La Belle Dame sans Merci

”Would you marry me?” Makoto spat the words out quick, as if she were afraid to say them. ”If I asked, I mean. I’m not asking now, but if I did, would you?”

Aigle turned about in the bed, and even though it was dark with the lights out and the blinds closed, Makoto could still see her glowing eyes, like a wolf’s, sparkling jewels in the black.. She swore, they always looked a little brighter at night, right after they’d enjoyed each other. The woman glowed all the time, but never more than right now.

”Aigle not sure.” She was smiling. That cute, taunting smile, when she pretended to know a lot less than she really did. Makoto couldn’t see the smile, but she could hear it. ”Marriage boring in Japan. You only give me little ring. In homeland, I would settle for nothing less than the slaughtered hide of a great wolf.”

”Oh, really? So I can only propose to you after I’ve hunted down and killed a wild animal, huh?” She propped up on her elbow, letting the sheets slip off her naked shoulder as she decided whether or not to laugh. Makoto was 90% sure that Aigle was joking, but you could never be too sure. ”Well, it would be cheaper, but…”

There was a moment of awkward silence, one that came to an end with snickers, then chuckles, then erupted into full laughs that made their box spring bed shake. That went on for a good few seconds that felt like a good few minutes. Just the two of them, secure in each other’s presence.

Aigle was the first one to come down from it this time, settling in with a long sigh. It was a content, happy noise, one that answered her question better than any words could’ve. ”I love you, Makoto.” She reached over and ran her strong hand down the Judo Babe’s face, caressing it so tenderly, despite all the power she could bring to bear. ”I love you so much.”

Reality came crashing down on Makoto all at once, as Margaux and Aigle’s words mix together in her head, her brain playing a cruel trick on itself. She was blacking out, or starting to, but she couldn’t quite go all the way, flitting between the waking and sleeping worlds. Not an accident. This woman made no accidents when it came to torturing her.

Margaux kept pumping away and Makoto kept struggling with what tiny vestiges of life she had left, but it was no use, there was no helping. ”Ai-” She fought to get out a single syllable, wheezing it out. ”Ai...Ai…”

And then the phone went dark, flickering out as the call was dropped. Aigle had hung up. It was over.

A simple as that, every care fled from Makoto’s body. She didn’t care that she was being choked, didn’t care that her body was a battered husk in the grasp of a madwoman, didn’t even care that she might never leave room, alive or otherwise. Her arms flopped to the side, her eyes rolled back, and she opened her neck up as much as possible, giving Margaux no resistance. No more fighting. No struggle. She just wanted to go to sleep.

Sobs. Sweet, delicate sobs. They were like little verses of romantic poetry being spilled bit by bit from the woman’s sputtering lips.

A heavenly mix of emotion lingered on each and every breath that tore its way from her windpipe. Sadness, frustration, longing. Beautiful little whispers that filled the silence of the room, yet unable the reach past the reality Margaux placed before her to the thinly-veiled dream she wished for day and night. Makoto was all hers. Her sweet, sad song for her alone.

Her final cry reverberated off the walls and left the pugilist still, yet firm over the Olympian’s body, piercing time and space to Makoto’s soul across the sea. A bead of sweat ran down from her forehead to her nose, dripping down to mat to join the mixture of blood and tears encompassing Makoto’s struggling body. She didn’t have any intention of releasing her grip and only kept just enough to allow the judoka to maintain her awareness for as long as she was able.

Her eyes watched the flickering light in the judoka’s eyes. The mad twitch in her pupils, the blood vessels throbbing maddeningly as they pulsed towards the center. She kept her arm steady as best she was able. All the way until that phone went silent.

And then it ended. All at once, she could feel the resistance slip away from her fingertips, the tension fade from under her grasp. The woman’s breaths grew less labored and sporadic. They were calm She looked down to see Makoto incline her chin away from her hands, opening her neck, surrendering herself to the sorrow enveloping her world. A thin smile graced Margaux’s lips. She had what she came for.

“That is it, Madame Aihara. Your worries are over.”

