Gaining Momentum - Round 2 - 'Bouncing' Betty Buchanan vs. Margaux Lefeuvre

Lara allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief, however momentary, when Betty managed to grab hold of Margaux, stopping this train from flying over the rails any more than it was clearly destined to. Her friend was good at pissing people off, but she could have the thinnest skin sometimes - most often, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but when someone managed to get to her, they could really get to her, and this was just one of those times.

But Betty had slowed the pace, kept Margaux from running rampant, that was the important thing. Lara let some calm wash over.

It didn’t last.

Her eyes shot wide when she heard the shriek, looking up to see Betty recoiling in pain, pushing Margaux away and abandoning the safety of the clench far earlier than she needed. She was cursing up a storm, flailing as she staggered back, but why?

What Lara couldn’t see, what the audience couldn’t see, what the referee damn sure couldn't was the bite that Betty had just taken from this psycho bitch, digging hard right on her lobe. ”Crazy goddamn fucking-” What made it even worse was that Betty had been planning to nail her with a headbutt, but that bite put the kibosh on her plan. The bitch didn’t just cheated, she cheated before Betty had a chance to.

It was that little detail that sparked her off more than anything, and it was enough to replace some of her trepidation with sheer rage. Gritting her teeth, she threw herself back towards Margaux, swinging with wild, wide blows, just trying to hit her and knock that stupid look off her face, throwing away all hints of defense.

She could rip Betty’s ear off like this. Rather easily in fact.

A long laundry list of illegal matches and back alley exchanges gone sour had allowed Margaux plenty of time and opportunity to perfect craft when it came to quick and efficient deception. It wouldn't have been rather difficult, given this woman’s evidently fleeting grip on life. A hard clamp on the cartilage, a rough yank to one side, and she could likely take a chunk with her.

Tempting, if it wouldn’t be for her imminent disqualification thereafter. A shame. The Bouncing Betty’s soothing cry would just have to be enough for the time being.

A sadistic grin flashed across Margaux’s face as the American tore herself away from the clinch, one that she was quick to hide from the referee. She managed to dial it back to a long and innocent smirk slashed across her face. It was impossible to resist delighting herself and her frustration. It earned her little more than a stern glare from the woman in black and white, having some idea of what may have transpired. Before she could go to Betty and get a better look, Betty came to her. Rather, past her and straight at Margaux. Who only flashed her pearly whites straight back.

The Frenchwoman raised her arms and readied herself for the rush that came her way. Bethany’s newly motivated prowess found a fist in the pinkette's face before she had half a moment to blink. The difference in the woman’s power from before and now could be seen in the sudden shock on Margaux’s face, that smile wiped clean off. She redoubled her guard, locking her arms tighter and tucking her chin close as she backpedaled, steadily being pushed towards the ropes.

Betty was such a dirty fighter, sometimes it was easy for Lara to forget that she could do some good damage in the right circumstances, that she did have some decent training underneath all the tricks and taunts. It was hard enough to get her to do any real training these days, so she had so few chances to see what her partner could do with those fists of hers.

Well, here was a chance for Betty to show what she could do, and it wasn’t half bad. She had a feeling Margaux would agree.

Driven on by the pain and the rage and the sight of her opponent’s stupid fucking smile, Betty poured all her energy into a mad rush, swinging her fists with insane fervor. It was crazy, it was sloppy, but most importantly, it was working, forcing Margaux on the defensive for the first time in this match. Lara wanted to cheer her on, glad that she was finally making some headway against the Frenchwoman, but a nagging voice was warning her to be wary - defense wasn’t Betty’s strongest suite in the best of times, and she was throwing it all to the wind now.

Biting her lip, she glanced up at the clock. Just shy of a minute left. Lara could get her back and center her, get her mind right, work something out, but they needed to make it there. If she could just keep Margaux off, break off any counterattacks, they’d be fine. But a lot could happen in a minute. A lot could go wrong in a minute, but the last thing Betty needed was doubt. [b]”Keep it up, keep it up! Pressure!”

Oh, dear.

From his corner, Olivier didn’t appear particularly impressed by the sight that was taking place in front of him. His mistress had been commanding the match from the moment she had stepped into the ring. Seldom was her ability to read her adversary off the mark, but she seemed to have hit this proverbial nail particularly hard on the head. Bethany was a bag of emotions, and from the safety of the ropes, it was far easier for him to read the emotions and intent sprawled across her face and the way Margaux effortlessly played them as the virtuoso she was when it came to the human instrument.

She must have seen the rage coming when it boiled over, but that didn’t mean she could avoid it. In an instant, the Frenchwoman found herself overwhelmed. A few punches cut through and smacked her delicate features from behind her guard. A few jabs cut her in the side and stabbed at her lungs. Though she was unshaken, from the outside it was clear the momentum was turning. Olivier’s eyes drifted from the combating duo to the American’s partner in the opposite corner, shouting her encouragement. The older man offered no such encouragement. He simply huffed in annoyance and brought his attention back to the ring. Margaux was doing worse. Her back was only a step from the ropes. It was a shameful sight.

