The urbancore pirate punkin’ Marauder was fresh off her last cherry popsicle and ready to rip this shit a new one. All good preparations started with a concession stand, buying popcorn for her seat, standing on a set of wheels, wood, and grip tape. Her phone was in her hand, looking up a video of an older Torture Rack match.
“Wait--” The Marauder choked on her popsicle.
“Hey,” Talking to the concession stand worker. “
Ya a VIP mark, ya? Who isn’t. Ya know her specialty match has absolutely NOTHIN’ to do with a torture rack hold?”
The employee scratched his cheek and stared, his eyes drifting off to the side, “Uhhh..”
“ABSOLUTELY bupkis about puttin’ bitches on ya shouldas, yo. Why didn’t they call it somethin’ like, ‘1420 London Match’ or ‘Enhanced Interrogation Match’ or ‘Hey, It’s a Fuckin’ Scary Device Match. It’s porkshit crazy and medieval, a lil’ sexy and just... Ughhh…” Her forehead bonked into the popcorn machine, “I had a whole strategy up til this point man…”
“Isn’t… Your match starting soon?”
Angelina pointed her mostly melted popsicle, its red juice spilling onto the concession counter.
“Ya know what. Ya right. Ya very own A.T is gonna have to get creative and improvise. Then, I’ll take my pink silicone dick and--” She drew her phone from her leather jacket, peeking the time.
“Oh shit, my match!! I’ll pay for ma’ shit later, see ya nerd!” Stuffing her phone, she dropped the popsicle, nabbed the huge bag of popcorn she ordered and pushed off to cruise down the merry halls. This place really picked up a few festive traits. Just a few. Some reindeer ears and Rudolph's noses. A sexy Santa costume on a clothing rack. Hell, she swore she found a girl being tied up in garland and getting kicked. Wasn’t her business, though.
She reached gorilla post-haste, coming in with a powerslide and nearly eating shit after knocking some cables.
“Woah--” And was met with side glances and expectant gazes. It was the usual. Last minute show-ups were kinda her thing. It was intentional at this point -- got a good rouse out of them. Where she, with her big dumb grin, looks around and pops a bit of that lightly-buttered goodness into her mouth.
“Well, lets pop this shit off!” And having popped her tail so the board came up and into her hand, her signature beat,
Wake Up by RATM came alive. The loud drop and rhythm loosened up the audience’s necks for a bouncin’ nod. Some put their shoulders into it. The salute to the white skull and horns that was flashing across the titantron. Cue to the song’s first lyric --a mix of jeers and cheers welcomed the Marauder as she got a racing start, throwing down and running onto her board, crouching low, popcorn bag to her chest as she raced down the ramp. She carved hard when she reached the bottom, snaking back and forth, popping popcorn then stepping off her board right by the barricade.
“Thistlebro, ya came!” She said. Her wee pure pearl-white rabbit occupied a seat, smack dab in the front row. Caged -- of course, but he had hay, pellets, and some water to nibble on. Thistle gave a couple of hops in a circle, and she fist bumped the cage,
“Ba-Boom!” After flicking one popcorn that bounced off his cage, she pumped that fist into the air while she backstepped, she ascended the steps, slipping off her marked-up jet-black leather coat, switching what hand held the popcorn. Underneath was her signature trade. A studded black choker, cropped black T-shirt with a white rabbit and horns. Fishnets on her hands that stretched to her mid-bicep. A red-striped skirt that sashayed. Belts on her hips. Black and white striped thigh-highs and sprawling fishnets that reached halfway up her cream-smooth belly.
Top it all off with black boots that stepped on the turnbuckles from the outside, using a hand to stabilize before planting her sole on the top, straightening up, and looking out. Man, this sight was still hard to get used to. All these eyes. It gave her the shivers. Nothing like reality to put the scare into your tiny bones. She played it off by stuffing her face with a fistful of popcorn, hopping into the ring, and creating a small mess. The torture device had all her eyes, approaching with a slow step, from the perch of her heel to flat, repeating until she gave the metal a knock, put her ear close, and knocked again.
“This is legit.”
Her smile lit up. Her cheeks were aching from it. Not only was this NEW, but what better than to delve into new with LAW’s very own VIP -- then pwn the preppy blonde at her own game.
“Yo-yo-yo.” Angelina said, taking the ring’s centre and stretching out her small, and slightly buttered hand.
“What up? It’s cool to finally meetcha. Name’s Angelina, but folks call me A.T.”
