Aphrofighty #19
There’s no record, oral or written, of Aphrofighty’s childhood. One day, she simply rolled into town -- long hair streaming wet, dirt and blood under her fingernails, torn fishnets, and the laces of her skates hanging on by a thread. The gods smiled upon her and she was soon surrounded and embraced by the other wayward women of the town while the men stood agape and the babies cried. Together, they formed the fastest, hardest-hitting nest of she-snakes the derby world had ever seen.
Favorites: Churning seas, raw oysters, blood-red wine, brass knuckles, and her own reflection