#( idk i just wanted to do something funnnn and flesh out her history a bit!

[mischiefmaxed]

MEMORIES┊MAY THE BEST MAN WIN.

CONTENT :          ↪ max's age: 22.              trigger warnings: fight mention. 

“who d’you think will win?” “big al, obviously.” “nah, the other guy looks good.” “ha! good for a dead man, maybe. didn’t you see the fight last week? big al just about slaughtered the dude.” “yeah, well, i’m a bettin’ man.” “you’re a fuckin’ idiot, is what you are.”

ah, pigeons. never did they cease to entertain her. so terribly dumb and naive. those that slinked their way through the golden rose warehouse in search of entertainment were often the kind that couldn’t rub two coins together if they had as much to their name. not that it made a difference to one such as herself, or the man she worked for. the aim of the game had always been to take them for all they had; no matter how large, or little.

and tonight is no different from any other. a crowd would gather around the ring perfectly centered on the ground floor of the house and, some unlucky fool would test his luck against their finest fighter. alan, so lovingly nicknamed ‘big al’, stood at six feet seven inches with bulging muscles and a nice, shiny, bald head. a pawn in LJ’s games, if nothing else. his only responsibilities were to make sure the club ran smoothly, and to put anyone who entered the ring with him on their ass. his winnings were LJ’s winnings and, their master never bet lightly on his oaf.

nothing encouraged a win like a monster breathing down one’s neck, after all.

truth be told, she liked alan. though mentally dimwitted and most certainly a house with lights on and no one home, their playful banter often aided her through the most boring of jobs and cases. he tended her wounds when her training became all too brutal for her tiny form to handle and her tab at the bar remained infinitely open without expectation for payment. though, she didn’t live in ignorance. the only reason alan liked her at all was because of her position. her power. not a man alive within the crew refrained from taking a knee around her any more. perhaps it’s a perk of being the boss’ right hand.

from her perch upon the highest floor of the warehouse, she could see all. the way patrons mingled with excitement, discussing their bets and the fights. even with the club moving to new york, LJ insisted the underground battles remained open to those sleezy enough to attend them. “pocket money,” he’d called it when she’d questioned the purpose of such repetitive and stale evenings. “an investment for the future.”

his motives still often confused her, even as privy as she were to his schemes. she’d often argue her efforts were enough to fund his plans, insisted on it so. but LJ would simply smile and kiss her, and remind her it never hurt to have options. as if she wasn’t enough. as if she alone could never be enough.

insignificant, he’d called her once. a waste of his resources.

“we have a problem,” comes a familiar voice to draw her from her thoughts. the thief blinks herself back into existence, glancing over her shoulder at the man who so often softened her features. “al isn’t fighting.”

“hell do you mean he isn’t fightin’?”

“the boss pulled him out. he wants you in there instead.” orion comes to her side, concern written into his features as he rests his hands on her balcony, peering down at the ring already stained red.

“reason bein’?”

“a client’s request.”

it’s with an audible groan that she answers, hanging over the railings with the temptation to throw herself over it entirely. she, like most, loved the fight. but it wasn’t a fight LJ would be looking for. a performance, would be more accurate. one filled with dramatics and flare. the sorts to drag out, to keep watchers on their toes. such things were no fun for her. they lacked substance. if she were to enter the ring, she wanted blood. she wanted the thrill. “why can’ you do it?”

“because they didn’t ask for me,” orion chuckles, reaching out with a hand to tenderly grasp her shirt, pulling her back onto her feet. “it’s shelley’s man.”

“shelley ain’ nothin’ but a snivellin’ swine.” one who undoubtedly wished to watch her fight for the simple pleasure of seeing her. an uncomfortable matter, that much is certain and LJ so loved to parade her before him, given the chance. she could only assume they’d be rewarded with new deals, and new territory. that’s the point of nesting in new york, after all. LJ wanted hell’s kitchen.

and hell’s kitchen he most certainly would get.

