How can I decide what's right?
(when you're cloudin' up my mind)
Moodboard - Playlist
!!! none of the images and dividers used are mine, only the writing! please do not repost my work as your own :,)
୭˚.✴︎ - Summary - Modern AU! Caitlyn Kiramman works with Maddie Nolen as police officers to find out the secrets that lurk inside The Last Drop. Maddie insists something shady is going on inside, having her own conspiracy theories meanwhile Cait believes the place is abandoned. One day, Caitlyn's world is rocked when a kind stranger pays for her coffee and although they part ways soon after, Cait's mind is shamelessly full of her for the days to come. Underground fighter Vi throws punches to keep a roof over her head, keeping a low profile during the day to stay out of trouble. One morning, a selfless act mixed with some suave compliments lead her to meet someone new who she simply can't get off her mind. The more she tries to deny her feelings' depth, saying it's just casual, it only makes her desires worse.
୭˚.✴︎ - Read this work on AO3!
୭˚.✴︎ - Content warnings - Graphic depictions of violence, drug use, hurt no comfort, angst
Chapter 2: Oh, I will figure this one out, on my own.
୭˚.✴︎ - Word count - 2,5k
Vi let the phone ring once, twice, three times, hovering her finger over the “hang up” button. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, agitated from the energy boost the coffee she’d had earlier gave her. At least that’s what she would say if anyone asked her. The truth is that a certain navy-blue haired officer has spun her planet backwards from a simple five minute encounter.
“Why the hell are you calling me, Vi?” A deep voice resounded on the other side of the line, groggy and clearly pissed.
“Loris, where the fuck are you? I’m outside the gym, we were gonna train, remember?” Vi asked as soon as Loris picked up.
“Vi,” Loris said with a short pause “it’s eight in the fucking morning, we were gonna meet at eight in the EVENING. I’m going back to sleep, don’t bother calling again.” He hung up, leaving the line dead. Vi shoved her phone back into her pocket, sighing.
“Such a ball of sunshine, Loris.” She whispered to herself sarcastically, stepping inside the gym on her own. Wouldn’t hurt to train a bit in the morning, besides, it might help her feel less jumpy. How did she manage to mix up the hour so badly? Whatever, must’ve been yesterday’s concussion that hasn't fully worn off yet.
A gym membership was among the few “luxuries” that Vi could afford, it was a necessity considering her job. Vi thought of going to the gym as killing two birds with one stone: growing stronger, which allowed her to win fights, and getting her anger out on something, which helped her abstain from caving her opponents’ skulls in, since that meant not getting paid for the victory. It was difficult for her to find a low-cost gym which had a punching bag but after searching for a few weeks, she found the perfect one. The only downside to this gym was that it’s location, being situated on the opposite side of town meant walking more than an hour from her apartment since she couldn’t afford taking the subway, which gets tiring when you have to do it every single day after spending most nights getting your ass kicked.
Vi threw her phone into her locker, wrapping her hands with bandages and stepping out of the changing room. She had no clue where to start today, so she went straight to the punching bag, minimally warming up before she threw a left hook at it. The sound of the impact echoed throughout the gym, the punching bag rattling profoundly, causing the frame it hung on to wobble. Vi was ruthless with her punches, quick and hard, bouncing lightly on her feet, focusing more on the strength of her hits rather than their agility. She kept her breathing stable, in through her nose, out through her mouth, slow and controlled. “left-right, up” She repeated in her head, the combo she’d learned from Loris when she first started fighting, fast paced and brutal for anyone on the receiving end.
The gym was the place where she’d find herself most often, be it late nights or early mornings. The dulled red leather, covered in cracks always met her without judgement. It was a sack of sand, after all, of course it couldn’t spew snide remarks like her opponents did. The punching bag was much better compared to the filthy people she fought, it didn't bother with getting her riled up, never said “too slow!” or “is that really all you’ve got?”, it allowed her to focus properly, build her skills and hone her craft. Vi let her mind drift to the fight she had tonight, Gustave, again. It was the fifth time she’d fought him this month, she’d already learned the way he moved, the trajectory of his punches, even the way he breathes, gasping for air like a pig after the first two uppercuts. She smiled at the mental image of Gustave with a pig’s snout, serves him right for his shitty attitude. Vi had already met most of the fighters who came to The Last Drop, there were about fifteen “regulars” including her, she’d call them all “whatstheirface”, never bothering to learn their names.
