Giant Steps

Zulime liked percussion. Well, she appreciated the whole band, from the swinging horn section to the thrumming bass to the strings plucking along to add some spice. But at the moment, the only thing that she had going for her was the percussion. The sounds of her two feet hitting her opponents in the face was not as loud as it could have been, thanks to the fact that she was not wearing shoes. Similarly, when her feet hit the ground, it was not so loud that it bounced around the jazz club. What did have a wonderful sound to it was the two men that she hit slamming into the table, and then falling over completely. The sound of the two men thudding to the floor was something that was just for her, she thought, as the bartender far away would have only heard the clashing cymbals that accompanied it.

She was looking up. Two more men were coming at her now. A pair of twos was not a winning hand in poker, as she learned from her long hours in the riverboat's casino, but she knew that it would always beat a queen. So Zulime thought long and hard about what she was going to do next. If she had come to Japan she might have learned some fighting style that allowed her to deal with this sort of situation, but that also made her predictable. While none of the men that she had dispatched had overwhelmed her with fighting prowess, she recognized that she was not the only one in this bar who had been in a fight before.

So she stopped thinking. When it came to this sort of thing, she found it better to flow like water, the same water that flowed through her native city and out into the Gulf of Mexico. Having traveled up and down the Mississippi more times than she could count, she knew that the mother river would swell up like a pregnant lady one day, with a wide gait, and be skinny and starved for water the next day. One of the things that she appreciated about her body was that she was nice and curvy all the time, which could attract attention as she plied her trade in the wrestling ring. But she also knew that she could attract the wrong sort of attention, a fact that the two men hurtling at her testified to.

On its own, Zulime's body jumped into action. She tucked down and rolled forward. Her body was processing what her brain could not, nor would it. If she was on the ground, she was safe from one of the goons stabbing her in the chest. It also meant that as she got around, she would able to stick one leg up and clock the first one with a leg right in the face. The move would come from down low, as if sent upwards from the depths of hell by the loa of the underworld. Her underworld was not the burning heat of sulphur, as heat and humidity and a bad smell would not be a novel threat to a native of the Crescent City, given that they were inured in it every day of the week. The rolling kick was announced with a hit on the snare, punctuating the air with its speed and its volume.

But what would be hellish would be what the next guy was about to get. She continued her roll forward, this time going for a handstand. The Riverboat Queen was good at gauging distance, as she always had to be on the lookout for pickpockets who would rob the patrons of the casino before the dealer at the blackjack table got the chance, so she thought she had the spacing she needed to send both her legs right upwards, at the man's chin. The percussionist saw fit to go for a big bass kick at the moment, which Zulime found apropos. After all, that was a knockout blow, and could only be properly embellished with a thunderous boom.

It was perhaps visible to everyone, but Ichijo did not care much for Jazz at all. The soulful genre of music did absolutely nothing for him, no matter how many times he would have heard it on the radio or one of her ex-girlfriends would introduce him to it. While he was a big fan of percussion, it was only the drums, taking a more massive and brisker, fast-paced twist to it. Instead of the Double Bass, it would have been an actual bass guitar. And instead of a saxophone and piano, it was the guitar. The saying of “music brings everyone together” wasn’t shown when it came to the gang leader. He found the whole percussion to be awkward and messy to listen to as if it really didn’t have much of a structure to it. Drum solos are a particular taste, but it isn’t hard to follow to the beat if one can find it. The omission of the strings and horns were dearly missed as it would have added some spice, making this much more comfortable to listen to.

Then again, it was hard to really get into the groove when there was this inconceivable, unthinkable sight he had to descry. The notion of one woman, a gaijin, handling three of his best thugs in that manner was beyond belief, something that was improbable to the gang leader. Yet there was always this reminder hammering into his mind that this was reality. Ichijo wasn’t sure if this was the doing of the percussion’s bass that brought him back to the fact that he tergiversated, or the sound of his own goons crashing into the tables, the adiposity of the men crushing the furniture underneath them. Ichijo was all in for doing damage, especially when they were in a job, but not like this. It was as if Ichijo was not working on the same wavelength of the beat this percussionist was playing. He always rejected the flow, repudiate the “music” that was playing.

The only one that hasn’t eschewed it altogether was Zulime, fully embracing the flow. It was as if it made things easier, endowing the Louisianian the aptitude to fully realize her potential. She moved with it as if she was a mere slave to the vibe that sought out to dole out punishment to the gang. Anyone that tried to resist the flow would end up getting caught in it as if they were a rock yielding to water. And as Keisuke and his two men were laying in ballast, the foreboding admonition would again be neglected. Ichijo was never one to have his own fate being controlled. He was a leader, not a follower. And a leader is what his men needed at this very moment when their morale is reaching the nethermost.

