And All That Jazz

Zulime knew that it was incredibly foolish to expect something like an apology, but that did not seem warranted in the slightest. The Riverboat Queen recognized the game that this woman was playing. She was playing up to the crowd. Zulime looked at all of them, and they all looked downright flabbergasted. They were not anticipating anything like this when they put on their nicest suits and headed to this dingy little club. All of the rich patrons of the bar had not paid for overpriced drinks to see a brawl.

But if this woman did not apologize, that was what they were going to get. Especially after that little diet jab. That was so far beyond acceptable that Zulime had to react. But she was going to do it in a way that was playing the game. She flicked her long dark hair back, and tried to make herself look calmer. The temperature inside her was boiling, but she could at least do a lot to look calm.

Before she started, she took a deep breath. "{Listen, I did not know that you were so poor that you had to steal wine. Look, you can barely afford clothes. And not, the depravity, you have to be a prostitute just to make ends meet.}" Her French was effusive, and had the stately elan of a soldier charging headlong into battle. "{But now is not the time to get together the poor citizen's committee. I am very sorry to have to deprive you of my wine, but you must understand, I cannot be giving away all of my things, lest, you know, I end up like you...}"

But now it was all business. "Madame," her tone was so exaggerated that there could only be one possible interpretation of it, "{you will find that I am not some lily-livered fop. I was very much raised the old way. If something has been taken from you wrongly, you are at no fault when you attempt to get it back.}" She crossed her arms below her large chest. It was time to switch back to English. This French pomp was not the only one who could play up to the crowd. "So if you apologize for takin' my drink, it ain't nothin'. That is all I am askin', sweetie." She smiled her biggest smile.

"{And if you don't, I will mop the floor with your face, strip you naked, and throw you in the trash outside where you belong, you fucking whore. I assure you that you will not want to see me when I am riled up.}" The smile on her face was as pleasant as ever, but her dark eyes betrayed the fact that she had something just short of murder on her mind.

The ball was in her court now. Every little sip of wine that this woman took was going to be another blow. If she finished the whole damn glass, Zulime was going to give her two black eyes. Then she ought to see how many wealthy businessmen want to see her dance, she thought darkly.

Did Patrice honestly think the musician needed a diet? Surely not. But commenting weight was always a sure way to get a girl going, and right now it was probably the most effective way to get the Francophone troublemaker finally lose it. It would make Patrice look so good.

But she didn't lose it. Well, she kind of did. It was clear from the amount of insults that were flying out of her mouth in the next few seconds. But she didn't lose it in the way Patrice had hoped for. It didn't provide her the opportunity to walk out of the situation calmly as the winner.

And frankly, even Patrice herself was starting to fume up now. Just slightly. Despite her outfit, even she had her dignity. Listening to the musician's rant was partly satisfying, but partly infuriating. She had hit her nerve, but her rival was skilled with that too. But the worst part was the timing of her little language switch again - a testament to the fact that the pianist was well aware of the game Patrice was playing.

Then came the threats of violence. Their intentions were probably totally opposite, but they only caused a calm and confident smile to rise on Patrice's face. It probably wasn't obvious at first glance, but Patrice knew how to wrestle. She knew how to fight. She wasn't just a pushover tramp, unlike the musician was probably assuming. If anything, the odds that the pianist would actually know how to fight herself were probably close to zero.

Despite taking a few sips of the wine during Zulime's rant, there was still a decent amount of it left in the glass. For Patrice, that amount was perfect to be poured all over the ranting musician.

"{Well, if you're so desperate of getting the wine back, let me hand it back to you!}" the blonde told all cheerfully and polite to the musician, before promptly tipping the glass over pouring its contents all over Zulime's chest. Then, she turned her head towards the closest businessman.

"Please, could you get me some more wine? This girl used all mine..."

It was doubtful the man would act accordingly anymore at this point, but her goal was far from actually getting any more wine. The goals of her actions stood right in front of her, probably as furious as ever.