She used both hands now. The French pugilist seized her hands around the Judo Babe’s throat. Lacing one thumb over the other as her rough, taped hands clamped around the judoka’s dainty neck. With every inch of energy her arms could muster, she upped the pressure immensely around her throat, cutting off her air completely and absolutely. Her well-defined biceps pulsed and the definition on her shoulders broadened as she squeezed, revealing the contours up and down her arms. With a wicked smile on her lips, Margaux finally sent the Olympian to her long and deserved rest.

...

One blinding streak of light after another passed over the top of Margaux’s vision as she stared out the car window, resting her chin on the palm of her hand and taking a deep breath as she stared out at the distant lights in the night. From the freeway, she could tell that a few of them were buoys by the size of their light, swaying left and right on the endless darkness of the distant bay. Her eyes fell lower to the long rows and towering stacks of cargo crates illuminated in floodlights along the pier. Independently varying in color, each stack collectively served for a rather grand spectacle, a feast for the eyes worthy only of one of the largest seaports in the Pacific.

By day, the site would be bustling with activity. The wails of freighters from distant lands, the chatter of workmen going to and fro the arriving ships, the heavy creaks of cranes far overhead. At seventeen minutes past two in the morning, however, it was a far different atmosphere. Aside from an idle ghost ship docked for the night, the area remained as still and silent as a graveyard. A vast, winding complex of areas lapping in on each other and indiscriminate from one to the next. Far too easy to get lost in. At this time of night, it was the perfect maze.

Their car pulled off the freeway and headed towards the port. Olivier turned off the headlights as he made the turn, going only by a keen eye and the few streetlights between them and the entrance. Margaux sat silently in the back, continuing to gaze out patiently at the gates surrounding the perimeter. Her mood in these past couple of hours had been a stark contrast to the apex of jubilation she had experienced not long ago.

Sometime after Makoto’s collapse, Olivier finally returned with help she’d asked for. He was delayed longer than usual after vacating the residents from the floor, putting a slight worry in her heart that they’d miss their opening. But those under her were nothing if not efficient. The blood was cleaned from the mats, the dust cleared and the furniture set straight, and the judoka’s body disappeared from the building.

The two groups moved separately, one staying behind to eliminate any trace of their honored guest, the other moving to the port. While the others busied themselves, Margaux checked herself over the mirror. A minor scratch here and there, a bruise that would fade in time square on her forehead, but one that was easy enough to obscure. She had a quick shower, pampered herself up, straightened her clothing, and enjoyed a lovely steak in anticipation for the coming hour. It had been a long, dull wait, but the moment of truth finally arrived. The two of them were soon to be reacquainted.

The car stopped some distance from the gate, just out of the guard’s sight, in the event he raised his eyes from the book he’d buried himself in. Her trusted escort turned off the car and exited quietly, walking to the back door and, with an easy pull of the handle, held it open for his preeminent passenger. Margaux stepped out of the car, taking in a deep breath of the sea air as she stepped forward and allowed Olivier to close the door behind her. She took a moment to scan her surroundings, a tick she’d developed in all of her exploits since coming to his new land rife with as much security as there was opportunity. After her instincts had assured her all was well, she and her fair associate walked along the perimeter with her parasol open high above her. Not a minute after did they find a hole in the grating their predecessors had left behind. Olivier followed in front of her, holding the spliced section open as she placed one foot through, but stopped midway. From her jacket pocket, she tied a faint pink glow stick close to the bottom, obscured just enough to only be noticed by someone roaming the fences. A gift for a friend.

The two walked for some distance. Olivier guided her way, keeping the exact pier and block dedicated to memory. After what felt like the better part of an evening, her guide gave her a whisper. She looked up from her parasol, seeing the large warehouse before them, just off the edge of the bay. A wide, hungry smirk grew across her face as they approached the side door. Oliver placed a firm hand on the knob and pulled it open.

And there she lay. Or..sat, rather. Bound to the middle of a discarded one chair, still partially caked in dust and falling apart at the seams, was the judoka in hardly better condition. Her legs were tied by a seafarer’s rope to the front legs, and her arms at her sides tide to the back pair, her head slumped forward as she lay lifeless. She was beneath the only source of light in the room, save for a few peeks of moonlight high above close to the rafters. One could hear the nearby lapping waters through them. The dangling lamp high above teetered slightly, briefly illuminating the two pairs of men to the battered Olympian’s left and right, standing with their hands in their pockets and shuffling their feet. They were eying the bound judoka closely, still clad in her sports bra and short shorts. Too closely, perhaps, for some nameless vagabonds kept awake at this unholy hour.

