La Belle Dame sans Merci

Dear Diary,

Hey, it’s Makoto, again.

Sorry, I know I’ve been so glum lately, and I haven’t been writing as much. Just not been in the mood, you know? Let me explain.

See, I wanted to come to the AFW to start a fresh slate, really reinvent myself after Aigle left, but...it’s just not clicking. I can kind of understand why Dixie and Reiko and Candy Cane came here and left. It’s big, yeah, and the pay is decent, but it’s just not as fun as the old days. No one around here wants to have fun wrestling. It’s either sex, or when you can get a straight match, they cheat. It’s not what I trained for.

You know what’s the worst part, though? I can’t help but think that I’m the problem. Maybe this is just the way wrestling is now, and I’m supposed to change with it.

Is that wrong? Am I wrong? I get so angry in matches these days, I get these feelings, and I want to do to them what they do to me. I know what I can do, what I could do, but I don’t do it. Why hold back? I don’t want to cheat and be cruel, but is it really cheating if there’s no rules anymore?

I don’t know. I need to think. I need to change. Because this? It isn’t working.

Makoto sighed and turned the phone off, going back to what she’d been doing before she got the sudden urge to write a diary entry - just doing a light jog on the treadmill. This was the sort of thing she often did on a Saturday, particularly one where it was raining as hard as it was raining today. The Friction gym was often nearly empty on the weekends, making it one of the best times to come and workout with having to worry about getting bothered or having someone hog anything. Aside from the occasional wrestler coming in for a shot on the bench presses, she was all alone, running in place with her baby blue jogging shorts and a white t-shirt to match.

A good time to workout. A better time to think. About her, her place in the world, and what she wanted her place to be.

Cracks. She could finally see them. Spiraling out from the heart and down her arms to the judo girl’s fingertips, sorrowfully tapping the screen of her phone as they no doubt wrote words of regret and remorse. She watched as they wound up, etching further to strangle her throat, and threatened to take over her mind if she would merely let them. Madame Cutter wasn’t lying about this one. Not in the slightest.

Margaux Lefeuvre:

Margaux watched her run from behind a pillar erected some distance aside from the treadmill. It wasn’t particularly hard to find Makoto. A bit of research on her past matches snuffed out the force that had caused those cracks to grow. Harsh words that cut like knives, humiliating defeats that cemented her weakness, dishonorable opponents that cared little for things like sportsmanship or respect. An honor-bound warrior’s worst nightmare. Fights like that left scars. For those to heal, she needed time to reflect, to be alone. Where else for a gold medal Olympian with too much pride to go but the gym?

All it took was a bit of patience. Margaux would be there, laying in wait, far into the evening. The days she couldn’t be there, another pair of eyes were. Fortunately, when her prey had finally traipsed through the door, she was already there. While hiding a bit of a way out of her target’s vision, she was still close enough to make out the expressions on the woman’s face. The furrowed brows, the slight frown, the pitiful sigh cast forth from a heavy heart. Anyone could see that something was wrong with Makoto. It was a good thing, then, that there was scarce anyone present. Just the two of them. For now, that was.

The French woman made a long circle from behind the pillar, careful not to simply step out, but create the illusion that she was merely walking by. Margaux kept her face forward with her parasol in tucked close behind her, dripping tiny droplets of rain from the downpour outside onto the carpet. Her face kept forward with the occasional glance to the opposite side as she walked with gentle steps, approaching the front of the treadmill, careful not to gaze even an inch onto the judoka’s trained, wonderful body.

That’s right. Margaux had hardly noticed her. She was just another person at the gym, looking for the changing rooms so she could get to working up a sweat. She kept that mentality up as she began to walk past Makoto...only to stop just before she fully passed the treadmill. She turned, looking up at the girl, noticing her posture, the expression strewn about her face, and the way she was carrying herself. No, no. That wouldn’t do.

