Aisling Wilde (![]() ![]() @ 2013-06-10 00:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aisling wilde, cian wilde |
I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way
Who: Ash Wilde & Cian Wilde
What: Trouble at the Ring.
Where: Warehouse in the Docks District
When: Backdated ; Gemini 9th
Rating: PG-13 (Cian has a potty mouth)
Status: Complete
First blood was drawn, and the fight ended. At least, that's what was supposed to happen, but Ash's opponent lashed out with her flail, snapping it against Ash's cheek. Just great, she thought, dodging the next flick. Rules were rules, and she wasn't one for breaking them, especially when she was the one who made and enforced them. Being the ringleader had its perks, but it also had its drawbacks, such as not retaliating when a sore loser decided to try to keep things going.
"Back off," Ash warned, straightening up, but the woman - Amalia? Alaina? something like that - refused and advanced forward.
She could hear the crowd behind her roaring in approval. Rules strictly prohibited retaliation, else the fight was called as a draw, but there was only so much damage she was willing to take before she snapped. If this went on any longer, she'd have to declare the fight void, and then Cian would get on her ass about keeping business under control. The thought annoyed her more than she cared to admit, and had clearly distracted her - Cian had a way of doing that, even now - because the bitch's flail caught her in the ribs and tore into the skin.
The woman followed it up with a kick to the chest, and the breath was pushed from Ash's lungs. By the time she could breathe again, her opponent had landed a series of vicious kicks and punches, punctuating the flurry with a lash from her flail. "Second warning," Ash hissed, loud enough to be heard. She had to give her three chances to back off before she could do anything.
The woman laughed. "I'm going to kill you," she said, making sure to enunciate her words, "and then Cian will thank me."
Faction. Even better, she thought, standing her ground. She'd yet to be pushed back or fall; if she could keep this up for a minute more, she'd be home free. The woman whirled her flail above her head and whipped it at Ash. It connected with her shoulder. "Warning three," Ash growled, "time's up, bitch." And she attacked with her mace.
The woman had obviously never taken an attack head on because she stumbled back. Ash pushed through the pain - which was beginning to make her light-headed, warning her that she was on the verge of passing out - to throw the woman to the ground, careful to stay within the chalk markings. Straddling her, she placed her forearm against her windpipe and pushed. Her opponent struggled for a moment before going limp from oxygen deprivation.
She heard the announcer belt out the results before she passed out - And the undisputed winner, Aisling Wilde. Her last thought was that she hoped someone had a damned potion handy; she had work after this.
The damn wall still hadn't been fixed but a crude door had been reconstructed out of the rubble. He would have taken great satisfaction in slamming it, if it could be slammed; instead, he seethed as the thing was pulled open to admit him and gifted the toughs manning the entry the most potent of his death glares. "Where the fuck is she?"
He had nearly taken the head off of the man who had come bursting in on him as he was doing accounts, babbling about trouble at the Ring. Why the fuck doesn't Ash handle it? She can handle her own damn trouble.
The man had practically wrung his big, beefy hands as he explained, Ash is the trouble. Cian's chair had hit the wall with a thud as he had jumped out of his seat.
They had rule-breakers, sometimes - people who didn't think first blood was acceptable, who liked the way things had been done before, who got too caught up in bloodlust to give two fucks about anything - but generally those isolated cases were easily neutralized. There were supposed to be controls in place.
Well, Ash didn't give two fucks, either, and did everything her own damn way. Maybe she had wanted to be beaten to a pulp. Maybe that was her flavor of the day. He didn't know what was going through her head anymore.
"Where?" he snarled again; one of the toughs managed to give him a direction, the other fell into step with him as he took long strides across the now-empty arena ring, marked in chalk, towards the same office he had crawled out of just the other day. At least that had a door to be slammed.
By the time she came to, she was sprawled on the couch in the makeshift office. She had no idea how she'd gotten there - probably carted off by one of the imbecilic guards who managed to just about nothing when her opponent went off the deep end. Her outfit was torn and she could see blood stains across her abdomen. "Great," she muttered. "This is just a great damn night."
"Sorry, ma'am," someone said and she looked up to find Neil hovering off to the side. He looked nervous, and if her bodyguard looked nervous, that could only mean one thing.