Occasionally, there would be a wild card entry, usually someone passing through town, looking for a quick buck, who has had previous experience in underground fighting. Those fights were more fun, more money, people crowding to see the new face and how they fight. If they did good, they’d be offered to come regularly and fight but most of them never lasted more than two weeks, either quitting and leaving town or getting so battered up they’d become permanently disfigured and unable to fight. That’s partly why their pay was good enough for Vi to afford coming to the gym, get piercings and tattoos in a proper parlour occasionally, all that while keeping a roof over her head and food on her plate. Not everyone lasted the brutality of the fights in The Last Drop, be it mentally or physically. Vi did, though, because she had nothing worth fighting for, nothing she could lose. When she lost, it only affected her, nobody else went hungry because of her failure. When she won, the money was hers, she was the one who relished in the cheers of the crowd, the glory, the free drinks.
~~
The lights inside of The Last Drop were dim, shining a red color into the smoke filled room, the rancid smell of cigarettes, alcohol and bodily fluids easily crawled up your nose from the front door. Vi walked in with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, her metal boots clanging with every step she treaded down the old wooden stairs, which creaked in protest. She could hear the buzz of people, the lame music playing from the speakers, the laughs, the drunken yells, all of it gave her a sense of dread. Having to do this multiple times a week wasn't necessarily fun, not even when you won all (well, most) of your fights. Vi often wished she wouldn't have to, she would gladly settle for a boring job like a mall security guard or even a janitor. It was too late for her to turn back now, to leave this life behind was nearly impossible, she knew people would come after her, drag her back into the ring whether she liked it or not. So, she would rather pretend to do it of her own free will instead of being forced to. Today’s fight was going to be easy, she had that to look forward to, going up against Gustave, who's probably still recovering from last week’s beatdown, wouldn't be too much of a hassle.
Vi eyed the fighting ring in the center of the “VIP” room, blood crusted its initially white floor, painting it a murky shade of brown mixed with red. There were fresh splatters on the corners, probably from a recent fight. Making her way into one of the bathrooms to change, she pushed the door open with her elbow, not wanting to unnecessarily touch anything grimy, considering she was going to have to lay her hands on her gross opponent later tonight. She sat in front of the bathroom mirror, unscrewing the piercing inside her eyebrow, ears and tongue, placing the tiny metal bars inside of a pocket in her bag to keep them from getting lost. Her fighting “costume”, so to say, wasn’t much of a costume, it consisted of a pair of red and black, loose fitting shorts, a tight-fitting tank top and a pair of coloured wristbands. Others preferred to be flashy, mimicking WWE fighters, with wild makeup, chains, accessories, the sorts. To Vi, all of it accorded leverage, easier ways to grab, apprehend or tackle her opponent. Personally, she didn’t have the time or fucks to give to concoct an alter-ego or a persona. This was her job, not a hobby, not something she enjoyed doing, preferring to just get it over with.
After changing, Vi made her way “backstage”.
“How much did you say I was getting for this?” Vi asked, resting her forearms over her knees, staring the short-statured owner in his eyes while circling the worn bandages around her knuckles.
“Ask again,” Tommy brought a lighter to the cigarette in his mouth, “and I might change my mind about paying you.” he said, breathing the smoke out of his mouth.
“Oh come on! You call me here to fight the same guy for the umpteenth time, only to give me this shit again?” She scowled, averting her gaze back to her wrapping.
“I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Tommy blew a puff of smoke in her face.
“Yeah, okay. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dumpster-diving right now.” She got up, stepping into the light, making her way to the ring in the center of the room.
Vi was one of the more experienced fighters of The Last Drop, she’d been here since the club opened, since Tommy was just a scrawny no-name trying to clear his debts to keep his teeth inside his mouth. If anything, he owed her much more than he was paying her, since she helped bring a spotlight to the underground fighting scene. People gathered to fight her, others gathered to bet on her, to watch her go up against so many people and still win. Knowing she played such a significant role in the success of this club weighed on her, heavily. Most of all, she knew damn well how fat Tommy’s wallet had become and how it had long gotten to his head. Gone were the days of mutual respect, of seeing each other as equal. Now, Vi was the crown jewel of Tommy’s ensemble. He expected her to bow, to do as he pleased, to play jester for the club, just like the others. Would Vi ever do that? Hell no. Tommy could either play by her rules, or she’d find another place to fight.
