"No, you're not! You nearly knock me out a dozen times a day, you're not giving me advice, and you're not telling me anything!"
Berlin kept still and emotionless, waiting out Cherry's outburst. "Fighting isn't about telling. It's about watching. I can't teach you anything you couldn't figure out on your own."
With no warning Berlin pounced forward, grabbed Cherry's ponytail, and let the momentum send her face first to the ground. With a slap to Cherry's bottom, Berlin left the practice area.
Cherry flipped onto her back, staring up at the grey spring sky as she waited for her breathing to return to normal. She could leave. She could go back to the dancers and spend the next decade dancing in bars, chained to a pole. By then, she might have enough money saved up to buy her way home. She could find a new teacher, maybe, someone who would actually help her.
No, she couldn't. She knew she couldn't. She couldn't spend the rest of her life scrounging for every coin she could get her hands on in hopes that one day it would be enough to pay her father's debt. She had to get out, and Berlin was the way to do that.
Slowly getting to her feet, she went to try 'watching' as Berlin had suggested.
Watching
was
different. She sat off to one side watching two women a few years older than she and found that she could see the way a fighter's muscles moved to prepare for a move. She realized that, in time, she could learn to see the strike before the body followed through. She also began to see patterns and styles; by knowing her opponent, she could not only predict what moves they were most inclined to use but also how they would respond in various situations.
Each fighter had certain quirks and ways she handled her body, and whenever she could get away from Berlin roughing her up, Cherry studied the other fighters' every move. Some of them were cutthroat, perfectly willingly to kill or maim each other for the crowd's amusement, but some were true fighters who still had some of their humanity left.
Apart from the practice area, Cherry found a tree to use as her opponent and began practicing the moves she was seeing.
One late afternoon, Cherry got up the guts to ask another fighter, Mriah, if she could practice with her. Time and again she was soundly knocked to the ground but it was different than fighting Berlin. Mriah moved differently, used her weight to her advantage, tended to lean or react a certain way. In time, Cherry was able to hold her own—not win, but come close.
She watched carefully whenever Berlin fought someone, learning the movements of her body. It was easier to see when Berlin was shirtless, easier still when she fought only in boots and underwear. Cherry could see the ripple of muscle in Berlin's thighs that foretold a change of direction, the way her weight shifted before she kicked, the tightening of core muscles before she took or threw a punch.
Before long some of the other fighters were willing to practice with Cherry, giving her a whole new world of styles to explore.
When she returned to their room one night, ponytail a mess, blood from a hairline cut slipping over her cheekbone, she caught Berlin's eyes on her.
"What happened to you?"
"Practice," she replied shortly and headed to her cot—but not before she caught a hint of approval in Berlin's eyes.
*~*~*
When Berlin caught Cherry's foot to her gut the next time they practiced, she wasn't sure which of them was more surprised. Cherry reacted quickly, keeping her guard up as she dropped to the ground and swept out her leg to trip Berlin as she recovered. Berlin stumbled, and Cherry made her move, flipping up and forward to knock Berlin to the ground, allowing Berlin's body to cushion her fall. She pinned Berlin's arms over her head and boxed her hips and thighs down by straddling them.
Cherry had won.
Berlin kept her eyes and voice steady as she asked, "Was that a fluke? Or could you do it again?"
Cherry honestly thought for a moment. "I could do it again."
Before Berlin could respond, she saw a light change in Cherry's eyes just before she bent to give Berlin a hard and conquering kiss on the mouth. Shocked and more uncomfortable than she was willing to admit, Berlin demanded, "Let me up."
Cherry moved back, her large green eyes wide and confused. "I don't get it."
Berlin shrugged, bringing her walls back up, not letting Cherry see any more than she had already. "You wouldn't. No one would." She walked away, leaving Cherry to watch her go.
Berlin lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. She could hear the sound of Cherry's soft breathing from the corner.
She wanted Cherry. It was easier to admit than she had expected. Everything about Cherry invited her in: big beautiful eyes, soft skin, large breasts, round bottom. She was gorgeous; she was sexy.