Zulime was pretty good at reading people. After a while on the riverboat, everyone was whether they knew it or not. The Riverboat Queen had worked at the tables, behind the bar, and in the cocktail room. Patrice was oozing falsehood, and Zulime hated. She was not the most honest woman in the universe, but she doubted that Patrice had any good intentions in her body.

Not that she was all too busy looking for them. Zulime was nearly boiling with self righteous anger as Patrice kept drinking from her wine and smiling at her. Still, she kept her cool. Or at least the appearance of being cool. She patiently awaited this French woman to do something, anything, when a terrible thing happened.

It was over in a flash. Zulime was left there, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as red wine dripped down her immaculate white dress. She looked down at herself, and then back up to the woman. This was more than a verbal jab. In certain respects, Zulime considered it worse than if Patrice had straight up punched her. There were many things that Zulime may have let slide, but this was not one of them.

Zulime surged forward. After doing such an act, it was incredibly unwise to turn her head away from Zulime. She jumped into the air and tried to tackle this ridiculous blonde woman to the ground. Ordinarily, she would go for a kick, but her stunning white and now slightly red dress lack mobility. Plus, she had the added benefit of rubbing the red wine all over this woman.

"{I am going to end you!}" Zulime could have said it in English. Her voice was loud enough to fill the whole room. But Zulime wanted to let this contemptible French woman know that this was just for her, just as all the muscles in her body would be if the blonde woman did not know what was good for her...

Could Patrice had just given the wine back to the angry musician and walked away, just minding her own business with her fun night out? Sure. Could she have guessed the musician's reactions to red wine being poured all over her fancy dress? Probably yes. Was she aware that turning her head away might not have been the smartest thing to do? Maybe.

Life is always about the choices you make, and Patrice's choice was to play this game to the very end. And she was determined to score the first point. For her, that was given to the one keeping their cool, managing to keep up her appearances in front of their little audience. Courtesy and politeness, you know.

Sure, she knew that a confrontation would follow. But the speed of it hitting was just slightly faster than she had expected. As soon as she turned her head away, Zulime was tackling her already to the ground. Letting out a surprised scream, ideally the French girl would have wanted to act like the victim here for a moment as the pianist was busy rubbing the wine all over her.

But there was just something about Zulime's voice that was distinctly telling her otherwise. Playing the victim was probably going to be a bad idea. It was best to just fight back as efficiently as possible right from the start. Even if Patrice's red dress was much more forgiving with the red wine than her foe's white one, the musician had resorted to violence now. And playing the victim would probably just end her up with a fist in her face.

Thus, Patrice decided to try gain some control of her own. Trying to get her arm wrapped around Zulime's head, she would try to press her face as firmly to the ground in her armpit as possible, before rolling herself then to the top aided by her legs.

Zulime had acted without thinking. Most of the time, she did not do that. But this time, she had become so enraged, so damn ready to tear this woman apart that she jumped straight into the action without so much as a spare thought. So, she had gotten the woman onto the ground. Her plan after that did not exist. The Riverboat Queen was on the ground, on top of another French-speaker, covered in wine, and at a total loss of what to do.

The other woman helped her figure it out real quick. Like Zulime, she ws a fighter, apparently. The Cajun girl was left at a total loss as the blonde woman quickly contorted herself and got a chokehold on Zulime. She had acted first, and brought this woman down to the floor. Now, she was very much on the losing side of the equation. The woman then rolled over, and now Zulime was really in a tight spot.

Zulime tested this woman's strength. The Cajun girl had quite a lot of fight to her, and tried to push away from the blonde. She had been in enough fights like this to know that strategy was just a word. Usually, when it came down to brass tacks, the stronger girl one. Zulime believed with her entire heart that she was the stronger girl, and now it was her opportunity to show it.

The 'crowd', as it were, began looking on with a mixture of curiosity and fear. They came to the jazz club to listen to music, not watch two crazy women wrestle out their differences on the floor of the bar. Zulime, for what it was worth, did not give a rat's ass. She just wanted to rip this lady's eyes out.

