Gaining Momentum - Madison Kelly vs. Margaux LeFeuvre

Margaux had cornered many a fierce serpent in her rambunctious childhood. Trailing the dense forest surrounding her town absent supervision were some of her fondest memories. There was one den hidden beneath a great oak that she loved to frequent. “Expeditions” she liked to call them, to the pit of slithering. Snakes enjoyed baring their fangs, steering off all manner of danger with their sickly hiss and sharp, piercing eyes.

It all served to betray their weakness. When one withstood the bite, strengthened past the venom and the crying of their own body, all it took was a simple touch. Grasp past the teeth, pin the head, and see it become little more than a worm, festering through muck and corpses.

Madison was a wily viper, zipping left and right, tagging the Frenchwoman at every attempt. She had a ferocious bite, to be sure. On any other occasion, with Margaux being the observer than the competitor, she may have taken a curious delight in seeing this petite pugilist dispatch the hopelessly unprepared into an early, satisfying knockout.

But as things stood, Madison had to be punished. The smack from her glove echoed, a slight grin overtaking Margaux’s features. A good start, but she needed more. Far more.

There were many ways she could have chosen to follow-up on the slight window she’d opened for herself. She could have slipped around and evaded her sight, looking for an opening. She could have bobbed and weaved as Madison had, attempting to disorient her from behind her guard. Instead, the pinkette chose the path she favored most, the path of the highest excitement: forward. The newcomer may have been strong, but she was far from unbreakable. Of that, Margaux was sure.

Margaux chased. Hounded. She loved that word. She hounded the little princess Margaux didn't attempt to get around her guard. Didn't need to, didn't want to. Like a human woodpecker, she honed her strikes and focused squarely towards the center of her arms with one sharp jab after another. Step by step, inch by inch, she'd wear those arms away, crack the shell open like a nut and feast on its delectable innards when it finally yielded. She wanted to tear through that guard, to see that petite little face once more and refashion an even greater beauty.

Not so fast. Not so fast, little thing.

She had expected more. That stiff hook had been a fraction of what Margaux could do, she was sure of it. Playing it safe had seemed like a good idea at the time, given how she had backed away she had been sure her opponent would try to take advantage of the situation. That was what she hoped for, confidence and pride clouding reason, had the French woman come for her in that way, she would have played into exactly how most women tended to lose to Madison.

Instead what she got was tempered patience. There was no urgency to end things, no apparent fright from what time in the ring with Madison would be like past the opening bell. Just a steady flow of jabs breaking down her defenses, playing the long game. Once it had become apparent her foe wasn't trying to work around her to land blows and was directly targeting her arms, it was time to switch gears. The sharp sting gave way to a soft numbness, one she couldn't allow to continue if she wanted to maintain her power and accuracy.

The predictable target of Margaux's blows wasn't without benefit, it afforded her the ability to peek past under the rain of blow and get a good idea of where she was in the ring by looking across the way. She never backed herself to the ropes, slipping off to the side to redirect her path only for the pink haired woman to follow close behind. It was only a matter of when the best time to strike was and for that she had a clue.

As Margaux’s jabbed her guard and began to draw her fist away, Madison pushed in hard, almost enough to shoulder check the other woman, but stopped just short of the referee having to get involved. Inside, Margaux’s ready jab wouldn't get full extension, couldn't redirect easily either. It was time to teach her opponent what resting on repetition would get her as long as they shared this ring.

Her form dipped forward, right arm slipping back from her raised guard. Stopping sharply, it sprang forward like a sledgehammer to attempt to bury itself as far into the French woman’s guts as she could manage. Her left foot planted itself, becoming the pivot point for her waist while her left withdrew for a quick follow-up blow to the stomach, a one two combination to blow the air and possibly her last meal, from her body.

She was looking for an opening, willing to take any blows Margaux was able to muster to give the woman a proper send off. A mean right, already heard back and ready as that left body blow shot out. She twisted, bringing her arm up in a steep tight swing, trying to catch the underside of her opponent’s chin with a thunderous uppercut, hoping to send the woman to the floor. She wanted to show she had more than fancy footwork and some clean hooks to be weary of, making sure this lady knew not to take her lightly.

Her purpose was singular in this assault: assess Madison’s strength. The woman could strike true, that was of little doubt, but what of her endurance? How much pain and suffering could she endure before the walls collapsed around her? Of course, rendering her arms useless would have been an added benefit, making her victory all the easier. This gambit could have been mere seconds away from a rather haphazard victory.

