Tainted Minds

”I think I like Thailand.” It was an attempt at humor, but from everything Styx had heard about the place, she probably would’ve been better off growing up there than the ass-end of Nevada. If it produced women like Abattoir, there had to be something to it.

She patted the belt on its face, quite proud of it. It wasn’t a ‘real’ belt, no, but having it made Adrian Kytes unhappy, which made Styx happy. That was what mattered. ”And yeah. It does.”

She looked past her companion - friend, maybe, it was starting to get blurry - and saw that they were coming up on her stop. Styx stood and grabbed the belt, swinging from the pole by one hand as she got ready for the slow stop. ”Anyway, not my style. Never had the patience for forms and styles and training and whatever. But you work well with it, your...Arjan?” She tried to say it right, not the easiest thing to do when she was already trying to hide her Western twang. ”He did good. You’re tougher than, like, 95% of the AFW, really. Can tell that already.”

She leaned forward, looming over her with a lazy smile. ”Not me, though.”

The doors open and Styx disembarked, hopping out onto the platform. She took a long, deep breath of the fresh night air, and pointe across the street to a rather dismal looking apartment complex. Not much, but it was home. ”Just a short walk from here.”

No reason to test that statement. Not at the moment, at least.

"Toughness isn't everything. Being able to take a thousand shots'll only get you so far."

CTU studies made that even more ominous, really. If Abattoir had been planning on living past thirty, she would probably have considered her toughness more of a liability than an asset, but here they were.

She stepped through the doors as they whooshed open, following along behind Styx. A night breeze picked up the back of her coat, billowing it a little and sending ripples through the Enochian sigil on the back. She followed the other woman's gesture with her gaze, eventually glimpsing the complex across the street. One eyebrow quirked upwards, almost reflexively.

"...Not quite what I'd have expected. You're full of surprises, I guess."

The great thing about this area of the city was that it was about as isolated and quiet as you could really hope to get in Tokyo. The streets were fairly sparse, save for the occasional couple walking to or from a nearby bar, and a car would only drive by once every minute or so. It was a good place to do things that you didn't want people to see.

"I did have a nice set up at the AFWDome." Styx crossed the street and made her way into the complex, trudging up the stairs. You could hear a dozen different sounds around them - a television that was too loud, a couple having an argument, someone trying to play their guitar and failing miserably. "Was sort of living in this secret area I'd found in the back. They made some renovations, though, so I had to skip out."

She made her way up, floor after floor, taking care not to slip on any of the toys that the little brats in the building left on the stairs. "I make enough money, so I figured I might as well use it. I'm used to living on the streets, but..." She paused on top of a flight and looked down back at Abattoir with a raised eyebrow. "What did you expect?"

"Ah. Yeah, makes sense." The AFW staff had a remarkable tendency to get in the way, particularly in situations where dangerous people were throwing each other around. Abattoir idly wondered what their hazard pay was. Maybe she was in the wrong line of work.

What had she been expecting, exactly? Not this, sure, but...what? Normal people didn't live like Abattoir did. They went home to civilization and fell asleep in beds that weren't a mattress on the floor and dreamed about something other than fighting. As she approached her mid-twenties it was getting harder and harder to relate to the rest of society.

"....I don't know," she admitted, truthfully. "I guess I didn't really think about it--"

An errant Hot Wheels car sent one foot skidding to the side, and Abattoir grabbed onto the railing, her eyes widening in momentary shock. She glanced up quickly to see if Styx had witnessed her moment of indignity, and halfway there, caught the eyes of a boy watching her on one of the landings. Couldn't have been more than seven or eight. Abattoir glared at him over her mask, and seconds later, the kid bolted like a startled rabbit.

"--but it makes sense," she finished. "You get what you can out of life."

Styx snickered when Abattoir's gaze sent some stupid kid running. She'd never, ever admit it, but she was a little jealous of her compatriot's look. It was the sort of thing that instantly turned heads, and while Styx was perfectly capable of doign the same, she mostly relied on her bulk. Abattoir was half her size, but her ensemble achieved the same effect, maybe even better. She could appreciate the theatre of it.

