Gaining Momentum - Madison Kelly vs. Margaux LeFeuvre

Margaux did not hear the referee. She didn’t hear the coaches or the announcers or the crowd. She didn't care for any of it. The world bent and distorted around, taking on the shape of a funnel as she charged forward. Her body moved towards only one sight, danced to only one tune this night: Madison’s cries.

The smile on her face stretched from ear to ear, a razor-sharp maw overtaking her countenance as her glove dug and twisted into the brunette’s pretty features. She stepped further into the strike, throwing her weight into the attack and finishing it off with a final push. Through her gloves, she could feel the crisp and clean impact. There was little resistance. The woman was caught completely unaware. It was little surprise then that Madison dropped like a lifeless sack. Margaux simply stepped back and relished in the sight, feeling tickles beneath her skin.

Just as she was about to dig in for more, however, the official stood between them. A slightly smaller one than herself, around Madison’s height with a bit of definition poking out from her arm as she pointed Margaux toward her corner. A former pugilist? Perhaps. That would be a good reason for why she took her position so seriously. She was far from the meek, cute little thing that she and Cicilia had shared in their match.

But she was not without her manners. Margaux did as instructed, walking backward with a slow gait to her turnbuckle. There, she did not drink. Did not ask for attention. Had no crew to watch over her. Instead, she stood compliantly in her corner, watching Madison alone through unblinking eyes as her ensemble attended to her injuries. Her head slowly canted up towards the ceiling, taking in the stage lights through ever-narrowing slits before her eyes closed altogether. Her mouth slowly parted as she relived the moment in her head. She breathed in deeply, then exhaled, her body shaking in ecstasy, tickling her spine with a lovely warmth.

Before she could become lost in her rapture, she was called back to the center. With a spring in her step, she eagerly went to take her place back in front of Madison, but not before the striped woman stepped in front of her. She smiled back pleasantly at the official, continuing her stroll. “Mes sincères excuses.” She stopped in the center of the ring, turning her attention from the referee to her adversary. “I must have been rather intimidated by Madame Kelly. She’s quite...ferocious.”

Her smile upturned a bit, struggling to fight back an incessant giggle that instead manifested as rumbles inside of her chest. The deduction clearly did little to dampen her mood. She got to play with Madison more. What was there to fret about? The referee stepped away, giving the boxers their space to reset. Margaux clapped her gloves together, canting her head slightly and, sensing the clear disdain in her features, continued to give the same, pleased smile. “Ze blood compliments your countenance, cher ami.”

The instant the bell rang, Madison’s pulled up a quick and efficient guard, clearly keeping her distance. Margaux expected as much. There couldn’t have been much time left before the round ended and she earned another chance to recoup. A game of cat and mouse then?

Her favorite. With her fists raised, the Frenchwoman stepped strongly off her front foot to quickly close the distance between the two with a lunge. She kept low in the motion and reeled her fist back with a crease in her left glove. From her low posture, she’d shoot two quick hooks around the side of Madison’s guard, attempting to hit her low in the gut. That would hopefully serve as an adequate distraction for the follow-up right hook that would come roaring towards the Australian's head and tag her temple.

Madison waited in silence was Margaux made her way back over, bouncing slightly on the heel of her boots. Her jaw shifted from side to side working out a bit of stiffness as she bit down hard on her mouthguard. She wasn't sure what to make of the French woman's verbal jabs, the confusion shown in the wrinkles forming over the bridge of her nose.

It took a lot of discipline to do the smart thing and retreat, especially when her normal strategy was to harass her foe tirelessly. She hadn't made the choice lightly though. While the hostility in the referee may have settled by how non-confrontational Margaux was being, the Australian native didn't seem nearly as forgiving.

The bell sounded and both women were back in motion. Glaring at Maragaux over the top of her gloves, she swore softly when the french woman came straight for her. Blood was in the waters and the predator was circling. She expected it, she would have done the same, but there had been a hope she wouldn't have been so aggressive right before the round end.

