Beware of Bears

If there was one common misconception about the Friction gym, it would have to be the severe underestimation of how busy the place could get. The inevitable result of having the best athletes and fighters on the planet wedged into one place is that they all collectively embraced the importance of consistent amounts of unscrupulous training. When you gave your heart and soul to the thrill of the fight, there were no breaks, no days off.

It could even get a little crowded during the weekdays. It was only through meticulous and persistent observation that someone might be able to scope out some period of relative vacancy amidst the hustle and bustle of the most popular pro-wrestling federation in the entire world.

“One-hundred twenty-six!”

“One-hundred twenty-seven!”

At this time, one could find a little lapse of paradise for the workout enthused. Rays of sunlight peeked through the windows to reflect off the face of untouched rows of steel machinery. Equipment was neatly laid out and perfectly organized. All of the dispensers were filled. The locker room smelled miraculously fresh as in the days when the federation was in its prying youth and eager for young and promising competitors to litter its halls.

Today, however, there was only one.

“One-hundred twenty-eight!”

“One-hundred twenty-nine!”

It really should have been no surprise that Masuyo Ai of all people had been here since the start of noon and had just about broken the three-hour mark. Even on her sixth day for the week, her pace hadn’t seemed to drop an ounce. Her last draw with Kyoko Akan still lingered on her mind. She wasn’t upset with how that match turned out, far from it. But even so, she had to question. What if she’d been a little faster? A little stronger? Been able to make that last hit where it mattered. Even beyond that, there seemed to be a force compelling her. She’d come here to strive beyond what she was before, testing herself against the best. What fed the swirling heat in her chest wasn’t solely from the thrill of competition. It was an acknowledgment.

She caught a glimpse. The summit before her now.

Go further. Go higher.

Get Sweaty, not Sloppy:

“One-hundred thirty!”

The cagefighter thrust herself upright with one last push-up and promptly plopped herself flat against the cool blue of the mat. Her mouth slowly desperate to get enough cool air in to satisfy her burning throat. Sweat came from every pore. Muscle aches from head to toe. A wave of relief sent soothing tones through her body, a momentary solace that quickly gave way. Her gaze squinted at the realization.

"Twenty less than yesterday.” The Japanese girl felt her brows furrow as she stared at her shaking palm and trembling fingers across from her, scarred with strain and calluses. She craned her neck to bury her face into the mat and muttered as she spoke. “What the hell?"

Her body rolled onto its back, bringing her gaze to the ceiling with her arms wide to each side. A touch of sun caught her left eye. Her hand reached out to grab a stray bolt and watched as it slipped between her fingers. She clenched her fist tightly and let it fall to the floor.

Though she let her eyelids close, she could still listen to the roaring traffic just outside. Someone was moving equipment around in the back and the air conditioning had started to kick in on its hourly routine, blowing a cool wave of refreshing air over her damp face and exposed abdomen. Two men passed by the door, talking about their plans for lunch and the new diner that had opened across the street. The omelets were apparently pretty special. Someone on the other side of the gym rewracked their dumbbells. Two more pairs of sneakers entered the gym. From an open window high up against the far wall, a gust of wind swept through gently in a gust along the floor, whispering into the girl’s ear between loose strands of raven locks. Her eyes peeked open into the daylight once more.

Her stomach rumbled. She sat straight up, a beaming smile suddenly stretched wide across her face. She put her fist in her palm. “Aha! That’s right! I skipped breakfast!”

The MMA maven curled her feet back and sprung up to two feet, standing tall before rushing over to her gym bag she’d set by the bench. She zipped open the bag and quickly but carefully slid out her pristine, stainless steel lunch jar. And just inside its heat-confining confines were the results of countless hours of personal shopping, prep, and careful refining that guaranteed the ultimate in warrior-brand satisfaction. The Ai-Brand Ultimate Workout Forget-All-About-Your-Mom’s-Home-Cooking Supreme Refresher Wakeup Lunch! Crispy tempura plucked from the sea, garlic kashipan, infused white rice, fresh ramen egg, blanched broccoli and spinach with specially-prepared salt and sesame oil, and of course all over a layer of Ai-Speciality soba noodles with “Oni”-powder dipping sauce.

Salivation was too kind a word to explain the sensations rolling through Masuyo’s mind as she stared at the container in her lap. As if unearthing a national treasure, she cracked open the seal and pulled the top away The sweet and salty vapors of fresh oils and the scents of Japan invaded her nose all at once. She gasped at the sight. The texture was more beautiful than she remembered.

“Alright! I’m gonna down this in one!” The anticipation was too much. With a hard swallow, she reached in and-

...huh. Where were her chopsticks? There was a compartment to keep in stowed on the side, but it must have slipped her mind. The raven girl groaned and set the lunch down at her side before she turned away and started rifling through her bag for her eating utensils. She didn’t particularly care for all the noise her impatience was no doubt making. The best part about getting to the gym early was that no one seemed to mind all the slurping.

