FAWN had never seen and Maurie Devonshire, if he had been the type of man to give out bonuses, surely would have presented them to the Ice Maiden and Jeanette.

This match brought FAWN to Vegas and with it the attendance of many stars and starlets. It had even gotten Portia Van Buren to the desert off-season. As she took her front-row perch, there was much pointing and, of course the omnipresent catcalls and insults of the ill-informed. The strawberry blonde shrugged it off as business as usual and settled into her seat. She normally enjoyed the safe, secure, and less odor-ific confines of a skybox, but she wanted to be close for this one. Much like the rest of the crowd, she could sense a distinctive air to this contest. She wanted to hear the wails, feel the impact of body on body, and if the opportunity arose, who knows.

Mr. Devonshire had threatened her with retribution if she stuck her nose in, but with Daddy to buy her way out of a jam, perhaps his threat could be taken with a shaker of salt.

The lights dim, and "Awake" by Godsmack roars from the speakers, shaking the arena. Two white pillars of sparks flanking the walkway erupt as Jeanette Lansdale calmly and coolly acknowledges the cheering fans. The videowall shows pictures of her previous matches and small highlights from her training reel. The blonde warrior doesn't interact with the fans as she walks briskly to the ring in a white strapless bikini and white ankle high boots. Small beads of sweat coat her taut midsection as she strolls confidently to the ring. Her eyes remain fixed on the ring as she walks - two cold, glittering sapphires. Jeanette climbs into the ring as fire erupts from the four ring posts. With the confidence befitting a former World Champion, the lithe blonde stretches a bit, her long blond mane pulled back in a ponytail. She paces, like a caged lioness, muscles bunching and twisting as she readies herself for the fight of her life.

Portia blows her a kiss from behind the guardrail, but Jeanette casually disregards the effort to dislodge her from her game, instead turning to the ramp as her music fades.

The lights go out and the arena is thrust into complete darkness. The sound of a howling wolf breaks, filling the arena. The Jumbo-Tron jumps to life and the infamous Tri-Cova appears, bathing the arena in an eerie red glow. The sound system starts to pound out "Operation Mind Crime" by Queensryche. ICE MAIDEN scrolls across the Tri-Cova. Followed by NA SHAGAT' NET' appearing on the screen. As the music continues, ICE MAIDEN scrolls across the screen and is finally replaced by ONE POUND.

A pyrotechnic display shakes the arena and Irena steps onto the entrance ramp amid the thunderous cheers of the fans. She throws her arms out to her side in Christ-like fashion and lets her head roll slowly backward. She closes her eyes and, after a couple of seconds, she rolls her head forward and scans the arena to insure there is no one lying in wait and then proceeds down the ramp. Irena walks up the ring steps and steps over the top rope, the act accentuating her size, as if it need be done. She marches to the center of the ring, thrusts her arms out to her side. The four ring posts erupt in a rapid-fire red, white and blue pyrotechnic salvo. The raven-haired tower of power recedes to her corner, her accouterments of choice, a cobalt blue one piece. The turtleneck and sleeveless lycra bodysuit is trimmed with black and silver, including along a revealing thong back. Thigh-high white patent leather boots, the better to stomp you with, finish the stunning ensemble.

As both Irena and Jeanette wait in opposite corners, poised for the bell, the crowd, already on their feet for several minutes, save Portia, begins to rhythmically clap, as if they are together in one giant heartbeat, waiting for the action to explode.

THWAP. THWAP. THWAP.

If there were goosepimples on either Irena or Jeanette, they could have hardly been blamed. This was an extraordinary pre-match reaction for an extraordinary occasion. Tonight, this ring was the center of the wrestling universe and they were the divine goddesses who would battle to reign supreme. The bluster and bravado was gone. All that remained were two gleaming, finely-tuned instruments and the experience and know-how to make both the ultimate weapon in the game.

DING. DING. DING.

The ovation instantly breaks from an increasing staccato rhythm to a rousing, fire-at-will, the noise deafening as the two contenders close to the middle of the ring.

Jeanette fires the opening salvo, unloading a stiff right cross that Irena picks off with a shoulder roll, Lansdale follows with a left toward the Ice Maiden�s gut that is once again intercepted. Irena blocks and snatches Jeanette�s arm by the wrist. She pivots and flings the blonde to the far ropes, following behind so as to keep little space between Jeanette�s rebound and her return appointment.

