Match of the Millennium

Description: Junko's made a reputation for herself as a brash, standoffish fighter. Her teammate Chevy wants answers. But she might not be ready for all the new questions that pop up along the way...

[JUNKO]
It's been a little over a month now since Junko was forced out of her village. Though her uncle had tried to reassure her that participation in this strange contest would be a good experience, he'd also made it clear that she didn't have a choice. And since it was his word as the new head of the clan that was the only thing keeping her from being exiled permanently, the young miko was left with the options of doing what she was told or being cast out for good.

Not that there would be much of a difference. She lived on the outskirts of the village in what could charitably be considered her own house. In truth it was more of an old shed where the hunters would store extra supplies. Her uncle had tried to get her to stay with him in the clan compound, newly rebuilt all the bodies and destruction she'd caused were cleared away, but after the first couple of incidents where she woke up with another charred corpse at her feet and no memory of what had happened even his authority wasn't enough to keep her safe.

Five long years had passed since then. Five years of isolation and loneliness. Sometimes people would come and leave food or fresh blankets or something of that nature, always at her uncle's behest. None of them stayed any longer than they had to. Others would come to hurl insults at her, demand answers that she couldn't give them. Always from a distance, always afraid of her retribution.

To say the transition from her previous life of endless solitude to this strange atmosphere of upbeat comradery has been rocky would be something of an understatement. The notion that people wanted to talk to her at all was a dramatic shift, one she didn't really know how to handle. Her withdrawal from society had been forced, it's true, but after years of living with the curse she had brought down upon herself Junko had come to realize that it was for the best. Her temper was volatile and her tantrums often deadly. She had little control over the malicious hatred that flowed out from the monster intertwined with her soul.

So, when confronted with the optimistic friendliness of her new team she had panicked and lashed out. A wild dog snarling and snapping at the hand extending a scrap of food. That is what she must look like to most of them. Ungrateful, vicious, feral.

She had hoped that it would be enough to drive them away, convince everyone to just leave her alone. They were safer that way, shielded from the danger they didn't even know she posed. It was how she had managed to survive with her sanity intact all these years. There could be no more blackened bodies lying at her feet if she kept everyone far away.

But, her conversation with Rei had forced her to reassess that choice. He had argued that she was simply giving in to her demonic tormentor, allowing it to manipulate her. It wanted her alone and miserable, abused her guilt to drive her into isolation where it could subtlely chip away at her resolve.

And, while she was still trying to process that piece of weighty advice, another person had come in with their own wrecking ball to jumble her thoughts up all over again. Lyraelle, or Lady Darkheart as she called herself, self-professed former demon queen. She had her own take on the whole possessed by an evil spirit situation, one which flies right in the face of the xian's wisdom.

Stop fighting it. Just give in and do what comes naturally.

An absurd notion, to be sure. Or was it? Fighting back against the demon has brought her little more than misery. Sure, by taking responsibility for her foolish choice she has preserved the lives of others. But, thus far, she hasn't received even a single kind word for her sacrifice. Why worry about the fates of those who would happily see her dead?

"Nrgh!"

Junko snarls in wordless frustration as she drives her fist into the empty air in front of her. The punch is sloppy, her form off in a dozen little ways that would have her former sensei shaking his head in disappointment. It's been years since the last time she properly practiced. There seemed little point in keeping her training up once her body had healed enough for her to function normally. All it did was serve as a reminder of what she had lost.

Now she's hoping it might help her focus, provide an outlet for all the pent up aggression brewing inside the cauldron of her tormented soul.

Standing at the center of a small clearing near the edge of the park, the miko tries to work out her issues in the only way she knows how. Her slender body flows through a series of brutal katas, each movement resulting in an explosive surge of motion. While Southern Dragon style has just as much beauty and grace to its movements as any other martial art, Junko's anger is clearly reflected in her practice. Every kick is delivered with a furious snarl, every strike punctuated by a violent growl.

Under normal circumstances, she would have discarded her shirt for such physical exertions. Though summer has come and gone, the autumn chill has yet to fully set in and putting her frail body through its paces is sweaty work. But she is far from home, no longer secluded amongst the boughs of long forgotten forests, and despite her best efforts to impress upon people that bothering her is an unhealthy life choice she has managed to draw an audience.

Perhaps as a side-effect of her well-loved teammate's broadcast - and the very pointed exclusion of the miko from Ichika's fight breakdowns for two rounds running - Junko has become the object of some vicious gossip. Throw in her flagrant disregard for the safety of the spectators and her open hostility towards darkstalkers displayed in her last match and you have a recipe for plenty of trouble.

Though no one has yet managed to actually accost her, mostly due to the presence of an eight-foot tall axe-wielding minotaur standing between her and the onlookers, there are plenty of jeers and insults being hurled her way. She's done her best to ignore them but it's pretty clear from her clenched teeth and angry movements that the last few treads of Junko's temper are starting to fray.

[CHEVY]
As it happens, Chevelle Beaumont had decided, much like Junko, that she could stay cooped up in the Team Thunder headquarters for only so long. It's a great place, as training accomodations go, but the airy Southerner misses sunlight and fresh air. Metro City might not have either in abundance, but... the park is about as close as she can get.

So off she went, with a bright blue tracksuit, her buckets full of water, and her pole on her shoulder. At one point in her training with the New Fighting Generation, carrying so much weight around had been a bit of a chore. Now that she's dedicated herself more wholeheartedly to her craft, it feels like less of a burden with each passing day.

Of course, Chevy's departure from the compound comes with some strings attached in the form of a yellow imp named Dodge. The little guy shadows along behind Chevy as she jogs, blocking out shots for some eventual B-roll footage whenever it comes time to put together another promo package for Team Thunder.

It won't be long in her jog, though, that Chevy starts to hear the jeers and insults flying towards her teammate. Her pace slows, as she squints her eyes to get a closer look.

And then the hayseed remembers her conversations with Ichika. And how, for one moment in the previous day, #IHaveNothingToSayAboutHerOpponent was trending.

Drawing in her breath, she turns back to Dodge. She motions for him to follow, as she takes a long path -around- Junko rather than engage her head-on.

It... isn't avoidance, though.
It's a strategy.
And the effect will become obvious when one particular loudmouth's jeer cuts off in mid-sentence.
The loudmouth snaps a hand to the back of his neck, finding it... thoroughly soaked, somehow.

"Give it a rest, sugar. She's workin' some things out."

The splash of water Chevy had thrown, and the hushed whisper afterwards, weren't intended to distract Junko -- but just short-circuit the loudest and most belligerent voice. In fact, after the smile she offers to the loudmouth, she raises an index finger to her lips, hoping to keep the distraction to a minimum. It works -- mostly -- and the white noise from the crowd starts to take a more positive upswell.

It's with that backdrop that Chevy begins making her way over to Junko. No longer jogging, she raises her hand to her teammate -- as she's sure the firebrand will notice her before she gets into comfortable speaking range.

Dodge gravitates over towards Zander -- not that the generally mute imp will have much in the way of conversation.

Chevy may be making up for that in a moment, though. "Hey. Daidouji-san." The redhead's voice is cheerful and uplifting. Which may be a -little- unsettling as she's speaking in an odd mix of Japanese and Southern drawl.

"Ha jime ma shi-te. Chevy des."

She even gives a little bow, once she's close enough. Water sloshes around, and yet, none manages to splash its way out of the buckets.

"... I ain't learned the word for 'teammate' yet. But it's nice to finally meet ya."

[JUNKO]
Chevy's interference seems to come at just the right moment to keep things from hitting the boiling point.

While the forecast had not promised anything like a cool afternoon to enjoy, the sweltering heat radiating from the small clearing is several degrees above even the expected autumn weather. The difference is stark enough that when Chevy makes her way past the crowd she finds herself walking face first into a wall of unnatural heat that washes over her in a wave.

The source of this sudden sauna isn't hard to identify. The air around Junko has started to waver and distort like a mirage, her frustration bleeding out into the world around her as a palpable force. Thin wisps of neon fire interlaced with ribbons of dark black corruption flicker around her strikes as she goes through the angry motions of her practice, contrails of raw malice streaking through the air behind each punch or kick. While it's impossible to know just how long she's endured these jeers it's pretty clear that she's about to snap.

Junko almost doesn't notice the change in the atmosphere as her teammates throws a literal bucket of water on that building bonfire. She's too wrapped up in her own thoughts, waging a desperate internal battle against the rage threatening to explode out of her in its usual dramatic fashion. Zander might be able to stop her from actually killing any one but several people are about to get sent on their way with more than a few minor burns.

The water bender's approach does not go unnoticed, however. The miko's ability to detect heat is not limited by what direction her eyes are physically pointing - one of the very few advantages her new sensory perceptions offer. Assuming that one of the peanut gallery has somehow managed to slip past her furry guardian, Junko completes her current form and then pivots on her outstretched foot to whirl around and face this interloper. The scarlet candle flame that had been dancing gently around her hands erupts into a miniature bonfire as she draws back a fist, ready to deck this foolish heckler halfway across town.

The sound of her name spoken in a cheerful manner makes the girl pause, her expression melting from a vicious snarl into something closer to confusion. Her fist remains drawn back, cocked like the hammer of a gun ready to fire at any moment should she feel compelled to follow through with her initial plan of belting this newcomer into next week. But, she does listen first which is probably the most significant display of restraint she's shown yet.

Chevy's attempt to greet her in her native language earns a new expression from the miko - contempt. The pale-haired girl's nose wrinkles up like she just smelled something foul and her snarl turns into a deep scowl. After a moment the flames snuff out and she lowers her fist, arms crossing over her chest as she regards the American with glowing cinders in her eyes.

"Nihon-go ga anmari jyouzu ja-nai."

The bow is not returned. Looks like she's about as pleasant as reports have indicated.

Junko's gaze flicks sideways to the buckets, picking up on the sound of water instantly. Her brows furrow almost until they touch and her stance shifts into something more aggressive again.

"What do you want, gaijin?"

Her own pronunciation of English is almost comically bad which makes her insult somewhat ironic. But she did have to learn an entire new language in the span of a month, one which she isn't particularly keen on using except when necessary. Yet another point of irritation to add to the growing list.

[CHEVY]
Chevy could tell that folks were keeping their distance -- but she'd assumed it was just because of Zander standing guard. As she'd gotten into speaking range though, it quickly became more obvious that it wasn't just fear of the minotaur that kept people at bay.

She can feel the sweat starting to bead on her forehead even before Junko speaks. And yet... she remains steadfast in her belief that there's always room for more friends in this world. Big cities like Southtown, Sunshine City, and Metro City: they're so good at providing opportunities for stuff to do, but they can be so impersonal and divisive. The mentality of the people down in Corona Row was a big eye-opener. The idea that sharing could be a -bad- thing is... almost anathema to the southerner.

She twitches slightly. She doesn't know enough Japanese to catch that Junko slighted her Japanese. But she's a good study of body language.

It's... getting -uncomfortably- warm, now. Chevy had hoped to get some sun and fresh air, but the temperature's reminding her a bit too -much- of sweltering Pitt County summers now. She wrestles with the zipper pull on her track suit for a moment, pulling it down and fanning herself.

What does she -want?-

"... Well, I wanted to say 'hey.' You want some privacy? Or me to chase these rubberneckers away?"

Urgh. If only there was a way to deal with this heat, Chevy thinks to herself, as she rests her hand back on the pole.

And then, she tilts her head slightly.

And snickers, a little bit, to herself, as she lowers the pole. She nudges both her buckets together along the pole, the water splish-splashing within. Now, with both buckets in the center, she draws in her breath, furrowing her brow in concentration.

The next little trick she does is something Junko might be able to appreciate more than the crowd.

For the water cools rapidly -- turning to solid ice in a matter of seconds.

And the -mist- that spills off the surface of the ice starts to make the temperature a bit more tolerable for the waterbender.

"All in all, Daidouji-san. Was wonderin' if you could use another friend. 'Cause the way I see it, it sucks bein' a city where you don't know no one." She smiles -- the kind of smile a person can hear. "And now you know someone else, yeah?"

[JUNKO]
Junko's eyebrow visibly twitches at the response, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her fancy white shirt hard enough that they threaten to tear. Her lip peels back in a silent toothy snarl, jaw clenching as she struggles to maintain her composure.

