Sympathy for the Devil

Anesthesia hated coffee. Hated the smell, hated the taste, hated the look. She hated people, unless she was controlling them in some fashion, hated them and their miserable, pathetic lives. Hated crowds. Most of all, she hated waiting, sitting around for something that could possibly never come.

So, then, it was a tad odd to find her sitting in the idiotically named Brooklyn Pancake House, one of Japan’s most famous cafes, during some of its busiest hours, sitting about at a table, waiting for someone to show up. Cute waitresses, she would give them that, but everything else about the place grated. The music. The bright décor. The lines. Whoever that idiot in the back was, the one who kept humming far too loudly. Yet, there she was.

Not that you would know it from a simple glance, of course. As much as she loved her wrestling outfit, she didn’t walk around Tokyo dressed as a nurse, if for no other reason than to avoid catching colds. No, today, she was sitting at a table in the corner of the Pancake House, dressed in dark, leather pants and a burgundy sweater, wearing a pair of glasses to complete the effect. She was just another dark-skinned foreigner, sipping from a glass of water and eating a too-expensive bagel. People watching as the world passed her by.

That was the illusion. The truth underneath it was somewhat less mundane.

This establishment seemed innocuous enough, but unbeknownst to its patrons, they were frequently in the presence of a special sort woman. Someone that might have seemed innocent enough, who likely didn’t arouse much suspicion, but was actually the most devious and dangerous woman they had ever crossed paths with. If they knew what Anesthesia knew about her, had seen what she'd seen, their stomachs would churn.

That was the woman Anesthesia was waiting for. The two of them had never met, never spoken before, but she would know the person once she appeared. The Dark Nightingale had an offer to make, a unique proposal, one she thought this person would find quite interesting.

Margaux loved coffee. Loved the smell, loved the taste, loved the little swirl of milk that steamed from the center. More importantly, however, she loved the jolt it brought to her system. As deeply addicting as Friction was, she still had affairs in France to attend to. Had to ensure the coffers were filled, that everyone was paying their dues, and that nobody was sniffing around beneath her nose. It was very demanding, and long-distance only made things even more difficult, but her efforts here in the Land of the Rising Sun were all supported from abroad.

Business before pleasure.

Margaux Lefeuvre:

If it wasn’t for her coffee, she wouldn’t be sure how to make it through the rest of the day, past all the virtual meetings, or the hours of activity reports. The cafe, at least, never failed to put a smile on her face.

Even from the window, she could see that the venue was bustling as per usual this early in the afternoon. Not many empty tables at first glance. Suppose she’d have to take her drink to go. Upsetting. Thankfully, however, the line seemed to be absent this time around.

Margaux walked right in with a cheery smile on her face. Her umbrella was at her side, despite it being the clearest forecast this month with merely two inches of snow upon the ground from the meager snowfall as of late. The half-pinkette would traipse towards the counter, nodding and smiling respectfully and warmly to a few individuals, then raised a finger to one of her favorite baristas. She knew them all, but Yurika had a certain smile about her that just gave her the cutest little dimples. She could just eat her up.

“The usual. Merci beaucoup.”

After quickly swiping her card, she stepped away from the register and found a place beside one of the pillars, waiting patiently for her pick-me-up. Her eyes drifted for a moment to take in the atmosphere. Ah, she loved days like today.

There she was. Margaux Lefeuvre.

While Anesthesia was not a lover of boxing in general - too many rules, too little contact for her tastes - she did try to stay abreast of what was going on with the AFW’s side projects, checking in to see if there were any potential pawns to be used from the bumper crop of naivete. Most weren’t too interesting. You had your flash-in-the-pans, your wanna-bes looking to make quick money, the fools that came and went.

Anesthesia had been prepared to write Margaux off as one such person, until she happened to see the woman in the ring. Fierce. Brutal. Maniacal. There was a strange power about this woman, something that spoke of blood and destruction, wrapped in a deceptive package. If the barista serving Margaux had known what the woman could do with those hands, she would never serve her another cup. Never let her inside the establishment.

