The Rhythm of the Night

Zulime knew herself more than anything else in the world. More than she knew how to delight people in her silky French, more than she knew how to make sure that tourists and their money parted on the riverboat, more than she knew the dirty and beautiful streets of her beloved home city, New Orleans. Zulime understood that her curvy little body could bring hundreds if not thousands of sets of eyes upon her in any room that she walked in, just as she understood the immense power she could bring to bear with the help of those very curves. At the same time, she understood her weaknesses. When Zulime got in the ring, she had a tendency to do whatever felt right until she came away with a victory. While her unpredictability and her power got her through a lot of matches back on the boat and in her first few matches here at AFW, she knew that was not going to be enough to get her to where she needed to go. She had met a wonderful gentlemen who said that he was willing to show her a few different techniques, and if he were lucky Zulime would show him a few different things as well.

His name was Melvin, and he had a wonderful sense of rhythm. A boombox was playing a steady one two three four beat that Zulime found appealing. Melvin was showing her how to move in the style of capoeira. Zulime learned how to waltz and how to foxtrot growing up, and once she was grown she had her dances out in the woods. The proper dances were too stiff and formal, and her wild dances out among the pines were too wild. With this, she was walking a fine line, but she thought she was walking it like a pro. It took a bit to learn the steps, but Zulime was moving a little bit more gracefully now. That was what she appreciated about this particular style of fighting. This was not something where she would have to play the role of a brute, simply picking women up and tossing them across the mat. No, as Zulime moved, she moved with a certain deftness and raw charisma. Or at least that was the goal, anyways.

The Cajun girl was not terribly acclimated to throwing kicks, but it was coming to her. She shuffled over the left and then threw a kick as high as she possibly could. The Riverboat Queen found that she may have thrown it a little bit too hard, as the blow knocked her off balance. She placed her hands on the ground to balance herself, and then quickly set herself right. The move only took a beat before she was back into the rhythm of it, taking a step forward and step back. It was probably unnecessary to for her to be moving her hips so much, but old habits died hard. She breathed out, trying to feel the rhythm again, trying to hype herself up to throw another blow. The Cajun girl let it go a beat or two longer than she had to, wanting the music to guide her now. It was a far cry from the jazz that she loved so much, but Zulime found herself appreciating this more and more.

The beat hit, and Zulime launched into it. Melvin showed her how she could get onto her hand and then launch a kick. She was not sure what possessed her, but Zulime was going for it. She stood on her hand, if only for a second, and then launched a spinning kick with her left leg. It was not as straight nor as powerful as she would have liked, but she was able to land it. Her two feet were under her as she stood upright. She spread her arms wide. "That ain't so bad," She looked at Melvin with a smile.

Zulime was not wearing her typical wrestling garb. They had leotards for her there, but Zulime would never suffer to wear someone else's clothing. Her one piece was a bright green, and hinted at some cleavage. It allowed her the flexibility required to pull off moves like she wanted to.

If one was to tell him that he’d end up teaching his beloved art of capoeira when he first started, he would have laughed at their face and call them silly. And yet, here he is, doing that exact thing.

Granted, the time that he started was when he was 9. It seemed like a long shot, something that didn’t seem possible. Especially as he was like Zulime when she first started. Melvin always had a good sense of rhythm, his mother would always tell the story of how he came into the world dancing and with a smile on his face. Obviously, he liked to believe that. It is perhaps the reason as to why he took capoeira like a fish to water. While many seem to struggle with the basics, he seemed to grasp it with relative ease, up to the point where he was trying out more advanced techniques as he rose up its many ranks. It wasn’t in the sense that he felt to be better than anyone. Or to be the best in the passionate and excellent Brazilian martial art. Melvin isn’t the type to be like that. He just loved capoeira. He was never bothered much on glory or winning. Whenever he gets into roda, it was a chance to meet new people, share their love of the art, the passion and to hone one’s skills in battle. Iron sharpens iron as they say.

Right now, as his student was going through the movements, the Jamaican thought back to nine year old him and figured he should call himself stupid. It felt like yesterday when he first met Zulime Lafitte. He came to the land of the rising sun with the hopes of getting some action with some of the best world has ever seen, talent that could help in grow his skills to fight but not many offers came his way. That is until he met Zulime one day and after a long chat, finding out she was an AFW talent (apparently it's common for talent to meet others in Japan. Who knew?) and told him where she's lacking when it comes to her style. She wanted to add something to it, make it complete and fitting her way of fighting in matches. That is where Melvin introduced Zulime to Caporeia.

