Margaux Lefeuvre vs. Sabrina Anderson - Hellhounds

Rules: Underground rules. There will be unlimited rounds going in 5-minute intervals each. Fighters keep going until one is unable to. Biting, low blows, elbow blows, headbutts, and hentai are liable options. No kicking, knee strikes, or similar use of the lower body. Leaving the ring results in immediate disqualification.
Victory Conditions: KO, TKO, or verbal submission. No ten count.


There seemed to be quite a bit of funding going into tonight’s match. AFW’s boxing league was finally receiving some long overdue attention, scheduling more matches in the past few months than it had in the last few years. Seats were being sold, investors were getting happy, and Japan’s interest in the sport seemed to be taking a sudden rise.

And it was all thanks to one Margaux Lefeuvre.

That was how she understood it at the very least after administration approached her for another underground-style bout. Interest in Momentum saw a noticeable rise after the Frenchwoman’s absolutely savory bout against Cicilia and it seemed like management was looking to recapture that magic for a second time while there was still an advantage to press. Strike while the iron was hot. The foundation of good business.

Margaux, for her part, had nothing to complain about. She sat on a bench with her phone in her hand. Waiting. Tensing. Breathing. Her blood curled and stirred beneath the surface of her tight skin. It was good, was it not? The tree of ambition had to be refreshed with the blood of the many, the spirit fed with the clash of battle and the cries of the defeated. How could her life continue without the arena? The answer to that question was void and distant, for that day would never come.

She didn’t discover much of her opponent tonight. Oliver did all the digging he could spare amidst his increasingly burdensome schedule and bore very little fruit. Sabrina seemed to be entirely underground, save for some professional training. But what was unmistakable was her penchant for violence. She watched the video on loop for about the tenth time since it came to her this morning. The action was far too blurry to make any real sense of, but Margaux didn’t need details. She saw the ferocity, heard the roar and madness in the plagued audio, just able to make Sabrina’s outline through the dead pixels. The fight ended, and the American celebrated, turning to face her bare body to the lens. Margaux’s smile cracked another inch and a tongue rolled across her lips.

Sublime.

Theme:

Margaux Lefeuvre:

The heavy wail and cry from a guitar echoed out across the arena. Its riffs echoed to and from, and as an inhuman chant weighed down the room, Margaux stepped out through the oppressive lights and walked down the ramp as a woman in a trance. Her pink bangs tousled just over her eyes, her pupils not moving an inch off the ring as she strode past the parted sea of hands reaching out to their goddess, her smile rigid and slashing white against the lights.

She stepped up to the corner post and slipped between the ropes. As she walked to her corner on the opposite end, her head tilted back and she breathed in a waft of the stale air. Blood from the canvas seeped up to meet her nose, traces of sweat, effaced tears, and stained fear dominated her senses. She relaxed and the excitement was visible when she opened her eyes again. Brown and pink orbs practically bloodshot. She turned to face the ramp from her corner.

Watching. Waiting.

She knew what she was. That’s what Sabrina always told herself when she was out of the ring. That’s what she always tried to make sense of when she was outside of a gym, but the truth of the matter was that it was practically next to impossible to resist this. Some people came to make a name for themselves, but who could ever give a damn over something like that? Some people fought for their families, and she still wondered why they bothered? This was another one of her first matches here, maybe the second, or the first? She wasn’t exactly sure, but she did understand that she was going to be fighting someone similar to her level. Well, in skills? She didn’t know a damn thing, but she did know that this chick she was fighting... Mags? Marge? Margaux!

Undergrounder... Roman didn’t gather much for her, only that her opponent was French. Honestly speaking, how the fuck was that helpful? She’d never met anyone remotely French in her entire life unless you coughed Olive Garden! Oh, wait, Italian...

This was all still new to her... At least, the organization, but she had to admit... It was sorta nice. However, what was really the most exciting part? How could she ever forget the fact she’d be doing an underground style match! Fucking hell, that’s how you get someone on your good side. This already felt like the Underground with everything but the lower body being usable... Christ, she wanted to sink her gloves into someone.

She was a battle maniac, she could admit that.

She loved the thrill, the adrenaline, the blood flying, the arousal, and everything else added in! It was all top fucking notch! You’d have to be a fucking maniac to not like this sorta deal, but there were always stragglers about... Kinda hard to avoid fun killers, but who gives a shit? She was gonna have a blast...

This chick was gonna be in for the night of her fucking life.

Time to get into the ring, right? With a grin, Sabrina stood up from the bench she sat upon and walked right on out...