Irena makes the first impact play of the day driving a patent white thigh-high into Jeanette�s gut, doubling the beautiful blonde at the waist. The Ice Maiden takes a step forward, encircling Jeanette�s neck from the top, but Lansdale, realizing her predicament quickly, pushes Irena off and away before the Russian can introduce her skull to the canvas with a DDT.

Irena uses the momentum of Jeanette�s push and backs into the far ropes before shooting forward like a Siberian freight train, but again the Colorado cutie plays a little �D�, showing off her counter game with a drop toe hold, Irena slamming against the mat as she is tripped up by the intricate legwork.

Immediately, Jeanette is on the Ice Maiden�s bare back, laying a couple of right-handed blows to her right temple, Irena rising to one knee despite the battering. Jeanette keeps her chest glued to Irena�s back, but the blonde rides a little high and when Malenakova reaches over her head, she finds Jeanette�s. With two strong handholds and a shift of her bodyweight forward, Irena makes the process of flipping Jeanette over and off, look an extremely simple one, Lansdale skidding to a halt on her bikini�ed backside, the patch of white cloth covering her derriere, partially sinking between her cheeks.

Still, the lightly bronzed blonde was up like a jackrabbit, turning and charging the Russian. Irena, in one swift lightning motion, rose from her knee, and gathered enough momentum to clothesline Jeanette with monstrous force, spinning Jeanette�s far-from-frail form 270 degrees on its vertical axis, the blonde splatting to the canvas on her face and considerable D-cups.

Though her sparkling blue pools seem to be in whirlpool mode, Jeanette manages to rise unsteadily to her feet. Clearly no imminent threat, it is almost as if she wants Irena to see she hasn�t kept her canvas-bound despite the Wheel of Misfortune. Malenakova responds without a hint of emotion, grasping Jeanette�s ponytail with one hand, the back of her head with the other, she re-introduces Jeanette to mat with a thumping facebuster. The jarring collision leaves Lansdale no choice but to get acquainted with her surroundings this time, her mouth slightly agape, eyes half-lidded, her thoughts cloudy, but clear enough to now understand what people meant by an Icy Impact.

But while those in the crowd sat in shock and awe, some happy, some sad, it plainly was just another day at the office for Irena. She drops to a straddle of Jeanette�s tawny back, gathers up her left arm and pinions it behind her in a chickenwing. Again, alarm bells go off in the blonde�s mind, even as the pain of her twisted arm gives her nervous system yet more with which to deal. Before, Irena can slide down to coat her body in the shining expanse of her cobalt blue bodysuit and slap on the crossface, Lansdale claws her way to within a foot of her saving grace, only then does the steel band of the Ice Maiden�s right arm come across her features, twisting her neck violently, her face almost instantly gathering a distinctive rosy hue as the pressure mounts.

�Mmmmppphhh,� Jeanette grunts from lips pursed by the crook of Irena�s elbow.

The ref slides into ask Jeanette if she wants to surrender the match. There is no response save an increase in Lansdale�s struggles. She reaches for the ropes with her free hand but comes up short, the failed gambit earning Jeanette some extra agonizing torque. A slight shift of her body and another desperate effort is rewarded, her fingers clasping the bottom cable tightly, but the real prize is painfully slow to come, Jeanette forced to suffer through a full count to four before her tormentor releases.

Irena rises, snatching Jeanette by the shoulders, and pulls the blonde to her feet. Always, the pressure. Never letting Jeanette rest for a moment. Again, the Ice Maiden grabs a wrist and winds up for another hammer throw, but Jeanette reverses, and it is the tall, raven-haired beauty who is pounding the canvas at breakneck speed, her voluptuous breasts, well-covered by the turtleneck lycra, but not well-hidden, as they bound within the elastic confines of her bodysuit, nipples protruding into the space-age polymer. Upon her return, she meets a well-placed shoulderblock that staggers the Ice Maiden, but to Jeanette�s chagrin, does little more.

Jeanette falls back to the opposite set of ropes for momentum and climbs the Russian in a somersault, setting up for a hurracarana, but at her peak, legs wrapping around Irena�s head, ready to flip, Malenakova gathers her balance and strength in a devastating combination, returning Jeanette to the mat with a thunderous powerbomb, Lansdale�s body bouncing several inches off the canvas as Irena follows through.