Olivier shut the door behind them as they entered, standing with his hands behind his back as Margaux went to stand before Makoto. She closed her parasol and placed the tip down against the ground as leaned into it with her hands atop the handle. She cocked her head, looking over the numerous cuts and bruises, wounds and scrapes, streams and splatters of blood, and the faint residue still between her legs. The Frenchwoman licked her lips, near trembling at the memories alone.

But that time had passed. She and Makoto had shared many things these past forty-eight hours, enjoyed so much together, but it was time they move on. There was a slight warmth that grew in her bosom. An odd, pleasant feeling that made her look on the broken judoka with tender, hopeful eyes. Strange. She’d never felt that before.

With a nod to the pair of men at her right, the one closest to Makoto reached behind the chair and pulled a bucket of water, fresh from the freezing Tokyo Bay. He splashed the water on her face, attempting to stir the native back to life. Even if she was barely conscious, it wouldn’t matter. She only had a few parting words.

“Bonjour, mon cheri.” She said the moment Makoto stirred, leaning forward and tilting her head slightly to make eye contact wherever it could be found. “You sleep rather peacefully. Although, I suppose I am able to empathize. I can certainly attest that I was one long for my own mattress after such an invigorating session.” She giggled for a moment before tapping her umbrella against the floor. “Now then. Was our spar to your liking? Did you perhaps have any parting wisdom to bestow?”

It was a blur. Everything was a blur. Makoto had no real concept of time anymore, had no way of marking any date. She was hungry, her stomach was growling, but she wasn’t to the point where she was in gut-wrenching pain, so she wagered it hadn’t been more than a couple of days, but beyond that? No guess on the time.

She was even more hard-pressed to determine where she was being taken. She would come to every now and then, flashes of consciousness, fading in and out. She could register that Margaux wasn’t alone,that she had help, but couldn’t make out any faces. Men, she was fairly sure. Big men. Strong men. Handling her, tying her, driving her, transporting.

Every time she drifted off, she thought it would be for the last time, but she kept coming back into reality. A picture was forming, a conclusion gleamed for the bare scraps of knowledge she had. She was being taken somewhere dark, somewhere wet, somewhere deep. A place that she wasn’t meant to leave from. A place for dead, broken things.

She should’ve cared about that. Should’ve been afraid for her life. She wasn’t. So far as she was concerned, this was over. She’d been swallowed whole,a meal for Margaux, and this was just the part where she traveled through the beast’s system. A one-way tunnel with an inevitable, ignoble end.

It was about what she deserved, wasn’t it?

All Makoto wanted now, all she craved, was to let the darkness take her. Margaux would not even let her have that.

That water hit her and set her nerves on fire, waking her with a gasping shriek. She heaved for a few moments, taking in gulps of air, before she managed to calm just enough to form coherent sentences. Not that she had terribly much to say.

She sat there, waiting, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of her chest, as her tormentor spoke. Her captor. The demon holding the keys to her own, personal hell. Makoto made no move, keep her eyes staring forward, blank and lifeless. But she did speak. A shred of a whisper, but she did.

”End it.” Makoto licked her lips, cleaning off the blood. For a moment, at least. ”Just shut the fuck up and end it.”

A dark sentiment. Depressing. But nearby, a figure moved through the darkness with a markedly more bright one. Anesthesia walked along the path, leisurely strolling, keeping her eye out for a sign, any sign - and thens he found it. Pink, glowing, shimmering in the dark. She came over to the beacon and picked it up, smiling as the glow lit up her face.

Close now. So close.

The aging wood and rusted sheets of metal splintered and shuddered all around as the breeze from the sea washed over the old warehouse. The faint lapping of waves could be heard from beyond its rudimentary confines. An eerie howl seeped in through the window, the wind attempting to make its way in. Indeed, it was the only thing that would be entering this room tonight. The only thing uninvited, at any rate.

