So, even though it was hardly her fault that a case of food poisoning the month before forced her to drop out of a scheduled catfight against Michelle Trachtenberg, Barton still felt a sense of responsibility for the events which transpired in her absence: At the party, Michelle was challenged by another guest, British starlet Natalie Dormer…and the Brit proceeded to dominate and humiliate Trachtenberg. Of course, by all accounts, Dormer blindsided the brunette and employed all manner of dastardly deeds to retain control of the fight. And clearly, Natalie Dormer did not share the same sort of English morality which Mischa did.

Nevertheless, Mischa felt a pang of responsibility for what had happened to Michelle, a friendly acquaintance whom she respected, and who she felt deserved better than what Dormer dished out to her.

And the best way to overcome her sense of guilt, Barton knew, was to challenge Natalie to a match herself, and administer the punishment which she deserved for what she had done to Michelle.

For her part, Natalie was intrigued by Mischa’s challenge, particularly when she was told of just why the brunette wanted to face her. Following her devastation of the popular Trachtenberg, the English lass has found herself in high demand in the elite Hollywood catfighting circles. But she has bided her time, waiting for the proper challenge which will propel her even further up the ladder…and condemning the crusading Barton to the same fate as Trachtenberg is precisely what she has been waiting for.

In addition to Mischa and Natalie, one other person took a special interest in this impending confrontation: Michelle. As far as she was concerned, Dormer only won their fight because the Brit cheated from the very start. Still, the brunette knew, it scarcely mattered how a fight was won, so long as it was won…and Natalie Dormer has gone down in the record books as the victor.

But if Barton was now going to carry Michelle’s standard into battle and avenge her honor, Michelle was determined to be there to provide her moral support. And so, although it all defied conventions to allow an active competitor to witness in person a match between two fellow rivals, the brunette made it plain in no uncertain terms when she called the host of the event that she WILL be there.

“That’s funny,” the host replied. “I got off the phone with Natalie not five minutes ago, and she insisted that you simply must be there as well.”

The night of the match arrived, and there was a powerful air of tension. Dormer, ever mindful of ways to infuriate a rival, made a point of wearing the Dior gown given to her as a gift following her defeat of Michelle…and gown initially intended by a well-wisher for Trachtenberg herself. And, of course, the blond made certain Michelle knew it. But Trachtenberg could only seethe in silence, fighting the mounting urge to tear the dress from Dormer’s body.

Finally, the time came for Dormer and Barton to prepare, and each retreated to different bedrooms. When they emerged, Mischa was clad in an electric blue bikini, while Natalie wore a single over-the-shoulder strap two-piece, connected at the midriff by a golden ring.

Michelle sat in a place of honor right at “ringside,” occupying a high-backed leather club chair, and looking for all the world like a Roman empress judging a gladiatorial duel.

Many of the other spectators could not help but steal a glance at her, and make note of the somber mask that was her angelic face, as well as sense the daggers shooting from her eyes directly at Natalie.

Then, the signal was given, and all eyes turned toward the beauties now circling one another.

Natalie effected none of her earlier haughtiness now; she was taking this threat seriously, and she wasn’t about to let Mischa get an opening by underestimating the dirty blond. The distance between them grew smaller, until they were close enough to lock up in a pro-style move. The two women strained against one another for several moments, and then Barton suddenly grabbed her opponent by the wrist and twisted, jerking the blonde’s arm painfully.

Natalie grunted and slapped at her shoulder as Mischa tightened the pressure on her limb, the Brit tensing her body in anticipation of attempting an escape. However, before she could act, Barton herself released the hold, and with a blur of motion grabbed Dormer by her golden mane and flipped her to the carpet.

Startled by the sudden shift in tactics, Natalie mounted no defense as her adversary grabbed her by both wrists, bending her arms back while simultaneously planting a knee between the blonde’s shoulder blades, effectively trapping her most painfully. Michelle led the applause, and cheered happily at the sound of Natalie’s wails as her arms were twisted in their sockets.

Seeking to maintain her advantage by shifting her strategy, Mischa releases her hold on her foe’s wrists and, still keeping her knee firmly planted against Natalie’s back, wraps her hands under the blonde’s chin, jerking her head back and multiplying the agony to Dormer’s spine.