Spoiler:

Roars and applause... For a new upcoming fighter, she may have been new, but she knew how to strut what she had. A grin bared across her face, her mounds on display, and the tattoos that adorned her arms were visible to all to look at. Sabrina walked, not with arrogance mind you, but confidence in every step she took. This was a woman with confidence in herself, but beneath that confidence, maybe even playfulness, there was a beast lurking within...

She had been set free.

She stepped all the way to the corner post on her end, slipping in between the ropes, but during the entire walk there was something else. Margaux would notice Sabrina’s violet eyes upon her, and for but a moment, that grin had disappeared. She seemed to scan her opponent, look at them from top to bottom, before grinning an almost feral grin.

Slipping between the ropes, Sabrina took to the corner opposite of Margaux. Slinging her arms over the upper ropes, the Rabid Dog simply cracked her neck a few times and took in the air. She could practically smell the battles that were done here, and judging from the scent, they were the most brutal battles only maniacs could think of. Violet eyes locked down onto pink and brown, and from those eyes was a beast, a dog, a rabid creature baring their fangs.

”You ain’t half bad lookin’, Mags. Not sure how to say that fancy French shit, but fuck if it don’t sound fancy, right? Name’s Sabrina, or Sabs, or whatever the fuck you prefer.”

Upfront, blunt, and truthful. Only Sabrina could greet an opponent so casually.

Margaux had a decent enough impression of what to expect from her adversary once she arrived. In spite of the poor quality of the video, the Frenchwoman was nevertheless able to snuff out the raw power and aggression on display. Her own pool of willing employees seldom displayed such ferocity. Surely to make for an entertaining evening.

As if to confirm her thoughts, Sabrina arrived in considerably...confident fashion. Her stride appeared solid and eager. Her eyes etched with the gaze of excitement and anticipation that nearly mirrored the pinkette’s own as she watched from the ring. Someone was looking forward to the slaughter.

Ah. And she was topless. A difficult subject to overlook.

The small area of Margaux’s robust cerebrum that still facilitates some degree of logical, fully rational thought when it came to the motivations of others had understood Sabrina’s choice of attire as a simple matter of intimidation, a boast of confidence to her character and abilities. She needn't dedicate even an ounce of thought towards modesty. What would it matter when her opponent would break all the same? But a deeper part of her understood it even better. The primal fire that radiated from her body as the blonde descended from the ramp, the lust for the mutually assured destruction ahead. Margaux’s interest piqued.

She was afforded a better view of her opponent once the blonde slipped into the ring. From her corner, Margaux could make out the bulk lining her arms and shapely abdomen dotted with shallow scars. She may have possessed the slight advantage in height, but Sabrina easily matched in definition to make up that difference. Oh yes. This stray had fangs.

The casual tone with which she was being addressed, however, was not going to be overlooked. Mags? Honestly? Margaux resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Americans…

The official called the two to the center. Margaux followed promptly but remained silent for a moment as she stood over the Momentum logo, letting her mind wander before her eyes filled with light again.

“Chienne.” Margaux crossed one arm over the other, smiling coquettishly as she pressed one glove to the bottom of her chin. “Until it is proven that you deserve otherwise, you will be my dear little Chienne.” Her eyes busied themselves with giving Sabrina’s body one last once over, traveling from bottom to top before her view was obstructed by flying fists and viscera. She giggled softly and unfolded her arms, looking to her opponent with a dark grin.

“Worry not for your French, mon amour.“ She leaned forward in the small space between them, noses barely touching, enough to feel the heat of her breath grace her lips. “A dog without etiquette will never survive my presence.”

Kinda hard to get a read off people you’ve never met before. Well, that was sorta obvious, weren’t it? Sabrina sighed as she leaned her bare back further into the corner post as she observed Margaux. The girl was supposedly some rich broad, right? Didn’t seem to carry the attitude, not that she wasn’t a big smug in someway, but you just had that... that feeling when you knew something more.

Kinda a shame Frenchy weren’t topless, but what could you do? Shrugging her shoulders, she accepted that her matches would usually play like this. From what she gathered, the other gals at least, most would go with tops which was a little disappointing, but who cared. As long as she could punch a tit, she was sure it’d hurt like a mother fucker.

When it came to power, Sabrina might probably hold a tier here, or at least in taking more punches. God knows she’d taken too many blows that should have kept most fighters down. Thanks to the old hag’s training and her own stubbornness, it made for serious comebacks, or some good last stands at least.

Ah, officials...