“Excusez-moi? Hello?” She waved her hand a couple times before pointing a finger at the jogger.  “Pardon me, but you should consider relaxing your shoulders more. Try to loosen your hands a little bit further as well. Holding so much tension defeats ze purpose, no?”

Pink.

That was the first thing that popped into her head when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. If not for that color, she probably wouldn’t have given much thought to the new person in the room. It was a free room, a handful of wrestlers had come and gone from the gym since she’d came here to workout a couple of hours ago. Nothing to care much about.

But something about this new woman’s hair drew her attention for more than the half-second Makoto would’ve normally devoted, made her take notice of her as she made her way around the room. Whoever this was, she wasn’t local, that much was obvious from her look. European, maybe? Makoto had never met any Americans who dressed that fancy, though she guessed that wasn’t a hard rule. Cute, regardless. And-

Makoto diverted her gaze the second the woman looked her way, not wanting her to think she was staring. The awkward moment would pass, she’d go about her way, and that would be the end of it.

Only no, that wasn’t what happened. Not exactly.

”Huh?” Makoto pulled an earbud out when she realized the woman was talking to her, gazing back at her with a puzzled look for a couple of seconds, until she processed what she was saying. Between her workout and her diary entry, she was more than a bit frazzled, not processing things right. The French accent didn’t help, either. But she got the gist after a moment.

”Oh, um…” She hadn’t even noticed her shoulders were so tense, but the stranger was right. Makoto let them sag, and indeed, some of the tension went away. She managed to muster up a weak smile, along with a nod towards the woman. ”Is this better?”

Tendons. Sinew. Ligaments. Arteries. The limits of the body were ones she’d come to admire and aim to surpass. The muscles of the upper body intrigued her most. Margaux recited them all in her mind as she looked upon such a sculpted form.

Levator scapulae, infraspinatus, trapezius, deltoids, teres minor, teres major. She could see them all flaring beneath the Olympian’s skin. Tingling. Tightening. Ready to snap with only a simple yank.

The French woman merely smiled along with Makoto’s half-hearted expression. She gazed softly at her, watching the gold medalist's graceful stride and trying to figure out which approach to ultimately settle on. The girl may have been trusting, but just how open was she to listening to some stranger’s prattle. Given her state of mind, she may be closed up like a clam. That may have been worth a chance, then. If the pinkette opened up, the native may follow.

Any fool could read the distress weighing on the judoka’s mind from a simple glance at her face, but what lay beneath the skin told the true depths of her despondency. Something was eating her, just as her employer had said. She wondered just how severe the conflict waging within her could have been. How interesting.

Margaux returned the young woman’s nod with one of her own.

“Oui. Much better.” She brought her umbrella in front of her, staking it gently into the ground as she placed both hands over its handle. “Tension and stress are such horrible things that go unnoticed. I used to be blind to it as well, that is, until it forced more than one dear friend of mine into an unfortunate retirement. Dreaming of their past glory. Si horrible. It seems I’ve grown rather attentive towards such conditions ever since.” Her eyes fell to the floor for a moment, sorrowfully reminiscing on non-existent memories until she suddenly shot her gaze back up to the running woman. “Ah, my apologies. I am being very insensitive to you. Please, forget I said anything.”

Makoto did her best to hide it, but she was currently torn on a few things, unsure of how precisely to proceed, here. She’d became so accustomed to being suspicious of people since she’d come to the AFW, grown used to being betrayed, that her first instinct was to just the woman go about her way and not pay her a second thought. She wasn’t done with her workout, anyway, and she still wanted to hit the free weights before all was said and done, today. Much more worse to be done.

That might have been the smart thing to do, but it wasn’t the right thing. This woman hadn’t done anything wrong, wasn’t even really bothering her that much. She’d been longing for some connection since she joined this place - Dixie had vanished not long after she came over and Reiko only showed up once in a blue moon. Now she had someone extending her an Olive branch, and she was thinking about letting her go?

