Seren Morgan vs. Abattoir - A Dark Place

Match Type: Hardcore
Victory Conditions:Victory by pinfall, submission, or KO

***

Who the hell was Seren Morgan?

The short answer: Seren Morgan was some woman that River Styx’s compatriot/teammate/best friend/fuckbuddy had gotten into a fight with not too long ago. That, in and of itself, wasn’t too noteworthy. Jessica was getting into fights with random people all the time. It was kind of her thing. Hell, that was how the two of them met, getting into a brawl over a card game and wrecking up the back room of a bar. It was one of the reason that Styx liked her so much, behind her attitude, fighting ability, her awesome tits, and a willingness to let her bum food from her fridge every so often.

Styx wouldn’t have normally cared too much about Seren Morgan, but then she heard the way that Jessica described her. ‘Crazy’ was the word that seemed to pop up most often in the conversation, along with descriptions of her strange look, her swift, but dirty fighting style, and her obsession with a damn doll, of all things. She’d been able to fight even with Jessica, more or less, and that was no mean feat. That warranted investigation, and there was only one proper way Styx could think to get her measure: a match.

It took some finagling - a few threats here and there, one of which she actually had to make good on in a secluded locker room - but Styx was able to get a match. Not with herself and Seren, as much as she would’ve been down for it. She was still in the doghouse for putting Silver Ace on the shelf for a while, suffering under an informal suspension.

But Abattoir? She was good. It had been a little too long since the ‘A’ in WAR had a proper match to cut her teeth on, with the both of them having to get by with underground bouts to stay sharp. From the sound of Seren, this would be the perfect opponent to step back into the real ring with.

Styx got to see what Seren was about, and if she disappointed, fuck her up for touching Jessica and for wasting her time.

Abattoir got a real opponent, which was one of the reasons she hung around Styx in the first place.

So, here they were. After having just made their shared entrance to the usual wave of boos and jeers, Styx grabbed a chair from under the ring and sat off near the timekeeper’s booth, sitting back with a bag of popcorn she’d swiped off some guy on the way to the ring. Abattoir, on the other hand, was inside the ring, doing some light stretches as her music began to die down.

She didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear the crowd. Didn’t hear any of it. All she really heard was a voice, deep down, calling to her. Something she hadn’t heard for a long while, dark and dormant, hoping it would have a chance to rise back up tonight. Unlike Styx, she’d tried to do some deeper digging into her opponent before this match, though all she’d managed to turn up was her one victory in the AFW so far. Still, that one match intrigued her - not because she’d won, but how she’d won.

Victory via ref stoppage.

Yes. There was potential, here.

A small metallic slat was pulled to the side, clanking against the stopper. The small rectangular opening did very little to illuminate the room, but it had been enough illuminate the ground of her feet and cast a glow on her torn and dirtied pants legs. The light faded as something moved in front of it. She could make out the odd bending of light that looked to be a pair of glasses... someone was looking in at her.

A faint exchange of words in Japanese, she was unfamiliar with what was being said. After a few more moments of back and forth, one of the voices addressed her in crisp English. "Ms. Morgan. I am here on behalf of Mr. Sinclair to secure your release. They are currently finalize your paperwork now. Are you okay?"

What an interesting question. It had been three days since her arrest. She hadn't been made aware of time, or even seen the sun to confirm it. Her only marker was the hard futon laid out for her every evening and the one paltry meal of a handful of cold rice and a hard boiled egg.  When she wasn't made to stand in her cell, she had been held down, restrained, and interrogated for hours as to the identity of the woman in the park as well as her reasoning for assaulting an officer. They had been nice enough to actually shout at her in English, which was a pleasant change. She hadn't told them anything, of course. Even if she had all the information they wanted, she still wouldn't tell them anything. While the faces and places changed, the conditions better or worse, this was far from the first time she had been caged.

"Ms. Morgan? You understand me, correct? I was informed you do speak English. Are you okay? The officers informed you you received head trauma during the arrest and have not been properly treated."

"Yes." She muttered in an annoyed huff. She would have thought with time alone with just them, that a new voice would be a welcome one. She couldn't help but feel she was wrong. The mock concern in this man's force was sickening. He didn't know her. He didn't care about her. She was a means to fill his pocket by asking as a proxy mouthpiece for a man she never saw. Had there not been a door between them, she may have lashed out. It was hard to tell. The urges had been rather nagging with all this time at the mercy of her twisted mind.

