FIGHT THE POWER!

Liberty laid still for a moment, hands on her wide hips, staring at Gwendolyn like she’d suddenly started speaking in tongues. Funnily enough, as absolutely full of shit as prim, proper and pristine princess was, she and Liberty seemed to have something in common despite all the blatantly obvious differences.

It had been rough since she’d gotten back to the AFW. She’d won her first match, sure, but that didn’t exactly erase the fact that she’d lost her hardcore title despite not even being in a match. It would be a long time till she got another shot  at it, too. She would need to build up some credit. Impress the crowd.

Liberty needed a nice, strong win to put her on the right track. So did Gwen. But there was no way she was dancing to Gwen’s tune to make it happen.

”Politely? Okay, I can do ‘politely’.” Liberty spoke as best she could with about four hundred pounds of dumb muslce pushing on her back. ”Gwendolyn DuPont Grand Prix Buttercup,” She put as much sugar in her voice as possible, sounding like Mary Poppins after a few pints. ”May I please have the eternal and unending pleasure of engaging you in a friendly round of grappling, wherein I will likely break my size 10s off in your amazingly tight ass?”

She even topped it with the sweetest smile she could manage without throwing up.

Having Liberty quite literally eat the dirt beneath her boot felt like an immensely apropos way to conclude her interaction with the ill-mannered anarchist, the heiress folding her hands on her crossed legs while patiently awaiting Liberty's rebuttal to her courteous offer. Considering how every solitary second wasted on this filthy degenerate was potentially money lost, Liberty should be ever so thankful Gwen was not charging her for this pleasant conversation.

"..."

Liberty's attempt at humor wouldn't go off too well with her unamused audience. The heiress's regal demeanor remaining unfazed as she stared blankly down at the raven-haired reprobate. The butchering of her name was a particular point of contention with her, and Liberty's mockery of a response only solidified the burgeoning notion of how all of this was beneath her.

After hopping off the hood of the limo, the heiress would signal one of her armed escorts to lean down so she could whisper something in his ear. Not one word was spoken to Liberty as Gwendolyn would reenter her limo alongside her publicist before it drove right through the mansion gates.

With a heave and a ho, the remainder of her well-dressed escorts would hoist Liberty off the muddied soil and prop her up on their shoulders as they politely escorted her off the premises...and dump her headfirst into a nearby trash bin that was rife with drenched garbage and refuge. Once Liberty was reacquainted with what Gwen thought of her, one of her escorts would use a pocket knife to slice off Liberty's plastic handcuffs.

"Madam Bettencourt accepts..." One of the four escorts would give Liberty the answer she was waiting before turning away from her and proceeding towards the mansion courtyard as it's gates closed behind them. Renewed private security would converge around that area from screeching town cars, locking down the area with methodical swiftness.