Laveau and I have unfinished business. The last time I filed copy from the bayou, I left with blood on my shoes and a hymn in my ears. So I came small this time, mask up, face down (probably a Hathian XXX kink) and camera hugged to my ribs.
The flyer promised ‘No Gloves. No Rules’ with fighters having a ‘Weapon of Choice: Folding Chairs.’ The setting, a crumbling warehouse delivered exactly that: a swaying, suspended platform for a ring, a bookie’s table busy with crumpled bills, and a ring girl pumping round cards above her head like a metronome for violence.
Kingston ran the event with bourbon in hand and barbed charm, and a pair of what I can only assume were ‘medical staff’, one of who was vaguely familiar hovered at the rail. You’d have hoped they were the only people hoping to have a quiet night, but this is Laveau… and it spins a darker tale of desire than even our ‘fair streets’ of Hathian.
Round 1: When Pretty Boys Meet Steel
The fighters were named at the betting table and it appeared that Merrick (aka ‘Cowboy’) and Carl, (aka ‘Carl the Axe’) met on a platform that didn’t just bounce. It swung like the Serpent’s Den on couple’s night.
The fighters get ready
“Backwaters, y’all know the swamp don’t give steady ground, and neither does this ring. Tonight she swings like a gallows, and only one man walks off her chains.”
“Now, for your entertainment, we got Merrick, or Cowboy if you know him well, boots caked in dust, fists loaded like six-shooters, and a grin meaner than a rattler.
“And across from him, brutality on his mind and murder in his eyes, is Carl the Axe, a man who don’t swing just wood, but whole histories of hurt.”
“Welcome to The Bayou Brawl, Folding Fury Edition, where steel bends, bones snap, and the swamp keeps score. Let the platform sway, let the crowd roar. Bring hell to each other!”
Kingston
Every step turned footwork into seamanship which, considering the coastline setting seemed somehow apt. First blood came the old-fashioned way: a chair raked low into a thigh, then, a beat later, meaner… a full face full of folded steel.
Cowboy went down hard, crimson dappling the arena while Kingston raised his glass and roared, “The glory goes to Carl! Give your winner a round of applause you sick fucks! Today he showed no mercy and Merrick paid the price.” Medics were waved in; (they did look quite happy) and even the winner appeared to wince when he realized how cleanly that last shot had landed. With the loser now guided away by the medical team for ice and a pen-light check the first round had lived up to the event billing. Payouts clinked; and the raucous noise from the betting booth got louder.
Round 2: I Thought The Teeth Collector Was A Hathian Thing
If Round 1 was about the destruction of beauty then Round 2 was Bayou scripture written in steel. A more clinical display. Again, the folding chairs were out and the crowd surged forward like a tide eager to see everything in detail. Every drop of blood. Every smash. Even I found it a little exciting. There’s something dangerously attractive around watching handsome (some of them!) men punch each other to the ground. It’s seductive in it’s own way and it’s better that they consent to be here, than the violence on Hathian’s Streets. I sometimes think that this, these no-holds barred fights could, if held more often, resolve a lot of the issues in Hathian. I mean, sure… peace and justice would be better, but we have to make accommodation for Hathian and Laveau don’t we? There’s a few people I’d probably punch if given the legal chance (and possible the first hit free!).
Angelo had peeled off a helmet and with a grin you could almost hear (think ‘shit talking grin’ and you can imagine it) squaring up to Erik, who came on with a street-brawler’s stance and bad intentions. I felt my knuckles go white around the camera grip but that insistent thrill in my tummy as well.
The opening was all feints. Angelo dipped low, telegraphing a shin shot and when Erik bit on it, Angelo snapped the chair up in a brutal half-moon, the metal lip smashing into Erik’s upper shoulder. The thwack of steel on meat drew an involuntary hiss from my teeth. Erik answered with a two-handed overhead meant to fold Angelo in half; Baker slid out and the swing whistled past. A collective ‘ooof‘ from the crowd; one woman behind me yelled, “Go Angelo! You got this!!!” and the whole bayou seemed to lean in to the energy.
Erik tried to press, but Angelo bullied space attempting to ram the chair edge into vulnerable ribs. Chairs clattered, breath left bodies. Angelo hovered just long enough for the count and the hush before the roar. I caught the moment mid-shudder, a frame of bent steel and the kind of grin you only wear when you’ve lived to see the next round.
Editor’s aside: The house ‘energy drinks‘ were pitched as triple-caffeine and the warehouse heat did the rest. Between the sugar, whiskey and noise, you could feel judgment thinning in the room. It’s not my first rodeo in this town and no, I didn’t drink. Judgemental suits me. So does likely being drug free!
Round 3: Jade vs. Eira… Teeth Are For Biting
By the time the women stepped onto the platform the bayou sweat had turned the ring lights into halos. Phones rose. Whistles cut the humid air. It wasn’t just the only all-female bout it was a mood shift. Eira slid in all sharp angles and cool poise; Jade came hunting, hips loose, shoulders gleaming like she had just come back from the spa.
From the first clash it felt less like a brawl and more like a dance with teeth. Jade pressed chest-to-shoulder, trying to turn Eira’s balance with small, grinding pivots, then went feral… chin tucked, jaw parted, angling for the neck. “EAT HER ALIVE!” someone near the side cracked. The crowd howled at the innuendo as the two of them tangled. Eira’s answer was pure spite and craft: banshee screams, a hooked arm and then dragging Jade towards the edge of the ring, seemingly to force her into the chairs at the edge.
The tempo quickened. Hair stuck to temples; breath came ragged; crimson lacquered their knuckles. Jade’s power started to tell… she picked up a chair and it was steel thudding against temple, a copper mist in the air. Again. Again. She had reeled Eira back in and kept swinging. I realized I’d stopped breathing. Somewhere from the ringside Kingston had gone from commentary to cackle, “Make her bleed Banshee!” he yelled.
Eira tried to reset, lips moving but then she faded as if someone had erased everything but the killing math that had struck three blows.
“And that’s it folks! You wanted blood! We brought it! Violence? We served it up the only way the bayou knows how! The swamp feasted and new winners were crowned! Give it up for the final winner of the night….JADE!”
Kingston
Jade – Winner of Round 3
The Final Countdown
What did the bayou get for its trouble? Three finishes, three distinct flavours of damage:
Carl won over Merrick – The Axe reversed roles and didn’t just ride the cowboy, he roped him, baited him, then stamped the ‘cattle’ with the mark of a chair.
Angelo won out vs. Erik – Angelo switched off the lights and left the house humming; Erik went out cold before the count could catch up.
Jade crushed (hopefully not literally) Eira by sustained chair assault. Beauty turned butcher and Jade bled Eira for the Bayou’s blood bank.
Kingston sent the crowd to the bookie with his toast to carnage and promised another fight next month. Laveau residents left hoarse, a little richer or poorer, and if they were honest… buzzing. I left the same way I arrived: small, quiet, careful and neither richer, nor poorer other than the petrol for the drive over.
Laveau hadn’t, this time, scared me as much as it usually does. I had sweated excitedly with the rest of them, watching the match which my dear reader is probably a bad sign. But there’s a reason the flyer says what it says. No gloves. No rules. Just a folding chair, a moving floor, and the swamp… Always there, always waiting underneath to catch whatever falls.
As to the symbols of our mask wearing coven? Would one suggest ego over secrecy with those on display here? Or power so secure that it doesn’t need to be hidden anymore? Certainly, there were more there than I knew, among us, next to you perhaps as you cheered on blood that they had perhaps assisted in providing… But today the sun was up and the shadows had not lengthened by the time I departed. There are always more stories for another day!
