Payment In Full

Sista A hated the Friction gym. She hated the way it smelled, the smell of sweat and sex and cheap perfume that never seemed to go away no matter what the janitors did. She hated the way it looked, with its frilly and white-striped walls. She hated the way it was constantly playing some annoying, generic, ear-worm techno beat music.

The only reason she even frequented the place was because it was a) open 24 hours and b) she got to use it for free because of her job. It also had a fairly nice jacuzzi and steam room nearby, whenever you get the damn thing without having to share it with ten other people tonight.

That wasn’t why she’d come to it tonight, though, despite what you’d think from the black and gold-trimmed gym shorts and sports bra she was wearing. While she had decided to get in a quick workout soon enough, she was actually skulking about the room on business.

It had been, what? A week or so? At most that long since Anesthesia’s gun-for-hire had royally wrecked Makoto in the ring. Whatever the end goal was, the vamp was pleased with the way things were going so far, just going from the way she’d smiled while watching the match. She was certainly impressed, enough that she felt Zarya had fully earned the latter half of her payment. A payment that she’d tasked Sista A with holding onto for the time being.

It was all super-clandestine, because things could never be simple when it came to Anesthesia. She was going to show up - eventually - but before she did, Sista A was supposed to meet with Zarya and give her the payment, alone. Why? Who the fuck knew? Despite being ‘partners’, she could hardly figure out what was going through the weirdo’s mind half the time. If she was worried about someone seeing her with Zarya and putting two and two together, she shouldn’t have been, since no one else was even around at the moment. It was so late that the trainers had gone home for the night, and the place would’ve been dead silent if not for the steady UMPH-UMPH-UMPH playing on the loudspeakers.

Sista A passed the time with the jump-rope, steadily hopping along while she waited for the ‘pleasure’ of meeting Zarya again.

"Watch your back." It was the last threat Sista A had made to Zarya when they last met. So of course, the Iron Soldier found it an appropriate greeting for the occasion. 

Zarya Volkov had a way of sneaking up on people, moving quietly despite not being the most svelte woman on the roster, by a long shot. That was how she'd slipped into the gym through a secondary entrance and stalked up behind a distracted Sista A. She stood just out of range of the jump rope, grinning a grin that never reached her eyes. 

Zarya was less then thrilled about the chosen meeting place, though for entirely different reasons. She had hoped it would be a location like last time, someplace that served decent Russian tea or at least had food to order. After all, the only thing more fun then secret meetings was getting a free meal out of it in the process. She looked the part, at least, dressed in spandex shorts and sports bra, both red edged in black, the material hugging like a second skin and showing off the powerful corded muscle rippling beneath 

"Where's your boss? I wanted to see her." In that, she was genuine. Zarya liked Anesthesia. They were kindred spirits in a sense, two women linked by the dark predilection that set them outside the norm. Not that she was displeased to find the fallen pop star alone. Zarya never forgot a thread or a slight, no matter how minor.

Sista A had been expecting Zarya to show up, and she’d expected her to make a big thing about it. Even though she’d only known the woman for a short time, she could already tell that she shared Anesthesia’s taste in being as dramatic as fucking possible every single second of the day. People like her couldn’t just come up and say ‘hello’. They had to do it like they were walking into a comic book.

That being said, she didn’t expect the titanic terror to just pop up behind her like that. Or that she even could. The shock was enough to throw her off her rhythm, and she stumbled forward out of surprise, getting tangled up in her own ropes as she did. ”Fuck’s sakes…”

She pulled the ropes from around her neck and threw them away, before turning to glare Zarya’s way.  There was a flash, a second, where she couldn’t help but be stunned by the sheer size of her. Yes, she’d seen her in person before, and yes, she’d seen her on television, but being this close with all those muscles on display...it was easy to see why so many in the lockerroom gave this one a wide berth.

Not her, of course.

She straightened up, brushed a few hairs out of her face, and sneered Zarya’s way. ”’Partner’, not boss. Only one lapdog, here.” She reached in her pocket and held an envelope towards the Russian. ”She’ll come when she comes. Until she does, here’s a bone for you to chew on.”

Her expression never waivered. The smile never dropped. The only hint that the woman was the least bit annoyed by the lapdog comparison was a barely noticeably twitch of her right eye. It betrayed the rage spike she felt. Beyond that, she wore a cold amused mask. 

"Nyet, little Sista." Her voice dropping to its most threatening, accented growl. It made Sista come out as See-stir. "You are confused. I know women like Anesthesia. I know how a woman like that thinks. We are both like dogs to her.... but I am the attack dog. I go and bite and tear and snarl, and she gives me my favorite treat. You, are the lapdog. You are the pretty, leetle thing she carries around in her purse."

Zarya made a show of looking Aisha up and down in a manner that suggested she was anything but impressed.  "I saw through you from the day we met. Always yapping at the big dog, so that your Mistress has to hold you back from getting hurt. A tug on your leash and a pat on the head. "

 Zarya steeped forward, extending her hand, not for the envelop, but for Aisha's wrist. "But I'm not Anesthesia. I dont give a damn about coddling your pride. If you insult me again, I'm going to hurt you. You can't beat me in a fight, and we both know it. "

Sista A cringed when Zarya Russianized her name, but that would hardly be the only thing that got that particular reaction tonight. She sneered and rolled her eyes as her new ‘friend’ went on a little tirade, acting as if she was supposed to back down and cower.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen, ever, but Sista A was willing to just shrug the bitch off and let it go for the moment. She had neither the time nor the patience to deal with shit like this today. It wasn’t what she’d come for.

