Bedroom Assembly (Feat. Alix Jacques, Black Severin, Lacramioara Albescu, and Madeline Christiansen)

[DSX93]

had the feeling that she'd just made a major signing with Madeline Christiansen. Multi-faceted with a mixture of pro-wrestling, Jiu-Jitsu, and gymnastics, capable as both a Standard and Hentai wrestler. Eager. And, as she learned in their first meeting, creative. Of the sort that she could get right behind.

It turns out that they had both come up with a similar concept. Alix had come up with a way to bring bedroom matches to LAW arenas, with a squared circle that looked more like a bed being made, complete with softer materials, pillows...She even had the idea of the lighting being manipulated in such a way as to mimic the ambience of a candlelit night of passion, hence the name, Candlelight Bliss. She'd actually come up with this months ago, but had been having trouble finding just the right opponent to christen it with.

She had her prospects. Two of whom were walking behind her right now:

and

. And Madeline herself had taken a leap up quite high on the list. But there would always be something that kept it from happening: Scheduling conflicts, LAW being something of a revolving door, with some rather striking cuties and studs wrestling a match or two and deciding that it wasn't for them, and what have you.

And Madeline was looking to create something that, from the sound of it, would still be done outside of the arena, or maybe in a backstage area like they were doing tonight, but would expand upon the concept of a bedroom match in its own way. She had a lot of ideas, and Alix made the suggestion that they try combining theirs together to see what they could make of it. But Madeline wanted something that she could call entirely her own, which was just fine to her. The English Rose had asked for assistance in finding some suitable opponents to help her workshop this thing, and Alix promptly made some calls.

***

Severin didn't know how to feel about this one. While this kind of action was right in his wheelhouse, he didn't like the gauntlet-style set-up. A gauntlet of two, but still. In all the time he's been here, a little under a year now, he's only lost twice. And both of those occasions were a consequence of him not giving it one hundred percent. The rest of the time? He put in the work to show that he was a force all by himself. He hadn't needed backup to face any single person in LAW, nor had he asked for it.

He's known Alix for long enough now to feel pretty sure that she hadn't meant for it to come across that way, but he felt a little insulted nonetheless. He'd considered asking whose idea that was -- hers or Madeline's -- but at the end of the day, it didn't matter. Either way, he had something to prove.

Lacramioara, on the other hand, was simply looking forward to meeting another Rose. And to the front row view of Black Severin in action. As a big sister, it was her duty to look into whoever caught the eye of the little one. It was a funny situation: Her protective instincts drove her to pry, to look into his and Keira Robinson's social media, all the usual stuff. But at the same time, she was glad to see Emilia making friends on her own here. It's always been a struggle for her, and Eveline would have to push her to get out and socialize every so often.

It did bother her that it took this long -- months after Emilia, or Daeva rather, had first met them in Milwaukee -- to finally get to meet one in person. Emilia had always come up with one reason or another not to introduce them.

Severin was, so far, as nice as he seemed. Though they didn't have much time to get acquainted after having been called to Alix's office. She noticed a little shift in him after they were told that this was going to be a gauntlet contest, however. It wasn't as subtle in the way he was walking: When he first strolled into the office, he was relaxed. Easy-breezy. Now, his gait had some purpose to it. Like he was on the way to a mission. He'd simply, and silently, nodded along when Alix went into detail, but she could tell just from this that he wasn't enthused about the two-on-one deal. Understandable.

The three would eventually arrive at the door to the space Alix had allotted for this private workshop match-up. She'd given Madeline plenty to set up an atmosphere, and couldn't wait to see what she'd done with it.

She announced their presence with a knock...

[Lightman]

A hush lingered under the low-hung lights as

surveyed her dominion, the hush of quiet expectancy before performance. She stood with stocking-clad feet on the edge of the mattress-pit, her obsidian silk robe clinging gently to her form, sleeves fluttering each time she pointed or gestured toward the crew, setting the last details in place.

“No, love, not straight across. Tilt the padding into the slope—yes, like that. The edges draw you inward, not fence you off. This is still seduction, not siegecraft.”

A pair of lighting techs adjusted the last of the crimson-toned gels. The warmth spilled down in soft gradients, dancing off the pale duvet now stretched across the mattress-fighting surface. This wasn’t just a bedroom-themed match—it was a fully realised concept. The pit, inspired by a few sunken arenas, had been softened, reimagined. Memory foam lined the slope. The floor was a seamless spread of high-thread-count cotton, underpinned by the dense, forgiving core. Around the pit’s edges, the plush pillows formed a ring of contrast: security on one side, danger on the other. Every inch engineered for intimacy and intensity.

