La Belle Dame sans Merci

Margaux’s giggle brought a smile to Anesthesia’s visage - or, to be more accurate, it sharpened the one that was already there. She had thought they might be on the same page with the role of her men in this scenario, but it would have been improper to assume such a thing without confirming. ”What good are pawns if not to be sacrificed?” She waved the notion off, taking it for the trifle it was.

”Even so, if I break any of them to the point they can’t be fixed, do let me know, love. I have ways of restocking such resources, and I’m eager to show my appreciation for your efforts. In all sorts of creative ways.” Her voice took on a lustier tone towards the end, and the flash of fire in her gaze gave no illusion to where her vices led.

For the time being, her attention was directed to ‘Olivier’, once more giving him a modicum of attention. She watched as he revealed the panel and Margaux refined her plan. In truth, she wished she had given this more thought beforehand, had taken the time to refine a rather crucial part of her plan, but she had been so wrapped up in her meeting with Margaux that the idea slipped her mind.

No matter. Her new friend had a workable solution to it all.

”You make a strong point, yes - I can see quite clearly.” Anesthesia promptly used that sight to look forward again, focusing on that which was most pleasing to her. ”A slight challenge, but nothing I can’t overcome. Or ‘we’, rather - Olivier, I would welcome your assistance.”

She threw a small nod his way, a slight affirmation. It wasn’t as if she would receive some reward for going alone, there was no sense in refusing the aide.

”Before we begin, though, I was hoping you would indulge me. Just for a moment.” Anesthesia stepped forward, a subtle stride that brought them closer together than ever before. A wind whipped between, making Anesthesia’s strands dance about her face, covering it with flickering shadows. ”I need to thank you. Properly.”

The Dark Nightingale reached out, dared to wrap her hand behind Margaux’s head, and pulled them together for a kiss - if what occurred could even be described with such a delicate term. Teeth clashed, lips slapped against each other, tongues dueled. It was an embrace that mixed pain and pleasure, spinning them together for a luscious cocktail, and Anesthesia drank it fully.

She kissed Margaux as she would’ve loved to kiss herself. The kiss of beasts.

Despite the irremovable smile plastered on her face, Margaux was, for the life of her, hoping that she hadn’t come across as too badgering to Madame Cutter. The woman was cunning, intelligent, absent petty notions of morality. It was only natural she had the utmost confidence in her abilities. And yet, at the same time, she couldn’t help but worry a touch for her wellbeing. Even if she were successful, having the good doctor leave with injuries of her own to attend to would be quite a damper to put on this lovely evening.

At the same time, she feared the implication that her associate was in any way incapable of dealing with the feeble minds that awaited her inside. For that reason, Margaux was also a tad hesitant to add Olivier into the equation. Would she only feel he would slow her down? Did she prefer to work alone? Would she be insulted by the idea alone? Thoughts she’d never once given a care for had all of a sudden sprung from the dark to ambush the Frenchwoman. In the end, her fears were for naught. Her lips curled into a mischievous little smile as the offer was humbly accepted.

Olivier, for his part, merely continued to stand to attention as he was addressed. With a nod to his pink-haired superior, he promptly turned and vanished around the corner, evidently going to prepare. Margaux found her gaze averted from the doctor for a moment as she watched him taper off into the darkness, a thin, wry smile on her lips. How long had it been since she’d last saw him enter the fray? It almost made her sad, knowing she wouldn’t be able to watch the slaughter to follow. Her mind raced, thinking of all the approaches that must be running through that man’s mind right now.

Her attention came back to her dear friend in an instant, however, hearing her serene voice and footsteps closely approach. For a moment, and only a moment, her eyes grew wide at the sudden ferocity of it all. The sensation was unlike anything she’d felt before. She fell stunned...and then returned the “kiss” in earnest. She reached one hand behind the doctor’s head, running her fingers through her lovely brown strands, deepening the sensation and tension for everything was worth. Her other hand, still clutching her parasol, draped behind the woman’s waist, pulling their hips and bodies close together, finally able to get an understanding of the strong, yet lithe body beneath. Their lips smacked and suckled against one another, their faces and noses grinding for a feeling as painful as it was exhilarating, haggard breaths whispering out from her nostrils. Margaux’s eyes shut tightly as her tongue battled for supremacy over the doctor’s, loving the taste of her minty breath, her supple skin as she occasionally withdrew it to refresh and run along the rim of the woman’s lips.

At the same time of this...tender moment, a seemingly out of place thought popped into Margaux’s mind. While she never outright demanded it, Margaux had never felt she received the proper recognition for the painstaking effort that went into her plans. Perhaps it was because not many agreed with the image of herself as some grand strategist, brooding beneath a dim light with towering piles of documentation at her side and a desk riddled with nonsensical sketches. There was always one to second guess her, one to point out the risks and suggest reevaluations, that she not become so personally involved in her own strategies. Notions which she properly reprimanded them for. She possessed a distinct flair for the art of war, it must be said, otherwise she may already have been food for maggots. She loved to rule, but she loved the smell of battle even more. But where was the appreciation? Where was the amazement in how she could make a task so difficult appear so easy?

Madame Cutter had felt like the only person since her ascent that understood what it meant to be unassailable. Her words were plenty in that regard, but her breathe, her tongue, her hunger. It all told so much more to the pink pugilist than any amount of honeyed words could convey in an entire lifetime. Moments such as this were why they existed. In this moment, everything was theirs.

But, like all good things...

She wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed exactly, but it was only after she heard a rather subtle tap of a shoe against the concrete that her eyes opened once again and she noticed Olivier in the corner of her eye. He merely stood in the same manner as before he left, astute and with respect, giving the two proper space. He’d removed the waistcoat and dress pants in favor of less conspicuous attire. A leather jacket covered his upper body, a bit weathered and showing some age like its owner, and a black undershirt. A pair of capri pants finished the look, all intentionally dark for the task ahead and, more importantly, everything he and his superior both hated. No risk of association.

With a deep sigh, a hand to the Doctor Cutter’s cheek and, with a gentle bite of her friend’s tongue, brought their faces apart. The distance she kept between them was minimal, still close enough to taste on another’s breath on their lips. “The pleasure was all mine, Madame Cutter…” She ran a tongue over the doctor's lips once more, unable to resist them. “...and I would gladly share it with you. Whenever you like. I long to see your creativity realized.” She said, giving the woman’s bottom lip a quick kiss before bringing her hand away.

As bold as Anesthesia could be, as sure of her own power as she was, even she would not have deigned to be so bold with another woman in usual circumstances. Oh, this was far from the first kiss she had seized without clear permission, but even she would prefer to weaken her choices first, to work them over, get them into the right mindset, make sure they were properly prepared. Not unlike preparing a fine meal, really. Patience was the most essential ingredient.

This was, perhaps, a first for Anesthesia. Intimate contact that wasn’t meant to establish dominance or enforce control. An embrace with someone she could consider an equal. A partner. Perhaps, she dared to consider, more than that.

Was this a kiss? Anesthesia supposed that was the technical term for it, but that seemed like such an insufficient word for their heated embrace. Horny schoolgirls ‘kissed’. Newlyweds ‘kissed’. What she and Margaux indulged was a fierce mix of pleasure and pain. It was a joining, as they explored each other’s bodies, with Anesthesia letting her hands grip Margaux’s firm backside through the debonair suit of hers. Not that she needed confirmation, but there was a satisfaction in feeling this woman’s power with her hands, of sensing the dense muscle hidden within.

Anesthesia liked to hide her intentions, yes, but she was such a known commodity that anyone familiar with Rumble Roses would never give her the benefit of a doubt. Margaux, however, had perfected the art that Anesthesia only played at. Wrapping herself in such an ornate sheathe, fooling everyone, hiding the real steel beneath.

The things she wanted to do with this woman, if only she had a few minutes. A few hours. A few days.

Alas, that wasn’t on the agenda today, and Anesthesia wasn’t of a mind to let Makoto waste away in her present company too long. She parted lips with her colleague, though Margaux made the parting a satisfying one, hinting at so many unspoken promises with every nip and nibble. ”As do I yours, madam. I believe you and I will accomplish a great many things together.”

Anesthesia took a moment lick her lips, savoring the taste, before she brought her attention to Olivier once more, noticing that he’d taken the moment to change his attire. She thought he looked silly, being truthful, but she gave it no more thought than that. The male form never could hold her interest for long.

With everything set, she stepped forward and opened the door, melting in the darkness. But she couldn’t leave without a proper farewell, could she? ”Au revoir et bonne nuit,” She threw a quick wave over her shoulder while the shadows consumed her. ”Toi belle dame sans merci.”

This night had certainly been one filled with a distinct sense of whimsy. It had been so long, too long, since she’d been able to revel in such freedom. Since she was able to remove herself from the burdens of her labors. Since she had indulged in what her heart desired most. This night saw Margaux Lefevure rise anew and, for perhaps the first time in her life, it was not on her own. The wonderful woman before her, her hazel eyes warm in the evening glow, served as a constant, enduring reminder of that.

She looked on with a tinge of sorrow in her heart that such a lovely evening had to come to an end. That in the morning, it would be back to business as usual. Back to the tasks at hand before she’d met the curious doctor in that cafe. But she allowed her spirits to be lifted, finding solace in the parting promise that Madame Cutter delivered, her words tasting of sweet honey as the air wafted over Margaux’s lips and tingled her tongue.

As the two parted and her dear friend made her way to the door, Olivier followed closely behind her. His hand reached into his jacket sleeve, pulling out seemingly nothing with a pinch of his fingers. He rolled the nothingness around his palms, extending his two hands apart before a ray of moonlight danced off the invisible wire for but a moment, his makeshift garrote disappearing in a flash before her very eyes. Ah, to see him move with such grace once more. Why did this night have to end so soon?

With a slight sigh and a complimenting smile on her face, Margaux opened her parasol and brought it over her shoulder, watching Madame Cutter enter the darkened warehouse with Olivier following close behind. She turned around, content to take a late night stroll through the bustling metropolis. It wasn’t too often she found herself with time to explore the city at her leisure.

Her friend’s final words accompanied her into that endless night as she strolled away into that endless night, practically skipping into each step as she crossed one leg over the other. Belle dame sans merci. She liked that. She liked it very much. Perhaps a bit of rebranding was in order for her time in Momentum. A pleasant smile graced her pink lips.

The warmth in her heart only made the cool night air stand out all the more. She looked up at the celestial body lighting her way as she strolled, listening to the far lapping of waves on the bay, the light dancing gently on its surface. The air was still and quiet this close to the sea. The surrounding traffic finally made its way to her ears as she distanced herself from the edge of the water and away from the warehouse. The woman in pink took gradually shrouded herself in the shadows as she walked toward the distant, glowing skyline. Her heavenly voice ascended into the night sky in her peaceful amble.

“Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot…” She sung, swinging her parasol at her side, stopping it against her shoulder as she continued her stroll. “...Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot…” She could hear the echoes of faint screams behind her. Smiling, she skipped merrily against the moon. “...Ma chandelle est morte, Je n'ai plus de feu...”