But where was the pleasure in that? Why cripple her prey so quickly? So easily? This was little more than an oblique trial by fire. The brunette could surely take what she was willing to give. If Madison was truly worthy of being her playmate, let her prove it herself. Margaux doubted she would be disappointed.

Her confidence was well-founded. Utilizing a sense of timing and rhythm that went unseen outside of the professional ring, the petite pugilist narrowed the distance between them, steeping directly into Margaux’s advance enough to hammer away with a quick, yet resounding combination to her stomach. The Frenchwoman’s eyes shot wide, a bit of spittle coughing from her mouth, bringing her into just the right positon for Madison’s uppercut. A harsh clap of her jaw echoed from the ring as Margaux’s hair whipped back, the rest of her body following along with her. Many a wide-eyed patron in the front row jerked back in their seats, hollering their excitement at the newcomer’s magnificent advance. Margaux may have even been one of them, if not for the fact that she were teetering backwards with only a tether of cousincess holding her upright.

Her back foot, however, was of a wiser mind. It moved back, planting firmly behind the pinkette, managing to save her from the fall. She was nearly to one knee, her kneecap just inches from the canvas before she rose again. The Frenchwoman shook her head, illustrious frills of pink and brown unraveling as her vision realigned. Far from the worst strike she’d been forced to take, but nevertheless a pleasant surprise considering the source. There was more force present than that little, unassuming frame had any business weidling. Such a curious specimen. It reminded her of herself, give or take a few...odds and ends.

Margaux ran a tongue on the inside of her lip, tasting a hint of iron close to the rim of her lip. Her eyebrow raised slightly, then settled as she drew her head back and let out a dark chuckle. “You…” Her eyes refocused on Madison, standing upright and letting her gloves fall to the side as she took a leisurely stroll to the woman’s side, running her eyes up and down as she circled around her. “You are an interesting little morsel.” She giggled, bringing her gloves back up, eyeing the brawling brunette with ever greater intrigue. “What crevice did you perchance emerge from, petit diable?”

Madison’s gloves compressed into a dense wall of material met with only the resistance the human body could muster. Margaux was tone, if looks enough weren't enough to tell her, burying her knuckles in as far as each of her body shots allowed her test how solid the woman actually was.

Blows to the abdomen weren't didn't seem as impressive for those looking on who had never boxed before. They didn't sound as impactful or illicit a snap back of a head like a stiff punch to the jaw. She knew the damage though, it was her preferred way to whittle down her opposition. Take away their breathing. Make them slow. Make them vulnerable. The uppercut was the foreshadowing of what she wanted this match to be, there was only one problem.

Margaux was still standing.

It had been a solid combination. Completely free. Why was she still up? Madison bit down hard on her mouthguard, shoulders squaring to refine her bulwark with arms raised. It took a solid effort not to rub or shake out her forearms, the throb of blood pooling back into the tender muscles left her a dull ache. Fingers flexing within her gloves she was glad to know she still had gripping strength enough to clench a tight fist.

Her Jade eyes followed Margaux carefully, stepping opposite the other woman to keep her at just the right distance as she circled. Part of her wanted to be mad at that chuckle… it could have been an innocent mark of surprise. People tended to underestimate her because of how she looked or her ring name. But if she was laughing at her, by God, Madison was going to knock her teeth out.

Margaux lowered her guard, arms down to her side while she spoke. Was it a ploy? She didn't act immediately, just listened never once dropping her own defenses. At the mention of “little morsel” just as the frenchwoman started to bring her guard back up, Madison sprang at the opportunity to lay in a few more unguarded shots. While she wasn't opposed to banter, if this woman wanted to talk she could do it between rounds, or after she was knocked out, otherwise Madison talked with her gloves first. This was her debut bout. This was a tournament. Tea time with prissy and pink could wait.

Her left arm snapped out, two quick flicker jabs directed right at Margaux’s face, her nose in particular, as another means to hurt her breathing. A wide right haymaker would follow, hoping to catch her with another big shot while her guard was down, or if she blindly guarded just her front, hook the blow around to strike the side of her head.

“Little place called Griffith, on a semi famous island not too far from here.” Her tone was masked by the mouthguard which  made every word seem like a mumble, but she projected well enough to be here over the swish of punches and potential impacts. Madison was nice enough to give the woman's query an answer, even if it came off the back end of her attempt to take the woman's head off.

Margaux’s laugh was intended to be done more out of amusement than any particular attempt at insulting the fair maiden’s character. She was a fun little bag of surprises, after all. Was there any reaction more appropriate than that of gleeful laughter and pleasant self-indulgence?