Madison tightened her guard, tucking her body in preparation for more forearm blows and ready to bat hooked blows away from her head. They came low though. One, causing her to jerk to the side, leaving herself open and taking the punishment for now, opting to be ready for a fist coming for her head in combination. Her diligence was rewarded with another strike to the side which lurched her forward, still managing to hold her footing.

Waiting did pay off, though the cost was debatable. The coup de grace of her opponents punches caught her eye immediately. She hadn't had long to observe tells, but the distinct difference between the last punch and the first two was recognizable to her almost instantaneously. Rather than try to move away, she leaned forward into her broken posture, dipping down and forward as Margaux's vicious hook whizzed over her head.

Her arms dropped, boots gliding along the canvas as she took two side steps to circle Margaux. With a quick snap her gloves flew, a quick combination to attempt to tag Margaux in passing. A short hook to the woman's mid section and a full extension straight thrown high at the woman's head. In and out, she wasn't looking to stay. Her guard would come back up and she would begin prancing back to return to playing things on the defense.

Tick, tock, goes the clock…

The seconds squeezed away. The last bits of sand filtered through the glass, the anticipation building with every grain as the round reached its conclusion. But if Margaux was even remotely aware of the time petering away, she didn’t show it. She didn’t care that her opponent had no doubt taken this round in points alone. She didn’t care to play conservatively. Didn’t care that she may only lend the woman a greater lead. She wanted only one thing: Madison. And she was about to get away. Not so fast. Not so fast. There was so much left to enjoy.

She was thankfully rewarded for her enthusiasm. Two shots to the petite pugilist's side. Margaux shuddered, feeling the Australian’s body yield beneath her gloves, the tension crack between her knuckles. She studied the brunette’s face closely, watching her cute features scrunch and convulse. Oh, she needed more. More wrinkles. More agony.

Her next shot aimed to add some color to her face, but only found a pocket of air waiting for her. Her eyes trailed the woman closely as she became a brown streak in the corner of her gaze, flowing underneath her arm and clear out of view. The Frenchwoman went to turn her head before a shot to her side rippled through her. She let out a squeal of pain, a tinge of excitement lingering in her voice as another cut straight through her, forcing her to step once to the side. The woman’s swiftness still managed to impress, fading in and out Margaux’s vision in the blink of an eye like an Australian whirlwind.

But she didn’t require her sight. She could smell the blood in the air, the boots scuffing against the canvas, the fatigue lingering in every breath. Her head canted towards the ceiling, taking in the environment before her eyes shifted to the side, gazing at Madison over her shoulder. Sniff sniff. There you are.

Don't run away, little rabbit.

Margaux shifted on the spot, ignoring the ache in her side and the rumbling in her head as she lunged forward with a powerful step. She kept her arms raised as she hounded the brunette, eyes wide and red with excitement, unwilling to let her playmate scamper away just yet. Her right glove raised high and threw it wide in a fierce, roaring hook, only to be followed by an equally wild and powerful punch from her left aimed straight toward Madison’s pretty little head. It lacked finesse, any degree of accuracy, even the slightest bit of thought behind it. They were strikes in their most primal, their most genuine. Only the best for Madison.

The rise and fall of the crowd reaction each time the women clashed was hard to ignore. The stage was set, larger than any other she had been on. It was all white noise, distractions, she needed focus with danger looking at the length of her arm. Each blow she connected came with solid satisfaction, chipping away at boulder to form the cracks that would serve as the foundation of her victory. Unlike others she had fought however, they didn't seem to have lasting impact. Margaux took everything she had and like a freakish undead abomination, soldiered on with little recourse. Her fortitude would have been admirable if the brunette wasn't already busy cursing it.

Stick and move, it had become a phrase that had almost lost meaning with how often and easily it was repeated within as well as outside of boxing. It was tried and true, establishing its longevity on sound simplicity. She had felt the impact of her straight but knew better now than to expect to knock this woman down. She had the feeling when she finally managed the feat it would be well worth it but as it was going now she would have to work for it. Madison wouldn't wait, she would keep moving, bobbing away proactively.

