by: AlyAdmirer
At any other card, the next match would probably have been a main event.
In one corner was the veteran five time world champion of what had been in its heyday the best women�s promotion on the planet, Battling Ring Angels. In the other corner was the youthful, most successful and dominant one time champion of the hottest promotion going today, FAWN. It was a classic match-up: the past versus the present, with more than a few implications in regard to FAWN�s future.
The arena goes completely dark. Suddenly, strobe lights go off all over the arena. Lindsay Locke stands at the top of the ramp with her arms in a "T", palms down. An explosion of pyrotechnics goes off and she raises her arms to a "V", with the palms up.
Led Zeppelin�s "Immigrant Song" plays in the arena, and the fans cheer for their favorite. The smiling and peppy blond walks confidently to the ring, stopping to acknowledge the cheers of the fans. She gives them high fives and some hugs.
Lindsay is joined by her friend and manager Angela Downey who walks a little behind her. Lindsay wears her usual attire of blue spandex shorts with silver lightning bolts on them and the word "Lightning" on the back in silver letters, a silver spandex top, and blue knee pads with silver bolts on them. She finishes the outfit with blue boots that have silver bolts on them. She also wears a blue T shirt that says "Lind's Kids Charities" on it in yellow letters. Angela wears blue jeans and a "Lind's Kids Charities" T shirt. The short girl with dirty blond hair has on a pair of thin wire frame glasses. Lindsay jumps into the ring and loosens up, waiting for the match.
Heavy orchestral chords flow over the darkened arena. A white-hot pin spot breaks the darkness and falls upon fortune�s favorite. As Shirley Manson�s distinctive voice surges from all corners of the arena, golden spotlights join the cavalcade spinning through the crowd in wide figure-8s. Portia Ophelia VanBuren tosses her shoulder-length mane of strawberry blonde locks and struts down the aisle to the strains of �The World Is Not Enough� by Garbage, hips swaying as she turns the trip into a sashay down the runways of Paris or Milan. White lace panties flash in a Maxim-like version of Morse code from beneath a tennis skirt sufficiently high as to be outlawed by the WTA. Above, her white lace tanktop is sheer enough to be eye-catching on a Monaco beachfront, the ensemble tastefully accessorized with Gucci shades and a diamond tennis bracelet around her left wrist.
Portia, patrician features held high, barely glances to either side as she makes her way to the ring, doing her best to ignore the throngs of human cattle that rush the restraining barriers with a cascade of boos. One fan of Locke�s pushes close, shoving a sign in Portia�s face. �Lindsay�s a legend. Portia�s one�IN HER OWN MIND�. The sign gets a little too close and Portia rips it from the hands of its owner, ripping it half. Portia just shakes her head, a smirk gracing her flawless face. Farther down the aisle, she nods her head knowingly at a young hottie. The nattily attired stockbroker-type holds a placard �Portia: There is no substitute. Drive that crack whore into the ground�.
Finishing her trip down the runway, Portia appears delighted to arrive ringside, distance restored between her and the hordes of wannabes and never-weres. The strawberry blonde ascends the ringsteps and slides into the squared circle between the middle and top rope, skirt riding up the scant inches that were available. Immediately, the ring is Portia�s personal property. She saunters to each corner, pumping a quick combination into the last set of buckles. All eyes drawn to her, Portia was in her element, the center of attention and envy. As it should be and ever would be. She waited mid-ring with an air of confidence that bordered on supremacy. This was FAWN and Locke was about to find Portia remained its preeminent star, with or without the belt.
The anticipation among the crowd continues to grow as the introductions are made and the rules explained, Locke�s look of resolve matched by Baby VanBuren�s scowl of contempt. Both knew just what was at stake in a match with as much significance as any of the title contests to follow. For Portia, a win would cement the progress made by beating Armstrong, and establish her as a front line contender for the championship once more. For Lindsay, victory would go a long way in showing she had overcome her demons, and would almost immediately propel her into the title hunt in her new home.
DING! DING! DING!
Portia and Lindsay begin to circle each other, both probing her rival�s defenses, awaiting the proper opening to present itself. Finally seeing something she likes, VanBuren lunges forward for a collar and elbow tie up�
� only to have Lindsay duck under her arms.
A roar of laughter runs through the crowd as Portia quickly pivots on her heel to face the former Celestial champion, a toothy grin plastered across Lindsay�s face. The strawberry blonde�s cheeks flushed with rage. �Smile while you can, cokehead,� Portia sneers as Locke beckons her forward again. Portia is hardly inclined to deny her.
But again, Locke ducks under VanBuren�s grasp.
The laughs came louder, Portia this time impetulantly stomping a foot before spinning around. Alas, this time Fortune�s Favorite was not greeting by Locke�s grinning mug, but rather by her boots as Lindsay connects with a standing dropkick to Portia�s jaw.
