L'union Fait la Force

Margaux Lefeuvre:

Streamer Coffee was far from what Margaux would consider her ideal coffee shop.
She sat at a small table close to the street window, one leg crossed over the other as she looked about the cafe, silently disgusted by the decor. The minimalist furniture and designs, the bright and warm colors, the perpetually buoyant clientele it all attracted. It was all a bit too modern for her tastes.

Part of that was likely attributed to her “upbringing”. Mende was a thinly populated city, forever echoing the past in its aging stonework supported by generation after generation of refined carpentry. Even after she had relocated her base of operations to Paris, she still enjoyed a trip back home for a nostalgic cup or two on her favorite terrace. A place like this only made her miss France that much more.

So why bother? Why was she even here and not enjoying her early afternoon at her favorite park, or having Olivier draw her a bath? What could take her away from the pleasures of sweet self-indulgence?

Business, of course.

The cafe was drab, of course, but that was almost the point. It was unremarkable. Inconspicuous. A place where anyone customer would be remembered or draw too much attention.

Or two, rather.

The Frenchwoman had a pleasant smile on her face despite her surroundings. She was expecting company, you see. An envelope, left in her invited guest’s locker by hands far removed from her own, would see the woman to her presence. Unnamed, of course. The only marking a forgery of the AFW’s sigil of summons and a signature bearing a false name of a non-existent member of the administration. All this effort, for one woman.

Margaux seldom took tea with another, even less often actively taking time out of her schedule to entertain them. She’s met many interesting figures in her otherwise brief time in the federation and, save for Madame Cutter, there was only one other that had truly managed to impress.

And she was on her way now.

Margaux turned her head back towards the window, looking at the pouring rain and slicken streets outside. A river of umbrellas walked along the sidewalk, shielding themselves from the downpour as they walked. Margaux glanced at her watch beneath her coat. Any minute now...

Cicilia:

Spoiler:

It had been a LONG, BRUTAL recovery from that that match with Margaux... Her Ribs were still recovering from that brutal beating they've received, several bruises hadn't even started to fade yet and overall, Cicilia had been in a perpetual state of lethargy. She hadn't even gone to work in DAYS let alone trained at all! She was so lucky the doc's gave her a note to give to her boss or this match would've put her out of a job! Ugh... And her poor Sayumi... She had been so worried about her... Cicilia's beating had been brutal and the Lavender was it... unhappily. She would've thought PERSONALLY were it not for the trust she had in her! Whatever... She had enough strength to walk about and it didn't hurt too much... Yes, her muscles burned and her chest ACHED TO HELL but she couldn't sit around in her apartment all day... Ugh... Cicilia's first thing was go look around and find her phone...

Nothing, nothing nothing... The German overturned (within reason) everything in the house looking for her damned cellular device but for the life of her.... she couldn't find the damned thing! Where could i- Her eyes widened as memories pierced the veil of fuzziness summoned by her exhaustion. She had left her phone in her locker before going into that fight... After both she and Margaux were carried out, it never occurred to her to go back (or request Sayumi did) to retrieve it... Now she had to... It was a matter of principle... If she COULD do it herself, she HAD to do it herself... No point in asking her no-doubt exhausted sweet-heart to do her ANOTHER favor. Taking care of her all this time had no doubt taken it's toll.

Not one to just walk out without warning however, Cicilia grabbed a note-pad and pen, scribbling down a note and leaving in on the counter for Sayumi to read should she not be back before her:

Gone out to get my phone from my locker. Will be back in a couple minutes. I love you <3

-Cicilia

____________

The German arrived at her locker, undoing the combination and looking inside... AH there it was... Just as she had assumed, her phone was laying there inside her locker.... right next to a rather official-looking piece of paper... Curious, she stuffed what she came here for in her pocket and snatched up the note, her eyes immediately flicking to the bottom where the patented seal of the AFW was stamped. Immediately, she started to get nervous... When one gets a note such as this from their boss, there was little to NO chance that it was going to be good... She was already risking being fired from her first job! She didn't need to be fired from her passion too! She and Margaux did break the rules consistently throughout the match, head-butting and spitting at each-other... Was this a note of dismissal? With dread, Cicilia's eyes ran over the note, the girl letting out a soft sigh of relief she read it... It didn't sound like it... Just had to meet with a rep at the local coffee-shop... Fine... She could use one anyway...