Because it wasn't going to work.

Margaux let her play the game the way it was intended. She took her beating and accepted the price of stepping over her boundaries with this frail little lamb. It was quite a treat, in fact, to see what the sly pugilist was really capable of. But as with all shows…

The Frenchwoman eased up as she felt another wide left hook aiming for the side of her temple. She ducked low to avoid Betty’s punch and shot a stiff left jab forward right to her stomach with a solid gut check, attempting to halt her tenacious hounding dead in its tracks.

The crowd had been unsure on who to side with this entire match. They’d seen enough of both boxers to know that neither of them were saints, with Margaux’s brutal record being well documented by this point, and Betty showing her true colors in the previous bout. Boxing tended to be more competitively driven than their wrestling counterpoints, but even so, there was some confusion on who to root for. Chants for both sides, jeers from others, all in a muddled, unequal measure.

But rooting for an underdog was natural, and that was the role that Betty had slipped into, fighting from below, taking the ring by force. It was like something straight out of Rocky. The wild, determined boxer making a valiant effort as the round closed, putting everything she had into a noble charge. Even Lara was getting into it, pounding her fists on the canvas as Betty worked the mat.

But this wasn’t a move. Betty wasn’t Rocky. This was reality, and reality had a way of smacking you in the face when you stepped out of line. Or, in this case, giving you a nice gutcheck.

It probably wouldn’t have been that bad of a shot on its lonesome, just a jab to the second. But boxing was a game of timing and placement, and Margaux was pristine on both counts. It came at precisely the worst moment, slicing into her stomach with the sharp blow as Betty threw her weight forward for a haymaker, making the blow hit worse than it otherwise would’ve. Betty gasped, eyes widened, and she took a shambling step forward, with the wind knocked out of her body and her sails.

Way off kilter, she stumbled back with a haphazard guard, with one arm up for protection while her other went down to protect the battered spot on reflex.

Margaux had to wonder what the benefits would be to feel fear in moments like this. What was fear, now that she thought of it? She’d made such a lucrative career off the back of it, yet she couldn’t know or tell the feeling without staring it straight on. In her ignorant days as a rebellious youth, she may have considered that strength than a weakness. Now, she just wasn’t so sure.

Was that look of surprise in Bethany’s eyes what it was like? Was it in the sudden shift and the way her pupils dilated? Or was it found closer to the heart and the stillness of breath through which the eyes offered little more than a glimpse? She sought to unravel that wonderful mystery one day.

To that end, she was ever thankful for this wonderful career lucrative with opportunities to...experiment. Bethany retracted after her stomach felt the impact. A very wise decision even if it was mostly dictated by reflex. Margaux would have punished her with far more reckless abandon if she’d committed to the assault and stayed within arm’s reach. But that didn’t mean she was free. Oh, far from it. That scent of blood was too close to ignore.

The Frenchwoman chased. Straight away she’d seen that Betty had dropped her guard to half of what it was. One hand was low, leaving half her face unguarded. Margaux chambered her fist and stepped forward on her front foot. The next few seconds of the inevitable future were obvious to anyone watching. She twisted her hips, throwing her weight into a wide hook that cut a rift in the air as it shot towards the exposed side of Betty’s face. Her aim was the cheek, something meaty. But anything red would do.

Lara looked on at the unfolding scene, switching gazes between it and the clock. Ten seconds left. Was that enough time to survive? Matches had been decided in far less time, but if Betty could just hold on and stay on her two feet, they could use the recovery time. Margaux was good, better than they’d expected, but with a little time to readjust and focus, she was sure that they could get this back on the right path.

If Betty listened to her advice, anyway. But that was another matter. One step at a time - she needed Betty to make it back.

Betty made the right move after that impact, creating some distance between her, but Margaux wasn’t letting that go - no, this woman was on the hunt. She closed in fast, planted her foot and wound up, getting ready for a heavy shot. Being in no position to dodge, Betty did the next best thing and raised her guard, thinking she could weather the blow.

She couldn’t.

The crashed into her guard, and while it might’ve taken away some of the force, it wasn’t nearly enough to save her. Betty face was rocked at the impact, crashing into her check and whipping her head to the side, shooting spittle out into the audience, mixed with bits of blood. The bell rang, signifying the end of the round, but it wasn’t soon enough to save her - she was going down. First to her knees, then to her hands, and then to her chest, flopping flat on the mat.

The referee pushed Margaux aside, motioned for her to get in a neutral corner, and then started the count, hovering over a quivering Betty. ”1!”

