A FAWN official comes to the center of the ring and waits for a lull in the wah-wah of the arena. He removes a card from his pocket and reads aloud.

�Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. Tonight�s card is subject to change ~ Sissy Landers will be unable to compete due to ~ um��

He looks at the card once more, making sure what he just saw is actually on the card.

�Due to ~ uh ~ a monkey mind swapping mishap.�

He shakes his head, more stunned than disgusted. You can make out the blank stares on the face of every FAWN fan in attendance. The official continues.

�In her place ~ led to the ring by her manager ~ the infamous El Guapo ~ from Peruvia, Mexico ~ here is: LA PRINCESSA!�

SUDDENLY ~ the arena is washed in white and pink light. Joined by the sounds of Ennio Morricone�s �La Arena� ~ a Mariachi tune.

From the back appears a figure dressed from head to toe in pink. A pink body suit, pink boots and a pink mask over her head and face. Only long blond hair hangs out from behind the mask, suggesting this is Sissy Landers.

She is followed by El Guapo, and he�s anything but. A scruffy and overweight Mexican man, he wears some overly tight jeans, cinched at the waist with an old belt�complete with oversized buckle. His boots are cowboy, probably Tony Llama�s. El Guapo finishes his �look� with an ancient T-shirt (probably white at one time, but now more of a yellow) reading �Yo Tengo Una Plethora.�

La Princessa walks slowly to the ring, stopping every few feet to speak to some fans at the rail, adjust her mask or just generally look confused. El Guapo tries to shepherd her to the ring, constantly tapping her shoulder and pointing towards the final destination. His efforts are normally met with a smile and some forward progress.

Finally, the pink clad warrior finds her way to the ring and enters under the ropes. She walks to the center of the ring and shakes hands with the ref. But it doesn�t �take� and shakes hands with him again. After her second greeting, she starts to walk to her corner, but stops and returns to shake hands with the ref one more time.

With the introductions complete, La Princessa takes up a place in her corner and �eagerly� awaits the start of the match.

The lights dim, in preparation for the entrance of the second principle in this match.

�Wild Eyed Southern Boys� blasts over the arena�s public address system, and the curtains tear open to reveal Ivy Belle Armstrong in all of her Dixie glory. But within moments, it�s apparent that this is a very different Ivy from the one the fans know so well. Gone is the coquettish playfulness, the undeniable joy she took in basking in the cheers (and leers) of the crowd. Replacing it is a steely determination, honed with an edge of anger that sends a chill up the spines of more than a few onlookers. She pays no heed to the fans, gives no acknowledgement to the signs of support (IVY WILL KICK IT, SISSY WILL KISS IT and NOTHING COULD BE MORE FINE THAN TO BE BELOW THAT MASON-DIXON LINE only being the most prominent along the aisle).

Tonight, Ivy Belle Armstrong is here on business. There will be plenty of time for fun �n games another day.

This darker, more focused Ivy looks out at La Princessa. Her cruel, cunning mind is like a computer. Her toned, lithe body, a machine, packing the speed you�d expect from a woman thusly built. The machine is deceptively strong�much stronger than you�d expect, and it�s fuelled by intense anger and desire.

The computer quickly analyzes the threat, sizing her up, deciding that this was indeed Sissy Landers. The anger swelled. Ivy was no fool. And being played a fool did not sit well with her. She struck.

Ivy locked up with La Princessa and twisted her arm with a savage arm bar. There was a muffled yelp from underneath the mask that was immediately compounded by a wicked chicken-wing. Ivy wrenched the arm without remorse, and would be perfectly happy to hear the joint snap. She followed with a brutal punch, elbow combination to the back of the mask-covered skull. As the prey stumbled forward, Ivy kicked the back of her knee, causing it to buckle.

The beautiful red head�s face was still a stony mask of concentration, save for the moments when the hate bubbled to the surface and manifested itself with a faint grimace. She grabbed the masked head of her opponent and twisted savagely, more muffled screaming emanating from beneath the mask. A savage snap mare twists La Princessa to the canvas. Ivy followed with an elbow drop to the chest. The masked wrestler sat up in a spasm of pain, only to be knocked back down by a spin kick from Ivy.

