[Vivianne]

Do I remember the Minnesota Wrecking Crew? Are you serious? I remember watching them with my mom after we first moved here from Montreal. Mom loved how they would target one limb…and keep on it. Just like you and my left leg. Fuck!

My left leg…knee still throbbing as you grab my boot and give my ankle a slight tug.

Your domme boot on my other ankle, holding me in place.

Your mention of the Wrecking Crew.

My eyes lock onto yours and I raise my hands toward you, palms open and fingers outstretched. Waving them…begging with them.

“No…no…no, no, no!” Pleading now, like every wrestler ever caught in such a situation does.

Like every wrestler in control of such a situation, you ignore my pleas.

When you twist my ankle I am howling again, not even trying to contain myself as you wrench the ankle on my already hurting left leg. Your ankle lock rolls me to my stomach, and I immediately push up with my hands. Lifting my upper body. Clawing the canvas as I try to pull myself close enough to the ropes to break the hold.

You’re hurting my leg…but my arms are still strong. I dig…and claw…and inch closer to the ropes. Almost close enough…almost there…reaching with my left hand…

Finger tips close…almost there...

Almost…

[Rowan Chance]

The ropes? You reaching for the ropes?

Oh, that's so darling.

I see you crawling across the ring. Crawling. Like the little snake you are. I see your body, spread out on the mat, desperately reaching.

Almost there... so close...

And just when you reach the ropes, I make a point of my elbow and I DROP all my weight behind it, aiming straight for the inside of your knee.

Yeah, I'll break the hold. I'll break it... my way.

[Vivianne]

Almost there…so close…

As my fingers are about to snake around the bottom rope I feel a change in your grip, loosening around my ankle.

Too soon…no way Rowan Chance is letting go of an ankle lock before the ref has counted to four…unless…

I swallow down the pain in my leg and roll quickly to my left side, pulling my right knee to my chest as I do. Without waiting for you to come into my line of sight, I shove my right leg down, HARD. I am rewarded with the feeling of your breasts pancaking under my boot and the sound of your grunt as I knock you back toward middle ring.

Knock you back...but not down...

Clawing now, using the ropes to pull myself up. Leaning against them as I brush my matted hair from my face and test my left leg.

Ahh! Fuck! Ok ok ok…I can put weight on it, but my ankle and knee are both performing under protest. Nothing appears to be torn…I hope…so I take a deep breath and suck it up, letting it out slowly as I look to see you recovering quickly from my kick in middle ring.

Staying near the ropes, maximizing the time I can use their support, eyeing you.

Guard up, whether my leg is ready or not.

Ready or not...I don’t have a choice…

[Rowan Chance]

I was ready to drop that elbow, but a sudden WHOOMF to my chest knocks the wind out of me. Knocks my body back five steps. I'm holding my chest, staggering backwards, watching you get back to your feet.

Heh. Watching you stagger back to your feet.

One wheel down. One more to go.

You should have learned this lesson watching my match with the Bimbo Bombshell, Viv. I'm not out for victories. I've got a plan. A long term goal. And the bounty is part of it. In fact, the bounty is just someone paying me to accomplish what I already want to do.

I move forward, making deliberate steps. "How do you wake a sleeping dragon, Viv?" I ask. A nonsense question coming out of nowhere. I raise my arms. My leather clad arms. "How do you? How do you wake a sleeping dragon?"

I get close enough. Within reach. Just. And I lean forward with my chin. Lean forward like a dare.

"You eat its children," I say, that wicked grin of mine on my lips.

* * *

Across the ring, the two bozos they hired for play-by-play and commentary look confused.

"What is Rowan talking about? Waking dragons? Eating their children?"

"She's gone, Brinks. Ever since that match in Paris. She's gone crazy."

"I wouldn't say that too loud, Billy."

"She can't hear me. Besides, it's true. Ever since Punky left her for dead, she's been breaking bones in every fed from here to Tokyo."

* * *

It's true. I have. And yes, I can hear them. I hear everything.

But there I am. Leaning into your reach. I even put my arms behind my back.

Come on, Labelle. Let's see if you can hurt me.

I bet you can't.

[Vivianne]

***Fifth grade. 11 years old. The school yard after school. The neighborhood bully, Ashley McIntyre, standing over me as I pick up the backpack she had just pulled off my shoulder and tossed to the ground. Laughing as other girls surround us, looking forward to seeing Ashley in action. Me, trying to stay calm, like I always do…even if it makes me look afraid to stand up to her.