But then she noticed the slight quake in the brunette’s eyebrow, the little folds of irritation that faded in and out of her forehead complimenting the shift in her posture, and Margaux sniffed out something more...lucrative. Madison’s boxing prowess was at least above that of an amateur, that much spelled itself out. Margaux hadn’t an opportunity to touch gloves “officially” with another professional prior to AFW, but she’d been around the ring long enough to tell their skills from another, and the petite girl across from her was safely in their shadow.

Her character, however, wasn’t quite as unassailable. The next few moments more or less proved that to the Frenchwoman.

Her question felt harmless, but Madison appeared to be more of a competitor at heart. For her genuine inquiry, she was awarded a couple swift strikes towards her face. Her guard was already set, thankfully, her gloves absorbing the strikes reliably enough to allow Margaux the ability to see the devastating hook sailing towards her. She ducked it, but Madison took a couple pink strands with her. A fact the pinkette only noticed when she popped up and spun around on her feet, facing Madison and noticing incredibly thin, nigh transparent locks falls to the ground. Tragedy.

She did receive an actual answer, at the very least. Silver lining and all that.

It took her a moment to comb through her mental encyclopedia of potential assets to exactly connect the clues she was given. It didn’t take long, especially once she properly made out the woman’s accent from beneath that guard. Why wear such a thing? Rather encumbering. “Ah! I thought you were a rather blunt, crude, and crass sort.” She giggled, touching her chin to the tip of her glove. “So petite, yet such ferocity. You would make for an absolutely adorable house ornament.” She leaned forward, presenting her head over her guard like a ripe piece of meat over the lion’s cage. “After a thorough...attitude adjustment, perhaps.”

One might also wonder how she was able to keep speaking with such fluency after eating such a firm shot to the jaw. Willpower, mostly. Willpower and a firm acceptance of the reality of pain. A lesson she wished to bestow upon others in her travels...especially this one.

Madison's gloves impacted early, pressing up against the frenchwoman defenses. She pushed in harder, driving each blow harder, more weighted into the raised guard as repayment for the stiff jabs her opponent had given her. It wasn't the most efficient use of her energy, but boy did it feel good. She twisted into the big money hook, eyes widening with a soft gasp of surprise as Margaux slipped beneath. Her arm continued on with no means of stopping prematurely with it's target gone, snapping back quickly once it extended all the way to allow her to take up a defensive again.

The brunette remained close, not taking the lull in the fight to retreat or regroup. This was her space and she was laying claim to it. If her opponent wanted to fight she was going to have to do it on Madison's terms, physically anyway. She could appreciate this woman's prowess. A strong puncher, quick on her feet, hard to budge. Was this what she was in for with Momentum? It was a bit exciting to think about… until she started talking again.

Petite? Adorable? Her eye twitched as she glared over the crest of her gloves to the woman beyond, grinding her teeth into her mouth guard. It was annoying this woman liked to ruin their moment by running her mouth so much. They were suppose to be boxing, not trash talking. Whatever. Some people just liked the sound of their own voice. Maybe this lady was one of them. She could see that, this woman had “specticle” written all over her by how she looked and carried herself.

“How about I thoroughly adjust your face?” The young pugilist snarled, eyes narrowed. Madison braced a boot to the canvas, slightly angled, ready to twist her body. A shoulder dipped back, a precursor to the blow that was coming. The offer of Margaux's face was tempting, really tempting. Maybe the woman just had a punchable face to begin with, she couldn't recall. Right now it felt like a bright light, the sort of thing you saw in video games where you had to hit the glowing weak point.

It smelled like a trap though, like she was supposed to be a moth drawn to a bug zapper. Unless this woman was a masochist and actually liked getting punched in the face, it was clear to Madison that would be the first thing she was going to pull back if an attack came. Leaning in like that, she could bob back or duck again… her stomach was another case. The Frenchwoman was overextended in more ways than one.

She was going to hit her, that much there was no doubt t about. When her fist fired off, it came low, tucked inward like an uppercut. Rather than seeking out Margaux's chin, it aimed to bury itself in her opponents abdomen. She had a game plan, one that wasn't going to be lost in her aggravation. “Try not to oui oui your trunks.” Well, she was called crude, why not lean into it.

Yes. Madison did, in fact, have a tick.

Oh, the dear girl hid it well enough from the outset. She came into the ring with a fighter’s determination, an attitude and focus that was undeniably genuine. She came in strong, kept her eyes focused, didn’t let herself get distracted. She was a competitor at heart, a true and tried athlete that was rarely seen in a federation such as this.