Shrugging her shoulders yet again, blatantly stretching her arms about whilst flaunting out her chest and displaying her core to Margaux. It was to intimidate and also show her just who she was facing in the ring.

A rabid dog was a rabid dog.

Yet could the dog could keep up even now?

Eyes raised as she met Margaux in the center, she was then called... chicken? No, wait, chienne meant... Chinese? With a rather deadpan stare, she looked to Margaux and shrugged her shoulders. ”Ah, no. I’m not Chinese, Mags, but thanks for the compliment. I think?” Yep, totally nailed it. ”I’ll call ya French Fry. Now we both got nicknames, pinky.” Then came an almost understandable look the second she bore witness to the dark grin her opponent flashed.

Suddenly the rabid dog bared her teeth in a toothy grin.

Thumping her gloves together, leaning just as close to the point their noses were touching, Sabrina grinned at Margaux with eyes filled with bloodlust befitting that of a wild animal, and regular lust befitting that of a pleasure seeker. ”Hmph, etiquette, eh? Heard that shit for a long time, but ya wanna why I’m gonna survive compared to your usual roster, French Fry?”

If allowed to, Sabrina would attempt to steal a kiss from Margaux, a deep one. It’d last for a few seconds before she’d lean back and wait for the bloodbath begin. ”It’s cause fuck that shit. Just give me your all or I’m gonna sink my teeth into you until you either bring me down or I’m pounding your face into the floor until you can’t get back up. Bring it on!”

First impressions were rarely wrong for Margaux. A life of backhand dealing and conscripting any number of faceless miscreants for matters both private and public had taught her the renowned luxuries of knowing thy enemy before they knew you. A simple glance was typically all it took to know the stature of a person, their character and convictions. Their sins and pleasures. Seldom was this feeling wrong, but when it was…

Oh, she wasn’t entirely off about Sabrina. Yes, those eyes stained with a lust for battle didn’t betray a fragile flower underneath. This woman was confident. She was a bruiser. She would provide the challenge she was looking for. What she underestimated was her crudeness.

Margaux stood with a bemused smile as her opponent spoke her insolence. Nicknames were not something that the Frenchwoman took to with what many would call “grace”. In her territory, in her own home, this may have been cause for a sudden accident a new carpet. But she would give her honored guest the benefit of restraint. There was a long and brisk evening of entertainment ahead and she had no intentions of spoiling it.

Until she felt a pair of warm, soft lips against her own. The pinkette’s brain stalled and took a moment to register the sensation. The confusion passed, but Margaux didn’t pull away, nor did she indulge. She simply stared and remained, watching as if gauging the American behind a pair of hollow mismatched orbs. Even after Sabrina pulled away, Margaux continued to look on with an indifferent gaze that shadowed the whirlwind of emotion and torrents of raw energy fluctuating back and forth inside of her. Many returnees from her past matches couldn’t even believe it. The boldness. The audacity. The stupidity.

...Exciting.

“Alright alright. Come on. That’s enough. You two back up and-”

Margaux threw her head forward before the woman had a chance to finish, smashing her forehead on the bridge of Sabrina’s nose. Her body moved without her, chasing after the blonde with a fierce line of hooks to her face, going again and again, not stopping or caring for anything in their path. The ropes, the walls, the world. It would all give way beneath their might.

“Hey! What the hell?! I didn’t-!”

Did anyone understand the Underground? The struggle? The pain? The excitement? Sabrina knew a lot of girls tended to see the Underground as a type of shameful sport, especially to boxing, but she always scoffed at that. The Underground was where you really put your metal through the test. It was where you threw yourself at your weakest and either rose amongst the ranks or stayed down. She had been the cause for a lot of girls staying down, but she was also the one who clawed her way upwards. Her goals were selfish though. It was about the money, the thrill, and the sheer god damn brutality she could engage in with her opponents.

She didn’t see much in her opponents, not deeply at least, but she had a hunch or a sorta... gut feeling. Instinct. She just knew that sometimes people were a lot more tougher than they looked, or maybe they were just a whole lot less refined than one might believe. It was all a fucking laugh, but damn did she enjoy the looks that resembled hers.

She couldn’t tell anything much about Margaux, but she knew this chick held herself high. Although, weirdly enough, she didn’t have the... full rich bitch air to her. Not that she wasn’t rich, cause she definitely had the fucking posture about her, but she didn’t carry their looks. This chick... She was reminded of others in her neck of the woods, or maybe that was just her stupid ass brain thinking.

Then the kiss.