She ran a finger along one of the pillows, testing its give. Not too soft. Not too firm. Just right for throwing someone into and keeping them there.

Madeline straightened as the room settled into readiness. Tonight was just a trial. No crowd, no broadcast, just her and three guests. Nevertheless, it needed to feel like more. She didn’t believe in half-measures. Not when she was creating something unprecedented.

The knock on the door was punctual. She smirked, smoothing her robe as she walked to meet them. “Ah. Right on cue,” she murmured, pulling the door open to reveal her chosen three. Her gaze touched each face. Severin—tall, taciturn, carrying himself with the alertness of someone used to being underestimated. Lacramioara—poised, inquisitive, with eyes like a dancer measuring her steps. And behind them, as ever poised and watchful, was Alix.

“Well,” Madeline began, tilting her head slightly as she stepped back, “if this isn’t the most dangerous little trio I’ve seen today. Come in, won’t you? And if you could, shoes off. Clean floor policy. One must keep the battlefield immaculate, even if it is cushioned.”

She waited as they entered, letting the golden ambient light wrap around them. Once the door was closed, she moved with catlike poise toward the centre of the pit and faced them.

“I know this setup’s a touch unusual. That’s intentional,” she said. “I’m not here to repeat what’s already been done.”

Her eyes flicked to Severin first. “Black Severin. You’ve got a reputation for taking care of business on your own terms. I respect that. I know this... ‘gauntlet’ structure might read like a challenge to that. It isn’t. Not really. I just wanted to see what would happen when steel met silk.” A pause. “And how quickly one would cut through the other. You’re both the blade and the proving stone tonight.”

The English Rose turned her gaze to Lacramioara with a faint, knowing smile. “And you, from one Rose to another, it’s high time we finally crossed paths. I’ve heard things. All good. I’ve been curious about you and your sister since I caught wind of your exotic names. When someone avoids making introductions, I usually assume they’re hiding treasure. Or trouble.” To that, she offered a wink.

“And then there’s Alix,” she said, stepping closer, voice dipped in appreciation but laced with something else: edge, ambition. “I’ve worked with a dozen bookers, but only one has ever told me, ‘What you want is possible. Let’s make it happen.’ I can’t overstate how rare that is. Or how meaningful.” The brunette folded her arms loosely across her chest and looked between them all again.

“This match is a proof of concept. But it’s also a question. One I’m posing for each of you. And no, it is not ‘can you win?’—I already know you’re capable. What I want to see is whether you can adapt. Whether you can turn something like this,” she gestured to the bed-pit, “into your own stage.”

The Englishwoman took a step back and sat on the edge of the mattress with elegant ease, the plush surface yielding under her weight.“So before we begin,” she said, tone light but pointed, “I want to hear from you. What does a match feel like to you? Not the moves, not the holds. The rhythm. The story. What are you looking for when you step into the ring—or into a room like this?”

Her expression softened—just a bit. “Speak honestly. I don’t bite.” She smirked then, letting the silence hang just long enough.

“Well, I won’t, that is.”

[DSX93]

"You heard the lady!" Alix giggled, being the only one of the three to have to take anything off of their feet. All three would take the time to appreciate what Madeline put together, but Eveline's eyes took an especially thorough scan of the place. Not just of the set, but of those charged with putting it together. Film production has been a regular part of her life from her early childhood onwards, beginning with the home movies she made with Emilia. Her sight was keen, knowing exactly what to look for and where.

The English Rose had established a smooth operation, making the very most of what Alix had allocated, almost line-in-line with how she would've done things in her position. Entirely on her own, at that; there were no LAW suits in sight offering assistance. And what's more, she was avant-garde. They would have to talk after this is done. No way was Madeline getting away without an offer to apply this talent at Morasanu Productions.

But for now, the true focus would be on her production.

Madeline had a way with words, Severin noted. It reminded him of the suited woman standing next to him, actually. Just with more flowery wording. Wording that answered his question, more importantly. Alix has been good about avoiding signing on the psychopaths to After Dark -- he hasn't seen a one, actually -- so he swallowed that nagging feeling of being underestimated and accepted her explanation. Or more accurately perhaps, he acknowledged her respect for his abilities, nodding along to her explanation just as he had Alix's. He'd put his trust in her and it's worked out well so far, and Alix believed in Madeline, so he believed her too. But it was still decided in his mind: This is going to be a one-on-one affair. Sorry, Lacramioara.

