Guess Who's Coming to Downton

Masuyo’s eyes followed Gwenedolyn’s finger and went cross when it poked her on the nose. It instantly made her nauseous. Years of martial arts experience came back to bite her in half a second. She had to resist the urge to grab the blonde’s wrist again and throw her back out into the street. Even in all of this, she had to keep her composure.

Two: Anger begets anger. Calm your mind, and may your life benefit all things.

There would be a time when she might have to accept that the lessons never ended. Just as eagerly as the Japanese fighter sought to be stronger, the world would push back and seek to test her. The type of person Masuyo was, she would face each and every one. Even if those tests came with really annoying accents.

As Gwen turned to leave, the sounds of the street and that fleeting fragrance from her golden curls came in with the fresh Tokyo air. Just the same, it tickled Masuyo's nose, rousing a new flame as the heiress stepped outside. “‘Ta’ yourself! You better not keep me waiting! The next time you step in here you’re going to be leaving with an ice pack! I’m going to kick your ass halfway back across the world! Oi! Oi! You hear me?! I said I’m gonna-!”

…

The restaurant was fully closed now. All of the dining tables and chairs were stacked evenly against the back wall, creating a space in the center of the room for a single chair beneath the dim lights. Directly above the restaurant, tucked between the living spaces and bedrooms, lay a single room dedicated to the Way of Ai. A hidden dojo older than anything else in her familial home.

Sparring Demon:

Masuyo sat there in the center with her legs crossed and arms folded, watching the sliding door. Though her eyes were fixed forward, her mind was busied with a mental projection of Gwendolyn Dupont Bettencourt. The specter danced across the room, throwing swift kicks and keeping light on her feet. Powerful strikes clapped the air and shook the lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Occasionally she would feint a deadly roundhouse to her head, stopping just short of a finishing blow to the Ai prodigy's rigid face. What Masuyo was able to recall was limited, but it was close enough to the real image. Close enough to matter.

The Bettencourt apparition finished with a spin on her backfoot, bowing once before bringing a hand to grace the bottom of her chin. There she departed with a final laugh that, in the most annoying way, resonated to the back of Masuyo's ears.

Thirty minutes on the dot.

“...she’s keeping me waiting.” She muttered.

"...I-I know...yeahbut...No, she didn't tell me where she-...I TRIED to stop-...I know she's worth more than some small countries-...NoNoNowait, here she comes!!! I found her!!!"

Gwendolyn's chauffeur ceased yammering into his cell phone upon viewing the regal heiress turn the corner and purposefully stroll towards their disabled conveyance. The plethora of worst case scenarios that may have befallen his employer ceased to pile atop one another with her alleviating appearance. The frazzled driver breathing out an immense sigh of relief from knowing he was not going to be held legally liable for any misfortune that may have befallen the exceptionally affluent V.I.P., nor be the centerpiece of whatever media firestorm came along with the potential international incident. Opening his mouth to ask where she had been, but denied the chance to vocalize anything as Gwendolyn raised an index finger to his face to stifle any notions about interrupting her stride towards the limousine. Entering through the passenger doors and locking herself within so that she may be granted the peaceable seclusion to undress into her sparring attire thanks to her one-way tinted windows.

Sparring Rose:

"Ta Da~...Apologies if I've kept you waiting. This quaint little bistro of yours became rather difficult to pinpoint once again amidst its rather pedestrian surroundings. Although these particular quarters possess quite the fetching ambiance~...Most appropriate for our intentions. " The dainty blueblood entering Masuyo's training quarters with a fanciful gait to her poised steps, admiring the decor and garbed in the skintight fabric of her sparring attire which accentuated each supple curvature. Albeit with a honed musculature that attributed strength along with her elegance. A petite tote-bag slung over her shoulder but soon afterward settled down onto the floor, humming nonchalantly as she stretched her back and began performing ballerina leg stretches. Leg hold extensions performed one at a time that had the soles of her foot directed at the ceiling in a limber showcase of her flexibility, but politely conversing with Masuyo in the meantime. "So, One round. Victory obtained via pin, submission or knockout. I believe these were the agreed upon conditions of this delightful scuffle, correct? Oh, and that I may employ whatever method I deem fit in subduing you. A caveat you may come to regret~...*giggle*...Is that all, or shall we commence with your education thusly?"