And who knew how well she was taking it. It was as if she was born to do it, had the right sense of rhythm, the deftness and charisma to back it up too. Sure, she was rough in a few things but that is to be expected for someone coming into the art as a beginner. It all made things easier as he taught her more and more and how well she was picking things up, even for someone who's not so acclimated to it's kicks. For now, it was getting the movements right and from there, polish a few things so that it becomes much more effective.

Melvin watched as Zulime tried to follow the best, her first attempt didn't go as well, bit too much power on it and went wild. She needed to temper it, focus on the technique. He opted not to shout out what she needed to do. Zulime was smart and had never gave up. The right attitude when it comes to training. After a while, finding the right moment, Zulime threw out the second kick, looking much better, using her hand too. The Jamaican clapped his hands, standing up as he simply wore his custom abadá. Green as Zulime's tight leotard but having some yellow with it so that it shows his heritage.

"Haha! Yuh, nuh bad!." His accent never left him when he flew from his home in Kingston, walking towards the circle where Zulime stood. "Buh yuh cud bi betta , enuh? Yuh at least didn't use too much power eena dat kick. Especially di Armada. Once yuh practice more, yuh will git di kine ah rotation an power ya need, yuh feel me?" To prove his point, he stepped back and performed the same kind of kick, further from Zulime but to show how much precise and the right technique. "Jus lakka dat. Still, neva expecting yuh tuh duh dat. Mi ain't mad, mi lakka dat yuh experimenting."

Zulime was feeling loose and limber. She was not quite sure what made her throw a kick that was too strong before, but now she was confident that had she been placed in situation at the moment, she would not err as she had done mere moments prior. There was very little to back up that self belief other than pure hubris, but it had gotten Zulime this far so the Riverboat Queen was going to ride that particular tide for as long as it lasted. The Cajun girl had become an expert at masking her emotions, but she saw no reason to hide the smile at the time. The music had a powerful beat, and the man standing in front of her was comely. The Riverboat Queen liked acting on her impulses, and she felt comfortable. Zulime loved being in charge of a situation, but knew when to relax a little bit and let the action come to her.

She stood back and watched as Melvin threw his kick. Her brown eyes narrowed as she paid close attention to everything that Melvin was doing, from the position of his hand to how he moved his body to his sense of timing. She was not able to watch herself perform, of course, but she had the distinct sense that what she was doing was wrong. Melvin's technique was nothing short of flawless. She rested her head on her hand. The Riverboat Queen was a lover of art, and she knew a master artist when she saw one. The Jamaican was a gracious sort of fellow, being more than forgiving at Zulime's awkward attempt at the kick, which he didn't have to be. Her brown eyes flickered with mischief as she contemplated on Melvin's sense of nuance.

"Well, call me appreciative, because that was quite the move you just pulled." Zulime let her body guide her a step closer to her guide. "You musta been doin' that since the time you popped out of the womb." Zulime's words were laced with the sweet sugar that only a Louisiana accent could provide, but she did mean it. It was nice to have a good friend (of sorts) close by to teach her things that she needed to know. The music was still going, and Zulime could not resist the urge to shake her hips. It was not the full blown dance moves that capoeira required, but she was getting more and more into it.

Zulime wanted to put her own spin on things. She got a few steps clear of her friend, and did a cartwheel to clear the canvas. When reading tarot cards, you always asked the other person to cut the deck and shuffle to rid the cards of the other person's energy. The Riverboat Queen felt that she was getting rid of the negative energy by tumbling a bit, and launched straight into the kick that she had just screwed up. This time, it came with less power, but Zulime was feeling it. She still put too much energy to it, and was thrown off balance again. Though this time, not nearly as bad. She didn't even have to use her hand to keep herself upright.

She turned to Melvin after having done so. "Ain't that better?" Most people would have interpreted that as Zulime asking for some feedback, but in her heart of hearts she knew that she had performed the kick more technically, and as such she was just looking for some confirmation.

