Vanessa I. Price vs. Angelina Tarrant - Torture Rack Match (Apex Qualifier)

[Dubski]

VIP was hurting from that punt between her legs, staying on her knees as she took gasping breaths, holding herself. This humiliation. This embarrassment. This disgraceful attack would need to be dealt with. Her head hung low as she kept trying to regain her focus. Once she would, she would unleash hell on Angelina. But that would be cut short with a boot to her shoulder, knocking Vanessa back with a grunt. She groaned, gritting her teeth as she turned, starting to crawl away, onto to have her ankle be stepped on shortly after. It ceased her crawling, but then Angelina switched legs.

And then she felt her limb being pulled flat and she tried squirming away, scowling as her leg was being held in place. And then, the stomp came to her ankle, her body reacting instantly as she exploded away from Angelina with a loud cry of pain, rolling on the mat as she held onto her ankle. "You fucking bitch! Fuck you! You infantile piece of shit!" shrieked Price furiously, cussing under her breath after. It was among the times she had lost her composure, the more measured insults turning into a flurry of curses as she continued to roll on the mat, trying to sooth her hurt ankle. It was hurting extremely badly. She wasn't sure how well she would be able to walk on it after. But her entire focus was trying to ignore the immense pain in her limb now.

[Monsy]

You couldn’t make a popsicle THIS tasty. After being choked half to death, something needed to give. Set this ship sailing on a new course and hurl wind into its tops, gallants, royals and studs. She put her fingers together and blew a chef kiss straight up. Her smile looked cheshire, self-amused, licking between her own teeth, watching and following them around as they rolled around. “Wow.”

Both her eyebrows raised for a moment. She liked this VIP. Much more venomous and makes you WANT to hit her in the teeth, just to see her belch another curse. So she came into her rolling path, bent over and grabbed her by the hair, weaving her fingers between strands then raking the scalp. She might as well be glued. “All that little bitchin’ isn’t savin’ ya.” She pulled on them to try and get them to their knees, where she applied a second hand and yanked again. “Nah, dorkstick. -- I’m gonna make ya BEG me to strap ya to this fuckin’ losah’ rack!” And after declaring, she took her grip on VIP and made an attempt to drag her over and ram her face against the mediaeval device!

[Dubski]

VIP was in pain from that dirty low blow from Angelina, and then the unbearable pain in her ankle as she writhed on the mat, ready to cuss Angelina to high heavens. She was absolutely fed up with this miserable redhead and her offensively violent style. Just done dealing with it. Price wasn't sure what she could do to retaliate, but she knew it would be as vicious as Angelina's attempts on her would be, if not moreso.

But she felt her hair being grabbed and let out a cry. "You bitch! You release me NOW!" shrieked Vanessa, wide-eyed and nearly frothing from the anger and pain mixing together now, and then she would dare grab her hair like this. Price was yanked to her knees and she was close to the rack now, facing it head-on. It became clear exactly what Angelina Tarrant had planned for her, and she knew it was nearly enough to finish her off in this match if she hit it. Her mind went into a panic and she did the first thing she could, slinging her arm around Angelina's head in an effort to stop her. But it didn't take. The moment that she felt her momentum go forward though, Vanessa threw a hand forward and then planted it onto the cold metal of the torture rack, letting out a loud yell as she braced herself from being thrown into it. Her arm hurt now, but she was left struggling. "Gah...! You... Will... Never!" yelled VIP, tightening her grip around Angelina's head.

Then, she pushed off from the rack, sending them both back upright. That headlock tightened even more as Angelina was still trying to force VIP's head into the rack once more, but the fashionista had another idea. She instead adjusted her positioning to go between the "legs" of the torture rack, while Angelina's head was headed right towards the steel instead. Normally, this sort of move she called Rejection was one she performed while standing, but this Headlock Driver was about to be put to use in a different way. As she threw herself forward with the momentum, she would try to send Angelina's head blasting into the metal of the torture rack instead, turning the tables entirely on her vicious, redheaded opponent.

[Monsy]

Finally got a good handle on this girl. After having that foot squish her windpipe into the rope, she was just ITCHING to toss something back. She felt better than ever, tussling the good tussle, dragging the fashionista to the ring’s heart for a good ol kiss on the steel. Then an arm went over her head, and she hunched over to fit VIP’s grip, smothered into her side. “The hell!” growled Angelina, still holding onto their hair, wincing and prepping her footing. She torqued the grip on VIP like she wanted to rip the hair off her scalp. Being partially blinded by the angle, she heard SOMETHING smack but wasn’t sure what. She just knew it wasn’t the face. Not with that fight still storming, and that mouth still yapping. “Shut up and get on the fuckin’ thing!”