“look, you do this well, and maybe he’ll lay off you for a while. give you a break. a happy boss is a happy life, remember?”

“yeah, yeah. what abou’ me, hm? what abou’ a happy max?”

orion grins, his fingers moving to brush the hair from her eyes. “a problem for later. curtain call is in five... break a leg?”

“oh, i’m goin’ to break somethin’,” she swears, swatting away his hand with a fond bout of laughter. “cheer for me, won’ you?”

“forever and always,” orion promises.

                                                    ----------------------------------

and it’s safe to say that the crowd didn’t think much of her as she ducked into the ring. they were waiting for a guy five times her size and, to say they were disappointed by the short, little woman before them would be an understatement. it’s a scene she plays into, looking at their faces with her blue eyes doe like, her bottom lip puffed out in a pout. a few men boo, and she smirks in their direction. another whistles, and she responds in kind. the thief scans the stands for her audience; the fat man with a bad sense of fashion and her keeper and, when she finds them, she bows low, locking eyes with LJ for his order.

the man beside him — hudson, she comes to realise — takes a stand to offer her a round of applause. to this, she blows a kiss, taking on the role of court jester as if it’s the mask she always wore. hudson wipes the drool from his chin and sits back down next to LJ, a flurry of hushed and excited whispers offering her master thanks. oh, to have a brain as small as hudson, so easily amused.

“ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! are you ready?” booms a voice from the speakers around the warehouse. orion enters the ring with a mic in hand, he too, playing his part. the crowd cheers, and the thief laughs, watching as he jogged around the ring with a hand in the air. “i can’t hear you,” he hums into the microphone, a mocking frown written into his features. “i said, are you ready?!”

inevitably, the crowd slips into a roar, drinks sloshing over the floor as pigeons raised their glasses, as they bumped into each other in their thrill. whether or not they’d been disappointed in the appearance of max, it didn’t matter. a fight is a fight and it’s what they were here for.

“good. that’s more like it,” orion praises, coming to a stand still in the middle of the ring.

it’d always been fun to watch orion work. he possessed quite the talent for engaging with crowds, for holding their attention. he’s the perfect example of what it is to distract and cause a scene, allowing those like herself to get up to no good unnoticed. it worked well here, for his encouragements and charm often lead bets to increase. orion could convince a man to willingly hand over his wallet, this much she’s sure of.

he’d won her over after all, hadn’t he?

and he does his part of introducing her, fondly reminding all of the nickname he’d so lovingly given her. “the devil of new orleans!” he cheers, grasping her hand in his to spin her into a twirl. she follows his step, rising onto her tip toes to pirouette. she glances to the stands as she poses, amused when hudson applauds her once more, and LJ smirks in approval.

he wanted a performance. and a performance she would give.

“and facing the devil tonight is none other than... wow, really? you’re just gonna use your... okay... ahem... the uh!  — it’s pete.”

now, she couldn’t help but giggle, the sight of her opponent arrogantly getting into the ring. he flexes his muscles, and she fakes a gasp, pressing her hand to her mouth. clearly the sight of a young woman instead of the big brute of a man he’d expected ignited the idea of an easy win. this, she could tell, for when orion wishes him luck with a pat on the back, pete shakes him off with a click of his tongue. “this isn’t a fight,” he barks, pointing at the thief with a confident smirk. “piece of cake.”

“i am very sweet, you’re righ’,” max nods, placing her hands behind her back. she threads her fingers together tight, locking them into place. “ain’ ever been called cake before, though. that’s new.”

“at the request of our most humble leader, this is a fight to the knock out. last man standing, wins,” orion announces, dipping out of the ring to clear the stage. “all rules are null. may the best man win!” and with that, he pulls his gun from his holster, pointing into the air. finish him, he mouths, his finger squeezing the trigger. a blank sounds like an alarm, and max turns her attention back to the man before her.

may the best man win, indeed.