The AFW has hundreds of women. Not all of them were out to get her.

”No, no, it’s okay!” She hit a few buttons on the console and went into a cooldown, slowing up her pace while she looked towards the woman. She had a pleasant demeanor overall, a good smile, calm and welcoming. ”It’s good advice, so...thanks.”

She held out her hand...only to withdraw a second later, dry it off with her towel, then extend it again. ”Makoto Aihara.” She put on the best smile she had left. ”Nice meeting you, Ms…”

What a pleasant young woman. Margaux had fully been expecting to talk with a fairly good-natured person today, but Makoto’s tenderness had still managed to impress her. Somewhat. Despite her gloomy demeanor, the judoka had managed to bring forth a real smile. It was bright. Radiant, despite the pain lingering on her lips. A truly fine woman.

For a moment, it was hard for Margaux to believe that this individual was the one her employer had spoken about. Someone so bright. So serene with a cleanly aura about her person. How exactly was Ms. Cutter going to reshape this woman? It seemed like a fool's errand.

But it was only for a moment.

Either way, the Olympian was all too friendly. This may have been easier than she thought.

Makoto extended her hand and the French woman merely looked at it for but a second before accepting it with a wide smile. Gently, yet firm. Soft, yet riddled with callouses about her palm. The marks of a true martial artist.

“Levufere. Margaux Lefeuvre. A new addition to your humble home. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She gave the hand a couple light shakes before returning it to her umbrella. “I suppose this is one of the few occasions where my tact has worked in my favor rather than scaring people away. I appreciate your patience.” Her eyes glanced down at the Olympian’s youthful body, taking in every contour and flash of refined muscle. “You are in very fit condition, Madame Aihara. Have you been in the federation long?”

”Margaux. Margaux.” Makoto struggle with the pronunciation for a moment, wanting to get it down before they proceeded. Her own accent tended to butcher things like this, but she had the advantage of having more worldwide experience than most, coming across plenty of Europeans in her Olympic day. ”Margaux Le…” She swallowed all her spit. ”Leveufvre. Got it. I think.”

Her pace kept slowing down, enough that she was comfortable walking backwards on the treadmill now, so she could look Margaux straight on. In particular, she couldn’t help but take note of that umbrella. It was a little drizzly today, but she somehow got the feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered if the sky had been crystal clear.

If that was the case, she could see why. It helped Margaux’s look, completed it, gave her this whole sweet look. If they’d met on the street, she wouldn’t have guessed the woman was a wrestler, much less for the AFW of all places. Even now, she was more inclined to think she was a manager, as rare as those were around here.

”It’s no problem, I don’t mind-” She broke herself off with a huff, not wanting to sound too desperate. ”You’re fine. It’s kind of hard to imagine you scaring anybody, really.” She had a little laugh at that, but cut it when she realized how it could be taken. ”You seem so nice, is what I mean.”

Ugh, making an idiot of herself in record time. Good job, Makoto. Classy. ”Yes, I’ve been here a while. Too long, maybe.” That last part came out as more of a mutter and a growl. ”What, ah...what brought you here? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Margaux puckered her lips for a moment, broadcasting a bit of displeasure at the idea she couldn’t be scary. That was the point, of course. Makoto corrected herself as expected, and the pursed mouth on the French woman’s lips turned into a slight, playful smirk. As formidable as she may or may not turn out to be, the Olympian certainly had a...delicacy to her.

Margaux ran one hand over the other, letting her gloves crease over one another as she took in the woman’s posture. She could appreciate how genuine this woman was being. It was rare to run across an individual in this arena that didn’t have ulterior motives, that was willing to make friends without asking for anything in return. It almost made her feel a little bad about this whole thing.

Almost.

And, of course, she didn’t miss that little growl that escaped the judoka’s mouth. A whiff of disdain that Margaux’s ever-sensitive nose couldn’t help but take notice of. She was studying this woman like a hawk. Looking for any weakness to exploit, and it looked as though she had found it quickly enough. Best to keep that little moment in mind.