There was possibility with this one, waiting to be tapped, and Anesthesia knew the perfect use. She suspected Margaux would agree, but it was still a matter of speaking with her. Time to get on with that, then.

Anesthesia had one, final sip of her glass, before she stood up and made her way across the room, weaving herself through the huddled masses, until she managed to make it to her destination. There she stood, just to Margaux’s side, taking a moment to appreciate the look. Perhaps a bit too cutesy for her tastes, but she could appreciate the disguise all the same.

”Excusez-moi. Madame Lefeuvre?” Anesthesia put on a fair French accent for a woman who had never been within a thousand miles of the place. That was just to draw Margaux’s attention. She knew a fair bit of the language, more than many, but was not fluent enough to hold a decent conversation. ”Dr. Cutter, an admirer of your work.” She extended a gentle hand, looking for a shake. Just a simple gesture.

It seems their orders were taking longer than usual. Suppose she should pat herself on the back for taking care of her early afternoon agenda ahead of time. It certainly paid to be an early riser at times.

Margaux was content to simply stand upright in the middle of the store, checking her watch and being mindful not to lean against the pillar behind her. There was nothing she despised more than slouches. It was a habit she’d taken to erasing back home. An eyesore that ruined her daily commute.

Speaking of home, she could have sworn she’d just heard a bit of French nearby.

One glance to the side and she noticed the woman approaching her. Her eyes studied the figure as it drew closer with gentle steps. Tanned skin, pretty pink lips, captivating eyes, and a dignified composure. No, she was sure she would have recognized this woman if they’d met before. And, judging from the welcoming gesture, this was the first time. She turned fully to meet the woman, placing the tip of her umbrella into the ground in front of her in a cane-like fashion. Only a mere second passed before she brought back her light smile and met the woman’s hand with her own.

So...how did this mysterious figure know her name? The two hadn’t even exchanged words and already she’d caught Margaux’s interest. A rare thing, indeed.

“Bonjour, le Docteur Cutter.” She gave a couple light shakes before letting her gloved hand fall back to the handle of her umbrella. “But, I believe you have me mistaken for another. I am no one of such illustrious stature. Not in this particular region of the globe.” She canted her head to the side, letting her ponytail fall behind her. “Unless, of course, you are from abroad as well?”

Who was this woman? And, more importantly, how much did she know? It was better to deal with a problem sooner than later, in her experience with all things ambiguous.

An intriguing response from an intriguing woman.

Of course, Anesthesia wasn’t surprised. How could she be? She recognized the need for anonymity more than most, knew how important it was to keep less accepted exploits out of the light. As it turned out, Margaux had done an exceptional job of keeping her secrets hidden, and she was right to be suspicious of some unknown woman in glasses with a pleasant smile and a sudden interest. It was up to Anesthesia to assuage such fears.

She shook the hand, noting how soft and delicate it was, how immaculate and well-kept. It was hard to believe that such a hand had done the things she’d read and seen in her pictures. Harder still when you took in what said hands were attached to - a cute, bright young woman. Pink, here and there. Margaux looked like she had stepped out of some idiotic children’s cartoon.

Anesthesia wondered if some of Margaux victims wound up thinking that, right before they had good reason to known better.

”Abroad?” She pouted, considered the word, and nodded. ”You could say that. I’ve been to many interesting places, certainly. Made many interesting friends. A handful of whom had a few interesting things to say about some of your…” Her gaze searched the ceiling for a moment. ”...outside work.”

For two seconds that passed like twenty, Anesthesia looked into Margaux’s eyes, studied them, Marked every movement.

When those seconds passed, she blinked and smiled, sweet and saccharine. ”Nothing but praise, I assure you. The highest.”

There weren’t many interactions in Margaux’s life that put on her edge.

Fear was a sensation that had been long removed from her being. Cut out from her thoughts. Torn away as a weight holding her back. She prided herself on her ability to remain in control of any situation, no matter how dire the threat or how great the risk. She met her obstacles head-on with a cool, collected gaze. More often than not, it all paid off for her in the end. Both parties would disperse, knowing who settled the terms and who held all the cards.