But, she was still human. The same, predictable, amusing little human like the rest. Margaux let out an amused little giggle, practically hearing her mouthguard squeak beneath her teeth. The wrinkles on her forehead did wonders for her countenance.

“You will try, la migononne.”

And try she did. The petite pugilist stormed forward, seemingly taking the bait Margaux had laid out for her. But Madison wasn’t simply going to bite. She was a smart girl, could read the situation easily enough. She came in low, cutting through the air with an uppercut whose ferocity was only matched by someone twice her size. Margaux could see that much, but she didn’t avoid it. Didn’t so much as blink as she merely kept her content smile laced over her face. The only movement to be found was in her abdomen as it braced for impact.

The blow landed with a gut-wrenching smack. The pinkette’s body reacted immediately, jackknifing forward as her cheeks puffed out and her eyes widened to dinner plates. For a moment, it would appear as though Madison’s words would ring true. Her trunks? No, she had a better idea than that.

Throwing her head forward, looking straight at Madison with her fist still buried in her stomach, a restrained smile over the Frenchwoman’s puffed features. Her lips would suddenly part, spitting a thick mixture of blood, bile, and saliva all over the Australian's pretty features, preferably her eyes. Through that smokescreen, she’d follow with a fierce, cutting straight aimed right in the middle of Madison’s face.

Madison wasn't sure what to make of Margaux. Their first round hadn't been much of a fight this far. There was no doubt she was up with the judges in points, her inability to really put the frenchwoman to the canvas was irking her. She was landing solid hits, big ones, and this woman just kept her footing. It was one of those inflatable clowns toys she sometimes saw in cartoons, because what kid really owned one of those? You could hit it and it would just spring back, tainting you with defiance.

Her opponent didn't even move, either too slow of confident. Tinkerbell would take it, every landed punch put her one step closer to the top of the tournament ladder. Her gloved fist slammed into Margaux's midsection, shoulder jerking as her body twisted into the blow to drive it forward as hard as she could muster. She was rewarded with the sight of the other woman buckling inward, but not enough to wipe that look off her face which only served to annoy her further. What would it take to knock this woman down for good? Was she the smaller more elegant version of Rocky? Just taking hit after hit to launch a comeback? That didn't work in the real world. What was her deal?

“Nothing else to sa-” Madison had tilted her chin up, staring down her nose at Margaux, shoving her fist up against the woman's body. Her words were cut short by a spray of blood and spit, clouded mist thrown upward into her face. The sting was immediate as the speckled Gore peppered her eyes and coated her features causing her to tuck her chin down and recoil. Her free arm came up protectively, though it was in such a position that it seemed to be fore the spray she had already been hit by as a delayed reaction.

She fumbled a step back, one eyes clamped shut while the other blinked furiously to try and work sight back into it. Her fist that had been lodged in Margaux's stomach drifted in front of her, an ineffective buffer from approach.

Margaux's punch sliced through the air, easily avoiding the protections Madison had thrown in place. The brunette's upper body jerked back violently as the gloved fist connected squarely with her face before reaching full extension. It continued on, snapping her head backwards, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the petite pugilist.

Her boots squared against the canvas, fumbling backwards unbalanced, just barely able to stop herself from toppling. Her knees were shaking, unsteady, her expression one of panic. Planting her feet, she threw out one hook, than another into the open air, blinding fighting nothing. She needed the round to end or the official to split the two of them up. Right now she was a sitting duck.

Margaux laughed. Of course she did. How could she resist? It sounded somewhat choked and echoed, as if produced from a tin can, and far more painful than it should have been owing to Madison’s swift uppercut, but it was done all the same. It only grew louder and harsher after the woman stumbled back, gleefully watching her opponents countenance temporarily warp like the faces of her childhood dolls after she’d taken a torch to them.

If only she could know the depths of the newcomer’s panic in this single moment, the layers to her despair that Margaux sought to build upon in these next few moments. As it would turn out, a glimmering opportunity had presented itself.

The lovely brunette found herself unfounded to the Frenchwoman’s delight, little more than deer caught in headlights, swinging her fists with reckless abandon. That heavenly bit of nostalgia slowly faded, giving way to a surging thirst for blood that had gone deprived for far too long in this match-up. Nobody had to question what Margaux was going to do with that display. In the final stretch of this round, Margaux sought to tide herself over with an appetizer.