Even as she fled the fight, Margaux snaked after her, snapping out as if the two were fresh. A wide hook. Simple. The Australian born girl braced her footing on the spot, ducking her head down behind her protectively wall. Hurricane force blasted her barricade, rocking her forearms to the bone. She was tugged forward from the impact, feet shuffling as she quickly found her balance, but it wasn't enough.

The first hook had dragged her arms away, enough that she could catch the gaze of the woman across from her. Her eye twitched, understanding what this opening meant even before her foe took this split second to capitalize on it.

The space was filled without mercy as a gloved fist, swerved around her faltering guard to bury itself in the side of her face. With a vicious snap, Madison's head was ripped to the side. She pivoted on the ball of her feet, trying to recover but her sense of balance was off, the room was at a diagonal. With a this she hit the canvas on her side, giving a small bounce before she went still. Blinking in a small daze as blood rushed to her face to give her cheek a raw red flush where she was struck.

The referee was quick to step in, waving Margaux to the neutral corner before beginning the count

“One!... Two!... Three!... Four!...”

Hunger. There was so much hunger in the air.

Madison’s expertise wasn’t unfounded. Even the most oblivious attendant in the audience could observe that as she glided around Margaux and laced into her with grace befitting her titular namesake. If the Frenchwoman were one of the many in attendance, she would have looked on with the utmost appreciation, pleasantly enthralled by the display and giving a well-deserved applause after the round reached its conclusion. But unfortunately for the Australian, Margaux was inside of the ring this evening, and nothing could save her now.

The strikes evidently meant to deter her only stirred the burning blood beneath her skin. It heightened her senses, allowed her to see and hear the world more intimately than before. In spite of the ragged breaths escaping her through battered lungs, Margaux hounded the lovely brunette with a wild gaze and twisted posture.

Don’t run away, Madison. We only want to play.

The first shot smacked her rudimentary guard away, the next rang out across the arena and Madison dropped like the doll she was with its strings finally severed. A beautiful sight, one that sent a shiver up the pinkette’s spine and made the corners of her smile twitch. Margaux held herself back for an instant, a split second in time, before the temptation of firing away at her playmate’s fallen body became too great to bear. Unfortunately, that instant of hesitation was all the official needed to get between the two and begin the countdown. Her presence unconsciously reminded Margaux of the promise she’d made only a couple moments ago. That would have been somewhat damaging to her reputation. She wouldn’t want to come off as untrustworthy, now would she?

So, as the count ticked away and Madison’s chance at glory slowly faded away in front of her vacant eyes, Margaux simply stepped back towards the opposite corner and watched with one glove at her chin. She ran a tongue over the surface, tasting the authentic Australian essence lingering on its elastic texture, so rosy and sublime. A dark chuckle worked its way out from between her lips, steadily building into a maddening cackle that shook the very ropes clinging to each post and reached to the shining heavens above.

“...FIVE...SIX...SEVEN…!”

Fingers twitched packed within her glove, the wrapping which served to protect her knuckles seemed more constricting all of a sudden. Her shoulder tingled, a dull pain with faint traces of feeling as nerves recovered from the sudden jar of her weight crashing down on top of it. Madison's digits flexed, squeezing her glove to make certain she could still register some matter of feeling.

It was a haze at the moment, she understood she was on the ground, that she had been hit… hard. This wasn't the first time or the last she would find herself like this, but no amount of experience really prepared her for going down so hard. She had sense enough to not try to scramble up right away, milk her time on the canvas to recover… she just had to work hard to focus on the count.

Her jaw shifted, squaring up her mouth guard. Her body was sure to remind her that is where she had taken the blow with a telltale throb she knew was going to be hell tomorrow. She couldn't worry about that now though…

Focus on the count.

Over onto her stomach she rolled, sluggishly positioning her knuckles to the canvas to push herself up. Head hung, she breathed sharply with labored effort due to her mouth piece acting as an obstruction. Her nose was stuffy, not unexpected. Swelling? Maybe.

