Of Waifs And Strays

Mikio had just learned to stop questioning these kinds of things at this point. He thought the chance to work the Hirakawacho Mori's front desk would be nothing short of a dream. It was beautiful, serene yet always in motion. It sat in the country's political heart, catered to clientele from all over the world. Just thinking of the amount of power contained within these walls was astounding in itself. He had higher hopes than this. Climb up the corporate ladder, maybe build a career, buy a home and start a family.

But he supposed that was the biggest issue about pursuing a livelihood out of cleaning other people's closets. Sooner or later, you had to learn to start living with the skeletons people kept in them.

And none piled them as high as the pink-haired vixen that strode right through the door, her butler in toe with an unconscious, muscular-looking blonde slung over his shoulder. He was barely putting in any effort. For such a lanky man, he was surprisingly sturdy. Mikio took his pen, letting his sleepy eyes run from the bruises lining the Frenchwoman's pristine face to the blank space where he logged her name as she strode past toward the adjacent elevators. ["Long night, Ms. Margaux?"]

She smiled and pressed the button pointing upward. ["Quite the opposite, Miki."]

The elevator doors slid open a few moments later twenty stories up. There was only one door straight ahead of the narrow hallway. The pinkette lead the way for her butler in toe.

Freshened Up :

Personally, Margaux was a fan of the renovations she'd completed for the loft. Linoleum hardwood floors, beige walls, a marble countertop for the bar she had moved a little closer to the window for a view of the skyline, but not too far out of reach of her shelves of books she’d ever so brilliantly suggested be built into the wall after one or two nightly calls to the contractor. It wasn’t quite her humble abode in Grande Paree, but at the very least it was now as close to a second home as the Madame could make it. Her victories in Momentum had generated a considerable level of personal income to finish off the last of her adjustments amongst other pleasantries. AFW had certainly provided her with more rewards than she had anticipated...of all shapes and sizes.

The Frenchwoman sighed and shrugged off her coat, tossing it carelessly onto the glass table close to the center of the living space. Her sore body ached all over. All she wanted was one glass to drink. She hardly even noticed the thump when Olivier dumped Sabrina on the couch with all the care of a sack of garbage. At any other time, she would have berated him, and he knew that.

[“Shall I put a kettle on?”]

Margaux smiled and shook her head. [“No, no. You and your back have done more than enough this evening.”]

Olivier scoffed and hinted at breaking a smile at her. He patted his shoulder. [“Strong as an ox, Madame. But I can tell when I am no longer wanted. I will retire for the evening. Please try to get the house in order while I am away.”]

Margaux waved him away as she turned to the bar only some feet away from the end of the couch. [“We both know the answer to that, my dearest.”]

Did he ever. Olivier withheld a tired rasp, instead of tucking his arm close and bowing his head to low to the floor before he stood tall and turned to walk out of the penthouse. Margaux watched his old yet mighty back leave out the door as she stood behind the bar, listening to silence and the faint noises of the city far below. Her eyes went to the sleeping guest soundly asleep in the middle of the room. The nurse ward had made an admirable effort at the impossible task of repairing the merciless damage etched across her body by the pink beast of the West. She even found a discarded black V-neck to (regrettably) cover that topless body in transit. It seemed to fit Sabrina well enough.

Margaux leaned into the marble counter and rested her chin on her hand, simply admiring the sight of the woman. Only hours ago, she was a warrior from a time long past, denying her adversary even the smallest respite in a night filled with blood and without mercy. Seeing her at peace felt unnerving in the oddest way, yet the pinkette couldn’t help but be fascinated by Sabrina a little longer. Her eyes roved the cuts along her arm, the discolored bruising on her left cheek, the patched gauze at her forearm, the way her entire frame rose and fell gently with each breath. She was a human metronome that the Madame’s gaze could not avert even as the minutes passed.

God damn it, why the hell did her face feel so numb? That was the first thing that came to mind for Sabrina at the moment as her body slowly drifted right back to consciousness. Under most circumstances, a fighter would usually be out on a few meds to alleviate some of the pains from a fight, but for Sabrina? Well, in the Underground, you were carted out and given as much medical treatment worth a veterinarian's place rather than an actual doctor which made most meetings pretty shitty. Still, seeing as she wasn't off in her shitty apartment, nor anywhere that looked remotely sleazy, the blonde was slowly popping her eyes back open and wincing slightly upon doing so.

