Now Here's the Hook - Margaux Lefeuvre vs Mahalina "Lina" Abayan

Rules: Underground rules. There will be unlimited rounds going in 10-minute intervals each. Fighters keep going until one is unable to. Biting, low blows, and hentai are liable options. No kicking, knee strikes, or similar use of the lower body.
Victory Conditions: KO or verbal submission. No ten count.


Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The hands of the clock moved, pushing time incessantly forward as she looked on quietly at the green room floor, a still smile plastered over her mouth. The stagehand passing by her door, a young-looking boy of an apparently meek temperament, spared a glance in the room as he walked by and out of view. Then he turned around and walked by again, taking another look in. Then again. And again. And again. She was supposed to go on now. He was supposed to tell her that. But every hackle stood up on end whenever he neared the doorway. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Margaux was a million miles away, her vision clouded in a ceaseless haze of red as visions of the inevitable bloodshed flashed before her eyes. It couldn’t have been more than a week since her contract negotiations had ended. Yet that alone was enough to make her veins run dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gone so long without softening her knuckles. She was starving. She needed this badly. She felt herself becoming a husk of what she once was.

And they’d finally given it to her. The clock struck midnight.

“Ms…” He quickly glanced at his clipboard. “Ms. Lefeuvre, are-”

“It’s time?” He simply nodded his head. “Bien.”

She stood up and tucked her gloves under her shoulder. She’d brush the back of her hand against the young man’s cheek as she walked past. “You shouldn’t keep me waiting like this. I take it...personally.”

He waited until she disappeared around the corner to take a hard gulp.

Margaux Lefeuvre :

The arena fell silent for but a moment after the lights dimmed. From the darkness came the heavy wail of a guitar and an eerie chant of macabre vocals. A series of alternating red and pink lights strobed up and down the ramp. At its peak stood the next figure to bloody the squared circle. She strode down with a Cheshire grin on her face, drowning out the cheers and howls from the audience with her own silent, fixed gaze. The ring was the only image in her mind.

She made her way inside, ducking between the ropes and standing at its center for but a moment to cant her head towards the beaming lights above.

Meant to rot in a cesspit of despair,
born to die as a waste of air.

The crooks of her smile elongated, bearing her pearly white grin to the entire world. Not her. She had never felt so alive in her entire life. So flushed with vitality.

And it would only get better from her. She’d steal more. Bathe in more. In just a few moments. She turned herself around and looked up at the entrance, hearing her music fade away and the cheers die down. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. She couldn’t wait any longer.

Mahalina was getting impatient, and she felt the crowd was getting the same way. Her opponent was slated to go out first, and it had been a little while now, and there was no sign of her. Not only was that rude on its own, but it was her debut. Mahalina was not appreciative of being held up on her debut. Just sitting there, in her robe, waiting.

Finally, after what seemed like forever (but probably wasn’t that long), Margeaux emerged from backstage, and the crowd roared. It was the French woman’s debut as well, but Mahalina wasn’t really thinking about that. In her eyes, she was the main event. And boy, was she going to give the crowd a show. It had been forever since she had fought a real boxer— she had had a few spars here and there with wrestlers willing to give it a go, but they didn’t know how to box. She handed their asses to them. While it was fun, and the post-spar festivities even moreso, she was aching for real competition.

After Margeaux made her dramatic entrance, Mahalina was set to go next. She smiled, and then walked out onto the stage, grinning at the crowd as she made her way down to the ring, in a green satin robe with gloves to match. Her opponent took herself very seriously, judging from her entrance. Mahalina did too, but she aimed to build an air of badassery with her rap intro, not one of... whatever Margeaux was going for. Scariness?

The Filipina climbed into the ring and gave the crowd a wave as she walked over to her corner, where a stool was waiting for her. She sat down for a little, and then started to stretch herself out. She still hadn’t taken off her robe.