With the imprint of Madison’s glove still fresh in her stomach, Margaux didn’t even remotely attempt to fight the aching pain that came along with it. Instead, she moved with it. She remained hunched over, like a corpse freshly animated from its damned state, and dashed forward from her low posture with a hunter’s charge. She ducked beneath the Australian’s wild left hook with childish ease, narrowly avoiding the death latent within them to return Madison’s earlier gift in kind.

Planting a strong step against the canvas, Margaux threw a high overhand right, stepping into the counterpunch to meet the bridge of Madison’s nose with punishing force. Broken cartilage, fractured bone, an explosion of viscera. So close, Margaux could practically taste it. Her smile widened as the hook neared, menacing fangs gleaming under the stage lights.

Welcome to AFW, Madame Kelly. Enjoy your stay.

This was a first. She had been spat on before, on more than one occasion in fact. It hadn't been in quite the same way, never a cloud of spit and blood. Only once had some even aimed awad of spit at her face, a d she had paid for it after the third round. This was bad, putting her at a solid disadvantage, leaving her utterly helpless to defend herself. What a cheap trick… also disgusting… she was wearing Margaux all over her face currently. Her instinct was to stand and fight, but like this she couldn't hope to land a blow. She needed to escape, buy time, but just keeping herself upright was proving to be a difficult task.

She heard shouting. Close. The referee? They were calling for an immediate stoppage to access the situation, citing a foul on Margaux's part. She had been worried Momentum worked on a different set of rules, but it seemed as though she was safe…

Then Margaux's fist buried itself in her face. Driving her back, features compressing up against the packed glove. She was taken hard, unaware and already relaxing. She felt a feeling of sudden weightlessness as gravity pulled at her before the sudden this of the canvas. Taken clean off her feet, she lay dazee on the floor, baffled by what was even happening anymore. Was there a count? There was no count?

The referee had called for a pause, one that had been ignored. Two blows landing after a foul. Hands outstretched, she exposed herself between the two fighters, waving Margaux back. “That's enough, to your corner. Now!” She hardly cut an imposing figure, but the position commanded authority. This was a tournament after all, and the rules for this match were set in stone. No funny business.

The official waited for compliance before turning back to Madison. Her corner crew were waved in to assist the Austrian girl back to her corner where the referee and Madison's cutwoman examined her. “Can you continue?” She looked over the boxer carefully as she was cleaned up, looking for any visible injuries of signs of concussion, things she might call the match for. Injuries resulting from fouls was something that could disqualify the other woman, she needed to be thorough and fair. Momentum needed this to not be riddled with controversy.

“Yeah.” The two dirty shots had done quite a bit to hammer down some of her enthusiasm however. Still, she was happy to be able to see again. As her cut woman cleaned her up and checked her cheeks and nose for any damage she winced. Bruised and battered, but lucky for both boxer's nothing had broken. She didn't want to have her first match called off, even if she would be declared the winner, a broken nose would take her out of the tournament for sure. This was her time in the sun, she wasn't going to let someone steal it away from her.

The taste of iron was in her mouth, clouding the water she spit into a held bowl with pinkish red swirls. She knew how hard the frenchwoman could really hit now… silver lining. She had been gifted a small break, though it came at a cost. The referee was already motioning for her to come back to center ring. There couldn't have been much time left in the round, she just needed to make it to the first bell.

The official waved over Madison then moved to Margaux, leaning in to give her a quiet warning not to try anything else like that. “One more time and you're done. I don't tolerate that sort of thing in my ring.” Backing to mid ring, her voice called out louder to be heard. “two point deduction.” She motioned with her hands, signaling the foul in question before pointing to Margaux's corner. Once more she motioned the two over, waiting until they were in position and gave her a confirmation they were ready before calling for the bell to finish up the first round.

Madison stood opposite Margaux, eyes narrowed, corner of her lip tugging up slightly. Visible disdain all over her face. Though she had been wiped down, a few specks of dried blood had been neglected. She had come into this with an open mind. A willingness to be respectful to another athlete. Put on the best show she could. The shit talk, she could forgive. Mind games were all a part of boxing, rarely was most of what was said true. What the frenchwoman had done was beyond that. She spit in the face of the sport, and of Madison, literally as well as figuratively. After this round she was going all in. For now however…

As the bell rang, her arms came up in a protective formation. At the ready, she called herself off and moved away, boots squeaking along the canvas as she was set to remain elusive and on the move to run the clock down. With how many punches she had landed and the foul, she had won this round for sure, she could afford to play it safe.