"Who called him and how long ago?" If it wasn't too long, she could still probably get out before he showed. If he wanted to talk to her about it - which, undoubtedly, he would - he could do it on her terms when she wasn't mostly naked and bleeding.
"Twenty minutes," Neil replied without hesitation and Ash cursed. If Cian wasn't here now, he would be any minute. She tried to stand, but that bitch had given better than she'd got, which wasn't surprising considering Ash had practically just stood there until the other woman had tired herself out before getting a good grip and placing her in a choke hold until she passed out.
She also noticed that Neil hadn't told her who called.
"I've got work," she hissed; she was going to need a potion or five. In her current condition, she wouldn't be able to dance, and she was mainstage tonight. Shit. Breathing deeply, she started to make her way to the door.
Slamming the door open felt good, but it didn't really make him feel better. He took in the room immediately - the hapless bodyguard, the snarling, bleeding woman half-crouched over the couch - and said, "Take a hike." The bodyguard looked conflicted. Cian's eyes narrowed. "I said," he said slowly - and that was all it took for the man to turn tail. Cian even got to slam the door behind him, which didn't make him feel better, either.
"Sit the hell down, princess, you're bleeding ten different places," he said with disgust. He crossed his arms, leaned back against the door. She wasn't going anywhere unless it was out the window, and she was in no shape to try the window. At least she was conscious. "Want to explain to me where you lost your Faram-damned brain?" he inquired. "Life getting a little boring, is it? Figured on spicing it up?"
Too late. Ash made it a habit to avoid Cian when business didn't force their paths to cross, and, unfortunately, this was business. "There was a problem, I took care of it." Entirely the truth, even. She had taken care of it, and when that bitch woke up later, Ash would take pleasure in taking care of it again. She couldn't let it go unpunished, after all.
"Sorry your girlfriend didn't do the job," she retorted, trying to push past him. "Next time send a better one." It was easy to ignore his questions because, quite frankly, her personal life was none of his Faram-damned business. She smiled sweetly up at him. "I've got to get work, Ci, so get the fuck out of my way."
"Yeah, I heard all about that," he said venomously. "Taking a pounding's all part of the service now, is it?" He grabbed her shoulders, squeezed, knew it would hurt with how bruised she was. "Why," he asked rhetorically, "why does everyone around here listen to me except for you?" It was his damn punishment; he was going to pay for the rest of his life, clearly.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he enunciated, trying to push her back towards the couch. When she wouldn't go, he picked her up around the waist, ignored her kicking - and she kicked hard - and walked over to dump her on it. "I wanted you dead, I wouldn't send an idiot to do my dirty work, unlike some people I could name." He dug a potion out of his pocket, tossed it down to her, then stood glowering, arms once again crossed. "You about had a riot in here today."
She hissed as he squeezed her shoulder. "Whatever they want," she replied, keeping her tone light and carefree. It was pretty damn hard to do when it felt like her guts were rioting inside of her stomach. "After all, business is business; who cares how we get the money." It was a cheap shot and she knew it, but she was pissed and hurting, and she knew how this was going to go.
If she didn't get out of here now, she wasn't going to work.
The couch wasn't nearly as comfortable when thrown on it, she decided, doing her best to not whimper. He was no more careful with her than he was with anyone else. Probably less so, considering it was her. She pushed the thought away, determined to focus on the current situation - dwelling in the past was far from helpful. At his insinuation, she bristled but let it go. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction; if he wanted to believe she was trying to kill him, so be it. He could go fall off a cliff, for all she cared. Hell, she'd be willing to push him if that was what he wanted.
"There was no riot," she said coldly. "I had it under control." She ignored the potion; the last thing she wanted was his help.
"Yeah, I heard all about that, too," he said. "Business is business, but the last time I checked, we weren't running death matches in here, or was that little throwback to history in your monthly earnings statement somewhere? Someone's trying to kill you, princess, then fuck the rulebook. You got a provision in there for it; you just wanted to give them a show." No one ever accused her of poor showmanship. Insanity? Sure. Poor showmanship, not so much.
"You wouldn't know about the riot," he said, "since you were unconscious on the floor at the time. Take the damn potion, and I'll get out of your bloody, disgusting hair."
It was galling to be lectured by him, especially when he was right. There was a provision, placed in there by her, in the event of an actual attempted murder. She hadn't forgotten, but then she also hadn't figured that this woman was actually trying to kill her. She had been wrong, and she'd taken care of it. "I didn't want to give them anything," she hissed. "What I do is none of your business; I took care of it."