Unlike most rigid and strict martial art dojos, Melvin fancied that he would let things be as relaxed while having some decorum and order when it came to his first-ever student. Zulime was taking it like a fish to water and he was willing for the Cajun to be more expressive and creative. Such freedom is something he is willing to give, letting her find the rhythm and the beat well. Since it does go a long way when it comes to examinations. The one thing that Melvin himself liked when it came to Capoeira. Her accent was pretty sweet, it isn’t the first time that he had heard an American accent, lots of tourists come to Kingston, but rarely does he come towards someone so Southern, a real thick Louisianan accent. Laced with some sugar, but not too much that it would make you sick. A pleasant mix indeed.

Melvin did had to guide Zulime however, he was a teacher and he is supposed to teach. While Zulime had the right idea in the kind of movement, too much power makes the attack wilder, uncontrollable. And while it spoke to her passion and desire, having it tempered makes it more accurate, focused even. There was always the risk of a powerful attack if dodged then recovering afterwards makes things much harder and you’ll be focusing on stabilizing yourself, time that could be used in focus on your defence. Which is why she needs to get the right kind of power. It isn’t all about kicking someone’s head off. Precision and technique come first, power follows after.

“Well dat a bikaaz mi did dweet since mi popped outta di womb! Hahaha!” He cheerily responded, seeing those hips shaking. Still in the rhythm. Excellent. “Buh yea, mi hab dun ih fah ah lang time mon. An mi memba falling ova every time wen mi started. Mi tripped, mi get dizzy, mi git banged up. Buh eh all part addi learning process, yuh hear?” Returning after the same kick, showing where Zulime would be getting wrong. Though showing it isn’t the same as going through it yourself. One has to experience it and get the movements down. And so long as he was there, the Jamaican was willing to guide her through till she gets to that level of competency.

Though even with a child, there is a time when you’ll have to let go of their hand and let them walk for the first time. And as the Louisianan native cartwheeled into the canvas, Melvin would watch on, just to see if she had learnt her lesson. Attempting the same kick that she had previously screwed up on, the ebony woman used a little less power this time, something that MJ had noticed, though still more than enough that she would be thrown off balance and the follow-through to be messed up. However, there was progress there. And any student would take that much.

“Hehehe! Nice! Very nice! yuh a get there!.” He smiled, folding his arms under his chest. “Ah bit too much power eena deh, buh yuh didn't even need dat hand. Suh ya a get betta. All mi can seh a keep at ih an practice ya hear? Especially eff ya waah tuh git gud inna ring.”

Melvin was always pretty cheery. In front of the crowd on the riverboat, she would always put on a face like nothing was ever wrong. It was a good act, but it was an act nonetheless. Internally, she had the same feelings and problems and desires as anyone else did, but she had a tendency to keep that private unless she really felt comfortable with someone. But this Jamaican man always seemed to be cheery. Zulime was a big believer in energy, and had a proclivity for loa on the darker side of things. But she sensed nothing but light radiating from her erstwhile teacher, now and as long as they had known each other.

Practicing. A word that she hated. On the riverboat, she hadn't needed to practice anything. Growing up, she had been bathed in all of the little things that it took to run a riverboat, from working in the kitchens to performing on stage to working the blackjack tables. That world had come to her naturally, and if it didn't she was able to work on it. For what it was worth, Melvin was doing what he could to ensure that this didn't feel like a chore, and his easygoing nature made it feel like she was right at home. The Cajun girl had considered going to a wrestling gym, but those all felt too macho, too ridiculous, too over the top. This, and this particular martial art, just felt like dancing.

Zulime melted back to the ropes, and used them to prop herself up. She was acting on her capacity to throw herself a little bit too much into everything that she did, and as such had tuckered herself out. She looked at Melvin. Seeing him now, it was hard to believe that he fell every single time he did a kick. The man was really good at this, and did it so naturally. She wondered if she would ever be able to do that herself. "Learnin' is just part of the process. But I am gettin' there, I hope." She breathed in and out deeply. "Always had that habit. But I reckon that is why I got so many folks watchin' my matches." She said with a smile.

"So what now?" Her arms were outstretched as she took a step off the ropes.