Just how many times must she go through this same ordeal? Is there some sort of conspiracy at work here? Did her uncle create some sort of elaborate ruse to expose her to constant harassment in order to force her to learn control? What madness could possibly compel these people to keep trying the same thing over and over again? Precisely what does she have to do before they get the point?

The miko remains silent and furious for several seconds, her mind racing as she tries to think of a way to drive this nosy 'teammate' away without resorting to violence. Despite how effective that had proven to be against Ichika, it had left Junko with an emotional wound that refused to heal. What she had done was low, beyond dishonorable, but at the time she had thought it a necessary measure to protect the girl. Now, she is no longer sure that is the right path to pursue.

But by the kami are these people making it hard for her to hold back.

Chevy's display of her own power proves effective at cooling her down but the sudden spike of cold throws fuel on the already volatile bonfire. The fire-wielding miko actually takes several steps back from the cold mist, falling into a martial stance as if expecting some of that frigid water to come flying at her. Surely that must be the real reason this woman approached her, an attempt to lure her off guard so that she might pit the element that Junko most fears against her before she can respond!

Instead, the water bender offers more words. And after listening to them, Junko rather wishes she had thrown the ice at her. It probably would have been less painful.

Another offer of friendship. Another kind soul just trying to help. Another person that just doesn't understand.

The miko flinches at those words as if slapped, eyes going wide momentarily before squeezing closed. Slowly, her aggressive posture relaxes, arms dropping down to her side where her fists gradually knotting into tight balls. The girl's head tilts down until her chin is almost resting on her collarbone, loose snowy bangs drifting down to form a curtain that obscures her eyes from view.

"Nande...?"

Junko's voice is soft, almost as whisper as she utters that single word in her native tongue. Even if Chevy doesn't recognize the word, the raw emotion contained behind it is easy enough to interpret - pain. The kind of suffering that doesn't come from any physical injury but rather a ragged festering wound in the heart.

In contrast to the gentle tone of her question, Junko's entire body tenses up. Her fists clench even more tightly, the girl's unkempt fingernails digging into the skin of her palms hard enough to draw trickles of blood. Her shoulders start to shake with the intensity of the turbulent feelings welling up inside of her, threatening to erupt like a dormant volcano.

"Nande?!"

The question is asked again and this time there is no possibility of failing to hear the suffering behind her shout.

Junko lifts her head to snarl at the other teenager. Fire swirls behind her crimson eyes, a brilliant cherry red glow that makes them blaze like circles of molten iron. A fresh surge of intense heat ripples off the miko, a blast of scorching wind intense enough to overpower even the frigid mist for a couple of seconds.

But there is something else in her eyes besides fury and flame - tears. Strangely the moisture gathering in her eyes doesn't seem affected by the blazing aura of heat, twin rivulets of unambiguous pain running down her pale cheeks. That pain fills her voice, the girl's emotions clearly threatening to overwhelm her in more ways than one as she demands an answer to a question that has continued to plague her for many sleepless night.

"Why do you all keep doing this to me?! What must I do to make it clear?! You do not understand...! I can't...!"

Her voice breaks, unable to finish what she was about to say. She glowers at Chevy for a long moment before jerking her head to the side, to prideful to acknowledge her disgraceful display.

"This isn't fair..."

[CHEVY]
It's... not hard for Chevy to read the signs Junko is putting out: a twitching eyebrow, a snarling lip, a backwards recoil. It's a clear repudiation of the advance offer of friendship and comradery. It just seems like incongruity to the farm girl. She holds her position, out of uncertainty -- not wanting to make the situation, however it is, worse.

Uncertain of herself -- or how to respond to her teammate shouting incomprehensible words, she turns her attention downwards to something she has a better chance of understanding. Superheated air blows off the surface of her icy buckets, laden with moisture that instantly crystallizes into a cooling mist. The technical details of such aren't ones she understands -- but the -results- are ones the waterbender is learning more and more about with each passing day. That it offers a respite from the heatwave -- at least so far as her hands and forearms are concerned -- is a welcome change all the same.

She looks up again, to see Junko driving fingernails into her flesh. To see her... -hurting- herself, rather than... try to communicate.

And Chevelle frowns. Not because she's being shouted at. But because she can empathize with that pain. Maybe not that pain -precisely-, no. But she can remember times where she really did feel like... shutting everyone else out. And she can remember times when all people wanted to do was help her -- and she didn't want that help.

She just wanted her Paw back.

All it takes is seeing the tears for Chevy to know -- or at the very least, *believe* -- that she's right about that.

Why do you all keep doing this to me? What must I do to make it clear? Good questions -- but perplexing ones, given the complete lack of context. And yet...

And yet the answer's right in front of her. Chevy's only offered friendship. And that's what's... making it painful.

The hayseed's realization comes out in the form of a surprised chuckle. It was accidental -- but it could be -incredibly- insulting to those of an Eastern upbringing. Or it might not! The point is... she keeps talking afterwards.

"It really ain't that hard, Miss Daidouji. I'm here askin' you: You want me to get out of your hair? You want me to leave you alone?"

With condensation dripping off her forearms, and sweat dripping from her brow, she cracks another smile.

"I mean, for the record, I ain't mommickin' you. You done punched Ichika because she was tryin' to make friends. That alone ought to hate you for that. But I refuse -- I ain't room in my heart for that."

She lets her breath catch. She lets the heat waves carry the mist up to her nostrils, lets the mist soak into her lungs.

"... I don't wanna hate you. But I can pretend. If it makes things more, uh... -fair- for you. If it helps you think you're sparing me from more pain."

Chevy gives an awkward smile. Still keeping her distance. Still respecting that distance.

[JUNKO]
There are a lot of responses Junko could have expected to her emotional outburst. In Japan, such displays would be considered shameful, even childish. Personal problems are not things to be aired in such a public manner, certainly not shouted so loudly half the city probably heard. If her uncle was here he almost certainly would have slapped her for that behavior, rebuked her for dishonoring the clan. Even if she is effectively a pariah, she's still the daughter of the former family head and should act like it.

Her short time amongst the Westerners had revealed them to be an extremely bizarre lot, in that regards. They had no problems shouting at each other in public or engaging in what should be private moments of affection like a bunch of exhibitionists. Even if she couldn't see the details, there's only so many things two people could be doing with their heat pressed up so close it blurred together. So perhaps her emotional rant might not be met with quite the same derision as it would back in her village. Perhaps the girl will get angry and yell back. Maybe she'll be frightened off and give Junko what she wants.

Instead, Chevy laughs at her.

The response is so unexpected that it takes the miko completely off guard. Her eyes go wide as she turns to stare at the other girl in surprise, mouth hanging agape in shock.

That moment of incredulity gives the Southerner the time she needs to elaborate, nipping a building blossom of red hot fury in the bud. Chevy poses her questions, her drawling accent and strange dialect making it difficult for the foreign visitor to make out precisely what she's saying though the meaning is clear enough.

Word had spread about her betrayal of Ichika's trust. That isn't terribly surprising considering what Lyraelle had revealed about the presence of cameras throughout their base. No doubt her vicious attack was a matter of public record by this point. It would explain the crowd of angry onlookers.

The lack of contact with her would-be friend since the incident was proof enough that her plan had worked. Ichika had been thoroughly discouraged from trying to befriend her again and, it seemed, so had most everyone else since no one but the mentors had tried to bother her afterwards. She had succeeded. Painful as it was to reflect on, that one moment of suffering had spared the entire team.

Except it hadn't, apparently, because here was someone else coming along to tell her that all of her efforts were for naught.

Junko slowly falls to her knees in the grass, a soft sob slipping through her fingers as she brings them up to hide her face.

For years she's tried to pretend that the fires in her soul had cauterized away her ability to feel anything but rage. Every person who came to her with offers of friendship or seeking understanding was driven away, distant relatives and former childhood playmates, wise old sages hoping to share their philosophies and simple farmers with their practical wisdom. All driven away with flame and curses on her lips, each leaving another scar on her heart.

And the reward for her noble martyrdom had been loneliness.

Every day she awoke alone, knowing there would be no one there waiting for her when she crawled out of the pile of ratty furs that was her bed. Her breakfast would be taken alone, a humble serving of rice and perhaps some berries if she had been lucky enough to stumble across them in the forest - assuming she had anything to eat at all. Entire weeks often passed without offerings and though she could sustain herself on the supernatural energies of her demonic soulmate it didn't stop the hunger from gnawing at her. And after hours of solitude she would finally be able to pass out again, only to be gripped by whatever soul-wrenching nightmare her guilty conscience could dreg up from the darkness of her memories.

To say that her existence has been one of abject misery hardly does the matter justice. And now she finds herself thrust into a new place, a new community, full of helpful people eager to salve all of that obvious pain with friendship, happily pouring entire boxes of salt into the open wound they can't even see.

It isn't fair. She doesn't deserve to be tormented like this with the promises of something she just can't have. Nor is it the fault of those who dangle that hope tantalizingly in front of her. They just want to help. And all she can do to reward them for their kindness is repay it with pain so that they don't suffer an even worse fate.

"I can't do this any more...!"

The scalding waves of heat radiating from the miko steadily begin to die out, her anger being drowned somewhat literally in the tears that she can't seem to hold back.

Behind the two girls, the crowd of onlookers has gone deathly silent. Almost two dozen people stand in a loose semi-circle around the small clearing now. Some watch the scene unfold with obvious zeal, phones held aloft as their cameras eagerly capture the drama unfolding. Others stand in respectful quiet, concern and empathy for the poor girl's anguish evident on their faces. At least a few look ready to bolt, among them the man that Chevy had chastised for his insulting jeers.

Zander watches the scene unfold with narrowed eyes, his grip on the towering great axe tight, ready to intervene quickly should something disastrous happen. Thus far nothing good has come from Junko's emotional moments. The presence of half a dozen black scorched patches of fur on his monstrous body are testament to that.

"I don't want... you to hate me... but... but.. I...!"

[CHEVY]
It'd bothered Ichika. Bothered her a -lot-. And that's really all Chevy needed to know to consider this thing with Junko to be A Situation.

Chevelle has always looked after Ichika. She's the youngest fighter in the NFG, and not by a little. And she's a little dynamo who wants to share her Truth with everyone. So Chevy knows that... encountering someone who -conceals- her Truth at every opportunity must be... frustrating. Like fire and ice.

Chevy looks down at her buckets. It might be tough for her to -reach- Junko. But... she's seen Junko share so many pieces of herself, here and there -- in her fights, in her interactions with others. Chevy... 'gets it,' to some very small degree. And Junko is giving her just enough words to make *some* sort of sense when coupled with her telltale actions.

Chevy draws in her breath. The ice chills faster -- a cold breeze whips against her unzipped track jacket, sending goosebumps rippling through her flesh.

When she speaks next, though, it's not to Junko -- but to the bystanders.

"Hey y'all," she starts softly. "I know this is public space, but... would y'all mind givin' us some time together?"

She smiles with a mix of hope and sadness.

"I mean, I ain't sure, but I think she's afraid she'll melt the flesh right off your bones if ya make her mad."

... YEP, that got the eyes of the nearest bystanders to widen.
And it seems that's all the warning they needed to NOPE right on outta there.

A little white lie never hurt anyone. Sweat beads up on her forehead, the drip momentarily paused. Forgive her, Ichika.

She turns back around to face Junko, remorsefully. Okay, white lies -do- hurt her, but only a little, she amends.

And now... with Junko crouching down in the grass... Chevy starts to pace closer. Her hands are still shoulder-width apart, the icy buckets trapped between them. It's the least threatening way to carry the weapons -- but also the one that provides the waterbender the most comfort against the heat. And -- thankfully -- even that starts to taper off.

Chevy smiles as she recognizes -that-, at least.

"Ain't got no chance of that."

By the time Chevy gets within ten feet of the cooled-off Junko, a thin skin of frost is starting to form on her hands and forearms. In any other circumstance, it might be painful. But right now... the chill is enough to keep her balanced.

Chevy looks past Junko, thinking back for a moment. "... It isn't fair, no." The drawl, she realizes, was part of the problem. And if she's going to be opening doors -- risking embarassing the poor miko further... she's got to be more open. More easy to understand.

"You won't hurt me," she states, kneeling down and resting her pole and her frosted hands atop the buckets.

"And I'll leave the minute you ask me to. But until then, Miss Daidouji, I'm stayin' put."

The redhead leans forward, tilting her head to get a better look past that snow-white veil of hers.