"We're all set." The slat in the door clicked shut before she hurt the familiar clinks and clanks of latches coming undone and locks being opened. She squinted at the harshness of the light flooded into her cell, not bothering to raise one of her hands to shield herself. She trudged slowly to the opening, stopping just outside to turn to face the officer accompanying the attorney who had come for her. It was a familiar face, one that had been there every day she had been interrogated and every night when the futon was tossed into the cold damp cell.

Her chapped crackled lips parts in a wide grin as she leaned in close, and they in turn inched back. "I'll remember you. I promise." She hissed softly with the tail end of her sentence. The attorney reached out, nearly laying a hand on her shoulder, but he paused and lowered it. he had likely been instructed not to lay a finger on Seren. A a good precautionary bit of advice his handler must have given him. She went willingly as they moved away, heading down the long corridor to collect her personal effects.

The holding cell officer watched the two depart quietly, unable to shake the cold chill entangling his spine. He took a deep breath, peering back into the solitary holding cell. They had made her scrub it clean the the first night, but every time they had left her for too long, it had returned. They had just decided to let it remain until she was gone. He shook his head, not wanting to be left alone for too long here. Across every wall in different style of handwriting was scrawled  "Marilyn Monroe", once in the sanguine ink of Seren's own creation, now a dull crusted brown-black hue from days of neglect. The officer banished it all back to darkness as he sealed the door back up, hoping to forget.

---

I Can't Fix You - The Living Tombstone:

Seren Morgan:

As the sounds of a winding down music box hit the speakers the crowd fell deathly silent, little more than murmurs. One by one the lights in the area snapped out leaving it in complete darkness for but a moment. There was an occasional flicker of light along the stage and ramp, the infrequent strobe effect cutting on and off which gave her the appearance of closing sudden distance each time she was visible. Behind dragged a long bike chain of what appeared to be chibi dolls two of which seemed specially designs to represent particular people curly haired blond doll, a bundled up doll in a bright red sweater with violet hair, and what looked to be a little police officer with its eyes sewn into Xs.

Her music blared, bass thumping through the speakers like a beating heart obscuring the rattle of the chain as the small plushie creations bounced and dragged across the grating. She received no jeers, nor cheers. A deathly silence from onlookers who seemed all too aware her matches sometimes spilled out into the crowd and hadn't always ended well for those in her warpath be them other wrestlers or fans. hand in hand with her as always was Baby, a larger doll than the others, droopily sagging in her gasp as she moved along the ramp.

As she reached the edge of the ring, the strobe gradually slowed as Seren stopped to stare at Abattoir with sunken unblinking eyes. On one side of her face was faint off color splotches, the remains of some freshly healing burn that almost seemed to be gone. Fresher was the stitching her in scalp, obscured by her wild unkempt hair. She watched her opponent with interest, head tilting to the side at a steep angle almost birdlike in nature. There hadn't been much time for the two to share with eyes fixated on one another until both her music and the lights died completely. When the house lights came back up, Seren stood in the ring as if she had been there the whole time, in the same exact position she had been in when the lights went out. She remained this way for some time, taking in the odd sight of the woman before her, like so many others, interested in her choice of face gear.

She moved back with a surprising spring in her step, heading off to a far corner. removing the chain from her thigh belt, she arranged Baby and the chibi's neatly in the corner as if they were a small audience, her adoring fans. The way in which they were staged was meticulous, needing to be just right until she was satisfied. Rising back to her full height, she hadn't bothered to return back to the middle of the ring. There was no real point. Days she had been pent up, before her cell, it had been weeks since AFW had shackled her with rules. This though, this was her playground now. No rules. No stopping. No mercy. She was looking forward to making Abattoir the newest member of her collection.

”Hm.”

Abattoir generally tuned out during her opponent’s entrances, preferring to temporarily go to a happy place where her eardrums weren’t be assaulted by whatever pop music her foe chose to come out to. Her own music tastes were eclectic, but she tended to prefer them on the dark, deeper, less ear-scratching side. Without dubstep.