...Auschwitz, the meaning of pain

The way that I want you to die

Slow death, immense decay

Showers that cleanse you of your life...

The time of the day certainly could have factored into why this specific wing of the AFW training facility was conspicuously deserted this day. Wrestlers have their own specific exercise regiments that dictate what time of the day they should be eating, sleeping, running themselves ragged on the elliptical, etc...or perhaps the custodial staff had taken too many liberties in ushering people off of exercise machines to give them a thorough cleaning around this time. But in fact, the actual reason was one of avoidance. One of prodigious girth and heavyset mass. Whose mere obnoxious presence was more than enough to convince any starry-eyed hopeful to schedule their workouts around this particular person so as not to run into them in the gym...where this person shoves others off of exercise machines she wants to use. In the hallway...where this person regularly berates people walking by for reasons as trivial as what their wearing or how their hair is styled. Or in the locker-rooms...where her wrath can be inflicted upon others by one of the oldest bullying tactics in the book. Many a janitor having to fetch bolt cutters to clip the locks off of lockers having been stuffed with a wrestler who tried standing up to her. And on cue, this particular person would come shuffling through the double-doored entrance of the Friction gym with Angel Of Death by Slayer being screamed out of her airpods, dressed in a loose-fitting black track-suit that somehow did nothing to make her look less fat despite the dark colors. A ferocious looking bear-logo stitched onto it's right side.

...Surgery, with no anesthesia

Fell the knife pierce you intensely

Inferior, no use to mankind

Strapped down screaming out to die...

Bashira scanned over her surroundings with a scowling growl and twitch to her upper lip. She was so freaking tired of busting her ass in this training facility without anyone to start flinging around with those muscles of hers. Not one to be indeterminably patient, Bashira was becoming downright irritable with AFW management stalling her debut despite having signed her name on the goddamn dotted line months ago. Bullying rookies in the locker room, dead-lifting weights, and making full use of the league’s buffet specials were keeping her occupied well enough…but not even all of that combined was satiating her violent temperament nowadays. When the new General Manager offered her this gig she thought she'd finally found a place where could start banging some heads around on a worldwide stage, and not in some seedy trashbin wrestling league that didn't deserve her in the first place and where she squashed the competition in the most literal of senses. Maximilian making his offer just when Bashira thought there wasn't a wrestling league left who'd risk tossing their dainty beauty queens into a wrestling ring with a bonafide bruiser liker her. Though in actuality, it was that Bashira had become so infamous for her locker-room toxicity that other leagues knew well in advance to steer clear of this one. Friction's GM knowing this as well, but also knew the importance of having a varied roster, and that great wrestling talent comes in all shapes and sizes. It was just that sometimes those sizes were XXXL.

...Pumped with fluid, inside your brain

Pressure in your skull begins pushing through your eyes

Burning flesh, drips away

Test of heat burns your skin, your mind starts to boil...

Sauntering forward with a sway to her ponytail while eyeing her usual machines, Bashira stopped when noticing the veritable ghost-town this place was. Just a few scrawny pukes idling around, not one among them looking like any fun to harass and heckle. At the very least she thought she could enjoy some good old fashioned pestering intimidation today. Maybe dunk someone headfirst into the waste basket again for a good laugh like last time. But it seemed like her victims had grown wise to her. Just like in high-school. Bashira made a mental note to change up her scheduled training regiment to try and find her usual wimpy targets again. But for now she huffed and...noticed something freshly cooked wafting in the air. Her sniffing nose guiding her like a bloodhound to the fresh dumpling plate laid out beside one of those aforementioned scrawny bitches. *Heh...don't mind if I do...* Licking her chops as she turned off her Ipod, Bashira began menacingly approaching the hapless loser from behind. Not realizing how hungry she was before laying eyes on that masterfully seasoned tempura practically calling out to her like a freshly placed picnic basket in a national park known for having roving bears. "Aw thanks, pip-squeak. How'd you know tempura was one of my favorite dishes?" Bashira blurted out after already swooping up the steel lunch jar with the meal inside. One that was prepared with love and earnest appreciation for the art of culinary delicacies...and began being woofed down bare-handed. Splotching whatever dipping sauce all over it and gorging herself on it without the need of chopsticks...only stopping to chew once her mouth was full with squelching mouth noises akin to what you would see at a pig farm.

Oh please don’t tell her she left at them on the kitchen counter or something.