“You ever gonna fight back, Labelle? Ever? Even just once?” I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and wait for Ashley to wind down, like she usually does. Usually…but not this time…

“Come on Labelle. Let’s see if you can hurt me. I bet you can’t.” My eyes snap open. I’ve had enough. You know that scene in A Christmas Story, where Ralpie finally snaps and stands up to Farkus…and kicks his ass? (If not, wait until Christmas Eve...it will play for 24 hours on TBS.)

Well, Farkus was lucky compared to Ashley. He didn’t end up in the hospital like she did…and I wasn’t bullied any longer, by anyone.

*************************************************

“Come on Labelle. Let’s see if you can hurt me. I bet you can’t.”

My eyes narrow and my face darkens. My right fist clenches. I take a limp/step toward you, pressing my forehead against yours…our eyes an inch apart.

“You’re just a bully, Chance. I don’t like bullies!”

My hands shoot quickly up and grab each side of your head while your arms are still behind your back. Ducking my chin, I pull your head over mine and kick my legs out in front of me, my left leg sending a shock of pain up my body that I force myself to ignore with a growl.

I fall to my ass…legs outstretched…trying to hold your head tight enough to pull you with me and nail you with a jawbreaker on the top of my head.

Oh...this will hurt.

Care to change your bet, Chance?

[Rowan Chance]

I hate jawbreakers.

I hate how men like to call their dicks "the Jawbreaker." So many goddamn many of them. Boys, you wanna win points with the Queen of Sexfighting? Don't do that. Automatic disqualification.

And mostly, I hate the way the move slams your lower jaw into your skull. Smashing your teeth together, sending shockwaves through the aforementioned cranium. When it happens to me, my hands instinctively rush up to my lower jaw as my body snaps backward, landing hard on my back, flipping over until I end up on my chest. Right hand still holding the bottom of my head. The sting on my shoulders from landing high makes my eyes shut, but the ringing pain in my head is far worse.

God.
Fucking.
Dammit.

With that high pitched noise in my head, I open my eyes and look at you. Still down. That knee of yours makes getting back to your feet hard, doesn't it? That's okay. I'll stay here on the canvas and let that whine in my head die down while you put weight on your wounded knee. Make you come to me.

Larry called this "a human game of chess." People think it's all about rushing to the next high spot. Yeah. That's why they're where they are and I'm where I am.

I watch you struggle with that knee. Trying so hard not to show the pain. You don't have to. I know how much pain you're in right now. And I'm on the canvas. Still reeling from your...jawbreaker.

Let you get closer. Pretend I don't notice you. Let you limp on that knee. Show everybody how much weight you can put on it. In other words, no weight at all.

And when you get close enough...that's when I spring the trap.

[Vivianne]

You jaw slams down on my squama frontalis…my forehead…the hardest part of my head. You are flung backwards as if my body had suddenly become electrified, and end up chest down on the mat, offering me and the crowd a pretty good view of your firm backside.

I sit there for a few seconds, panting. Feeling my left knee throb. Giving it just a bit before I move again. I fold my legs from a seated position to underneath me, wincing as my left knee bends. My ankle seems ok. Sore, but ok. You were really wrenching my knee more with that ankle lock…and it doesn’t feel right.

Pushing up to all four, keeping my weight on my right knee...wincing. Leaning back and pushing up, again on my right leg...wincing. Breathing through gritted teeth as I brush my sweaty hair from my face, looking at your beautiful form on the mat before me. Oh yes, I can admit it Rowan. You’re a heartless, unfeeling, uncaring, evil bitch…but you are beautiful.

I take a step with my left leg and…Ahh! Fuck! I grimace as I almost topple over. Shaking my head in frustration…and determination…I step with my right, then another with my left. My face scrunches up farther this time, but I swallow the pain and move closer to you.  It’s obvious I need to give this knee time to recover some, and until I do I cannot keep this a stand up fight.

You’re still down, facing the canvas as I approach. On your right side, by your tall black domme boots. Looking down, I choose my target. That nice little curve at the small of your back, just above that firm ass of yours. Right where I know...where everybody knows...you've been injured before. Yes, that will do nicely.

Raising my left arm…folding my upper arm back…lining up my elbow to drop right along your lower spine. All I have to do is let myself fall…

…which is exactly what I begin to do…

[Rowan Chance]

Sit still. Like a spider. Let the fly get closer.

You stomp so hard on the canvas, I could hear you in Des Moines. Sensing the timing of your steps. Feeling the vibration in the boards.

You're close. So close.

Just a peek. To know what your next move is. That's all I need.

I see your elbow raised. See your body plummeting down. The tip of that elbow aimed at the base of my spine.

Oh, you little...


