Okay, so before I say anything else I need to give a special shoutout to jojoDO, who helped me hella brainstorm this piece. Without his input this wouldn't exist in its current form! Go thank him! Also, a special thanks needs to go to woruto, who also did me a solid with this! Thank him, too!

Now, moving on, I was flipping through my copy of the All About SNK 1991 - 2000 book and found an interesting tidbit about what King was up to between the first two Art of Fighting games. It actually fills in something that has (up until now) not been explained in illyverse, where I strive to make it all make sense.

As always, a couple of notes at the end. Remember, King's name is not canon, but if you can find a way for SNK to make it so that would be really swell.

Onward~

Cécile Levasseur sat on the guest bed at her aunt and uncle's house, frowning as she counted out the tips she had made at work over the last couple of days. Usually, the amount of money she pulled in during her shifts ranged from good to great; she was confident that changing to a full-time schedule now that she had completed her time at bartending school would allow her to get her own place in the city, as having to live with her hateful family because of a very rough patch was beginning to take a heavy toll on her. Unfortunately, business at the bar had slowed down by an almost abnormal amount; a marked lack of patrons meant a lack of tips… and a lack of tips meant less money to get back on track. But, more importantly, it meant less money to put aside for her little brother Jean's medical expenses.

The young woman knew how to pinch pennies, of course, but trying to move out while also trying to get the funds to cover the surgery her brother needed to regain the use of his legs when her earnings had dropped in such a drastic amount was problematic at best. At this rate, she would have to choose: Get the hell away from her aunt and uncle so she could be independent once more, or stay put and keep saving until she could ensure that Jean's necessities would be paid for?

It went without saying that Cécile would always choose her brother's well-being over her own. After all, she was used to Maddy and Gary's ire; they hated her long before she turned to organized crime to pay the bills, so it wasn't like their attitudes were anything new or surprising anyway. She had endured being a verbal punching bag for years; she would keep it up for as long as possible if it meant that Jean would be okay.

However.

Cécile was reaching a point where she wasn't sure how much more she could handle. A particularly nasty fight after work the night before almost made her want to give up entirely, but she knew she needed to keep going for Jean's sake. And though she understood that Maddy and Gary were absolutely right to be pissed off at her for joining the mob, spending a night in jail after (unknowingly) being involved in a kidnapping, and then having to move in with them because she was suddenly unemployed and on probation, their continued verbal assaults were unnecessary. She was keenly aware that dropping out of college, pretending to be a man, and becoming a criminal were all really bad judgment calls that she could never take back. Still, sometimes she wondered if her aunt and uncle secretly got off on telling her how awful she was on a near-daily basis. (The answer was probably yes.)

To further add to Cécile's misery, Jean, too, was harboring resentment toward her for what she had done. It didn't matter that it was for his benefit; she willfully went down a path the little boy couldn't accept. Although the siblings had been working to repair their now fractured relationship, it would take a lot for the bartender to truly regain her brother's trust. She didn't blame him for his changed perception of her, though. He looked up to her… and she let him down.

And, now, it looked like she would just keep letting him down because the amount of money she counted out bordered on abysmal. She swore under her breath as she carefully placed the small bills in a bank deposit envelope, neatly wrote down the total amount and her account number, and set the item aside before standing up to stretch. Then, she unplugged her phone from the charger on the bedside table, hit the home button so she could check the clock, and pressed her lips together as she thought of how to manage her time: She had to work a closing shift that night, but, also, she needed to deposit her earnings as well as meet with her probation officer before going in, which she was decidedly not looking forward to since the guy was kind of an ass.