Looks like French Fry was different, a lot different, because she didn’t even look pissed off, or even excited, but a simple stare. She frowned a little and sighed, and was about to see that this might have been a letdown. She was excited for the match, but maybe French Fry wouldn’t be able to give her that Underground thrill? Maybe it was a bit of a waste, but god she hated fighting like she had honor... Just as she...

Pain exploded in a second! Blood dripped from her nostrils.

Sabrina stumbled back as a skull met with her nose, jerking Sabrina’s head back. Even the Rabid Dog wasn’t prepared for such an attack and it showed judging by the constant stream of ferocious hooks slamming into her face, left and right! Margaux would find herself leading this position for a bit, sending Sabrina stumbling back, but while her punches were no joke...

Something inside Sabrina sparked.

Fucking.

Finally!

After already taking about several of Margaux’s hooks, Sabrina was clearly a glutton for punishment if she was still standing despite the obvious redness forming across her cheeks. Could this bitch be anymore misleading? She was close to hitting the ropes now, but Sabrina attempted to cut off Margaux’s momentum by trying to body the French Fry with a swift and quick left uppercut aimed straight for the woman’s solar plexus! She was hoping to stop her and try to repay the favor by following up, if successful, by smashing her right elbow into the woman’s nose!

An eye for an eye. A nose for a nose, right?

Sachiko never should have accepted this match. There were plenty of other offers, plenty of other opportunities. She didn’t have to be here right now. She could be doing one of those cushy hentai gigs and just stared from the sidelines until the wrestlers tired themselves out. But no. Oooooh no. She just had to be a boxing fan. She just had to think about ‘expanding her horizons’. She wanted to get ‘all the experience she could’, right? Well this was where that got her. Chasing two maniacs around the ring and...oh, great. One of them had a bloody nose already. Had to be broken.

Fuck her life. Just fuck it.

Margaux, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more pleased with how tonight’s festivities were beginning. Blood was already soaking the canvas. Life was beginning anew. Her soul screamed from within as she felt the bone and sinew from Sabrina’s face yield beneath her knuckles and cry out in unending suffering. Every bit of it excited the Frenchwoman, rushed the blood and tickled her nerves. Her eyes widened to the size of the moon and she felt fully intent on regressing that face to sheer horror.

But what was this? The American was a rare breed this one. A hidden uppercut buried itself into Margaux’s midsection, retching her body forward and coughed out a violent spew to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out the trace of a grin on the blonde’s face.

What a pleasant surprise. 

The pinkette craned her head up and was immeditaley smacked back with a terrible crack to the center of her face. The bridge of her nose flared and felt loose. That would leave quite the bruise. Not that it concerned the pink pugilist to any severe capacity. The pain was excruciating, trembled down to the bone, but one wouldn’t have been able to tell from the enraptured smile caked across the bottom of her face.

Margaux stumbled back two steps before she planted her back foot behind her. Her eyes focused on her target and she pushed forward into Sabrina’s space. She met her guard with a solid one-two jab before she stepped in once more and went to reach around her head, aiming to clap her temple with a wide hook.

There it was! God, she just loved fucking up rich little pricks like her for fucking sure! Sure, professional boxing and sportsmanship was good, but why the hell should she give a damn? She was aiming to win, weren’t she? She was aiming to enjoy leather batting down her opponent over and over again, maybe getting some hot action in there too, but at the end she’d give ‘em a good knockout for their troubles! This girl though... was she really some rich bitch or something more to that snobby little attitude of hers? Eh, who fucking knew for sure...

She loved that satisfying retch, watching her spew to the floor from that blow. So, her gut was a good spot too, eh? Good to note! Then came that moment she raised her head and boom! Mostly bone connected against that nose as her elbow slammed into Mag’s face like a freight train...

God, she wanted to make leave this bitch a bloody mess on the canvas!

Still though, that smile... Was she getting off to this? Eh, not like she could judge... Masochistic, sadistic, who cared? In the ring, go at it and release all that pent up shit! Go loose and rip each other apart! As her opponent caught herself from that little stumble, Sabrina’s tongue darted out to taunt her French opponent. She certainly didn’t mind her opponent getting into her space... Guard blocking off those jabs, she eventually managed to go right back to the offensive despite how stupid it was. Whereas Margaux would throw a hook that would soon smash into her temple, Sabrina threw a right uppercut just afterwards, hoping to clap her opponent’s chin and rock her head upwards.

BOOM!