Van Buren�s head snaps back as she flops to the canvas, Lindsay scoring the first serious blow of the match. But while the blow was stunning, it was hardly debilitating. Portia springs back to her feet quickly, charging the blonde, but only charging into an armdrag takedown that sends the strawberry blonde skidding across the canvas.
Still more dazed than incapacitated, Portia is quick to roll herself up to a seated position, fuming at Lindsay�s less than respectful treatment of her. All of these high flyers struck Portia as nothing more than gnats to be swatted.
This particular high flyer, however, struck Portia in a far more significant manner, drilling the seated former FAWN champion with a diving dropkick flush between VanBuren�s shoulder blades. The impact sent Portia pitching forward, and Lindsay deftly shoved her down to the mat for the cover.
ONE�
Kickout.
It was far too early in the match, and Lindsay knew she hadn�t done nearly enough damage to Portia yet. But she had let Portia know she was in for a fight. And now it was time to escalate that fight.
Pulling Portia up to her feet, Lindsay backs her into the ropes, unloading a knife edged chop to the chest that nets a loud �WHOO!� from the fans and a sharp gasp from Fortune�s Favorite.
Locke follows up with an Irish whip, and as the strawberry blonde rushes back toward her, Lindsay goes airborne, driving her forearm up into Portia�s jaw. Again, VanBuren�s neck snaps back, Baby VanBuren tumbling to the mat as Lindsay lands alongside. While Portia remains grounded, Lindsay kips up, this time sending herself toward the ropes.
Hopping onto the middle cable, the blonde propels herself backward in a somersault, landing with one well defined gam slamming down onto Portia�s throat. VanBuren�s lower body jackknifes on impact, Lindsay settling atop her adversary for another cover.
ONE�
TWO�
Kickout.
Locke had to hand it to the brat. She was tough. Not that Lindsay had expected anything else.
Again Locke roughly hauls Portia to her feet, guiding her back into the corner. She places her left hand under Portia�s chin, pushing the strawberry blonde�s head backward. Then with her right, she unloads another knife edged chop, this one to VanBuren�s throat. A second follows to Portia�s modest bosom, the force of the blow causing Portia�s right leg to leave the mat.
Taking hold of Portia�s wrist, Locke whips VanBuren out of the corner. Portia doesn�t go far, however, Locke offering a gawk of surprise as VanBuren applies the breaks, reversing the whip into a short arm clothesline that almost decapitates the blonde veteran and thoroughly deflates the energized crowd.
VanBuren drops to her knees beside the ailing blonde, wrapping her fingers around Lindsay�s throat and squeezing for all the millions she is worth. �Get off her, Portia,� the official instructs.
�After the bell,� Portia breezily replies, as Lindsay�s eyes bulge, her feet kicking as her hands claw desperately at Portia�s wrists. �After I get HER off.�
ONE�
TWO�
THREE�
FOUR�
With a pout, Portia releases her grip, Locke greedily gulping down air, her tongue slightly lolling out of her mouth. �That should slow you down for a bit,� Portia sneers, rising to her feet. And then she lands a stomp to Lindsay�s right knee. �But let�s see if we can�t slow you down a little more.�
Lindsay�s groans are music to the socialite�s ears, Portia landing stomp after stomp to Locke�s knee from all angles. As Lindsay rolls onto her side, clutching her aching knee, Portia decides that her foot has done all the damage it could do.
Now it was time to get serious.
VanBuren quickly slips through the ropes and hops off the apron, reaching back into the ring to grasp Lindsay�s ankle. The blonde�s hands clutch at the canvas; Lindsay realizing what is coming and trying frantically to prevent it. But to no avail. Portia drags Lindsay into the corner, and after a quick wind up, she sends Locke�s knee full force into the unyielding steel ringpost.
Lindsay screams in anguish, sitting upright before a second shot sends her back to the mat, her hands grabbing at her own hair as her screams subside into soft moans.
Portia releases her victim�s ankle, allowing Locke to roll over onto her stomach, slithering away from the corner toward the center of the ring. As the crowd showers VanBuren with their displeasure, Portia simply soaks it all in. She climbs back onto the apron, her manner almost disinterested as inside the ring, Lindsay struggles to drag herself back to her feet. Lackadaisically, Fortune�s Favorite re-enters the ring, regarding the hobbling veteran with a full serving of insincere sympathy.
Just as Lindsay manages to right herself, facing away from her opponent, Portia clips Locke�s knee with her shoulder, sending the five time Celestial champion crashing back to earth.
With Lindsay writhing on the mat, Portia again takes hold of the blonde�s ankle. Raising Locke�s leg, Portia casually rolls Lindsay into a half Boston.
The blonde bites her lower lip, shaking her head as waves of agony ripple from her knee throughout her entire body. Duty bound, the referee kneels beside the duo to check for a submission. Stubbornly, Locke refuses, and VanBuren answers that refusal by sitting back in the half crab a little further.