She wanted to fuck Cherry, but that was it. It was physical attraction, too many hormones running loose with too little clothing. She'd seen girls like Cherry before, though, and girls like Cherry didn't want one dirty night. They wanted things like love and commitment and promises. Berlin didn't want any of those things, ever. Certainly not with Cherry.
*~*~*
It rained the next day, cold sheets of early spring rain that made everything slick and dangerous. Berlin insisted they practice anyway, saying that fights weren't called off due to a little rain. In fact, mud-wrestling often drew the largest crowds.
After the third time Cherry slipped and nearly knocked herself unconscious, and then lightning struck a nearby tree, Berlin finally took pity and let them quit.
In the safety of their room, they stripped out of their sopping clothes and wrung them out before hanging them on pegs to dry. When they were still cold after changing clothes Berlin even started a fire in the small hearth, which they comfortably reclined in front of.
Berlin was a woman of silence, though she hadn't always been that way, but for some reason this silence between them made her uncomfortable and uneasy. She leaned back on her palms, trying to appear casual, and asked, "How did you become so flexible?"
Cherry looked over at her with surprised eyes, not expecting conversation, having grown accustomed to Berlin's stoic silence. "I was a dancer, before my transfer got approved. For six years."
Berlin had guessed as much. Girls like Cherry didn't make for good prostitutes. "Were you any good?"
Cherry snorted, got to her feet, and gave herself some space. She rolled her body a few times to music only she could hear, rocked her hips, shimmied her breasts, and flipped her hair before sinking into a split. She kept her eyes smoldering and locked with Berlin's the entire time, making Berlin's mouth go dry as her heart pounded.
Cherry folded her legs beneath her and shook her hair back, fixing Berlin with a wry smile. "You should see what I can do with a pole."
Berlin swallowed. "I'd like that."
Cherry tried to hide her surprise, not wanting to scare Berlin off. "Okay. Sometime, we'll go over to the dance practice field, and I'll show you."
For a moment, Berlin didn't say anything, just picked at the material over her thigh. Then, "Why are you here?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're good at dancing, and it's not exactly the most uncomfortable lifestyle. Why leave? Why come here?"
Cherry was quiet for a moment. "I'm ready to get out of here. I've been saving, but dancers don't make good money, just the occasional tips. Fighting … that's where the money's at."
"Why do you want to leave
now
?"
Cherry shrugged. "A million reasons. I don't like being alone. I want to be able to do what I want. I don't want to spend my life in a cage. I want people to see me as more than tits and ass." She stopped, and when she continued, her voice was softer, gentler. "My father lives too far east for me to ever go see him, but I write him every time someone is passing through. He stopped writing back."
"And you're afraid something happened to him."
Cherry nodded, even though it wasn't a question. "I've always been trying to get out. This was just the final push.
"What about you? Aren't you trying to get home?"
"I've got nothing to go home to." The flatness of Berlin's voice closed the conversation.
Before Cherry could think of something to say that would keep their talk from ending, the front door of the house slammed open with a bang. A woman screamed. Berlin covered Cherry's mouth and whispered in her ear, "Don't make a sound."
They waited in silence as heavy footfalls made their way through the house. The footsteps marched past Berlin's door and both women heaved a silent sigh of relief. A moment later, however, they heard another scream.
Cherry squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to block out the sounds that would follow. The scuffle. The screams. The pleading. The grunting. The crying.
It didn't work. She heard it all anyway as one of the men of higher society assaulted one of the girls down the hall.
She pulled away from Berlin, but Berlin caught her wrist before she could get to the door. "I can't listen to this."
"Then think about something else," Berlin hissed quietly. "You can't go out there."
"I can't just sit here!"
"What will you do, huh?" Berlin paused for just a moment. "Nothing. There is nothing you
can
do. He's from the upper class; he can do whatever he wants. And if you hurt him, if you kill him, if you get in his way—you'll hang. Is that what you want?"
"It's wrong," Cherry whispered desperately. "This isn't right."
"This is the way it is here. You say you want to get out? Then get out and leave us behind. There's nothing you can do for people who don't want to be helped."