So far, Patrice's main aim had been to flirt with the businessmen, have some fun (and free wine) with them, and being the target of a crazy musician's verbal assaults would probably only have helped with getting more of their sympathies. Whether it had worked out or not the way she had wanted to, she wasn't sure about, but as of the two ladies' disagreement turning into a brawl, that didn't matter anyway. Now it was time to fight, and for Patrice, making that fight look as awesome as possible was the natural thing to do.

Hopefully their spectators would appreciate seeing one.

As for the musician, Patrice was fairly confident that she hadn't been expecting much resistance at all. She had probably assumed the blonde would easily be beaten to pulp. But even if the French didn't have a plan herself either, she still had her instincts of a wrestler. And for now, she didn't really have any reason to assume the pianist would be possessing the same.

That assumption appeared rather reasonable based on the relative ease with which the French girl managed to roll the two around and herself on top of the attacker. "{Well, it's not going to be that easy...}" the actress commented straddling her foe with a slightly teasing tone as her own capabilities were probably coming into daylight now for Zulime.

But instantly, Zulime's own strength was detected by Patrice as well. The musician starting to push her away from her, the French had to admit that apparently she had some considerable strength as well.

Noticing that she was unable to maintain their current position, Patrice decided she should get back up again. But simultaneously the blonde would try to grab hold of Zulime's arms pushing her away, and pull her rival also back up from those arms again. Provided she could do so, she would then instantly try to Irish Whip Zulime away from her. But as there were no ropes or turnbuckles in the jazz club, Patrice was aiming her foe towards the piano.

Zulime was gaining ground. It was a slow, laborious process. Everything that was worth doing had results that only showed over time. So the more ground she gained, the harder she pushed, wanting to get this contemptible French fop off of her. Like with the tackle, she did not really know what she would be doing after that. Probably not running away. No, she would definitely be right back up, and would try to level a punch right at this French woman's face. That would make her considerable less pretty, and the Riverboat Queen far more satisfied.

Only, she did not make that choice herself. The blonde got up and off of her, as she clearly saw the writing on the wall. Zulime made motions to get up, but the blonde was quicker on the uptake. She grabbed Zulime's hand, and forced her up. From there, Zulime was sent flying across the floor. Her heels clacked against the hard floor of the jazz club and her eyes went wide as she approached the piano.

It truly was a grand instrument. The piano stood there, stately and solid. She did not know exactly what sort of wood it was, but if she had to guess, she would say oak. The keys were ivory, bust have been. The thing looked like it was quite old, and had stood there for a decade, at least. When Zulime came barreling into it, she lamented the destruction that she would bring to the piano.

But there was nothing she could do about it. The Riverboat Queen had a certain thickness to her, and that thickness was amplified by the speed at which she was whipped. When she crashed into the piano, a truly horrendous sound emanated throughout the dingy little jazz club, and Zulime felt the incredible stiffness of the old piano. Immediately, she collapsed to the floor, holding her stomach.

The blow had winded her, but it had not deterred her. She stood up, amped by adrenaline, and stormed back across the floor. Once she got close enough, she leveled the punch that she had been fantasizing of. It came hard, it came fast, and it came without warning.

For Patrice, there was so much grandeur in this moment. First, the blonde had lured her way into the hearts of the wealthy patronage at the club with her charm and appeal. Second, she had managed to outsmart an uptight musician, that had started to question the legitimacy of her behavior at the club and demean her for no good reason, into embarrassing herself by physically attacking the oh-so-innocent blonde. And third, she had managed to show off her fighting skills by preventing to become a victim of the attack, and instead sending the darker girl spectacularly crashing into her beloved instrument.

So yeah, this had gone well. And based on what she was seeing, the musician hadn't exactly enjoyed her rough reconnection with the piano. Right now she was obviously in pain, and reeling from the impact.

Still, the way the two ladies had started to settle their differences had definitely caused some undesired havoc at the jazz club. Even if the air was hazy from all the smoke, the terrible noise emanating from Zulime hitting the piano was alarming everyone to the fact that something wasn't all right at the premises.

Thus, Patrice decided this was probably the right time to find another fun club.

But would she just silently leave? Being in such a good position, there was no way she would do that. Instead, she'd want to leave a lasting, victorious impression in the minds of the spectators. Turning her head towards the businessmen who had been all nice and friendly to her prior to the little ordeal, maybe she could even lure some of them to accompany her. Cheap drinking, you know.