Gwendolyn's chauffeur kicked a pebble down the sidewalk as stood as the stalwart guard at the entrance of Masuyo's restaurant, serving as the heiress escort back to her sparring location. After having been informed of the situation along the way he started calling her estate to inform the replacement limousine for the new pick-up location.

Part of Masuyo was undeniably excited about seeing the heiress walk through those folding doors. For the past few weeks, she’d been doing nothing but killing pads and softening her knuckles with friendly spars. She hadn’t so much as glimpsed the AFW stage since…Bashira. She was ready to get back in there. Gin thought otherwise. ‘Embarrassing herself’, as he put it, wasn’t going to make her any better. But she couldn’t sit still with her body and mind crying out like this. There was no better time for a challenge and no one else deserved to be put in their place more than Ms. Bettencourt.

Another part of her regretted letting her impulse get her into this situation. What would her mother and father think about this? Bringing her own business under their roof like this. There had to be some logic to it.

Nothing was going to stop this. Masuyo could only see this as karma’s hand at work. Some greater power brought this particular woman from her past strolling through one of a million doors across Shibuya. There was no place for Masuyo to argue between right and wrong. She was going to fight without ever looking back.

Masuyo stood up from the floor and, only after a split hesitation, bowed once to her adversary. From then on, her eyes simply kept to Gwendolyn as she heard her speak. She had no response other than to take a few purposeful steps to one side, reaching up and tightening the velcro on her gloves as she went. "Just try to last more than five minutes this time, Sausages."

She stopped and faced Gwendolyn, rolling her shoulders as she loosened up. Her bare toes scarcely touched the tatami as she bounced on her heels.

Reviled though the snobbish blueblood was for her sniping barbs and backhanded compliments, no small degree of earnest honesty was shared from the heiress as she perused the hidden dojo. Gwendolyn's mind briefly wandered as to whether all noodle purveying establishments conceal martial arts dojo's of such captivating artistry and artisanal craftsmanship. A ponderous notion that exemplified the affluent high-borns sheltered upbringing, but was of course abjectly ludicrous to the common man. Gwendolyn parting from her flight of fancy after scanning her surroundings to lay her tranquil eyes back on Masuyo, whom appeared in no mood to partake in the customary idle banter typically intended to "break the ice", as it were. Not that the heiress expected particularly scintillating repartee from her uncouth waitress, but she ever did so enjoy bringing Masuyo's tempestuous temper to a bubbling boil with a but a few dulcet toned words on her part. Pity~...

"...*sigh*...Oh my, such baseless bravado. Sincerest apologies, but the night's festivities already have a foregone conclusion. What's left to ascertain is how long shall I have you prostrating yourself after becoming humbled in abject defeat before mine own illustrious elegance~...Do remember, whatsoever transpires this night, twas all naught but thine own choosing~..." Gwendolyn queried as she circled the dojo alongside Masuyo. Smiling primly while tugging down on the wrists of her Primol branded gloves with a sophisticated gait to her stride, but offering her adversary a refined curtsy with a wafting extension of her arms as if she were wearing a skirt and bending her right leg behind the other. A demure rebuttal to Masuyo's earlier respectful bow. However, a key difference would be Gwendolyn immediately sprinting towards Masuyo once standing straight and nimbly vaulting up to seat herself upon the waitress's shoulders. A view most would dreamily envision perhaps being little solace to becoming catapulted off her feet in a hurricanrana.

…Thine own choosing…

It was tough, but underneath, Masuyo felt it. Pride and the urge to smile.

Only yesterday this was a dream for her. As heated as this was for her, a part of Masuyo relished all of this. After Bashira, she had admittedly been without a good fight for a long time. Despite how irritating she was, Masuyo couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t eager to fight the former champion one-on-one. The chance to be tested, to add another notch to her record. It wasn’t every day this would happen to her, after all.

Those swirling ambitions inside kept Masuyo light on her feet and her mind in the now. Her storm-laden eyes regarded Gwendolyn’s overly formal bow, and then, the heiress rushed her. The Demon didn’t miss a beat, lunging forward and throwing a stiff palm strike to Gwendolyn’s face. Where it should have been, rather. Masuyo’s hand only met an afterimage and felt the whiff of empty air against her fingers. The next thing she felt was a pair of warm, lush thighs around either side of her head. Her hands reached up and gripped the svelte skin, fully intending on slamming her opponent back first into the floor. Only for her feet to leave the floor as she was thrown around by the head. A hurricanrana.