So far, his way has been getting some pretty good results, Zulime’s own natural talent helping things, but with his tutelage, his guidance would help sharpen her skills, especially in this martial art. If it is going to help her in the ring, or even for other things then that’s a bonus. The Jamaican was pretty proud, especially with how far she has come. His personality was always infectious, never having to fake anything or put on a mask, his outlook in life causes him to look at things very positively. Zulime wasn’t a troublesome student, in fact, a very good student. And that is more than enough for him to be so cheery.

The art of Capoeira is always very interesting to learn, so many techniques and it is indeed like dancing. Finding the rhythm, following your partner, learning your steps, even as you train and practice, it is never so much like a chore. It is a very nice atmosphere all things considered and MJ kept it whilst teaching the Cajun.

“Exactly, sista!” He grinned, placing his hands on his hips and Zulime leaned onto the ropes. “Yuh get di talent an di sweeeet sweet riddim Buh talent so-so gets yuh suh fur yoi git me? yuh will definitely git deh An yow Jus imagine all di moves yuh will bi busting out inna ring! Ain't nobody gwine keep up wid di riddim an tempo! Haha!” His sweet grin coming out again, the happy-go-lucky Jamaican giving some positive reinforcement. And it’s true, with the work she’ll be putting, nobody will be ready for her.

He was about to answer that very question, that is until he heard his phone ringing in the little hut outside the ring. “Ah! Ah, well yuh luk ah bit tuckered out, Zu. Mi jus gwine tek dis call, di club probably callin' mi bac wanting mi tuh bi di DJ fi di nex gig. Eff ongle eh did da higher-ups at AFW calling mi fah ah match! Haha! Buh hey! Ih will hap'm eena due time. Jus haffi bi patient an upful ya know? Suh git sum rest, stretch yuhself, Mi wi bi bac quick!” He hopped out of the ring from the top rope like it’s nothing as if he was training for that his whole life too. But Melvin needed to get that call, it would be easy money and he could do with that at the moment.

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“[Seriously, I haven’t gotten into one match. Not one!]”

A man walked along the pavement in the cool night, a bottle of Corona in his hand and a phone in the other. The man is far from drunk, considering his speech and the fact he is walking in a straight line, but it was doing nothing to ease his mood. “[You told me it was easy to get one in this league, that it’s common to get a match with anyone…Well, I haven’t got shit! Those people in charge never called me….yeah…yeah, I tried calling and messaging…even a fucking letter, look I tried so many things, I even waited. I fucking waited! You know I don’t like waiting! Like, come on!... Did they not see how magnificent I was when I did their tryouts? It was easy!... Hey, you listen here fucker, I came to this country for one thing and the fact that I have not been considered into a match yet, that is insulting! I’m only the best fighter in this league…what?... Oh who the fuck cares about that beta cuck cowboy, he ain’t relevant anymore! Look…hey! Look, I’m giving this another week. If I don’t get a match soon, I’m taking the next plane out of here, there are plenty other leagues that would actually see how great I am!”]

The phone disconnected, the French-Canadian letting out an exhausted and annoyed groan as he slips his iPhone into his pocket. Taking another sip, he looked up at the sky, just wondering how the hell he got into this mess. He came here to forget about the past and perhaps rebuild his image, AFW being the best place for it. At least, that is what he thought. Did they see his video? It had died down in terms of its viral pull, but it was still out there and anyone could look at it. Surely it would have been easy, he smashed it during his tryouts! He looked good! What more could these fuckers want!?

He wondered as such as he wondered around, passing through the trees and grass where he’s taking a quick piss before going back to his apartment. That is until he stumbled onto something he didn’t expect to see. A ring. Which is weird, he was only exploring and he only stumbled onto this place. Doesn’t seem that many would find this place. Not only that but a woman. In a leotard. Looking absolutely divine. Now he wondered why someone like her would be out here all alone. Doesn’t seem like anyone is around. Perhaps he could hook up with her, would at least be a very good night, all things considered.

Throwing the half-empty bottle away, the French-Canadian made his way past the trees and towards that ring. His blue short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to show off his impressive body and six-pack abs, red shorts and some toms to complete the look. He checked his breath before doing a few slight touches to his hair. Gotta look good for the ladies, you know? He approached the ring behind the ebony goddess, hands-on his pockets and with the best charming smile, he can muster. “[Well, well…now what’s a cutie like you doing here, all alone?]” He opened up in his French language, it’s known to get many chicks interested. “Name’s Pierre. And you look sublime…what’s your name?” Reverting to English now, giving a cheeky wink as he hopped on the apron, leaning his arms on the ropes.