These were the only sounds to fill the room after the morbid exchange seemingly reached its peak at an alarmingly rapid pace. The demand was sudden, admittaley taking a few off guard. Then again, why was it so great a surprise? What else was there to say? What more was there to take from the woman that possessed next to nothing to begin with? Her very essence appeared stripped away. Margaux could see that from the moment the judoka looked at her, those eyes devoid of care or want. That expression alone, or lack thereof rather, was enough to bring a smile to her lips.

It didn’t stay long. The macabre whisper that flowed forth from Makoto’s mouth forced that smile to dissipate instantly. A momentary quiet fell around the darkened warehouse, a couple of the men at her side looking to one another as if seeking confirmation from one another that the words that had reached their ears were truly there. Why was their leader speechless? She merely stood there with wide eyes, casting a faint pink luminescence in the darkness. The silence only built on top of itself. The whole world seemed to dance on a pin needle. These lowly scraps of humanity gawking and looking to one another, the chief voice among them seemingly stunned into a perpetual silence as infinite as the shadows engulfing the world around them.

And then she laughed. She laughed and laughed, shaking the very ceiling above them in its force alone.

Her underlings stood merely stood shoulder to shoulder, unsure of how to react. One last laugh escaped the warehouse and into the night air. Tears began to well up in the pinkette’s eyes that she brushed away with a flick of her finger. Her smile pulled and twitched at the corners of her mouth as muffled laugh after muffled laugh fought to tear its way out. Makoto was a source of endless entertainment, it seemed. Everything she hoped for.

“What use have I of a corpse, petite sotte?” She did her best to stifle her laughter, placing a hand to her chest and dumbing it down to a few sporadic giggles. Managing to recompose herself, Margaux stood upright and, with a slight chuckle, brushed a lock of hair behind her before taking a few steps over to the restrained Olympian. She stopped directly in front of her, the light above cascading her shadow far over Makoto. She reached a hand out, running it underneath Makoto’s chin and moving up to brush the side of her cheek. “Tu es une belle femme.” She leaned forward, bringing her lips to Makoto’s ears and speaking one, final whisper to her partner. “Serve them well.”

WIth a kiss to the judoka's cheek, Margaux stood up straight and spun about on her back foot. She tucked her parasol behind her back and walked back towards Olivier, who held the door open and stood at her side. “My gift to you all! And remember, messieurs. Three meals a day. Clean up after yourselves. Slovenliness is ze path to ruin. Adieu.” She finished with a flourish of her hand as she stepped out and the door shut behind them, leaving the Rumble Roses veteran bound and helpless, surrounded by hungry eyes peeking out at her from the darkness. A couple stepped forward, but not one touched her yet. They were sizing her up, preferring to take thing slow as they fussed with the restraints on their clothing.

Outside, Margaux stood beside the door with Oliver at her side, his back to the wall as he held up a rod to the sky. A rod that was actually a long line of LED lights, encased in a circular glass tube that lit a bright pink in his hand. At any other time of day, it would be easy enough to have gone unnoticed. But in this wharf, with barley a shred of moonlight to keep the darkness at bay, it stood as a beacon in the night, beckoning all manner of foul creatures of the night forward at the mad mistress’ beck and call.

Makoto didn’t know how Margaux would react to what she said, and she frankly could nnot have conceivably cared any less. There was a time when she might’ve known better. A time when the fear of what this woman could do would’ve been enough to stifle any dissent. A time when she would’ve realized the peril she was in and pleaded and screamed and struggled, begged for her life, for mercy, for a doctor, for anything but the torture she’d been put through.

But that time was long gone, now. Her only thought was what she would do to Margaux if she could get her, the way she’d rip this woman apart if she had half a chance, but that wasn’t happening until she was free and recouped, would it?

So there was no reason to care. No reason to fight. Not even when Margaux laughed and filled the stale air with her cackling, vile sound, not even when she whispered in her ear, and not even when she planted that disgusting kiss on her cheek.

Makoto made no movemetns, only looking up with pale eyes as she watched Margaux walk, saying a final farewell and leaving her in the company of her men. For a moment, she didn’t take the madwoman’s meaning, but then she saw what her captors were preparing to do, what they were fumbling with, and the dots connected. She closed her eyes once again, and tried to pretend she was somewhere else. Anywhere.