But then Zarya had to go and grab her. And threaten her. And challenge her. Three things that she’d never put up with at any point in her life, and this musclehead had gone through them all in rapid succession.

What happened next couldn’t be helped. It was almost a physical reaction, pure instinct.

She reached up, swung her arm, and clocked Zarya square in the face with her best right hook. ”Think so, bitch?”

The blow rocked the Russians head to the side as pain flared from her jaw to her eye socket. She reeled back a few steps, letting go of Sista A in the process. To say the strength of the punch surprised her was an understatement, and Zarya, inwardly at least, had to admit that her decidedly basement level estimation of the fallen pop-star had been premature. Unfortunately, this only made Soldier want to hurt the other girl more. She shook her head, bringing her hand up to her face, her skin flushed and sore where she'd been clocked. Her eyes focused on Aisha once again...

...and she smiled. This time, it did reach her eyes, which were wild with some twisted combination of rage and elation. "Okay, Sister. I earned that one."

She almost sounded contrite, as if the matter was settled and she was willing to end it there. Of course, she wouldn't, and proved it by charging forward with surprising speed for a woman of her stature, looking to close the scant distance between them and issue a receipt in the form of a hay-maker of her own.

Sista A immediately regretted not wearing her gloves today. Zarya wasn’t called the Iron Soldier because of a soft body, and that included her jaw - while the punch connected clean and clearly did some real damage to the run, it still felt like hitting a brick wall. She had to grit her teeth from crying out after the impact and her hand fell to the side for a moment, opening and closing and opening again. Trying to get some blood flow going.

It was worth it, though.

”Yeah, bitch.” Sista A snapped back at Zarya reeled. ”Got a little more bite than you thought, huh? Got a little-”

Her tirade ended when Zarya looked back at her with a prime example of the slasher smile. Not quite the reaction that you expect from someone who’s just had their face checked, and the sight of it was enough to throw Sista A off her game for a second. A second too long

By the time she snapped back, Zarya was closing with swift strides, erasing the gap between them in a moment. Her arm came up to block the punch, but the blow hit like cannonfire, and there was only so much she could do with it. Her guard blew apart and her face took the hit, landing with enough force to knock her a few inches off the floor and send her staggering. She would’ve fallen down, too, if the apron from one of the practice rings hadn’t been behind her.

Her back smacked up against it and there she stayed, leaning on the ring while she shook off the effects. Zarya may have been a wrestler, but she punched like a boxing heavyweight. Hell, a male boxing heavyweight.

Zarya didn't immediately taunt Sista A. She seemed more preoccupied with working the lingering stiffness out of her jaw, rubbing at it with her fingers. It wasn't often someone had the raw nerve to outright lay into her like that, and no one did so without expecting swift and brutal reprisal.

She didn't waste more then a few seconds on the pain flaring through the line of her jaw, or the fact that she'd likely show a bruise come morning. Even the fallen envelope filled with a not inconsiderable sum had been completely forgotten in that instant of gleeful hatred.

She wasn't known for being particularly swift in the ring, but like most amateur wrestlers, Zarya could dart in to close the distance between herself and her opponent faster then most would expect. Suddenly she was practically on top of the former pop star. Any closer and she'd be pinning Sista A back against the apron. When Zarya spoke, it was with a voice disturbingly without inflection, cold and matter of fact.

"You could have backed down. You choose to step up. So now we finish it. Get in the ring."

Soldier didn't give Sista A a chance to response, verbally or otherwise, before attacking her again. This time, not with a punch, but with something much more demeaning, aiming a harsh slap across her face.

"Get in the ring."

Yeah, this escalated quickly.

Sista A was mentally kicking herself, not for starting this fight - she'd been wanting to punch the taste out of Zarya’s mouth since they'd first met and the feeling was clearly mutual - but for not being ready when the return fire came. Neither of them were women who responded well to aggression. It was one of the few things they had in common.

Now, Zarya was in her face. Staring her down. So close Sista A could make a guess on what she'd had for dinner and what brand of toothpaste she preferred. Bad enough by itself, but then she had to go and slap Sista A across the face - if you could call something that hit that hard a ‘slap’. It was nearly enough to bring Sista A to her knees, but if Zarya thought the Harlem Nightmare was going to fold after that, well…

”You first.” With a sneer and a snarl, she spun about and gave Zarya a backhanded slap across the face, making sure to use her good hand for it.

This was going to hurt. 

Zarya knew that with absolute certainty a half second before Sista A's hand collided with the sore half of her face. There was a loud CRACK of flesh against flesh and the Russian turned her face away with a sharp intake of breath, like a snakes hiss, followed by a string of barely coherent obscenities in her native tongue. When she looked back at Sista A her eyes had narrowed into furious slits.

It was probably inevitable. The Harlem Nightmare and the Iron Soldier had been bristling at each other from the first, almost from the moment they were in the same room. It was always going to come to blows sooner or later, if for no other reason then each woman's absolute refusal to back down. 

"Nyet. I insist." Instead of returning the slap and continuing their violent game of tit for tat, Zarya raised her right knee to drive it hard into Sista A's belly. 

Succeeding there, she would move to pick her up as if for a body slam, one hand between her thighs, the other arm looped around her shoulders, and simply shove the fallen singer through the bottom rope.