'Ah, Jesus fucking Christ. it feels like Mother Teresa kicked the ever living shit outta me,' Sabrina didn't even wanna remember that, but that topless nun fighter was a fucking maniac. She was pretty sure that whore wasn't religious, but that chick was certainly something else. Nevertheless, Sabrina didn't feel her chest as bare as it usually was, so she also knew for a fact that she wasn't at her home.

Call it weird, but it was just intuition. When you were living in your home, you did whatever you wanted and dressed the way you wanted. Wasn't like she had guests coming on over and visiting. Well, maybe a few, but those were people she drank with a little and got high with.

Albeit, the second one was a rarity.

With a sigh, she slowly opened her eyes all the way yet again, glancing up at the ceiling above and slowly peering around. Sitting up, she sighed as she rubbed at the back of her head, brushing a hand against her left cheek and wincing slightly. Yep, bruised. She must have been cold cocked like hell. "Fuck, I lost my fight, didn't I? Man, ain't that a bitch there. Way to go, Sabrina. Ugh, did they carry me to some fancy ass..."

Sabrina would have continued on if not for the sight of her opponent. Well, the sight of her opponent staring at her from across a marble counter. She didn't bother looking at her surroundings more with how this room already looked, but she kept her eyes on Margaux whilst remaining silent for the time being. Well, it was good to see she was just as bruised up as she was with how they lined her face. Sitting upright and adjusting her neck for a brief crack, she quietly stared over to the woman and paused.

"Look, if we banged and I said some shit, TOTAL misunderstanding there, ya know? Though, I guess I could've done worse than crazy, right? Still... Uh... Where the fuck am I? Did we actually fuck?" Wait, wouldn't she have been naked?

Sabrina had a lot to ponder then, as weird as that sounded.

The sound of snooty French-sounding laughter would be the only immediate response to Sabrina's questions. Half of it came from the state of bewilderment swept across her injured face. Much like when she was asleep a moment ago, it was an amusing contrast to the image Margaux had built herself of this woman from only a half-hour stuck between three sets of ropes. The other half came from the questions themselves.

Margaux simply snickered to herself. It was flattering, honestly; to know what was spinning in the back of her guest's head.

"Nothing so romantic, I am afraid." She stood up from the counter and held her arms out. "You were in a rather dreary state and Olivier expressed concern for your safety. So I took it upon myself to...invite you to my humble home away from home. Offer ourselves a chance to palaver.”

The Frenchwoman gave her freshly awakened guest a smile before she crouched low and disappeared behind the counter. Clinking glass and rummaging hands filled the sudden silence for a moment before the pinkette popped back up with a large, dark green bottle in her hands. It was a bottle of red wine from the reservoir beneath her organization’s chateau. Typically she reserved this brand for peace offerings, though lately, it seemed she had found more regular use for them in slashing throats open. It was just so hard to find people that you could truly trust nowadays.

Margaux reached behind her and pulled open the glass cupboard, taking a couple of wine glasses and placing them on the counter. She popped the cork free and poured one glass slightly fuller than the other. Setting the bottle down, she picked up the glasses and rounded the counter, making her way to the couch as she held the fuller glass out to Sabrina. “My sincere apologies. I would offer something stronger, but it would appear zat my supplier has become dormant in ze wake of my recent relocation. I take you for a...dry bourbon connoisseur.”

Sabrina thought that this French Poodle’s laughter was something a little more insulting. Sure, this chick seemed to live somewhere pretty good judging by how nice the room looked, but it wasn’t exactly impossible. Maybe Sabrina wasn’t EXACTLY the most cordial of fucking people, but she was a damn good lay! She’s given men a night they’d kill for and women a night they’d wish for again! Honestly, she was ready to get up and start going bare-knuckle brawling right now before Margaux explained why.

Calm as her cat, her body relaxed and she leaned up against the woman’s couch with a stretch as she rubbed at the bandage on her cheek. Such a bitch... They usually never treated you this well back in the underground.

”Alright then, now I don’t need to go pounding your face in. No offense, but I’m a damn good lay, ya know?” Sabrina replied/apologized as she raised a brow briefly at the woman’s little explanation. Dreary state? She must have been knocked out then, but that meant this chick did win. Fuck, she really wanted to pound the crazy outta her face, but at least she left her mark considering Margaux still looked a bit like a wreck. ”A palaver? That some kinda French food or did you wanna fuck? I’m game for fucking, but maybe when I’m not outside a ring. Maybe. Depends?”