Fuelled by his command, two more men charged towards the Queen of the Riverboat. Carrying the belief that Zulime may have been lucky those three times, but eventually, she could come up snake eyes. Luck doesn’t last forever after all. Ichijo knows as much when it came to the increasing debt over his head. Another reason why he took this job from that damn man. While the order was just to roughen her up somewhat, Ichijo didn’t give a flying fuck about the condition of this odious woman. Heck, if this kept up, then Zulime would be shipped back in a box if Ichijo had his way.

One ran point, while the other was there behind him in case Zulime tried something and he could intercept. That was the plan they were going for as the one man ran as the calvary. He betted it all on one strike, the momentum he carried was enough to down the Riverboat Queen. The man behind watched closely, having his own bets on what might happen. He quickly betted on Zulime ducking underneath his strike, which could open up the chance of walking into his fist once she gets close. He was sure of it. And he would be right. Just not in the way he expected, however.

Zulime did roll underneath, and his body hurried to take action. But his eyes caught the sight of the front man’s head violently snapping to one direction. That guy didn’t saw it coming, foolishly tilting his head down to look at where she was rolling that he didn’t pay attention to the foot that was streaking up in the arc of a rainbow. The heel would catch the point where his jaw connected, and the ball of her foot found his temple, the snare masking the smack of her sole to his face as his body followed the turn. He faced the other man, but he wasn’t actually looking at him. But the face he gave sent a warning. One that he heeded way too late. His plan was instantly disrupted, and he scrambled to come up with something else. Yet the only thing that would get scrambled was his brain.

The second guy never saw it coming, and his previous astonished expression has his mouth open. Instantly being shut hard as both of her heels struck underneath his chin. His head fiercely snapped upwards to the heavens, his hand letting go of the weapon he had and looking as if he just had an extraordinary encounter with God. His body stiffer than the flagpole in the Whitehouse, his conscious left him upon impact, only leaving this mortal coil behind. Without the need of someone shouting ‘Timber’, the man fell down to the floor. Had he been awake, the pain around his crushed teeth would have been unbearable. So, it was a mercy that Zulime knocked him out this quickly. Ichijo looked wide-eyed, in complete disbelief. His eyes stared at Zulime, frantically looking around. He was losing parts rapidly, but he still had a few more men to send at her. Luckily, the two that were sent to the tables were shaking the figurative cobwebs, and he saw a play he could make. Ichijo was glad that he brought most of the gang in, mostly to ease Keisuke’s worries but they come useful when needed.

“何を待ってるんだ、ばか？ 彼女をつかむ!!!” Ichijo cried out his plea in desperation, the two men shaking their heads before charging at her from either side of Zulime, fuelled by rage after being made a mockery out of. He doubted Zulime knew Japanese, but he resorted back to the language to talk to his men. The reason for that seemed pretty apparent for Zulime to figure out, but there were other reasons for him to use his mother tongue…

Zulime had heard people talking about sacrifices in the deep backwoods. Most of the time, when she was on the riverboat, she would bring up sacrifices to scare cornbread tourists from the midwest, as an attempt to get butts in seats for the show that she was putting on at night. What she did with that ridiculous turban and all those fancy jewels wasn't real voodoo, of course. But it was many tourists' idea of voodoo. They would not have understood the real thing, in its wildness and in its purity. The cultural concept of voodoo was a sideshow, and had the same religious meaning as the Haunted Mansion.

But as she got to her feet from the kick, she wondered about sacrifices for just a second. In the shade of the pines, far from the bonfire's light, practitioners of her dark art would claim to have sacrificed people to sate the loa. That seemed too far, even for someone who had been born into such a practice. Zulime found it distasteful to sacrifice chickens. So it would have been beyond the pale to expect her to end a human life.

While she was not ending human lives, she was certainly changing them, conveying all the thugs into the dreamworld where she had spent a considerable amount of time. This was not some propitiation to calm some maligned god, she thought. These men were not sacrifices. They were the finger of an excrescence, raised in the underbelly of society where power was the only important thing. And she was not offering them up to the gods, or at least not directly. She was the numen of the place, illustrating her spiritual attachment to any place where jazz was played by acts of lustration barbaric in there execution yet noble in their cause.

Zulime's rumination on the holy nature of the jazz club was cut short when the two men rushed at her. She looked left and right, and listened to footfalls. The drummer ringing out 32nd notes on the cymbals really helped her time her next attack.

The Riverboat Queen plunged to the ground, and did a handstand. While she was sure that the barman and the thugs would appreciate the sight of her powerful legs teetering in the air, the goal was not to show them a pair of shapely and powerful gams. Instead her intention was revealed when she twisted powerfully, extending her feet outwards as the wide arc of the swinging feet collided with their faces at the same time. Zulime thought that it was nothing short of lovely that the drummer nailed two toms at the same time as her bare feet connected with their bare faces, adding some accents to the strikes.

With a push of her hands, she flipped over, and stood up. Her hair was a mess, so she tried to smooth it back. The lovely dress that she was wearing was also more disheveled than she wanted it to be, and no matter how she tugged at it, there was no way that she was able to get it into a good state. She sighed.