The sugary, saccharine music that came out of the speakers next was an odd choice. The woman who accompanied that music was odder still

Abattoir looked on and uncanny silence came over the arena, hailing her foe’s slow, shadowed strut towards the ring. It was hard to make her out, flickering in and out view, but the nak muay could tell that Seren wasn’t coming alone to the ring. Something was trailing behind, dragged along the floor like an ungainly tail, and she couldn’t tell exactly what until the lights came on and she materialized inside the ring.

Plushies. This woman was dragging dolls around.

Their two heads tilted to the side in unison as they both took the time to look each other over with keen, quiet interest. Abattoir wouldn’t say she liked Jessica - she wouldn’t say she liked anyone, really - but she did respect the woman’s strength and wrestling prowess, enough that it made her curious how Seren had been such a thorn in her side. She wasn’t poorly built, but her build was much closer to Abattoir’s than a bruiser like Styx. A speedier type? A high-flyer? Submissions? Strikes?

Questions she pondered as Seren went about her strange business, taking off her dolls and setting them in the corner, creating her own, personal audience and giving them the best seat in the house. Her right eyebrow raised a couple of inches at the sight, but she lowered it soon after. Strange, yes, but she wasn’t one to judge such things, and she’d been in the AFW long enough to know eccentricity didn’t mean much to skill.

Could she fight? Was she worthy? Would this be a good battle to sink her teeth into, after waiting so long? The only questions that mattered right now.

Abattoir had stood stockstill as Seren finished things up, but she resumed movement the instant the bell rang - though it wasn’t much. Tempting as it was to move in quick and start aggressive, she was going against an unknown quantity, and that warranted caution. Instead of taking the stance of her style, she raised her arms in a more traditional grappling stance and came towards Seren with slow, measured steps, wanting to see how this queer woman would react. She would save the heavier artillery until she knew where to properly apply it. Until then? Reconnaissance.

From the sidelines, Styx looked on, arms folded, rubbing her chin, not sure what to make of all this. Seren was either on the crazy side or doing a good job of faking it for effect, but then again, she could say about the same thing for Abattoir. It would make for an entertaining brawl, if nothing else, and it cemented her decision to just sit back and watch. For the time being, at least.

She also couldn’t help but notice that one of those dolls bore a striking resemblance to a certain Violent Violet, and she doubted that Abattoir failed to notice it, either. There was a lot of weird in that ring.

”Hm.”

It wasn't out of the ordinary for Seren to go for long stretches of time without much sleep. Though, when she knew she would need to be physically active, it became more of a priority but was never something she was assured. Still, slumber was something that often times eluded her. She could lay herself down and close her eyes, but it only really came when it wanted. It hadn't come to her much this last week. Between her three nights spent under the less than charitable roof of the NPA and one day of recovery in which she had received very little comfort laying face down in a couch for half of it, it was safe to say she was a bit unhinged at the moment. That wasn't to say she was ever truly in a great state of mind, but that wasn't something to really be discussed outside of a psychiatrist office. Despite the lingering fatigue, she felt more lively than usual, something about being locked up for several days getting screamed at by people she couldn't maim had left her a bit riled. Who would have thought. Luckily for Abattoir, The Doll Maker would more certainly be a worthy challenge. Unluckily for her, she intended to take out her pent up frustrations on the masked stranger.

She hadn't blinked once since stepping into the ring, the only time her sunken eyes had even left Abattoir was when she had positioned her cheerleaders, along them the most prestigious Marilyn Monroe. The connection between her opponent, the woman ringside, and Jessica was one she wasn't aware of. While it ultimately wouldn't have helped the woman, it may have provided the two of them with a slightly more lively exchange before the match began. As it stood, the only think she wanted from Abattoir was her blood, her screams, and possibly that mask she wore. Not that she had much interest in the mask itself, but what was beneath it had been a thing of interest she wished to revisit once she had broken the girl thoroughly.

The ring bell pierced the arena air, leaving her to watch as Abattoir as the woman sank into a rather uninteresting grappling pose. Disappointing, but not something she was willing to discount just yet. She had faced others who failed to live up to expectations until they had been pushed. While she wanted a bit more from someone as intriguing looking, she was willing to give  the girl time. Heel to toe she slowly made her approach, arms outstretched to either side as if walking a tightrope. It seemed no matter how straight her posture, her head was always slightly off center giving her the appearance of moving at an odd angle. While it may have been hard to hear, she was humming softly, a melody that sounded as if it were more welcome at a ballroom waltz or a jewelry box tune that played as a small ballerina figurine twirled slowly.  Before she had even gotten half way to her opponent, she broke off, tilting to the side like a human airplane to duck out under the top rope and drop to the floor. Gripping the apron, she hoisted the advertisement laden cloth up, rooting around under the ring for something of worth.