Might as well throw the option out, right?

Still, it seemed she was being treated for the night judging by how her slightly taller companion dipped right below. Much to her surprise, it wasn’t cheap booze. Instead, she was looking at a large bottle that might have put the taste of her usual bar’s liquor to shame on prince alone if it was anything to go by. Sabrina may have made money, good money too, but she never did live the ‘high life’. Most of the money she had gotten from fights and the like were used on taxes, bills, her shitty apartment, food for her fat cat, and buying as much food as she wanted.

Looking over Margaux, she whistled in teasing appreciation as she rounded the counter and walked over to her. Reaching out and taking a glass for herself, she held it up briefly and took a slight whiff. Definitely some fancy stuff. It didn’t even seem to smell like sewer water. “Ain’t no problem there. Believe it not, I ain’t ever had shit like bourbon. Back in LA, I’m usually given some cheap ass beer or liquor that was imported by rednecks. Honestly, first time living near the fancy life. Still, there anything more to this than... Uh... Palaver? For a fancy lady,” Sabrina played with her glass, swirling the contents with slight motions of her hand.

“You sure do know how to fight like an Undergrounder, don’t ya?”

What was one particular quality about Sabrina that Margaux felt confident in declaring her unbridled admiration towards? Certainly her boldness.

Sabrina was many things. Uncertain of what she desired, when she desired it, was not one of them. Making her thoughts known appeared as natural to her as breathing the cruel earth’s air. She had to wonder what must have spurred that burlesque attitude and uncanny disregard for social norms. She was a creature of habit suited to doing what she wanted whenever she felt the urge guiding her. A rabid dog in more than name alone. Margaux was happy she’d taken in this stray. At her essence was something deeply familiar and compatible. How compatible was the real question?

At the very least, she was a reliable source of humor. The Frenchwoman had to share an honest laugh with her as she took a seat at the other end of the couch. She had the most intriguing responses. Quite so, there truly was only one thing that appeared to be on the American’s mind. The recent high they’d experienced together only moments ago was no doubt playing a central role in that line of thought. Margaux couldn’t help feeling flattered even if it was to be expected. After all, was she not the most desirable woman in the world? She thought not.

“I have no reason to doubt such a feat for even an instant, Madame Anderson. But as I said, nothing so romantic.” Margaux took a sip from her glass as she rested an elbow against the couch, pressing her cheek into calloused knuckles. Even now they stung with an irreversible imprint of the night’s festivities. It had been too long since the pinkette had felt such an intense tingling at the end of her fingertips. She was so happy she came to Japan.

The more she listened to Sabrina, the more she was able to connect certain aspects of her background. Some that lined up with her current theories. “Ah, I see. Street trash such as yourself must be rather well acquainted with certain martial arts most undesirable. Indeed, you did well to stand against me for as long as you did.”

The Frenchwoman giggled to herself. “I have been afforded several opportunities in the past to expand upon my prowess with those far beneath my current station. Those opportunities have become rather...fleeting as of late. You were a welcome surprise. Although I must assume that sort of stage was...unfamiliar for you. You prefer arenas of chalked circles and barbed wire and blood and broken bones, no?”

Sabrina was many things. She could be rash, she could be reckless, she never had something like a filter, but if there was something that was noted, it was the confidence she held in every stance she was thrown in. She didn’t truly give much of a shit for the status of others or anything even close to mimicking that. It wasn’t some sort of deep trauma or any type of emotional pain, but it was the simplicity of the fact that she couldn’t give less of a shit over what someone else thought of her. She just did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted as long as it was fine with her standards, of which she had little to none in the long run.

Still, Sabrina was trying to piece together her former opponent. She was bummed that she had lost, but she knew she’d get this bitch the next time they fought. Though, while she wasn’t exactly what you would call a genius, Sabrina wasn’t a complete fucking moron by any means. This girl... She was hospitable, she seemed prideful, but the thing that rubbed at her, the thing that had something angry burning within...

It was that god damned attitude of superiority that just seemed to hang.

“...Sure, whatever you say, poodle,” Sabrina replied, taking a sip of her drink and leaning back against the couch. One arm slung over the top whilst the other held the glass in her hand like an honest to god brute would. Her face stung like hell compared to her body, especially from all those damned headbutts, but for Sabrina? She didn’t mind so much aside from the fact she should have let loose if she wanted to win. Still, this place...

This place wasn’t half bad when throwing them some bones with fighters like these.

