Fade To Black

Styx wasn’t paying attention to what Margaux was saying. Not completely. It was more like she was storing the words on a time delay, letting them marinate in the back of her head while she focused on more interesting things.

Things like that smile.

Indignation, annoyance, just straight up not-giving-a-shit, those were the flavor of expressions River had worn up until this point. Now, she had something new for Margaux - curiosity. Something about that look, that twinkle in this woman’s eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was a little hint that she had some intriguing things going underneath the surface. Things that Styx might’ve wanted to step in?

Maybe. Maybe. It tickled Styx’s curious bones enough to get her smirking at least, as she tilted her head ever-so-slightly to the side. A few seconds passed after Margaux was done with speaking, silent seconds as Styx processed.

”Styx. Just...Styx.” That was the first time anyone had ever called her ‘madame’, and she wanted it to be the last. Didn’t much care for the sound. ”And there’s still plenty of clean shirt left to stain, so I’ll take you up on your little offer. As for the other thing…”

Styx stepped forward and leaned Margaux’s way, looming over her, skirting the edge’s of their personal space. She didn’t drop her curious smirk, but she wanted the size and position difference to sink in, too. A primal thing. Two predators in the jungle, measuring each other up, deciding if they’d just pass each other by or see who could make a meal out of the other one.

Styx turned her head to the side and tapped her ear. ”I’m listening. Speak.”

Much to her credit, Styx far from an exceptionally easy woman to read. The typical telltale signs and restrained gestures were nowhere to be seen upon her visage nor in her stance. Any expressions, any hidden impressions that River didn’t allow her to see were quite well-hidden behind that rugged mask, that indifferent demeanor and harrowing glint upon her pupils. This enigma of a woman seemed almost impossible for a moment.

That’s what drew Margaux all the closer. Who could resist? She was a curiosity in the night, a gleaming treasure at the edge of the abyss that only grew brighter as the titan approached, looming over her in all her terrible glory.

River was a large woman. Yes, far from her brightest observation to date, but such a trait was never fully appreciated until one was close enough to feel that mass, to have its force pull in against your very being. At this distance, the six-foot woman may as well have been twenty. Her expanse an eclipse in the pale light of the room. The shadow she cast twisted and molded, the empty space between them thick and heavy, drawing the Frenchwoman in towards her pull. It wasn’t voluntarily, hardly something she noticed before she caught herself. It was a force, a black hole. The pinkette looked up, seemingly drawn in the nothingness, sporting a wide, toothy grin the whole way, her mouth agape in awe.

Ah, best to compose herself. She touched the tips of her fingers together, canting her head to the side as she reeled back her wide smile into a manageable smirk. Truly a sight to behold, this one.

“In addition to ensuring your grand return to the arena, I will happily provide you with certain comforts as your trusted benefactor.” She pulled her hands apart and raised a finger. “Firstly is assistance with living expenses, should that become an issue…” She took one more curious glance around the room, her smile fading a tinge the longer she did. “...though I find such a reality difficult to picture.” She returned her eyes to River, noticing they hadn’t moved a centimeter from when she’d left them. It made smiling again all the easier. “Of greater import is to ensure your success as my patron. To this end, I can ensure several advantages for you. Information on potential adversaries, dossiers on current vendettas, funds for any number of endeavors, be them private pet projects or public appearances, whatever may indeed be stewing in that endless labyrinth I may call your ‘imagination’." She closed her eyes and relished in the thought, smiling contently...until she wasn't. Her gaze turned a stoic grey, wanting her next words to be made clear.

"All of this, of course, bears a tremendous amount of consideration in mind. That you do not disappoint. That you do not waver. Zat you truly are the champion of boundless brutality you claim to be.” Her gaze froze for a moment, her lips thinning out as her gaze turned to the floor, burying her hand in her mouth with muffled speech. Her pink and brown locks fell around her, cloaking her face in relative shade. “...Spartacus? No...not Spartacus. It’s more of...Jeanne. Ah...ha hah hah...my Jeanne D’Arc…” She chuckled into her hand, escalating steadily into an incessant giggle before she finally freed her mouth from her palm and stilled her breath for a moment, crossing her hands over her laps once more as her eyes returned upward.