'Yeah, we do." She finally made her way to her own apartment, and after fumbling with the keys for a moment, she made her way in. Styx flipped the lights on to reveal a barebone room. It wasn't all that dirty - it looked like she did clean up every other week or so, at least. Spartan all the way, not much furniture aside from the bare basics. Couch. TV. Table. Minifridge. Blinds. Bed. All of it looked fresh and new, but none of it seemed to match anything else, speaking to Styx's complete lack of feng shui.

But it was home.

Styx made her way into the kitchen and started to sift through the fridge, looking for tonight's microwaveable meal. "I don't sleep all that much, so  you can take the bed and I'll crash on the couch. Help yourself to whatever." She looked around for a moment, then went right back to her task. "Not that there's much to help yourself to, but yeah."

Now this, at least, was a little more familiar. Abattoir hadn't exactly been expected rainbows and unicorns, but the spartan nature of Styx's apartment drew an approving nod from her nonetheless. Perhaps it wasn't that unlike her home after all.

Well, a bit cleaner. And no writing on the walls, that was sort of a new difference. Also less concrete.

As her host wandered off, Abattoir took a second to glance around. She had a remarkably polite (and human, for that matter) moment and pulled off her boots at the door - this took a minute, being as they were buckled in about eight different places each) - then padded over to the couch and assumed a spot on the far end, leaning her forehead onto her palms.

"It might actually be better for you if we switch that up," she intoned, eyes closed, bright colors dancing over her eyelids from the pressure. "I probably sleep less than you do. Especially at night. You may as well be comfortable, and if you're in there it won't wake you up if I start pacing."

After a second, she smoothed her skirt out and stretched her legs. It was a very practiced, almost full-body motion that seemed to start all the way up at her shoulders before ending down at her toes. Uncharacteristically disciplined - not a surprise, considering she'd learned it during training.

"I'll try to be quiet, though. In general I'm a pretty unassuming houseguest."

Styx was, initially, confused when Abattoir didn’t immediately follow her in, instead staying by the door. Curiosity got the better of her after a few seconds and she wound up peeking around the kitchen corner, only to find her fellow thug undoing her ridiculously intricate dominatrix boots. Why, Styx couldn’t imagine. Maybe it was a Thai thing.

”Yeah, please try not to do anything too creepy while I’m sleeping, thanks. If you start speaking in tongues or some shit, I’m kicking you right out.” With anyone else, there might’ve been a joking tone, there. Styx was 100% serious. She tossed her Hot Pocket into the microwave, set it to burn for a good three minutes, then turned back to her honored guest.

”So, I was thinking.” Styx came out of the kitchen with a beer in both hands. ”They had me scheduled for this hardcore match next week, but there’s been a little change of plans - I’ll probably be traveling out of town for Avalanche.” Styx offered a bottle to Abattoir, hoping she appreciated just how rare it was for her to actually give something to someone for free.

”If you’re looking for someone to take down, it’s all yours. Interested?”

Alright, if she started speaking in tongues, there would be no choice but to acknowledge that something very serious was happening.

(This thought would, several matches later, become a source of considerable retrospective consternation.)

Styx offered the beer, and Abattoir hesitated, her eyes narrowing a tiny bit - it was clear she was as disused to accepting things for free as Styx was to offering them. After a moment, she tentatively reached out and accepted the bottle, setting it between her knees. She unfastened the clasp on her mask and carefully pulled it off (this particular model left a bizarre red pattern of pressure marks across her face when it was removed), setting it on the arm of the couch, then took a sip.

Beer was actually not something she was used to. Despite her image, Abattoir mostly just drank water. The bitter, hoppy taste made her face involuntarily scrunch for a second, but it wasn't bad, and so she took another pull, trying to acclimatize herself.

"Yeah, I can fill in," she answered, almost automatically. Most people would be interested in details first, but when the opportunity to fight came, she wasn't the kind of person to question it. "They were talking about Avalanche when I came in last week. Asked me if I wanted to go to Mongolia. Is that even a real place or were they doing a prank?" Another sip, longer this time. She was starting to get used to the taste. "Who'm I supposed to be up against?"