Focus on the count.

From her hands and knees she found strength and stability, allowing her to breath while her weight was locked into a rigid form she didn't have to work to maintain. Her ears perked, over the rumblings of the crowd she could hear one voice slicing through the noise. She peered off to the side, barely tilting her head to stare over at Margaux through an unkempt curtain of hair draped down across her features. This banshee of a woman was laughing at her. Was this so funny?

Her teeth clenched on her mouthguard, muscles tensing as she shoved herself up on wobbly legs. A small stumble before she found her balance. Without a moment's hesitation she found her footing and went charging for the French woman… before the referee imposed themself, staring at the native Australian judgmentally. With a snort Madison backed off, waiting for the round to resume from a distance.

The referee gave both women a look before gesturing to restart the clock, backing out of the way to let them have at it. The brunette seemed all for that now, throwing out her run and hide tactics for a sudden rush of adrenaline she needed to cement in Margaux's face in the form of her fists. Time was short, she wanted to make sure when those round came to an end that this woman wasn't still laughing.

Madison moved in fast and low, boots scuffling along the canvas once she neared. A sway on approach, making her a harder target to hit than simply running right into another hook or straight. She lead with a shoulder, feigning another body blow, but that wasn't even on the menu. If she managed to close in, she let her fists for, throwing out one hook after the other, trying her damnedest to knock the pink right out of this woman's hair.

Some part of Margaux would have been fine with letting the countdown trickle away, letting Madison drown in her inevitable defeat. This was, in fact, a tournament. A tournament for a fading brand with little legs to stand on, but a tournament nonetheless. Winning in such a decisive fashion would have been by no means a damper on her evening plans. And, after all, there was one she desired to reach at the end of it all.

But another part of her, a much more genuine aspect of her heart, knew she couldn’t let that happen. She could not deny the rush of blood through her veins, the hint of iron lingering in her nostrils, the quickening in her breath and the haze in her eyes. Madison was a rare treat indeed. There was no enjoyment in scarfing it down as soon as it crossed her table. It had to be savored.

If they wouldn’t settle things in the ring...then perhaps after...

An unnecessary step, as it turned out. The woman had finally risen, although Margaux was a bit taken away in her rapacious laughter to notice straight away. It was only as she was being backed up by the referee that she allowed her composure to return. Oh, how these nights could get to her. She should conduct herself more accordingly…

...yes...quite…

Margaux raised her gloves, bouncing between her soles with a burst of vigor as the Australian zig-zagged into her range. She brought her guard low, noticing her bared shoulder, reading the signs...and playing right into Madison's hand as a raw hook bashed her upside the head. Her grin turned easy, wobbling at the shock of it all as her lips turned to waves against the backdrop of her stark white teeth. She caught herself in the next instant, her body moving on its own as her arms came up to defend against the next hook that came sailing in from her right. Then her left. Then her right. For a moment, Margaux was hardly even standing of her own power, forcefully being swayed left and right

She loved it. The power, the grace, that fire that threatened to consume her just bursting from the brunette's blazing body. She couldn’t hold it back anymore.

As her next hook came in wide, Margaux took advantage of the timing, the slowness in the way the woman overworked her muscles. She stepped in and bobbed her head to dip beneath the strike. Of course, the distance was to close to work in a proper strike against her foe’s forward momentum...if that was her attention. No, instead the Frenchwoman sought a clinch. She brought one arm over Madison’s shoulder, the one assisting her empty strike, wrapping it around the back of her neck to bring their heads side to side. The other went to her chambered arm, attempting to hold it back for the time being. She only needed a moment, after all. The pinkette leaned into their embrace, using her forearm to hide her mouth as best as she was able, breathing warm, enchanting breaths into the petite pugilist’s ear.

