Gaining Momentum - Madison Kelly vs. Margaux LeFeuvre

Though his face rarely showed it, if it showed much of anything at any given moment, Olivier never failed to be taken aback by the site of his ever radiant and grand mistress coming into form. From behind the apron, his eyes watched carefully past the ropes, never leaving her irreproachable frame, her exemplary visage. Not until she reached the center of the ring. Whereupon his gaze shifted toward her equal - nay, her opposite - and felt a short renaissance overcome his mind.

It was one of past glories and humiliations, tears of joy and anguish that seemed to come and go whenever he took up this duty. He felt himself beside a ring a million miles away, where the air was fresh and the tongues proper. He heard the echoes of clouting flesh and the drizzle of fresh sweet against his face to which he didn’t offer so much as a blink in return. His eyes were taken by the rosy, blooded magnificence standing defiantly in the center, absorbing all the color and air and hope within the room. There were roars of outrage, screams of shock, cries for help. He heard none of it, saw none of it. The only thing he felt and cared for was that pink hue. It looked to him, and he looked at it. His face didn’t move.

He left his memory, dragged back by the palpable tension emanating from the ring. His eyes went from the brunette, recognizing the hard expression on her face, to his Madame’s, finding the same familiarity. He blinked, then, with a sigh, gave his shoulders a barely noticeable shrug. “C’est dommage.”

Margaux’s feelings were on another plane. The tongue between her teeth lapped and roved up and down, desperate for another taste of tonight’s plat principal. She could smell Madison’s scent even with the official between them, feel the animosity in that lovely scowl as it shot through her. Her heart beat strongly in the center of her chest, her muscles accentuated and flared over through the surface of her tight skin, feeling the euphoria of the evening capsize inside of her God-given soul.

The bell rang out not a moment later. The Frenchwoman’s gloves came up on their own, gluing themselves to her cheeks and covering up her chin. She moved fast, swaying left, then right, then left again, keeping her head moving as she came into Madison’s range. Her movement stopped, when she fully aligned with Madison once again, and stepped in strongly with a fierce lunge, firing a one-two with her momentum before going to step in once more in the even Madison was forced back, putting all her weight into an overhand right to smash her pretty head into the floor.

Arlon had the right of it. She was too eager, too invested in trying to shut Margaux down that it was making her fight needlessly reckless. She had made a name for herself, at least back home, by being aggressive but smart. She didn't have the size or muscle to go blow for blow with many people in this sport so why was she doing that now? Her temperament was a curse, one she was keenly aware about yet it took her by the hand and was able to give her about from time to time.

Think quicker, fight smarter, keep your head clear.

Was mom watching? She did know. Probably since the times alliagnee nicely despite the vast ocean between them. Madison fully expected to get an earful from her as well mirroring most of what her coach had just drilled into her head. That was fine. She could deal with a kick in the ass from both fronts over this to get her head screwed on straight… hopefully without having it knocked clean off in this fight first.

Madison stood he ground but didn't commit, bouncing lightly on the ball of her feet to keep herself in motion, blood flowing. Her narrowed eyes were locked, taking in every ounce of detail she could on Margaux's movements to draw out a hard read. As her opponent weaved in on her the urge to strike first was overwhelming. Throw a punch, clip the woman before she started in fully… that was folly. The frenchwoman had already proven her ability to take a hit and keep going. Throwing her fists early would leave her open and she wasn't terribly interested in being lit up again by a combination from this woman.

Her eyes followed the approaching sway over the tops of her raised gloves, muscles twitching with anticipation with each step she considered an opening to attack.

Hold.

The French woman was bearing down, almost on her. She could feel her throat tighten and hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Her mouth was dry… she ignored it and bit down harder on the guard as if she were a rabid animal tearing at a victim.

Hold.

Fists flew. She remained, upper body working her defensive as she dipped slightly to the side to make the snappy strike hit air. Her back bent as the second came, leaning away with her arms raised. She felt it clip her, just the arm. It stung, but she would live… where was it…

Hold.

