Magic in a Bottle: Angelina Tarrant vs Shimmerlace Snuggleblossom II (Apex Match)

[Malkavia]

There’s a chance, if things go our way tomorrow, that I’ll go up to my friend’s cage, slip the door open, expecting to take into our arms my partner, my friend, my pet and…the rabbit backs away into a corner of the cage. Ears down, heart racing. As scared of Shimmerlace as he once was of Angelina. Ten months is a long time for a rabbit. The longer we go, the more likely that outcome seems. We’re out of next times—this is our last shot.

What I did is something I won't ever forget. I sliced open that gal’s face. Didn’t even flinch. It just popped into my head and I did it. Guess we now what it feels like to be the one holdin’ it, huh? Pure fuckin’ power.

When Angelina said Thistledown was her rabbit, she sounded stupid. You can nab a rabbit, sure, but a relationship? I didn’t realize how it connected to what she called us: a bubble. Pop. Pretty, iridescent, gone. People move on to the next one, and you’re forgotten. Rabbits included.

I ain’t lettin' anyone step on me again. I am the one runnin’ my shit and I ain't about to let my gold be trespassed. This girl wants what I got. She didn’t stop afta’ the first jump, nor when ya hung her ass out to dry at that penthouse. She only knew how to keep comin’ until she found what nerve to press.

What you can’t defend, you’ve got no right to keep, and that goes well beyond rabbits. It touches wings and sky and magic itself. If you’re not fit to hold the rabbit, then there’s nothing in the world people like her won’t take, and what they leave will be more than you deserve. So we’ve got one option and one option only: Take it all back.

Well -- if she wants a pirate’s gold, then she bettah also have her knives ready, plentiful and sharp -- because that’s what’ll take.

I ain’t evah goin’ down.


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Context

For the build-up to this match, see "Magic in a Bottle" under "Key Storylines" in Shimmerlace's profile

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Rules: The winner must force the loser to say "I Quit" by any means necessary. No Disqualifications are enforced for this match.



Wind announced Shimmerlace’s entrance—wind, music, and fragrance. Whether they were packed into the front bowl, crowded into the gallery, or watching from the VIP terrace overhead, they felt the breeze on their face. They smelled the lilac and the honeysuckle, crisp and sweet like springtime. Sustained sighs on an electric guitar curled through the arena, overlaying an insistent synthetic beat.

"Go ask Alice, when she's ten feet tall..."

Spoiler

As the music sank into a faster, wordless bridge, a disembodied Seelie voice rose from the speakers: "Cunts and cuntesses, the world over..." The lights deepened their tint, dying every surface in the arena with a roseate palette. "Our Court comes for our viceroy."

On cue, vents high over the ring opened up, and a column of fog descended on the ring. The electric fans generating the spring breeze picked up in speed and the wind grew in strength. Cherryblossom petals and green leaves mixed into the ring's upper space, swirling and adding texture to currents in the air. As the music climbed to a zenith and then cut to near-silence, the lights cut. The arena was pitched into black, and then—

The beat dropped, and synthetic wave washed through the room as a single overhead light lit on an otherwordly creature emerging from pink fog. Huge, semi-transparent wings iridescent in the light spun and glittered. From her head rose fleshy, bulbed antennae while the face itself gazed out of eyes black like marbles, bulbous like an insect's. Her skin shone green and pink and lilac as she swayed, as if floating herself on the winds around her.

"When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead..."

And then the music reached its final, screaming finish, and the lights cut—a dash of one figure in pitch black darkness, a swap at the ring apron, a fairy climbs in the ring and meets her mark—and when the lights came back, Shimmerlace stood center-ring, wearing ring gear she had not put on since her last encounter with Angelina.

The Unseelie Maître

As it had in so many matches these past ten months, the Feychild's gaze brushed over the audience, searching. There were so many people she'd hoped would be up there. Eleanor. Yuki. Gil. Perhaps even Tracy or Alizeh, though she doubted those two would care to after their last encounters. But the bleachers rose high, wide, and dense.

As the moment passed and the crowd's noise lowered to a simmer, Shimmerlace took her corner and faced the direction of the one attendee who really mattered.

[Monsy]

After a long talk to herself, she was left staring at the ceiling. Nothing more came out, so she relaxed, then tucked her chin to look at Thistledown laying on her stomach.

“What?”
“Can we go to bed now, Angie-Wangie?”
She sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

After putting a pillow on her face, that was that. Tomorrow hit like a newborn truck. It knocked her dizzy. Shit happened like clockwork and chugged along so fast. 8am turned into 1pm real quick, and the evening was even faster. She checked everything from her shoelaces to the razor wire on her purple bat to the lock she put on Thistle’s square cage. Our good dear white rabbit laid on the altar.