“I love your fire, mon amour.” Her pink lips grazed the brunette’s hair, parting the locks and drawing a small opening between them and her hair. “It’s so delicious.” Her tongue reached out from her mouth on that last syllable, digging past the brown strands of Madison’s hair through the narrow opening. Her tongue stabbed through, dragging along the inner ridges before it reached the sweet spot of her eardrum, piercing through and invading the hole as it sloshed about. A second, a brief instant in time that seemed to stretch on through eternity as she let the taste of Madison linger on tastebuds.

Délicieux.

Her first roaring hook had been incredibly cathartic. Burying her fist upside her head, watching that sudden deformation of the fleshy bits of her face. She had managed to partially knock that look off of her face in a plume of multicolored hair fluttering up like the feathers of a bird just hit by a Jeep. Her next punch didn't land so square, striking hard bone as defenses were raised. She wasn't looking for an opening. She was thinking about getting to the end of the round. Having her opponent on the ropes worked just as well as dodging around the ring, perhaps better with this one.

So Madison broke her normal tactics down into something more raw, more primal. Wailing on Margaux's defenses just as the French woman had done to her earlier. Any hit she landed was a good on in her eyes. Hopeful straining the power puncher's weapons would dull some of her impact moving forward. She found her rhythm, slamming her gloves into those raised forearms harder and harder.

“Hrk!” Madison had to take a half step back when the French woman slipped past a wide hook, gripped momentarily with a sense of dread. When arms locked around her, it quickly turned to anger though as she squirmed, putting a gloved hand on the other woman shoulder. She growled softly, struggling to shake her.

Her eyes narrowed as Margaux spoke, furthering her annoyances. She wasn't sure what her deal was, but she could certainly do without the creepy back and forth. She opened her mouth to mutter something through her mouth guard when something wet slithered into her ear. The hair on the back of her neck shot up straight, body tensing in the aftershock of the the sudden sensation that shot through her system. She was so taken aback that she had no answer to it, just forced to endure…

Coming to her senses, cheeks a flared with crimson hue she jerked her head to the side, away from Margaux. Oh how she wanted to just headbutt her, but the referee seemed to be at her wits end with the both of them. She couldn't risk it. For now she would add this to the list of offenses Margaux was going to answer for in round two.

The Australian jerked back a shoulder, partially freeing herself from the French woman's clinch. It wasn't enough to gather much weight, but she managed a snappy punch right to the woman's abdomen. The referee was shouting for a break, moving to separate both women when the bell tolled, the ring echoing out across the arena to signify the end of the first round.

Madison ceased her aggressions, save for trying to pry her opponent off slightly she handy relented at the bell. She wouldn't turn her back on this woman, a look of outward disgust painted across her rosy red face. If she had wanted a rise out of Madison, she had certainly gotten it, one that was unlikely to settle. Having her ear invaded by a slimy snake like tongue had been the final straw, one that acted as a gauntlet being thrown down in earnest. There wasn't going to be any more holding back, she wanted carnage.

It was a rather amazing ability, being able to feel another’s essence with taste alone. She could taste the sweat and blood pouring through, but there was so much beyond that as Madison reeled back against the tongue in her ear. There was confusion, revelation, truth, denial, and horror all mixed together, permeating her being inch by inch. She could feel the tension in her body as they stayed close together, as the heat swelled between them. She wanted to go deeper, find more, taste more.

A shot to her abdomen knocked her swiftly out of her daydream. Madison had stolen away from her, but Margaux had little intention of letting her get away so easily. She chambered her fist back, ready to send a shot into the Australian's side and bring her ear back into range of her waiting canines...before the bell sounded and the referee broke between them. The pinkette stepped away with her gloves raised for a moment, letting them fall to the side with a cheerful grin as she looked past the official towards Madison. She licked her lips, a simple gesture whose true effect could only be felt by Madison and Madison alone, before she turned on the spot and walked over to her corner.