"Any chance you boys could give me a minute? All these beatins are parching me. I might wither," she said in her deep drawl. She started walking towards the barman. "Garcon!" It was quite rude, and she would not have suffered anyone calling the barmen that back on the riverboat. But when the barman learned that she knew French, he all but insisted that she use that word when addressing him. Her path to the bar was a quick one. "Any chance you can make a margarita? Don't skimp on the ice now, Lord knows I am wiltin'."

Her back was facing the thugs. The bartender went about his work with a langour that would not have been out of place in New Orleans, a fact that made her smile. That smile was widened by the fact that she was laying a trap, practically begging one of the goons to grab her from behind.

Keisuke groaned to himself as his arm wrapped around his ribs, wincing at the slightest touch on his body. He wasn't indeed knocked out from such a fall, but with the kind of pain he was feeling, the guy wished he was. It was perhaps cruel for Zulime to leave him suffering after a fluke takedown. Which is what he is calling it for now on. Either way, considering he wasn't feeling any pain in his legs, he had gotten off lucky. Still, this is not to say that being winded was better only slightly above than having broken bones. As it is the first time that he had been winded; however, he might have been terribly overexaggerating the experience. He wasn't sure how to pinpoint it or to give a coherent answer at first. It's the same way that walking uphill is more laborious than walking downhill. Or how it's more difficult to stretch a spring, and it snaps back to place on its own. For the same reasons, inhaling is more complicated than exhaling. Not so difficult that it requires a lot of effort, but a part of the equation is that empty lungs are your breathing cycle's neutral mode. The more significant portion of the equation is one needs to understand what happens when you hold your breath. You can feel the burning feeling that is telling you to breathe. It's not as much that your body is oxygen-starved, but that it is desperate to expel the carbon dioxide accumulating in your lungs.

The sudden jolt to the body empties the lungs very quickly. It's a spooky feeling because Keisuke stopped breathing, but he didn't feel like he was suffocating. No oxygen in your lungs means that carbon dioxide isn't building up. To begin the breathing cycle again, Keisuke has to inhale forcefully because the diaphragm is quite content to sit empty. A normal inhale isn't enough. It's a shame he isn't in a dojo with a teacher to explain this to him. Keisuke recognizes he isn't breathing, but like others, he gets alarmed. And it's only when they gasp, or start to panic and suck-in hard, that the cycles begin again. It's confusing and jarring.

What was perhaps even more confusing was the sight he was seeing. He only had enough strength to lift his head up from the floor, tilting forward to see what the kerfuffle is about. Only that what he saw was beyond his belief. Keisuke never did see the spectacular split kick on the two goons, but he did see her dodging and weaving underneath one goon, clocking him in the face while she was at it and did something that was kind of like an uppercut. If it wasn't for the pain, then he would have been frozen. In complete disbelief that such a woman, who looked unassuming would be handling these guys like that. The other guy was much bigger than she was. And that kick looked like she could knock out a horse. If only he could warn them not to do anything stupid, especially to Ichijo. Keisuke could never trust him during situations like these. Maybe Zulime knew already, but Ichijo had already lost control over the situation. Him throwing every man at her is just proof of that.

He linked this to the definition of insanity. Not the actual meaning but from Albert Einstein. Doing the same thing over and over again, expecting things to change. The last two attempts haven't worked at all, and yet Ichijo keeps sending more and more in with reckless abandon, without any sort of strategy. Keisuke knew just as much that Ichijo will never admit that he has lost control or things are going bad. He will never admit that Keisuke's initial worries were right. He just can't accept failure. But this just keeps getting results like this, Zulime getting into a handstand and then spun around violently like a whirlpool, bringing in the goons that, unbeknownst to Keisuke, would be gluttons for punishment. As they charged in, her bare feet cracked onto their faces, the man wincing as he saw the raging, intense sight that he couldn't really take his eyes off from. Those kicks had a bass with them, and he wasn't talking about the kick drum either. At that point, he debated if he would have taken this over getting floored earlier. Tough call. No way to answer that question. And he didn't want to find out for himself either. He just about saw the goons flying into more tables that would break underneath their bodies. The split kick didn't do much to keep them down, but that one definitely did its job, the two poor souls sent to the shadow realm as they lay in broken wood. Only then did his head drop from the strain. His heartbeat is faster than before he would enter this establishment. Thoroughly shaken, like Bond's Martini Cocktail, his initial concerns of how bad this idea was is coming to life. This wasn't a dream. Keisuke could only curse that idiot for dragging him into this mess. If only they listened. If only…

"性交のために、その雌犬を入手！" Ichijo's orders grew louder, gripping the handle of his blade even tighter as he saw those men go down. And this time they weren't getting back up. He almost looked insane, his eyes wide shot as he saw Zulime just going for a drink. He snorted like a mad bull, and if his teeth gritted even more, then they would break. He bared his fangs behind the Louisianan's back as the bartender took her order. His eyes could only see red, which only made him blind to what Zulime was really planning. One of his goons would take the bait, coming up from behind her and wrapping his massive arms around her waist, pulling her tight and not daring to let go, lest he feels Ichijo's wrath. Upon seeing the goon having such a tight grip on the Louisianan, Ichijo let out a laugh. A sneer to go with it. He couldn't care less that he wasted his soldiers in a kamikaze charge, sending them to sacrifice. Because once he got this chance, that sacrifice would be worth it. "今、あなたは私のもの、雌犬です!!!" Ichijo would charge right in, leaping over another downed goon as he dashed towards their direction, ready to cut her up into ribbons for her transgressions. Fuck whatever that guy wanted, he was willing to end this woman, right here and right now. "ダイ!!!"