It didn’t work.

Outside, Margaux would find she wouldn’t have to wait long until one of those creatures came prowling along, finding her way through the shadows like she belonged in them. Anesthesia’s stroll was casual, slow, as if she were merely walking down a sunny street in the middle of the day. Why rush? She’d been waiting for this moment for so long, and she wanted to savor it. It wasn’t as if Makoto was going anywhere.

Anesthesia’ stroll brought her into the pink haze’s glow, but her shimmering smile showed in the darkness before she stepped into the light. She stood there, dressed in a long, black trenchcoat, swaying in the wind while she approached.

She said nothing, not at first. Instead, she merely reached down and took Margaux’s hand with tender care, lifting it up to place a single, loving kiss along her knuckles - and a lick, too. A small one. As if she could still taste some hint of blood on them.

”My friend.” She let the hand go with the same delicate ease that she’d taken it. ”Pardon me for being so forward. You look so ravishing in that light, I couldn’t resist.”

Why had Margaux chosen this dense, glorified wharf of all places to house their captive for the evening? Was it because of its seemingly endless, winding patterns that rendered it impossible to determine the source of any single, distant sound? of Was it is lack of any helpful sources of light at this unruly hour, bathing the sight in shadows where none lingered by the souls of the damned? Or was it, perhaps, the otherwise sparse security presence that was viewed as simply incidental to those administering a complex of this scale?

It was none of these. For Margaux, it was entirely for moments like this. Where she could hear the lapping of waves and feel the breeze sweep through her hair. The night was always so beautiful on the see, where the rays from the celestial body above danced on the bay. It was a sight she had yet to relive since her arrival in the Land of the Rising Sun. Her days had been filled with nothing but endless toil and precautions for far longer than she cared to remember. This reminder had been long overdue. She could take life slowly. Enjoy these ever fleeting moments for all they were worth.

All that would complete this tender little moment were the blood-curdling screams that never seemed to be too far removed from her presence. Alas, there would be no such entertainment now that Makoto had been lost to the abyss. And there was only that remained to see her free.

It wasn’t long before said heroine of the night would come to grace the pinkette with her presence. Her face lifted, noticing a pair of hazel orbs peek back at her from the shadows, growing in size as the sound of footsteps grew ever louder. The Frenchwoman’s content smile widened in elation. She kept her parasol staked into the ground in front of her, watching with an isolated stare as the woman approached and took her hand.

A slight tingle ran up her spine as her warm tongue caressed her knuckles. A bright, white smile found its way onto Margaux’s face as her hand gently returned to her side. She only stood and watched the mistress for a moment, how she seemed to have grown even more breathtaking since they’d last met. It was for only a brief lapse in time, but in that small period, it felt as though the entire world was theirs alone.

Friend. Ah, the word was never so sweet to her ears.

Margaux returned her words with a hand draped across her chest, and a slight bow forward. “A sentiment well received and rightfully shared, mon cheri. The moon simply works wonders for your complexion.” She stood upright, eager to present the results of her days of effort to her trusted employer. “The object of your desires lay but beyond this door. Madame Aihara is restrained with the obvious aid of several broken...bits, but nothing so brutish that a physician of even the basest levels of ability could not restore with a few day’s rest. My only fear is that she may be a tad greater...resigned than you would have preferred. It may require a degree of rehabilitation to rouse her back to life. A task of little worry to one such as you I am sure, Madame Cutter.” She gave a slight, circular flourish with her hand with a funny crook to her lip. “Before I tell of what lies ahead, however, may I ask, have you envisioned a fittingly dramatic approach for your...daring rescue?”

Anesthesia was duplicitous by nature, guarding hre truths like a mizer with his gold. That was the simple nature of her work, requiring her to only dole out information when necessary, to move the pieces as she saw fit. It was a game, and one that she had come to excel at.

But when Margaux spoke to her and asked what her plans were, she experienced a newer sensation, something she’d only felt before at their cafe meeting: she not only had the need to tell this woman of her plans, but the desire, the want, the hunger to speak with her. The way a painter could only feel when conversing with another who could match her skill. The satisfaction of sharing with a peer. It was unexpected bonus to this entire affair, and one that she was too eager to accept.