Speaking of whom, the Sanguine Rose knew right then and there that Madeline had some pull with management as well. The entire Coterie played the part of vampires, but none had kept their role as close to the chest as her sister. And indeed, it was only management -- as far as she knew -- who was aware that Emilia Morasanu was indeed a professional wrestler. She hadn't even done a single interview to suggest it: All that the world at large knew was that she'd been trained. But when discussing her work in Morasanu Productions, she explained that she was just fine with focusing her abilities on crafting successful projects. The ring work, she'd leave to her friends.

Eveline wouldn't fuss about it, however. In her eyes, this knowledge was harmless. And really, it only made her more interesting, and glad that her name was one that her friend had put forward for this.

Especially when she asked that question of them all. Alix would arrive at an answer quickly, but she wasn't the one about to wrestle in this thing, so she waited for the others to say their piece. Lacramioara would be the first to answer. Severin himself had never had the question asked of him, and this felt like something to ruminate on.

"I see professional wrestling as an adventure." Since the other three were all aware of Emilia's identity, Eveline would speak as herself here. "My sister's the big fan of the sport. I was always more into film, myself, but things changed when I met my wife." She smiled warmly at the memory of the event that started it all. The story was right there in her eyes and clearly at her tongue as well, ready to be told, but first..."Sorry to answer your question with another question, Madeline, but do you believe in love at first sight?"

[Lightman]

Madeline’s smile was coy but satisfied as Alix chimed in with a laugh, stepping lightly out of her heels. She always follows her own tempo, yet remains perfectly in rhythm. The other two complied more quietly, but their eyes did the talking instead. Especially Eveline’s.

Madeline watched the Romanian scan her work. Not just the set, but the people. Every light rig, each crewmember’s positioning, the materials draped over the edge of the pit like pulled silk. Eveline’s gaze wasn’t casual curiosity; it was diagnostic. The scrutiny that spoke of countless hours on polished floors, behind monitors, in editing bays. Seeing the scene is one thing, but this one can read it. Frame by frame. It was almost flattering, really. No, it was flattering. Madeline gave her a knowing nod, her appreciation unspoken but unmistakable.

“You have a director’s eye,” she mused, stepping beside her as the others moved in. “Let me guess, you’re composing the match before it’s even begun, aren’t you?”

The silence between them crackled with an understanding. There would be a conversation after this. Whether or not Eveline intended it, Madeline was already imagining the lighting shifts, the entrance sequences, the ways their respective styles could turn friction into a live-action tableau. She wasn’t letting this one vanish behind the velvet curtain of the LAW roster. No, no. Eveline Morasanu wasn’t just passing through. But for now, the focus belonged to the moment.

Madeline turned her attention to Severin, gauging the subtle shift in his posture. She recognised it, a man parsing trust, not by instinct but by logic. He didn’t speak, but she saw the answer in the way his stance eased. He remained unconvinced by the structure. But he believed in her intent. And that will do. For now.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him, and that was all. She didn’t need to spell it out. Poetry could move some fighters, while others responded best to clarity. She would offer him both, wrapped in silk, yes, but edged all the same.

And then came Lacramioara’s answer, and for that, Madeline allowed herself the pleasure of a genuine, amused exhale.

"An adventure, is it?” she said, slowly circling back to the heart of the mattress-pit. “Yes. I rather think that’s the best description I’ve heard in some time. An adventure of body, of wit, of consequence. Wrestling should be that. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Eveline’s candour was disarming, but never careless. She answered as herself, not as a persona. That was its own kind of performance, one that many wrestlers, Madeline included, could struggle to achieve. But there was no mask here. No veil. Just the unguarded fondness of someone who knew her way around stories and people.

Then came the question. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Madeline stilled. Not dramatically, but purposefully. She tilted her head as if to catch the question from a different angle, fingers steepling lightly under her chin. Her smile didn’t fade, but it narrowed. More feline now, more precise.

“That depends,” she said, voice low and clipped. “Is it love, or the illusion of it? Is it longing dressed up in candlelight? Is it desire flaring fast and hot, and burning away before the hour’s gone?” She let the questions hang before softening, her tone now like silk drawn across bare skin.