Zulime knew the bartender. If she were in another jazz club, she imagined that he would have fled alongside all of the other denizens of this particular place. They had a bond. It wasn't one of those bonds where she expected to be invited to his wedding that was coming up, as he probably wasn't going to get tickets for any of her matches. That being said, the show that he was getting at the moment might have been more entertaining than any match she had ever had at AFW, save some of the more salacious ones. No, their relationship was one akin to work friends who are close but not too close, folks you go out and smoke with. There was an intimacy that came in five minute intervals, as Zulime was ordering a drink in the downtime between her sets or as she was listening to someone else pluck their way through some jazz tune.

But part of that relationship involved making sure that the other one was okay. Zulime felt comfortable coming up to the bar, because judging from the actions of the goons, they were only interested in attacking her, not really causing harm to the place nor any other patron. When she walked up to order a drink, Zulime knew that she was not putting the barman in any more danger. Similarly, as the bartender made her margarita, he kept a watchful eye on the thugs who were roving around like they owned the place. As he turned away from the mixer, there was an arched eyebrow. The fact that he was not telling her to pull off informed her that what he was doing was not terribly serious. Zulime was grateful that the man was not coming with a broken tumbler, nor did he have anything more serious such as a knife. That would have considerably changed how much she was enjoying the evening.

Instead of going for such a pointed attack, the good opted to grab her around the waist. She was turned around in short order to find that someone was coming straight at her. There was no panic in her eyes. Right now, even in someone else's arms, there wasn't anything to suggest that the situation had gotten out of hand. Hell, the Riverboat Queen was pretty grateful that he was not grabbing her boobs. In the wrestling ring, she would feel sorely tempted to grab the boobs of the woman that she was holding.

But this situation was far more serious. While the man who had grabbed her didn't have any weapons on him, the fellow that was running at her certainly did. That upped the ante considerably. Her brown eyes honed in on the ringleader. If she were under better circumstances, she would have smiled. This whole evening had become an affair of timing. Hitting the right notes in the right spots was fundamental to jazz, and now with her life on the line she couldn't miss a beat. Luckily for the Riverboat Queen, she was an expert at exploring the space temporally. And her efforts were greatly aided by the drummer going nuts on the snare.

Right before the Japanese fellow was able to plunge the knife into her curvy body, a bare foot shot upwards towards the hand with a knife in it. Immediately, the knife spun upwards until became lodged in the ceiling. It was a shame, she thought, as the defender of the jazz club that she had accidentally caused some damage to the building. But back in New Orleans, every dingy backroom had its fair stories of brawls and fights. In a sense, Zulime was adding to the decor of the place.

Something that she thought might have also aided how this place looked was a few unconscious bodies strewn about. The fellow with the knife would learn the hard way how to treat a lady as two legs shot up so that her feet could wrap around his neck. It was nice, in a sense, that the other man was holding her up, as it meant that she could maintain the choke with her feet until it was completed. And even if it wasn't she was sure that her quick throw with her feet would slam the man's head against the bar, and convey him to the dreamworld to dance with the loa.

But that was not the end of it. Unfortunately, she still had to contend with the man who was holding her around her waist. She sent an elbow into the side of his gut, hoping that would purchase her enough space to turn. From there, she would set one of her deliciously thick thighs on his collar bone as her calf draped effortlessly across the man's shoulder. From there, she would jump up and swing her other leg up and around, so that the man's nose was mere inches from his crotch. That would allow her to tuck and use her body weight to send the thug flying forwards as she rolled forward, and her hand reached out to grab his leg.

The move meant that his legs were spread, and she had one knee on the ground and the other across his chest. The Riverboat Queen did not pause. A fist flew downwards at the man's crotch, as hard as she could. Due to their position, she wasn't able to get as much shoulder into it as she would have liked, but her fury at having these interlopers desecrate such a holy site for her meant that the blow landed hard.

That would be the end of him, she reckoned. She got up once more, and ambled over to the bar. "That how they teach y'all to treat a lady here in Japan?"