"So... anything you want to talk about?"

[JUNKO]
Though Junko says nothing through her soft sobs she still listens. Chevy proves herself to be as caring a person as the miko had imagined, going so far as to disperse the crowd of gawking onlookers. That the Southerner uses the very real threat of being burned alive to do so stings a little but there's no arguing that it isn't effective.

The little pockets of heat quickly begin to withdraw, some with incredible haste, while the stubborn few who try to remain are chased off by the big blob that is Zander. Perhaps there's actually a heart under all that grumpy muscle or maybe he just sees this as part of his bodyguard duties. Either way, Chevy soon finds herself alone with the distraught priestess at the center of the clearing.

Junko shows no overt signs of hostility as her would-be teammate draws near. Even the presence of the frigid buckets doesn't seem to upset her as it had before. Or it might be that she's simply too emotional to notice them.

Five years of repressed loneliness and remorse has been dragged to the forefront of her awareness not once but twice now. Rei had managed to suppress the evil beast feeding those hateful flames with his own supernatural powers so that he might talk to the girl directly, bypassing the shield of fury which she had been hiding behind all that time. Lyraelle had simply ignored it, challenging the miko's bluff with direct questions that scythed through everything she considered reasonable.

And though Chevy could not have known much about the torment that her young teammate was enduring, she has dragged that suffering out into the spotlight yet again with her simple desire to help despite everything Junko has done to push her comrades away. Knowing full well the danger she was putting herself in, even with her handy water buckets at the ready, this complete stranger was willing to risk her safety just to try.

For years Junko has smothered any thoughts of ever dragging herself out of the pit of misery that was her life. The mistake she made was too grave, the consequences of her foolishness too permanent to ever believe forgiveness was possible. She deserved to be alone, had earned every single moment of agonizing solitude. It was the mature way to think about it. Her father had always taught her that it was important to take responsibility for her choices. That much, at least, she could do to honor his memory.

'You won't hurt me.'

Another lie; one born out of ignorance rather than malice but a lie nonetheless.

Chevy has no idea the amount of danger that she's putting herself in by simply daring to extend her hand in friendship. The demon has made it exceedingly clear the consequences of allowing such a bond to form.

And yet, since that encounter with the xian, her inner monster has been surprisingly docile. Suspiciously so, in fact. Simply suggesting by bringing attention to its existence Rei had managed to drag the demon out of its slumber, actively force it to take action against him. But when Lyraelle had gone poking around about with questions of a similar nature there had been nothing but a faint stirring. It was almost as if the creature was hesitant to show its true nature. Or - dare she even think it - afraid?

Perhaps being exposed and so handily bested had made it rethink its priorities. Or maybe Rei was right and all of the power that the demon had over her was simply in her head.

A thought that was as terrifying as it was infuriating. But one that opened up new possibilities. Junko has been agonizing for days now over whether or not it was worth risking the lives of her new team by taking the chance that she had the power to suppress her furious soulmate. But with another person once again bravely stepping forward to offer that tantalizing thread of hope what else can she do but reach out and take it and hope for the best?

It takes Junko a minute or two to reach the point where she can talk again, slowly pulling the disparate threads of her composure back together. She lowers her hands away from her face, wiping at her eyes with the back of her sleeves while sniffling like a small child. For all that she tries to put on the tough girl act, Junko's always been a sensitive girl at heart. The burden of carrying this curse alone for so long has eaten away at her resolve, slowly but steadily, like termites chewing away the foundation to a house. She might look rock-steady and fierce but all it takes is one well-placed shift to bring that house of cards crumbling down.

Chevy's final question goes unanswered for a long few moments, the miko's gaze fixed to the ground as if unsure how to respond.

"Before I tell you anything... I have to warn you."

The miko's gaze shifts sideways away from the other girl, her shoulders slumping. Now comes the moment of truth, when she finds out if that little thread of hope is going to withstand the crushing weight of reality. It's pretty clear what she expects the outcome to be.

"If you chose to... remain and listen to what I have to say... your life will be in danger. I won't be able to protect you from... from me."

Resting her hands in her lap, she tries to hide the fists that clench tightly within the folds of her poofy hakama. Images of her past victims flash through her mind. Though her sight was long since gone before the demon took them, the soul-crushing wails of those who found the charred corpses at her feet were enough to provide a haunting mental image of what they must have looked like.

"Whatever you've seen me do before... it will be ten times worse. I don't know when. I just know it will happen."

Junko swallows hard, trying to keep from breaking down again as she gathers the courage to add one final thing. It runs contrary to her desires at the moment, that overwhelming need to reach out and have someone willing to take her hand. But she feels compelled to do everything in her power to ensure that Chevy understands.

"This isn't a threat. I've... k-killed before. A dozen times at least. So it might be b-better if... if you left now... before you... you..."

[CHEVY]
Chevy doesn't know the half of what's going on inside Junko's head.

Aside from losing her father at a young age, she's had a good life, mostly. Decent grades in school, a large group of sunny-day friends, a mom who wants only the best for her. As teenage lives go, Chevy's has been pretty average and mostly uneventful.

Detractors online go further, of course. She's boring. Plain vanilla. Basic. And yet, those people don't see that Chevy's been an anchor for a number of people in her life. People who, largely, were able to move on only because of the plain bedrock she's been able to offer. She's -helped- people who have felt like Junko before -- though, in a less destructive sense, to be sure.

Her blue eyes tremble, ever so slightly, as she looks back at Junko. She doesn't interrupt -- she lets the girl say her peace in full. Watching each subtle shift, each furtive hand motion. Each relived moment of agony, expressed in interpretive dance.

But then.
Then there's the admission.
That Junko is, at the very least, professing to manslaughter.

It'd be insincere to answer without fully acknowledging that. And indeed, Chevy does lower her eyes in deference, drawing in her breath. Does that... change the calculus, at all? Does it imbalance the formula? Does it modify what Chevy might feel or say?

No, not really. At least, not in the five or six seconds it takes her to fully, adequately, process the statement.

She lets out her breath... in the form of a mirthless laugh.

And in doing so... the frost layer around her hands turns clear and glossy. Water drips from her hands into those buckets. For with the reduced temperature, and the lowered barriers... maybe it's not necessary any more.

"We're in the same dorms, Daidouji-san," she admits with a friendly smile. "I'm in danger from you every time I lay my head down."

She shakes the last drops of melted frost from her fingers, brushing the cool moisture across her brow. Still taking her -some- time to cool back down, if the redness of her normally-pale complexion is any indication.

"I've seen you fight. It's... a whole thing, I know. But Vito's Restaurant is still standing -- and that's good, 'cause Tony there owes me twenty bucks."

She looks down, smiling at the buckets before her, their white frost patina receding upwards with each passing moment as the water temperature normalizes.

"You're a good person, Daidouji-san. And I'm willin' to take the lumps if I can talk to you like this."

The buckets are just slightly more chilled than ambient temperature now. Temperature-wise, Chevy is... well, just like anyone else again.

"I want you to know you can talk to me about anything. I... know it's hard right now. To open up."

She shrugs her shoulders.

"So just take your time. Tell me now, if you want to -- or maybe later. Tomorrow, or next week. But -- if you don't mind my sayin' so..."

She pauses, just a moment.

"Team Thunder's got a place for everyone. We look out for one another. It's just what we do."

[JUNKO]
The air around Junko is still warm but it's less of a 'standing next to a raging forest fire' heat and more 'sitting a little too close to the hearth'. Uncomfortable, maybe, and it would probably still be a bad idea to touch the girl with her bare hands; Ichika had learned that lesson the hard way. There doesn't seem to be an imminent threat of an emotional volcanic eruption any more at least.

The miko's trembling words trail off before she can finish her warning. Her gaze remains pointedly fixed on the ground, unable to muster up the courage to look at Chevy now that part of her deadly secret has been laid out on the table. She can guess what the reaction will be. Fear. Anger. Judgement. There's usually a lot of screaming and threats as well. It's been a long time since she dared to talk about the cancer growing on her soul but she remembers that part well enough.

The water bender breathes in at the revelation and in contrast Junko goes completely still, refusing to even breathe as she awaits her judgement. She can feel the scrutiny being levied against her in those brief moments of silence that follow, all but hear the words of condemnation that are fated to follow. No one sane would want to grow close to a professed murderer. Why give her the chance to add another name to her list of victims?

This was a mistake.

Junko squeezes her eyes closed, jaw clenching as the anxiety threatens to drive her mad. It might be only a half dozen seconds she has to wait to hear the words of rejection spoken aloud but to her it might as well be an eternity of suffocating tension. Even if she knows the outcome, it still hurts every time and that kind of pain isn't something she's ever learned how to fully prepare herself to endure.

Chevy laughs again. The sound makes Junko flinch, her shoulders bunching up like a puppy that's been abused preparing to get kicked again. There isn't any humor to be found in that laugh. After all, what could be funny about discovering she's been living with a ticking time bomb for the past month?

The sound of dripping water breaks the fragile silence next and the miko all but curls into a ball, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. No doubt her reaction to water was a well known phenomenon among the team by now. Surely Ichika must have warned the others about her weaknesses, prepared them to defend against her wild outbursts. Chevy had come ready to deal with her flames and now she has a good reason to unleash that pain upon her.

Terrified and miserable, lost in her own nightmarish expectations, Junko almost doesn't hear the words that are actually spoken when they finally come. For a few seconds she doesn't seem to react at all, her mind racing as she processes every little word and interprets them in a dozen horrible ways. It's only when the Southerner gets to the crux of the matter, expressing her opinion of the sort of person sitting in front of her, that the miko finally responds.

Junko's head lifts, her eyes wide with incredulity. She stares at Chevy in silence as she keeps on going, putting herself on the line for someone she barely knows for no apparent reason. Gods, how long has it been since someone called her a decent human being? How long has it been since she stopped believing that was true?

But it is the final statement that drives home the stake in her heart. Emotion wages war across Junko's face, her lip trembling as she struggles to keep from bursting into tears again. She furiously hides her eyes behind one of her sleeves, wiping the moisture away before she can embarrass herself further.

As much as she would love to simply take that offer at face value, it seems she has failed to impress upon her teammate the true nature of the danger she faces should she walk down this path. She cannot - she *will* not - accept even an ounce of that good will without making absolutely sure that Chevy understands what she is getting herself into. The few shreds of honor she has left demands it. More importantly, it's what her father would do in her shoes.

Junko sniffles again, attempting to smile, but the expression looks forced and out of place. Her head shakes from side to side a couple of times, rejecting the good will proffered to her.

"You do not understand. What you have seen until now... my exhibition matches, my... ambush of Kasumoto-san. They were displays of ferocity and flame. Wild and unrestrained by anything resembling discipline or dignity, perhaps, but each time I have been in control."

"Well," she admits after a moment of hesitation. "M-mostly in control. My temper is difficult to keep in check at times. But I have been... myself."

The girl lifts her head just far enough to reveal her eyes to Chevy, looking at her sidelong with irises aflame with faint scarlet energy. Her lips press together in a somber expression, trying to think of the best words she can use to impress upon the other girl the severity of her choice.

"What will come for you is nothing nearly so cuddly or restrained. If you choose to hear me out, you place yourself in the path of a force of nature. My flames, my rage, my tenacity. They are but pale shadows of the death that will seek to destroy you."

She trails off again letting Chevy absorb that information for several long moments.

"Do you... still want to take that risk... for someone like me?"

[CHEVY]
It's true that Chevy hadn't wanted to have this sort of conversation with Junko at first. She knew the vibe was off. She knew she would be at a loss, dealing with someone as standoffish as Junko had appeared. But, the more she saw of the miko and the way she handled situations, the more hope she'd had.

Even still -- she didn't remember any warnings about water. Even if she was told, well. Water is water, and Chevy's used to carrying some on her at all times. It's a little late -now-, at any rate.

She recognizes the attempt at a smile for what it is -- and gives her own in response. It's just part of the waterbender's nature.

"Mm-hmm?"

She responds -- remembering the small vocalizations she'd heard Southtown locals use in Japanese to keep conversations rolling smoothly.

And then Junko lifts her head. Showing a better look at her eyes, through that silken white veil. And Chevy nods back, looking into those eyes as best she can.

"I mean, of course you're right."

She pauses, pressing her lips together in the face of the stark heat. Maybe not -as- hot -- but still a bit moreso than the rest of the park.



