La Belle Dame sans Merci

”Magnifique.” Makoto whispered to herself as she followed after Marguax. It was a small thing, but she found herself loving the Frenchwoman’s rich accent more with every word she spoke. Maybe it was just because she so rarely came across something like it, since most foreigners she came across were either American or indecipherable, like Anesthesia. But there was a soothing, sensual quality to the way Margaux spoke, as if she could massage you with her simple voice.

It kept her at ease, even as she wondered what sort of place this was with a training room in the middle of it. She found her answer soon enough, as they came into what had surely been a standard rec room in an earlier part of its life.

Compared to the decadence everywhere else, Margaux’s training room was a sore thumb of blandness. Large enough for a spar, but not much else. Boring beige across the wall. Muted, as if every sound was forbidden from coming in or out of the room.

”Hm. Nice.” That was all Makoto could say about it, really, though she found herself wishing she had a room like this in her own apartment. Someone to use it with would be nice, too.

She went into her stretches for a minutes, getting nice and limber, before she ran through a few motions and counters. Makoto moved in smooth, flowing motions as she weaved around and invisible attacker, doing her best to anticipate the sort of blows that would be coming her way in a few minutes. Her best frame of reference was Aisha, a striker from her Rumble Roses days with quick, hard-hitting fists, and that was figure she envisioned in front of her now. Stay loose, stay attentive, watch for the openings…

Makoto had just started to get her groove when Margaux dragged her back to reality, calling for a little help. She blinked a few times, before she fully grasped what her friend wanted and quickly came over.

”Oh, sure! Let me just…” She took Margaux’s gloves and helped slide them on, getting them nice and tight over the Frenchwoman’s fists. ”And sure! Ask me anything.”

When she took the occasional glance over at Makoto, she made a point to notice the fluid motion her movements seemed to adopt. There was a level of focus in those eyes she’d rarely seen in her short time on this Earth. In the event she hadn’t known better, Margaux would have assumed her guest was attempting to dance with the air...and with resounding success. Quite a display.

In her excitement, she found herself forgetting the weight of Makoto’s accolades. What being a gold medalist of any martial art truly meant. Six days a week. Three hours a day. Years of experience guiding all of it. If she wanted this woman, she was going to have to work for her.

That bridge was to be crossed later, however. Makoto’s generosity seemingly as intact as it were yesterday, the woman helped Margaux secure her gloves. The Frenchwoman kept herself mindful of the right glove, making sure her fingers were fitted rightly despite the obstruction and didn’t fall off in her rummaging.

As Makoto tied the strings together on the first glove, Margaux took a moment to ponder the question she was about to ask. It may have been a little too invasive for only their second meeting, but the topic had been mentioned once before, so perhaps there was no harm in digging but an inch deeper. Her only worry was that she may scare her friend away. Put her on edge before they began.

But she did say “anything”, after all.

“Just as before, you may answer at your own discretion. I understand if you would prefer not to.” Her eyes trailed up slowly to look at Makoto’s as she attended to her gloves. “This person. The one who was...important to you...What was their name?”

Through there, then through there, then through there…

Makoto rarely put on boxing gloves, but she’d had a little experience working with them thanks to her time at the Olympics, enough that she just had to awaken a few memories to get Margaux’s laced up. The fact that they even needed lacing didn’t slip by her notice, either. Most of the boxing gloves she saw on shelves were velcro affairs. These were real gloves for a real boxer, and…

Hm. For a flash of a second, something in Margaux’s right hand started to draw her attention. It was just a little thing, something that scarcely warranted notice, and her eyebrow had only begun to raise when a question came away. The question.

Makoto had a feeling that subject was going to come up sooner or later. Margaux was a caring person, into healing, and that went beyond a massage. This had to be part of it. As much as Makoto didn’t want to talk about it, she knew she needed to.

There was only a scant moment of hesitation, before she came out with it. ”Aigle.” The word was only two syllables, but she swore, her voice went through several emotions in a single second, all jumbled together. Regret, happiness, despair, hope. She didn’t meet Margaux’s gaze, keeping her eyes low as she finished her task. ”Her name was Aigle. Is Aigle. From Mongolia.” She just tacked that last bit on, because it covered the typical next question that came whenever someone heard Aigle’s name. Not a common Japanese name.

Aigle. The center of Makoto Aihara. Her happiness and joy. Her greatest motivation in life. The fondest memories of this woman’s life categorized by those two syllables that now dangled over her mind like a great weight suspended in time. Bound by regret and despair. And now, Margaux knew her name.