Keisuke knew Ichijo and Ryuji back when they were young. These three go way back—all the way to school. He remembered when Ichijo was just a little runt with a big mouth, who had a habit of getting into fights with slightly bigger runts with big mouths. Most times he would get smacked around. Other times he would at least fend them off long enough for the teacher to intervene. Ryuji was always born a womanizer. Mostly taken from his uncle when the biological father decided to go on a long trip to get cigarettes. Still out there to this very day. It was almost like a game to him when it comes to his smooth-talking ways, always trying to get that one girl many didn’t think was possible. Only to just dump them and be satisfied with a successful hunt. Both wouldn’t have known each other if it wasn’t for Keisuke. As much as Ichijo was the leader, he was almost like the unknown founder. Keisuke would stumble on one of their beatings, Ryuji chasing the wrong girl and Ichijo biting off more than they could chew. Funny enough, that was where they start their relationship, Keisuke taking pity on both and both Ryuji and Ichijo sharing ass-kickings with each other when the going gets tough.

From there it was a neverending stream of Ichijo and Ryuji saying and/or doing stupid things and Keisuke coming to pull his fat out of the fire. Ichijo would commit to grandiose projects, and Keisuke would come in at the last moment to help him finish it. Ryuji dating that one girl everyone warned him was no good and Keisuke would have to come and pick him up after being stood up at the theatre. Weirdly, Keisuke was raising both of them, always trying to give them advice and try to guide them, even if it didn’t ever get through their thick skulls.

So Keisuke felt hurt that he couldn’t muster enough breath to tell Ichijo to stop. He heard the leader cry out as he charged right in. He was staring at the ceiling, yet he could pretty much envision what was going on clearly. His eyes shifted to the drummer, the one thing he could see. The guy kept drumming away, into the beat that almost controlled the woman dishing out the ass-whooping. It was as if this place was cursed, to begin with, or if they had walked into a trap. That is the only explanation to everything because shit just went sour real fast.

Ichijo had intentions to correct this wrong and bring things back on track. With one of his goons holding Zulime in his arms, the Louisianan Gaijin was right there to score. So he would charge right in, wholly single-minded and honed in on the target. Blade in hand, it was ready to come down on her. That was until the knife was knocked off, being flung into the sign above like a dart. Funny enough, the dart table was next to the bartender, and he couldn’t have missed any harder than this. No bullseye for him. Not that he didn’t have an excellent throwing arm, Ichijo was good at darts. But Zulime would kick the hand holding it, causing Ichijo to miss his target. He hissed, gripping his wrist as he stared dumbfoundedly at the knife stuck in the ceiling.

Which turned to be a grave mistake as he wasn’t focusing on the very being that was causing his ire. All of a sudden, he felt a pair of feet just crushing at his throat. Ichijo hacked and coughed as his hands tried to budge them off, but to no avail. That was where Ichijo felt how powerful Zulime’s legs were, even when she wasn’t kicking his head off like the other goons. He felt the energy from them, the strength that was harnessed to near choke him out. The other goon wasn’t quite sure what to do and looked in astonishment as his leader has two feet clamping on his neck. If the gaijin had continued, he could have been sleeping in the bar for the night. But the Riverboat Queen showed mercy and threw his head against the bar. Collapsing to the floor, Ichijo groaned as he laid there, unmoving.

The goon that still had a near-bearhug on Zulime couldn’t comprehend what was going on, but the next set of actions would be even more confounding. Stunned by the blow of her elbow, his grip on her loosened as he felt that she struck his kidney. The brief moment that he did let go would be a costly mistake. The goon found that it was his turn to feel the thick thighs around him, but not something that he would expect as Zulime manoeuvred around him. Before he could figure out what was going on, his stupefied self would find himself landing onto the floor. A man of his size being flung to the ground, not the kind of fall that Keisuke suffered. Discombobulated, the man stared as the Riverboat Queen sat on his check, the lone foot that was near his face almost taunting him. Instead of getting winded, his nuts would receive a punch that had the guy yelling out in pain. As if he was doing vocals for the band, his scream having a lovely pitch in the A chord.

Ryuji would wince as he could only imagine what that guy had gone through. Being hit in the nuts was a pain, unlike any other, and he was proud to say that it had never happened to him. An astonishing fact, he took pride as such, making sure to take care of god’s gift. The Cassanova would try a different approach. The Neanderthals proving the point that rushing in to attack her would only get you so far. And with a lady such as this, you must be delicate.

“Heyheyhey, woah there!” Ryuji chuckled as he sat up from his chair. He had his bat positioned behind him, away from the Louisianan’s eyes. “I think we started off the wrong foot here. And unlike others, I know how to treat a lady. If Ichijo had sent me in there, instead of this doofus, then we wouldn’t have ended up like this. Ah well, c'est la vie as the French would say...” He walked towards Zulime in a casual, yet relaxed pace, his suave demeanour hoping he would ease the lady at the bar. “Besides, who would want to mar such a sexy piece of chocolate like yourself. If you gave me a chance, I could make you melt.” Now there comes the charm. “Trust me. It will pain me if I hurt you. I haven’t had an experience with someone like yourself. But-“ Ryuji would suddenly cut off his speech as soon as he got close enough, seeking to swing his bat that was hiding behind his back towards Zulime.