Vi bowed beneath the ropes of the ring as a crowd started forming around it. People began watching intently, placing their bets and gathering to watch the fight begin. Her opponent, Gustave, in turn, did the same, taking his place on the other side of the small, grimy ring. His face still showed signs of the previous pummeling, purplish bruises had not finished their bloom on his cheekbone, his posture had a small hunch. With both of them ready, Tommy put out his cigarette against the wall, waltzing up to the ring, facing the crowd, to announce the start. He cleared his throat, an asserting yet enticing tone captivated the audience’s attention:
“Tonight, we have Gustave and Vi going up against each other. Everybody, place your bets now if you haven’t already! And with that, people, three, two, one, fight!” Tommy backed away with a bow, allowing an unobstructed view of the combat.
Usually, this was the part where the world went quiet for Vi. She’d land the first strong blow which would render her opponent totally demoralized. A flash of navy blue hair shone in the corner of her eye, the taste of coffee resurfacing on her tongue and-
“Bitch!”
Vi scrambled to pick herself up off the floor, Gustave cornering her in, looming silhouette above her. She’d been distracted? How? Never mind that, how did she not see her opponent as he was about to land a blow on her? Gustave threw another punch. This time, Vi managed to dodge, the sluggish hit leaving her adversary staggering. She side-stepped, swapping positions; now, he was the one fenced in from all sides. Left-right, up. Classic, like clockwork. How about we spruce things up a little? Vi threw in a kick, straight to Gustave’s abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. With him slouching, it became easier to strike sensitive points. He was out cold within two blows. Vi looked up to the sputtering spotlights above her, regaining her composure as the crowd roared, getting up from their seats and cheering. A breathless chuckle escaped her lips. As her heartbeat stopped thumping in her ears, she could feel something was in her mouth, something slimy, chunky. She spat next to Gustave’s face, having enough courtesy to not kick a man while he’s down. The remnants on the mat resembled a bloody molar, rather what was left of it. Oh well, these things happen when this is your job, she’s learned her lesson on not dodging punches. People surrounded the ring as Vi hopped over the rope, pumping her fist in the air, they patted her back, her shoulders, they were rowdy and drunk, very drunk. She elbowed her way to the backstage area when a large hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“Good job, number six.” A cold beer bottle outstretched to her.
“Gee, thanks, Loris,” She grinned, gulping down the cold liquid, “but the name’s Vi” Just his way of teasing.
“Some of us never learned how to read, only how to count money,” Loris joked, clinking his bottle to hers.
“Now, if you’d like a round of shots, you’ll allow me to go find Tommy. Preferably before he rents a hooker with my prize money.” Vi half-joked back, angling her beer to point towards the curtain on her right.
Tommy stood against the doorframe, a wad of cash splayed on the bench next to him, counting the money in his hand faster than Vi could punch.
“Woah, all this for me? I must’ve set a new record with that knockout.” She said.
“Maybe in your wet dreams, Vi.” Tommy said distastefully, “Thirty, forty, fifty. Two hundred and fifty, you can choke on it.” He handed her the cash, not in the mood for humour.
“I’ll drink to that, Tommy.” Vi raised her bottle in thanks, taking a swig and turning around to walk out.
“And one more thing,” The man interrupted just as she put her hand on the curtain. “If you keep beating the shit out of Gustave, he might leave” he warned.
“I could not give the tiniest fuck,” Vi burped “ ‘s not my fault he can’t take a punch. Find me a proper opponent.” And with that, she left, rejoining the celebratory noise of The Last Drop.
~~
Back home, she struggled to unlock the door to her apartment, not being able to get the key into the keyhole. She sighed, cursing under her breath as she finally managed to get inside. Fishing the cash out of her bag, she shoved it in her nightstand drawer, grabbing the fistful of silver piercings to put back into her face and ears. The mirror’s reflection offered a tragic portrait of purple on her lower jaw, she’ll have to ice it in the morning… right. The morning, coffee, navy. Americano with a non-American accent. Bitter drink for a sweet cupcake. Well, she’ll fast forward to all that as soon as she finishes screwing in the last bit of her tongue piercing.
୭˚.✴︎ - work by fuchsiacoloredtears
author's note: second chapter done and dusted! I had quite some fun writing a fight scene for the first time, I'm sure there's more to improve though :)
I'll try my best to update consistently, maybe once every 2-3 weeks? I should probably make a masterlist too, but that's a problem for when I write more chapters.