Margaux wasn’t even concerned about the time. The match itself was little more than an afterthought for the sensations sparking her nerves. That fact was written plain as day across her face. The wild mismatched eyes, the forward posture, the sharp corners of her lips that framed a deathly haunting slasher’s smile from cheek to cheek. Her blood quickened with the thrill of the chase and the noxious swell of tension in the air that led her forward by the nose like a hound. The last thing that Bethany should have done was run and it seemed as though she realized it too late.

There was a hint of admiration in Margaux’s heart for the gesture. She saw that fist winding back and genuinely thought there was a chance Betty might turn this predicament around on her.

The blow sinking into her face was all that the Frenchwoman needed to see. There was a body yielding against her fist and she could see little beyond that. The blood and glassy eyes, the sweat, and rippling skin; she had to rewind this match and commission a portrait of what she was witnessing right now. For all the filth Bethany spewed from her mouth, the rest of her face had a remarkably beautiful talent for expressions.

Margaux chambered her fist back and stepped away, watching the American’s descent the whole way from feet to floor. She watched as the official that brushed her aside tended to her quarry. Though the pinkette desired to wait for a second longer, glancing those foggy eyes struggling for life from over the referee’s shoulder.

“TWO!”

“THREE!”

Wonderful. With a content heart and a confident smile between thin lips, Margaux turned on the spot and slowly strode her way to an empty corner opposite Olivier’s, resting her arms over the top ropes as she hummed a lovely tune.

”FOUR!”

Oh, fuck all of this. Betty did not need this shit. All she wanted to do was make money beating people up, get some quick cash by working some idiots over the coals. Was that too much to ask out of life? Apparently, because the world had to throw an utter nutjob like Margaux in her path. The temptation to just stay down and let the count play out was strong. Fuck the tournament. It wasn’t like Momentum was bursting at the seams for new talent, they’d have to give her a shot someday.

”FIVE!”

She might’ve just followed her own advice and stayed down, too, if she hadn't looked up and saw Margaux in the corner just now. Even through her blurry, bleary eyes, she could make out that smug look on the Frenchwoman’s face, preening and enjoying every fucking second of this. The more this fight went on, the less she cared about winning, but the more she wanted to just get under this bitch’s skin and make her feel some of the pain she had been dishing out, make her take some of her own disrespect.

”SIX!”

”Fuck. Fuck.”

Slamming her mats on the floor, Betty started to rise up - started. It wasn’t easy task, and she had a good stumble on the way, falling back to her knees after she managed to gain some minor height.

”SEVEN!”

She made a second try, this time grasping the ropes for support, and she was able rise fully, even as the referee made it to eight. That wasn’t going to be enough, though. She needed to resume her fighting pose, get steady, show the referee she was good to go.

Up came the fists. Level. Eyes forward. Breathing slow. The referee looked her over for a tense moment, scanning her eyes, making the judgment. After a few seconds of muttering under her breath, she nodded and stepped back, waving her hands. ”Box!”

The bell rang as soon as she spoke, giving Betty a merciful reprieve. Haggard, worn out, she was left to make a weak trot back to her corner, wincing every step of the way.

Good good. Stand up, Bethany. You can do it. There's still so much more pain to delight in for the both of them.

Margaux hadn't expected to reach as far as an eight count. Just nearly. Her fellow pinkette had taken the brunt of some of her better slugs, but she'd seen women with half the tenacity return from worse. Maybe she killed her and hadn't even realized it, standing at her corner without a care in the world. Wouldn't that have been inconvenient?

But no. Those fears were dashed at the sight of the American's brazen rise. The frustration on her face was palpable, and when the two locked eyes she knew this clash would be beyond satisfying to her palette. Margaux stepped out of her corner, squared her shoulders, smiled fangs from ear to ear, and with tensed muscles rushed-

The bell. The bell.

She hadn't even realized. The Frenchwoman's eyes snapped to the time clock and then back to Bethany, who was already relaxing her guard. Margaux didn't so much stand as she did deflate back into an upright posture. A disapproving huff stumbled between her lips...but only for a moment before a cheery grin brightened that delightful face. "Oh well. I suppose I will kill you in ze next bout!"

Like a child to the dinner bell, Margaux returned to her corner and had a seat at the stool placed for her. Olivier was already through the ropes, brush in hand, and a small glass of water that he placed by her foot as he tended to the frills in her hair. Nasty business. "An excellent showing, Madame."

"To you as well, my dearest confidant! I do believe that our little charade broke through to her." Her gaze turned to him with an approving smile. "Your care for the submissive role is almost…Shakesperian. Perhaps a future in theatre is within your reach."

"The only audience whose adoration I care for is yours, Madame." He said with his hand over his chest before slipping a rag from his wrist and dabbing the sweat from her cheeks.

Margaux broke into an uncontrollable giggle as she leaned back in her seat and rested her arms over the middle ropes. "I love Japan."