They returned to somewhere more neutral. Almost catty. Angelina still pulled on their hair for some give. She even lined up her leg behind VIP, ready to give them a charley horse. But before she could, she was sent careening forward. Her forehead pinged off the steel. She ultimately rebounded back up, first straight, then started to curl back, balancing on one foot as her head wobbled around. One index finger was half-raised to poise a protest. Her expression looked loose, slack-jawed, drooling down her chin, with pirate ships floating around her head and punch-drunk purple eyes spinning, “I….” She fell, slapping the mat spread-eagle. “Beeghh…”

[Dubski]

Vanessa I. Price managed to throw her everything into that Rejection, and it paid dividends. Angelina's head ricocheted off the steel of the torture rack while VIP continued falling forward between the object, laying on her front as she panted and groaned in pain. That absolutely idiotic brat wasn't running her mouth. She had to have hit the move. It had to have done everything she wanted it to. It had to have ended this. She pushed herself off the mat, arms shaking as she looked back and suddenly grinned. "Hah! Ahahaha!" cackled Vanessa, looking as elated as her exhausted body would allow.

She then scrambled, crawling over to Tarrant quickly as she tugged on her trying to pull her limp body to the torture rack. She knew how to do this--potentially better than anyone else in LAW. It was her specialty match, after all. Many girls had been locked into the contraption. And it appeared Angelina Tarrant would be next. She put her shoulder into the redhead's ribs and then with effort pushed her all the way up to a standing position against the rack, her ankle immediately giving out after. She grabbed onto Angelina's top, holding it tight for leverage before pushing herself back up. She'd start with the arms. She needed to at this point.

One of Tarrant's slender wrists soon had a leather clasp around it. The other wrist followed. Hopping back, trying not to put weight on her bad ankle, Price would then drop down and lock in one leg, and the other. And it was over. It was all finally over. This hellacious match had met an end, and Vanessa I. Price was being declared the winner. With a wide, satisfied, and malevolent grin, she watched Angelina as she rose. The referee went to raise her hand, but Vanessa ripped it away.

She stared at her nearly unconscious opponent, vitriol practically dripping from her pores, and then she shouted. "Wake the hell up, you pathetic, miserable, simpleton!" VIP then gave a slap to Angelina's face, to wake her up. But that felt good. It felt very, very good. And then multiple slaps followed after that. Slaps until it was very clear that Tarrant was awake enough to see her position.

[Monsy]

A dream state slowly ushered in. All sorts of colours propped up, a deer, crocodile and lion running alongside a passenger train car she peeped out of. They were heading somewhere with a slice of green, black dirt and purple sky. When she put her head to the glass, she fell out, and got an immediate sense of falling into the crocodile’s widened jaws before she woke with cold sweats. “W-Wuh-- huh??!”

The sting was the first thing. “ughh…” It nipped her cheek and made it feel like a porcupine pricked her face. Lights glared and overwhelmed her sight. She winced, further pained by a headache that wrapped around her forehead and pinched her eyes to stay as closed as possible. Peeking sucked. Moving sucked. Frankly, there wasn’t a lot of that. Her hands and ankles both were bound. She soon felt the leather riding up on her wrist and ankle, pinching her limbs to the thing. The only discomfort really came in her back and shoulder-blades, almost compressed and held in an awkward posture. It wasn’t enough to make her fix it. Just annoying. Her strength was mostly lost behind a headache, then the sick slaps that moved her head to the side, making a fat red imprint where she whimpered. She clenched her teeth, “I-I’m fuckin’ here, ya fuckin’ fuck.” Said Angelina, rather quiet and grumbly like having been woken up on a Saturday.

[Dubski]

Vanessa I. Price had finally stopped slapping the hell out of Angelina when she started to stir and be more aware. It got her out of her rage-filled stupor where she just wanted to hurt that miserable opponent of hers that had done so much to really hurt her. VIP would be incredibly sore after this match, and that was not ideal for her by any stretch. She had appearances to keep up and this utter psychopath had made that more difficult.