I TWIST as you fall, dodging the elbow. Letting the tip hit the mat and the unforgiving boards below. And as you fall, I spin around, grabbing that knee of yours. Hooking it. Wrapping my own legs around it. Still on the mat, on my backside, my legs hooked around your leg, my hands on your ankle.

"No dancing for you," I say, grinning. As I lay my grip in. Lock your leg in place with my ankles.

Front heel lock. Designed to put all kinds of pressure on several fragile parts of your lower leg. But most importantly, that wounded knee of yours. Then, I snarl, my face turning dark. Go after my lower back will you? Go after the place where SHE wounded me? No, bitch. Not you. Not nobody. Not ever again.

"NO. MORE. DANCING. FOR YOU!"

TWIST!!!!

[Vivianne]

Your experience wins out over my enthusiasm as you move, causing my elbow to painfully slam into the boards. I barely have time to register this new pain when you are grabbing my leg and pulling me into you trap.

“AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHEEEEE!!!!!”

I scream…no, I HOWL!

Both hands slapping the mat in pain and frustration. Hair flying around my face as I toss my head back and forth. The ref leaning in, my scream causing him concern.

“Vivianne, do you give?” He asks..

“NO! NO! NO FUCKING WAY!” I scream, shaking my head emphatically.

I lay on my back, reaching up over my head for the ropes. Too far away…

I sit back up and try to reach your head or your hair. Too far away…

I try to pry your lithe legs from my own. Locked in too tight…

Leaning back on my hands…face turned to the ceiling…feeling my knee being strained way too much. Hearing the crowd, booing you and cheering me on. Trying to urge their heroine to break free.

I came into this match with a sore neck, expecting that to be your target. Now here I sit, in agony in middle ring, as you crank my left knee. Not seeing a way out.

Think Viv!

Think damn it!!

[Rowan Chance]

I see the look in your eye and I can read it like reading your own thoughts.

“Youth and enthusiasm will never beat wisdom and treachery.” And I laugh.

I’ve got your leg tight. It isn’t going anywhere. Just a few more ounces of pressure and you won’t just be off your feet for this match...you’ll be off your feet for months. I got paid to break your neck. Breaking your leg is a bonus.

I use one elbow and smash the tip of it on your knee cap. Then again. And again.

“Tap!” I shout at you. “Give up! Show your mom she has a quitter for a daughter!”

Another SMASH on your knee cap. I can feel it. Feel the swelling already building under it.

“Do it Labelle! GIVE! UP!”

[Vivianne]

Your elbow smashes my kneecap and I gasp. I don’t yell. The pain is so sudden and so unexpectedly different from the wrenching I was enduring that my eyes widen and I simply gasp.

Then you do it again…and again…

My mouth open in a big, silent O. The searing heat coming from my knee so intense it sucks the sound from my throat before it leaves my lips. Eyes clenched shut in agony.

******************************************************************************************

My mom, sitting in her locker room with an ice bag on her knee, leaning her head back with her eyes closed. Watching her from the other side of the room, her teenage daughter asks her the question she has been wondering for a while now.

“Mom, why didn’t you just tap out? Why did you let her hurt your knee so badly? Was tonight’s match so important that you had to risk the next month in order to endure that pain?”

Her eyes open and she looks straight into mine, smiling. “Listen to me, Vivianne, and listen good. Labelles. Do. Not. Give. Up. We are not quitters, got it?” She then adjusts the ice bag, leans her head back, and closes her eyes again.

Here endeth the lesson…

*******************************************************************************************

“Do it Labelle! GIVE UP!” Oh no…not to you…not to anyone!

I clench my hands into fists and lean forward…my left hand swinging and SLAMMING a punch to the back of your right thigh. You remember my punches, don’t you? The ones that would make Gemma Rox’s eyes water?

My right fist then SMASHES into your right ass cheek. I am grunting with each swing now. My knee is swelling and I need to force you to let go before you damage my knee any further.

"Heeyaah!!"  Fist to your thigh again!

"Hurgghhh!!!"   Sitting up as far as I can…putting everything I have into this next blow…reaching as far as I can reach with it…

…and HAMMERING your lower back, just above your firm ass.

“Fuck you, Chance!!!”

[Rowan Chance]

The first punch stings. You aren't in any position to put any weight behind it, but it stings.

The second punch...that's different.

And the third...I see it coming. That's because you have to twist at a pretty brutal angle to get it, putting even more pressure on that knee of yours, and part of me wants to believe you wouldn't...

...oh shit...

It hits the small of my back like a goddamn hammer and everything just...stops...for a moment. My eyes wide. Slow motion. Watching you scream those words at me. Like a Zach Snyder movie.