Even the great dictionary of human names, that was one that really had managed to stand out to Margaux, entirely by its uniqueness. Even if she had stayed in one country for most of her life, she’d developed a vast web of contacts that stretch far past the European mainland, and never in her encounters had

Or perhaps, it was simply the judoka’s reaction that gave the name so much meaning to the pinkette. As if Makoto’s care for it had been absorbed by Margaux, logging it subconsciously in her treasure trove of valuable insights. The Olympian almost seemed like a different person, for but a moment. Sunken eyes, a distant stare, a slowness to her movement as she finished tying her gloves.

“Aigle.” She said it out loud only once, just trying to get a firm grasp on the name. That was as much as wanted to repeat it in Makoto’s presence for the moment. It looked as though it had taken every ounce of her to force that word from her lips. She didn’t dare meet the Frenchwoman’s gaze as she did so.

“Was...was she good to you? Are you...better now, because of her?”

Three questions. Perhaps two too many.

Longing. There was longing, too.

God, it felt so good just saying the name out loud. She hadn’t had any reason to in so long, she’d forgotten how weird it came off her tongue,but how fun it was too say. She’d said that name in happiness, in sadness. She’d screamed it in anger and in ecstasy. Aigle, Aigle, Aigle.

She finished off Margaux’s glove with a cute bow, just because, and stepped away, keeping her gaze to the floor the whole while. She was glad that this room was so compact. Even though she knew there wasn’t anyone else around to hear, it helped that nothing she said would leave this room in any form.

”That’s…” She made her way to the center of the room, doing a few last-minute stretches there. Not that she needed to, but it was nice to get her arms busy doing something.

”That’s hard to say.” She shook her head. ”We were great together. It was thanks to her that I really understood my sexuality, my attractions, so there’s that. But she…” Makoto paused for a second, not out of hesitation, but to think of a good way to put what she wanted to say.

After a moment, she spun back to Margaux. ”Aigle would’ve hated this. Not this room, exactly, but your entire place. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but she was raised in a completely different world. She was used to living outside, being in the grass, having the sky above her while she slept. This entire city just chaffed her. She tried to live it in, and I think she held out longer than she wanted to because of me, but in the end? She had to go back. And I couldn’t go with her, I’d be more out of place in her world than she’s in mine.”

Her voice quivered at the end, and she could feel the tears start to swell, but she shut her eyes tight and kept them at bay. Not today.

If she were being wholly honest with herself, Margaux wasn’t entirely sure what she was about to unravel. What scars had been left behind and how deep they ran. Where the line had been positioned that she’d dare not cross. At least, not until the appointed hour.

It was the one uncertainty in all of this. Who was Aigle? How much did she mean to Makoto? And what did she mean to her now? All of those answers came spilling forth in one wave as the judoka made her way over the mats and...just opened up. Nostalgia, elation, regret, despair.

But there was pain, most of all. So much pain. In every word that passed through her lips, taking a piece of the woman along with them. By the end of it, one could see it manifest all across her fair countenance. Makoto hadn’t even tried to hide it. As the woman remained beside herself, Margaux could only look on with an unfixed gaze, feeling a warmth well up inside of her.

She couldn’t bear this weight forever. Not alone, at least…

Margaux took stepped closer to the judoka as she closed her eyes, catching a glint fall between her eyelashes. The Frenchwoman didn’t stop. Not until she had finally wrapped her arms around her friend, pulling her close, keeping them together in a brief silence as she rested her chin on her shoulder.

“You…”

No. Not just yet. She knew she had to comfort Makoto, but the Olympian wasn’t present at just this moment. Her mind was awash, cast adrift on a flood of emotions. But she was stronger than this. She’d find her way back in time. Until then, in this brief moment, Margaux just held her. Let their hearts beat. Let her know she was here.

Where was Aigle now? Makoto couldn’t help but wonder that, kept repeating that question in her head. She’d given her a cell phone as a parting gift, a way for them to keep in touch, but she never answered it, and the Judo Babe knew the chances were good she’d just lost or broken the thing. She never had much patience for technology.

Was she thinking about Makoto, too? Had she found someone else, or did she have the same problems? There were nights when she woke up and reached out for her, only to find nothing but empty space on a bed. Did that happen to her, too?

She wanted to keep those questions held down, didn’t want to dwell on such things. She’d come here to spar with Margaux, not to reminisce about forlorn love. But the thoughts were like little ants, scurrying about her brains, popping up no matter how hard she tried to get rid of them, no matter how much she flicked them off, and she just could not make them go away.

That was, until Margaux came over and gave her hug.

Makoto melted in the embrace, as a cool understanding came over her. It was okay. Everything was okay. Wondering about Aigle wouldn’t change anything, right? For now, in this room, she could let it all go and focus on the woman in front of. She owed herself that. She owed Margaux that.

