Art by Vurmin
Independant wrestlers drifted in and out of the WSWF. Most of the regular talent didn't mind them; most of these wrestlers had paid—or were paying—their dues, provided variety to the otherwise fairly stable roster, and often were good at creating contacts with other promotions.
Vurmin, a wiry female rat less than 5½', was one such wrestler; her resume had read like a who's who of indies, and her abrasive ring personality had made her an excellent heel. In-ring, she easily made enemies with the other female wrestlers, giving Dreysanius endless possibilities for matchups—well, not endless. The rat was pretty stiff, and not all the females could handle that. Those that could—well, the results were pretty fierce. If it wasn't for his already bloated roster of talent, Dreysanius would have considered making her a permanent hire; unlike some of his other heel femmes, Vurmin wasn't drawing the wrong kind of heat.
Currently, a feud was cooking between her and Tanara Calhoren, with Vurmin's punkish ways clashing beautifully with Tanara's civility and sophistication. Tanara brought a scientific mat game to the match, Vurmin would counter with a dirty brawl. Tanara would admonish the little trashbag
, while Vurmin would aim reams of smack talk at the "prissy puss". It had built to a rare event (especially for a house show): an Elimination Tables match, in which several tables were set up, but only one (rigged with an alarm) would cause the fur that went through it to lose. Tanara had been quite vocal to any fan who would listen about her disgust at having to participate in such a disgrace to wrestling, but she would prove she could beat Vurmin at her own game. Vurmin shot back that if Tanara was going to stay nailed to her backside, she could expect to get dragged through the mud.
But while rehearsing their match, disaster struck. Tanara decided that instead of an elbow drop from the second rope, the start of the heat would be more dramatic if Vurmin dodged a lionsault. As Tanara was doing her first practice run, Vurmin stood aside. The rat saw the move go wrong; the cougress felt it, moaning as she flew, Fuck meeeeeeeeeeee....
The way Tanara landed on her ankle wasn't pretty.
The match—the main event of the show—was instantly kiboshed. Dreysanius was at his wit's end, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. Finally, he called Vurmin into his office. Do you have any troubles wrestling guys?
he asked.
Not at all. I do it all the time.
Okay—you're still main-eventing. This is what's going to happen...
Vurmin stood in the middle of the ring, listening to the boos of the crowd as she mocked Tanara's injury. So basically, because I was sick of kicking her ass, I decided that I'd put Whine-ara out of comission.
She smirked at the cougress, who was standing near a table by the ring. Yeah, I did your leg in, and now this match ain't gonna happen,
she said. Whatcha gonna do, girly? Tell your big brother? You gonna go crying to that overgrown oaf and hope he'll do something?
She smirked. Hell, that meathead needs a valet just to find the ring—and don't get me started on Me-Parondor-You-Jane figuring out who he's supposed to wrestle! If you're able to understand plain English, Parondor the Ineducatable, it's not the Spanish Announcer's Table!
There was a shower of boos as Vurmin smirked. She knew Parondor was a reasonably popular face, and a few jabs at him were good for some heat. She raised the microphone again. As for all you fans out there, since Tanara's decided to wimp out of the match, guess she's just robbed you of your main event. And as for her brother, if he's trying to find his way to the ring, who knows where he is now!
She laughed, stepping back. She stopped laughing when her head came up against furred pecs. He's behind me... isn't he?
Though she couldn't see him, she could feel the 7'6", 420 lbs Titan champion's wicked grin. Me Parondor. You toast.
With that, he grabbed Vermin by the collar and belt, hoisted her up, and dropped her face-down to the mat, showing off his superior size and strength. The roar of the crowd came close to drowning out the bell.
Vurmin scrambled to her feet, barely avoiding a lariat from that tree-trunk arm. She aimed a dropkick at Parondor's back, but he didn't go down. She got up, right into a tailsmack to the face, as Parondor turned around to lock up with her.
Vurmin wasn't that stupid. Yanking off her vest and throwing it in his face, she ducked under the lunging feline's arm and went to the floor with a drop toehold, making Parondor do a faceplant into the mat. She scrambled onto his back, aiming a few punches at his face. Parondor promptly shoved her off and went for a pin, but the ref pointed out that a pinfall would not win this match.
The two wrestlers got to their feet. Parondor teasingly offered a test of strength, raising his paw way above hers, but Vurmin responded by nailing him in the gut, grabbing his paw as he doubled over and straining his wrist in the way of the well-known mercy fight. Parondor winced and snarled, then glared at Vurmin, slowly reversing their situation until it was Vurmin being forced to her knees. Instead of kneeling, however, she suddenly moved back. Parondor kept his balance, but Vurmin got her tail in the ropes and forced a break.
It was a good thing Parondor was clearly used to wrestling those far smaller than he; Vurmin didn't have much experience with wrestling someone more than two feet her senior, so his whispered suggestions of moves was a lifesaver. Okay, when I get you up for a powerbomb, grab onto my ears,
he instructed before easily lifting her. Her eargrab gained her boos and a yelling-at from the ref. Parondor managed to pry her hands off, which gave Vurmin the chance to escape from his shoulders, aiming a dropkick at his back when she landed. Parondor ended up on the ropes, and Vurmin was instantly on his back, choking him on the ropes. The ref yelled at her, and she let off on four—only to go straight back to the attack. After a third time and a threatened disqualification if she did it again, she backed off, and Parondor rose, his face a mask of fury. She kept her distance, but that cat could move. She was nearly caught as she dove out of the ring to avoid him.