Traveling to the shop known as "Steamer Coffee", the first thing she did when she got there was order herself a Chocolate Mocha. Always preferred cold to hot coffee... With her smoothie-like drink in hand, Cicilia gazed across the shop for anyone that looked remotely representative like as she sipped from her drink...

And the only one she saw who fit the bill... Was Margaux Lefeuvre...

She sat alone near the door of the shop, apparently eagerly waiting for somebody... Immediately, Cicilia's face turned green as she put 2 and 2 together, realizing just WHAT her purpose was here... THAT was what AFW chose to represent them!? No accounting for taste apparently. How did she know this? Assumptions. She was too tired to go around and interview every damned person in the shop... She was only going off faces she recognized. Swallowing both her drink and her disgust, Cicilia made her way over to that table, suppressing the snarl that was already forming on her face...

"Be professional for your job, Cicilia... You don't have to like her... just be nice..."

"So... You've healed up... well." She asked, not bothering to keep the edge out of her voice. "Did you place that letter in my locker?"

Margaux continued to sit patiently, eyeing the window and the rain droplets that ran down against, one drop at a time. Right up until her gaze was stolen by a familiar figure that walked past and stepped into the cafe. From the corner of vision, she watched with an elated grin as those sanguine eyes searched about the place.

The Frenchwoman was perfectly fine with allowing her guest to show some initiative, keeping herself still and indiscrete as she attempted to find her contact. When their eyes finally met, Margaux would meet her admonished glare with a frilly wave of her fingers, inviting the woman over.

Understandably, she seemed less than thrilled to meet with her, but Margaux had quickly adapted to that biting tone of hers. It was almost a relief that she hadn’t simply rushed out of the door as soon as she laid eyes on who she was really supposed to meet with. The elegant pinkette’s posture remained unchanged as Cicilia made her “greeting”. The corner of her mouth crooked up slightly.

“I'm glad I can say something similar to you, Madame De’Rieghnardt. Though, I remember there being more of a...spring in your step.”

She let out a brief giggle but quickly caught herself. Her attempts to ease the atmosphere may have only perturbed Cicilia further if her brief interaction with the juggernaut had given her a clear idea of her temperament. The pinkette instead nodded towards her with a soft smile as her eyes drifted towards the letter in her hand.

“It appears quite genuine, does it not? A substantial amount of effort went into retrieving that from the administration’s archives. Twice as much to siphon a copy and exit the premises before anyone had noticed. A second sooner and someone may have smelled a rat.” She canted her head to the side, her smile growing twice its size as she gazed into those intense scarlet orbs. “Just to give you some sense of perspective as to the lengths I’ve gone through to bring you here. I knew you wouldn’t come willingly with my name attached,” She brought her head upright again. “...but I am hoping we can put all of that behind us, oui?”

She motioned towards the seat opposite her. A full glass of water was already poured, the ice just beginning to melt in the relative warmth surrounding them. A good compliment to any cafe drink.

“Voulez-vous?”

"Bah. Guess who's responsible for that." Cicilia responded harshly as Margaux noted the lack of spring in her step. Truly, there were many things that the German could respect about the insane frenchwoman... Her strength, her speed, her damned durability and her skill at boxing were all excellent... Hell, her up-beat nature might've been nice too if it didn't hide the insane cruelty of a beast that dwelled quietly inside, a spider with the ugliest face once could ever see nestled in it's little web. The fact she respected this woman at all only stoked the fires in Cicilia's heart, the flame of rage...

When she inquired about the letter in her locker, the explanation shocked her and that was shown in her expression... Margaux freely admitted that she went through a RIDICULOUS amount of trouble to forge a document with the sole purpose of bringing her here... She broke into the archives... stole what she needed, forged a letter and THEN placed it in her locker... JUST to have Cicilia sit at the same table with her... She couldn't tell if the damned freak was lying or not... Her smile, as wide and welcoming as that of a shark, revealed nothing... As far as she could tell, Margaux was being 100% serious... Either she was DELUSIONAL in addition to being completely out of her mind... or she somehow had all the connections necessary to make her little plot happen... The evidence was in the letter the German had in her hand... She actually did it...