“Or perhaps it’s all of those at once. A little chaos, a little clarity. An invitation to jump and see where you land.”

Her eyes met Eveline’s with equal warmth, but her lips curled with challenge now. “I’ve been in love at first sight. Once or twice. I also learned very quickly that love, like wrestling, can be a stage for deception. So if I fall again, it’ll be with eyes open.”

She rose from the bed, stretching her arms outward in a fluid motion, as if to take them all in.

“And what better place to test such a theory than here, where every movement is theatre and every strike a confession? You spoke of adventure, Eveline, and I quite agree. But even in adventure, someone always gets lost. The question is... who will it be tonight?”

She turned on the ball of her foot and drifted back toward her corner of the set, voice breezy, but with unmistakable weight beneath it.

[DSX93]

Those were all good questions. Solid worries. A love like the one Eveline shares with Serina is like lightning in a bottle. And some fools had struck Madeline with it instead. "Shame on the fool who let this Rose slip from their grasp." But she understood the things that came with it. How mere glances could communicate so, so much. Like they were between them now, like they actually had some of the powers present in the fictional setting from which Lacramioara Albescu had been formed.

"But my point is that as Serina Levesque the Second became my world, so did combat professional wrestling. My role in her time in ACW wasn't an active one -- not in the ring -- but I still absorbed all of the knowledge that I could, and applied it towards serving her as well as possible as she climbed that mountain. Assisting her in devising strategies, studying the craft until I became a suitable sparring partner, organizing those public events she cared so little for, but were important for champions to attend...

Duties I hadn't seen myself performing before, but were so fulfilling when I did. More fulfilling than anything else I've done outside of those projects with Emilia. And for a while, before our Coterie came along, it was just the two of us against the locker room: I'd managed to secure a deal that would allow her to debut in a number one contendership match, which had understandably ruffled quite a few feathers. But she enjoyed it; she lives for challenge.

It was...exhilarating. Dangerous, but thrilling. We both had targets on our backs. But it has been an honor to be there by her side through it all, and eventually, assisting the others -- all good friends and family -- as our faction grew. And even now, though we all have our set goals in LAW, my priority above all is to just enjoy the experience, from match to match."

"Well said!"

And by the time Lacramioara was finished, Severin had an answer ready. "As for me, I first got into this business because a good friend of mine believed I could make it. He thought I could make it here, specifically. Asked me to give it a try." A fond smile formed on his handsome face. "This place has got it's problems, but at the same time, my experience here has been life changing. It's like...man." He took a moment to search for the right words to describe it all, as his first year replayed in his head. "I got to see the world, find love, get into the greatest shape of my life, and just...evolve as a man." He nodded his head, having found his answer. "Yeah, to borrow a bit of what you said, Evelyn..." He turned to her and extended a hand that the Romanian would shake. "Terrell Hughes, by the way, since we're all being real. Nice to meet you."

"You as well." Evelyn had already known his name. It was a simple process: Emilia started gushing about about him and his girlfriend, she went to Alix, who had his personal information on file as the head of After Dark, got his name and investigated like any sister, elder or younger, but especially the former, would if they were worth their salt.

It was fate, him joining the world of professional wrestling. His best friend was a star in a youth developmental league in Mexico. He dated a woman who was in the business herself, albeit in the scripted variant. And he had another good friend in Ryan Huerta -- who he'd just mentioned -- who sadly passed away. A talent in a local sexfighting league who eventually left, presumably to start his family.

The vast majority of her investigation pointed towards him being a good man that she could trust with her sister. The vast majority: There was a worrying arrest from his high school days, where he used a chair to send another boy to the emergency room. He hasn't had any legal issues since, but it's only been three years.

Emilia's done her lamenting over the unavailability, for both him and Keira, and she has her sights set on another man for her pursuit of love these days. But Evelyn was thorough: Friends get checked out too.

Terrell's eyes returned to the woman of the hour as he continued his story. "Wrestling has been an adventure for me. A wild ride that let me experience things I thought I'd only dream of. And in my more intimate matchups, that's what I'm looking to do: To make sure my opponent leaves with that same sense of..." There was another pause as he looked for the next words. And eventually, he raise his hands to temple and whip them outwards in that

gesture. "Wow. But in those, and my standard matches, I'm also looking to test myself. To continue evolving. And to prove myself. Both as the caliber of wrestler that Ryan believed me to be, and as an example of the men of LAW being worthwhile. We've got a belt we can compete for. One belt. But we're still not getting our due. And after the Oscar Orelash incident, nobody's stepped up to lead the charge. Advocate. So I'm gonna do it."