Masuyo was getting anxious now. Those were the only eating utensils she brought and she really wasn’t sure where to find some others. There was never really much reason to stop around the Friction eateries when you were the best cook in Japan after all. But what was a cook that couldn’t even savor her own cooking? Was the cafeteria even open at these hours, with no matches scheduled? She supposed she could at least try and look around there for a fork, but this meal was a little specially designed and she kind of had a personal image in her head of how she was going to savor every drop and bit of that delicious miso and she really wouldn’t want to-

“There they are!” Tucked next to her notebook. Should have remembered that spot. A wave of relief quickly washed over her with an excited smile growing on her face. Hunger must have had a real way of upsetting the nerves. Maybe that was why Gin was always so grumpy in the morning.

The MMA girl pulled out the chopsticks from her pack and zipped it back up. Finally, she turned around and with an excited smile on her face...Why was her lunch jar, gone? Her eyes fell to the floor, underneath the bench, and straight ahead as she looked far and wide for runaway ramen on a pair of newly grown legs.

That’s when she heard a giant dog slobbering into his beef bowl behind her. That’s what it sounded like at least. When she turned around she only saw a woman there. A very large woman, thick all over with a stomach that seemed to come before the rest of her. Masuyo had no clue how she hadn’t even noticed her massive presence only a foot behind her. But there she was. Looking very tall. And strong.

And eating out of her lunch.

With her hands.

Her bare.

Dirty.

Hands.

The raven girl’s eyes stared up at the ravenous sight without moving a muscle. Not a blink of the eye, a twitch of the lip that elicited life from the blank expression on her face. In a state of petrification, she could only look on as scraps of food fell to the floor and bits of sauce from on high splashed in little droplets across her face. Her chopsticks still clinging uselessly between her fingers. There was a twinkle in the steel of her pupils, however. It wobbled like water on the surface. Were those tears?

If it made Masuyo feel any better...her meticulously crafted feat of dining expertise was indeed succulent in it's deliciousness. It's just a crying shame she didn't come across those chopsticks sooner. Other wise she'd be the one chowing down on this delectable square meal, savoring it's deep-fried vegetables seasoned to perfection, and with a much greater degree of appreciation for it's scrumptiousness than the bear-woman currently shoveling it into her munching face. Though Bashira wasn't kidding when she mentioned having the munchies, the friggin stairs leading up to this gym always giving her quite the workout in and of itself. But this time after working up an appetite just shuffling her way up here, she just so happened to come across a free meal set up just for her. Today was already working up to be her lucky day~...though she kinda wished she had some ketchup to go along with it. Years of gorging herself on greasy take-out, every possible fast-food franchise, and hotel buffets not exactly adding up to a refined palate as she also lamented not having a cold beer to wash this all down. But she glanced down anyway to see if there was a drink left on the bench, only to see something even more satisfying...

"Hahaha!!!...*snort*...Awww, is the wittle baby gonna cwy to her mahmmy?~..." Bashira bellowed in between her obnoxious, snorting laughter...bits of Masuyo's pride and joy smeared against the bear-woman's jaw and double chin. Genuinely finding this scenario to be goddamn gutbustingly hilarious now that she saw those puppy-dog eyes of hers. And Bashira had quite the gut to bust, bouncing and jiggling along with her guffaw's until she piped back down, wiping away a chuckling tear of her own before going back to town on Masuyo's meal while beginning to suckle any lingering remnants from her fingers. "Dah, come on, I understand. I'd cry too if I made lunch-boxes that tasted like re-fried dog-food. Yah might wanna try serving this pig-slop to your opponents next time your in the ring. It'd do more damage than whatever your scrawny ass could do, I'll tell ya that much...*BELCH*...I'm only eating this shit cause I'm starving. Next time bring something with some meat in it or something. Psh, whatever. I'm done with ya. Here you can have the rest." Upon finishing up her...dignified, response with a full-on BELCH practically right in Masu's face, the repugnant bully would plop Masuyo's lunch jar right on top of her head. Gooey chunks of oil, sauce, egg, and rice, slathering down her head as Bashira proceeded to use her pinky finger to pick some food out from between her teeth...gazing up at the fluorescent lit ceiling while doing so.

Three hours.

Three hours of trimming, chopping, seasoning, baking, frying, and saucing was inside of that lunch jar. The price of its contents could only have been sustained through a salary as lucrative as the one she was getting through AFW. She’d splurged when she went out to get those ingredients. Even when she was staring at the shrimp from the other side of the vendor, she was already picturing the color of the batter. The way it would sizzle on the pan, how it would melt in her mouth.

Three hours of sweat and family-run mastery. That was what was spilling down her head right now. What was left of it, at least, after the best parts were ripped away and shoved down this woman’s unappreciative gullet without so much of a second spared to savor the taste, eating it with the care and delicacy of a gas station candy bar. By tomorrow, she probably wouldn’t even remember what it tasted like.