Cicilia started to laugh... Quietly at first, a small chuckle before it escalated into full-on laughter! That... was so DAMNED crazy, she didn't have a word for it... She knew she should've been outraged, that this woman was obsessed with her to the point of committing a crime just to be in the same room with her but... she just couldn't help but laugh at the sheer insanity of it...

"Heh... Wow. I'm... not sure how I'm supposed to take that." She admitted, shaking her head, trying desperately to bend her smile into a frown.... and failing. Fine. She gave up. This crazy loon had her attention... Margaux gestured towards the chair in front of her and, with only a moment's hesitation, the boxer obliged, setting her self down roughly in the chair across from her. Cicilia could humor her for a little while, she supposed. At least until she finished her mocha. The pinkette said something in french, gesturing towards the cup of ice water before her, Cicilia only shaking her head... Must've been asking if she wanted it... She could only guess with this twisted language...

"What do you want?" The firey German demanded, getting down to brass-tacks. She sipped her coffee. "You risked yourself to get into a room with me now speak."

Though it would never show on her face, there was a genuine hint of relief somewhere in the back of Margaux’s mind when Cicilia allowed herself a moment to laugh at the preposterous nature of this whole situation. This was why the two were here after all. To clear the air. To open up to one another as colleagues pursuing their respective crafts. Why not enjoy a moment of respite, whatever their past transgressions? She may have even laughed along with her.

Although, the Frenchwoman found the situation riddled with hilarity for reasons that differed slightly from those of her German counterpart.

The technical aspects of this whole arrangement were trivial at best for someone of Margaux’s influence. One who had as many connections at her disposal as her may have found themselves scoffing at what they may have viewed as an overreaction on Cicilia’s part. Margaux simply found that amusing, offering a light giggle at the juggernaut’s breakdown. No, she herself felt like collapsing when she sat here and, for but a brief moment, reflected on the last time the two had seen one another. Standing in the middle of the ring, tearing into one another as beasts on a battlefield over the roar of a bloodthirsty crowd. The haze of flashing lights, the burning heat.

Now, where were they? Sitting at a table. Drinking coffee and engaging in delightful conversation on a rainy afternoon. Well, delightful for the pinkette at least.

“Ah. That is something I like the most about you, Cicilia. You are not one for over-embellished formalities or honeyed words.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “No. Right down to business, then. I am here. Now speak!” She said, putting on the deepest voice her delicate lungs could manage. She let the serious expression fade and let out a light chuckle. “Straight to the point. Even when you are far removed from the boxing ring, your remain as forthright as ze bull, gazing at you with those sanguine eyes." She cupped her cheek in her hand, tilting her head slightly as she looked at Cicilia from across the table. "Si effrayant."

A waitress came over with a small, porcelain cup, steaming from the inside. Margaux raised her finger and the woman set down the Frenchwoman’s cocoa, ordered in advance of Cicilia’s arrival. She took a coffee streamer from the woman’s hands and sent her on her way with a warm smile and a slow shoo of her hand before facing Cicilia once again.

“So...I will not mince words.” She poured a quick stream of creamer into her cup before grabbing her spoon, giving it a gentle swirl in the steaming liquid before looking back up at Ciiclia. “I am very impressed with you, Madame De’Reignhardt. And I assure you this is not something I make know absently. Your prowess in the ring is ten-fold. You show no restraint. You have no fear for the battlefield. I posit that even if you were outnumbered dix à un, one would be unable to see any change in resolve.” She stopped swirling the cocoa and cupped her hands, leaning forward and pressing her chin against her knuckles. “You refuse to lose, Cicilia. An attitude such as that is a rare commodity in these times, even less is it found in a body so...durable.” She flashed a gentle smile and leaned back in her chair, grasping her cup by the handle. “You are a woman of infinite possibilities, Cicilia. There is so much here for you to accomplish, so many opportunities for you to grasp. I only wish for you to see them.”

