fierce
At playschool, a kid tried to hit her. Christina punched him out. Even the teacher - a sixteen year old that, on reflection, was a child herself - was impressed. Four years old, Christina knew that if you hit first, hard, you didn't have to hit again.
Of course, sometimes they wanted you to.
~
independent
The first time she saw Justin, she knew that he'd be okay as long as he made sure to keep his fucking emotions out of it.
Christina spat, wiped her face off. The ring did that to you, cut you up inside. She winced as J punched the kid again, the sound of crunching cartilage coming across over the music. They were just sparring on the floor, nothing serious. J's knees were swept out from under him, and she saw Lance out of the corner of her eye, just barely restrained himself from going over to check on him. no. J'd be fine. J never want Lance checking up on him.
Christina went over to where Lance was standing. "you gotta give him room to fight," she said. "He needs that from you."
"I know," Lance all but snarled, and Christina reared back. Lance was usually self contained, and quiet, not one to get into scraps. "I know he needs to do this shit," Lance continued, more controlled, "but I gotta watch."
"He'll be fine," Christina told him, suddenly, even though she knew that Lance didn't need reassuring. "J's born for this, man."
Lance looked supremely unhappy. "It's like he's two different people," he said. "At home, he's so, different. He's not like this. He's not violent."
Christina restrained herself from rolling her eyes. That was the problem with people who weren't fighters; they didn't understand the ring. "It's," she started. "It's not violence you're seeing from him," and J kicked the kid's head, and the kid went down. J nodded to himself, then pulled the kid back up. "That's not violence. that's life."
"Life isn't that, cruel."
"It's not cruel either." Christina began to lose patience. "J's not doing it because he wants to inflict hurt. He's doing it because he wants to feel."
Lance turned hard, angry eyes on her. "Even if that hurts?"
"Especially if it hurts." She shrugged. "That person he is, and whoever else he is, they're not different species."
Lance turned away from her, to stare at Justin's bleeding lip. The kid he'd been sparring with was good, got some good hits in. Worth cultivating. Christina watched Lance's jaw tense, as someone came up to dab Justin's lip, but didn't go to help.
~
genuine
At ten years old, a guy tried to have sex with her in the bathroom of her school. Instead of being angry about it, Christina kicked him in the balls and told the entire school what a small dick he had. It was easier, she knew, to keep people off your back by being as loud as you could, as quickly as you could, and always saying exactly what you thought of anyone and everything. She got detention, writing lines and scrubbing toilets, but the guy didn't come near her again. Her mother was proud.
~
hot
She gulped, air gasping into her lungs while hot fire sizzled along her rings and breasts. Bare skin, and Pink took advantage of all of it, nails, fingertips, even her tongue when people gave them enough room. One of the top boxes already had his eye on them. Pink glanced up and then carefully put one slender finger up under A's skirt. She whimpered, thrusting up against the finger, and Pink just brushed lightly against fabric for a minute. Then, as the guy in the box nodded, she pushed Christina's panties aside and started rubbing. Christina threw her head back, hands on her own breasts, as Pink got her off. She looked up; the guy was smiling.
Pink bit Christina's tongue as Christina gasped out and came. The blood pooled in her mouth a little bit, tasted salty and strangely good. Pink licked her lips, and Christina didn't wait for permission or invitation, but pushed Pink back against the wall and kicked the nearest dancers out of her way so she could drop down and put her tongue right up into Pink, mouth working constantly. Pink's hand came up to grip her hair, and Christina knew by the ache of her scalp how well she was doing.
The guy in the top box was still watching them, and holding out bills; Christina finished Pink off, and left her sputtering to collect their tip. Had to make sure to get the money now; later he might be interested in someone else. When she showed up, hand outstretched, he said, "you two ever want to make some more, let me know. I'd be more than interested."
Christina yanked the money out of his fingers and spat on the floor beside him. "That's not how we operate down here."