Of course, it wasn’t too surprising when a slight audible crack was heard from one of the glasses within that room. That being the one the so-called ‘trash’ had been holding at the very base. Eyes narrowed briefly, a look of impatience in her eyes, Sabrina directed her gaze back to her former opponent and lowered her glass. “I may be street trash, but don’t think you can go lording some prideful shit over my head. Think I can’t recognize one of my own? I can tell the difference between a spoiled bitch and a former rat... Sides, next time around I’ll knock your fucking teeth out.”

She eyed Margaux and leaned forward.

“How’s about you drop the superior act or some shit before I shove my fist into your face, ya got it?” Even as wounded as she was, Sabrina was still prideful of her upbringings.

Leaning back, she placed her glass down and sighed, lifting up her shirt briefly and tossing it to the side. Being topless wasn’t as much a game plan as it was more of her just feeling comfortable. Not in public, public-public, but just in a home was good enough. Scratching at her ribs, she huffed and gave her newest companion a simple shrug. “You’re telling me. No offense to the organization, but I ain’t seen much of a few boxers aside some... I gotta dig my hands into somebody, but damned if they think I’ll wrestle much. Still, you’re right to assume that’s what I’m familiar with. Though, it’s more of an Underground league of sorts back home. Hush-hush, lots of people, money gone around, chalk circles, pats, cages, rings, and sometimes barb wire. It’s KO or be KOed. I earned my place at the top for a good reason though... Don’t think you’ll win next time we scrap.”

And yes, Sabrina has to grin as brightly as she did at Margaux despite her words against a woman who had pummeled her something fierce.

Japan must have softened her skin after all of this time. Margaux remembered a much simpler time when someone speaking in the same tone of voice Sabrina had chosen would have lost them a tongue. Especially after all of this trouble she’d gone through to make this possible.

Sabrina was different. She’d known that in many ways from the moment their gloves had kissed one another at the first bell. The unique taste of ferocity that went beyond popular comprehension. Hidden in their dens from the chill of the night, beasts tangled together in a frenzy, wrapping together in a primal warmth that burned hotter than the brightest flame. Margaux took another sip between her rosy lips and set her drink down on the table opposite Sabrina’s.

Slowly and ever so cautiously, she reached her hand out to the woman as mismatched eyes seemed to wander. Her fingertips glided over the scarred ridges and jagged valleys dotting her companion's bare shoulder, down the length of her arm, and along her hands. Silently she unraveled the tale between each one.

"You have beautiful scars." It came across as an idle comment. It should have been something she kept in the back of her mind. Not said aloud. Not just yet. “I have had the privilege of entertaining many combatants that crossed my courts...none quite as remarkable as yourself. Vicious, cunning, beautifully savage. It is that very kind of temperament that evokes all sorts of inspiration. Your body is etched with limitless potential, Sabrina. But, if you would allow me, I would like to lay these in as simple terms as I may be able. English is not quite my forte, so I must apologize should I overlook the particular nuances of ze American dialect.”

The Frenchwoman withdrew her hand before she lost it and leaned back in her seat. She locked her fingers together and rested them on her lap. “I presume nothing. I am superior. You are a fool. An incredibly brash, resilient, and naturally gifted fool. I sincerely believe your talents are wasted in this industry. Watching you crash and burn would be tragically entertaining if it were not so pathetic to imagine."

Margaux couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. She dismissed the threats thrown her way with a posh wave of her hand. “I simply believe you could do so much better. Why be content with brazen prizefighting? Is that the only reason you have traveled across the Pacific and fought your way to the upper ranks of Japan: Money? Exhibitionism? Surely you will not disappoint me in being so narrow-minded.”

The familiar hands that had donned the leather gauntlets had began to glide across the length of her bare back down to her shoulder and arm. The scars Sabrina possessed weren’t anything truly breathtaking. She didn’t have scars that curved or scars that spoke of brutality. The only scars she did possess were either small or noticeably thin, only with years to come, but it wasn’t anything Sabrina minded. The more noticeable ones were covered by her tattoos. Not on purpose, but that was just unfortunate circumstances.

”Thanks, I guess? They ain’t anything special though. Just a few early fights I didn’t learn from quick enough. I’m just lucky I didn’t get any on my face. Don’t get me wrong, scars are cool, but I don’t want any of those fucking up my face... Ugh, I’d probably need some weird surgery to help that one.” Sure, getting your nose broken was fine, having your face reduced to mulched meat was cool, but a scar on the face? Shit, that wasn’t going to go and heal. That was just not for Sabrina. ”...Thanks. Still, ain’t no apology really needed for the whole French...”