Parondor easily stepped over the top ropes and went to catch her. The ref kept watch; that was all he could do as there was no count-out. Vurmin fled around the ring as Parondor paced after her. She didn't expect him to switch directions and ran right into him; letting the monstrous feline hoist her into a powerbomb. Just relax,
he muttered, as his powerful arms guided her shoulders through one of the several wrong tables.
Vurmin snarled, spat, and writhed as the crowd cheered the spectacle of a table being broken. Inwardly, she appreciated his skill at the powerbomb—her shoulders might be sore tomorrow, but that wouldn't hurt her.
Parondor went to lift her again. This time, get over my head, leap off my back onto the apron,
he whispered.
She quickly escaped his hold and kicked
him chest-first into another table—another false one. Parondor was stunned at having been outmaneuvered, and then stunned when Vurmin nailed him across the back with a steel chair. She has a good shot,
thought Parondor, as the small rat unloaded on the big cougar with the chair.
Parondor finally grabbed the chair, and yanked it away. When he turned to throw it aside, he turned back, only to be nailed in the midsection with a long ladder—courtesy of a charging rat—sending him arse-first through a third wrong table. She then smashed him in the chest with it, shoving him back against the announcer's table, and his Titan's Belt (which he'd left there) fell to the floor. He snarled, jamming the ladder back against her, sending her reeling. Snarling, he went for a lariat, but she ducked it and he went face-first into the steel post. She grabbed his headfur and rammed it a few more times, before letting Parondor fall to the floor. When he got up, his tan fur was stained with red, and he went to slam her face-first into the post. She crumpled to the floor after the first blow, and let Parondor snarl and bluster while she made sure to get bloody herself. Once her white headfur was nicely stained with red, she came up, driving her shoulder into his midsection. This time, Parondor sold it a bit more, staggering a bit. She tried to drive him again, but this time he caught her. Hoisting her up, he went to one of the last to remaining tables and this time dumped her back-first on it, then went for a standing elbow drop to her chest—he was one of the few in the WSWF tall enough to do this to a fur on a table and make it look presentable.
As usual, it was the wrong one, and now the last table left intact had to be the right one. The crowd went into a frenzy as Parondor shoved Vurmin into the ring, getting ready to soften her up. She got to her feet, reaching over the ropes and grabbing his headfur to give him some face shots. After taking a few, Parondor yanked her paw off his headfur, and shoved her hard, sending her stumbling and rolling into the far ropes. Growling, he got into the ring.
Vurmin looked at the visage of Vengeance Incarnate as he approached her. She came at him in a desperate shoulderblock, but this time his lariat was successful, landing her hard on her back. Another attempt was met with a hard chokeslam. When he charged her, she managed to dodge and he rammed himself against the turnbuckle. She followed with a forearm to the back. Parondor groaned, falling to the mat. The ref concentrated on seeing if the giant was okay, allowing Vurmin a touch of trickery.
Parondor got up, and started towards Vurmin, who had retrieved a chair—only to find that she'd used a turnbuckle lace to tie his tail to the ropes. He calmly gripped his tail and gave it a jerk, easily breaking the string. Vurmin came in with a chairshot, but it was grabbed by Parondor and yanked from her paws. He handed the chair to the ref, wagging his finger. Then he picked her up in a Gorilla Press, carried her to the last table, and casually dumped her over the ropes onto it. He turned away, dusting off his paws... then turned around when the alarm failed to go off. He went to the table, and saw that, while he'd dumped Vurmin onto it, she hadn't gone through it. And now she was nowhere in sight. He stepped out onto the apron, looking around for her.
Hey Parondor!
shrieked Vurmin from the other side of the ring. He turned to see her holding his Titan belt. LICK MY RAT!
She charged him and nailed him right in the chest with the belt. Off-balance as he was, he grabbed for the ropes too late, going shoulders first into the table. Vurmin was too light to break the reinforced table, but as the Titan championship was only for those over 7' tall or 500lbs heavy, Parondor's mass turned it into kindling. The alarm went off and the crowd shrieked in fury as Vurmin contemptuously tossed the belt on Parondor's fallen form, raising her arm in victory.
Your winner, VURMIN!
said the announcer. The crowd booed this vile little baggage who had humiliated their champion strutted backstage while Tanara screamed and cussed at the rat who'd defeated her brother.
When Parondor came backstage, Vurmin held out her paw. Thanks for being willing to do this match,
she said. And do the job.
Her paw was enclosed by his. Hey, it's fun to relax and do a house show,
said Parondor. And I have no problem losing to a cheap shot. Keeps me from getting a swelled head. Just watch the claws when you punch. You just about put my eye out.
Sorry about that,
she said.
Tanara grinned at Vurmin. Oh, I can't wait to get off these crutches,
she said. Now we'll have to come up with something nastier to end our feud.
BUT THAT'S A MATCH FOR ANOTHER DAY...
Image Notes
Serotonin drew this as a gift picture for me, showing her rat Vurmin about to take on Parondor Calhoren. The neat thing about an Elimination Tables match is that the outcome can seem like a fluke.
The injury in this story comes straight from real life—a wrestler suffered a serious ankle injury doing a move that would at just that extra touch of coolness with disastrous results.
Hmmm... should I have put this in the gallery or the library? Toughie.