She brought the cup to her lips, took a sip, and set it back down on the table.

“Come work for me. Under my employ.”

Cicilia scoffed as Margaux let her have it with the "That's what I like about you" line as if she knew anything about her. She wouldn't be flattered by the woman who had threatened her girlfriend before their fight. She would not be complimented or brought even an INCH out of the territory of disdain the french-woman had earned in her heart. Such warm, fuzzy words would deflect off of the German's bemused expression, a slight flare of annoyance in her sanguine eyes. Despite her promises to EVENTUALLY get to the point, Margaux just KEPT on talking, complimenting her, remarking how she was all "One-of-a-kind", that her prowess was incredible, yada yada yada. Whatever. She wasn't here to be showered in the praise of a woman she detested. Margaux was a great fighter, but she was the kind of person Cicilia would beat up and throw in the trash behind the school and NOT feel bad about it. The way she fought... It was so cold and merciless in contrast to Cicilia's burning inferno of fists! Margaux was a very sinister and quick icy blade with her attacks where the German was a blazing maul!

Was it any wonder why she hated her...?

Cicilia's eyes would glaze over as Margaux went on and on, schmoozing her, telling her all the nice and cuddly things she thought the boxer would like to hear. She had so much potential... She wanted to see her grow to her best... Blah. Blah. Bloody blah. She sipped her mocha absently as the woman just droned on and on... Only coming back to reality with those last few words spoken. Instantly, as if a switch had been flipped, Cicilia's eyes snapped to attention, locking back onto Margaux's abnormal pink ones with an intense, burning gaze. It was OFFENSIVE that she'd ask for her employment!

Offer me a damn job... Cicilia thought to herself, the words manifesting as a series of soft growls under her breath. Who does she think she is!? Well... that question wasn't hypothetical... Despite the vengeful emotions her offer turred up, She was very curious as to what she was offering... What could she POSSIBLY offer her that would catch her interest...? Oh, she could just see it... Pole dancer. Yeah, something stupid and ridiculous like that just to PISS HER OFF! Oh, or sewage worker. Something on the polar opposite end of the spectrum. She wouldn't put it past this freak. She would probably say it in the most sincere and rational voice she could conjure, even withdrawing forms to sign and everything! Margaux just felt that kind of practical jokster... a twisted, demented clown.

"...What...?" Cicilia said after a short pause, squinting her sanguine eyes at the woman across from her suspiciously. "You are offering me work...? What job could you possibly want to hire ME for?" Here it comes... Let it be good so Cicilia would laugh before she beat this damned woman's ass a SECOND time.

Yes, that was the reaction Margaux had entirely expected. Cicilia’s character seemed entirely composed of acts of defiance. Whether it be denying her opponent the ten-count, or stubbornly ignoring their demands, the woman seemed to have mastered the perfect balance between restraint and confrontation that guided her every movement. There wasn’t any single correct way to approach this offer.

But none of that mattered ultimately. She didn’t require Cicilia to be her friend. If she were a tad more confident in her ability to siphon the manpower, she wouldn’t require the woman’s consent either. Margaux only needed her to see the possibilities before her, something better done seated across a table than talking backstage. She could only imagine how wrong this would have all gone had she simply approached her directly.

She had done her best to not let the German’s mannerisms dissuade her proposal. The Frenchwoman knew that she was listening. And as if to prove that point, the actual offer itself seemed to flip a switch the back of the woman’s mind.

Now that she had her full attention...

“Despite what you make think of me, Madame De’Reignhardt, I do not live in a delusion. I did not come here, and waste precious resources ensuring you came of your own volition, for a laugh at your expense. I have a proposal for you. Please consider it carefully as you would any other.” She leaned back in her seat, placing both hands on the handle of the parasol tucked between her legs. “I am fully aware of the consequences my methods bring to the fore. Violence begets violence. My enemies shall surround me on all sides if gone untempered. The disloyal roused to defy me all the longer. If they are not crushed, they breed like vermin. They must be corralled. Controlled.”