Cherry sat back down beside Berlin but drew in on herself, wrapping her arms around her upturned knees. "This is wrong."
"I know," Berlin said, and then they didn't speak anymore, even after they heard the thugs strut out the front door and out of The Zone unstopped and unpunished.
*~*~*
"C'mon." Berlin caught her off guard one day after practice when the only thing on Cherry's mind was lying down and getting out of the sun. "We're going out. Put on something that doesn't stink." She let her eyes linger on the rivulets of water on the tops of Cherry's breasts, still clinging to her skin after she had dumped a bucket of water over herself before heading inside. Cherry didn't bother covering up and felt her nipples tighten under Berlin's gaze.
"Do your hair!" Berlin ordered. "And your face!"
Cherry set about creating a look that fit Berlin's standards.
Berlin looked her over, taking in the inches of skin visible between her tall boots and short skirt, the casual waves of her hair, and the subtle accents of paint on her face, before nodding. "Let's go."
They walked together toward the gate where a thin man in rich clothes was waiting. The man stayed on his side of the gate, and the two women stayed on theirs.
"This is my sponsor, Lord Davvin. Lord Davvin, my apprentice, Cherry."
Davvin looked her over with dark clawing eyes, his exposing stare making Cherry even more nervous. "Your
apprentice
?"
"She's a fighter," Berlin assured him, a hint of defensive tone to her voice.
Davvin snorted.
"I didn't look like it, at first," she argued.
He gave a short bark of laughter. "When I met you, you had the eyes of a killer and looked like you'd bite my balls off as soon as speak to me. This girl hasn't even
seen
a man's balls."
Not helping her cause, Cherry flushed.
"She's not going to fight a
man
. And she's seen plenty of what women have between their legs."
Cherry's flush deepened.
"Cherry can do things I've never seen another woman do."
Cherry couldn't help but wonder if she was the only one who felt like every word coming out of Berlin's mouth insinuated that they were lovers.
Davvin raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Show me."
Berlin backed away from the gate and took Cherry with her. "Kick me, high."
Finally feeling a bit more in her element, Cherry aimed a kick at Berlin's jaw. Berlin caught her ankle easily and pushed her leg a little higher, showing Davvin how flexible she was and giving herself a view of Cherry's panty-covered crotch. Jumping into the air and twisting, Cherry delivered a kick to Berlin's shoulder, freeing her other leg as she landed in a crouch.
A few feet away, Berlin got to her feet. "Well? What do you think?"
Davvin moved his eyes back to Berlin. "What do you want from me, Berlin?"
Berlin looped her arm through the gate rungs. "Get me a dozen possible sponsors to show her off to in two days—and none of those assholes who'll rob her blind, or worse."
"What's in it for me?"
Berlin met his gaze levelly. "I'll throw my match against Ashlyn. You'll make a fortune betting against me; no one thinks I'll lose."
Davvin's eyes lit up at the prospect of cashing in. "A half dozen sponsors."
"Ten."
"Eight."
"Done!" Berlin held out a hand and gave Davvin a grip firmer than his own. "Two days."
As she and Cherry walked away, Cherry asked, "Why do I need a sponsor?"
"If you're saving up to get yourself out, it's too expensive to sponsor yourself. A sponsor will give you a cut of his profits. Even more if you rig a match and let him in on it."
"Oh."
"Not all the fights are rigged," Berlin pointed out. "Most aren't. But once in a while, rigging will get
you
money and the crowd a show. Everyone wins."
"Okay." Cherry wasn't really sure she understood.
Berlin slung an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry. We'll get you through this. We'll get you a sponsor, some publicity. I'll keep you safe from whatever your sponsor throws at you. You'll be out of here before you know it."
In two days' time, six noblemen—not the promised eight—were gathered at the practice field, their select bodyguards surrounding them.
As she and Berlin approached the field, Cherry took a deep breath. It was a risk, what she was about to ask, seeing as Berlin had never been forthcoming with praise, but she had to ask. "Do you think I'm ready?"