Lets go.
Her music hit its opening drop. That opening riff and pedal that laid down the rhythm coming out the Marshall stack. It thrashed and teased, dotting the ears and getting a rhythm of head-banging drumming up to those close to the ramp.

Wake up by Rage Against The Machine

“Come on!”

Aye, the song went for the gut this time around. Smoke started spewing at the shin-level as the riff made its second run. It was almost like a live performance, just without the players. And come the first lyric, Angelina came rolling into view, her board cleverly hidden by the smoke to make it look like she floated on a cloud. The crowd’s rumble turned loud for her welcome. Something was different this time around. Her clothes were the same. That black shirt with the horned skull, chequered red skirt, choker, fishnets and stockings. Aye. But this time her hands were full. On one was a steel cage, square and held to the back of her thigh with the rabbit of the hour sitting pretty inside. That key necklace hung by her chest with the fat lock over the door. What drew more eyes is what she had in her other hand, laxed upright on her shoulder. A purple bat wrapped in razor wire. Most couldn’t read the text. But to those on her front-side, seeing it lay propped up and stand over her head and horns. They read ‘Nutcracka’. The one and only.

The Marauder

Angelina’s roll on the stage turned fast as she hit the ramp, escaping the smoke to race. She controlled it well for Thistle’s sake, making a calm lean and adjusting her wrist to keep him upright, taking the corner where the wheels slowed over the ringside floor. One more turn and she reached the announce table, setting him down before continuing to roll, pushing once before hitting an ollie, with that pop and foot scraping up the grip tape, giving her back to the ring and grinding her tail on the ringstep before coming off to land it. A simple trick for a small pop. She bailed off her board to jump to the apron, wrapping an arm around the middle rope, hitting her knees and leaning to the outside. Her bat pointed at the front row. There ain’t words to shout this time around, but that didn’t mean she had nothing to say. You can see it in her face. That damn grin with all the worked up elation and intent, licking her teeth like she found a treasure chest. She got up soon after, then ran for the corner, stepping up to the middle, then the top before taking flight. Her arms arched into a Y and her body came around to finish the swift flip that landed her in the ring.

For a third time and very last time, Shimmer was undeniable in getting her attention. She looked geared up, ready to go -- bejewelled and a clean slate. Angelina walked to her corner and leaned back into it as her music hit its downturn. She lowered the bat so its barbs and shiny face rested millimeters from her ear, then pointed to it, took that same finger and dragged it across her forehead with a cold expression to boot. Her purple eyes never left the girl. It soon turned to a much cheekier grin, one fully aware of herself. Fully aware that there wasn't a single ally out there watching, just dipshits and delinquents. In fact, she didn’t even want to look or acknowledge them. Shimmer was her prime concern.

And as she mouthed the words, 'You asked for this' -- from bell to bell, her only concern.

[Malkavia]

What did it feel like watching Angelina roll in like a molten tide, gliding on smoke, parading her lovingly held prisoner, her weapon cocked and ready to splat fey skulls?

As disturbing as a cold, metal nub in the gum line, an empty ex-tooth filled with a golden implant. It sent an electric tingle through the thin white line of scar tissue right under the hairline, smooth and straight compared to its older, jagged counterpart on the fairy’s tender navel. Like the fey costume shorn to ribbons, like the ears lost to the drains of a cruise ship’s water system, like the arc of a gibbet tossed sideways on the storm-churned waves of cuntettes of every shade, it was high-class rocket fuel.

The fairy shook her head, bit her lip, and huffed a sigh crossed with an eyeroll. "Fuckin’ Hell, Angie. I specifically told ya rabbits aren’t made for cages. I bet ya fed ‘em carrots too." In spite of the pulse pounding in her ears, Shimmer managed to keep the words relaxed. She sighed and leaned into the ropes, peering into the crowd. "It’ll be easy enough to fix that, once the rabbit soon to be known as Thistledown is where he belongs. Though.” The fairy’s eyes swiveled, caught Angelina’s eyes in a sharp, quick strike of a glance. "My comrade's not all I’ll be ripping out of you.” As the weight of the arena settled on the fairy and her sly, arching smile, she rubbed her hands together, back and forth, until blue sparks began to jump from between the gloves. A glance at the stands—was Fatboy McRoseWig here again? How many of the other gibbet-tippers? Certainly there were pockets of pink, and they like many others leaned in as the smoke began to rise between her hands. And with a pop, they’re attention would be rewarded as a pink origami tiger settled onto her palm.