Additional ring ropes? Too unwieldy. Metal framework? Welded on. Tables? No. Chairs? Boring.

This will do.

Seren withdrew a pry bar from underneath the ring. Why was it here? Likely as a took to assist tightening up the turnbuckle rigging past the limitations of human hands. She was going to give it a new use here tonight however. She held it firmly, familiarizing herself with the surprising weight behind the dense metal tool. She threw the apron cloth up, letting it flutter dramatically back to it's natural resting place as she rose up again, eyes flicking over the arena to find her target and begin to slowly stalk her way over. She was still humming, she hadn't stopped this whole while.

The two of them squared off, Abattoir’s knuckles tensed, she started to move forward with the intent to engage. There was something unmistakably queer about the way she moved, the dead look in her eyes, and was that humming she heard? The nak muay grew more cautious with each step, not having the faintest clue what would happen when they met, but looking forward to the surprise.

Insted, she got nothing.  Fucking nothing.

Abattoir looked on, understandably surprised when her opponent seemingly abandoned the meeting and made for the ropes. Having a foe run away from her wasn't a completely new experience, but that most often occurred after she’d done something. Never before. Her first instinct was just to stand there and let her go wherever she was going - Abattoir would either avoid chasing Seren around for no good reason or keep herself from falling into a trap. Sensible, either way. The high ground was hers, why lose it.

She rethought that choice when she sussed out exactly what Seren was doing, however. Her eyelids narrowed and her brow furrowed when the apron went up. Not an uncommon sight in a hardcore wrestling match. But so soon? Before they had even touched each other?

Sure. Okay. She was game.

Abattoir made her way to the opposite side of the ring, ducked down, and promptly rolled underneath the ropes, making her way to the outside without a single wasted motion. She tossed the skirt up and rooted about as Seren mirrored her on the opposite side of the ring, getting startled, but pleased shouts from the audience, along with the obligatory chants.

”WE WANT TABLES! WE WANT TABLES!”

They would not be getting tables. Not yet. Abattoir was more of a mind to find a striking weapon, but the choices were lacking on her side. Fire extinguisher? Too clumsy. Kendo stick? Not enough bite. Dildo? Absolutely not.  She was about to settle for a chair - boring was better than empty-handed - when her eyes caught something more interesting, just off to the side.

When she let the skirt fall back down, she was brandishing a length of chain, around six feet long, solid steel. She had some of it wrapped around her fist, clenched tight for a decent blugeon, while the rest dragged at her side, clinking along as she walked. She could see that Seren had found an interesting little toy herself. A crowbar? Not a bad choice. Likely what Abattoir would’ve gone for if she’d rolled that way.

She made her way around the ring, watching Seren from the corner of her eye as they neared each other, never letting her leave sight for a single second. As she neared her foe, she began to spin the chain about at her side, building momentum with every turn, but she didn’t strike quite yet. Instead, she hung back a few steps, daring Seren to move inside her range.

Closer. Just a little closer...

As The Doll Maker traversed the area outside the ring, she hadn't taken a clear path, instead zigzagging haphazardly in the bountiful space she was allotted. Her sung his arm loosely, dragging the prybar along the barricade as she lingered closer to the crowd. Those familiar with her had readily backed themselves away from the divider, not looking to be included as previous audiences had been in her matches.

Styx hadn't escaped her notice. Eyes briefly locked on the popcorn shoveling woman, bringing a single digits to her lips to gesture a 'shhh’ motion to her as if she was being sneaky. Her hollow eyes found their way back to Abattoir as the two finally shared the same side of the ring.

She could appreciate her opponents choice of weapons, recalling fondly her time with the demon and the work she had done with a chain of slightly more length. It was an unwieldy weapon, using it as she was, she didn't have much to worry about past the initial attack. At face value, Seren was at a disadvantage due to her lack of range… or was she?