Ivy stood and dragged La Princessa Incognita to her feet. She kicked her in the stomach, doubling over, and grabbed her by the neck, pivoted, and dropped onto her fabulously toned ass, hitting the hapless opponent with a devastating stunner.

The anger wasn�t subsiding. It was growing�feeding upon itself and overtaking the beautiful Alabaman. Ivy picked the woman up by the hair trailing from underneath the mask and hurled her into the corner. She charged in, looking to crush the interloper in the corner. It was her first mistake of the match.

La Princessa spun away, holding onto the ropes for support, allowing Ivy to crash painfully into the corner. Betraying humanity for the first time in the match, Ivy staggered back slightly, clutching her chest painfully. La Princessa, showing some signs of distress from Ivy�s initial onslaught, landed a punch to Ivy�s jaw. She reeled slightly, and then reeled some more as La Princessa bull rushed her, tackling her to the canvas.

She rained punch after punch into Ivy�s face, the Alabaman fought back. She fired punch after punch into La Princessa�s belly, stopping only to take a shot at her face. One lands with enough force to allow her to buck her hips and knock La Princessa off her. As the dazed Princessa Loca got to her feet, Ivy got to hers. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. La Princessa�s surge was about as effective as swatting at a wasp with a tissue. The results were certainly similar, as Ivy was even further enraged.

Ivy landed a low blow, dropping La Princessa to her knees. A vicious knee to her face sent the not-so-mystery woman to her back, and Ivy struck like a cobra, sitting on the mat in flash and scooting forward, wrapping her legs about La Princessa�s head and neck and grabbing her arms. The masked face disappeared into Ivy Belle�s crotch as Ivy applied the devastating Southern Charm finisher.

The mask that preserved La Loca Princessa Incognita�s identity betrayed her in this case. She passed out quickly, her breathing restricted by Ivy�s crotch AND the mask. Her struggles ceased quickly, and the referee�s check of her arm was a mere formality.

The bell rang and Ivy Belle was declared the winner. Almost immediately, Ivy relinquished the hold and began trying to separate the mask from La Princessa�s head. Immediately, a second Princessa appears, this one taller and better-endowed than the one Ivy just defeated. The pink streak flies into the ring and jumps Ivy from behind, slamming a forearm into her back. She rains punch after punch onto Ivy, beating her down.

She�s hurt. She�s dazed. She�s confused. But Ivy had more than enough wits about her to fire back. They began trading punches, perhaps a losing proposition for Ivy, considering she�d just expended a good deal of energy during the match. But rage is an excellent fuel, and Ivy rocks La Princessa Numero Dos with a vicious right cross. The more voluptuous Princessa finds herself knocked out of the ring by Ivy, crashing into Los Infamoso El Guapo.

The machine operating at full capacity and channeling all her hate and rage into pummeling who she believed to be her actual scheduled opponent for this match, she returned to the first masked wonder. She grabbed the mask and pulled, idly thinking to herself that she wouldn�t be horribly upset if her head came off entirely. Clawing maniacally at the strings that held the mask on her head, Ivy is rewarded. It slides off, revealing Sissy Landers�s head underneath. Her eyes are vacant, rolled back in her head.

�Yo ~ gotta ~ el pee ~ and some el junko,� she mumbled.

�YOU SHOULD HAVE FINISHED MITCHELL OFF A LONG TIME AGO!!! ARGH!! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA?!!!! BITCH!!� Ivy shrieked as she tried to bludgeon the human pinkie. Her �therapy� would be cut short, however, as El Guapo manages to rouse Numero Dos. She jumps Ivy from behind, knocking the incensed red head off the object-of-her-hate-by-proxy. El Guapo helps Sissy out of the ring and the ineffective Numero Dos is only a second behind, having had her pink spandex-clad ass kicked by Ivy once already. Ivy recovered quickly and stared out at the two Princessas.

Three referees emerge form the back just in time. Ivy lunges for the outside of the ring, only to be restrained by the match referee.

�Lemme go! Lemme go, dammit! I�m gonna kill her. I ain�t done, yet!� Ivy screamed. She broke away from the referee, and barreled over the first reserve referee before the second and third restrained her. She was about to break away from them before the other two caught her from behind, enabling the fleeing trio to make their escape.

�Ya�ll come back!� Ivy called, pearly white teeth bared. �There�s plenty more of this piney-woods buzz saw left for the three of ya!