Sympathy for the Devil

Anesthesia’s eyes lingered on the waitress for a bit longer as she walked away, never missing  an opportunity to savor the female form. Hers was petite, but reasonably fit, with pants that seemed a little tighter than they needed to be. Showing off, perhaps? She would wager the young woman had gotten her weight down in recent times, wanted others to see her work. Were that the case, she hadn’t labored in vain.

She managed to tear her gaze away and focus back on the important business in hand, as Margaux laid out numerous points, all valid, in short order. Now that they could speak more freely, it was clear that they had some small level of trust - more than most would’ve had with a person they had only just met. At the very least, her objective of holding the Frenchwoman’s interest was undoubtably achieved.

She wanted to know why Anesthesia had chosen her? Easy enough to answer, and it would start to segue into those specifics she was dying to get into.

”Simple answer, love.” She kept her posture straight, her tone polite and casual. ”While I could’ve hired numerous individuals, the task I have in requires more than just skill and a taste for brutality. I need someone who isn’t hindered by delusions of morality, who would have no compunction doing things to a human that most couldn’t stomach doing to an insect. Someone who can fool the masses, make them believe she’s sweet and kind and trusting. Someone who’s physically attractive…”

Hm. While she talked, one of her legs had stretched out and brushed against Margaux’s. How did that happen?

”...and I need someone who is an AFW wrestler, preferably one who the public knows little about, and even more preferably foreign. In short, I need someone like myself. But because of the rather unique nature of this task, I can’t be the one to do it, regardless of how much it would give me joy.” She sighed, the first hint of sadness, lamenting the lost opportunity.

With a shrug, she pointed a dainty finger right at Margaux. ”I believe you tick all those boxes. I’m confident you’ll agree when I explain in full. There is no better choice.”

Margaux took a few more sips of her coffee now that it had the chance to cool down. With a hefty sip, she’d realized that it was a tad bitter for her liking. A rather courteous staff occupied this cafe. It was one the reasons, Yurika among them, that the Frenchwoman found this to be one of her favorite spots in the city. And now, she seemed to have one more reason.

If Madame Cutter was lying to her, then the pinkette’s intuition had evidently lost its edge since she’d arrived in this country. The explanation appeared genuine and she honestly hoped it was. She was fine to indulge herself whenever she liked, of course. She didn’t need this woman for that, but the idea that this particular job was suited only for her…

Well, it was very attractive. Like picking the ripe fruit amidst a field of thousands. This one would taste very special, indeed.

Her lips parted slightly as she felt a gentleness slide gracefully down her shin. For an ever-so-short moment, she caught her breath, air neither entering nor exiting her mouth as the conversation skipped a couple seconds in her mind. It wouldn’t be obvious to just anyone, of course. All it elicited from Margaux was an even brighter smile than before as she listened to the woman’s details with even greater attentiveness. This was quickly proving to be one of the most interesting conversations she's had in years.

She giggled to herself as she looking comfortably into the woman’s eyes. “Flattery. I thought I had grown tired of it.” She picked up her cup by the lid, giving it a light, circular twirl with her fingers as she pondered what was being asked of her. “Alright. I will take a gander. What is that’s giving you such trouble? Qui sont-ils? Who could have angered you so?”

There was a genuine interest in her inquiry now. The doctor had said so herself. This wasn’t a job for just anyone. There was no room for morality here. No place for second thoughts or mercy. This was beyond simply sending a message or setting an example. Margaux licked her lips in anticipation of the coming storm.

For the first time that Anesthesia could remember, she found herself enjoying a conversation. Such a simple pleasure, but one that was so often denied her. Her closest compatriot these days was Sista A, and while the woman wasn’t as dim as many believed, she was crass and boorish and had little patience for nuance and subtlety. Margaux was infinitely more appeasing.

What was more, the two of them seemed to be of one mind, which made Anesthesia so eager to see her reaction once the plan was detailed.

”Angered?” That brought a genuine laugh out, one she covered with the back of her hand. ”Oh, no, nothing of the sort. If I was simply mad at someone, I would crush them myself. No, this isn’t a revenge movie I’m plotting, but a tragedy. Let me explain, and forgive me - I can be a tad long-winded.”

Anesthesia steepled her fingers and thought for a moment, parsing the best way to dole this out. ”Before the AFW, I was in the employ of Rumble Roses, a smaller wrestling federation. While others from that organization migrated here, one in particular is of great interest to me: Makoto Aihara.”

Anesthesia brought her phone out, tapped the screen a few times, and laid it in the middle of the table to show Margaux a few pictures of the Judo Babe. Smiling, dancing around, looking so young and bright, she was like the living embodiment of everything they were not.