With that said, Severin came forward with purposeful steps, joining Madeline in the pit.

"And to answer that last question of yours...Maybe it'll be you." He said with a light smile. Not cocky. Not irreverent. It was the sort of smile that said that this wasn't anything personal. Friendly, but he's got stuff to do. He settled into a

his hands just a touch lower than normal and not balled into fists. A tell that he's done homework on the woman he's about to face.

[Lightman]

The words that filled the air were rich with earnestness and truth, and for a moment, Madeline let herself savour the way each of them had chosen to interpret the question she had posed. There was something refreshing about hearing it all spoken aloud, their paths to the ring not born from spectacle or bloodlust, but from conviction, intimacy, and grief. All so very human.

She offered Eveline the ghost of a smile in response to her reflection on love, eyes narrowing in silent understanding, touched by something unsaid. Madeline had long understood what it meant to give oneself entirely to another’s cause. She had done so with Serina. With her faction. With the craft of wrestling itself. She had known the weight of devotion and the thrill of sharing it. Eveline’s recollection only affirmed the depth of their common ground. There was a kinship there. Perhaps not entirely welcome, but undeniable.

And as for Terrell Hughes, well... his answer had come just as she expected it would, though it still held enough texture and vulnerability to make her respect it more than she had intended. It was unguarded. Thoughtful. Honest in a way that could not be manufactured. The kind of answer you offer when you aren’t playing a character. His posture, too, said as much. Relaxed, but not disengaged. Friendly, but grounded. He had approached with nothing less than intention. She saw it in the shoulders. In the stance. In the angle of his hands. Her eyes flicked to Alix briefly, a knowing glimmer in her gaze, before settling fully on Severin once again.

She did not interrupt. She let him speak. And when he said his name aloud, Madeline noted how he extended his hand to Eveline first. She took in the small things, the tells, the gestures that mattered. The kind of courtesy that came naturally rather than performative.

Terrell Hughes. She already knew the name. Of course, she did. Not just because of the whispers in locker rooms or the quiet notes passed through her growing web of trusted sources, but because his was the kind of story that left footprints in the snow. The kind that left impressions in people without needing to shout…well, maybe not in recent times.

“You’ve had quite the journey already,” she remarked, a lilt in her voice as she watched him step into the pit. “Tragedy. Triumph. A calling not only to compete but to advocate. I must admit, there’s a certain nobility in that. And a touch of old-fashioned pride too, which I rather like.”

Still, when he came forward to the pit and positioned himself opposite her, offering that light, unbothered smile and his gentle nod, Madeline felt the shift. That current beneath the calm. This was the moment where words, no matter how poetic, yielded to practice.

His stance said much. Hands lower than standard. Not clenched. Ready to deflect or redirect rather than punch through. An intelligent approach. He had done his homework, no doubt. But homework and experience were not the same. Not quite.

“You’ve clearly been watching,” she murmured, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards in a wry little smile. “That, or someone has been whispering in your ear.”

Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a sparkle of something else in her eye. Calculation. Anticipation. Curiosity sharpened by years of training under unforgiving coaches, bruised egos, and late nights spent pouring over matches on borrowed time. “But has your evolution kept pace with your ambition?”

She did not wait for him to respond. Madeline moved.

Not with a flurry, not recklessly. Her opening gambit was smooth and without declaration. She stepped in with the control of someone fluent in tempo, her right hand faintly brushing his lead wrist, as if to probe his reaction time, while her hips rotated slightly off centre, giving the impression of angling for a clinch. Then, suddenly, she shifted.

A snap drop of her weight as her right knee dipped, hand darting for the far side ankle as if seeking a classic single-leg takedown. But it was a feint. Pure bait. She wanted to see if his centre of gravity would tilt forward, if he would sprawl, if he had the instinct for the counter or would overextend.

Her own counter would hinge on what he gave her. If he bit, her other hand was ready to snatch at the elbow for a quick sit-through trip. If he stayed cautious, then she could transition into a collar tie and begin the slow dance of leverage and manipulation. A woman like her could use the smallest touch to create space or collapse it entirely.

But for now, Madeline tested. She explored his awareness, how comfortable he was in this opening rhythm. She had read enough of his past to know he fought with heart, but now she wanted to know the rest. How well he could adjust. How deeply he understood control.