She clapped her hands together and spread them wide in front of her. “In return, you will be mine.”

Styx had met a lot of odd characters since she came to the AFW, and if she were being honest, she could only say she liked about six of them. Definitely no more than ten. In her experience, the average AFW wrestler was just a glorified circus clown, getting their head bashed in for the masses, wasting their bodies and their time. Idiots, glorified catfighters, weaklings, few of them a challenge, most of them were just little amusements for her to pass the time with.

But Margaux was something different, something else. Exactly what, Styx had been trying to puzzle out. But the more the woman spoke, the clearer it became. The more intricate it become. The more intriguing it become.

Styx listened through it all. Stood there, her eyes focused, reading Margaux as best as she could, taking in what scraps of information there were to be found. She was more than a little crazy, but then again, so was Styx, and if her clothes and demeanor and the way she carried herself were any clues, she wasn’t joking about what she said. River would do more digging on this woman when she had the chance, and if she was full of shit, she’d handle it. But she was willing to bet that wouldn’t be the case.

A benefactor. A hand behind the shadows. Styx rubbed her chin for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling as she digested that idea. She wasn’t crazy about working for someone else, no, but it wasn’t like she was setting the world on fire by her lonesome. Could be the change of pace she needed to kickstart things, make the moves she wanted, and if it all went tits up, well, it wasn’t like she’d signed anything.

Still…

”Okay,” She shrugged and nodded, rolling her tongue about her mouth. ”Okay, I’m down for that. But let me throw an offer of my own your way.” Styx held up three fingers between them. ”I’m in a group, WAR. Me, Jessica Wright, Abattoir. Like-minded, both of them can hold their own in a fight with me. You can get them both and me for this deal. They do what I want. I’ll do what you want. A little squad for you. Works out well.”

Styx’s head drifted to the side and she took a couple of steps around the room, getting another view on Margaux. It was hard to tell with the clothes, the fluffery, all the pomp, but there was a boxer underneath all that. A fierce one. A dangerous one.

”Only caveat is, you have to join WAR. Maybe as sort of an affiliate member, doesn’t have to be a part of everything we do. But when we take on other factions and we need the numbers, you have to get your knuckles bloody. Dig in.”

Styx clapped her hands and spread them out wide in front of her. ”I work for you. Every once in a while, you work with me. How’s that sound?”

Margaux never gambled a day in her life. She was above the practice, found it in poor character, and largely destructive to one’s lifestyle. But what she hated above all was fate. She seized success with her own hands, thrived in the fruits of her own labors. What she couldn’t win, she’d steal. What she wasn't allowed to have, she'd seize by one means or another.

But if she were to reason a guess, this was as close to gambling as one would be permitted to cross before stepping the line into sin. Styx was not a woman that responded well to authority, to being caged. Margaux could empathize, but she had respect for the natural order. Sheep must be corralled, packs must follow their leader. Her host was an enigma in that light. She moved as she pleased, acted as she pleased, spoke as she pleased.  She may have been able to subdue her, indulge in breaking her apart...only...

No. Certain substances were to never touch. Two forces never to meet. Discipline would accomplish nothing but mass destruction. Mutual exchange was the only way forward. And she was surprised to see that River had reached that realization just as quickly, if not sooner. The proposition she laid bare wasn’t wholly unexpected, but the forwardness of it forced her to raise an eyebrow. A ‘faction’? Is that what they called these play clubs around the promotion? She was taken aback, but if her summation of Styx was accurate, then she was seeking to change that mold. The Frenchwoman’s interest sparked, piqued by another, a seemingly small nugget of information that shined like a tucked away trinket.

“Abattoir?” She mouthed to herself, her expression breaking for the length of a momentary glance as the word lingered on her tongue and bounced back and forth across her mind, seeking refuge. She was familiar with Jessica Wright. Her inquiry into the Friction roster had plucked her as a blossoming rose - or, violet rather - amongst the rabble and refuse. More than a few had her slated for a future champion, and Margaux was inclined to agree. Her penchant for violence spoke for itself, only matched by her ambition. But then this curious name floated by and stole her attention. It must have slipped her by in her initial search, but how? Surely, one with such a colorful name possessed some vocation. She was tempted to accept on simple curiosity alone.