And then she spoke.

Another audible crack was heard from the grasp Sabrina had upon her glass as her eye twitched. Well, there was pride, and then there was self-presumed fucking fact. Needless to say, the glare Sabrina had was quite noticeable, even the way the muscles upon her arms seemed to grow tense and ready to sling forth despite the pangs of pain in her skull.

Sighing softly, the woman merely relaxed, leaning back into her seat and closing her eyes for a few moments. ”If you want the honest truth? I came across cause I was hoping to make money and have a new roster to fight around. I’ll be real with you. I don’t give a shit for the idea of honor or something... Honor means little in the Underground aside from keeping to your word. I just like money and I just like fighting. Japan offered me a good slew of fighters, a league for people like myself, and some damn bitches I could fight. That’s all there is to it. I don’t know what else to call it, but that’s really it for me. A simple bitch.” Opening up her eyes, she stared at Margaux with a rather simple glance.

”Maybe it’s disappointing, but that’s just always been my life. As long as I’m having a good time. Still, in your eyes, how could I do better then?” Pausing for a moment to consider her next words, she grinned.

”I want a rematch with you too.” Call it nuts, but she wanted to take this bitch on again at some point.

Margaux only became more convinced in each passing second that bringing this woman home with her was the correct decision. She rarely opened her door to the outside world, much less to the individuals whose faces she had used for the simple goal of softening knuckles. A lifetime of watching for blades in the darks from presumed friends and mentors made her increasingly wary of who she decided to share cups of wine with.

Anyone that happily bore the moniker of ‘Rabid Dog’ had no right to appear so rational and quaint. Sabrina maintained an undeniable intensity about her, but there was a clear understanding beneath it all. She could see the bigger picture as much as she was willing to live in the moment. Her dedication was to her bloody craft. Her life and passion are embedded within the scars and blemishes along with her calloused fingers.

The Frenchwoman simply heard Sabrina's reasoning and almost immediately laughed none too quietly in response. She rested an arm on her knee and cupped her cheek against her palm. Her eyes regarded the dirty blonde with bemusement. "Money, money, money. Is that really all? What pathetic ambition."

Her other hand reached out slowly, pondering a tender touch. "I care little for your nonexistent sense of honor, Ms. Williams. I care about these scars and what they tell me. They tell of a woman that fears not blood, blades, or broken bones. I find that far more interesting than tall tales of a...half-rate pugilist. Your style is unorthodox, but you will find that it falls quite short with an adversary of equally idiosyncratic talents. As you've seen tonight..."

Margaux snickered behind a straight face. It was admittedly a half-hearted effort to hide it. "There is nothing that aches my tender heart more than unrealized potential. In one year, you shall have greater precision and refined finesse. In another, who can say for sure? Regardless, I am of the belief that your path begins by working for me."

Her tone was simple and matter-of-fact as if what she was saying was simply a given. Her eyes gazed off to the side towards the city lights and towering monoliths stretching to the nighttime horizon. A thousand lights reflected in the Madame’s mismatched eyes and she seemed to contemplate each one. “There shall be a wave of change in the near future to wash this imperfect metropolis away. This federation that so amusingly caters to the fat and affluent will be my impetus for that vision. You need not be a puppet in that game, Sabrina. I can guarantee you promotion, opportunity, and care far beyond what AFW alone can secure. I want you at my side. To guide my hand through the tribulations. I want you at your best, always.”

Margaux looked back to Sabrina. She leaned forward and stretched her lips wide into a smile beaming inches from the American’s face. "And then, perhaps, I will entertain your 'rematch'."

There were a couple of ways to go about how Sabrina functioned and acted. When it came down to her life, she was simplistic, needless of riches or wonder, and all that crazy shit that fell down into her lap. She could have certainly gone professional if she tried, perhaps even gone for a championship or three within the Underground in her time. The only problem was that it wasn't a problem. The idea of grandeur and greatness never really mattered to her, even if she was thrown into the pits or the crappiest rings around.

She loved a good fight, she craved a good battle, and she loved the money she made simply because she could do what she wanted to do. It was a simple desire to be free and to do as she wanted, something she would never deny herself of no matter how many times others suggested she go higher. She let her basic instincts and emotions guide her, but she didn't think of herself as a fucked up individual.