She quickened her pace, leaning in a bit as she closed distance. She brandished the prybar as a club, ready to swoop in and swing the tool like a bat. Though, she snapped her arm forward before she was anywhere close enough letting the weapon loose at Abattoir’s head. The pry bar twirlee through the air in a blurred circle, threatening real damage before their fight had begun. As much of an assault as it was a distraction, Seren used the thrown weapon as cover to dash in on her foe to close distance before the chain could be put into play.

Coming in fast, Seren threw out a wild low kick towards Abattoir’s legs, attempting to circle step in the same momentum to catch the back of the girl’s knee and sweep her leg out from under her. She had her own plans to make this woman regret her choice of her weapon specifically how she held it. If Seren had floored the woman with either attack, her prime directive would be to stomp down her heel on the hand the other woman had wrapped in the chain, trying to use the links to crush her own hand.

So far, Styx was enjoying this. Granted, not much of anything had happened so far, but she liked the promise she was seeing her with the little details. The way the crowd seemed to instinctively back away at Seren’s approach like frightened sheep with a wolf on the other side of the fence, the way she held that pry bar like she was ready to lodge it in Abattoir’s skull, even that little ‘shush’ as she passed by, which Styx responded to with a thumbs up - no way was she going to ruin the surprise.

It all pointed to Seren being, maybe, just a little crazy, as if her entrance wasn’t evidence enough. The AFW could use a bit more crazy in it.

Abattoir, on the other hand, was too busy thinking about Seren’s potential approach to consider such things. The reach was hers, and she was confident that she could either whip her foe before she got close, or evade and bring the chain down on her afterwards. What happened next would depend on her unspeaking foe, and if she fell into the ‘weird, but not stupid’ category.

As it turned out, she did.

That little fact was proven when Seren took a third option that, in hindsight, she should’ve expected: hurling the prybar at her, full force.

That was fine for her, really. She had good enough reflexes to duck. The man behind her, who’d been leaning over the barricade for no good reason? He wound up taking it. Right in the face, too. Nasty. Blood and everything.

Abattoir spared a glance his way, and that was where she made her mistake, as Seren closed the gap with staggering alacrity. With her opponent charging, she took a step back, enough to avoid the low kick, but not the followup that came after it. A kick so fast and strong that it took the legs out from under, planting her back on the floor a moment later.

A mixture of sharp reflexes and a dash of luck were the two things that saved Abattoir from having a crushed hand, moving it just out of the way when Seren brought her heel down, but she knew that wouldn’t be good enough, that more attacks from above would be incoming soon. With that in mind, she lifted up and threw a quick jab in her opponent’s knee with her chained fist, not just to hurt, but to buy her time as she rolled away and tried to get back to her feet.

Seren, despite what one might think, was lucky to have and her opponent dip down past the flying pry bar. Having only just secured her release from the Japanese government, it would have been a shame if the length of the tool had pierced Abattoir’s skull and ended their match early. What a sight that would have been through. Those dark defiant eyes glazing over as she witnessed life leave a twitching husk behind… the hapless bystander who had taken the blow had been lucky to escape with what would amount to a few missing teeth, though their fate was of little consequence to her.

The trap had been laid all the same, giving her the means and opportunity to take away her opponents largest advantage in her range. She was already on the masked woman, far faster than she appeared. Lips pulled tight in a unpleasant smile as her wide sunken eyes looked down at her hungrily. There was no rewarding sting or cries of pain. Abattoir was fast managing to evade her yet again, but only slightly. She swept the woman off her feet and brought her boot down to lay waste to the girl's fingers, only to miss again.

This early into a match, these flighty movements keeping her opponent safe were actually not a bother to her in the least. Oh no, far more enjoyable was it when her foe skittered about, clinging to the fight. The only thing she felt that was missing was hope. This woman, she stared into her vibrant crimson eyes and saw little beyond them. It was perfect...

A kindred spirit of one broken and reformed into something greater than the sum of their parts. It was almost like looking into a mirror… she longed to put her fist through this woman and watch the cracks ripple outward until she shattered into a million pieces. Would anyone put her back together if they could?

Did she feel? Did she fear? These were questions she desperately wished to know about her newest playmate. Simply asking wouldn't do. She had to see it for herself. Sinister machinations swirled about the dark recesses of her mind envisions all the ways she could pick this woman to pieces to see who she really was. Beyond the dark brooding clothing, past he mask, under her skin… the festering insides no one else dared to witness.