Jeanette�s glistening, tawny form spasms as it lies spreadeagled. At Flakeryn�s insistence, she�d added the rana to her repertoire to cut down the giant oak and instead the tree remained defiantly standing, the woodsman at its feet.

Irena, noticing a blankness in Jeanette�s gaze, realizes an opportunity, and slides next to the fallen blonde. She hooks the near leg as the referee drops into place.

[1]

[2]

Jeanette slips a shoulder up within an eyelash of the third slap.

Undaunted, the Ice Maiden rolls up to her feet and brings Jeanette with her with a tug of her ponytail. Intertwining her limbs in a perfect pumphandle sequence, Malenakova steadies her legs for the lift and deliver. However, Jeanette, showing wits and resolve beyond a host of FAWN compatriots, shifts her weight forward suddenly, and using the entangled limbs to her advantage, rolls Irena up in a small package, the Russian�s long, sleek, muscular legs kicking furiously through�

[1]

[2]

But not 3, as she escapes an instant ahead of a heartbreaking pinning predicament.

Both women scramble to their feet, the Ice Maiden beating the slightly woozy Jeanette by a couple of ticks. But as the blonde rises, she meets an open midsection, and quickly encircles it with her arms. With a stunning display of force, akin, or perhaps even more impressive than that of Irena, she sends the Champion of the Common Man to an uncommon impact with the mat, turning Malenakova�s world upside-down with a gutwrench suplex.

The success of the move and the sight of Irena on the mat, grimacing in pain for the first time, seems to provide Jeanette with a second wind. The buxom blonde drops a knee that viciously connects with Irena�s midsection, jackknifing the raven-haired Russian. Lansdale proceeds on like a piston, dropping a knee to the Ice Maiden�s abundant bosom, her swan-like neck, and finally her flawlessly beautiful features, the last one bringing a squeak from Irena�s lips. But if it is a satisfying squeak to Jeanette, the masses can only guess, for like Irena, she is all business, acknowledging nothing but the body in the ring with her.

Jeanette grabs the ring of lycra around Irena�s throat and pulls the Russian beauty to first, her knees, and then, her feet. Her head, drooping slightly, snaps to the rear, as Jeanette delivers a backhanded slap to her chest, Irena�s jet black mane exploding away from the blow. Malenakova answers with a left-handed swipe that Jeanette ducks. The blonde, mid-crouch, takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around the inner thigh of the off-balance Irena, throw another over her right shoulder, and scoop 6-feet 2-inches of power and pulchritude into the air. Rotating the body and resting it on her shoulder, she centers her gravity, and slams Irena to the mat with authority, Malenakova�s back arching in pain, both hands moving to her lower spine as she falls flat against the canvas.

Jeanette�s legion of fans erupt, even moreso when she drops a leg across Irena�s throat, the Russian choking and flopping like a fish out of water.

Jeanette kips to her feet, bringing those fans on the fence over to her side, at least temporarily. They roar as she turns from her downed foe, the Ice Maiden�s spasms fading as she massages her back with one hand, her neck with the other, and climbs the nearby set of buckles.

No waving for Jeanette as she reaches her perch, only up and off, the blonde bombshell, with the help of an overabundance of adrenaline, reaching a Shea-like azimuth, as she gets froggy. The splash is all Lansdale. Coming down hard and precise across Irena�s open belly, the firm abs accepting the meteoric Jeanette as best they could, but it was obvious that Irena had paid a heavy price, coughing and sputtering, and rolling into a fetal ball, if a large one.

Jeanette slides in beside and wordlessly peels Malenakova to her full length and wingspan, then lies perpendicular across Irena�s chest, the Ice Maiden�s dark eyes bulging as she sucks in air as best she can.

[1]

[2]

The raven-haired wonder bench presses Jeanette off like she was the first rep in a set of ten, the blonde flying up and over Irena�s head, a quick snatch of the bottom rope, the only thing keeping her from rolling out of the ring completely.

Jeanette scrambles up with the help of the ropes while Irena�s long limbs fold and unfold, pushing her to unsteady feet. Coming from behind, the blonde latches on a full nelson, but by the time Malenakova stretches out to her full 74 inches, 5 more than Jeanette, the hold is particularly precarious.