But Barton’s supremacy is short-lived as her fellow Englishwoman suddenly thrusts her hands up, thumbs jabbing into the brunette’s eyes. With a squeal, Mischa breaks her hold and tumbles backward, hands desperately rubbing at her eyes. Yet even as her vision begins to clear, she is met with a kick to the face from the enraged blond standing over her.

Relentlessly, Dormer stomps her foot again and again, hammering Mischa in the head, chest and belly. Next, grabbing her dazed adversary by the ankles, she spreads her legs wide…and then drives a crushing kick into her rival’s groin! A tormented moan rips from Barton’s throat as her eyes roll up into her head and her whole body trembles from the pain.

Then, with a leopard’s savage grace, Natalie pounces upon the gazelle that is her opponent, fists and knees hammering her body, fingers adroitly twisting and gouging flesh, drawing pained yowls and cries from her victim. The cruel onslaught rapidly drains Barton’s remaining strength, and when Dormer yanks off the brunette’s halter top and viciously pinches her nipples, causing Mischa to burst into tears, the proud young woman is reduced to a pathetic state.

From her seat, Michelle can only sit slackjawed and wide-eyed at the suddenly turning of the tide. Memories of Natalie’s own assault on her flooded to the forefront of her mind, and it dawned on her at last that perhaps Dormer’s victory was less the result of underhandedness than it was of her skill and her callousness. Whatever the reason, poor Mischa was wilting under the attack.

Now fully in control, the Brit roughly shoves her foe over onto her belly, they grabs her right leg and locks in a hold that expertly strikes directly at her victim’s knee. Barton’s fists pound the carpet as her limb is excruciatingly twisted, and her screams echo throughout the room. For good measure, Natalie then shifts her position so that she can fire kicks at her hapless rival’s head. Barton uses her arms to protect herself, but can do nothing to break the hold on her leg. Mischa’s screams are punctuated by her pitiful sobs.

“Stop it!” comes a cry from the crowd, as Michelle jumps to her feet. “You’re breaking her leg!” The host, seated next to her, gently places his hand on her arm to silently signal that she is out of bounds, and that she must sit down and not interfere in the battle. Reluctantly, the brunette agrees. But the look in her eyes makes it obvious she’s sorely tempted to step in and take matters into her own hands.

Turning her attention from Trachtenberg, Natalie says nothing as she nonetheless releases her hold; yet it is hardly an act of mercy. She quickly grabs Mischa by her dark blond locks and hauls her up to her feet. Then, the Brit goes to apply her already fabled finisher, the move which utterly finished off Michelle.

Bending Barton backward at the waist, Natalie wraps her arm around her foe’s throat to hold her in place. Then, with her free hand, she grasps Barton’s bikini briefs and jerks up, painfully wedging the fabric up into her womanhood.

Before she executes the Reverse DDT finale, the blond condescendingly sneers, “Being a Good Samaritan can be a dangerous thing…remember this!”

Then, once again turning her eyes toward Trachtenberg and fixing a perfectly infuriating smirk on her face, Dormer drops to the carpet, driving the crown of Mischa’s head hard into the floor leaving her unconscious. Still looking at Michelle, Natalie stands up and motions for her now customary flute of celebratory champagne.

Addressing Trachtenberg at last, the Brit coos, “Pay attention to this part. You missed it the first time, you nodding off and what not.”

Dormer haughtily plants her foot atop the heaving right breast of her beaten opponent, maliciously grinding it into the bruised mammary before she takes a sip of her drink. There is no doubt she is savoring the moment entirely. Her display concluded, Natalie saunters over to a knot of well-wishers, including her wealthy patron, giving one last contemptuous glance over her alabaster shoulder at Trachtenberg, accompanied by some extra swivel in her hips.

Michelle watches her with fiery eyes, knuckles white as she grips the arms of the chair. Then, exhaling a deep breath, she rises up and goes over to the unmoving figure of Mischa Barton to help tend to her. Now Michelle had two good reasons to kick Dormer’s ass: To avenge her own defeat, and repay her debt to Mischa.