Description: Ken Masters, in his infinite wisdom or through random algorithms or something in between, settles on the next struggling American fighter to join Team USA in time to compete for great prizes and greater glory in the KING OF FIGHTERS 2017. (Team Formation Scene!)
%t"Boring, boring, -boring-!!"
Thus is the growled dialogue that comes from one of the empty lots that came about after the Majigen incident. An incident that, thankfully, Senna was largely absent for. She's strong, skilled, and tough, but really? Fuck that noise. Fighting the supernatural is not her bag.
True to form, she's basically taken over one corner of the lot, and she did it the old-fashioned way, beating the hell out of people for that territory. Given the average man (and woman) on the streets of Metro City, that's something of an accomplishment in and of itself. She's managed to haul in a couple of heavy bags, hung from a rusty, but sturdy steel protrusion; Senna doesn't really 'practice' the way she did when she was a legitimate contender, but these things are great for working out stress. Which is what she decides to do, audience or no, getting rid of some of her restless energy, the loud, percussive sounds of fists on leather echoing throughout the lot and into the street.
It's just another day in the park; or lot, as the case may be. Nothing spectacular or unusual to write home about, no one remarkable to put up a fight for the unconventional and dubiously efficient training space that Senna etches out for herself. Nope, nothing strange at--- wait a sec.
She's been there perhaps twenty or thirty minutes when two vans squeal up, each bearing the sigil of Masters Media, the global telecasting juggernaut of Ken's family. A news crew and Masters' own cameramen set up quickly, at once keeping a polite distance from Senna and her efforts and -clearly- setting up to point all that audio and video recording equipment in her general direction.
Their only other point of interest is a shiny red Rolls that rolls up moments later, flashbulbs and video cameras firing eagerly as Ken Masters himself, dressed in a tieless suit of white over red, said crimson shirt half unbuttoned, steps gracefully out and waves to his adoring public; at least, by proxy.
Ken's course, too, is directed straight towards Senna's corner, shooting his cuffs and brushing down his finely tailored wardrobe into impeccable place; everybody's crazy bout a sharp dressed Ken.
*WHAM WHAM WH--*
Senna stops, right fist having just touched the bag, halting her follow-through as the vans come screaming up and disgorge a bunch of people. Cameras? What the fuck?
But they're clearly here for her. She doesn't *remember* committing any crimes lately... she's been laying low a bit, taking semi-legal jobs, nothing bad, just, y'know, pay under the table. Fuck taxes, fuck 'the man'. But man, there's something irritating...
"OI!" she shouts, her voice just about what one would expect from her--she looks rough, not unkept but just... rough. Like she intended to project the look of a hardass and succeeded. Turning, she stalks towards a cameraman. "What the fu--"
Of course, that's when Ken comes up in the Rolls, and -that- draws as much attention because, really, who sees a car like that around here that isn't owned by a major gangster? When Ken steps out, Senna's eyes flare a little. She does, of course, recognize him, as do many people on the street.
Dropping her fighting pose, she turns and quirks an eyebrow, gracing Ken with a lopsided smirk. "Ken _Masters_?" she says, sounding well disbelieving.
"Am I gettin' punk'd here?"
Ostracized by her priviledged family for practicing the wrong style, down on her luck yet defiant and -sincerely- pissed off about the whole thing, Senna is perfect for attention-grabbing television-- Ken's producers know it, and Ken knows it. A filigreed piece of hefty card stock dances in Ken's fingertips as he strides gracefully and with purpose towards the down-but-not-out pugilist, "-That-..." getting punk'd, "All depends on how well you can -fight-!" Ken notes with a winning, tooth-pinging smile.
"I'm here to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime-- all expenses paid travel aboard my luxury jet as we fly around the world in our bid to become the next champions... of King of Fighters!" The man's a born star, it's hard to deny it. He pauses in tension-building moments, pours ample emotion and charisma behind the idea both for Senna's sake... and the viewers at home who'll be watching this latest endeavor with eager eyes.
"You've been picked--" whether she entered a sweepstakes or not. Maybe someone put her name in? "to train and fight for glory and great prizes with me, Ken Masters, taking a personal stake in giving you a leg up on the competition. Team USA was all about opportunity and the will to seize it last year, and we're looking to double down." The last sentence is offered more to the camera than Senna, an explanation punctuated by a wry grin and a smooth wink.
"Saywha?" Oh, wait, right. Someone mentioned the King of Fighters to her the other day. Asked if she was gonna join a team. Snickered. Took a couple of right straights to the mouth for his insolence.
Her first reflex is to think she is, indeed, being punked. Her hands clench into fists. Then... no, wait. Why would someone like _Ken_ do this? She's never heard that he's into faking people out like this. Her lips twist briefly. "Huh. You're serious?" She might be an angry, bitter ex-boxer/sometime petty criminal, but that doesn't mean she's stupid.
"Y'know what? I'll take you up on it." Sure, it'll only be for a bit, but she'll get to have some things she just can't have otherwise. And it'll be... well... she'll travel the world punching people in the face. It's probably her favorite thing to do, ever, the one thing she'd gladly do for free.
As an aside, she adds, "I wasn't gonna enter this year, but why not? Let's do it."
Ken makes a good show of waiting with baited breath just as tensely and curiously as the audience of fight fans no doubt waits to find out if Ken's team will come to fruition-- after all, there's always a chance the winner will refuse even such an awesome prize, and they'll be back to the drawing board, with footage only fit for the bonus content reel. A nod, another grin-- it helps to confirm Ken is serious, even pleased with the possibility. Which is, to no one's surprise who knows the US Champion, quite a sincere and compassionate thing.
Masters may not exactly be in touch with how the 99% live... but Ken cares strongly about giving every stalwart warrior their shot at fame and title, especially when it boosts his cred and draws viewership to his channels and Blu-Ray series.
"/Hell/ yes." Ken fistpumps once and mugs for the camera when she accepts, and extends one formidable fist Senna's way, obviously looking to follow it up with a fistbump. "Let's not just do it, let's knock this thing out of the -park-." One thing's for sure: win, lose, or draw, plenty more people will know her name, after this.
Senna is serious, for sure, and so she returns the fist-bump in the spirit it was intended. Then she kind of glances back at her spot. Shit, none of that stuff is worth very much. "'sec," she says, and turns around, walking back to her spot, gathering a few things.
As she turns to leave, she pauses, then looks across the lot to a rather serious-looking young boy--probably about 13 or so.
"Oi, Jose. All this shit's yours now. I know you been using it when I ain't here. So don't pretend. Just don't forget, this'll still be my place when I get back, so you gotta move it out by then." Signs of her not being quite as hardass as she professes? Jose merely nods, not wanting to draw attention to himself too much.
"Aight, Masters. I'm yours--for the King of Fighters."
Log created on 15:41:09 07/30/2017 by Ken Masters, and last modified on 01:22:07 08/05/2017.