"Our old mate Tiger Jane? That old comet-turned-to-ash, long-forgotten relic of a cunt, with thrice the belts to her name that you or I will ever hold. Aye. And I’m sure you remember, then, the promise you made under her…" She gave Jane a toss, and she arched over the mat and burst into piercingly bright blue flame before floating in disintegrating ruin down to the mat. "...conflagratory light. You do remember, don’t ya Angie?"

The blue light was fading but still cast a reflected glow on the Seelie Maître's face, especially the wide whites of her eyes and gleaming surface of her toothy grin. Her jaw went tight. Her back tensed. Whatever came first, the bell or Angelina’s reply, the fairy was ready to catch the flame and ride.

[Monsy]

Wasn’t sure what to expect. Shimmer looked the same as she did come last Summer. Every time she saw this girl, her opinion changed on the fly. That kind of wonder that got your eyes in a fishhook. Yet here there was a very particular comparison. For once there was a standard pinned only to past Shimmer. She knew it, they knew it, the crowd from pinks to pirates knew it too. Gibbet. The referee watched them as they occupied opposite sides, delaying the bell as the crowd soaked up banter. While not many can hear them well, you can still watch their faces. A devil’s grin and a glancing fairy playing with magic for a spectacle of blue, then pink.

Angelina had a listen, then, when done. She took two steps forward, slouched back and had the bat rest over her shoulder. “Yeah.” A nod given to the referee got the bell rolling. Ding fuckin’ ding. Angelina didn’t move much at the start, but she did move the bat around by her side, twisting the wrist and motioning her arm to make the thing windmill. “Belts or not, Tigah Jane would eat shit if they test me. Just like right now, Shimma. You’re testing me. A lot.” She placed the bat’s tip into the mat, then leaned on it, shaking her head. “Though, if I'm being honest. I really don’t mind. Gold’s value is made by its patrons, but this is where the ride ends. One and done, so make the most of it -- and fuckin’ fight me!” The bat rested in her grip again, taken and she spun around clockwise, swinging the thing wide and at hip-level.

[Malkavia]

It felt good to move. Shimmer’s body sang as she sprang into motion, the way muscle sparkled when she rolled out of bed and stand on her tippy toes, or when she flexed after a good bone-pounding workout.

The bat was new. Nutcracka was it now? The bright pink stain on the baseball bat had laughter in it, a cruel, ironic cackle to pair with the helter skelter flesh-biting razor wire.

It whistled as it sliced air and Shimmerlace skipped apace. The only thing that hit harder than the twisted arc of the bat was the cunt swinging. The Scarlet Terror’s words might have come in lazy and annoyed, but she tore the cold iron through the air like she was there to demolish a stone wall. Her whole body twisted into the swing and her hair exploded out to her side, glittering and scarlet in the spotlight.

Fuck that shit. Quick with her magician's hands, Shimmerlace slipped a black glove off Shimmer’s arm. She’d hold it between two hands as Angelina pivoted, and slip her hands forward, glove tight between them. As the bat arced for a second attempt at Shimmers cheekbone, she’d aim to tangle up ol’ nutcracka in the sacrificial glove and then give bat and owner a two-armed YANK.

[Monsy]

Once around did her little death-rattle toy swing, chewing up air but soaring loose from its goal. Angelina’s foot came forward, bearing the weight of her swing, absorbing it into her overturning hips. The bat continued in one hand as that arm windmilled. A torque nipped her shoulder, beholden to the weapon than her own power. It came up, over her head where her second hand met it, taking another step, investing her shoulder and coming down diagonally from above. You can hear the smack, but not against skin. A glove. Angelina was hunched here, looking up to Shimmer with a sneer and annoyed clenched eyes.

Then a yank. Her heels were peeled off the mat like rope to her ankles made of foam. She leaned into it, tucked shoulder and lunged, threading the gap between Shimmer’s legs. The somersault gave her much desired momentum to roll back up if so desired, but instead, her boots smacked the canvas, stopping dead for a flicker before shoving to turn her body forty-five degrees. Then coming with another pop, she stacked on her shoulders and kicked-up, landing on one foot, half-curled, clutching Shimmer’s pink hair and ripping it back. Angelina fell again, hitting her back and trying to pull the back of Shimmer’s head into a raised knee like being skull-slammed into a rock.