Zulime was breathing deeply now. Of all the things that she could have afforded to work on, cardio was at the top of the list. The Cajun girl had gotten wrapped up in the moment and forgotten that she needed a rest, a fact that was catching up to her now. She leaned against the ropes. Her talent and sweet rhythm were not doing much to aid her in recovering, so she rested against the ropes. They started sagging under her weight, but Zulime's sense of balance kept her upright. Zulime's eyes flitted over to Melvin as he departed from the ring to take the call. The prospect of going to the club tonight seemed quite enticing. She usually did not appreciate dance club music, finding it too garish, too tasteless for her refined musical sensibilities. The piano on the riverboat often found many talented musicians to coax the keys, and she much preferred when the ivories were belting out old jazz standards. But there was something to be said for music that made everyone gyrate like wild women in bacchanalias. And if it were a match, well, that would be another opportunity to watch Melvin work his magic.

But alas, she would not know. Melvin exited stage left, and the Riverboat Queen was left alone in the ring. She took a few steps away from the ropes and stretched out a little bit. She hated the feeling of fatigue that built up, and knew that if it built up too much it would lead to injuries, or worse. Zulime simply would not abide by that. She spent far too much time dancing and wrestling and doing naughtier stuff, and any sort of leg injury would put a serious damper on her ability to enjoy any and all of those things. There was a time to be sultry, and this was not it. She pulled an arm behind her back, setting her triceps on fire for the time being. She knew that eventually, it would all be worth it.

Zulime's head turned when she heard French being spoken. There was a man standing there, and much to her disappointment, that man was not Melvin. This guy, this new guy, seemed to have stepped right out of some knockoff men's fashion magazine, and reeked with incredible arrogance. She immediately recognized the accent as coming from Canada, and her brow furrowed as she thought about how to play this. When she dealt with such men back on the riverboat, she always pretended to let them have control, flattering their vanity until she could deprive them of their money. While they were not quite at the gaming tables at the moment, she was still ready to see how much she could wheedle from this Canadian guy.

She did her best to put on an innocent sort of face, blinking several times. Her long eyelashes were put on display now, and Zulime was really going for it. She put her hand slightly above her chest and her knees bent slightly before she stood mostly up striaght, feigning a curtsy. "Well, ain't that just a charmin' name, Pierre." Zulime liked leaning into her New Orleans accent, but she backed off it a bit now. The Cajun girl was merely hinting at it, just as she was hinting at a lot more by playing with the end of her long hair. "And you can call me Zulime. Zulime Lafitte, if I may." Zulime giggled coquettishly. "And what language were you speakin' just then? Must be mighty hard to speak more than one tongue," She took a half step back. The sweet little Southern belle she was pretending to be would not suffer to appear wanton, but she was also seeing if Pierre would get to the other side of the ropes.

It was quite the sight to behold. Perhaps less of the fact that there was indeed a ring around this part of the land, nearly hidden in plain sight, but more so of the woman that is standing inside it. While Pierre didn’t do a whole lot of exploring, since he didn’t want to bother himself with all of that, he had passed this place before, mostly to pass through his favourite bar, hence the Corona that used to be in his hand. Of course, he tossed it aside, had this been inside a nightclub or a bar, such a thing would be acceptable. This however, he didn’t wish to be seen as an absolute drunkard. This woman seems to carry a certain air around her that doesn’t really condone this sort of thing.

And as he leans on the top rope, he was willing to pull out all the stops. Such a beauty, sculpted and formed well enough, skin like mahogany, bountiful breasts and a tight butt too. There was a lot that the French-Canadian was liking, but he knew the rules. Don’t stare too much or you’ll probably be labelled a creep. She does have eyes. And they were beautiful to look at as well. And the woman has a name. “Zulime, eh?” A single eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Pleasure to meet you. That’s an interesting name you got there. Haven’t come across anyone named that, actually. Does it have a meaning?” His curiosity is genuine, such a name isn’t so common, which makes it very unique. “And Lafitte? Like that French pirate? I read up on him when I was in school. You related to him?” A cool, toothy smile would be shown, followed with a chuckle. “That is French, mademoiselle. Well, Canadian French. Quebec native in fact.” A point that the Riverboat Queen probably has already caught on, unbeknownst to Pierre.