Neil hadn't said anything about a riot. Damn it. "Obviously it turned out fine, Ci," she sighed. Suddenly, she was tired. "There was no need for you to come down here. And I don't need your damned potion. I need to get to work."
"It's my business," he snapped back. "Everything that happens in this place is my business. Or have you forgotten?" It hung between them, he knew, along with all the other things they never talked about. "You work for me princess; you got a problem with that all of a sudden, I suggest you take it up with me directly. And yes," he continued, "you need the damn potion. So suck it up or I'll hold you down and pour it down your throat." He met her gaze flatly to show he wasn't joking. "You know I can," he told her.
Ash stood - it took some doing, but she managed. "Then go take care of your business, boss," she spit, "and leave me the fuck alone. You may own the business, but you sure as fuck do not own me." One of these days, she was going to try to quit; it wouldn't work, she knew - there were too many things in a precarious balance because of their uneasy truce - but it would make her feel better about things if she knew she had at least tried.
"Take your potion, and get out of my way." Without another word, she pushed past him.
"Have it your way," he said. He wasn't very gentle as he pushed her up against a wall, keeping her in place with his body - not hard, when she was weak and bleeding and barely came up to his chest. He pinched her nose closed and uncorked the potion with his teeth; when her mouth gaped open for air, he poured the potion into it and gave her an exasperated look. "You've known me long enough, princess, to realize I do what I say," he told her. Once the potion was gone, he stepped away, his stance defensive, knowing she could very well lash out and would be feeling stronger and more capable than previously.
"I don't own anyone," he said, his voice cold. "Not you, not any of them out there. But I take care of my own. Again - you got a problem with how I run things, you come and see me personally." She wouldn't. "We'll talk about it." They wouldn't.
"Now go, since you're so damn determined to take your clothes off," he told her. "You're a mess, but your customers will thank me for the lack of blood on their hands. And keep the fucking peace around here, will you? I don't need to have to worry about this place on top of everything else, and you don't want me around. Keep them in line, we both win."
As soon as he backed away, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing. She felt better, and she fought the urge to run away. She was going to need a shower, and not just because of the blood. They had made it a point not to touch each other, and despite years of no contact, her body still remembered his pressed against hers. She hated that she couldn't forget it. "No," she said slowly, "I don't think I do."
He knew she wouldn't come talk to him, and she knew he wouldn't seek her out to address any issues.
She smirked and walked into his personal space, taking care to shake her hips. When she reached him, she splayed her fingers against his chest and pushed him back. "You don't know what I want, but I'll make sure we don't have see each other any more than necessary."
"That's personal," he told her. "This is business. One's got nothing to do with the other." He was going to keep believing that, too, even as she sauntered over, put her hands on him, and shoved. He took a step back, but kept his balance. "Never claimed to know," he told her, "but if you tell me you can't live without seeing my smiling face, I'll call you ten kinds of liar."
He went to the door, opened it, jerked his head towards the hallway and the bodyguard still standing there. "Wouldn't want to keep you from your very important business, princess," he told her. "Don't let the door hit your fine and stubborn ass on the way out."
"Nothing personal about it," she disagreed. "There's nothing but business between us. Like always." She smiled as he walked across the room to hold the door open. "You'd be surprised the things I could tell you that wouldn't be lies."
Purposely, she brushed against him on her way out. Might as well get the most out of it. "The only thing hitting my ass is a customer," she called over her shoulder. "Stop by some time and that could be you."
He ignored the taunt. He didn't need to know what was going on in her head, as long as she kept thing running smoothly and kept herself out of a damn body cast. He ignored the brush of her body against his, too; he had gotten really excellent at ignoring everything to do with her.
"I already pay you enough," he called after her. "Why would I keep lining your pockets?" If he tried to buy her company, she'd probably try to strangle him. Not that it would work, but she'd give it a good, solid try. She was pretty strong.
At least she was walking.
"I'm getting on the crew's asses to get that damn door fixed by Sunday," he told the bodyguard, who was still hanging around and looking lost. "Try to do what you're supposed to be doing and keep her the hell out of trouble." If someone took her down, it wouldn't end well for him on several levels. Annoyance as she was, she was worth more to him alive.