Gritting her teeth, the fashionista glared at Tarrant and her lippy attitude once more. And then suddenly she brought her hand under Angelina's jaw, fingers gripping her cheeks as she pushed up, uncomfortably forcing Angelina's head back as far as the rack would let it go. "You shut the bloody hell up right now!" spat Vanessa angrily. "Normally, this is a humiliating affair... I fuck whatever imbecile wants to face me in this match, and then they leave a lesser woman than they were before. But you are depraved. There is nowhere lower you can go. So I propose that you go... up."

Gripping Angelina's face more firmly she would then add, "I want you to apologize. Say you're sorry for hurting me. Let the world know you are a better person than when you came into this match. That you are capable of remorse. And most importantly... that you know your miserable place." VIP would then step back, taking a deep breath as she released Tarrant. "So let's hear it," stated Price plainly, gesturing for Angelina to take the floor.

[Monsy]

‘Normally, this is a humiliating affair.’ -- That honestly sounded better than what she actually got. Her head was mushed and pushed into the torture rack. She didn’t fight it, as that strength was really spent. Any flinch just brought on an almighty fucking headache. One eye shut while she listened, being a moldable clay to however VIP wanted to hold her then. What she heard, though, was something else. Sex -- sure. Honestly, a good fuck would do her good here. Girl worked up a fire with that glare, and Angelina wouldn’t lie how she wanted to take that dip. But an apology? Angelina felt like she just returned to the school yard, where you fit in a chair before the principal. Fess up, say your words, get a slap on the wrist and return to your class.

It was a fucking boner killer. Yet what she added hit almost like a dose of praise. Depraved. Low. Know your miserable place. All fine in her book, true and by all means, VIP was correct. She took the proverbial mic with a deep breath, seeming sincere with opening both eyes to stare, then let her gaze fall to the mat. “Any sorry from me would be a fuckin’ lie, yo.” A smile propped up til she got dimples. “I’m quite alright with my place. All that glisters ain’t gold, but dirt can still shine. Eh? What ya got anyway? This is YOUR time to leave ya name on me, and ya bitchin’ out. Talkin’ about apologies like I have to be sorry for tryin. How about--” She spat with a mustered up growl, wincing, “Fuck you! Yo. Fuck you!”

[Dubski]

VIP waited for Angelina to finish speaking, a big smirk on her face the whole while. And when Tarrant had finished up, the fashionista shrugged her shoulders and said, "I'll be honest with you. I was really hoping that you wouldn't apologize. At least right now. Because we're going to see if we can get an apology out of you yet. And if we don't... well, that's a you problem, not a me problem." Vanessa explained the words, giving a smug, sinister smirk, with a tinge of fury behind her eyes before she began to limp her to the side of the ring and rolled underneath.

She began perusing under the apron, still trying not to put any pressure on her bad ankle. Price would eventually find what she was looking for as she stood up, and rolled back into the ring, limping back towards Angelina. She then waved a lead pipe towards her face, giving her an expectant look. Then, Vanessa I. Price pounded the lead pipe against the metal torture rack, making it echo out into the crowd loudly.

Waving the pipe in Angelina's face, VIP then stated plainly, "Last chance, Tarrant. Let's hear those magic words." Vanessa said the words like an offer, politely waiting once more for the redhead to apologize to her. Truly gracious. Benevolent. Kind. Price had a feeling what Angelina's response would be, however.

[Monsy]

There didn’t seem to be many good options. Apologise, look like a dork. Don’t, then she got this. Sure, whatever came up was probably going to suck. A demeaning fuck or some sort of bruising. She was ready for either, where she could focus on the other side. A nice nap. Pain pills. Leftover noodles. Rabbit cuddles. All that was just hours away. Come VIP’s sudden walk away from her, she first sighed, thinking more theatrics were at play. Then she left the ring. Great. She can chill with all these dweebs. They can sing and have a karaoke party until staff comes and lets her go for the next segment. Yet VIP came back.

A fucking pipe was spotted. She jerked her midsection to one side, pulling and clenching her fists. “Yo -- get that the fuck away from me!” She barked. Suddenly, she was wide awake. Her headache became the sideshow and she started breathing heavier. “Ya some kind of freak sadist?!” Her nose curled and she looked up to her wrist, which clenched and rattled as she pulled. Nothing. Steadily, the colour was slipping from her face. She became all aware of the sweat on her back. Cold. A shiver in her spine as she still passively struggled. But she gave VIP a stare after a short moment when asked. “You’re bluffin. Bluffin! You ain’t got SHIT!”