“And honestly, it’s not so much of a problem for me. Sure, I grew up bilingual and there may be a few happy accidents here and there, but I learned to manage with English and French. I guess the next challenge is Japanese, probably will have to if I’m gonna stay here for a while…” That is if he could get a match in AFW. If no luck was found then he might as well pack up and head back to Canada. Although, with Zulime being in the ring, in a one-piece that looks superb on the Cajun, this might be an opportunity for him. But he won’t go too hard on his assumptions. Gotta play it cool. “But enough about me, what about you? If I could take a good guess, you probably come from the south. Mississippi? Tennessee? Louisiana perhaps?”

Zulime was quite an actress, but even she could not help but look a little impressed by the fact that Pierre knew who Jean Lafitte was. She loved her city, and its proud history. She knew every nook and cranny of the city, from the grime of the French Quarter to the quiet street of the Garden District, shadowy with the great bows of mighty oak trees strewn with Spanish moss. The Riverboat Queen could spend hours regaling anyone who had the curiousness to ask about her city, and the denizens within. But that was not who she was this evening. She was a flirt, so she quickly comported her face and batted her eyelashes and popped her hip out a little bit so that she could place one hand upon it and give the man in front of her a proper look. Zulime was inclined to crack wise, and ask if all names didn't mean something, but restrained herself.

"It comes from ancient times, India, don't I reckon. Means healthy and vigorous." Zulime raised an eyebrow when she said vigorous. Time to put the ball in Pierre's court and see how he dealt with it. "And yeah, good learnin' you did up in Canada. I am related to him, in fact, Zulime lied, "On my dad's side. Figurin' that's how I got the name and all. I'm part French as well, but I would be mighty surprised if you haven't figured it out yerself yet just quite yet, mister polyglot." She noticed how Pierre's eyes were flitting all around her body, and would not be one to discourage such a thing.

"Languages are just so hard," the Cajun girl said as if she did not speak fluently in two and had a very good grasp on the third, "But we don't exactly learn that much back in the woods in Louisiana." There was no reason to be specific, not quite yet. Part of allure involved mystery, letting the person always wanting more. She had no intention of showing her cards, at least not quite yet.

"What brings you here?" Zulime looked around the gym, trying to see how long it took for Pierre's attention to turn back to her. "You ain't a wrestler, are you?" Zulime turned her face, so her long dark hair covered one eye.

"Oh, a very old name then. India, eh? Well, they certainly come up with some exotic names there." That they do, and he has visited New Dehli before. Pierre went climbing on the turnbuckle before laying on top of it. "Well, I hope you don't mind me saying you definitely look healthy and must be vigorous to keep that body fit. Hehe, meanwhile my name pretty much means 'rock' or 'stone'." The French-Canadian gave a wink before flexing his bicep at Zulime, knocking the ball back at her court to see how she dealt with that. "But I suppose I can always say that women do like guys that are stable." For Pierre, in more ways than one.

Pierre could thank the best education money could buy. Attending the best schools and even going into the top Business School in Canada made him pretty book smart as well as street smart. One of his semesters went over Jean Laffite so he was able to recognize when Zulime gave her surname. "Oh wow, you really are related, huh? Where were you when I did that one history assignment about him?" He sat up straight before hopping off the turnbuckle, finally entering the ring with style and grace. "Could have gotten an A++. Ah well." His eyes travelled up from her body to her eyes...Well, one, considering the dark fringe covered the other, as if shrouded in mystery.

"I figured as such. The last name gave it away. Languages just come down to interest, really. I'd love to have someone to speak French with, so I reckon we could help each other out. It is the language of love so I think you'll grow to, well, love it." His hands in his pockets as he kept his suave demeanour.

"Heh, now what gave that answer away?" Pierre chuckled as he scratched the back of his head. "Just someone trying to make a name for himself, as everyone else does when they come here, I believe." No reason to go over more, most of it just goes over something embarrassing, which he'd rather not get into. "And what about you? From the looks of things and with you being in this ring, I'd assume you're a wrestler too. That and that body of your's looks like it's built for it. Heard of AFW? Tension? Well, I'm planning on being their next champion. And honestly, it looks pretty easy enough to do, if you ask me."