With Lansdale hanging on like a determined pit bull, Irena guides the duo to the nearest corner and backs in, sandwiching Jeanette between herself and the buckles. One �booty bump back-in� loosens Jeanette�s grip, the next makes it a non-factor, the third, and final, doubles the blonde over with an audible �OOOF�, the air expunged from her lungs. She takes a seat on the middle buckle holding her tummy, staring with wide sapphire eyes as Irena turns and closes with a steely determination.

The Ice Maiden roughly pulls Jeanette off her perch, spins her head like its on a swivel with a forearm shiver, and scoops her up with the greatest of ease. She slams Jeanette, not to the mat, but back into the corner, only this time, Lansdale�s heels rest over the top rope on each side of the buckle, the top of her head scraping the canvas. Jeanette�s ponytail acts as if a dust rag mopping the mat clean, her head twisting this way and that as she begins to understand her dire situation. The Ice Maiden bends middle rope around upper on either side, locking Jeanette�s ankles in place.

The Tree of Woe. And after the acrimony involved in the past two weeks of sniping, Irena would surely make it a woeful one indeed. As the referee risks life and limb trying to extricate Jeanette, the Ice Maiden works in brutal stomp after brutal stomp, the dance enough to make any Irish clogger proud. Her fans count as the white patent leather hits home.

�EIGHT. NINE. TEN.�

Jeanette drops like a sack of flour as the zebra finally emancipates her. The blonde lies in a jumbled heap, arms and legs akimbo, looking nothing like the proud warrior that entered the match and, as the Ice Maiden lets her have one more for the road, there is a soft mewl from within the tangle. Perhaps, the Ice had not broken, as Jeanette had claimed would happen in the days before the match. Perhaps, the Ice had broken her.

The machine, as Jeanette had described Irena, seems on all cylinders. She yanks Jeanette to her feet as if a rag doll. Still, there is no playing, no taunting from Malenakova. And yet certainly no mercy in sight, as she brusquely drags Lansdale to the center of the ring, well away from any saving strands.

Then, as if out of a crystal blue Colorado sky, the buxom blonde finds a spark, wrapping both hands over Irena�s jet black locks and dropping to her knees in a jawbreaker that leaves the ravishing Russian stunned, her smoldering dark eyes blinking wide. She remains upright, but barely.

Both women sway like reeds in the wind, Jeanette on her knees, Irena above. The blonde uses the Ice Maiden�s legs and torso to climb to her feet and finds the wherewithal to send Malenakova for the ride. The wear starting to show on both women, Lansdale waits unsteadily with a cocked right hand at mid-ring for an out-of-control Irena. But as the raven-haired beauty returns, her gait becomes more controlled, and as Jeanette seems ready to pounce, Irena slides under the wide stance of her opponent and while directly underneath, she drives her fist deep into Jeanette�s crotch. As she exits the slide, Irena grabs the blonde by her ankles and pulls her foe�s legs out from under her, dropping her face first to the canvas.

Lansdale wails in agony, her face on the mat, her hands dropping to her crotch, massaging her pussy, her tight, sculpted ass pushing up slightly to allow for the insertion of her hands. But Irena is not done serving her Malenakova Cocktail, she quickly straddles Jeanette, pushing her satiny cheeks back parallel with the rest of her body and delivers a neck snap, the olive in the martini, as it were.

The Ice Maiden�s legions leap to their feet as if it�s Christmas, roaring even louder as their queen rolls Lansdale to her back and hooks the near leg.

[1]

[2]

Unable to kick free, Jeanette slides her far shoulder up an inch or two off the mat to keep the proceedings from ending. The Ice Maiden�s millions are in shock that the match remains undecided, but the big Russian seems unaffected. Like the Common Man, she continues to work until the job is done. This one was not quite there.

Her fans knew there could be but one more nail at most with which to close the blonde bitch�s coffin.

Malenakova hoists Jeanette to her feet and lets the hammer fly one more time, Lansdale�s boots slap the mat, Irena closing behind to narrow the distance between rebound and end game. The Ice Maiden catches Jeanette by the throat, her baby blues bulging, as Irena squeezes her windpipe. The crowd erupts for the Revolution, but before Irena can lift and plant the final seeds of victory, Lansdale does some lifting of her own, namely her knee into the Ice Maiden�s midsection, doubling the towering beauty over and short circuiting her millions� celebration. Jeanette quickly follows it up with a precise and powerful swinging neckbreaker that leaves both women on the mat, nearly lifeless.