As Margaux stepped into her space further Madison floated back, keeping her at the distance she wanted to be able to properly react. She liked being in close, but limiting options for Margaux was her aim for now by keeping her just within reach. The corner of her eye twitched as she saw what she wanted. That strain of muscle, shifting of body that came with a more terrifying blow.

Hold!

Through aching muscles and the dull throb still present in her head she was forced to act. Her feet shuffled, dancing her deftly back and around the side to narrowly avoid the crushing blow that would have likely brought to to the canvas, perhaps even ending their bout. She seized the moment, mid motion already cranking her arm back, primed to fire.

Now!

The moment the weighted strike had caused Margaux to overextend, lacking balance to react or maintain footing. That was her take, that was her plan. She threw her glove hard, sailing it up and over the extended arm of her foe to drive it into her face with all she could muster. She was banking on knocking the woman down. She needed the momentum, something, anything she could grasp hold of to fight back from.

Margaux moved with purpose rarely seen since her last showing in Momentum, and a few returning spectators from that last bout were quick to notice it. Her eyes were glazed over again with that noticeable hunger, that urge for blood that practically radiated off her body like vapors of sweat caught in cold water, unable to simmer the unquenchable fires beneath. She stepped strongly, trying with all her might to connect one strike after the other, and they had no idea what had brought on this change. A moment to cool her head? Advice from that weird butler still watching with his stoic posture about him?

For that, one needed to be in Margaux’s shoes.

From there, one would have a clear view of Madison’s face. The drive, the spirit, the blood pumping through the veins accentuated in each arm. There was renewed vigor that anyone observing from afar would find impossible to hazard. It mind reminded the Frenchwoman of someone...

Yes. She’d sized her mark up adequately, tasted all the helpings she cared for. The dye had to be cast. The seal broken. Margaux’s fists flew without an inch of restraint, channeling energy and ferocity into each curled fist. Almost had her at one, nicked her. With a blade, she would have hit an artery, had the woman’s fate sealed. The next one found purchase, bringing a smile to Margaux’s lips. She didn’t hesitate with her followup. It was right there as she cast the smashing downstrike. Her head colliding with the floor, the explosion of viscera...

...so why did Madison have to go and ruin it?

Her fist rammed down and Madison dodged, leaving nothing but dead air to find. Margaux’s head turned to the side to watch her evade, only she wasn’t running away. The Australian’s glove was there to meet her, smacking her head right back forward, and leaving as it snapped to the side. Her pink hair whipped high as she stumbled and titled. Her body listed, and it seemed that fate was for the canvas...until her foot slammed into the floor, stopping her descent just short in an awkward, spread posture. Her legs kept wide and her gloves nearly brushed the floor. Her head snapped back towards Madison, a line of blood running down the corner of her lip as her wide, brimming smile masked the harsh cackling beneath. Her feet slid back together, popping up with a sudden ardor fed by the sting in her mouth and the taste of iron.

“Oh! Mon little rabeet has found ze joy of Spring back in its step!” She punched her gloves together, bringing her guard back up, watching the nimble Australian with renewed eagerness. She still hadn’t blinked. “Dance with me, my beautiful hare!”

Arlon slapped his massive meaty hand to the edge of the ring, his own way of clapping as Madison drilled the Frenchwoman. He saw her leaning, had done leaning of his own to watch the woman fa with a wide grin on his face.  But like many of the now cheering fans behind him, they all went silent when Margaux came to a stop, snapping into a place like a woman possessed refusing to be brought down. His cheerful chuckling died as he watched her right herself, banging the ring again as he shouted “Don't let up!”

Madison watched, corner of her eye twitching as her opponent took her blow and returned like a phatom to haunt her. Like a deer in headlights frozen… until her coach's voice hit her ears snapping her out of it. She stared down the grinning visage of her opponent, sliding her boots along the canvas to inch closer. The second Margaux opened her mouth to comment, clapping her gloves together rather than putting them up, Madison snapped two quick jabs for her face, looking to cut the woman off while she was preoccupied with playing her games. This was a fight, not a sit down dinner date.