The rest of her mind realized the greater promise. She’d been looking to extend her hand in the promotion at some point or another. Seek opportunities and gain insight into the other rosters. Momentum may have been her entrance, but Friction was the main attraction. More funding, more wrestlers, more resources ...more secrets. An ear closer to the ground would have been invaluable, and she was about to gain six, one pair at her beck and call. By all accounts, if she was seeking a footprint, there were no better candidates to make the impression. It should have been a clear answer.

Although...

“Quid pro quo...” Margaux leaned back in her seat and clasped her fingers together, her eyes narrowing slightly as her bemused expression “An interesting proposition, River. Quite tempting. I have in fact yearned in some small degree to contend ze spotlight of Friction.” She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, letting out a delighted sigh. “How my sumptuous appetite may be whetted by a buffet so rich and...lively.” Her eyes remained closed for a moment longer, thinking on the pleasantries and delights that chanced upon her. Her breathing slowed and steadied, her mind piecing together every reality, every possible scream and every cry in defeat. The pools of blood here in favor of the broken bones there. Not a single utterance left the room for a couple moments longer. Not until she opened her eyes, looked back up at the waiting giant, and blinked.

“Unfortunately, I must withhold my decision.” She grabbed her umbrella and stood up, her firm chest grazing the solid counterpart across from her. Her face remained serene and bright, the intensity rolled back a dial. “My time is not so easily bartered, I am afraid.” She strolled off to the side, swinging her umbrella behind her to hold it sidelong against her back as she walked towards the door with slow, idle steps. “My ambitions do not end here in AFW, not even in Tokyo. They stretch to Kyoto, Ibaraki, Fukuoka, Nagoya, Osaka, Tokushima, Okinawa. My web is vast and growing, matters arise and fall with every breath I exhale. If you, in fact, require my skills in addition to my wealth…”

She stopped only a few steps from the doorway, turning on the spot to look towards River, leaning into her stance with a childlike amusement. The corners of her lips stretched from ear to ear, a faint pink glare lingered in her eye “...then I would like to revisit my former offer. A demonstration. One that will be much more... worthwhile this time.”

Styx wasn’t too surprised when Margaux put a question mark behind Abattoir’s name, and she knew that she was more than a little to blame for that. WAR had spurts of activity since she formed them, were well known enough to be a force in the locker room, but they hadn’t made quite the impact she was hoping for. Other groups had risen up and were making the rounds, taking belts, staking claims, and the field was getting more crowded each day. She should’ve done more to get the team out there, done more recruiting, gotten into more fights, even if it didn’t get her to the ring.

That could change now, though. The ship could be righted. She didn’t subscribe to fate, but she knew opportunity when it knocked, and this little arrangement they were working towards? It had that sound to it.

Styx was mulling a few possibilities, when she noticed that Margaux left the room. Oh, not physically - she was still standing there, with her parasol and her silly little outfit. Mentally, though, she seemed to be in another world. One of darkness, destruction, despair, depravity. A place that Styx had been herself, more than a few times.

She waited. Folded her arms as she looked on and let Margaux return to reality. ”Welcome back.” She muttered with a soft smirk before she went on, strolling about the room, heading towards the door. Styx followed after her with the occasional step, never getting too close, but never straying too far, as she gave a bigger impression of the scale she was working on.

It wasn’t too difficult of a concept to get, really. Margaux was a woman who’d stuck her dainty fingers in a lot of pies. She had ambitions. Goals. Styx could tell that the two of them shared similar tastes, that was beyond clear, but they went about satisfying those urges in different manners. Margaux’s time was money, and she wanted to see how far her investment could go. Fine.

She gave Margaux’s proposal exactly one second of thought before she leaned forward and stared into those mismatched eyes with her own dark spheres. ”Who do you want me to break?”

There were moments when Margaux was proud of her fine intuition, in being able to foresee the present and future, the tethers of luck and dismay with such precision that would place the Delphic oracle to eternal shame upon her high tower.  There was such satisfaction in bringing the mass riches seen through her foresight to actuality, just as much as the faces of defeat in a failed attempted to outmaneuver her. The moments were countless and everlasting, indeed some of her favorite memories.