The ref begins his count. ONE�TWO�THREE. Some of the crowd boos as he moves through his addition table, wanting anything but a double countout, but the more savvy realize that neither of these women would let that happen.

And indeed, at 5, Jeanette rolls to a knee and �assists� a rising Irena to her feet with seconds to spare.

Back from the grave, Jeanette decides it has to be time to load up her ballistic missile. She cocks and measures on the moist cobalt blue lycra covering the cleft of Irena�s magnificent Double D�s. Fire Torpedo!

But the Ice Maiden, having gameplanned for this ad infinitum, is ready. She steps back while rotating away, taking the punch with a wince, off her right bicep. Stepping forward, she shoves Jeanette to the nearby cables and on the rebound pops her heels over head at warp speed with a snap suplex.

The momentum, once again regained, she simultaneously lifts and tosses a cringing Jeanette back to the ropes for more harsh treatment. However, this time, it is Jeanette who is ready to turn the tables, guessing right, and ducking a scythe-like lariat from Irena. Her attempt to become the Grim Reaper aborted temporarily, the Ice Maiden turns to wield her weapon a second time, but her eyes flash wide. Jeanette is standing�waiting�and this time the cannon shot hits home, striking the Ice Maiden�s sternum with hydraulic force. Her dark eyes cross for a moment, her lips opening in a silent �O�, as she teeters on her incredible long, lithe, lower limbs. It was the Perfect Storm of a blow for Jeanette. She had caught her by surprise AND with everything she had, or at least with everything that remained. Jeanette looks on, stunned - in awe � at a still standing Malenakova. Irena swallows hard, and regains some focus in her eyes.

Suddenly, her hand flashes to Jeanette�s throat, squeezing tightly, her fingers turning white as Jeanette�s face turns rosy. Somehow, reaching deep, she lifts Lansdale off the deck and delivers her to the mat with the Revolution, the blonde�s body making an awful connection as it hits the mat. It had not been Irena�s best, perhaps more of a small South American Revolution than a proper Russian one, but it had been as much as the unconscionable pain emanating from her chest would allow.

The Ice Maiden falls more than slides next to Jeanette and pins her in a weary, haphazard matchbook cover.

She didn�t know how quickly she�d recover from this�

[1]

But at least it was over�

[2]

KICK OUT.

The pain in Irena�s chest seems to increase ten-fold, her heart sinking without the [3], but there was only one thing to do�press on. NA SHAGAT' NET'

The women fight mightily against their pain and exhaustion, the entire arena giving them a standing ovation as they struggle to their knees leaning against each other for support when Irena�s right hand reflexively goes for Jeanette�s jugular. The blonde gags and flails within Irena�s grasp, but in a split-second moment of clarity she sees an opening, rocks and fires.

It is a depleted heart punch, not near her best, not near what she�d delivered moments before, but this on top of the earlier had done something, that much was clear. She no longer feels the Ice Maiden�s fingers constricting her windpipe and when she nudges forward, Irena falls back upon her own calves, her eyes white, rolled back in her head.

Jeanette can do nothing but fall on top of the Ice Maiden�s prone form and pray.

[1]

[2]

[3]

The only plea answered today will be Jeanette�s as Irena weakly pushes the blonde off one tick of the secondhand too late.

Jeanette stares up into the lights, smiling, joy mixed with disbelief, not so much that she had won, but that she had survived.

The PA blares the news over the rolling, reverberating bedlam.

�YOUR WINNER � JEANETTE LANSDALE.�

Slowly, achingly so, she pushes her way to her feet to accept the adulation from her portion of the crowd and a raising of her hand from the referee, but quickly her attention turns back to the valiant Ice Maiden. Their Cold War had turned Hot indeed tonight, but the war was now over. The warriors could lay down their arms.

Jeanette extends her left hand to Irena who grasps it, the blonde pulling Malenakova up to her feet. They then share a handshake, Jeanette then holding Irena�s arm high to the delight of the throngs in attendance.

There was a winner and loser of the match, but as far as respect, both women put a �W� in their column.