"How about a slam dance?" Her words were muffled, most of her ability to sound coherent stripped from her due to the limitations of her mouth guard.

She expected to be blocked, that was fine. It was about preassure and denial, not allowing the other woman to see or react. Immediately after throwing out her two swift punches she dipped to the left, staying low and close, cocking back a arm close to her body. With a twirl she let it rip, using her upper body momentum and a sudden extension of her after fly in a hard body blow that would hopefully open the Frenchwoman up for something more.

Bap bap!

Oliver blinked...then took a moment to pull out a cloth and wipe his monocle, because he wasn’t entirely sure of what had just happened. He had become so accustomed to seeing people freeze and collapse at his mistress’ provocations, her outright defiance of humanity, that the sight of Madison all but lost before the Frenchwoman’s might had been simply discarded from his thoughts. Tossed away without hesitance as useless information. Didn’t we all know by now how this would end, after all?

Then the shots rang out, what sounded like pistols cracking out from the ring. Margaux’s faced scrunched together as her hair unfurled and whipped left and right. His eyes perked to attention just in time to see the madame stumble back a step or so. An intriguing sight. She was practically inviting Madison to come and test her hand, though clearly the Frenchwoman was taken aback by her prompt reply. Olivier’s eyes ran the Australian up and down as she came to form. Good reflexes, sharp strokes. Her jade pupils weren’t mired with fog as they were last round.

Oh dear. An actual challenge.

Margaux, unfortunately, didn’t have the privilege of seeing her opponent move from the safety of the sidelines. The Australian dashed and became a streaking blur across her vision. She disappeared to the side, leaving the Frenchwoman dazed and lost. And yet, the blows were oddly refreshing in a sense, a splash of water to the face. Two, in this case. Her body blow clapped the pinkette’s side, forcing her lip to curl and teeth to grit as her body folded to the side and threatened to topple like a jenga tower. But the mobster wouldn’t. She slammed down on her back foot and straightened herself with a noticeable crack of her ribs. Her razor-sharp smile gleamed behind her sit-down guard, her eyes trailing to the side to look over her shoulder.

Aren’t you tenacious?

There was no way to see her. The fairy flew too fast, danced in the corner of her eye like a bead of light in the dark, begging her to chase after it. Oh, don’t tempt her so. Margaux pivoted on her right foot, twisting her body to the side as she shot a right hook with as wide a berth as possible and hoped to find flesh on the other side.

Landing clean shots on Margaux was an empowering thing. While Madison wasn't really the sadistic sort, there was an overwhelming sense of pleasure to watching the Frenchwoman head snap from side to side at the end of her gloves. This sort of pressure was her element, pouring through the gaps in her opponent's defenses and making it rain.

The crowd swelled behind her, to them it seemed like the start of a turning point. The brunette was more than happy to punctuate the moment for them by burying her fist into the other woman's side, twisting her knuckles against the padded surface to grind it in with a sense of command over the situation. Margaux wavered, was she on the ropes?

No.

Again the woman managed to ground herself, denying any sort of weakness in her balance as if the laws of physics had no rule over her. It was infuriating, yes, but also incredibly impressive… also a bit frightening. Madison had fought bigger people before who couldn't take hits half as well as this woman… she was hesitant to say they were stronger only because this woman seemed to hit harder. She was like a compact wrecking crew in the body of a single person.

"Down Madi, down!" Her coach had Margaux scouted, better than she did. The angle hadn't been a good one for her, circling to the side, intent to hammer several more punches into the exposed body of Margaux. Her eyes snapped upward, watching the twist of her opponents form, suddenly aware something was off. The open guard gave way to a sweeping arm coming right at her.

She knew to listen to her coach. He was a veteran, a proven force in and out of the ring. Her own youthful defiance wanted to ignore it, do her own thing, win her own way. Pride was a hard thing to shake, especially when you felt like you had something to prove. If she just dipped back she could avoid the hook and slide back in with nothing stopping her from bashing his woman's stomach into jelly.