There were about a million questions that should have been running through Masuyo’s head. Who was this woman? What was her problem? Why target her? What was she even doing in this place? Was she a wrestler too? Was she being hazed right now? Was this kind of thing common in AFW? Did she skip the shower this morning?

But not one of them was acknowledged. All Masuyo felt, all she knew in that second, was seen in the way her fist clenched around the chopsticks in her hand. How her body shook and trembled at the shoulders. And how she couldn’t stop staring at the discarded jar at her bare feet, dripping the last of its delicate broth to the cold gym floor.

“O͔̟̞͇̬͢i̡͕̰̥͚̦...that’s not good for your teeth.” Her head slowly cranked to one side, giving the slightest glimpse of her steel gaze from over her shoulder. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you...how to use some TOOTHPICKS?!” She practically screamed the words as she leaped forward off the bench and shot her arm straight up, shoryukening the pair of chopsticks right into the bear’s nostrils with enough force to break them off at the tips.

*Right...there, there we go...*

Chiseling and scraping at the side of her canine tooth finally bringing Bashira that moment of supreme satisfaction as the last lingering morsel of Masuyo's cherished creation became unwedged. The rotund food connoisseur throwing shade at Masu's cooking skills what with the re-fried dog-food line, but she actually thought that meal was quite delectable. Well, from what little she could taste in between wolfing it down like a pig at a trough, except far more grossly unsettling to observe than any mere farm animal. It wasn't everyday that Bashira got treated to a Five-Star meal like that, she'll have to make a mental note to stalk this chick more often whenever she sees her in the locker room or in the gym to see if she could score any more free delicacies. Especially if she's this much of scrawny little puke who doesn't even fight back in the slightest when someone punks you out like this. Yep~...her and Bash were going to become closely acquainted in the next coming months. Anyway, time to see if she can snatch a free bottle of water out of another wrestler's hands so she can-

"...*SKRONK*...The Fuck!!!" Bashira's plans for the rest of the day took a sudden nosedive via the pair of chopsticks impaled up her nostrils, the watery-eyed behemoth fumbling, tumbling, stumbling backwards to a massive flop against the floor. Several nearby weight machines jostling somewhat from her jumbo sized plummet and even startling some people off of their elliptical's to see what was going on behind them. Bash rolling herself over to get back on her hands and knees before arising once more with two chopsticks giving her a startling resemblance to a cantankerous walrus before being snatched out. The enraged bull-woman turning to face Masu with infuriated red on her chubby face and a cock-backed fist...before she caught sight of a cross armed security guard making his rounds and shooting the pair an evil eye. Compelling Bash to retract her arm and instead start jabbing an index finger into Masu's shoulder. "Tch...you got lucky, squirt. You wanna finish this? Then I'll see you for the next round of T.V. tapings. And you best bring me a bib, cause it's gonna get messy..." Bash than storming off out of the gym with two other trainee’s patting Masu on the back for standing up to the bully...but not before Bash swiped an unopened bottle of water out of a wrestler's hand who was just than entering the gym. Though this one was far too timid to object.

When the woman brought her fist back and stepped in, you better believe that the MMA maven had done the exact same thing, mirroring the bigger and stronger woman almost perfectly. The security woman stopped the oversized bully dead. In the past, that probably wouldn’t have happened quite as easily, but AFW seemed to be taking steps to revamp its security lately. The guards were more attentive, on schedule, and looked a bit meaner. But Masuyo didn’t pay them a single mind. Her eyes were still on the lunch-eating monster and hadn’t strayed a centimeter off.

It was only after her foe backed off that she relaxed, not taking a step back as she let her balled fists fall to her sides. She stared the big brunette down, practically shaking in her shoes. Masuyo had nowhere to throw this anger around anymore. Walking away wasn’t an option she was even willing to consider. She could take the insults, being demeaned right out in public, getting slapped around like she was the world’s punching bag. That all meant nothing to Masuyo Ai.

But when you ate - no, digested - her lunch without permission? Oh, if they couldn’t fight right now, it would be later. Fate would see to that. Or rather...

Masuyo’s mouth began to open and promptly shut when her new foe beat her to the punch, issuing the same challenge she was about to make. The exact details would be worked out later but for now the Demon had what she was looking for. The small satisfaction she got from repurposing a pair of dollar-store chopsticks to plug up the sumo woman’s pig-like gullet fizzled away as she watched the woman turn her back. Every instinct wanted her to pounce...but she knew what would be better.

This was hardly the first bully she had to put in their place and what she learned very quickly was that nothing made a lesson stick better than having an audience. Masuyo pointed her finger forth, summoning righteous fury at her aggressor. “Fine by me! You’re going to wish you savored every bit of Masuyo Ai's precious ramen! You hear me?! The next meal you’re getting is through a straw!”