This, however. This isolated pocket in space and time, where nothing existed outside the room beyond the wants and needs of her and her associate to-be. This would have to be one of her crown achievements.

She knew River would agree. If the woman knew nothing else, she seemed to know fighting. Real fighting. But that wasn’t all she knew, was it? The pinkette could see it, the ambition blazing in those dark and terrifying and wonderful eyes. A conqueror strong in mind and body, just as all Greats. Margaux couldn’t recall a time she was genuinely impressed, not since the Good Doctor suddenly appeared and entered her life with lock and key in hand. She thought she had met the only woman left in the world with which she could call her ambitions “shared”, someone she could call a counterpart. A peer. An...equal?

Doubtful...

...though there was one way to know.

Styx’s question lingered in her ears for a moment after it had already left the room around them. The left side of her face twitched slightly. It was always the first to attempt to smile, but she kept her composure a second longer. She needed to in order to get her coat off. The Frenchwoman brought her gloved hand to the lone button at her chest, unclasping it with a single pinch of her thumb. She tossed her umbrella aside, letting it fall beneath the television as her hands went to her coat. With a single flourish, she slipped her regalia off, letting it drape down towards the floor behind her back as her impeccable upper body revealed itself over her corset. The contours on her shoulders and back defined themselves in the motion, every perfect ridge and soft yet hewn trace in her arms. Every slight twitch revealed another ounce of muscle, every slight motion another inch of sinew and stone. The coat draped behind her, tethered by the grip of one hand before she tossed it carelessly to the side.

The whole way, her eyes never left Styx. They watched the beast’s gaze, not failing to miss even a second of the fire brewing behind her eyes. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, razor sharp and stark white fangs glistening in the dying light, complemented only by the intense and harrowing gaze in her pink and brown orbs as they narrowed and throbbed at the center.

“Try.”

Styx sort of saw this coming. The more that she and Margaux interacted, the more she was starting to see the similarities between them. Oh, it wasn’t anything too tangible - after all, she’d only just met this woman, and all her talk about operations and scope and goals could have been bullshit. But she could tell from the little things - the way she moved, the way she talked, that deadly spark in her eyes, the curve in her smile - that they were on the same page. In the same book, at least.

The other two current members of WAR had one thing in common: they’d both fought Styx. It was sort of an unofficial rite, bordering on mandatory, and she’d considered pressing Margaux for it before this became official. It was good to see she didn’t need to bother. Right to the point. Liking this, so far.

When Margaux began stripping, Styx went about her own business, moving some things about the room, getting her sparse furniture out of the way with the practiced ease that could only come from having done this multiple times. Her little home away from home wasn’t the coziest spot, but it served her purposes, and this was one of them. Strong walls. Soundproof, more or less. Enough room to move, but not enough to run.

She was familiar enough with the layout that she didn’t need to look away from Margaux as she moved, her memory more than sufficient to get the job done. She scanned the Frenchwoman as the Frenchwoman scanned her, likely searching for the same things - any signs of fear, weakness, doubt. She didn’t find any. Here was a woman who was confident in her abilities and thirsty for the fight, hungry to sink her teeth into something with real meat. With good reason, too - while she lacked Styx’s size, her body was impressive all the same. Tight, compact muscle. Sinewy, strong. Barely any fat to make notice of.

The body of a boxer, a brawler, a breaker.

She finished up just as Margaux tossed her jacket aside, standing before her potential partner, matching her devilish smile with a small, wicked smirk of her own. Styx was calm and cool, her eyes half-lidded, but her muscles tensed and her heart began to race. Waitng. Waiting…

The moment - the exact instant - Margaux spoke and made it official, Styx’s entire demeanor changed. Rage, fury, and fire hardened her features, as she reeled back, lifted her leg out, and shot her big boot towards Margaux’s chest with all of her weight behind, looking to launch her across the room in a single blow.

The silence was often maddening, all the more so in the final seconds before a fight. Before crimson and viscera and conflict was the only sound like roaring thunder heard remote.

The blood was flowing, the flesh fluid and alive. Sinew and tendon, bone and arrow screaming out from the inside for something, anything that might see sanctuary...but all were met with silence. The deafening horror of tension rising, of strategies forming, of the long quiet before the storm. All the worse in this soundproof room as still as death, with the scent to match. It pounded and pounded inside of Margaux each and every second before the end of introductions, before the long walk to the center, before the ring of the bell. It was torture of the highest order.