She took a seat at her stool and...watched. That was all she did. There seemed to be nobody at her corner, no crew to attend to her. All the Frenchwoman allowed was to sit at the opposite corner and watch her opponent from afar. Her skin burned, her muscles ached, but none of it was as warm as the fire Madison sent her way from across the ring. She drank in the look in the brunette’s eyes, felt the spot between her legs begin to electrify and smolder with-

“You really must take better precautions, Madame.” Her shadow spoke to her.

Seemingly from thin air, a tall, aging butler emerged from behind her form as she continued to stare Madison down. Unlike the Australian's ring crew, he appeared alone, and seemed to have been dressed for an entirely different occasion in his black suit and tie. In his hand, however, was a hand towel, and in the other a small cut kit, which he placed beside her feet. He reached over the top rope, gently brushing her hair back to reveal her reddened cheek that he tended to with careful touches of the cloth.

“Such illustrious features, but they will not last long in this line of attack.”

Margaux’s smile grew, her pearly whites stretching from cheek to cheek. “Oh...you should know better than to tease me with such words~.”

Olivier shook his head. “Very much to her credit. These are deep blemishes for a single bout.” He stepped through the ropes, slowly kneeling down in front of her. His fingers moved over her lips, lifted her head to examine her jaw, took note of every possible cut and bruise...but did nothing. From his kit, he pulled out a comb, running it through her tangled brown strands with slow and methodical strokes. “Madison Kelly. Born and raised in Australia. Based upon her complexion, uncouth mannerisms, yet strong-willed character, I would suspect an upbringing in the countryside. Trained at home by her mother. No professional record to speak of. Amateur records are negligible at best. Taking a simple grandeur, I would have to believe this may very well be her first professional appearance anywhere.”

The Frenchwoman chuckled darkly. “How exquisite.”

“Why waste time on this rabble, Madame? There are more matches to come. Surely-”

“It is because she has much to prove, Olivier, that she is most desirable. We do not waste because we are full.” She canted her head to the side, locking eyes with him for a moment. “We make room for more.”

Olivier looked back for a moment before he let out a sigh and put his comb away, closing the kit with a click and setting off to the side. He set her bangs straight, leaned back to take in the full picture, then stood up satisfied. He stepped to her side, looking over his shoulder back at the brunette. “She does appear rather spry. Would you prefer that I-?”

“Non.” She said as she raised her glove to her side, then used it to gesture Madison’s way. “See her now. The quakes, the shivers. That beautiful inferno reflecting through her soul. Have faith, Olivier...” The pinkette stood up from her seat as the referee called her back to the center. She tightened her fists inside of glove, rolling her shoulders and freeing the stiffness in her bones. Her arms flexed and her biceps flared, veins and contours pronouncing themselves, the tight skin revealing the definition in her abdomen as she started to walk. “...she can no longer win.”

As Margaux returned to the center, Olivier slipped back out of the ropes. He took his position at the ring floor by her corner, arms crossed behind his back and feet planted to the ground. The Frenchwoman stopped over the Momentum logo at her feet and the official looked between her and the Australian. She nodded her head to Margaux, who nodded in return, then looked to Madison for her confirmation. The instant she looked away, the pinkette’s glove would raise to her lips, running a tongue along its surface, tasting the impressions of petite pugilist left over from their exchange.

Sour faced, Madison backed herself away from Margaux towards her corner. So fixated in her mounting hatred, the mere act of turning her back to the frenchwoman felt as if it were passing her a victory, even if it were just a small one. She hadn't ever encountered someone like this before. She had seen lesser shades of many aspect of the woman elsewhere, but never refined to such a degree in any one person. Even though Madison was easily riled, she often was able to punch out her differences with opponents. She didn't see that happening here. Far too many lines had been crossed.

Her coach clapped a meaty hand on her shoulder, guiding her to sit on the stool she hadn't seen placed. She carefully did so, trying her best to mask the signs of fatigue she was already feeling. Her eyes glaring across the way, burning a hole in Margaux's forehead.

“I didn't bring up no bogan to fight in Japan.” Her coach remained outside the ropes as the two other members of here corner team, freshly hired from within Japan, slipped into the ring to help tend to her.

