ELIZA DUSHKU                                                   MICHELLE WILLIAMS

         CLAIRE DANES                                                     ALYSON HANNIGAN

Posted by HISC on 8/10/2007, 10:01 am.

The dais is full of Consortium pulchritude. On one side, a still steaming Eliza, dark eyes ablaze with victory, revenge, and a continued tidal flow of adrenaline. By her side, Claire Danes shifts restlessly, eyes darting, nervously chewing her lower lip. She acknowledges the media gathered with a slight nod. Sheepishly, she forces a grin. Knowing she backed the wrong horse, and seemingly in disbelief she’ allowed herself to trust Mishy’s prowess, Claire appears as though she wish she could make herself disappear. A ravaged Alyson lists behind them Having been pummeled by Lacey Chabert, the redhead is in no condition to be on the stage, but Consortium suits force her to be there in order to provide a mock united front” for whatever announcement they have in mind, She wavers, catching herself with a hand on Claire’s shoulder. Danes shrugs her off with a snarl.

On the opposite side is Michelle, busted and beaten up, She slumps, right arm folded across her battered belly, left across her aching jugs, the very ones that had sent a very specific message not long ago. Apparently, the message had been received, but not in the way the blonde had supposed. Michelle leans against the podium, seemingly ready to collapse, head bowed. Being dismantled by Eliza, clearly having drained her psychologically as much as physically, she counts the seconds for this to be over. She could still feel the hands in her hair, hips and midriffs, shoved in her elfin features, as each member of the Wolfpack “posterized’ her in her corner, Eliza, Clair, Alyson, her partners in crime apparently won over by Eliza’s steely gaze and barking command. The b###hes knew which way the wind blew and right now she was the one on the “windblown” side.

A suit steps to the microphone clearing his throat.

“Yes. Well, wasn’t that an artful display of boxing skill and fortitude.”

Eliza looks at the man with disgust. She knew the talk behind closed doors, by people such as this jerk, was about forcing her out of her deal and handing bantam to Claire, Michelle, or both.

“We’re so pleased that Eliza has re-established herself and, after talking with our training staff, we feel it best she remain at bantam at this time. I think, as Michelle can attest, she’s just too much for flyweights, and we feel assaulting those poor girls at 110 would be unjust…at this time.”

Michelle tries to straighten in response to the backhand swipe, but she can only grinmace and resume her Hunchback imitation.

“She’s not to muuu..”

The suit holds up his hand.

“Now, Michelle, please. As I was say8ing, Eliza will remain at bantam and I think we’ve all seen we care to of Michelle at that weight. Once she is recovered, she will be dropping back to flyweight, where we all hope she can continue to be competitive.”

A creasy smile bends Eliza’s ruby lips.

“Our lead female in that category. Miss Claire Danes, will hopefully be receiving a response from the champion, Kristen bell, and we can regain a title for the Consortium.”

Michelle whimpers at the words. Not only had she been beaten to a squishy blonde pulp, but now she’d been demoted and told she was second-strong at fly. Hell, if Alyson hadn’t been pummeled by Chabert, this walking, talking pile might have flung her to the bottom of the list. Though she just wanted to get the hell out of these, Mishy can take no more, She shoves a forearm into the man’s ribs, clearing him off and assuming his position.

“You all thought she was done,” Michelle shouts, pulling one arm away from her body-swaddling to point at Elize. “Well, I’m done done. She hasn’t eliminated me from boxing.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Eliza interjects with a wide grin.

:I don’t forget,” Michelle says, turning in the brunette’s direction, but also casting an eye toward Claire and Alyson.

Eliza’s pearlies clench, dark eyes focusing,

“I don’t either.”

With that, she surges forward and into a weakened Michelle, knocking the blonde ass over tea kettle, and landing atop her, the microphone clunking to the stage beside them.

“You thought you could just do that to me,” Eliza hisses as she pins a fruitless struggling blonde under her taut body in a full-length pin.

For the first time Claire cracks a smile, It had been a bad night, mostly. Eliza had commanded her to turn on the stupid blonde, And she had publicly obeyed. Sure, showing Mishy up had been fun, but taking orders, not so much. But now, at this conference, she’d been assured alpha female at flyweight and Eliza might make sure it was a long run. Alyson? Hell, she was used up by a rookie.

On the floor, Eliza’s payback continues. The Consortium suit calls for order,, but make no physical effort to separate the two employees. The media? Are you kidding? They lap iot up. Flash photography making the room look like a disco.

And Eliza takes her due. She slips on a reverse sleeper around the head and flowing mane of the belittled blonde and lowers her under-rated leather-encased rack atop Michelle’s glossy cheeks and nose. Mishy’s hazel eyes grow wide, her head turning from side to side, but barely able. This WASN’T happening.

“See, the mistake you made,” Eliza whispers, “is that you did yours in private, I destroyed you for all to see.”

“MMMMPPPHH.”

Michelle’s muffled cries reverberate against Eliza’s fleshy pillows, eliciting a widening grin.

“You’re on the Internet right now I’d imagine. Slowly fading. Like your career..”

Eliza cinches her smother in tighter still, Mishy’s arms and legs flailing, but her bruised body still planted in place, Eliza seemingly enjoying every square inch of her form on the blonde’s, the rapid rolls of Williams’ chest and the rabbit-paced thump of her heartbeat. Oh, and the flickering eyelids, as Michelle starts to lose consciousness.

The hazy view of Eliza’s glistening face is replaced by flashes of light and then darkness for the diminutive blonde., Eliza releases and pulls off her cowed Packmate; swety, tacky skin peeling away from Michelle’s.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” Eliza announces, as she rises to her knees, holding Michelle’s lolling head aloft by a handful of golden locks, “should be the end of that.”

Reposted by Archer 1/8/13.