Zulime was eyeing the man who was coming at her now. Every single thing about the man raised hairs on the back of her neck. As much as Zulime could wax on about honor, there were times that she fit to engage in under the table dealings. Being a practitioner of such underhanded tactics, she could easily spot when someone wanted to do something wrong to her. One step followed the other, and every tick of the clock meant that he was one footfall closer to her. And once he got to her, something bad was going to happen to her. And as she watched the man, her mind churned as she tried to predict what he was going to do.

Her attention was called to her side, to the barman. The distinct clink of glass on glass informed her that he was going about making her drink. Zulime was here sweating bullets, trying to make sure that she made it out of this place in one piece, and he was going on as if nothing was happening. The Riverboat Queen asked him to make her a drink. It was a haughty move, especially during a fight, and now Zulime was having second thoughts. Just a few moments ago, she had saved herself from a knife attack. And it was dawning on her that she might not be so lucky this go around.

The drummer was calling her attention from the other direction. A steady rat-tat-tat was starting to crescendo beautifully as the drummer gave her a drumroll. It wasn't something that you heard a lot of the time in jazz, as it was more something that happened on the stage before some late-night show host announced the arrival of some fantastic new actress. The Cajun girl knew that a cymbal clash would signal an end to this build up, but she did not know how it would go down on her part.

Then there was her desire to spend some time taking care of herself. Her heart was pumping hard now, and her body was screaming out to be used to eliminate the threats until there were no more. She knew that she could not do this forever though. The man in front of her would have to be taken down fast, and she was calling on her body to have the reaction time and the speed and the power to take down this man before he took her down. She dug her heel in. If anything, the thing that she had learned in taking the men down was to go fast and aggressive right out of the gate, to knock them out of the fight quickly.

The drumroll was reaching a fever pitch as the bat was made nigh. Zulime was quick to act, as she sent a powerful kick upwards at the man's hands. The Riverboat Queen thought that her strike was a home run as the man's bat went spiraling out of his hands. When the bat struck the bottles behind the bar, Zulime quickly lamented the useless end of top notch alcohol. But she could not lament the fine spirits long because she needed to take care of the man in front of her still.

Zulime thought that she wouldn't get as tired when she sat on the bar. Being that high would also help her clamp her legs around the man's neck. Her powerful gams ensured that not one atom of oxygen would make it through the Japanese man's windpipe. After she could guarantee that she was choking the man out, she felt safe to check her surroundings. The barman set her drink down, and she picked it up. It felt good in her hand. A few moments ago, she questioned the bartender's nonchalance in the face of danger. Now she was beginning to savor it. This was all perfectly fine. All of the trepidation she had felt moment's ago was not worth the mental energy that she had expended upon it. The alcohol might slow her a bit, but she was fast enough. And she needed just that little bit so that the easygoing look on her face returned without that much effort. And her newfound insouciance was aided by the sight of the man between her legs struggling so much.

As much as he could try to look convincing, Ryuji wasn't sure if his act would be compelling enough for Zulime to let her guard down. The womanizer has seen most of his brethren go down in one or two hits from the Louisianan, men that were much bigger and hefty than Zulime's legs. He wouldn't expect this sort of thing to come from a woman like her and as he saw them go down one by one, Ryuji had to question what they were really in for. Ichijo put both of his friends in the fark, and that decision left them unprepared for the unsuspecting Riverboat Queen in the red dress. And neither were proficient in the art of strategy on the fly. They were an up and coming Bozokozu gang, completely fresh. Which isn't the best thing to bet on in terms of getting the job done. Instead, they didn't expect Zulime to be more than what they thought they were. The lack of savoir-faire at the beginning was coming to bite them in the ass.

Thing is, Ryuji had to try something. Ichijo wouldn't forgive him if he was unproductive during this heist, just as much as Ryuji wouldn't forgive him for the lack of information. And he figured that anything that isn't charging straight into the enemy like a samurai bound to his bushido code is better at this point. The samurai prides themselves on their honour code. But it also makes them rigid. Predictable. Easy to break. Changing tact, in this case, would make him dangerous, he would think. As Ryuji came closer, he surmised that Zulime may be getting tired. Which was the natural tax to one's body when it came to complimenting acrobatics with her attacks. Too much energy wasted to make a strike powerful enough to take out his brethren. She could not keep this up for long. If only that idiot Ichijo was smart enough to bring in more men and make this an attrition game. Wear her down, and then you go in for the kill. Not that anyone could have predicted this much trouble for them.

The more Ryuji got closer to the barefooted bird, however, the more he had gotten to appreciate what he was about to destroy. The metal bat in his hand would be the thing to mar such exquisite ebony skin. The twinges of regret began to be felt more and more with each step, which isn't the best thing to be feeling when it comes to getting the job done. He did mean every word he said and wished he would have met this beauty in different circumstances. Maybe then she wouldn't be so inclined to kick his head off like the others. Dark-skinned women like Zulime weren't all that common in Japan, and it was a sight to behold when it came to the smooth, natural skin. A Nubian woman would be an experience, unlike any other and would have enjoyed the sexy piece of chocolate. In fact, whilst Zulime was tending to Keisuke, Ryuji wanted some time with her and not to bang her up too bad. Ichijo wasn't up to letting his vices get in the way of the job and would deny such a request. Zulime may never know, but it took a while for him to be set in what he's about to do and hoped for forgiveness later on.

