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15 January 2014 Natalie Dormer vs Troian Bellisario

Page history last edited by Archer844 10 years, 2 months ago

Natalie Dormer 04.jpg Troian Bellisario 05.jpg

"THE PRETEND HOUSE"

Posted by Rampant Fighting on January 15, 2014, 5:47 pm

The heat from the jet’s engines made the air tremble in front of her, so that it was like looking at a reflected image in water that had been disturbed by a stone. The limo was the length of a truck, its black paintwork and metal grille and hubcaps gleaming in the sun, its rear windows and windshield tinted, a small silver figure in the shape of an angel mounted on the hood. It was a conspicuous vehicle, one that made Troian Bellisario think of bachelor parties and college kids and the reality shows that were broadcast on MTV. She could not remember the last time she had ridden in a limo – usually the studio would send an SUV or a town car if they had agreed to provide her with transportation – and the change made her nervous. She rubbed her palm across the back of her neck as the uniformed driver put her luggage in the trunk and then went around and opened the door and stepped aside for her to get in.

“Hello Troian.”

The interior of the limo had lights in the ceiling and wood panelled walls and dark carpet and a black leather bench that curved around from the back of the cabin in a half circle. Natalie was sat in the corner furthest from the door, her feet tucked underneath her backside, her posture relaxed. She had on a white lace teddy and no shoes and wore her blonde hair loose round her shoulders.

“Why are you here?”

“To fight you. What else would I be here for, you silly thing? I’m tired of being entangled with you, Troian. You’re a gawky foal of a woman who performs on a show for teenage girls, and I deserve better than that. So. It takes one hour in reasonable traffic to reach your hotel. We fight for that hour. When you arrive you’ll be naked and most probably unconscious, so there will be people waiting to put a robe over you and carry you to your room. Not the most dignified of entrances, slung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of dirty clothes, but then you’re hardly the most dignified of women.”

Behind them the jet’s engines roared as it slowly began to turn. Puddles from the recent rain were swirled with pink and green and shining with the oil that they contained. Troian rested her forearms on the roof of the limo and looked around at the space inside. Her nipples were hard against her top, her breathing shallow, her face filling with color as she searched for the right words.

“I just got off a cross country flight. I slept for four hours last night. Is this what you need to do to get an edge now?”

“You were the only passenger. You slept for two hours right after take-off. You spent another two hours watching tape of our last match and then you ate a meal. As much as I might agree that you look like shit, the truth is, this is as rested and ready as you can be. Now climb inside, strip down to your underwear and fight me.”

****

“Oooh, what are we watching?”

Lucy Hale was wet from her shower, dripping water on the carpet as she hurried across the room and sat down on the couch next to Troian, her fresh workout clothes shiny and tight around the curves of her body.

“Film. Natalie.”

The screen showed Troian on all fours with her left side against the door panel, her bra looped around her throat, dark hair covering her face. Natalie was two feet away on the carpet, on her back and with her legs drawn up so that her knees were beneath her chin. “How fast do you think we’re going? Forty? Forty-five? Now your big smart brain knows that it’s no more likely for the lock on that door to fail than for the brakes not to work. But…” She grunted as she extended her legs and kicked Troian in the hip, hard enough for the thudding impact of her body against the door panel to set the door rattling audibly in its frame. “I bet that doesn’t stop it being frightening though, does it?”

The recording continued until the journey was over. They watched in silence as Natalie beat at Troian in the confined space, frequently gripping her by the wrist and the waistband of her bottoms and sending her stumbling face first against the door panel, choking her with a forearm, wrapping both hands in her hair and bouncing her head against the floor. When Natalie removed Troian’s bottoms and dangled them over her face and then squashed them against her nose and held them there Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. She wrapped her hand around Troian’s clenched fist and squeezed it.

After it was over Troian coughed and shook free of Lucy’s grip and rubbed her knuckle against her eye and stood up.

“What the hell? She tried to kill you. You need to stay away from her Troian.”

“No. You heard her on the video. The doors locked automatically as soon as the limo started to move. There wasn’t any real danger. It was just in my head. That was the point.”