I let go of the hold, rolling away. My right hand on the spot you struck. Teeth clenched. Rolling all the way to the opposite corner.

Dammit.

Dammit!!!

There's a tickle in my toes. My legs feel like rubber. I grab the bottom rope, trying to pull myself up. Trying to make my legs work. Make them ignore what just happened. Keep that smile on my face.

"It's just a stinger," I whisper to myself. "Just a stinger. Walk it off."

I manage to get to my feet. Seems like it took me a month. I have no idea where you are. I turn to look. Could be a nasty surprise...

[Vivianne]

BULLSEYE!

You could have withstood a few more shots to your legs and ass, maybe long enough to smash my knee again and wreck it for good. This blow? Oh no, you ‘unbreakable’ bitch…this one hurt you, bad. The look in your eyes telling me all I need to know about that.

You spoke of sleeping a waking dragon? I don’t know much about dragons, but here in Minnesota we often talk about how wise it is to poke a sleeping grizzly bear. You wanna call me babyface and mock me for it? Fine. You wanna talk about how much you don’t like me and about cashing in on some bounty? Fine. You wanna talk about my mom? Call her daughter a quitter? Call a LABELLE a quitter?

Oh no…no…hell fucking no!

You just poked the bear…and she’s pretty pissed. Seeing you roll to the opposite corner and using the ropes to pull yourself up, I roll to the ropes next to me and use them to do the same, The pain in my knee so bad tears are starting to roll down my cheek. The swelling starting…along with some numbness that might actually serve to my advantage…for a very short time…

You are still pulling yourself up, no doubt trying to deal with a pain you hoped not to experience in this match. My eyes narrow and my face sets as I stand in the opposite corner, using the ropes to keep weight from my left leg. I toss my head back, clearing the hair from my face, and shove off the corner…hard. Growling as I do!

After one step with my right leg, my left buckled and I collapse to the mat with a yell, but I push myself up and keep going. Ignoring the pain. Another step with my right, and this time my left only buckles, but I endure the electric shock shooting from my knee and take another two steps. Coming closer to you, gaining speed.

Your back is to me as you get to your feet and I launch myself, pushing off my good right leg, boot digging into the canvas, muscles straining as I launch my body toward your back.

You turn just in time to avoid a devastating shoulder ram to your back, but take it full on in the gut. My right shoulder slamming your firm abs, squishing everything in as I grab the second ropes with both hands on either side of you.

Using the ropes, I lean back and drive my shoulder into you again…WHAMM!!!

Again…WHOOMP!!!

You poked the bear...and she's pissed...

I lean back one more time, ready to ram into you again…

[Rowan Chance]

"Labelle has come alive! Hitting Rowan with shoulder blocks into the corner!

That's what happens when you don't finish the job, Brinks. Chance had Labelle to rights, and she couldn't finish her off.

OOOOO! Another hard shoulder to the solar plexus and that one lifted Rowan right off her feet!

The ref should get in there! Chance is in the ropes! She's got a four count or she's disqualified!



Luckily, the ref does get in there, tugging at your shoulder, starting the count.

"ONE! TWO!!"

My stomach is burning. Aching. I can take a hit to the gut, but expecting it helps.

Come on, ref. Get this bitch off of me...

As you lunge in for that third hit, you do take my feet off the mat. My body's on instinct. Reflex. Physical memory. When in trouble...

My left arm tries to wrap around your neck. And with my feet in the air, I throw all my weight backward. My legs, on either side of your hips, kick hard against the air.

If I get this right, I'll be aiming your precious pretty face at the turnbuckle. Buckle DDT. If it works.

[Vivianne]

The ref is tugging my shoulder and counting. Keep counting buddy…I’ve got time for one or two more. Just enough to really hurt her sto…

Your left arm wraps around my neck and your legs around my body. All the video footage I watched from you in Japan, as Lady DDT, showed me you can hit this damn move from practically anywhere. Randy Orton should be paying you royalties each time the phrase “Outta Nowhere!” is used to describe his move. I know this, and told myself before the match to be wary. Well, wary sometimes goes out the window when your knee is wrecked pretty bad and the bitch who did it is in your sights.

…HUNGHGHG!!!

My head slams into the turnbuckle and my hands lose their grip on the ropes. I take a few staggering steps back, leaving you heaving in the corner, my left hand on my forehead. My right reaches out behind me as if to steady myself on something that isn’t there…and I fall. Landing unceremoniously on my ass…almost comically. Breasts bounce and I end up sitting, legs outstretched. Still holding my forehead.

Ears ringing some..

Damn it…

Fuck…