"I probably don't understand," she admits. There's the -hint- of another one of those laughs coming, but it never fully emerges.

"But, if it's as you say, a 'force of nature?'"

Chevy smiles, overflowing with optimism. The air around her cools a good five degrees or so.

"And you, all by yourself, you've been keeping it at bay all this time, yeah? Then it ain't got a chance in heck against us."

Chevy rocks back onto the side of her legs. Seiza isn't something she's built for -- but she refuses to change her eye level overly much right now, when there's so much at stake.

"You got two -- wait, no, -three- masters of natural forces on the team. And if it's more spiritual help that you need, there's a master of, uh... 'on-mo-jutsu', who'd be sure to help out."

Chevy folds her hands in her lap. The airflow around her fluctuates as she draws her breath in again -- a little cold at first, but then that tapers off. And then she lets it out... allowing Junko a bit more control over the temperature.

"So there's lots of people to help you on the team. You ask me if I'd take the risk -- of course I will! And so would the teachers -- they picked you for a reason."

Chevy brushes her forelocks out of her hair again. She can feel herself starting to sweat again -- but it's okay. It's something she can live with.

"But now I got somethin' to say, and somethin' to ask you."

Chevy crosses one hand over the other. Giving herself a bit of focus, so she can say the words correctly.

"I want you to know you're not alone."

Her thumbs press together.

"And I want to ask -- are you gonna feel okay asking for help if you need it?"

[JUNKO]
Well, there it is.

Twice now she's put forth the dangers of trying to be her friend. There aren't many other ways she could have been as plain in her warning. The threat of death, a horrible burning demise that could come for her at any time, and not a hint of hesitation. A clear and unambiguous answer to her question.

And it's more than that. Throughout the conversation Chevy has done everything in her power to placate the miko. She went out of her way to make it clear that she wasn't there to judge or chastise. Even now, in the spite of learning of the girl's murderous past, of her attempts to warn off one of the last people she has yet to alienate, the American is trying to make her feel safe and comfortable.

Nor have her efforts gone unnoticed. Junko cannot see the radiant smile being directed her way but she can hear it reflected in the other girl's tone of voice. Cheerful optimism. She'd almost forgotten what it sounds like. Or maybe she'd just stopped wanting to hear it once it became clear that the future held nothing for her but misery. Better to live without hope than to suffer disappointment over and over again.

Now, after years of wallowing in that fathomless pit of despair, she hangs on Chevy's every word. For every danger, every problem that she had laid out the upbeat girl has a ready answer. Ultimately, it all sort of blends together into a general sentiment of 'teamwork and cooperation' but the way she presents it is compelling. That or she's just desperate enough to grab hold of any lifeline thrown her way, no matter how flimsy. At the moment, she's not really sure she cares which is true.

A final statement of comradery brings with it a heavy question. Junko looks down again quickly but not quickly enough to hide the fresh tears that start to fall, her composure cracking again. She starts to wipe at her face but ends up burying it in her hands, still distraught by something.

"I'm scared," she whispers, shoulders trembling with the emotion she can no longer contain. "I'm so scared! What if I'm making the wrong decision? What if my selfishness gets someone killed again?"

[CHEVY]
Relentless optimism is easy for someone who hasn't faced grim reality.

The little girl had just lost her daddy. Keep your hopes up, little girl. You can do anything if you set your mind to it. Don't live in the past -- you still have your mom. You have so much to live for! You have to pick the pieces up and move on...

Empty platitudes, devoid of meaning. The truth is... adults never really had the answers. What common ground is there for her with people who -hadn't- lost a parent at such an age? How can it be phrased in a way that makes even the tiniest amount of sense?

It was a senseless death, anyway. Chevelle eventually came to understand that on her own -- the adults didn't really help her so much as nudge her towards the shallow end of the pool.

But now she finds herself on the other end of the table -- helping someone with cope with a tragic loss. The answers are always so simple... until they're not.

Scared?
You've got friends to help you with that.

What if I'm making the wrong decision?
You've got friends to help you with that, too.

What if my selfishness gets someone killed again?
Tough... luck, kid? You... -had- friends to help you with that?
That doesn't really work.

Chevy can feel the desperation, the despair... the the need for a lifeline. She wants to reach out -- to hug her, to make it right. And yet, the sweat on her brow makes it so clear that it would -not- end well for her. Not without a full suit of cragged, icy armor that would throughly defeat the point. Ichika was lucky to walk away with mere bandages.

Chevelle draws in her breath. Condensation turns to frost once again, on the lips of the twin water buckets.

"It's natural to be scared. That... that's your brain figurin' out how to keep it from happening again. You... "

Is this an empty platitude, or something that can actually help her, Chevy?

The redhead looks down, pressing her thumbs together.

"You... can *use* that fear to help lead your way through life. To try and make it work."

A grunt of dismay; a grimace. That's... almost as bad.

She sighs, looking off into the distance for a moment. She puts herself in Junko's place. Thinks about... what her -fear- truly is. A sign... that she needs help.

And maybe that's it.

"... Because the other option is facing that fear alone. You could be in a city, you could be all alone in the countryside, or on top of a snowy mountain. You -- alone -- against whatever you face."

Chevy coats her hand with frost -- her skin turning an even paler shade of white.

And she slips closer -- reaching out. She'll try to take hold of Junko's hand, if she can.

"I don't wanna think about you facing anything like this alone, Miss Daidouji."

[JUNKO]
Sometimes even platitudes can be enough to make a difference.

The fact that anyone cares enough to say something at all, to try and meet her halfway instead of cursing her name or fleeing in terror, is a positive change. Ichika had tried, in her own way, to reach out. But it was too sudden, too aggressive. Like walking up to a stranger and talking to them like you've known them for years to try and make them feel welcome. The intent might be good but the method was lacking.

Or perhaps she just wasn't ready yet. Junko had been thrust into an unknown world despite her wishes to simply disappear into the deepest hole she could find. She was angry and irritable, lashing out at everything out of petty spite fueled by a supernatural malcontent. Ichika had caught her off guard and that had left her frightened and confused. And with nothing but a demon to whisper its poison into her ear the response to that had been somewhat inevitable.

The situation she faces now is different. Chevy had not come to her with an agenda. There was no hubris or posturing in the way she had introduced herself, no attempts to win the miko over with bribes or trickery. She just wanted to know what she could do to help, even if the answer to that was 'go the hell away'.

As it turns out what Junko really needed was someone to listen to the cry for help buried underneath all of the rage and fear. While her problems may be somewhat simple in nature the answers to the questions she poses are far from easy, as her empathetic companion quickly discovers. Even now she doesn't fully understand the nature of the skeletons in the girl's closet, nor comprehend the full depth of the trauma she has endured.

It's obvious that Junko is alone and has been for so long that the very idea of turning to others for help is an entire ordeal of it own. But more so than putting trust in others, she seems to be struggling with the notion of believing in herself.

And how could she, after the things she has done? The long years left alone to wallow in her guilt and regret have torn away any semblance of self worth. Perhaps that was the result of the demon's subtle influence, a steady erosion of her soul through isolation and despair as suggested by Rei. More likely she simply did it to herself. With endless days to do nothing but sit and think about her mistakes, it didn't take a supernatural gargoyle perched on her shoulder to convince the lonely girl that she would have been better off dead.

And therein likes the true irony of her tragedy. For as much she would have happily fallen on a sword to end the nightmare of her existence, to do so would invite yet more destruction at her hands. Her body is a vessel, a prison of sorts, an edifice within which that which she had despised so much is now trapped. To end her own life would, in all likelihood, release the monstrosity that tormented her and her alone back into the world to take its fiery revenge upon all mankind. Which is assuming she even -can- die, a theory that has been put to the test by fire and blade countless times and always with the same result. In many ways she herself is as much a prisoner as it.

And so, Junko listens to Chevy's bumbling attempts to scrape together the answers to that depressing fate. There is no malice or contempt towards the hackneyed wisdom that her would-be friend reaches for. After all, she's been looking for a satisfactory answer for years with nothing but misery to show for it. That someone is willing to try at all is a comfort of sorts, even if the result ends up being the same.

And that's the key, isn't it?

Junko slowly looks up, her fingers splaying open to reveal eyes red from grief instead of fury. She feels the cold gathering long before Chevy's hands begin to glisten with a protective layer of frost, watching the other girl with something akin to childlike innocence. There's no telling what to expect at this point. All she can do is wait and trust.

The sensation of frigid fingers brushing against her own very nearly breaks her calm. The miko's eyes go wide, her expression settling somewhere between panic and pleading. Her breath hitches, shoulders going tense, ready to pull away at the first sign of history repeating itself.

Ichika had foolishly braved the danger in order to prove her resolve, using the corrupt flames like a tool for her own ends. It had felt wrong, like a violation of sorts. Even when she had tried to pull away, the girl had held on tight, refusing to let go until she had her way.

But, where the ambitious swordswoman had been forceful, the hand that reaches out to take her own is anything but. Despite her instinct to flee, something keeps Junko rooted in place as the cold fingers brush against the surface of her skin. She watches in hesitant silence as that smear of cold blue energy engulfs the blazing red of her own hand. The touch is unsettling at first, the cold clashing with the girl's unnatural heat. The seconds tick away like molasses, every moment laden with the looming threat of some imminent catastrophe.

Only it never comes.

After the initial period of shock, the two opposing forces go back and forth for a time, each threatening to overwhelm the other. Frost melts and drips down their arms in slender chaotic rivers only to reform and renew the gentle barrier. Absent Junko's fiery temper to stoke the furnace of her soul, the warmth of her proximity is almost pleasant when dampened by the bender's talents.

Emotion once again threatens to overwhelm the girl as she stares at the display unfolding before her. A simple thing, the feeling of another person's touch, and so easily taken for granted. How many times a day did the average person get to experience that pleasure? A hand shake. A hug. A pat on the back. Such an easy thing to overlook, yet so painfully obvious when that basic connection is taken away.

Slowly, Junko reaches her other hand up towards the foreigner's cold fingers. Her arm trembles as it moves, hesitating at the last moment, the girl filled with a sudden irrational fear that she might shatter this fragile illusion of hope by acknowledging it. If she were to reach out only to find that this is all nothing but a cruel dream she's not sure her heart could survive intact.

When her fingers finally close down atop Chevy's own, curling with trepidation around real tangible proof that her solitude might finally be at an end, her lip starts to tremble. And this time no amount of concern for appearances is enough to stop the grief from flowing out of her.

A ragged sob wracks the girl as she clings to Chevy's hand, the kind of desperate cry of raw emotion that someone can only utter when they have endured more than they can bear. The kind of pain that cannot be expressed with fancy words or elaborate metaphors, only demonstrated through pure uninhibited despair.

For all of the wild fury and fearless aggression that she has shown, the miko's grip proves to be surprisingly fragile. Though she hangs on tightly, squeezing her slender fingers around Chevy's hand with the tenacity of a drowning woman clinging to be bit of life-saving flotsam in the middle of the ocean, there is little actual strength behind the gesture. Not because she's afraid to hold on too tightly but because she simply doesn't have the power to do so.

Another illusion created to drive people away. Another gesture of trust given as the curtain is peeled back on her weakness. A silent cry for help amidst the storm of tears.

[CHEVY]
When it comes to showing her feelings, Chevy is definitely a hugger. But, as someone who's been pretty receptive to trends and customs, she can also tell that it's considerably less common among Japanese people. And even moreso, she surmises, among Japanese people accompanied with their own heat index figure.

But even amongst Japanese people, Junko's aversion to human contact was... alarmingly powerful. Pushing people away wasn't just a reaction to her: it evolved well beyond use as a mere defense mechanism. No, this wasn't defensive, it was actively *offensive* in ways that Chevy hadn't encountered in someone her age before.

And now, as Chevy looks down to the hand, so soft and fragile, clinging to her own, she realizes... words probably aren't what she needs right now.

Chevy squeezes Junko's hand back, pressing back with strength enough for the both of them. Not so much to cut off circulation, or to come off as oppressive or domineering. To let her own body heat join Junko's in an attempt to ward off the waterbender's frost. It's a little game, in some sense, having the waterbender oppose the chilled water that she herself put there -- but if it helps provide some comfort to Junko, she's all for it.

"We'll lend you the strength you need to fight this, Daidouji-san. We'll do this together, alright?"