"Oh, what a rude girl she was! But I think I just helped her, she liked playing the piano, so it's best for her to stay by it, right?" The French thought she had some bragging rights. "But I think I want to hear some better music now, anyone want to join me?"

What the response would have been, Patrice would never know. Before anyone could reply anything, there was a sudden, hard blow to the side of her face. An angry punch, right next to her eye. She hadn't expected it at all, and its impact had almost comparable amount of grandeur as the French girl's own situation just a moment before. Patrice fell instantly to the floor, and while she was by no means knocked out, for now she was just covering her face with her hands immobilized on the floor.

Zulime did not like talking that much, truth be told. She could schmooze and small talk with the best of them, but that was not her favorite thing in the world. No, her favorite thing in the world was action, particularly sexy action. While this woman could be courted later, right now the only thing on her mind was showing her that the haughty Zulime Lafitte was not to be trifled with. And when the punch hit home, it silenced the blonde woman, as much as she could be silence.

And in that silence, that total and complete death of words, Zulime found great satisfaction. The ridiculous French fop had been floored, and Zulime stood, victorious for the time being. Part of her wanted to keep going, but she wondered if she had received her satisfaction. This woman was on the floor, after all, and this had been an affair of honor down to its core. Perhaps it could end there. Before she made such a conclusion, she would ask her partner in the danse macabre.

"Listen. Ain't tryna brag, ain't tryna be anythin' other then what I am. But reckon you oughta stay down on the floor. You do that, I walk, we don't gotta pretend like tonight was anythin' else. But you get up off that floor," she put her hand on her hip, "and you ain't leavin' here 'cept for a stretcher." Zulime had to brush the hair out of her face. In the brouhaha, it had fallen in front of her eyes.

And she wanted to see what was going to happen next. Her arms hung low, but her fists were clenched. If this woman, whatever her name was, popped up, another mighty punch would fly at her face again. The light of the dingy bar and the smoke clouding the air meant that she could not quite be seen clearly. The red wine stain on her beautiful white dress appeared to be blood. If Zulime were being honest with herself, she did not know if she wanted the blonde to stay down or pop right back up.

Either way, she was going to have a hell of a night. She widened her stance a little bit, hunkering down. The Riverboat Queen would not have elected to fight while wearing high heels, but like always, she was going to make the most out of an evening.

For Patrice, there had been grandeur in the moment. Unfortunately, that had turned out to be very brief. Zulime's fist had promptly erased it. Some might have said that the grandeur had just shifted from one to another, but Patrice didn't feel that way. Fist fights never held any grandeur to her. They were brute, rude, and totally unsophisticated. She rarely even considered them a good show.

But she had to admit that if there was a moment when a punch might have looked awesome, this might have been it. Unfortunately, that punch was also causing her immense pain. Much more pain than she could have ever believed the musician was capable of dishing out. And so much pain, that there were absolutely no words for the French to say.

The musician had though. A lot. Lying on her belly and covering her face, Patrice had to listen. Sounded like the pianist wasn't one to let defaming her go without consequences. And she was giving her choices.

Honestly, Patrice would have loved to just stay there and let Zulime go. At this point, she just wanted to move on, leave this cursed jazz club behind. She wanted to go somewhere to dance, drink and have fun.

That would probably have to be with a black eye though. And the musician didn't appear to be keen on walking. Quite the opposite, she was crouching down towards her, as if impatiently waiting for a counter-attack.

Turning around to face Zulime, Patrice finally uncovered her face, giving the Cajun girl a distinctly hateful look. One that didn't require words to complement it with. Obviously, their fight wasn't over yet. But the French had no intention of engaging in a fist fight. Instead, Patrice decided to try quickly grabbing hold of Zulime's arm, and pull her hard towards her. If she got her closer that way, she could then try wrapping her legs around Zulime's waist, and turn the two around so that she could be on top. And provided her plan worked, she'd be sure to grab the musician's wrists pinning them to the ground in order to avoid any further nasty punches.