Quick.

Abattoir's chained fist buckled her leg, forcing her down to one knee. Rather than a grunt or cry of pain, a small laugh escaped the doll maker even as pain gripped her body. She made no move to stop the woman from rolling away, she had other plans that required it. Her fingers curled around the end of the chains length, the side the girl hadn't grabbed hold of, letting Abattoir's gain some distance.

When the chain had almost reached it's full span, she stood back up, wrenching it as hard as she could to let it snap it's metal links around the other girl's body where in coiled in her retreat. She would yank hard, over and over, clutching it hand over hand to reel her violently back to her. Her pulls were hard and intermittent, intentionally done this way to make it difficult for the other girl to unwrap the chain from her hand. It wasn't often she watched her foes shackle themselves for her, she was going to savor this moment when the girl was close enough to stomp a boot down over her rebreather.

On the floor, rolling away from her opponent, narrowly avoiding a blow that might’ve left her without a significant chunk of her skull, not to mention one that would’ve left her fingers demolished - no, this was not the ideal way to start a match in Abattoir’s mind. Their fracas had only just started, and Seren was already proving to be more of a problem than she’d anticipated, going for crippling blows far earlier than most would’ve attempted.

Smart thinking, something she could appreciate, and something she would employ herself, if given half a chance. If.

Would she get that half-chance? It depended on how quickly she was able to get back to her feet and how much distance she could put between the two of them. So far, that seemed to be a surprising success, with her foe too hurt from the strike on her leg to come after her right away. She had a target now, something to work with.

That temporary moment of relief turned to ash, however, when her rolling came to an abrupt stop, far sooner than she intended. At first she was confused, thinking the chain had got caught on something, and that wasn’t far from the truth - she just hadn’t expected that something to be Seren’s hand.

Abattoir knew what would be coming next. All she had to do was imagine what she would do in the same situation. But knowing the future and changing it were different things, and was far too late for the latter. She made an attempt at it, sure, but she was only able to get up to her knees before the chain yanked her forward. It was all she could to do follow along with every tug, growing closer. Abbatoir was forced to crawl on her knees, like she was a humble follower moving towards a vengeful god, begging for forgiveness.

That wasn’t her. That was never her.  There was one higher being she claimed, and base worship wasn’t something he desired. He demanded sacrifice, pain, and blood, all things she promised to deliver with this match.

While she couldn’t get her arm free, she had two working legs to use, and they would have to do. She waited until just after one of Seren’s forceful tugs, then pulled her legs in and planted a foot on the floor, pushing up as quickly as she could. Abattoir threw her body forward with a shoulder tackle, looking to slam into Seren at full force and bring them both to the floor. Sloppy, inelegant, clumsy, but better than being hauled about like a dead animal.

The role of arbiter had be turned on its head. The former condemned freed from her prison now oversaw her opponent within the ring, drawing her ever closer to rend her judgement. Unlike those who caged her here, there was to be finality between these two. A perfect end in which one of them lay bloodied and broken, she shook with excitement with each rattle and tug of the chain. Within her corner, her tiny audience swelled, the anticipation had reached them as well. She could hear their cheers and chants calling for more pain, more violence, more blood.

“Play nice? ...cute.” The doll maker mumbled to herself with a faint smirk. It almost seemed she was speaking to someone else, because she was. It had been a simple worried request to not push herself too hard. It was fine though. Seren didn't need to worry about such things. As Abattoir took some semblance of control back by finding footing on her hands and knees, Seren’s lips parted into a wide grin. Her tongue rolled over one of her canines, her opponent was almost close enough to touch now.

Seren was poised to strike when her opponent took the initiative to attack first. Seren grunted and her opponent slammed into her, throwing her off her feet to slap against the lightly padded ringside floor. The chains in her hands rattled as she tried to promptly loop it around Abattoir's skull, jerking the two ends of the length together in a criss cross to tighten the metal and constrict her head.

The doll maker would attempt to leverage her chain assisted headlock, wrenching her arms to the side to attempt to throw the other woman off her. Rather than attempt to roll the two of them and switch positions, she would opt to remain separate and instead try to drag the chain down the girl's face to try to wrap it around her far more sensitive throat instead.