�Uggggggggggghhhhhhh,� Lindsay groans. Despite her anguish, however, she gets her elbows under her, pushing her upper body up off the mat. Digging those elbows into the canvas, she uses all her strength to drag herself�and Portia�toward the ropes. VanBuren fights her all the way, occasionally halting Locke�s advance with an increase in pressure. But eventually, the blonde manages to coil her fingers around the bottom rope.
�Let it go,� the ref orders.
�Yeah, Lindsay,� Portia mocks. �Let it go.�
ONE�
TWO�
THREE�
FOUR�
Finally relinquishing the half Boston, Portia looks down at her foe, Lindsay face down and sprawled out, her shorts having ridden down her hips just slightly along the journey. �Just say no to crack,� Portia taunts. �Not that you ever could.�
Yanking the blonde to her feet, the socialite tucks Locke�s head under her arm. Rushing away from the ropes, VanBuren drives Locke�s face back into the mat with a bulldog that leaves Lindsay spread eagled, her one good leg offering the occasional absent twitch. Rolling the blonde onto her back, Portia arrogantly reclines across Lindsay�s chest.
ONE�
TWO�
THR� shoulder up.
�You Jerseys never learn.�
Portia rises, and then scoops Lindsay into her arms, possibly for either a bodyslam or a backbreaker. Whatever her intention might have been, though, Lindsay had other ideas. Wiggling free of Portia�s grasp, she lands on her feet behind the socialite, wincing before she could shun the pain out of her mind. Swiftly reaching around Portia�s neck from behind, Locke falls backward, driving the back of VanBuren�s head into the canvas with a thud.
The crowd erupts at Lindsay�s resurgence, Locke rolling over to drape an arm across Portia�s chest.
ONE�
TWO�
Kickout.
Lindsay awkwardly scrambles to an unsteady base, testing her throbbing knee�s ability to take her weight. What she had in mind would be a gamble, but the socialite�s slender frame might just be slight enough�
Scooping VanBuren into her arms, Lindsay�s knee burns with the strain. But she is able to hold Portia up just long enough to move her into position.
And then she executes the cradle piledriver.
The crowd was on its feet, screaming in joy, smelling victory as Locke hooked Portia�s right leg.
ONE�
TWO�
THRE�
Lindsay�s heart sinks as she feels the official tap her shoulder. She�d been around the block enough times to know what that invariably meant. And sure enough, as Lindsay looked up, she saw Portia�s left ankle draped across the bottom rope.
So close.
Lindsay hobbles to her feet, only to drop an elbow to the socialite�s chest, causing Portia�s insensate body to spasm for just a moment.
It was time to finish this.
Dragging Portia into the corner, Lindsay slips through the ropes, and then scales the buckles as swiftly as her throbbing knee will allow. Reaching the top, she raises her arms above her head, forming a �V� shape. If Network Associates had a roof, the noise of the crowd would have easily blown it off. Lindsay launches herself into the Lightning Strike�
Alas, her elbow finds only the mat, Portia rolling under the ropes and onto the apron during Locke�s flight.
And just like that, a pin could be heard falling at ringside.
Sliding back into the ring, Portia uses the ropes to pull herself up onto wobbly legs, her own magnificent body showing the signs of the exhausting battle between former champions. Baby VanBuren staggers over to Lindsay, this time grabbing both of Lindsay�s ankles. Parting the blonde�s legs, the socialite sends a headbutt to Locke�s womanhood, Lindsay howling in agony. Portia shifts her weight, pressing her chest against the backs of Lindsay�s thighs, forcing the blonde into a matchbook pin.
ONE�
TWO�
Lindsay bucks free.
With Locke still on the mat, Portia deftly settles herself in a reverse straddle across Lindsay�s waist, facing the blonde�s legs that she had so systematically worked over. �I�ll admit you put up a fight,� Portia says over her shoulder, reaching for Locke�s legs. �But we both knew your day passed by a long time ago. Now, you get to sample the Long Isl��
Before Portia could finish her final words, Locke slammed her legs closed, effectively using her calves to box Portia�s ears. And then, in a display of the sort of resourcefulness that only came through experience, Lindsay locked her ankles behind Portia�s head. With the socialite still dazed from the blow to her ears, she cannot process what is happening in time to shift her weight to keep Lindsay down. Locke sits up, using her legs to drive Portia face first into the mat, Locke�s thighs between VanBuren�s arms and the canvas.
Lindsay rolls onto her stomach, in turn rolling the senseless socialite onto her back, Locke shifting her legs to hold Portia�s shoulders to the mat.
ONE�
TWO�
THREE!
DING! DING! DING!
Lindsay quickly disentangles herself from VanBuren, rolling under the bottom rope, out of the ring, and into the congratulating arms of Angela Downey. Back in the ring, Portia is beginning to come to, trying to shake the confusion out of her head.
Both women had given it everything they had. Both women had seen victory within their grasp. In the end, only one could emerge victorious. And for Lindsay Locke, apparently there was still a place for her in the world of tomorrow.
WINNER: Lindsay Locke