And more than anything, she wanted to know how he would respond to her language. Not the one spoken with lips, but the one of motion. Pressure. Intention. For now, with the circle drawn and the first gambit made, Madeline wasn’t looking for dominance. She was looking for a dialogue.

[DSX93]

It was then that Alix knew. Well, she was already confident that those two were the best picks for this project. But that quick look there? Cemented it.

Terrell appreciated the kind words. They softened the blow -- there probably wasn't anything that Madeline could say that would get him all the way over being one of the two in a two-on-one outside of it being entirely Alix's idea. But it was something.

Has his evolution kept pace with his ambition? Whatever the answer it was, he knew for damn sure that it's far enough along now that this is unnecessary. No words would be said about that. He wouldn't puff and beat his chest, try to play the big, badass dude. That never was his style. Good thing about that, too: Madeline made her move right after she posed that challenge.

That reach for his wrist was meant to take his eye off the ball, but he couldn't just not react. If she was quick, she could nab his arm and do something awful with it. So Terrell pulled the hand back, shuffling his bare feet to create some motion. He didn't want to be standing still for too long. Clinch. No problem. A simple-

Shit. He read that all wrong. She went for his far ankle. Single-leg, right as he was moving to that same side. He was lucky that his one-footed hops kept him upright, but that was going to change in the next few seconds if he didn't act quickly.

In the absence of refined technique, he resorted to brute force, reaching for her shoulder to pull her off of him.

[Lightman]

Alix’s knowing look did not escape Madeline, though she gave no sign of acknowledgement. That flicker of approval in the New Yorker’s eyes only sharpened her own focus. If Severin thought he was merely here to spar, he was in for an education.

The English Rose had expected him to react to her reach for the wrist, but the speed with which he yanked it back drew a faint, almost imperceptible smile to her lips. Good instincts. Not enough to keep her from moving on to the real target, but good all the same. Her level changed in one smooth motion, shoulders dipping, hips driving as her hand shot for his far ankle. There were no wasted movements. No second thought.

What followed was a scramble that might have thrown off someone less prepared. His bare feet hopped in a quick rhythm, not graceful, not polished, but raw and urgent. It kept him upright for longer than she expected. He had no proper sprawl, no seamless counterweight shift to kill her shot at its source, yet there was undeniable athleticism in the way he fought the takedown. Brute force met precision, and for a heartbeat, she felt his shoulder press into hers, his frame leaning to drag her off-line.

Which Madeline allowed. Or rather, she allowed him to think it worked. Her left hand shot to his hip, riding his momentum rather than resisting it. She knew when to drive and when to flow, and Madeline had no intention of burning energy against pure strength. The brunette pivoted, stockinged-knees brushing the velvet canvas as she glided around his side, forcing him to turn and reset his base.

“Good,” she murmured in a tone light enough to sound conversational, but pointed enough to register as a challenge. “But you leave a lot of doors open. Shall I keep knocking?”

Her advance did not stop. Where some would disengage after being shucked off, she pressed forward, chest-to-chest in a clinch before he could fully square up. A sharp collar tie on his head, fingers grazing the back of his neck, her other hand digging for inside control on his bicep. With her hips tight against his, she tested how quickly he could pummel for position. His earlier display told her he had the strength to resist, but whether he had the craft to do so without over-committing was another matter entirely.

In one fluid shift, she threatened to drag him down with a snap, then released to circle and probe again, keeping her feet light, constantly changing the angle. Madeline wanted him thinking. She wanted him uncomfortable. And more than anything, she wanted to see what else he had hidden beneath that tough exterior.

[DSX93]

Damn. He was hoping to see Madeline off balance, but she was well-versed in Ukemi. It got him the breathing room he needed, though, allowing him to shift his feet and turn fast to keep an eye on her. The threat had him tuning in fast, crafting a world in his mind that boasted only the two of them as its population.

A small smile crept onto his handsome face. While most of the competition he's been in thus far has been softer, sexier affairs, he's developed a taste for the more harshly physical aspects as well. Every challenge has seen him grow stronger in some way. Elevated him beyond what just yesterday was considered "the greatest shape of my life". He reveled in every new move he learned. Every way he learned how to escape this hold or the other. Consistent height and accuracy in his dropkicks. His body hardening, learning to better absorb more blows in series.