Styx surely felt something similar. The instant Margaux made her declaration, she found herself breathless.

Her heels skidded across the ground, her feet nearly leaving the floor as Styx’s stiff kick propelled her smaller body nearly halfway across the room. The wall stopped her from going any further, but not for lack of trying. The deteriorating ceramic chipped at her bare back, a thin cloud of dust and plaster taking shape over her back as she slumped to a squat, just barely able to keep herself from falling over. Her legs wobbled, biting against the shock.

But Margaux knew the real reason. The taste of power, the demonstration of strength and the lack of hesitation to deliver it. Excitement and temptation shot through the Frenchwoman’s veins, unable to stifle the rapid beat of her heart.

Margaux let out a deep breath as she slowly began to push herself upright, her manic smile and distant stare focused forward on the berserker set to tear her asunder. She braced for the annihilation to come, clenching her fists tightly.

Styx’s reaction was instantaneous - she was let off the leash, and she attacked. In part, it was because she’d expected Margaux to be going in this direction, anyway. The woman was a fighter, clearly, and while she couldn’t know what business she got up to outside the ring, it was probably a safe bet that she wasn’t a stranger to fighting beyond the ropes. Sending someone else in would never do - no, she’d have to sample the merchandise herself before she made a purchase.

Styx was the same way. Would’ve the same, if the positions had swapped. Granted, she wouldn’t have made such a show of it, but Margaux had more of mind for theatre. To each their own.

The other part, though, was the mere anticipation. Margaux wanted her worked up, had been stoking the fires since they first met, and when she made it clear what this was all about, the results were explosive.

There was no pause in between Styx’s first attack and her movement for the next - after the kick, most would’ve taken a second to assess their opponent, see what they should come with next, make sure they weren’t leaping into a trap. Styx didn’t have the taste for that sort of subtlety, came in charging after her foe as soon as her foot touched the floor.

Styx’s was no sprinter, couldn’t keep up with most wrestlers in a foot race, but she was capable of summoning a good burst of speed when she had the need. This was one of those times. She came towards her potential partner with a long, swift stride, closing the gap she’d made as the room’s air rushed away at her sides. She could’ve thrown punches, kicks, knees, but she opted for something a bit more direct, instead - turning her body to the side, she simply rammed into Margaux’s guard with her shoulder, combining her weight and momentum to create a natural battering ram, looking to test both the woman in front of her and the wall she was backed up against.

Margaux had been slowly piecing together her expectations from the moment she saw River take the sands, but there was more to it than that. There was always more, no matter how hard she tried. She watched intently, locked in a trance as she thrashed her opponent around like a grizzly through a stream, savoring the splotches of blood fleeing from the poor girl’s face as it was battered and bashed beyond all recognition. Her toes curled in her seat, her legs crossed together.

Styx could have denied her at any point; the two either walked away or she made good on that lovely promise with her umbrella. It didn’t matter. It was always going to be this way, one way or another, whether either knew it or not. Something churning inside of her stomach burned, compelled it.

She had to break River Styx.

The feeling appeared mutual. For her size, River moved shockingly swift with purpose, a rhino on the savannah tearing through any and all. Margaux stared those hollow eyes down as they raged toward her. She enjoyed the sight in all its glory, for that was all she could do. River didn’t give her any time to respond. The instant she thought of moving was the instant she found Styx’s shoulder in her sternum. She slammed into the wall, pinned there as her feet dangled helplessly above the floor. More pieces of the wall exploded out from behind her in confetti of plaster and shards that cut at her back and sides. Dust spilled to the floor and caked the boots of her finery. Her body struggled against the shock, then slackened. Lifeless. Still.

...and then her head snapped back up, a wicked smile stretching from ear to ear across from her face. She reached out and grabbed the back of Styx’s head, as good a grip as she could afford with a head like hers. She brought her head as close as possible to swung her fist, again and again, smashing her face to smithereens. One hook, two straights, one uppercut, another straight. The fair maiden gave as close a demonstration of her boxing prowess as the divine would allow.