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

The fight was over. Maybe it had been for a while, now.

The crowd knew it. They were baying for things to come to a close, for this match to be wrapped up in some fashion, and it seemed like they were poised to get their wish. Margaux was ripping her opponent to shreds in the middle of the ring, to the point where it hardly seemed like a real match at all anymore. Images of a lion on the Savannah came to mind, of a predator tearing apart some gazelle that had the misfortune of stumbling too close to its den. Merciless. Relentless. Endless. It just kept coming and coming.

The referee knew it, too. As Margaux pushed Betty into the corner, she moved above, side from side, trying to get the best look at both boxers. Not just to make sure everything remained above belt, but to see how Betty was surviving. If she was surviving. How much she had left, if she was willing to give up. There was a small look of hope in her eyes that that’d be the case, too. But with each and every blow, it was like the pinkette lost more of her sense, and Margaux just kept pounding away.

But the crowd’s opinion didn’t matter, and the referee’s didn't, either, at least not at the moment. No, it was all up to Lara. From where she stood, she could see what was going on well enough. Could see the glassy look in Betty’s eyes. Margaux was ripping into her, tearing her to shreds, not even giving her a moment surrender - the woman was out on her feet, and if the onslaught stopped, she would likely fall flat on her face.

But it wasn’t going to stop, not until the bell rang, Margaux’s arms got tired, or she stopped it herself, and Lara knew which of those three could happen soon enough to save her boxer.

She reached the side, grabbed the towel tight, and threw it into the ring.

She was so close. So undeniably close.

Beating Bethany against the corner was akin to playing a resounding war drum. Every pounding impact resounded within Margaux’s heart, echoing one irrevocable thump after another. The American was so far gone that Margaux could nearly feel the life being crushed and ground beneath her knuckles. The voracious smile etched across her lips gleamed with a yearning to consume every last scrap the instant her broken body collapsed to the ring floor. The mobster continued her assault without a second thought, redoubling her efforts with greater speed, greater power. It was enough to practically throw her adversary back against the wall again and again. The strain tugged at the sinew and muscles in her arms, her heart was fit to explode with her lungs, the sensation between her legs urged for an end. Building, building, and building her conquest was set to bring forth several releases all at once…

...and a filthy rag took it all away from her.

Her heart sank as she watched the towel fly up, arc over the shaking ropes, and fall gently towards the floor. The ring of the bell and the shouting of the woman at her side cemented her fears and laid her disappointment low. For a fleeting moment anger and contempt flooded the deepening contours of her reddened visage. The denial stung worse than any blow she’d been dealt the entire evening. All she wanted was to destroy...but a second glance at Betty’s glazed-over eyes and slackened jaw helpfully reminded the Madame she’d accomplished as much. Her own strength could be remarkable even to herself. But no less beautiful to behold, surely.

The Frenchwoman scoffed and would step away, retracting her arms and letting Bethany fall pathetically back to the dirt where she belonged. But not before Margaux brought their faces close enough and spoke clearly for the dreary mind of the fleet-footed gambler.

“You have potential. Continue to ply your trade, pickpocket.” She drew in a breath and brought her lips closer, brushing against the American’s ear with the damp warmth of malignant purpose. “And ze next time you cheat Margaux Lefeuvre...there will be no cheating what comes after.”

Margaux stepped away just as the medical team approached to move her aside. Her eyes, however, never left Betty in those next moments. Not even as her glove was raised high by the official and the arena drowned in a confused mixture of applause and disgusted jeers. Not so much as a twitch until her hand was finally released and the world felt upright once again. Gallantly she strolled back to her corner where Olivier awaited with a towel and a comfortable smile; all she could ever ask for after a long day of work.