She leaned in, her gaze matching the scarlet eyes across from her. She twirled her parasol by the handle, squeezing her hands.

“I want you to be that force, Cicilia. My sword and shield. My personal guard.” Her smile broadened as she reached over and took a sip of her cocoa. “There will be benefits, of course. Ones that I guarantee your current contract had managed to elude. Better payment, as well.” She brought her hands away from her parasol handle and touched her fingertips together, assessing Cicilia's reaction when it came.

Cicilia listened quietly, sincerely as she was asked too. Indeed, Margaux had her full attention if only out of curiosity, and only got more and more curious as the explanation continued. Slowly, a small, amused smile began to inch along her face, her outrage beginning to transmute into humor. Oh, she completely understood that she was being serious... Deathly, unemotionally serious. And that's what made it funny. The best kind of jokes were when the comedian themselves didn't know what they were saying were jokes.

"Enemies...?" Cicilia inquired almost sarcastically, shaking her head. People didn't HAVE enemies nowadays. There was no need for that. Who had the TIME to make enemies anyway? Between work, life and the unforseeable, one must have either a deep-running blood-fuede with some other family from years past or... they had absolutely no life. Looking at the crazy woman in front of her, Cicilia was starting to think it was the latter. The German lightly rested her elbow on the table and her cheek into her palm as she waited for Margaux's proposal to reach it's climax, the Boxer's smile growing as wide as her own...

She wanted Cicilia... as a body-guard...

It was all said before... in addition to being a shield, she would be her sword, stamping out the "vermin" that would seek to undermine her! Cicilia said nothing for one minute... then two, merely staring into those pink eyes and cutting deep into what passed for a soul. Her smile only kept growing, though a laugh never came. It was... strange... this mix of anger quelled by a blanket of amusement, one keeping the other from growing too strong and manifest as itself on the surface. Steadily, the boxer's grin grew sharp, eventually growing too heavy and fell into a disgusted frown. The Joke was over.

"...I don't work for twisted freak-shows." Cicilia stated, a leaning over the table to get a good and close to her supposed 'potential-employer.' "I don't care if you make me the richest woman in all of japan. I refuse to do your dirty-work." With that, Cicilia got RIGHT up from her seat, turning her back on the french-woman. She paused, however before heading out, glancing over her shoulder with her sanguine eyes practically ablaze. If it were humanly possible, her mocha would've been boiling.

"Ich hoffe, ich sehe dich wieder, Margaux. Also kann ich dich wieder zerquetschen." With a disgusted huff, Cicilia practically stomped out of the restaurant and began a LONG walk home, her head burning... her teeth grinding...

“Freak-show” was a new term that she would have to add to the books. Admittedly, that was one she hadn't come across in her brief time on this Earth. She was more surprised in feeling that term reach her ears than she was in Cicilia’s reaction, truth be told. The juggernaut had proven herself to be a rather...impulsive person.

As her would-be compatriot stood up and made her threats known, Margaux simply looked up at her, stone-faced up until the very end, whereupon she grew a wide smile.

“Auf wiedersehen.” She said, waving at her departing cohort.

The bells above the coffee shop rang out as the angry German stormed through them and out into the rain. Margaux sat silently as she watched her depart, staring forward, becoming like a mannequin in her seat as the crowds of people walked past the window to her side. A minute, maybe two, would pass before the man behind her slowly brought down his newspaper.

An austere individual evidently getting on in some years, dressed in one of his many black waistcoats and an unusually out of fashion morning coat with a matching tie. He had one leg crossed over the other, stretching out his dress pants as he looked down at the paper on his lap, no longer needing its obscuring quality.

“I did warn you that this would happen, madame.” He took a sip of his coffee and gently set the cup back down on the table. “I quite honestly have no idea what you see in that vagabond.”

“I did not know that it was part of your position to know.”

“To a degree, yes.”

Margaux chuckled. “I should have left you in Paree.”

“You’d be an utter disaster without me.” He turned his head slightly to the side, seeing her pink locks just in the corner of his eye. He pulled a phone out of his pocket, brandishing it over his shoulder. “Are we moving forward, then, madame?”