In that sense, it was truly astonishing how Dr. Cutter had managed to make a hackle stand up on the back of her neck with merely a few words. Words that weren’t particularly invasive at that. Friends. That was all she was talking about. Yes, this was a friendly conversation. Friendly in the most insidious manner possible.

Activity.

Margaux’s pupils shook at the mention of it. A slight dash to the side. A momentary attempt to disconnect herself from this encounter. Most wouldn’t think anything of it. She cursed herself immediately after. The doctor must have realized it if her smile was anything worth judging. Then again, perhaps she shouldn’t be taking this woman at face value. She knew those eyes. Cold and calculating. If there was one thing the pinkette had managed to pick up on in their very brief time together, it was take everything this doctor suggested with apprehension.

If she was even a Doctor at all.

Margaux smiled back pleasantly. “I see. Your friends are clearly very...cultured individuals. I am always happy to have another admirer of my labors.” She leaned back, hands still on her umbrella as she took in the woman’s full stature. “It couldn't have been easy, finding the strength to approach one you so deeply admire. Did you come to simply express your gratitude? Or did you want my...signature, now?”

She didn’t believe in coincidences. This woman sought her out, and she managed to find her. A meeting was one thing. The fact that she had gotten this close without Margaux even catching a whiff of her scent, however, …it raised questions. The most important of which was what Madame Cutter was after, and if Margaux was willing to give it to her.

You truly could tell so much of a person’s thoughts by reading their face. It never ceases to amaze Anesthesia.

A quick flit of the eyes, a shift, so subtle that most would not have given it a second thought, if they managed to notice it all. For Anesthesia, though, it was more than passing flavor. She wanted to gain the measure of this woman. Yes, her contact had already given her a fair picture, but if that were enough, she would’ve merely handled this with a phone call or an email or just sent Sista A to do it.

No, no, this had to be done in person. To make sure, and for the rare chance to meet someone with a similar frame of mind.

It seemed that Margaux was at least swift of mind, and that the hints were picked up. Good. They were on the same page, had some minimum of understand. The Frenchwoman’s curiosity had to be piqued, so a moment was given. Anesthesia intended to make that moment worth her time.

”I wouldn’t say no to your signature on certain things.” There was a hint of lust in Anesthesia’s voice, a slight implication. She wasn’t here for that, of course, but she saw no harm in testing those waters while she was at it. ”But no, I’m here for business first, pleasure second. To be blunt, I have a certain…” She rolled her tongue around her lips. ”...task, where your particular talents could be of great use.”

Anesthesia took a moment to look around, surveying the room. Quite crowded, and not shrinking anytime soon. ”Perhaps we could discuss it at a table? Or somewhere more private, if you’d like to speak with more frank terms.”

This was a rather interesting reversal of roles for the French foreigner.

Her entire life had always been one giant game of wits. There was scarce a person alive that she could call an equal when it came to manipulation. There were even less still that would approach her knowing full and well what the name Margaux Lefeuvre meant. She wasn’t sure whether to feel humbled or threatened. At the very least, she was intrigued. Just as the doctor appeared to be in her.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, noticing the gleam of temptation in her eye. An admirer through and through, it would seem. Her lips tightened ever so lightly. Margaux couldn’t deny that this woman had done a better job than most of making herself rather...impressionable. Perhaps that arrangement could be argued after this one. The pinkette was many things. Unreasonable was not one of them.

For now, she needed to move away from these businessmen threatening to elbow her in the back. A change of locale may have been more appropriate for the type of conversation she felt was coming on, but there weren’t many venues she could think of that would guarantee them the privacy they needed. Aside from her home, that was, but she wasn’t ready to disclose that much just yet. A quick glance out the front door and she spotted a vacant table on the porch. One that the pavilion had spared from the snow. Perfect.

“A table sounds perfectly fine to me. It just so happens that my favorite is available.” She lifted her parasol from the ground, swinging it around to hold it sideways behind her with both hands. “On y va?”