Cécile let out a quiet sigh as she gathered her belongings and left her quarters. Maddy, Gary, and Jean were spending their day at the local shopping center, so there was no one to bid farewell to on the way out (which was a bit of a relief). She descended the stairs and did a quick walkthrough of the lower floor, ensuring all of the windows and the patio doors were locked. She then plucked an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen counter, started toward the front door, and stopped to arm the security system on the way. Finally, she took her shoes from the nearby coat closet (she would put them on outside) and quickly exited the premises, hoping that the rest of her day would go smoothly…

###

It was a little after ten PM, and Cécile was bored out of her mind. The bar was, once again, dead (not that Sunday nights were ever terribly busy to begin with), so she had been given mundane tasks to keep busy. She spent the majority of her shift restocking the wine cooler, organizing the countless bottles on the wall, and dusting the shelves, all the while making small talk when the occasion called for it, or half-listening to whatever was playing on the mounted television set. However, a local news story caught her attention fully as she polished the counter: The crime rate in the city, which had been at an all-time low, was starting to pick up again — probably because her former employer, Mr. Big, had his jail sentence reduced and was back on the streets.

Cécile frowned as she started to become lost in her thoughts. Once upon a time, she had been one of Big's most trusted subordinates, but unlike his asshole cronies, she actually had a conscience. After a series of bizarre circumstances that involved the abduction of a teenage girl, fighting a man in an orange karate gi, and public humiliation, she finally went to the cops and ratted the son of a bitch out. It felt good to leave that life behind since being part of the mob was something Cécile never even wanted in the first place; it just sort of… happened. And though she tried to conduct herself in a way that wouldn't completely destroy her moral compass, she had done some really bad things under Big's employ. She always told herself that, at the end of the day, it was for a good cause, but she had spent many sleepless nights wondering if she was any different from the rest of Big's people. After all, a part of her honestly didn't mind beating the shit out of random scumbags if it meant getting the money for her brother's medical bills. When it was all said and done, Jean was the most important thing to her, and if helping him meant getting her hands dirty (or, in some cases, a little bloody), then so be it.

"Hey, Céc!"

Suddenly, the owner of the bar, an older man named Nick, called from somewhere near the pool table. Startled, the young bartender's eyebrows shot up as she was brought back to the present.

"HUH?!"
"Go ahead and take off early," Nick told Cécile as she whirled around to face him. "You've done enough, and business ain't gonna pick up in the next two hours."

At that, Cécile sighed. She couldn't think of a single good reason to stay.

"Alright —" she neatly folded the cloth in her hand and placed it down — "I guess… I'll see you Thursday."
"I'll let you know if anyone calls out during the week. And make sure you stay out of trouble, you got that?"

The Frenchwoman couldn't help letting out a dry chuckle as she grabbed her thin hoodie from behind the counter and put it on. Nick knew a little about her criminal past but, thankfully, never asked any specific questions, which she liked, because she hated talking about it. He would, however, remind her to stay on a straight path and not do anything stupid almost every time they worked together. It wasn't condescending or annoying, though; it was actually kind of nice. Comforting. It seemed like he might have genuinely cared.

"No promises," she said with a wry smile as she walked to the exit and waved goodbye.

Cécile zipped up her hoodie, stepped out into the humid night, and started toward the small lot across the street where her car was parked. However, she abruptly stopped when she heard noises coming from the nearby alleyway between the parking area and a closed-down boutique right next to it. Guard up, she stood still and listened for just a moment before she quickly recognized the unmistakable sound of a fist connecting with flesh, which was followed by… cheering? The young woman made a face; she knew she should have left well enough alone, but, as was the norm, her curiosity got the better of her. And so, Cécile put her hood up, moved down the short path, around the corner… and froze as she took in the sight before her: A small crowd was gathered around two men who were slugging it out, with one much more beat up than the other. The young woman carefully made her way through the people, enthralled, as, other than a few sparring sessions with her friend, Mary, she hadn't been in or near a real brawl for almost a year and missed it a lot more than she ever thought she would. The last skirmish she had been in — which was against that abducted girl's brother — was a true test of strength, and while she didn't fail per se, she knew she could have done better. If only she hadn't been hit with… whatever the hell it was. The technique that changed everything, she supposed, because if it had missed, the fight — and her life — would have turned out much differently.