The Frenchwoman stayed still for a moment, then brought her gaze slowly to the window. The corners of her lips twitched, then settled as she took another drink from her cocoa, gazing at the rain as it panged against the glass. “Forward. Always forward, Olivier.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The crowded, rain-slicked sidewalk was hardly the ideal condition for all his planning, but there was only so much time left. From the moment Cicilia left the restaurant, a dark-hooded figure had kept a few paces behind her. His presence muffled by the heavy rain and faceless crowds, his eyes had a gone into a fit of nervousness. He had done this so many times before. Why was now giving him trouble? He looked at her pants, to the hands tucked away in her hoodie, to her back pockets. He kept his gaze on Cicilia for one moment, then to the approaching alley on the next. Time was running out. Where was it? Where was it?

There. The man acted. He abruptly pressed up against her and roughly shoved his hand into the German woman’s pocket. In the blink of an eye, he had the wallet in his hand. Shoving himself away from her, he took off down the alleyway, out of prying eyes and hopefully into a viable escape route. Seeing a chance in the darkness, he would disappear around the corner, long gone and trying desperately to escape the angered woman no doubt chasing after him. At least, that was how it would appear.

In actuality, if the woman came after him, she would find nothing but a fist to the jaw waiting for her once she rounded the corner. By another, slightly taller man waiting to yank her into the alley and throw her in a tumble against the ground. Out of sight, out of mind of the onlookers beyond.

Cicilia stormed out into the rain, her hands shoved deep into her hoodie pockets, her mind alight with rage. She couldn't believe the NERVE of that woman! She threatened Sayumi... cheated repeatedly in their fight... then had the GALL to ask her to beat people up for her!? HA! Not in this damned life time! Let by-gones be by-gones... She was either the most optimistic idiot or the dumbest... The German muttered a great many number of choice words under her breath as she shoved her way to the crowd on the way to the bus station, imagining all the different ways she was going to STRANGLE Margaux the next time they met...

SO deep into her dark fantasies was she that Cicilia didn't notice the ominous hooded figure that trailed her for for a block or so now... or at least she didn't until he literally JACKED her wallet! It all happened so fast... In a blink of an eye, the figure behind her closed the distance, ripped her wallet from her pocket and shoved her down, all the while the German was barely able to pick up what happened! Cicilia sat there in the wet, drenched stone of the side-walk, shocked, unable to believe that she was just pickpocketed...

That moment didn't last, however... A new, darker hatred flared to life, inside of the boxer, outrage that she had been stolen from fueling a drive for revenge! She was still recovering from that match with the French Crazy, but she didn't care! She was MORE than capable of CRUSHING this idiot pick-pocket!

"Mutter Ficker..." Cicilia hissed as she got to her feet and chased over the thief, caring not for the various people she pushed through. "Du hast von der falschen Person gestohlen, Arschloch!"

She trailed the man closely, but she wasn't fast enough to overtake him, blindly following him into a DARK alley! It was moments like these people with a cooler head would've just taken the loss and returned home, plans in mind to deactivate whatever cards they had in their wallet and to inform their significant other of this unfortunate event. Cicilia... was NOT one of those people... and because she wasn't strong enough to overcome her anger... She got a FIST to her jaw!

A strong, and well-aimed punch CRACKED across the German's cheek as she rounded the Alley's corner, snapping her completely out of her rage-induced daze! In fact, it hit SO hard, Cicilia would've fallen on her butt had the hand not reached out from the shadows once more, grabbing her by the collar of her hoodie and dragging her in! Cicilia fell hard on her front several meters within the walls of the confined space, out of sight of any potential help among the crowd of civilians. The German groaned audiably as she brought a hand to her wounded cheek, rising to her feet as fast as her shaky legs would take her. That punch... had REALLY hit her hard... Her surroundings were teetering a bit, her strength was shot momentarily... Her wounded ribs didn't take kindly AT ALL to being thrown around like this... But the Juggernaut did rise... She always rose again.

"Oh.... Ich werde ein Schlammloch in deinen Arsch stampfen und es jetzt trocken laufen lassen!" She vowed... glaring up at her attacker.