[Malkavia]

The razor teeth bit into the glove. The glove unraveled with a loud rrrrrip as steel penetrated and then split the fabric, and by the time Shimmerlace finished tugging Angelina off her feet, the glove had disincorporated. Fabric frayed, wrapped like a white and purple bastardized Seelie flag around the Nutcracka.

Angelina ducked between Shimmerlace’s legs at the same time that she let go of the bat. The weapon flew up over the fairy’s head, and she grabbed its wooden base. Gotcha. But at the same instant that a grin split Shimmerlace’s face, Scarlet Lightning flashed behind her. Shimmer had time to pivot her eyes to the socket’s corner, to shift her hips, but then Angelina’s grip on her scalp sent a shiver from the Feychild's heels to the back of her neck.

KRK! Head cracked against knee, and down Shimmer went. Spittle arced out of her mouth and splattered her cheeks and the mat. She choked, coughed, and too-familiar stars burst like static in her vision. She tumbled onto her gut, showing the enemy her back, Nutcracka under her left palm.

Roll, cunt. Cats fight on their backs. It puts their claws up, five on each forepaw, plus four hooks apiece on the hindpaws. Shimmer whipped around as well, concealing as she did a pass of her hand over her mouth. A tablet slipped onto her tongue. And then there she was, on her back, heels up, ready to kick, hand wrapped tight around the base of her plundered weapon.

[Monsy]

Our Seelie Scion had a bag of tricks. The fact was as easily told as red and white. A glove was a new factor in an equation that yet to unveil itself, whereupon Angelina nearly stuttered the response if not for her free running and skateboard instincts to catch the fall. It seemed fluid, coming up, moving without a spine and suspended by string, to grab Shimmer and drop her across her knee.

One quick roll away, then a kip-up later, Angelina was back on her feet, smooth, tall and brooding over the downed Shimmer, watching whilst fixing her fishnet sleeves, pulling a square til it was taut, clinging to her forearm. Being bat-less didn’t shake her too bad. Had this been any other time, the smile wouldn’t stop at dimples. “Why the fuck are ya down already?” Said Angelina, plain and with a small growl underneath. She took to speed-walking towards the ropes, grabbing the top, hopping on the bottom, middle and top before going into a soar. Her knees tucked in, arms spread out over her head.

One spin around came before her feet cast a shadow over Shimmer’s head, where both came together, then shot down to stomp on Shimmer’s skull.

[Malkavia]

The stars sank from the top of Shimmer’s vision back down to the invisible somewhere they belonged. An ache kept pulsing at the back of her skull, a persistent fly-bite of a headache at the base of the skull, but she could tone it out. Down already—she bit her lip and narrowed her eyes.

You didn’t need to be a soothsayer to see what was coming. Bootfalls indicated Angelina stepping back to the ring edge, and then Shimmer heard the crunch of a Marauder springboarding off the ropes, and a pirate’s shadow obscured the spotlights. Shimmerlace rolled. Her knees tucked under her, and the bat arced from the mat to her side, and the fairy’s eyes lit on Angelina...though her shot was already in motion by the time pink lighted on violet. The Scion swung hard as her shoulder could launch, low, made Nutcracka sing once again, directing it all tooth and thorn at the spot Shimmer had just been.

—And here Angelina came rocketing, guided missile with a comet-tail of scarlet hair. She owned the sky, and the reflection off Shimmer’s pink irises curled the fairy's lips. Shimmer’s gut went tight, anticipating the clunk of wood on bone, bat on pirate leg. Let's see how well you can fly with a cracked ankle.

[Monsy]

Higher. No, higher. HIGHER. Those notches in her head became the focal point of so much practice. Ollie bigger steps, slam on your tailbone, get up and go again. Jump that barricade, vault and spring off -- but only get a crass hop when the knee gives. Higher. One rope, two, three and that magical fourth, shooting just come over smack the canvas with her heels.

Her head turned to Shimmer. An almost fifty-fifty guess that would’ve made this match enter a new planet of suck before they even reached the stratosphere. Angelina swung one leg out, arched back and jumped onto her hand as her body came over, sighting her beloved razor pink nearly get that mutiny. In the back of her mouth, she whispered, “Fuck.” As she landed back on her feet.

You dodged ankle death, but now there’s just something far worse to deal with. Who didn’t know how to use a bat that didn’t need to hit to hurt? Girl already left a slice on you that scarred down your exposed side, making this subtle pink line. Angelina bit her inner lip, but was careful not to show much on the outside. She framed Shimmer and the Nutcracka’ with her index and thumbs, squinted, then dropped to one knee. Both hands reached out, palms up, then the four fingers curled in and out.

Come at me.