“Well okay. But at least stop watching all these horrible things she’s doing to you. How many times do you need to see her play ‘hide your nose’ with her butt?”

Troian started to say that Lucy did not understand what it was like to be part of a fight that was more than just a physical contest, but then stopped herself. Over the years she had come to learn that spending time with Lucy Hale was like mainlining coffee straight into the bloodstream. When doctored photos of your body were accepted as authentic without question and used as material for jokes on internet message boards and television talk shows, when you were dismissed by opponents as a fraud and a beneficiary of favoritism and described as the worst fighter in the FCBA and still approached each day with the happy enthusiasm of a character in a children’s animation, then perhaps there was something that you could teach to others about how best to deal with the problems in their own lives.

“Maybe you’re right. No more home movies.”

Lucy squealed as Troian gave her a sudden hug, lifting her off her feet, laughing at the shocked way that Lucy said her name.

****

She reached out her hands to a small ivory-colored box that was encircled by high trellis fencing wrapped all around with brambles. Her heart thumped in her chest. She could smell her own fear in her nostrils. Blood pulsed in a steady beat in her head, while off to her right snarling dogs that had the dimensions of barrels ran toward her out of the dark until the chain attached to their collars stretched taut, dragging them up onto their hind legs to growl at her from a few feet away, teeth bright white, mouths dripping with slobber. The air was filled with the sound of voices, half recognised, not loud but clear and bright, reading her own insecurities back to her as if somehow they had been granted access to her thoughts. She went down on her knees and crouched forward onto her forearms, buttocks high in the air, palms pressed together like she was praying so as to be able to fit her hands through the narrow gap in the fencing. The brambles tore and scratched at her skin, the angry dogs terrified her and the echoing noise of the voices made her want to sink down into an unlit corner and press her hands against her ears and scream, but she kept pushing forward until her fingers felt the cool surface of the box’s lid.

****

Natalie wore an unbuttoned men’s dark-colored shirt and plain white cotton underwear. Her blonde hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders. She hopped onto the shiny lacquered surface of the coffee table and then jumped out over the carpet, grabbing the antlered light fixture with both hands and swinging from it, bare feet extended downward like a ballet dancer’s. “Have you ever been kicked in the tits so hard that it knocked you to the ground? Hmm?” She dropped to the carpet without making a sound. She cut her eyes to the right, to the place where the spectators were seated behind one-way glass, because the room was not a real room as much as it was a place built for two women to fight in. She wriggled out of the shirt, the shimmying movement drawing attention to her breasts and the flatness of her belly. She balled up the shirt and threw it underarm beneath the couch.

“Do you have friends back there? Boyfriend? Husband?” she said. “Because if I were you, I would tell everyone who knows me not to watch this.”

“No-one. I came here on my own.”

“Strange how women are always so reluctant to bring their partners to watch them fight me, don’t you think?” Natalie smirked, the strange angle of her mouth like that of a hooked fish fighting against the line, then suddenly she tilted her head back and laughed, loud enough to make Troian start. She came forward, so close that Troian could smell her, an odor that was like sweat but different, one that made Troian’s fists clench involuntarily by her sides. “What are you, honestly? A five? With the right underwear and in flattering light possibly a six? How has it taken me so long to deal with you?”

The strength of her will was almost a physical sensation. With an effort Troian made herself smile, the bland grin of a salesperson or a neighbor.

“Because I’m better than you, Natty. Straight up, no games, no complications, most of the time I beat you. Because that’s the big secret, isn’t it? You’re just a sluttier take on the Wizard Of Oz, and I’ve already pulled back the curtain.”

“You really think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” Natalie ran her finger along the underneath of Troian’s chin and down her neck to her breast.

“Actually I think everyone has. I just get to be the first to prove it.”

****

For some reason Troian had expected that, having reached it, the box would feel soft in her hands and give when she squeezed it the way that a sponge would, but it did not. The surface was like marble, cold and smooth.