At that moment, one of the men — the less beat-up one — yelled as he hit the ground, to the delight of the excited crowd, clearly down for the count. Cécile watched as the victor of the street fight, whom she decided looked like a human version of Jack Skellington, raised his hands in the air and let out a loud whoop while celebrating his win with fist bumps and pats on the back. He opened his mouth to address the onlookers but suddenly stopped — and looked directly at her.

"Yo, do I know you?"

Cécile narrowed her eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but she couldn't place it. They had probably crossed paths somewhere — maybe during a drug or weapons deal she had to sit in on? Maybe she had even beaten him on Big's orders? She really didn't know or care; she just knew that she was being addressed directly… and needed to tread carefully should anything go awry. After all, she was in an alley, surrounded by strange men, no longer in disguise. Her attire — a fitted hoodie, skinny jeans, Chuck Taylor high tops, and a little bit of eyeliner — made it completely impossible to hide the fact that she was a woman.

"You got a twin brother or something?" Human Jack Skellington asked while squinting at Cécile. She shook her head — no — as the stranger scrutinized her, his gaze lingering on her hips for a second too long. Suddenly, his eyes went wide, and the young bartender could almost swear that she saw a lightbulb switch on over the man's head.

"You're…? King?!"

Hearing the long-dead moniker made Cécile's blood run cold as everyone turned to her, their faces curious, or, in some cases, steeped with disbelief. Although intensely uncomfortable, she crossed her arms over her chest, fully aware that she needed to keep a level head. Did she deny it with a lame, "No I'm not" or "Uh-uh"? Own it and reclaim something she never even wanted? That she had no more use for?

"So the rumours about you being a woman were true," Human Jack Skellington said, bringing Cécile's attention back to him. "And here I thought people were making it up."

The bartender drew in a sharp breath. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised about rumours going around since people in Southtown liked to talk. Gossip was probably a more potent drug than cocaine, ecstasy, or any other illegal substances on the streets combined. Nevertheless, she removed her hood (no use hiding after being called out like that…) and took a step forward.

"I am… obviously a woman, yes," she answered tersely, but in her normal voice and not the lower register she used when she had absolutely no choice but to speak during her days with the Syndicate.

"So the other stuff must be true, too then."
"What other stuff?" Cécile asked cautiously.
"That you got thrashed over at L'Amour. And that you were the snitch what got Big and the guys busted."

Cécile narrowed her eyes. She sure as hell didn't get "thrashed," but she was the one who took Big and the others down. On the legal side of things, anyway.

"You know what happens to snitches around here."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Well, you're here to get in on this anyway, aren't you?"
"Get in on what?"

Human Jack Skellington furrowed his brow as he gestured toward a hat on the ground that was filled with money.

"You win, you get to keep all of it," Cécile was informed. "But if you lose — which you will — well, we'll figure that out when we get there."
"I see," the bartender mumbled while eyeballing the mountain of cash. She probably should have turned around and left but from what she could see, that was a lot of money. A lot of money she could use for her brother's medical expenses… Not only that, but she was being underestimated by this person whom she knew she could take out with a single well-timed hit. With that in mind, she slowly pulled a pair of leather fingerless gloves from her back pocket (carrying them with her had become something of a habit…) and deliberately slid them on.

"You're making a mistake, babe."
"T'es vraiment dans la merde," Cécile responded, annoyed by the use of "babe" but, also, a little excited by the prospect of kicking someone's face in.

"This is gonna be good," she heard someone to her left say as she stepped toward Human Jack Skellington, who was wiping blood from his previous fight away from his mouth.

"That's King?!"
"There's no way she wins."
"Go back to the kitchen, honey!"
"Don't break a nail!"

Just then, another guy stepped slightly out of the crowd, between Cécile and her opponent, and yelled, "Go!"