Chevy might not even know what that entails. But she can't imagine that the concerted efforts of Team Thunder would fall short in this regard.

[JUNKO]
As Chevy surmises, physical displays of affection are rare in Japanese society. Such emotional moments are considered to be a private affair, something to be shared between two people away from prying eyes. To create a scene and draw outside attention or to show favoritism that might leave others feeling awkward is frowned on. Even more so this restriction applied for someone like Junko, the daughter of a her entire clan's head family. Every little gesture she made, even as a child, carried with it undue amounts of social import. She always had to be careful, mindful of how her words and deeds might be interpreted.

But none of that matters any more. Her family is dead, her clan in tatters. She stands on foreign soil in a strange land she barely understands because the one person left able to tolerate her existence found it more convenient to send her out alone into the unknown rather than deal with the storm of resentment her presence created.

No one cares how she feels, about her. There are no more expectations of refined social grace for her to live up to. No more disapproving frowns from her mother to rebuke her frequent slips of decorum. No more gentle reassurances from her father to calm her easily disturbed heart. Nothing but ash and regret now.

But, if anything, that special reverence for such quiet and intimate moments makes her desperate grip on Chevy's arm all the more meaningful. Whatever care she have had for social decorum has been cast aside, crushed by her pressing need to simply feel the touch of another living thing. Were the girl to brave the miko's flames and embrace her here and now, Junko would happily bury herself in that simple gesture.

But, even as overwhelmed as she is by all of this, enough of her instinctive wariness remains to keep the miko from acting on that desire. She dare not ruin this precious moment, one which she has long believed she no longer deserves, by reaching for more. This simple touch is enough. It has to be.

It takes several minutes of quiet weeping for Junko to be able to speak again. She pulls a hand away from Chevy's cold fingers, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. The other remains tightly entwined around the bender's frosty wrist, drawing strength from that connection. Her breathing slowly calms as she sits quietly and though she refuses to release her frail grip, her eyes are downcast in shame.

"I am sorry," she says, her already soft voice reduced to a wispy murmur from strain of venting her grief. "You must think me terribly childish after such a pitiful display."

The miko goes quiet again, contemplating her next words in solemn silence. She has all but announced through a bullhorn her intention to break the rules of the game imposed upon her by the demon. Some sort of response seems as if it should be forthcoming, as it had when the xian threatened to reveal its presence. A wild outburst of fury and flame, the crushing pressure of its terrible will upon her soul driving her to madness. But as she turns her gaze inwards, searching for some sign of malicious eagerness waiting for her cross that final line there is... nothing.

What that means, she cannot say. Not knowing what to expect fills her with fear. For all her kind words of support and the comforting touch of her enchanted skin, neither Chevy's sentiment nor elemental powers will save her should the monster wrest control. But, as Rei had told her, perhaps she just needs to accept that risk. Chevy has made her choice, now all she can do is honor it.

Junko takes in a long slow breath, her eyes closing as she gathers up her courage. Talking about this is going to be unpleasant. She buried the memories of her mistake a long time ago; or tried to, at least. The only person she's ever openly spoke with this about is her uncle and that had been almost five years ago.

"I suppose the best place to start would be the beginning. You spoke in Japanese when you introduced yourself, Chevy-san. Are you perhaps familiar with onmyouji?"

[CHEVY]
The girl could use a hug -- it's pretty dang obvious. But... Chevy knows Ichika pretty dang well too: when Ichika sets her mind on a goal, she stops at -nothing- to achieve it. And she knows that Ichika *tried* this whole 'appeal to emotion' before -- and got burned for it, quite literally.

So Chevy decides to just start with handholding and go from there.
After all, she dare not ruin this precious moment.

For the time being, she's happy letting Junko determine the pace at which she wants to proceed. And if that means several tearful moments, spent in relative silence... she's okay with that. Zander and Dodge are watching over them. With calm, controlled breaths, she's able to keep herself cool for Junko. She can be that steady anchor, her tether to a more reassuring, comforting world.

Her patience is rewarded as the miko draws in a long breath.

"Yeah," answers Chevy. "Just... stuff I picked up on my Japan. Hoping to make friends." The redhead gives Junko a small smile.

The word 'onmyouji' takes her a moment to process. She narrows her eyes -- and then looks up into the air. It looks as if she might not know the word -- how *would* a gaijin know that word, anyway?

She slowly turns back to face Junko, a perplexed expression on her face.

"... is that fightin' with spirits, or fightin' with strips of paper?"

Ayame just told her 'yes' when she'd asked that before. She wasn't sure if she was being mommicked or not.

[JUNKO]
"Fighting with...?"

Junko seems taken aback by the question for a moment. But after thinking about it, she can understand the confusion from an outsider's perspective.

There is a lot of nuance to the system of principles that govern her way of life. Onmyoudo incorporates elements of Taoism, Shinto, Chinese astrology, Feng Shui, alchemy, and a number of other esoteric concepts that seem to have been largely cast aside by modern society. Even her short exposure to modern Japanese culture showed only a lingering cultural awareness of such concepts with most of the people she talked to paying only lip service out of ingrained tradition. It isn't that surprising that, out of everything that Chevy could have taken away from being exposed to it, she would see only a small fraction of its practical applications.

The miko lifts a hand to her face again, not to wipe away tears this time, but to stifle an amused chuckle.

"Those are aspects of the duties of an onmyouji, Chevy-san, but not what defines us."

The girl chews on her lower lip, considering how much time she should spend on this subject. There is literally years worth of teaching she could pass on but most of it is not relevant to understanding her story. On the other hand, this is the first chance she's had to talk to someone about herself in a very long time. Simply talking at all in a conversational manner is surprisingly pleasant. And, if she's honest with herself, the longer she can delay getting to the sad part of her story the better.

"To clarify," she says, starting with the basics, "an onmyouji is someone who practices Onmyoudo."

Junko indicates herself with a hand rested on her chest.

"Like me. As for Onmyoudo... it would take me a very long time to explain it in detail. The important thing to understand right now is that it utilizes a system of astrology, alchemy, Shinto, and Feng Shui to create magic. This magic is often expressed by placing an enchantment on ofuda... the 'strips of paper' you mentioned earlier."

There is a brief pause as Junko once again runs a mental check on her soul mate, searching for any signs of displeasure that might indicate its reluctance to broach this subject. Still nothing. The calm before a storm? She still can't tell. But, since there seems to be no push back yet, she decides to up the ante a little to see what happens.

Pulling her hand away from Chevy's stabilizing grip for a moment, the miko holds up her right arm and carefully rolls up the sleeve of her fancy white shirt to the elbow. Despite the horrific damage that Chevy has no doubt seen the girl's arms take as a result of channeling her cursed flames, Junko's skin is immaculate and pale, not even the faintest sign of scarring or blemish to stand testament to torture she constantly endures in order to fight. What stands out even more, however, are the thick white strips of paper plastered to the surface of her forearm.

The ofuda that Junko wears are simple in design - little more than rectangular pieces of parchment about two inches wide and three times that long. The outer edges of each ofuda have been painted a bright red, each line pain-stakingly drawn to be perfectly straight. Arranged in a vertical column down the center of the charms are a series of dark black symbols - kanji - each one representing a concept or expression.

Once her arm is bare, Junko quickly returns her other hand to the water bender's cool wrist while holding up the exposed symbols for her new friend to see clearly.

"Like these, ofuda are most often used to create protective charms, though more advanced onmyouji can create a wide variety of magical effects."

[CHEVY]
Truth be told, Chevy technically doesn't know the word 'onmyouji'. She knows the word 'onmyoujutsu'. At first, her brow furrows in confusion -- the 'onmyou' part was right, wasn't it? Then she remembers that she's not being graded on this, and breaks into a smile.

"Oh, I don't know much at all," she admits, laughing softly. She's content that Junko is speaking freely now -- and -had- been more interested in the topic.

"On-moe-doe," she repeats, wrinkling her nose. "On-myou-do." She's listening, trying to make sure she can get the words correct.

Her familiarity with the subject, prior to Junko's introduction, had consisted largely of watching the fights of Ayame Ichijo during the Rumble in the Streets tournament. She'd known about the strips of paper, and she'd known about the sorts of spirits that had appeared at roughly the same time. It's not much of a stretch to realize that the two are associated.

"Oh, yeah. Ofuda..." It's a word she's read more than heard; her pronunciation of the 'f' sound as a hard 'f' is typical for a new speaker of Japanese. It isn't till Junko lifts her sleeves that she realizes how the enchantments figure into -her- style.

It isn't until Junko rolls up her sleeves, revealing her perfect alabaster skin, that Chevy sees how it figures into her predicament.

"Oh...! So that's how. You're... using it to protect yourself from the... heat?"

She grins, looking back at Junko's hand. She's pleased that Junko is still using her as an 'anchor' to make sure her temperature doesn't rise sharply -- and makes a point of drawing in her breath, and keeping herself cool for that reason.

"But your actual fire attacks aren't, um... using these, are they?"

[JUNKO]
The foreigner's poor pronunciation makes Junko wince a little internally. This is the first time she's met a non-native speaker trying to wield her language and the thick Southern accent doesn't do Chevy any favors. But, she bites her tongue this time and just nods non-committaly. It's the effort that counts, right? There's other things for her to worry about, regardless.

Namely, Chevy's misinterpretation of what she is seeing. Again, the miko can't blame her for getting it wrong. She can't speak Japanese well so there's no reason to expect she can read the elegant kanji painted onto the ofuda which literally spell out their purpose.

Junko shakes her head slowly, casting her gaze down again as if ashamed of something.

"N-no, Chevy-san. These ofuda -are- wards of a sort but they do nothing to shield me from the flames. They are not meant to protect -me-. They exist to protect -you-... from me."

The miko lets go of Chevy's hand, again reluctantly, long enough to point to a series of large kanji running down the center of one of the charms. The same symbols can be found repeated across each and every one of the ofuda attached her to arm. How much the Westerner understands about magic she doesn't know but the fact that there are so -many- of the same charm should indicate the level of caution involved in performing their function.

Starting at the top of the ward, Junko points at the first symbol. To Chevy's eyes, it would appear to be an upside-down Y with a pair of small accents on either side of the vertical line. If she's particularly observant, the pictographic nature of the design might be apparent.

"Fire."

She moves to the next one down, a slightly more complicated character with two parts.

"Kami. God. Spirits."

Her finger slowly drifts down, moving past a couple of the kanji which have been prominently situated in the center of the ofuda. Those two symbols are both clearly bigger than the others and likely more important judging by the large circle drawn around them. Instead, Junko directs attention to the bottom of the charm, tracing a path through several much more complicated kanji. She pauses, searching for the right word in English to explain their meaning.

"Forbid...? No, contain? Re... restrain!"

Which only leaves the two symbols she passed over.

"That... fire. It...it isn't mine,Chevy-san."

Junko's jaw tightens visibly and she goes silent for several long seconds. Five years. That's how long it has been since last she uttered the name. Though she would happily do just about anything to forget the name of her tormentor, it would be a less impossible task to stop seeing her own reflection in the mirror. They are entwined, she and the demon, bonded in a way that even the gods would be hard pressed to undo. Its presence is ever-present, a constant pressure against her mind even when silent and brooding.

Speaking this one single word proves to be the hardest thing she has done in a long time. Fear grips her heart anew even as she considers it. There is power in names and this name in particular has a great deal of power. The demon has left her be, for some reason, until now. Surely, by invoking its name she is all but begging for it to awaken and take offense.

And yet, she must. After living in constant terror of the monster's retribution, she has to know just how far she can push this newfound courage. It might well be the final thread that snaps, unraveling this lovely dream of a blossoming friendship and a reprieve from the endless days of blistering loneliness. But, as before, there is only one way to find out.

Swallowing hard, Junko squeezes her eyes shut and takes another deep breath. Her finger slowly starts to retreat back up the surface of the ofuda, the girl clearly struggling with the act of even pointing at the large encircled symbols. When she speaks again, her voice is even softer than before, filled with a strange mixture of reverence and hate that makes it hard to tell if she's uttering a blessing or a curse.

"Suzaku...!"

[CHEVY]
Chevy bows her head, quietly whispering the words "Gomen nasai," as close as her native brogue will allow. She doesn't know Japanese, and what she knows of the customs was primarily learned on-the-fly with Ichika's help. But... while she had heard of ofuda before, she hopes she can be forgiven for assuming they were to protect -Junko- and not -other people-.