It was quiet now inside the dark space. The dogs were locked in a metal cage, curled up, asleep. The voices had gone, and she no longer felt the sting of her scratched and bloody hands. But the box would not break. She hurled it repeatedly against the wall from close range, stamped it underneath her foot like she was crushing a bug, pulled at its edges and dug her nails into the joins between the panels until her fingers ached, until the box’s surface was chipped and discolored. Then she sat down panting, her back to the wall, the small box on the floor in between her legs.

****

Their fight made a ruin of the pretend house. Troian slapped Natalie’s hand away from her breast and tackled her onto the couch and when it toppled backward they rolled over the floor together until they hit the wall.

They separated quickly and got to their feet. Natalie smirked as she pulled her bottoms into a more comfortable position. Troian feinted to kick and grinned as Natalie jumped back out of range. The familiarity that they had with each other’s offense meant that they were cautious at first, until Natalie ducked under Troian’s swinging right arm and grabbed the bright yellow strap of her bra and pulled her onto a knee to the belly that took the air out of her with a gasp.

Quickly Natalie got behind her and rode her to the carpet. She pressed her hands palm down against Natalie’s thighs to prevent the scissor-hold, but that allowed Natalie to wrap both arms round her chest just below her tits and work the hug without disruption. They lay there together close to the wall, their heads in tight, Natalie’s crotch pressed against Troian's back. She felt Natalie’s breath part her hair and the heat of Natalie’s thighs against her palms.

“My legs aren’t a trick of the mind, and yet you seem frightened enough of them not to want me to squeeze you.”

Troian didn’t answer. Instead she drew her knees up to her chest, working her body with small squirming movements until the soles of her feet were pressed flat to the wall. She grunted as she pushed off from it like a swimmer at the start of a backstroke race, but Natalie was able to maintain her grip on Troian’s torso as they rolled and then her thighs were around Troian’s waist, her ankles crossed, the muscular definition in her legs awesome.

Troian cried out as she was crushed. Sweat popped on her forehead and her upper lip. Natalie’s hands came down over her own and held them against her breasts. She stared into the overhead light, her head moving from side as though in denial of a question that had not been asked.

It took minutes for her to wrestle her hands from out of Natalie’s grip and then pull free of the scissor-hold. After she had crawled away she watched an expression of frustration move across Natalie’s face like the shadow of a cloud being blown over still water on a windy day.

****

“Submit.”

She straddled Natalie’s back, pulling Natalie’s bottoms down around her thighs and punching her fist into the exposed buttock, making sure that the knuckles hit first, sometimes leaving the fist there and twisting it and pressing down hard until she heard Natalie sob. They were on the carpet, close to a set of stairs that did not lead anywhere, just climbed upward until they met the ceiling. Natalie’s body shook, but she cried without making a sound, and in frustration Troian reached back and yanked her head around by the hair and slapped her across the cheek.

“####ing submit.”

****

She had not noticed the boots before. They looked unwieldy on her feet, dark colored, square-toed and heavy. She did not like the way that they looked. But when she brought her foot down on top of the box she heard a splintering sound and so she did it again, over and over until what was left of the box had the consistency of powder and drifted in the air like the remains of a fire.

****

She took hold of Natalie’s wrists and dragged her on her belly to the stairwell and up onto the third step. She knelt down on the next step up, blinking sweat from her eyes and pushing wet hair from off her forehead as she positioned Natalie with her right armpit against the base of the banister and her arm dangling down limp into the empty room. For a moment Troian rested her head against the handrail, her vision out of focus, the objects inside the room spinning, then she gripped the handrail with both hands and stamped down on the ball of Natalie’s shoulder, driving it hard against the banister. She kept doing it, her breath coming out as something between a snort and a sob as Natalie screamed and flapped at Troian’s legs with her free hand. Through a door that was hard to pick out in the pattern on the wall people ran in, waving their arms and shouting, but it was as if they were trapped behind glass, their voices seeming not to make a sound while Natalie continued to scream, her voice stripped of all artifice, her body writhing in the stairwell.

(A bit longer than normal. Maybe a bit weirder, too. Archer, I hope you don't mind that I borrowed Troian and Lucy?)