With a slight pivot on her foot, she’d take the lead towards the door, brushing past a few customers and pushing another aside. Once they’d reach the table, she would place her parasol beside her chair before taking a seat. There would be a warm smile on her face as she sat still for a moment, allowing her associate a moment to gather whatever thoughts she needed.

As amusing as this all was, Anesthesia was rather keen on the idea of this whole exchange moving to a more private scene, some place where they could speak in more frank - but no less pleasant - terms. Tokyo was a hotbed of tourism thanks to Friction’s worldwide success, so the odds of some nosey pedestrian understanding them were higher than she wanted to chance. Not to mention, she wanted to avoid attracting too much attention.

Luckily, Margaux had just the spot - a little table, outside and out of the way, ready there as if it had been waiting solely for their arrival. A good place to be alone, if only for a little while. ”Après vous, mon ami.”

She followed after Margaux, strutting across the cafe, the two beauties garnering more than a few passing glances as they went, and a glare from the man Margaux pushed aside. Once outside, she promptly sat down out on the terrace with her legs crossed, taking a moment to get comfortable.

”Lovely time of year in Tokyo.” Anesthesia sighed, long and wistful, as she took a moment to gather her thoughts and set the mood. ”So. Let’s palaver.” She straightened up and brought her hands together, lacing her fingers. ”I need a certain job done, as I said. It shouldn’t be a terribly difficult job for you - in fact, I daresay you'll find it quite enjoyable, something you might have done for free if the winds were right.”

Anesthesia placed a hand to her chest, idly - or perhaps not so idly - running it across her breasts, emphasizing their outline on her chest with a casual stroke. ”I would take great pleasure in doing it myself..." She chewed her lip at the mere thought of it, her imagination beginning to flare up. "But the rather unique circumstances require I take a hands off approach. I’m willing to pay handsomely, but if money doesn’t interest a woman of your stature, I can also offer certain favors. Perhaps aiding you in future endeavors?” She looked Margaux’s way with the slightest of smiles and a half-lidded gaze.

”Before we get into specifics, does this strike you as an acceptable arrangement?”

She wanted to not trust this woman. She wanted to believe that she was being set up for some grand fall. That there was some impossible situation she was being forced unbeknownst.

Yet, there was something between them that Margaux couldn’t help but cater too. She wanted to tease this sensation out, whatever it may be. It could be that her whimsy was simply getting the better of her, but she very much doubted that. She wasn’t one to make mistakes so dire.

As Dr. Cutter went on about her offer, a waiter had finally arrived with her coffee. Margaux raised her arm, trying to keep as much of the young woman’s attention on her rather than the words being exchanged as possible. Thankfully the two were alone on the porch, being that the other few tables and chairs were covered in snow. The rabble inside should keep their words from traveling far as well. It was all rather fortunate as if part of someone’s grand design.

“Merci.” She took the cup, her eyes glancing the waitress but for but a second as her associate continued to make her offer.

And quite the offer it was. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had hired her services Likely because it had never happened before. She was the one who sought others out, the one who kept an eye for potential always open. All others were merely at her beck and call, whether they knew it or not. Those that didn’t would understand in due time.

“C'est intéressant. A very interesting proposal.” She took a sip of her coffee, taking a moment to watch the milk swirl in the center before looking back into the bright eyes across from her. “I don’t need to tell you that I am a very dangerous woman, Madame Cutter. This is not me speaking arrogantly. It is the truth. It’s what people say I am. It’s what I like to be. Why not embrace it, oui?” She leaned forward and placed one hand over the other. “If this the kind of work you know I enjoy- the only kind I enjoy- then you should also be aware that there are no shortage of hands within this trade. Hands that are so much more...affordable. But you came to moi.” She placed a hand on her chest for but a moment before leaning back in. “I’m expensive. I’m elusive. And I love to get carried away.” Her head tilted slightly, studying the woman’s eyes. “Why me? Why was I worth all of this trouble, le docteur?”