Right away, Human Jack Skellington rushed forward with a flurry of sloppy punches. The bartender effortlessly dodged all but one that struck her in her clavicle, eliciting a pained grunt. She was then hit in the stomach, which knocked the wind out of her. Angered by her own apparent ring rust, Cécile doubled over while she struggled to take a breath, and found herself stumbling backward. She fell straight into a bystander, who roughly shoved her right back toward her opponent, who was loading up for a haymaker.

Cécile saw the attempted knockout blow coming a mile away and sidestepped it. Quickly, she retaliated with a hard diagonal kick that hit Human Jack Skellington's shoulder, causing his arm to go limp immediately. Even though she had caused some real damage, she swore under her breath because she had been aiming for his head. She couldn't focus on any mistakes though; she had to concentrate on winning that money (and defending her pride). With that in mind, she threw a round kick that hit her opponent in his jaw. He hit the ground — hard — and weakly pulled himself up as best he could. The Frenchwoman moved toward him, ready to attack with a low kick while he was down, but stopped when he scrambled away from her as fast as he could, his expression fearful.

"Y-y-you win," he choked as he brought one hand to his face, which was already quite red and swollen. He then gestured toward the nearby hat. "It's yours! A-all of it!"

The young woman kept her eyes on her opponent. She stayed silent as the man who had called the beginning of the fight sauntered up beside her and addressed the crowd.

"Your winner! King!"

Cécile — no, King — blinked a few times. Being directly addressed by her old alias after all this time was unfamiliar and somewhat difficult, but, obviously, she would have to recondition herself to answer to it. At least in this situation, anyway. Nevertheless, she pressed her lips together while carefully moving toward the prize. She then slowly stooped down, pocketed the money, and turned her attention to the bystanders.

"Anyone else?" She asked calmly (but guardedly) while bringing herself back to her full height. The onlookers went quiet, which was King's cue to leave.

"Nice doing business with you," she told Human Jack Skellington. "Bye!"

The bartender put her hood back up and started to walk off but stopped when someone called after her. Slowly, she turned around to look at the person who wanted her attention and quirked a brow.

"You gonna come again?"
"'Again'?"
"Yeah. We've started doing this a couple times a week. So, you gonna come back or what?"

King pressed her lips together and looked down at the ground as she considered what this person told her. She had been missing the thrill of a good fight, and it was something that came naturally to her; if she could make some quick cash doing that on top of her actual job, then — no! She couldn't allow herself to entertain making such a reckless decision, especially since street fighting wasn't exactly legal and she was still on probation. However, the longer Jean went without that surgery, the higher the chance he would never be able to walk on his own again. On top of that, the longer King spent in that house, the more likely it was that she'd suffer a nervous breakdown. Maybe going once a week wouldn't be so bad…? After all, doing a little violence would be a great way to deal with all of her pent-up anger and aggression. Not only that but if she could spend seven months pretending to be a man, then hiding a fight or two wouldn't be a problem. She'd be fine if she didn't get hit in the face.

Mind made up, she drew in a sharp breath and squared her shoulders, all the while ignoring the small voice in the back of her head that was screaming that she was about to do something incredibly fucking stupid.

One down!

* In order to become a bartender one must go to school and complete a certain amount of hours
* Jean is afflicted with Blount's Disease and Lupus. Blount's is a growth disorder that can require surgical intervention.
* King had to move back in with her aunt and uncle (non-canon, since someone else clearly takes care of Jean) after the events of Art of Fighting because her life became an actual mess (the rough patch)
* The bar King is working at is actually Illusion but under its older ownership.
* The owner being named Nick references the show New Girl, in which there is a character named Nick who is a bartender
* "T'es vraiment dans la merde" = You're really screwed/fucked

Okay, I think that's it for this installment. Come back next time to witness the repercussions of King's incredibly fucking stupid decision!

Cheers~