Well, not entirely.

If someone had it coming or tried to rough her up, she didn't regret beating them within an inch of themselves before tossing 'em aside. In the Underground, you weren't allowed the notion of being soft as much unless they were people you could trust with everything. Even then, those people were very far and between from actual reality.

Sabrina quietly looked over to Margaux and watched as she laughed, very clearly in punching distance, at her words. She didn't mind it. She just stared before shrugging her shoulders.

"Eh, money's money and it makes my world get a little cooler. Not like I give a shit about what others think about it."

She didn't mind the woman's hands, the same hands that battered her around constantly without fault, to roam her skin as she wished. A hound that allowed this feral dog another simple touch, not once minding the prospect of death. "Good to see that another one of us doesn't mind it too much. Still, I'm glad you're intrigued by it, as fucking weird as that shit is. Still, the fact that you think I wasn't enough almost makes me wanna slug it out now if it wasn't for the fact that'd end badly for the both of us and this place wouldn't look nice with your blood all over it." She narrowed her eyes for a moment. "I don't expect ya to believe it either, but just so you know... I could still beat your ass. I didn't even throw out everything I had."

She grinned like a vicious hound, one already ready and rearing to go despite the injuries she possessed.

She didn't speak anymore, taking the time to listen to her newest companion speak and continue to go forward with a possible prospect and proposal. Her eyes were bored, silent, never once conveying how she felt for the first time in her life as she observed Margaux's expression. She hadn't made any thoughts yet nor any decisions concerning the offer Margaux made, something millions would have jumped at if they were in her position or immediately declined varying from person to person.

The way their eyes glanced over the entirety of the city before them outside, the way those lights reflected off of her eyes. Some might have thought it beautiful.

Sabrina thought it was weird.

She stared quietly at Margaux as the woman leaned forward, their faces inches from one another as the French poodle before her flashed a beaming smile as she pondered her next words as she usually did.

Without any thought.

"PFFFFFFFFT, Jesus fucking Christ that sounded so fucking corny as hell!"

Her expression shifted to amusement and laughter and she sputtered, laughing loudly in genuine amusement, resting a hand to her stomach to contain herself. Though, for the most part, she was failing miserably, the woman trying to keep herself composed and failing before coughing into her hand. She gagged for a moment and huffed, snorting in amusement.

"God, like, sorry about that. I'm just gonna be real with you, but that sounded so fucking crazy and I can't help it, Mags. Ah, Christ... Alright, I'll just be real with you either way." And without a pause, her hand was pressed against Margaux's throat, rather, it was near gripping it as she made for a simple shove back with a sigh.

"You're not wrong on potential. I still got a ways to go and I ain't nowhere near my expiration date at all. If there's one thing that old ass hag told me, it was that I got a spark in me that'll spark a fucking war. I'm not much for politics, takeovers, or any of that shit too much. I've lived deep in the hood, hung around some hoods, didn't really give a shit. Hell, I even slugged it out with a few of those fucks."

She sighed softly, brushing a hand across her cheek. Her eyes were left to glance back to Margaux and for a moment, it was clear what, or rather who, Sabrina was. She was, at the end of the day, a woman, a beast, with no care for herself or what happened to her. In this life, in her life, she learned long ago that her life could just as easily be snuffed as it could aspire further beyond.

"I ain't gonna be your subordinate or anything like that. I don't do that shit, no matter what people say or offer. Billions of dollars or even a world and future of the best fights ever don't drag me that way either unless you've earned my trust for that kind of crap... However," she glanced over and flashed a simple smirk, offering up her knuckles in the simplest form of expression from one woman raised and enduring from the streets to another.

She hoped she didn't confuse this shit though.

"I don't mind standing by a friend though. Shit, you and me are practically from the same kin with how fucking fierce your ass was. So, how's about you and me start as friends and we'll tackle shit that way, ah? I ain't gonna be beneath you, even if ya think you're superior, but I sure as shit don't mind tackling it together with a rough bitch like you."

Sabrina was a simple woman, a simple individual, but at the end of the day she didn't work beneath someone else. Hell, maybe she might consider it, but Margaux was one damn screw too loose for her to work under. Still, maybe she was rejecting a good offer, maybe she was tossing aside a lot, but friendship?

Eh, fuck it, go for that, right?

"Plus, entertain a rematch? Don't kid yourself, babe."

She grinned.

"I can tell that one match won't be enough to satisfy that bloody lust of yours, right?"