Sabrina’s temple throbbed as leather connected with her head, jerking her head back with an almost dull headache beginning to take shape. Yet despite such a blow... She was still in this! A grin, feral as a beast’s, remained upon her face as she tried to recover... Wether her earlier hit paid off, or went off course, she would try and rush right in, hoping to slam a right hook into Margaux’s cheek like a torpedo!

Sabrina wasn’t going to fall over easily.

The Frenchwoman had to contend with that simple truth the more she dug into the bulky frame opposite her own, witnessed how the harder she bit the worse Sabrina seemed determined to bite back. She was durable, powerful, and seemed to have polished a rather crude edge to her technique. The kind that wasn’t born from any professional gym. This kind seemed intimately familiar.

Normally, that would necessitate some level of caution. A retreat perhaps. Better off to not fight in a battle of attrition so early into the match. There were better ways to spend her energy at the moment and for the blonde to expel her own, if either of them were smart enough to realize it. That was how Olivier would be thinking in this moment. Make Sabrina come to her if she was so eager. Don’t play her game.

But that smile. That unmistakable smile on her face. That thinly-veiled promise of more to come, stained with red barbarity and ecstasy. One that tugged at the corner of Margaux’s lips and drew her closer with each breath.

Impossible.

The pinkette stepped in harder, longer. Blood screaming, tendons surging. Her hook found purchase upside Sabrina’s temple, illicit a larger grin upon the Frenchwoman’s face. An uppercut from below mushed that expression into a splashing wave of skin and clacking bone. Her head swung back, temporarily disconnecting her from the rest of the world before her head fell back and brought her vision back into alignment. Adrenaline and excitement kept her on her feet.

She ignored the throbbing pain in her head and floating pain in her jaw, rushing straight back at Sabrina. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the hook from her sky blue glove raging her way. Margaux brought her left arm up with an inch to spare, guarding herself as best she was able against the rouge hook, sliding into the distance between her and Sabrina. If she could get close enough, her arms would come up around the Amercian boxer, one over the woman’s arm and the other to her neck in a close clinch.

If anyone assumed Sabrina was some jobber, they had a whole another thing coming in then. She was far from ever being a jobber, much less wanting to be one for fun, because she was Sabrina fucking Anderson. She could name about a few people thought she was a jobber before they found her fists smashing their skulls into the god damn canvas. Usually with gloves or without her gloves. Nonetheless, Sabrina was still trying to gauge Margaux at the moment, not at skill level, but who or what she was.

Everything about her from before? Screamed rich bitch a mile away. She was hot, and she wouldn’t mind a good lay in the bedroom, even in the ring, but this was... new. It was like she switched from royal and prissy bitch to downright fucking dirty and bloodthirsty. She recognized that look well in the underground... She had it herself, and she knew gals and guys with the very same look. Some like them, or some a whole League above ‘em.

If this match were more... natural, or maybe difficult, Sabrina would play this safer. The thing was though, her opponent wasn’t. She responded in kind with brutality, and Sabrina was inclined to do the same. Fuck strategy and thinking. Just punch and punch until your opponent couldn’t stand anymore, or move really,

As she endured Margaux’s hook, she could already feel the throbbing pain in her temple as well as face. Considering the earlier start Margaux had, she definitely had the slight advantage here, but fuck that shit! Watching that grin get wiped away from her own glove smashing into her chin felt fucking fantastic as shit! She was sure she could just watch that for hours... That fearsome and excited grin being mushed into nothing with her leather clad fist pounding her head into the air!

Come on, she thought, take it all. Sabrina was hoping to smash and warp Margaux’ cheek like it was a pound of meat on the hook. She was less than amused when her opponent managed to bring up their left arm, finding her glove smashing straight into the arm, skidding past it and allowing her opponent to get in close. She was ready to try and slam a rather profound blow into her opponent when the slightly taller boxer wrapped her arms around her bare torso! She found one of her arms being bound down to her side, snarling as she struggled to escape before another arm came up to her neck. Before she knew it, she only had one arm in action now, but she hadn’t thrown a punch yet. She was actually curious why on earth this chick would even go for a clinch now. Smirking, she looked up at her opponent and chuckled.

”Come on, Mags, what’s with gettin’ all close and personal, eh? I was hopin’ we could get a little frisky later, but so soon? Gotta give ya credit, rich gal, you got guts... I just wonder how tough they are.”

If it was at all possible, rearing back her one free arm, Sabrina hoped to go and body her French opponent once more. She had hoped to have sank a heavy uppercut deep within Margaux’s stomach, hopefully depriving her of much needed oxygen.