But, while she isn't familiar with the language, she can pick up patterns. As soon as the miko's fingers trace the symbol for 'fire,' she starts recognizing it elsewhere, in the most obvious places. Kami is ... a little harder, due to its similarity with the other religious kanji, but she gets enough to nod in mute understanding.

It isn't long before she looks back to Junko, hoping her face can fill in the gaps of meaning for the word 'restrain.' It's like a game of charades, only without the helpful interpretive gestures -- and vocabulary isn't her strong suit.

"Oh, restrain..." she echoes, nodding slowly as she turns her attention back to the ofuda. She puzzles that together as Junko works her way down the ofuda. For a few moments, she's lost in thought there, piecing the concepts together. Fire, god... restrain. Restrain the fire god? Her brow creases -- and she looks up to Junko again for guidance.

And she notices the tense expression. It's hard -not- to -- it's the same sort of paralysis that held her tongue for what seems like minutes, hours. Chevy winces in empathy -- but with Junko's hands apart from hers, she feels... helpless now. As if the poor girl might be consumed in flame if she -were- to continue speaking. She might not be a mind reader -- but it doesn't take much to draw the connection.

The final two symbols aren't even that complicated, Chevy thinks, as she follows Junko's finger. It's not -difficulty- that poses the issue. It's what they mean.

And then ... it's said. Soft as can be.

Chevy had told herself to hold back before.

But the girl is on the verge of crying again -- vacillating between reverence and hatred.

Restrain. Fire God. Suzaku.

Chevy draws in her breath.

It doesn't make perfect sense in her head yet.

But Junko's fear is real.

And that's why Chevy leans close, and wraps a lightly-frosted arm about the girl's shoulders.

Not just to suit Junko's needs. But also her own.

She doesn't -dare- repeat the name again, knowing just what an impact it had on the girl.

But it's hard not to think of 'fire' and 'god' as something benign, knowing just what Junko was capable of. And what she's -admitted- to.

"Daidouji-san... I'm so sorry. That's... that's a whole -lot- for someone like you to take on. Like, -way- too much."

Chevy can't help but think: How could all of this have been forced on someone so -young?-

[JUNKO]
Junko is clearly on edge, all but trembling in place as she utters the cursed name. Her eyes remain tightly shut, her shoulders tense as she waits for the inevitable response. Calling out to a spiritual entity is far different than the mundane utterance of a mortal's name. Simply speaking that word aloud is a magical incantation of sorts, the name itself laced with raw power by its very nature. That the being she is referring to is literally trapped inside of her own body, instead of existing in some vague sense out among the universe, makes her call all the more foolish.

There is a brief stirring from within her soul. The miko's breath catches and she goes utterly still, a wave of pure dread draining every bit of color from her pale face. She doesn't speak, doesn't move, paralyzed by fear as she waits for the inevitable consequence of her terribly folly. There is nothing she can do even if she wanted to. If Suzaku has taken offense to being revealed then Chevy's only hope will be that the demon chooses to merely maim her as a lesson instead of burning her to a crispy chunk of charcoal.

Surprisingly, the demon-bird stirs only for a moment. She can sense its awareness pass over her mind, feel the terrible force of its divine presence scrape into her being like red-hot blades. Its mind merges with her own briefly, flooding her with the familiar touch of its eternal rage but mostly a sense of curiosity. Like a tiger that has been roused from its slumber by a foolish mouse, it regards her with a sleepy predatory scowl.

And then it goes back to sleep.

Stunned, Junko continues to sit motionless, refusing to breathe. This has to be some sort of trick, a cruel game being played by the demon. It had been very clear about the consequences of telling others about its existence. Horrid, soul-scarring nightmares had haunted her for years, visions of death and destruction all intrinsically tied to the idea that she might ever reveal this monstrous secret. And... nothing?

Chevy's sudden touch almost makes the miko jump right out of her big poofy pants. She squeals girlishly, flinching so hard that she tumbles sideways into an ungraceful sprawl. Instinctively, a hand thrusts out to push the foreigner away, scarlet fire leaping to her defense and she isn't fast enough to catch herself before that cursed flame is pressed into Chevy's shoulder.

Ichika had tried to explain to the farm girl that there was more to Junko's power than just fire and heat. She had called it 'wrong'; corrupted. And she was right, probably more so than even she could have predicted. But, hearing about it is one thing - being exposed to that twisted Hellfire personally is an eye-opening experience.

The pain of being touched by that scarlet fire goes beyond the physical. Yes, there is burning and heat and everything that entails but those bizarrely feel like more of a side-effect than the main event. Something that can only be described as primal hatred and resentment floods into her. The emotion is so raw, so pure, that it is incomparable to anything she has ever felt before. It's as if the very concept of hate has been condensed into a palpable force and pressed against her soul like a hot iron.

The touch lasts only for an instant. Junko realizes her mistake almost instantly and yanks her hand back with such vehemence that one might mistake her as the one who just got burned. Pushing back to her knees, the miko's stares wide-eyed at Chevy, her hands reaching out as if to help then freezing in midair as she realizes that she will only make it worse.

"Chevy-san...! No, no, no! I... I didn't mean to...!"

[CHEVY]
Chevy's been keeping her own thoughts and feelings locked away behind a veil. It's out of care, not dishonesty. She knows that her own emotions are fickle and capricious, and she knows that expressing what's -immediately- on her mind might be unhelpful at best, downright -disruptive- at worst. Chevy's cared for folks long enough to know that she should keep her mouth shut until she can give herself time to sort through her feelings.

Junko's scarlet flames cut through that in two ways. The first is the emotional level -- the one Chevy has prepared no defenses against.

How -could- she have? Sure -- Ichika may have warned her. But Chevy knows that the prodigy perceives the poetic beauty of reality in ways that far surpass her own shallow understanding. What Ichika describes as corrupted -- that could be anything.

Feeling it firsthand? Yes, that's very different. To have another "voice" suddenly shouting, loud enough to drown out her own internal chorus. Chevy claps her free hand to her temple, eyes dilating in panic as she reels backwards from Junko at the speed of thought.

The second way is the physical flames -- a fire that lances into her at a completely different pace. Scarlet flames scorch the polyester of her track jacket, melting it on contact, filling the air with wisps of acrid smoke. The thin layer of frost melts into drops of hot water that dribble down her arm and shirt as she leaps to her feet, panic taking hold of her instantly.

If it hadn't struck right through to her mind first -- if it hadn't been such a thoroughly -foreign- and -vile- influence -- she'd have taken longer to recognize the -flame- as separate from Junko's own radius of heat. But -with- those corrupting thoughts, she reognizes the flickering flames on her jacket as the threat they are, and rapidly bats at the flames with her sleeve.

"AAAAAH...!" she shouts as an afterthought, several instants -after- the flames have already been smothered out. It's not until then that her eyes return to normal. Her shoulders double over as she pants for breath.

And only after -that- does she remember where she is. What she's doing. -Who- she's been trying to reach.

"Junko..." she stammers, realizing what's happened. Her track jacket looks like a mess -- but she doesn't even seem to care about that.

"I... I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to scare you, just...!"

Is -this- what Junko's been holding back on?!

[JUNKO]
When Chevy turns back to face the crouching miko she's all but an emotional wreck.

The girl's face is contorted into a barely restrained mask of grief and self-loathing, eyes wide and smoldering like freshly stirred coals even as fresh tears streak down her cheeks. Trembling hands shake with fear, the mismatched mix of pale fingers and charred skin still hovering indecisively in the air where they had frozen. The offending hand that had unleashed that brief blast of hellish flame looks like it might have actually come away worse for wear than Chevy's jacket, burned badly enough that it looks like she tried to hive-five the afterburner of a fighter jet.

Junko barely notices the pain of her own injuries amidst the worry for her team mate. She knows full well what sort of nightmarish torture it is to be exposed to the raw power of the corrupted god - after all, she lives with it every day. The wards all but wall-papered to her body do much to suppress Suzaku's primal rage. Even with her specialized training, no mortal could endure exposure to that kind of unfiltered emotion for long.

The constant effort of maintaining her mental fortress against the onslaught of that fury is taxing, however. Few people alive could truly appreciate the amount of discipline and willpower the miko displays every day simply by refusing to give in and become a conduit for that malice. Her efforts are not perfect, as evidenced by her constant frustration and snippy attitude. But the fact that she has a literal pissed off god fused to her soul and -only- throws the occasional temper tantrum is nothing short of miraculous.

Chevy is no spirit medium, however. She doesn't have the same training or experience in dealing with such supernatural energies. To have exposed someone to that poisonous hatred, even for a moment, is a fate she has tried to avoid inflicting on anyone without good cause. She has used it in her battles because she has little choice. That malicious power had been unleashed against Ichika in a cowardly attack meant to drive the girl as far away as possible - to spare her the wrath Suzaku has promised to unleash on anyone she allows to get close.

Chevy, however, had done nothing to earn those flames. No, worse than that. She had been actively trying to comfort the miko, bravely facing the dangers involved by simply getting near Junko in order to help her through this difficult time. And the reward for her kindness is senseless pain, courtesy of one stupid walking disaster.

"No...! I'm... I'm sorry...! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean..."

Of course it would end this way. What did she think would happen? That some random person would walk up, offer her a hand, and all of her problems would go away?

Stupid!

%ntFoolish!

After all this time she still hasn't learned a thing. Still making the same mistakes, still letting her selfish emotional desires put others in danger. Barely keeping it together day by day and yet still willing to lower her guard and let an unwary innocent blindly walk into the furnace.

"I'm sorry...! I'm sorry!"

Junko's wispy voice repeats the apology like a mantra, as if trying to convince herself that her words have any meaning. It's not like she can take back the flames, retract that experience from Chevy's mind. She'll have that memory forever now, that seething distilled malice lurking in the dark recesses of her mind. It isn't the sort of thing you simply forget with time.

After a few moments, her trance suddenly breaks. The girl's eyes dart back and forth, her breathing growing erratic and wild. She looks like a frightened rabbit about to bolt, desperately searching for somewhere - anywhere - to be other than right here in this moment.

[CHEVY]
It wasn't long ago that Chevy had been wholly and truly enraged. Zarine had slashed her so hard that she was bleeding. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. Her body was screaming for help. Her mind, filled with urgent klaxons. She truly felt then that she was going to -die- if she didn't take immediate action.

But even then, those enraged thoughts were her own. There was no crosstalk, no 'other' voice in the sacred temple of her mind. There was *no one* else but her.

This is different. It was temporary, fleeting -- and yet, wholly unnerving. The experience left her shaken, doubtful, and terrified -- and it felt if, for the moment, the whole park had grown distant and empty.

But then she'd seen Junko before her. Trembling -- almost frozen in time. Her fingers, now charred. The moment had context -- it wasn't a day ago, it wasn't a bad dream -- it was mere instants earlier.

I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.

The echoes of her own words, rebounding back to her. They don't normally do that -- it's just that the sanctum of the mind feels... empty and cold, with the blazing presence gone.

No...! I'm... I'm sorry...! I didn't...

Another voice. But this one isn't in her head the same way. It doesn't sound as intense -- it seems far away.

But the redhead can see that Junko is right in front of her. And she is -panicking-.

Chevelle stares back at that charred hand. The price... of giving in to her urge to grab hold.

It brings tears to the hayseed's eyes.
"No, no, no... it wasn't you, it was..."
She presses her lips together.
This wasn't supposed to happen.

Chevy draws in her breath again. She hears the apology, repeated over and over. She wants to hush her -- say it isn't Junko's fault at all. She wants to shout out. She wrestles with the possibilities, glancing nervously from side to side. To her buckets, to the trees, to the sky above, behind her to Zander and Dodge...

But then ... the timbre changes. The apologies stop. And Chevy's eyes go wide.

It's her chance.

"Daidouji-san... please, stop."
She holds both hands up. Spreading them wide.
"Shhhhh, sh-sh-sh... stop. Come here."
She starts to gesture for Junko to approach her. But then with crossed eyes, she remembers something she'd seen in a movie -- and changes her motion from her natural underhanded gesture to an overhanded, Japanese-style gesture.

"Just... come here. I'm fine. It scared me -- but it didn't hurt..."

She wipes the tears from her cheeks. There's no way to say 'You hurt yourself' without making the situation worse. So she just... doesn't.