“Oh là là, even I am not entirely sure. I was a boxer abroad, you see. Somehow I ended up here. I won a couple of the right matches, a person with a contract arrived, and now I am in Japan. I relished it at first. The chance to fight and contend with the absolute strongest. Oh, I wanted to learn so much.” Her eyes drifted down to the floor once again, furrowing her brows. “Ever since I have arrived, however, I’ve heard nothing but terrible rumors. I cannot help but feel nervous. I never imagined such a prodigious promotion could be filled with such...disgust.” She looked back to Makoto. “But, if there is someone such as yourself here, perhaps it is not so terrible as I thought. You have the most wonderful smile.”

She gave a warm smile of her own in return. Her gaze softened as she looked toward the judoka, letting Makoto see that there was nothing hidden behind her gentle appearance.

“What about you? What has brought you to ze federation? Fame? Money? Friendship? Just...for the sport? How has it all worked out for you, Madame Aihara? And please. Be honest.”

This woman was a boxer? Makoto bit her lip and managed to keep her face from looking too incredulous at the proposition. All the same, she couldn’t keep her eyebrow from having a slight raise at the prospect. True, she could accept with ease that she was a wrestler. Wrestlers came in so many shapes and sizes in the AFW, including her own, that it was hard to imagine someone who couldn’t potentially be one.

Boxing, on the other hand, seemed like it was suited to...well, not the sort of women who walked around in pink with a matching parasol. She looked so sweet, it was hard to picture her slugging it out in a ring...but that might have been the point. She knew it wasn’t uncommon for the league to hire women without any real talent, for the simple purpose of giving their bigger stars a boost. She could’ve seen that as this scenario, with ease.

Margaux’s words only hammered in that suspicion. She was saying out loud things that Makoto had told herself far too many times.

”I…” She folded her arms as her expression soured, shadowing her light form with creased eyebrows. ”All of the above? I guess? I don’t know. When I started, I wanted to give my career a boost. I came from this other federation after it shut down, and I thought this place could be better. But yeah, you’re right. Everyone here is just so...so…”

She clenched her fists tight, trying to suppress a dozen meaner, baser thoughts. She was better than that. She had to be. ”It’s not working. Being honest.” She sagged. “If it wasn’t for the money, I’d be out the door.”

Her eyes trailed down for a moment, noticing the clenched the fists as Makoto went about exploring her feelings. The hatred bubbling forth and nearly taking manifest. One corner of her mouth threatened to crook into a grin. Ah, it was never a good thing to bottle up one’s emotions like that. It wore terribly upon the body, dulled the mind, ruined a person both physically and mentally. Margaux could teach her a thing or two about tension.

“Mon Dieu.” She placed a hand on her chest. “I’m sorry to hear that. Nobody deserves to feel that way.”

This field of work could truly be stressful for some. For others, not quite as much. Her eyes trailed up from the woman’s hands to take in the sensation worming its way through her shoulders, her neck. Looking over every twitch and shake of her body. What hazed thoughts were coursing through the judoka's head, Margaux wondered.

“Oh. You are...eh...tensing up again.”

She craned her neck idly over to the side, thinking of the best way to respond. Her eyes stopped suddenly on an empty bench a few paces away. Her smile threatened to crack ahead of schedule as an idea began to take shape in her mind.

“Écouter. There is an empty seat just over here.” She took off her gloves one after another, placing them in her pockets as she looked up at Makoto. “Come. I can help relax your shoulders for the rest of your workouts. I was trained as a masseuse long before this line of work. Don’t worry. It’s free of charge.” She held out her hand, mouth crooking into a smile. “And I am not asking you this time. My needless bickering unsettled you. So please, I insist.”

She kept the same pleasant smile on her face. She knew every inch of the human body. Every lining of muscle. She could bend them all to their will if she so desired. Relief was child’s play.