”Sickening, I know, but don’t be fooled - Makoto is exceedingly talented. An Olympic-level judoka, not to be underestimated.” She sighed, remembering some of the times they crossed paths in the ring. Humbling experiences, she could admit. ”Now, I’m currently in the middle of a power-grab of sorts, bringing women to my side, establishing a stable of sorts. I want Makoto to be part of that stable.” Anesthesia leaned back, envisioning the possibilities even as she spoke. “She seems innocent, yes, but I’ve watched her, and I can tell the AFW is taking a toll on her naivety. She is cracking, Margaux. Embracing a ruthless side that she wants to keep hidden. I could bring greatness out of her, I know, but she needs the push. This is where you can help me.”

Anesthesia reached over and turned the phone about, looking at it herself, licking her lips, admiring Makoto for a scant second. ”I could break her, yes. I could tear her apart at my leisure, and it would be a wonderful time. But I don’t just want her to break, I want to remake her. I need to her to see me as a friend. Someone coming to her in a time of need. A guiding light.”

Anesthesia leaned forward now, drawing closer to Margaux, wanting to read every expression in detail. ”Find her and befriend her, even seduce her, if you like. That won’t be hard, she’s too trusting by nature and hasn’t shared a bed since her first and only girlfriend three years ago. Poor thing.” She pouted, then scoffed.

”With that simple task done, convince her to go somewhere for a spar, a match of some kind. Your house, a backalley, a private ring, your choice. When you have her there, when she feels safe and confident, that’s when you strike. Tear into her, shred her, humiliate her, debase her. Keep in mind,” She held up a cautious hand. ”I need her in prime condition, so I want nothing done to her that she couldn’t eventually heal from. But aside from that? She is yours. And once you are done, I will take the pieces, the scrapes, cobble them together and rebuild Makoto Aihara in my image.”

Anesthesia sat up straight and took a long, deep breath, satisfied to have her plan in the open air. She looked back to Margaux and centered in on her, holding a gaze. ”Thoughts?”

Business and pleasure. The two hardly ever mixed for her nowadays. Ever since she crushed that foolhardy man’s throat all those years ago, Margaux’s day to day had become afflicted with an ever-growing stain of boredom. Professionalism and her hobbies rarely mixed. It was bad for her image to get carried away without cause. So when the opportunity eventually arose for her to put her talents to use, Margaux would leave her steading without a second thought.

But this one. Oh, Madame Cutter’s guile could work miracles as far as she was convinced.

The details had finally come to the fore, many of them interesting, but a few to highlight in her mind. First, the picture. Margaux leaned forward, looking down at the image with a tasteful grin gracing her lips, gazing into it and absorbing every detail as her associate went on with her description. She wanted to visualize every bit of it.

Makoto Aihara. Pretty. A sickening expression, yes, but Margaux was always a patron of the arts. She could appreciate a finely sculpted figure and all of the work that went into it, no matter her personal outlook. She hated smiles but could appreciate them. She hated kindness but saw the value in it. Where there was the effort, there was admiration, even it was misguided. And there was plenty of effort to be found here. A judoka. An Olympian. Such succulent prey. To think Margaux had considered turning this deal away. She felt foolish. Her mouth went agape, staring blindly at the phone until Ms. Cutter drew it back.

Then, the stipulations. Those wonderful guidelines laid bare before her. They were enough to make her mouth water. As she thought, it wasn’t simply about pain. Thoroughly crushing the Makoto was the ultimate prize she was supposed to be after. Nothing there to stop her from decimating the martial artist with all the fervor that was sure to surface once they were alone. Anything she could employ to bring the woman to heel, then crush her beneath it. Seduction, even. Hm, it had been awhile. There were plenty she’d come to share the warmth with, but when she wanted someone, she’d simply take them. Perhaps it was time to sharpen those fangs once more, but that bridge could be crossed when she came to it. She’d have to worry about first impressions before anything else.

Finally, the goal. Crushing morale. Breaking minds. Reshaping the self. It made the deal all the sweeter for her. This was beginning to go beyond a simple indulgence of her favorite hobby. Her partner in crime’s grand scheme was one practically plucked from the back of Margaux’s twisted recesses. Manipulation had been key to her success up to this point. Her associate seemed to be standing upon a similar foundation. It made things rather personal. Whether that would turn out to be a good thing for her, only time would tell.

Taking a moment with her eyes closed to fully take in the treasure trove of details laid out for her, Margaux would chuckle and slowly open her eyes, gazing into the beautiful pupils sat patiently across from her.

“I think you couldn’t have been any more correct in your assessment, le docteur.” Here eyes glazed over at the phone in her hand. “Pain is the ultimate mediator, is it not? It seems as though this Makoto is conflicted. Staring into a mirror and unfamiliar with what she is looking at or who she is looking for. A shame to waste such potential” She took another sip. “I will shatter her for you. Break her into a million pieces for you to bring together again. Un par un.” She held two fingers to accent those words. “Although it is one thing to make her feel alone in the darkness, it is another to set her in the right direction. I will leave her in the capable hands of my...associates. Perhaps you could...recover her from them, in her state of delirium?”