"Please. Daidouji-san. I didn't mean to scare you. Just... let's talk some more, okay?"

Chevy wants a hug. But it's -her- way of healing. And even in the aftermath of hearing another voice in her head, the compassionate -core- of her self stands out. And that core respects that hugging... might not be -Junko's- way.

[JUNKO]
'Please, stop.'

The sound of Chevy's voice makes the girl flinch again, cringing inwards as if expecting that request to be followed by a blow to the head. Visions of the past swim through her mind, haunting reminders of similar incidents born from her own lack of control. The sobs of her childhood friend writhing on the ground in pain. The screams of her terrified mother upon seeing the aftermath. The furious shouts of the villagers demanding retribution and justice.

A dozen such memories hammer into her, slicing her composure to tattered ribbons. She had been young and stubborn back then. More concerned with satisfying her own need for company and a sense of normality. Each time she told herself it would be different, that she would maintain control. And the result was the same every time.

What excuse does she have to offer now that history has repeated itself? That she didn't know what the outcome would be? That she couldn't have predicted that Chevy would try to comfort her? That she had honestly believed there was a chance for redemption?

Lies. All of it.

Pleasant and comforting, perhaps, but lies all the same. And now look what she has done. Another innocent scarred forever by the touch of an angry god. Another trust betrayed, a bridge burned. And the victim doesn't even have enough hate in her heart to put the blame where it truly belongs.

Junko's hands wrap around her head, fingers both pale and black digging into her snowy hair. She can all but hear the demon's haunting laughter echoing in her ears, mocking her for her stupidity. This was all a big game. It had told her as much those many years ago. A contest to see whose resolve would prove the stronger.

For days now she has been wondering if Rei's brief clash with Suzaku had taken the fight out of the twisted kami, the demonic entity proving uncharacteristically silent and docile as she flaunted its decree against forming close connections. But now it's clear to her. Suzaku had done nothing because it didn't need to. For years it had haunted her with nightmares and promises of destruction, left the burning corpses of those foolish enough to get close to her at her feet, wresting control of her body just long enough to make a monster out of her.

Now, it no longer needs to bother. Her own terror has transformed her into a walking time bomb, forcing her to lash out at the mere possibility of forming anything resembling a familiar connection. Why bother wasting its wrath in flashy displays of destructive fury when she does all the work herself?

The comforting hushes miraculously keep the girl from simply dashing off into the forest despite an obvious desire to do so. Instead, Junko sinks onto her knees, folding up into as small of a ball as she can as if she might simply shrink and disappear. Her head shakes vehemently at the suggestion that she might draw closer again, clearly terrified of a repeat performance to her fiery outburst.

"Baka ja nai no?"

Falling back into her native language, Junko chokes out the question through ragged sobs. It's unclear who she's talking to, even if Chevy can understand the simple question. Is she insulting herself for her behavior or directing that anger at the girl who seeks to put herself right back into the flame after getting burned.

"Baka da na!"

[CHEVY]
Junko's had years to get used to her predicament. Chevy's had... a few minutes. And that bout with the negative vibes in her head has frayed the threads of patience and intercultural politeness she'd been trying to maintain. As an American, she tends to think of people in terms of their first name -- using their -last- name is a conscious choice that she has to keep making. In her desperation to keep the young miko's attention, though, she slips...

"C'mon, Junko... stay with me now, girl..."

They'd been doing so well together, breaking down the barriers between language, custom, and emotion. Chevy had felt like she was making progress -- and she -has-, undoubtedly -- but this one mistake almost upset the whole balance. And if she's not able to bring Junko back, the damage might be irrevocable. It's hard for her to give up -- and made even harder seeing the emotional turmoil that's obviously wreaking havoc on Junko now.

Junko sinks to her knees.
And a moment later, Chevy follows suit. She keeps her hands to her sides, squaring her shoulders. She's doing her damndest to ensure that her non-verbal communication is clear on this point: this conversation is -not- yet over, if Chevy has anything to say about it.

'Baka' is a common refrain.
She doesn't understand the word.
But the utterances fit a pattern.
And she can make sense of that pattern.
"... I think you're bein' too hard on yourself. I ain't hurt."

Inside, Chevy may be a mess. But since her induction within the New Fighting Generation, she's made a conscious effort to ... become more like the water she yields. To flow more calmly. To reflect the peace she wants to see in the world.

And so, she tries not to let her inner turmoil show -- but instead, a peaceful, amicable calm.

"We're fine, Junko. There was a little hiccup. But we're fine now... right?"

Her blue eyes drift to Junko's hand -- but only briefly, before she turns her eyes up to Junko. Her nostrils flare as she draws in another breath. Ice crystals flow in the air between her, flecks of white tossed about by a light breeze. Chevy extends her frost-coated hand forward, palm up. Another invitation.

"Take my hand. We'll get through this, Junko. Together."

Chevy smiles the hopeful, guileless smile she's so good at showing.

[JUNKO]
Junko.

She'd gone years without hearing her own name spoken aloud to hearing it almost every other day it seems. Such a strangely intimate people, these Westerners, to so casually address each other so. At first she had been gravely offended by such overt familiarity. Even when it was explained that this was simply a cultural difference, she couldn't help but feel awkward and uncomfortable to have complete strangers talking to her like an old friend. That many of her team mates went out of their way to address her properly only served as a reminder of how strange it was when they did not.

Despite her atrocious Japanese, Chevy has been noticeably trying to speak to the miko in a way that she finds comfortable. Respecting boundaries that many others, even their so-called mentors, had violated at their own whims. Perhaps they simply didn't know any better but that possibility didn't do anything to soothe her feathers, which were already in a permanently ruffled state. That extra effort that has not gone unnoticed.

So, when the American finally slips back into her own mode of speech, it stands out. The miko's name scythes through the chaos gripping her mind like an incantation, dragging her out of the pity of misery she was desperately trying to sink into.

The sobbing slowly dies down again. Junko's body continues to shudder with silent emotion, her chest heaving from the exertion of the rapid mood swings she's endured. Panic and self-loathing continue to grip her heart like an icy claw making it difficult to calm down. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. It hurts to exist.

Chevy's words touch her as she follows the miko down to the ground, more gentle reassurances. She isn't hurt? That can't be true. Junko had felt that hateful flame flow out of her, sensed the malicious glee of her demon when the teenager had cried out in shock and pain. The scent of burnt cloth and scorched flesh fills the air, a putrid aroma that she will never be able to mistake for anything else.

She's lying. Lying to protect the miko's feelings. Perhaps even lying to herself. Refusing to believe that the person she's been trying to coax into sharing her soul had finally done so, revealing the monster lurking within.

Junko shakes her head again, refusing to look up. Her long white mane drapes over her like a blanket that a small child hides underneath when they want to escape the harsh realities of the world.

She isn't fine. Nothing is fine! How could anything be fine?! She can't even hold a simple conversation without screwing everything up! A little hiccup? What nonsense! She could have killed Chevy! Doesn't she see that?

And yet, for all her denials, she needs to believe that those words are true. That her mistake wasn't another disaster that can't be mended. Her first name is spoken again and that hand extended to her amidst a gentle breeze of cold air. Evidence that there's still a chance to try again.

Disentangling her maimed hand from her hair, Junko extends it slowly forward until it hovers only a couple inches out of reach. The coolness of the frosted air feels strangely pleasant, as does the sound of her name being called a third time. The miko hesitates, blackened fingers curling slightly as she moves forward and then recoiling when they get too close. Then, with a final surge of determination, they dart forward and latch weakly onto Chevy once again.

"I'm sorry..."

Junko's head finally lifts and she shuffles awkwardly back into the position she had been in before, sitting lightly on her knees with her shoulders hunched. Sniffling, she stares at the ground, tired and miserable, clearly drained from the emotional whiplash of going back and forth between hope and despair.

"This is too much for me. I don't know if I can keep control. You'll just get hurt again... like everyone else."

[CHEVY]
Keeping an ice-cold temperature isn't something she's had that much practice with -- in fact, it's one of the latest things the hydromancer had happened to learn about her skillset. And she's still not entirely sure how she does it. But she does know that holding her breath is one method that helps her maintain the focus and control needed to accomplish the feat.

As Junko manages to bring her emotions under control, Chevy's able to relax just a little bit more -- and it's then that she realizes how fast her heart was beating. She feels moisture dripping down her cheek. At this point she isn't even sure if that's her own sweat, or just condensation from one of the many waves of frost floating through the air.

It doesn't matter as much as Junko's reaction. Which is why Chevy lets it trail downwards, only blinking if the moisture threatens to impair her vision. She keeps her reassuring smile turned towards Junko, nodding eagerly to encourage her to reach out. It's a voluntary request -- an invitation that she eagerly hopes Junko will accept again.

"It's alright. It's okay. We're both here -- just talking."

She lets Junko squeeze back -- careful not to add any more pressure than the miko herself adds to the shared grip. She doesn't want to aggravate the singed skin any more than necessary -- though she hopes that the colder temperature can help to ease the burn.

She smiles -- as Junko re-emphasizes the danger to life that she poses. And she nods quietly in return. "Daidouji-san..." she starts, finally calm enough to remember the proper names. "When I started with the New Fighting Generation, I signed, like, ten different pieces of paper sayin' I was okay with that."

She relaxes, slightly -- the ebbing tension made clear in their shared grip. "You've... got a lot more control now. You done... fought people in the ring. Two amazin' fights, against Fadel-san and Greene-san." She chuckles, softly. "And you did a lil' better than Ichika did on that last one."

Chevy already knows her fight with Djamila was ridiculously close. But she wonders how well she would fare against the green-skinned sorceress from New Jersey.

"So it's... somethin' you've gotten a hold of. But like... how long ago was it, since all this started...?"

Chevy gives the best attempt at a reassuring smile that she can -- as she's trying not to be so reassuring it's actually -scary- or anything.

"I'm just... sayin'. You've taken some really big steps. I just... I don't want you to sell yourself short. You're pretty dang strong, you know?"

[JUNKO]
Chevy's attempt to wave away the danger by bringing up the veritable novel of paperwork that they had been effectively forced to sign does not seem like a particularly compelling argument. The miko lifts her head and smiles faintly but it's accompanied by a skeptical expression.

She really doubts anyone knew they'd be tangling with the avatar of a literal god of hate and suffering when they agreed to participate in this contest. She can't just accept that all of her responsibility for the damage she causes is excused by something that simple. Perhaps this is another one of those cultural differences. And besides, those documents only waived the company from liability.

"Hazuki-sensei said much the same thing. That I should let others take responsibility for their own choices."

The problem is the only way to make an informed decision is to -be- informed. And by informing people what she actually is and the type of danger that represents she would be breaking the rules of the demon's game. It's a fiendishly clever Catch-22, one which effectively left her with no choice but to do what she's been doing all this time and drive everyone away to keep them safe from the danger they can't possibly understand.

The miko shakes her head slowly, warding off the praise being heaped on her. Perhaps it looks like she has a measure of control from the outside, and to an extent she does, but all of her fights thus far have been more of a battle with herself than her opponents. The raw hatred of an entrapped god is difficult enough to manage just sitting alone in her room; in the heat of combat it's all she can do just to keep hold of her sanity.

"No... Chevy-san. I appreciate your words but... you are mistaken. Control?" She shakes her head again. "I merely try my best to keep from drowning in the ocean of hate."

With generally poor results. Her temper had already been frayed well before the match with Djamila started and the poor dancer had been on the receiving end of her irritation. As for the gremlin... Chevy probably doesn't want to hear what she has to say about its participation in this contest. If she's kind enough to reach out to someone like Junko, it's almost certain she'll have been suckered in to this foolish modern acceptance of such monsters. No one can be perfect, she supposes.

The question that follows their back and forth about her discipline makes Junko suck in a slow breath and go quiet. Her fingers tighten slightly around Chevy's hand, mirroring the fist sitting her in lap as it clenches into her hakama.

It's all been leading up to this. Her pitiful backstory, the tale of a foolish girl who let hubris take everything good in her life and turn it to ash. Just thinking about it makes her stomach knot up worse than it did on the flight across the ocean - and she spent half that trip puking in the bathroom. Blindness and sudden rapid elevation changes do not mix apparently.

But, there's really no avoiding it. Chevy already knows she's a murderer. Might as well put some context to that story.

"...five years."