Ryuji shouldn't have even bothered though. Just like Ichijo, Ryuji's bat would be knocked out of his hands by a single kick. The man winced, partly because it really hurt. But also the fact that his bat instead would be used to hit the bottles of alcohol. Like Zulime, he lamented on the waste of top-notch alcohol. If anything, he felt that was a sin, a complete transgression in the eyes of the church. The church is the bar itself. And Zulime seemed to be quick in delivering justice to the one that transgressed. Before he could get his wits together, Zulime's legs came out for Ryuji's head. The man had expected a kick, and it would have been deserving. Quick and somewhat painless. But that's not what the gods have in store for him as he felt the ludicrous pressure coming down on his neck. He literally felt that his head was expanding due to the blood still in his head, and his eyes could have exploded. A gory sight that was not in the realm of possibility luckily. However, he wouldn't put it past Zulime to try to do just that.

The last bit of air escaped from his mouth, but the air never came in. The Riverboat Queen's gams were making sure not even an atom of oxygen would get past that windpipe. It was that tight, more than a vice would be capable of. He made choking noises as he looked up at the Nubian woman above, sitting on the table as she takes the drink she requested earlier. Ryuji's legs struggled to find purchase, not low enough for him to get onto his knees but not high enough so he could stand. It was an uncomfortable crouch, compounded with the pain he was also feeling. He never had been choked out before, and it showed with the sheer amount of panic his body was under. His hands, while getting the chance to feel Zulime's skin, was pounding on the muscle that was choking him. Even with his fists, he felt how ridiculously strong they were. It was almost close to punching a wall than hitting flesh and bone.

Ryuji kept staring at Zulime, wishing he was enjoying a drink with the Cajun as she enjoyed her drink. The sight, however, would begin to be ruined. The dark grey iris closed in around Ryuji and separated me from everyone but Zulime, stationary and vibrating, buzzing in my ears. The buzzing persisted as the iris blackened and the Nubian woman glowed. The buzzing penetrated and saturated his head, controlling him and telling the man how to feel vibrating. The buzzing instructed his arms, legs, hands and head to vibrate in time with the buzzing. Louder and louder it grew until the iris threw itself open and revealed the world to his building, vibrating ecstasy. The drums sounded really weird, started out tinny, sounding and then it stopped. Like when the PC freezes and the sound is stuck on one particular drone.  The buzzing, so loud and so comforting became an unbearable din to his ears. Everything started to go grey, and the terrible noise ceased suddenly, leaving only the vibrations to remind him of the distant memory of the comfort.

Ichijo only came to right at the point Ryuji's body was going limp. He was rising onto his hands and knees, his head still thumping after knocking onto the table, dull pain on one side of his head. The eye that wasn't closed would see Ryuji just being held up by Zulime's legs and she didn't seem to care as she enjoyed her drink. His arms flopped lifelessly to his sides. That was his best friend, and he went out, unlike his brothers. The rage found within him yet again as he pounded the floor with his fist. "くそ！" He kept punching at the floor as his frustrations bubbled over. "くそ！くそ！くそ!!!!!" Only then would he start to move up to his feet, not entirely stable, but he willed himself not to fall over to the ground again. Once he had gotten his legs stable, the irate Ichijo would point straight at Zulime's direction. "You…you…damm..."

Zulime wanted this one to last, to percolate. Before she had gone from one foe to the next with quick and concerted movements. It was natural to her, given that she was one lone woman going against a group of people. In her wrestling lessons, she once asked a question that she thought was foolish. She asked what was the best way to take down two women at the same time. The practical answer was that such a thing was never practiced, because there was no consistently reliable way to take on multiple people at the same time. That some women were able to do it through sheer physical prowess. While the Riverboat Queen was no slouch when it came to athletics, she knew that she was not the one with all of the records on the gym at AFW. And as such, she was going to stick to capoeira for the time being.

That, and her own fighting style cobbled together from the various parts of other styles that she half-remembered. Her improvisational skill was now being sublimated in the fact that the man who had come at her with a metal baseball bat was now on the ground below her feet while Zulime was sipping on her margarita. The frozen drink was not some 100 year old wine that required room to breathe, but Zulime wanted to stretch the moment out for as long as she could. In a country where she would stand out on any given street in any jazz club, this was something that felt normal. For a second, it was as if she were still in control. Ordinarily, she would have eschewed a margarita for something slightly more upscale. But part of her just wanted something that was made a bit more powerful through her generosity to the bartender and was more reminiscent of the slushy drinks that churned in the uncleaned machines they had for tourists on Bourbon Street. And it was a good moment.