Masuyo tucked her arms around her head, letting her right forearm hit the ground first as she rolled off her shoulder into a crouched position. Her smooth recovery was only hampered by the slightest nausea that she immediately shook off with little more than a groan and a quick breath. A planted hand to the floor assisted her booming rush straight back at the heiress. Hoping to catch her on the rebound, the Japanese fighter leaped and kicked her knee out with a jumping strike poised to land straight between Gwnedolyn's eyes.

Observing proper etiquette came as naturally to Gwendolyn as breathing, even if she were adhering to guidelines of a particularly barbaric nature. Those being the Rules Of Engagement, specifically when a customary sign of mutual respect was offered between challengers before honorable combat could commence. Few within her sophisticated social circles could ever fathom voluntarily electing oneself to be on the receiving end of strikes of any nature, let alone ones of such infernal ferocity that were most befitting of Masuyo's devilish nomenclature. Hence why Gwendolyn actually takes immense pride in her grappling expertise when those among her refined ilk preferred to dally away with badminton or horse polo as physical fitness activities. Although both examples were still merry hobbies of hers, but she digresses. An unparalleled prodigy like herself comes naught but once in a blue moon, and Gwen's generous intentions tonight were to offer Masuyo a gifted opportunity at measuring herself against one.

Gwendolyn's teachable moment commencing with a comfortable seat taken at Masuyo's expense before pivoting sideways for a backwards flip that uplifted her foe for a head-shielded slam onto her back. Afterwards situating herself on her knee and spying the recouping Demon with hazel-eyed conviction and a smug smirk. Masu's wee instance of queasy hesitation costing her more than she may realize as she once again stampeded straight ahead. The spry aristocrat once again playing the role of matador to Masuyo's bull by side-stepping and ducking low to narrowly dodge the face smashing knee attempt. Except both of her foe's feet would scarcely have a moment to be rooted to the ground before becoming swept in a low roundhouse kick by the heiress. Intending to have Masu meet the mat face first, although not without being beset upon by a pompous aristocrat attempting a secured rear naked choke alongside whispered comments. "Subtlety and nuance always trump headstrong barbarity. Seems as if I'll surpass that five minute quota of yours, though~..."

Speed was something that Gwendolyn easily had over her. The first seconds of this match had made that clear enough. Masuyo noticed the gaps that law between them from a glance. Their physiques were too different, their styles were miles apart. Masuyo’s style worshiped the ground they walked on and rooted herself when pressing the attack. Gwen was much more animated, by comparison, keeping light on her feet and dancing around the ring. Chasing her would be a waste of energy. If she could nail one good shot to the head, it would take her off balance and finish this fight before it even started.

The Demon didn’t think it all, letting her body drive her feet from the floor and reach for the golden target between Gwen’s eyes. Only to find empty air waiting for her. And that wouldn't be all.

The same second Masuyo's feet touched the floor, her legs were suddenly swept out from under her. Her hands braced her fall before she landed flat on her face. Immediately, Masuyo pushed off the floor to try and stand upright before a hefty, supple weight fell across her back and a pair of lithe arms found her neck.

The Japanese fighter gripped Gwendolyn’s arm before the heiress could fully lock the hold in, but only barely. The bone of her forearm still dug into her trachea. The gentle press of her refined muscle squeezed around her neck and made her rasp for each breath that came after. Although she preferred focusing on the lack of oxygen over the haughty attitude her opponent whispered into her ears. Masuyo glared back over her shoulder and met Gwendolyn’s eyes.

Masuyo tucked her knees underneath herself and used them to push herself onto her knees and throw an elbow behind her, taking several shots at the heiress’ ribs. The instant she felt the hold slacken, Masuyo would grip Gwen’s arm and throw her over her shoulder to throw her haughty adversary off her back and onto the floor. If she got the blonde monkey off her back, she'd attempt drive a downward striking punch straight through her face and into the floor.