Arlon Sax was a brick House of a man, what he lacked in height me made up for in bulk. He boxed for a time, a few missing teeth and one gold replacement was proof enough of that, but got out of it before ever making something of himself. Instead he became a promoter. One of the few that in her mother's era had given women a chance in his ring. At the time people assumed it was a money thing, but he freely admitted to not caring who someone was. Everyone had the right to back up their words with two clenched fists, he just gave them the ring.

His business had been shut down as a result. Buried in fines, blacklisted from fight promotion. So he fell back into this ring knowledge as a coach. He served briefly in her mother's corner as a valued friend, it seemed only fitting he would be the one to reside in Madison's now.

“I'm not a bogan.” Opening her mouth wide, the guard was removed by a gloved hand and dropped in small wash of water.  She hissed softly as a cold steel compression pad was pressed to her cheek, the slight swelling that had started there had been near invisible to her until this moment. Past the initial pressure, the cool relief felt better than she thought.

“Fight like one. Who taught you that?” Arlon placed his other thick hand on her bare shoulder, roughly working out a few kinks for her.

“You and Mom.” A small straw was offered to her, she took it readily, allowing her corner man to squeeze the bottle to fill her mouth with water. She swished it around before spitting it out into a paying bucket. The bottle was offered again, this time she drank from it. It was important to keep hydrated, even if she wasn't feeling the effects ignoring it just yet.

“Bullshit. The Madi in there ain't the one I taught nothing. You are sitting around clubbing each other like cave women. Maybe this chick can get away with that but you can't. This isn't some small time bouncer gig with a drunk. This is a proper fucking fight. Get your shit together or I am going back home.” Madison listened quietly, only because she was drinking. She was visibly annoyed more so at herself than her coach. He was right, in his crude way. She definitely couldn't go blow for blow with Margaux.

“Alright. Well, what would the real Madi do then?” The bottle withdrawn, she turned her gloves over in her lap for the laces to be looked at and retired as needed by her team. She was thankful the cutman hadn't needed to do anything else, she must not look as Haggard as she was starting to feel.

“She'd piss'm off just like she does me by being an annoying pest.” Arlon pat her shoulders lightly before leaning back. He had finished up the last of what he could do with his massage given the limited time. “You know how it goes, get in and out. Don't go to her. Let her come to you. You lost your big lead when you walked into that punch, but she ate a big penalty and you looked better than her with punches up until you started fighting like a fool. Should still be up a point at least, make her work for every punch. You ain't out of this yet.”

“Alright. Sorry about losing my cool… she stuck her tongue in my ear… did you see that?” Madison finally broke her dead eyed glare across the way, featuring softening as she regarded Arlon who met her look with a wide grin of broken mismanaged teeth.

“Yeah, I did. If she is going to keep pulling shit like that, I can trade places with you.” He let out a loud belly laugh, drawing the attention of some of the onlookers. Madison squinted up at him, giving her coach a over the shoulder clap with one of her gloved fists. It only made him laugh harder… while got a smile on her face.

“Dirty old man. Seriously… it's gross. Don't joke about it.” Arlon gave her a large shrug, playing innocent to any wrongdoing. Before she could retort, her mouth guard was offered back by one of her crew. With a snicker she leaned in to let it be inserted again. Her team slipped out of the ring, and she rose to her feet.

“You can cry about it later after you knock her out. I'll bring the tissues. 'member, make her work for it.” Arlon pulled the stool out from the ring, climbing down from the apron with all the grace of a grizzly bear.

She made her way back to the center of the ring, the spring in her step had been lost slightly to the stiffness setting in. The brief reprieve had been a Godsend, already feeling far more capable again. Deep controlled breaths as she focused on the game plan. She had to skirmish more. She caught the referee looking her way and nodded that she was ready. Turning back to Margaux who was… did she just lick her gloves? She scowled, biting down on her mouth guard even harder than before. Up came her gloves in a loose defensive stance, ready to start round two.