He just so happened to like the up close and personal stuff in particular. Figuring out all those little ways to manipulate the human body to suit your own purposes. His eyes saw it as something akin to the mage class in your average RPG: Complex. Takes time to master. But once you've leveled up and filled that book of spells, there's no better way to exercise control in the battlefield.

He'd gotten a taste of that in sparring with Beatriz, who combined technical acumen with her highflying luchadora style. Then again with Evelyn's sister, on the few occasions where the job put their schedules in alignment.

But just a taste. A bite of something new and delicious, but he wouldn't get to dine on the full course. He'd have to rely on the competition for more; learn through combat. A thrill of its own.

And he's got a rich source right in front of him.

"Keep knocking if you want." He had more to say before she got real close. Body to body, damn near enough to kiss. And with her hands at the back of his head, it almost felt like that was what she was going for. The intimate contact started work on shutting down word production, but the looming threat of some unknown, dire thing would be the thing to shut the factory down completely. Those resources were better spent elsewhere.

He knew better: This woman had "femme fatale" written all over her. And she was up to something. He didn't know what, but he had that nagging feeling that he was being set up for something big. Why give up a clinch to do the feeling out process again?

He didn't like how at home she was looking here. Which made him grateful that he knew how to dance -- time to pull out the Capoeira card.

The

had its purpose: Against an opponent who was so well-versed in conventional combat, it felt sensible to abandon it himself. He'd start making some slightly more dynamic movements. Little feints that made it seem like he might switch from dancing to attacking, perhaps some combination of the two. A spin as he circled to the side, with head movements that allowed him to keep his eyes on her on all times. Nothing too crazy just yet, but he wouldn't stop moving. And his flow was one that was intended to keep his rival on the lookout from attacks from any angle.

And in the process, maybe spur her into making a move that opened one up for him.

[Lightman]

“Mhm…how intriguing.”

Madeline absorbed the rhythm in front of her with a calculated calm. The shuffle, the sway, the playful spins that nonetheless kept his gaze fixed upon her. Capoeira. Not flawless, not honed to the sharpness of a professional capoeirista, but a language spoken with enough fluency to complicate the conventional cadence of combat. Her lips curved, not quite into a smile, but into something thoughtful. Severin was trying to unsettle the ground beneath her feet, and in his own way, he was succeeding.

She knew the dangers of treating such theatrics as merely cosmetic. The ginga could birth kicks from unexpected angles, and the very act of perpetual movement could sap an opponent’s patience and make them overextend. Yet to her eye, it also created openings. Wide stances. Hips swaying out of position. Weight shifting too far across a line. For every potential blade the ginga offered, there were seams ready to be torn open by a well-placed hand.

“I can see the appeal.” she remarked, voice low and steady, circling in tandem with him. “It is a beautiful deception, is it not? A dance that disguises its strikes, its sweeps, its surprises. Against someone predictable, I imagine it feels like fighting a ghost.” She tilted her head, studying the rhythm of his steps, her hands loose but ever ready. “But do you know the trouble with a dance, Severin?” She paused, letting the weight of her voice cut the space between them. “Eventually, the music stops.”

She feinted forward with the suggestion of a level change, not to commit but to test. The sway of his ginga absorbed it, and he spun lightly to the side, his frame fluid as ever. Madeline marked the angle, the tempo, the delayed return of his centre line. Her grappling instincts catalogued the vulnerabilities as if she were leafing through a book she had read many times before.

“Were I being cruel…” she continued almost conversationally, “…I would simply time my shot to the moment your stance is wide and your hips are high. A double-leg would cut through it easily. Or perhaps, when you spin, I might snatch your back before your feet even finish their turn. Or, if I were feeling dramatic, I would allow you to kick, catch it, and turn your dance into a stumble.” Her tone was not mocking, but instructive, each word delivered as though she were a tutor pacing before a student.

Then, with sudden quickness, she made her choice. Except it wasn't one she had spoken of.

A step into his space, not low, not grasping for a leg, but sliding inside the rhythm of his movement. Her hand darted not for a limb but for the collar tie again, yanking at his head while her other hand sought control at his elbow. She was not striking at the ginga from the outside. She would be inserting herself directly into it, clogging the rhythm with her own anchor.

The disruption would be immediate. The ginga demanded freedom of motion, so she sought to deny him that freedom by chaining her weight to his frame. From there she twisted, seeking to snap him down, forcing him to either brace against the mat or concede posture. Her body would press close, grip tightening, hips driving forward, denying him the space his dance demanded, suffocating the room in which he wished to flow.