Anesthesia nodded along as the situation was explained, her smile never wavering, her eyes never showing a hint of surprise. She’d expected nothing but her compatriot’s success, never truly doubting it would be anything else. Her only regret was not being there to see it herself. Even now, she couldn’t resist a purr as she pictured the scene. Makoto’s screams of terror, the pain, the distress, the look in her eyes when she realized what had truly happened.

...oh, she should’ve asked Margaux to record it. Such a shame. A golden opportunity, missed. Once she had Makoto properly conditioned, she would have to make do with her retellings.

She waved off the mention of Makoto’s injuries, not the least bit concerned. ”A trifle, I’m sure, nothing that I can’t heal myself. If anything, you’ve given me another opportunity to further secure her trust - I can put her body back together, as well as her mind.”

She took a moment to look at the man standing beside Margaux, glancing his way for the briefest moment. Quiet and polite, a servant most likely, and one who knew his places. She spared him little thought, before she turned her attention to the worthier subject.

”The simplest way would be for me to merely come along and whisk her away while your men were distracted. I brought along certain items, in case things couldn’t be as simple as all that.” She pulled out an extending stun baton, letting it telescope to full length. A charge crackled at the far end, flickering to life in an instant. ”Not enough to seriously injure any of your people, I assure you - the last thing I would want is to have you coming out the lesser in all of this.”

Anesthesia retracted her weapon with a flick of the wrist, not wanting to risk shocking her friend or her friend’s servant and ruin the atmosphere. She stepped forward again, moving closer into Margaux’s space and succumbing to the magnetism. ”It all depends on what I’m walking into, of course. I am open to suggestions.”

Margaux hadn’t realized just how much she had truly relished conversing with Madame Cutter until this very moment. To say their first encounter had left an “impression” would be an insult. It was a feeling that suddenly took her from behind, the elation she felt then nearly forgotten in her hurry to simply please the marvelous figure standing before her. The warmth she felt that early afternoon in the cafe had returned to her in only a few heartbeats.

Beyond her own men, there were few in this country she could talk at such lengths without harboring the desire to see their faces reduced to red mush, even less carrying words of any importance. The doctor was perhaps the only bastion of like-mindedness to be found in this backward and ailing country. Yes, this woman’s friendship was all she could have asked for.

She gave a few, affirming nods to Doctor Cutter as she shared her plan of attack. The Frenchwoman reared her head back slightly at the intense electrical surge from her stun baton, raising an eyebrow at her resourcefulness. Her taller associate, however, remained as still as a portrait, his arms tucked behind his back. Margaux brought a finger to her chin, the corner of her mouth quirking into a half smile.

“Olivier.” She snapped her fingers.

He walked a few feet to her right side, walking along the wall his hand brushing the sheet metal as he went. He stopped when he felt a protrusion. An electrical box with a single connection running up the wall to the roof of the warehouse. He slid his hand along the frame and flipped the latch, pulling the hatch open to reveal a number of rotted wires and dim green lights blinking in the faint darkness inside the machine.

Margaux allowed herself a slight giggle at the doctor’s worry towards harming her men. If not to bring harm unto themselves, for what use were they? “Worry not of the state of my men. They would never show you the same remorse. That I can assure you." She placed a finger to her chin. “But, while an escape plan may be the most ideal course of action, I believe a direct confrontation may be in order. There are four men in the room. The weakest among my flock, but nevertheless unwaveringly loyal. With Madame Aihara bound the way she is, I am doubtful you’ll be able to free her, let alone drag her broken body and pride free from any pursuit.”

She brought her umbrella off the ground, bringing it behind her to hold it sideways with both hands. “However, there exists but a singular light source within the room, swinging directly above your waiting prize confined to her chair. This box disables the light in question, submerging the rats in darkness for you to drown, one by one.” She pointed to the doctor. “After such a long stroll, your eyes have become accustomed to the night, no?” She pointed behind her with her thumb. “There’s have not. You should be able to finish the last before they even realize what has happened to them. If you are confident in your haste, bien sûr.” She gestured a hand to her the man at the box. “If you require, I have asked Olivier bring a change of clothes should you require any assistance.”