In the split second she had, indecision found her doing both but committing to neither choice. Her feet shuffled back, leaning away as if preparing to approach a limbo bar. It had been the wrong choice. Margaux's reach was a bit too much, managing to clip her right in the cheek. Madison's head was ripped to the side as the glove faked across her features, not landing solidly enough to drive her down, but forced against her skin so roughly that it make her skin burn from the friction alone.

Madison staggered back on fumbled footing, turning the grazed punch into an almost elegant twirl. It bought Margaux time, gave her space, but wasn't something she was going to be able to enjoy for long. The Austrian continued to spin an entire 360, extending an arm out as she went to gather up natural momentum. She was fast approaching being face to face again, priming up what would be a massive haymaker if she wasn't cut short.

“Oh, look at that!” The doll whispered. “I can still move!”

Margaux felt propped up on a pair of invisible strings, held up by little more than the will of the divine and His foolish mercy. Her body felt the urge to collapse, but wouldn’t. Her mind wasn’t satisfied, her blood unsatiated and crying out for more rage. More ruin. More struggle. She wanted a pair of fairy wings to take home to her fireplace. A nice little conversation piece, she reckoned, for all her financiers in Grand Paree. Perhaps over a glass of Château Cheval Blanc.

Ah, but she forgot herself. She could already feel Olivier’s disapproving gaze from across the ring. Her wild hook had landed shallow of her merciless intent, which ended up being a double-edged sword. While it afforded her some precious distance, it also left her momentum with nothing to land on, and her hook kept flying off to the side without a precious, petite Australian face to cut its travel short. Her torso spun along with it and made her battered sides cry out with searing pain, her bruised ribs attempting to punish her for her carelessness. Margaux’s twisted smirk flinched for an instant.

It hurt. Splendidly.

“Ha ha ha! Break me more! Break me more! See how far I can go!”

The mobster’s smile deepened, but she barely had time for even that simple of an action. Down the middle of her vision, she could see Madison turning to barrel down on her, intent on keeping up the assault. Margaux had barely the time to right herself. She found her footing but had nowhere to run. This woman’s boldness knew no end. That punch couldn’t have felt good on Madison’s cheek. All of the punishment, all of the effort. The frustration was palpable. The pain. The anger.

Flame engulfed Margaux’s blood when their eyes met. The determination in her gaze made everything burn beneath her skin, teased the aching spot between her legs and elicited a delighted shudder beneath her manic eyes and on the corners of her slashing white smile. She charged forward straight towards the Australian bull.

“COME!” The Frenchwoman’s gloved fist dipped low, gathering a violent storm beneath its low arc. She stopped her front boot with a slam to the floor at what she thought was a close enough distance to the charging Australian. Her arc reached past its low apex and came soaring up, going to meet Madison’s haymaker with a roaring uppercut from below, wind and storm dispersing around them as the force suddenly traveled skyward,

Who was faster? Who was right?

Who was dead?

WWhile Madison wasn't innately a slugger, there were instances where she was able to punch above her weight. These moments we're when she was able to merge her blistering speed with her physical blows, multiplying their effectiveness tenfold. This was what she was banking on her. Staggering from the errant blow, recovering into a whirlwind twirl into what might have been something to rival her Neverland punch.

She came roaring around, eyes snapping to Margaux as the Frenchwoman came into view. The two were clashing, there was no stopping it now. Someone of lesser will may have faltered, may have backed down, but Madison was determined to see her fist ground into this woman's face, she could already see her opponent laid out before her in her mind. Over the shouted protests from her corner, she was in this for all or nothing.

Her fist flew with cataclysmic force, far past the point of no return as she grit her teeth, eyes ablaze with harnessed fury of the moment. Margaux's own blow came up towards her, the two narrowing avoiding deflecting one another, giving both women a window to hit one another possibly in unison.