But all things must pass. She took another big drink and set the margarita down. The Riverboat Queen needed something to calm her down. But she didn't want to have brainfreeze from the ice just as she didn't want to be a step slow when a critical moment came. She would savor the rest of it once she had completed her task. A quick scan of the bar area showed that there was one lunatic who was still up, one lunatic who was coming at her still. The Riverboat Queen supposed that there must have been some great reward for these men if they kept coming after her like this. All the two bit thugs she hired turned tail and fled at the first sight of trouble. It was an admirable quality most of the time, but at the moment she could not help but feel slightly annoyed.

But she could still have her fun. "Cat got your tongue?" Zulime laughed. The man's words came out in a stuttering fashion with gaps between them. When Zulime talked like that, she recognized that she had downed a few too many drinks and would make a polite yet hasty exit. The man in front of her seemed to have the exact opposite in mind judging from how he was pointing towards her, and still trying to hurl insults.

That was fine. Zulime didn't mind sending them right back. "Honey, don't you just look tired. Why don't you trust your body and run on home. Lest you wanna get embarrassed. And make no mistake, you will get embarrassed," Zulime crossed her arms under her ample breasts. She knew that her sexuality was irresistible. But she also knew that in this position, those large arms of hers would appear to be that much larger. In another circumstance, it would have been quite ridiculous for a single woman such as Zulime try and intimidate a man, but given the course of the evening, Zulime felt pretty good in at least attempting it.

His head may be thumping, but that was nothing when compared to his heart beating at his chest. Soon as he has gotten up, Ichijo felt as if he was still in a dream. Not long ago, his brethren smashed into the scene, causing a ruckus and feeling so powerful. Smashed drinks, tables broken, weapons brandished and a lot of fear being instilled into the citizens that were looking forward to a lovely Sunday Jazz session. He wanted that effect so much, make a massive impression as the new bozokuzu in Tokyo. The sight he would see instead made him wish this was a dream so that he’d wake up from this horrid scenario.

In reality, he just didn’t want to believe it. The pain in his head was real. He still felt the mental imprint of where Zulime’s feet pressed onto his neck. While it certainly lasts an impression on the man, he figured that it was less harmful than what Ryuji went through. He had seen those legs deliver damaging kicks before, but this was the first time he had seen a headscissor before. And it looked more harrowing to him than it usually is. Mostly due to the kind of power, Zulime’s thighs generated into crushing force. Any more and his head might as well be separated from his spine. At least, that is what it looked like to Ichijo. Ryuji would probably take the fact that he was this close to Zulime’s breadbasket as a win though. Ichijo doubted that was something he’d enjoy while he was being choked out.

Ichijo looked around to see his fallen brothers. Scattered around the whole Jazz Bar like dust, laying in complete unconsciousness. They wouldn’t get to feel the pain now, but once they wake up, they would. He desperately looked to see who else he could use, but all of them had been taken out of commission. He had no pieces left in the chessboard for him to use. A Queen was taking them out, fast and efficiently. And still having time to sip on a margarita. It was insulting to the gang. And it was insulting to Ichijo. New and low as they are on the gang food chain, Ichijo still had pride. Pride of his crew. And he won’t take that slight by the Louisianan lightly. Zulime was going to pay. She will pay. Ichijo may not be able to find the words to express his anger, but he was going to use it. He doesn’t have his knife but if Zulime could take out his brothers without one, then so could Ichijo. Right?

“…She’s just some two-bit wrestler that isn’t all that she thinks she is. A group like yours could easily take her…”

Ichijo was finding that hard to believe. A two-bit wrestler wouldn’t have been able to take out so many of his goons like that. Did this guy set him up for failure? No, it can’t be so. But he was starting to have doubts once Ryuji was freed from Zulime’s legs and he’s left resting on the bar wall in an uncomfortable position. The woman came off from the bar, moving towards him, her bare feet padding the floor. The tables have turned, and Zulime would be believed to be the one in charge than Ichijo. He hated that a woman like her held all the power. His fists tightened, bringing those dukes up into some kind of fighter stance. No matter what, he was going to make his last stand to defend his honour. His gang’s honour. They won’t fail. Not if Ichijo had anything to say about it.

“You no tired fucking around, slut?” Ichijo growled. “I won’t run. And I won’t get embarrassed. You won’t get out alive, 売春婦.“ The snares began to do a drum roll, bringing the suspense as the two standoff from each other. Zulime kept coming closer, arms crossed underneath her chest. His body was tensed, and yet it was shaking in nervousness. A bead of sweat began to roll down his forehead. Zulime had to come in with something fast, and Ichijo must be ready. The drummer was going nuts on the snare, which promptly took his attention away from Zulime for a while. She’d have to wait.

“Hey! 馬鹿!  Cut that shit out! I had enough of you-“ He would speak, annoyed that this damn drummer was butting in and giving so many cues. If only he could deal with some silence around here.