This must have been how boring people felt whenever they introduced a friend to movie or a book they adored. That feeling of sharing a thought and experience with someone else, of watching their expressions go through the motions, of reliving the sensations through them.  It certainly helped that Margaux was one of the most expressive individuals that Anesthesia had come across in a long while.

She swore, she could almost hear the machinery turning in Margaux’s head. The things she was planning to do, the methods, the tools she would employ - if Anesthesia could’ve only taken a peek inside that lovely head of hers and seen it for herself.

The mere thought was making her rather excited, but she kept her lustier impulses under control, for now. She could always get relief later. For now, she stayed focus.

Anesthesia nodded along as Margaux not only agreed to the plan, but showed a masterful understanding of its spirit. The latter was undoubtedly more important than the former. In the end, she wanted someone who would and could do what she herself would do if she were present, and it seemed like Margaux was the ideal surrogate.

She even added an interesting idea. One that added a cruel twist to the smile on her face. ”Acceptable. Quite acceptable. I've never played the calvary before, but I feel I can slide into the role.”

Anesthesia pressed her palms flat on the table, taking on a more serious tone, now, though still light and inviting. ”Now, again, I can pay you directly, or if you have more interesting requirements - a favor for a favor, perhaps - I’m open to discussing that as well. Also, while I implied this before, the point cannot be stressed enough: I need Makoto to be in usable condition and to not know that I was involved in her misfortune. Failing either condition defeats the point and terminates our arrangement.” She brought a finger to her chin. ”Not that I have any real fear of that with you, of course. But there’s no harm in being clear, is there?”

Oh, what a rare feeling it was for a plan to come together so fluently. She could hardly remember a time when her suggestions were not met with looks of concern. There were too few people in the world who lacked her foresight, too concerned with their own misgivings to fathom the greater construct around them. She’d done her best to cull such fruitless thinking from her presence but was left with ultimately the same result.

There was no badgering form this one. No silent protests or words of distress. Margaux proposed an idea, and she answered promptly.  If only they had met in France. There was plenty of work to be proud of, but Margaux wanted more. And more was just what this woman had brought her.

Either way, she was truly thankful for this time together. Even if it all turned out to be for naught, Margaux could at least feel affirmed in some way that she was not alone in her way of thinking as the rest of the world continued to banter on such trivial matters of right and wrong.

Their mutual understanding had its limits, of course. Dr. Cutter wanted adherence. She didn’t want a single scrap missing from her work of art. From the clay from which she would mold life anew. Well...a fair bit of that relied on Makoto. A judoka wouldn’t go down easy, even one without a gold medal and the pride of a whole nation at her back. But Margaux would manage. She always had.

“S'il vous plait. A firm hand and good businesses are one and the same." She leaned forward ever so gently, like a snake through tall grass. “Payment is not necessary. I will deliver Makoto to you. Her body skinned to the letter and nothing more. There is only one thing that I will ask of you.” Gently, she reached out and placed a warm hand over the doctor’s, her eyes never leaving her associate’s. “Once all is said and done and our affairs are once more in order, I wish for us to part as compatriots. Acquaintances. Friends. Peut-être plus.” Her head tilted to the side. “Can you assure me of this, madame Cutter?”

Her fingers curled gently against the woman’s delicate palms. Their shared warmth ran up her arm, traipsed along her neck, and brightened her face as she smiled pleasantly forward. She wasn’t the only dangerous woman sitting at the table. She had realized that for some time now. If the two were ever meant to co-exist, neither of them could stand in each other's way.

And to think, Anesthesia had considered sending Sista A to meet this woman. Merely imagining that alternate scenario brought a raw smile to her face - watching as her lackey failed to understand Margaux’s subtle ways, was thrown by her accent, grew irritated with her whole facade and likely came to blows with the woman she’d come to hire.

On second thought, that would’ve been amusing to watch. Perhaps Anesthesia could arrange something in the future, once their current business was concluded. A thought for another time.

For now, her mind was on payment. One of the more annoying aspects when it came to deals of this nature was the utter lack of anything resembling a pay structure. There was no set price for hiring someone to do what Margaux was going to do, nothing to compare her services with, so she could charge anything she liked. Anesthesia had deep pockets, thankfully, so she didn’t foresee it being a major problem. But still…

To her delight, she learned her fears were utterly unfounded. Warmth took over her cheeks as Margaux took her hand, and as asked for something that, while free, Anesthesia had never given to another: friendship. If anyone else had asked such a thing, she would have either laughed, slapped them, or both. But the eyes she stared into didn’t belong to just anyone. They were that of a predator. A ruler. A visionary. Eyes that Anesthesia only saw in one other place: a mirror.

She didn’t respond to Margaux with words - not at first. Instead, she took the Frenchwoman’s hand in her own and lifted it, bringing it to her lips for the lightest kiss, soft and delicate, befitting such a fine beauty. ”Peut-être plus.” She looked up with a flicker in her gaze, a hint of something so dangerous and wild. ”You have my friendship, madame. In fact, I believe this is the beginning of a long, fruitful relationship.”