The frenchwoman's glove caught the underside of Madison's chin squarely, rattling her skull long before she muscled through the swing entirely. Her head snapped back violently, jaw slacked by the force enough that her green mouth guard had been ejected into the arena air. Her body followed, jolting backwards, taken clean off her feet if only by an inch or so.

Her boots hit the canvas, but the rest of her body seemed to have become made of gelatin. Only by some miracle had she landed upright again, rubber limbs swaying to her side to dangle for just a moment. She collapsed backwards onto the mat with a graceless thud, eyes partially rolled back in her skull.

Margaux witnessed a car crash once. A catastrophe of her own design that went slightly off its intended course, but the laws of nature cared little for “intentions” and placed her on the opposite end of one of the vehicles. The impressions were there, the exhilaration burned into her being. Even now, she could feel it as fresh as the chilling air against the sweat of her skin.

The anticipation was unlike any other. Two unstoppable forces bound for a violent cascade. She had to reach first. She had to, she had to, she had to. Margaux leaned into her strike, dedicating all her body and force into this pocket of time, watching intently through a bloodshot gaze as her glove pressed and folded the underside of Madison’s chin.

In that same instant, the world went white. An unyielding force took her from the side and rippled against her cheek. The pleasure she was seeking was undercut by a sudden torrent of pain and adrenaline that dominated her senses. Her body quaked at that moment, her organs rattled.

Did Madison hit harder than a runaway automobile? A point in her favor that the Frenchwoman couldn’t answer that straight away.

Her hair whipped to the side in a confetti of violent pink and red, a rough cut on her cheek letting a light drizzle of blood stain the air and blotch the canvas. Her head faced off to the side, staring into the distance as the ringing in her ears put her into a punchdrunk trance. The rest of her body followed, spinning about on the spot before her feet lost their balance and tripped over one another. She fell facedown to the ground in a messy heap, one glove high above her head, the other asleep and laid across her side. Her blurry eyes searched maddeningly left and right for a hint of life. She couldn’t see the Australian. She couldn’t see the ropes or the ring. The lights blotched together as she barely made out the official's call.

Olivier adjusted his monocle again.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THREE!”

The voices all around her were a muffled cacophony of gibberish as Madison lay on the canvas. There was more poignant one mixed in though it took her a moment to piece them together into understanding. Arlon was shouting for her to get up… that's right, she was on the ground, wasn't she? Her brow furrowed in a moment of confusion, head pulling to the side to look for the woman she was fighting. Margaux was nowhere to be seen, from this angle anyway.

She could taste something metallic in her mouth… iron? Blood. Her blood. She opened and closed her mouth, testing her jaw out of habit. Something was missing… a tooth? No, they were all there, she confirmed it by rolling her tongue over each of them. Her mouth guard was gone… that made sense.

"Four!"

Right! She had to get up. Madison's flingers clenched in her gloves, rolling her knuckles over the top of the ring as an anchor point. Slowly she pushed herself up, managing a few inches before the weight of her upper body seemed to much to support and her back dropped to the mat again with a soft groan.

"Five!"

Her Brian floated in what felt like a wave pool, the loud beat of her heart resonating inside of her skull with an unignorable thrum that had her feeling dizzy all of a sudden.

"Six!"

Slowly she rolled into her side, pinning an arm beneath her as she pushed past the tipping point to ease into her front. Madison planted her gloves to the mat a second time, preparing to try again. This time she had more success. Forehead pressed to the ground, muscles straining in her arms, a tumble of a scream building up inside her throat she pushed herself to the limit in an effort to get to her knees.

"Seven!"

She lifted her head, arms extending out as she took a tentative step to rise. Her right eye burned as a trickle of sweat rolled down along her damp and plastered hair right into it. Madison bellowed a road, surging up with a sudden burst of energy!

Her body twisted slightly as her ankle bent at an odd angle, her limbs turning to pudding even before she managed to plant her second boot firmly. Camera flashes flickered off her sweat glistening body as she came crashing back to the mat, sinking into the canvas with a heavy exhausted exhale.

"Eight!"