He shrugged. "Apparently not. You're just for show." She hit him, but not hard, and he started laughing. "Not to be bought, fine." He rubbed his jaw, and held a hand up when Busta's med kid came over with some goo. "If you're ever interested in more physical work-" and he held a hand up, continued, "I have several openings for security. Heavy lifting. Something I'm sure a girl like you would be suited for. It's too tough for most of my boys."
She took his card.
~
tough
It wasn't the first time someone made the mistake of thinking she was for sale. At sixteen, three years out of school and working in her mother's store, guys came in and propositioned her all the time. The money was good, but Christina refused every time, finally doing more push-ups than one to get them off her back. After that, guys stopped coming in to ask after her, and started coming in with job offers, instead.
"A club," the black guy said. "Down by the docks."
"Doing what?" Christina said, suspiciously. "I ain't for sale, I don't know how many times I have to say it."
Busta, that was his name, suddenly made as if to punch her, and Christina dodged. His fist hit brick, and she realized that he was serious, he woud have smashed her nose in if her reflexes hadn't been good enough. It was probably the first time a man had taken her serious in her life. "That," he said. "Doing that."
"Dodging?"
"Boxing," he said. "It's a fighter's club. Most people find it too hard; I'm betting you'll like it."
With Busta showing her around, that first night at ALARM, Christina met the right people, and slept with him that morning, just as dawn was showing on the horizon. She could see the light out his loft's window. "First time you ever do that?" he asked her, and when Christina nodded, Busta said, "I won't tell anyone. Sex is just as much fighting as fists are."
"I can do it," she said, and Christina knew she could.
~
equal
"Go again," Christina said. The girl - barely fifteen years old, if she was any judge - nodded, and just pushed her sleeves back up. "it's easier to fight in no sleeves," Christina volunteered, and the girl nodded, holding a hand up for a bit of a time out. She gripped the fabric of her shirt with one fist, and her teeth, and pulled until the sleeves tore off her shirt - first one arm, then the other.
Christina smiled. "Go again."
The girl put up a good fight, but she was no match for Pink. How they'd been roped into officiating these baby matches, Christina had no idea. Amateur matches, but Busta was paying by the hour, his regular guy hadn't shown and Christina needed the money. Then the kid took a swipe at Pink, made her stagger back, and kicked up, hard. Pink went down.
Christina called a halt. This was just a practise bout, and, "see, you've got potential, girl," she said. One hand went to pull Pink back to her feet, the other lifted her own thin tank top up to dab at Pink's mouth, sporting blood.
"I shouldn't have done that," the kid said, worried look.
Pink shook her head, painfully smiling. "No, it was great." She sat down on the bench near the wall. "But A can take the next round."
The girl's eyes widened. Christina shrugged. "I'll fight bare fisted," she said, pulling her hair back. "Besides. There's absolutely no reason you can't win." The girl looked doubtful, and Christina tilted her head, then marched right up to the girl and kissed her mouth, pressed her fingertips into the girl's hip hard enough to bruise. "There's no reason you can't win anything," Christina told her.
The kid couldn't take her down, but she put up a hell of a fight. "That was almost mean," Pink said, "getting her hopes up."
Christina took a long drink, just water but the coolness felt good on the inside of her mouth. "She'll win the next one," she told Pink. "Cause she knows down here, everyone's the same."
~
resilient
She can't even remember the first fight she got into at ALARM. It couldn't have been impressive. Christina always counted the first real punch she ever threw as eight years old, at the teacher. The blond haired, pretty, slim teacher wanted her to go inside, and Christina refused to, and pulled her fist back to hit the girl. The girl let her, but afterwards sent her home to her mother. Christina never knew why the girl actually stood there while an eight year old threatened to beat her up. Maybe she was trained to think she couldn't win against anyone.
Her mother was furious, but her mother's boyfriend was amused. Everyone thought it was so funny. After that, her reputation was set.
"That Christina," people used to tell her mother. "She's gonna end up one hell of a fighter one day."
~end~