”Thank you.” She sighed and sagged and returned the embrace, whispering in her friend’s ear while they were close. ”Thanks. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Makoto slid away and took her spot on the mat, bringing up her hands in defense. Eyes foreword. Stance rigid. Body poised to pounce.

”Sorry for the delay. I’m ready for you, now.”

She was mistaken. Though she didn’t say it exactly, Makoto’s very words told Margaux precisiley just how much this meant to her. She knew Aigle was important to her, but how important was always the question. The whispers in her ear had told her everything, with the underlying despair and years of isolation lingering on the judoka’s breath.

This was more than just a wounded heart. They were more than simply partners, more than lovers, more than best friends. They were soul mates. Makoto’s other half. Nothing like her, yet everything to her. It was no wonder now how such a sweet, beautiful, and kind girl could be without another significant other for three long years. Who, after all, could replace Aigle?

Margaux let her slip from the embrace and find her place on the mats. The Frenchwoman simply observed her for a moment as Makoto readied herself. The striking form and developing calm in her eyes only coupled the eagerness in her movements. The cutting figure of the pride of an entire nation. She was ready. Prime.

“Bien.” Margaux took a step forward, getting an equal distance between them on the mats. She raised her gloves, leading with her left as she brought one leg in front of the other, letting her forward shoe slide across the mat. “Let us start off easy.” She gave a nod.

Now the fun began. Margaux took a couple steps forward before circling the judoka for a few moments. Keeping within striking range as she paced, then, planting her feet, she’d throw a few right jabs towards her face. Slow, but methodical. Nothing difficult for a world-renowned Olympian to dodge. Or at least, the pinkette certainly hoped. The follow up would come as a roaring hook from her left side, aiming straight for Makoto’s cheek.

Makoto wasn’t religious. Her parents were deep into buddhism, pious and devout, and she had been right along there with them for a time, but as she grew older and traveled the world, she found herself drifting away from that lifestyle more and more. Agnostic. Maybe an atheist.

This meeting, though, had her reconsidering that. Margaux was the right person at the right time in the right way, precisely what she needed to get through the troubles in her life. It was hard to believe such a person could find her by sheer happenstance, and it made her feel like there was a higher power at work. Someone, somewhere, somehow, was looking out for her.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was all coincidence. But if such a being existed, she gave them a silent thanks.

Happy as those thoughts were, she pushed them away and readied herself as she moved into position, taking up a strong stance across from Margaux. Her head was clear now, more than it had been in a long time. She was ready.

Margaux came her way soon enough, after a few moments of sizing up. The jabs were easy enough to deal with - all it took was a quick movement out of range, jerking her upper body back to avoid them by inches. The follow up, though, was a different story.

She ducked under the blow, narrowly avoiding the powerful strike, and moved towards Margaux instead of pulling away. Makoto ducked down, twisted as the blow passed overhead, and reached up to grab her by the arm. In one swift, smooth motion, she pulled foe over her back and attempted to dump her flat on her back with an over-the-shoulder arm drag. Ippon seoi nage.

Assuming an outsider looking in had known full well the context of this situation, they’d no doubt be wondering how Margaux could retain her calmness as she charged toward her world-class opponent. Of course, that would likely be merely one of an endless number of questions towards the inner workings of the Frenchwoman’s mind, but that one would appear the most forthright. How could she hope to take the Olympian down?

Was there a plan? Not quite. In her experience with combat, all of it was too unpredictable to be reliable. No, all of it was simply…preparation. Some of it done days before, some of it yesterday, but the most important of it finished only a moment ago. When Makoto gave her the keys to her mind.

She stepped away from the punches, keeping a perfect distance If she went to swat them away, it may have appeared to an onlooker that Makoto was swatting away flies buzzing towards her rather than jabs from a trained boxer. It did make her curious. Just how far could her experience take her in this bout? The entire bout.

The hook that followed brought her closer to an answer, as Makoto, if only by a smidgen, managed to evade that as well. As Margaux continued to step into the last second of her attack, the Olympian seized the Frenchwoman’s arm and threw her over her shoulder. She landed hard on her side, but Margaux at least retained the sense to smack out her arm against the mat as she fell, letting it absorb the shock.

“Judo?” She said with raised eyebrows, looking up and meeting the judoka with the warmest smile she could manage. “Très élégant. I should have noticed.”

It was intended to at least put the woman off guard. Only for a second. Just a second. The instant Margaux saw that change in her expression, she’d shoot her arms Makoto’s heel and bring her down to the mat with her. The moment she managed to pull that off, she’d scramble on top of her waist, raining down a series of hooks into the Judo Babe’s side from her newly asserted position.