Fastidious as Gwendolyn is in regards to properly sustaining her immaculate countenance through multi-talented beauticians and skin-care specialists, one should expect that she would be equally as meticulous when to comes around to avoiding strikes aimed directly at her flawless facials. A target that she was loathed to ascertain was a frequent bullseye in the eyes of those contemptible curs wishing to do the heiress harm within the squared circle. A byproduct of abject envy on their part, Gwendolyn is assured of. Accentuating her natural strengths becoming an early training stratagem when first donning wrestling spandex, in particular her fleet-footed agility and nimble litheness in the absence of more brutish benefits. Enabling the posh blueblood to deftly dash the hopes of adversaries aiming to bestow her with a blackeye and turn the tide of battle in her favor with but one counter balancing strike. Masuyo perhaps coming to realize the sophisticated heiress' tactical genius after becoming pounced upon by her with a securely tightened sleeperhold and sweetly imparted conversation material as well.

"Oh my, does this undisciplined and spoiled little girl have you bested already~...Oh, and just for the record, I'm afraid my colleague Akiha still bears somewhat of a grudge against you for that incident with the plate of squids." Gwendolyn dulcetly imparted whilst never abstaining from any aspect of the rear naked choke, neither the forearm and bicep combination tacked onto her windpipe nor the taut squeeze of her sinewy thighs around Masuyo's hip's/waistline. The idea of outperforming the Demon at her own game brought with it a positively thrilling sense of satisfaction, although it was a smugness short-lived once one piercing elbow jab into her ribcage became, two, three, and so on. Each strike making her grimace with a trembled shudder until her sleeperhold lost its ferocity with a slackening of her limbs, prompting a posh yelp on her part from being flipped overhead to a spreadeagled splat before Masuyo. Gawking up at the upside-down demon and scarcely evading the downward punch by leaning her head to the side to leave only her fluffed-up curls to bear the floor shaking strike. Retaliating via bending her leg and attempting to thwack Masu on the crown of her head.

Swindlers, thieves, yakuza. Masuyo had taken on almost every form of low-level scum. Big egos and leeches that fed off the labors of others. It was only after she joined AFW that she realized how small their egos were in comparison to people like Gwendolyn. Never in her life had she met someone that so desperately needed to be taken down a peg as this blonde, haughty aristocrat with no taste buds.

The impact of her fist against the floor bounced around the room. At the epicenter, Masuyo huffed in annoyance that she’d come up shallow by only catching Gwendolyn’s puffy locks beneath her knuckles. The Japanese fighter moved to chase her before the bottom of the heiress’ foot slashed forward and smacked her square in the face. The underside of her foot would remain in the center of the ramen warrior’s robust mug for a moment longer before she suddenly reached her hand up and gripped Gwen’s leg by the ankle. Slowly, she forcefully peeled it away, revealing a steel iris staring down at the haughty British madame. Fixed and unwavering.

"You like getting ahead of yourself, huh?" Suddenly, Masuyo stood and lifted her opponent’s caught leg high above and threw herself into a twirl, releasing Gwen’s foot at the end of her powerful motion. The roar of determination from her throat complimented the sudden burst of strength from the Demon as she threw the Golden Heiress with one hand at the opposite wall.

The omniscient benefit of hindsight allowed Gwendolyn to realize the inherent shortcomings and flaws within her swift-footed reprisal quite promptly. The awkward positioning of being splayed out before attempting to strike an adversary above one's head all but ensured that the impact possessed but a modicum of the strength Gwen's kick's typically demonstrated. Instead there was naught but an uncomfortable silence shared between the quarreling duo with Gwendolyn blinking emphatically as her bare foot remained flattened against Masuyo's bristling facials. Ultimately dislodged by the tightened grip on her ankle and revealing the resolute grimace underneath. A particularly darkened scowl that lost little intimidation factor in spite of appearing upside-down to the heiress below.

"...*ahem*...I...assume you're speaking facetiouslYYYYYY!!!" Gwendolyn's assumption being upended by the dramatic showcasing of Masuyo's feral ferocity via having her world become a spiraling tornado with the grasp on her ankle being the fulcrum. The snobbish aristocrat's arms flailing outward as her heart raced in the unexpected spin cycle culminating with a rocketing propulsion through the air with only the wooden wall to break her fall. Gwendolyn yelping out a pained wail from the hammering impact against the now cracked barrier that she seated herself against with a dizzied grimace. Meanwhile, the valet at the restaurant's entrance whose job entailed the heiress' safety above all else, only peeked his head up from his cell phone for a brief second before returning to his game of Candy Crush...