Junko's eyes close, the words flowing out her with a soft exhale. She sounds weary, resigned. The burden of this story hangs around her neck like a lodestone.

The memories come flooding back unbidden, always lurking just at the edge of her awareness. Images of people and places she had seen as a child, of smiling faces and beautiful landscapes. People who had loved her, trusted her - and been betrayed by her. Perhaps she hadn't acted out of maliciousness but her stupidity was such that it might as well have been.

"That's when... I tried to save my father from Suzaku. And killed half the clan instead."

[CHEVY]
Chevy can tell that her attempt at levity was either lost in translation or just really ill-timed; she just keeps a self-deprecating smile on her face in hopes of clarifying that she'd meant it as a joke.

The hayseed is... starting to be a bit out of her element. It's one thing to counsel someone her age, or younger, who speaks English, and has some shared frame of reference. Junko... is a new challenge, as her response demonstrates.

"... Well, you know, I'm... I'm fine bein' wrong, if that's what it is. You got a point an' all: I don't know your situation all too much."

She gives Junko's hand a tiny squeeze. "But... I can tell you one thing. You've got more control than you're givin' yourself credit for. To just be able to -function- out there -- that's impressive, Daidouji-san."

Now that she's able to think more clearly, she's better able to stick with the proper honorific. It's... easier for her to think now. And easier for her to focus on keeping her hands frosty, as a comfort to Junko. And easier for her to ask the questions to keep the conversation rolling.

It's just, well, the answers that are difficult, isn't it?

Five years -- that's a long time. Almost a third of Junko's life. And if she's had to deal with it -that- long, no wonder she's so broken up over things. Chevy nods, giving Junko's hand another brief squeeze.

But the next revelation shows how thin the redhead's mask may actually be: Chevy turns pale.

Five years. That means Junko would have been twelve, thirteen? As she puzzles through that, her next thought tumbles free before she can stop herself.

"... So you weren't much older than I was when..."

Chevy's breath catches in her throat, as motes of frost tumble about in her wake.

The situation is similar, but it's also very, very not. Because while Chevy merely -lost- her father at age ten -- it sounds like Junko holds herself responsible.

Chevy's brow knits with concern. Her expression darkens. "I'm... I'm so sorry, Junko..."

Moved with emotion, she sniffs -- barely able to keep her eyes dammed up.

"That's... why... I don't understand. Why... "

Why was she -in- that position? That's question she wants to ask. That's the question she -can't- ask with her eyes watering up like they are.

One hand lifts up, its presence finally required to brush tears from her eyes.

"But... -why?- Why did... why -you?- Why did it fall to -you- to deal with..."

She won't say the name. She knows how much that might hurt. Even if she just said it again.

"What business is there in leavin' a twelve-year-old to handle a -god?-"

And why in the heck is she blaming -herself?-

Chevy breaks eye contact, looking down. "It's... It ain't my place... to judge what your people..."

She trails off, unable to find any -better- spin to place on that particular train of thought.

[JUNKO]
The miko's head remains bowed as Chevy absorbs what she has been told. The emotion in her friend's voice is contagious - not that she needed much assistance in feeling sad about this particular topic. Her hand tightens around the other girl's fingers again, ignoring the burst of pain from her scorched nerves. The only reason she doesn't burst into tears again is fatigue and dehydration.

Naturally, the questions that follow such a revelation cut right to the heart of the matter. Why would a group of people allow a young child to take on such a daunting task? What possible reason could there be to put such a heavy burden on to someone so ill-equipped to deal with the danger? Why would someone in that position hold herself responsible for the tragedy that was all but guaranteed to follow?

Junko slowly opens her eyes and turns her face away from Chevy. The accusation in her voice as she demands answers is misplaced but understandable. She doesn't know anything about her clan, can't understand the circumstances that led to this horrible outcome. But that is something that can be fixed. And it is important that she understand the context to grasp the full picture.

"A long time ago the world was overrun with demons and monsters. In Japan we call these creatures youkai. Strange mysteries. Some are born from wicked emotions or unfortunate tragedy. Others are given life through powerful memories or desires. But, regardless of their origins, all of them are dangerous and possess the potential to cause mankind great harm."

Realizing this is going to take a little while to explain, Junko shifts her position into a more comfortable one. She sits up straighter and takes a deep breath, recalling the various lessons she had been taught as a child. There is an entire library worth of things she could talk about when it comes to youkai. Names, categories, common traits, powers, manners of avoiding their attention or warding them away, the proper words to speak to certain apparitions to prevent them from killing you, how to track and identify different corporeal monstrosities.

Most of that isn't important right now, though it would be far more pleasant conversation to have. Instead, she turns her thoughts towards history and the formation of her clan.

"Most people had little to no defense against such creatures. But, eventually, a clan known as the Hojo conceived an organized system of Onmyoudo and used their magic to fight back. The government recognized their efforts and gave them a special place at court. Over time, the Hojo grew powerful and formed many alliances. When the family had grown too large, they split into several lesser clans - one of which was mine, Daidoji."

"Like the Hojo," she continues, keeping the momentum of her story going. "The Daidoji are spirit mediums. It is our solemn duty to protect humanity against the threat of youkai and other supernatural beings. But, unlike most onmyouji, we use our magic in a different way."

Releasing her grip on Chevy's hand, the miko hooks her thumbs underneath the bright red suspenders looped over her shoulders and slides them down her arms. She starts working the buttons of her fancy white shirt next, starting at her neck and slowly working her way down. The process is impeded by her burnt fingers but she seems to have some experience with this and makes steady progress.

"Some youkai are too strong to be permanently destroyed. If defeated they will simply reform - perhaps the next day, perhaps a hundred years later when no one expects them. The common method of dealing with such powerful demons is to seal them away. Either inside of a sacred stone or perhaps locked away in a cave with powerful ofuda used to contain their essence. But this method does not work on the strongest of youkai, those most in need of being contained."

With her shirt now completely open in the front, Chevy can notice two details. Firstly, the miko's choice of undergarments is quite old-fashioned, her chest bound in a strip of white cloth wound around her torso multiple times like a giant bandage. The sarashi looks thoroughly uncomfortable, her bosom much larger than she might have guessed from outwards appearances. Perhaps this is a technique for keeping everything tucked out of the way while she fights or simply to hide her feminine aspects.

Secondly, and more pertinent to the conversation, Junko's torso is liberally coated with yet more of the red-rimmed ofuda, each bearing the same incantation of protection as well as Suzaku's name.

Junko rests her hands in her lap rather than reaching out for the frost-covered palm again, continuing her exposition without pause.

"In order to deal with such malicious foes of mankind, a new technique was created by the Daidoji: Fuuja Houin. The Evil Sealing Method. By taking the soul of a demon into our own bodies, we trap it, using our life force to reinforce the seal. A youkai thus ensnared becomes a tattoo - the more powerful the youkai, the larger the tattoo."

Now it becomes apparent why Junko decided to start undressing. Shuffling around on her knees, she slowly turns her back to Chevy and with a shrug of her shoulders, starts to roll the cloth off her body until the fabric is bunched up in the crooks of her elbows. Only then does she reach up and scoop the heavy mane of her silver hair aside, pulling it forward over her shoulder to expose her naked back.

What is revealed to the Westerner is a breath-taking example of artistic craftsmanship used to capture the essence of a demonic god. A massive bird of gorgeous red and yellow plumage stretches down from the girl's left shoulder, its majestic wings spread in flight.

Yet for all its beauty, there is something decidedly unsettling about the image. Beneath the wings of Suzaku, the image of a human skull is rendered in screaming agony. Wisps of smoky flame billow out of the bird's beak and spill from its colorful wings, encircling and entrapping the bleached and burnt bones. Though the image remains static, there is a sense of malicious awareness that touches her mind as she gazes upon it almost as if the empty rage-filled eye of the painted god is staring right at her.

[CHEVY]
Chevy didn't -want- to vent all her anger at people who weren't here. But she can see how much the guilt has impacted Junko. And the fact that a society exists with the moral bankruptcy to stake their own existence onto the sanity and control of a twelve-year-old is infuriating. It's enough of a flaw that, for a brief flicker of an instant, a darker part of Chevy is glad the people won't be able to do it again for quite some time.

These are the thoughts one keeps to themselves, generally. And Chevy is glad for Junko's turning away at that dark moment.

She looks down at her hand, holding fast onto Junko's -- and gives her another light squeeze.

"I'm sorry. It's..." She clears her throat. "It ain't your fault. I'm just frustrated at the situation it put you into, Daidouji-san."

She feels moisture starting to dribble down her hand -- and draws her breath back in. A refreshing breeze floats through the air, as frost crackles once more into existence.

She listens quietly to the history lesson, giving small murmurs and nods of affirmation to show she's paying attention. Youkai -- demons. This new information dovetails together with the bits and pieces she'd learned from Ichijo-sensei and her tournament performances. Demons are... useful resources, it would seem, to these dedicated onmyouji.

She's following along with the story so intently, in fact, that she barely notices when Junko slips her hand away. She figures it might have something to do with the story -- and she's not -wrong- about that, per se. "The... Hojo," she repeats, commiting that name into memory. It sounds important.

It's about halfway through Junko's shirt getting unbuttoned before Chevy realizes exactly what's going on. And she remembers that ... there -are- still people around in this park. She casts a look over to the minotaur and yellow imp, standing a fair distance away. She makes a pointed look over to the nearest bystanders -- some of whom just weren't around when Chevy gave her dire warning. And she sees that -some- are starting to pull their cameras out when they recognize the two NFG fighters...

Blood flushes through Chevy's freckled cheeks as she looks back to Junko. She's trying her damndest to pay attention -- and it's fascinating! But she's also working through things in her mind about just how sequestered away from the modern world this miko really is...

"... Oh... right, so... you've got to seal them somewhere, right..." Which explains the ofuda on her arm, and...

Well, maybe that's all, right? She's covered in those strips of paper. That's fair, right...? Chevy nods -- mostly to Junko, but also in assurance to herself.

That rationalization lasts right up until tattoos are mentioned. At which point Chevy -- suddenly short of breath, raises one finger. Just one moment...!

She turns towards Dodge and Zander. She pulls her cellphone out of her hand, holding it high so the imp can see.

The imp jumps rapidly in place, seeming to be more than a little excited. He hadn't -really- been paying attention before, but now...

Chevy then tosses her cellphone to the grass, with an expression of urgent expectation on her face. She then makes a wide, sweeping gesture to indicate the other people with an open hand. She's really hoping her message of 'Seriously?! Do something about those people!' is conveyed properly!

She draws in her breath, planting both hands in her lap as she turns back to Junko -- just in time to see her starting to shuffle around on her knees. Baring her teeth, Chevy keeps her breath held in. She doesn't know what's coming -- but she knows what she -thinks- is coming.

Off in the distance, there is a minor commotion.
"Ow! Hey!"
That would be a wannabe-Papparazzo with his cellphone out
Getting headbutted right in the keister.
The yellow imp is going on a rampage, harassing anyone looking to take advantage of the moment.

It isn't the ideal. But Chevy feels a little better now -- her cheeks returning to their usual paleness -- as she gets a closer look at Junko's tattoo work.

Gulping for breath, she nods slowly. "... Now that... is some serious ink." It's far from the first tattoo Chevy had seen. It's far from the first one to show a macabre fascination with death and skeletons. But it is the most intricate she's seen on the body of someone so young as Junko. And it -is- the first one she's seen that's... had even a -glimmer- of speaking to her, like that voice that barged in on her thoughts earlier.

More assorted commotion is stirred up by the yellow imp, but it's ignored easily enough.

"... My God... " she stammers. It isn't meant to refer to Suzaku -- just a rare exclamation from the normally-straightlaced hayseed.

"It's ... it's a dang miracle you can even get by day-to-day with somethin' like that sealed up in ya, whew."

She frowns, upon thinking of what has happened to the Daidoji now. Only... -half- the clan is left, if what she'd said earlier is true.

"... What about the Hojo... where are they now?"

[JUNKO]
The sudden commotion caused by her disrobing makes Junko pause. She glances over her shoulder, watching Chevy's heat blob bounce around with obvious agitation about something. That energy quickly propagates over to the two monstrous bodyguards who seem suddenly intent on harassing the nearby bystanders.

While she's not really familiar with phones or the vast array of technological wonders at their disposal, like miniature cameras for instance, it quickly becomes apparent that the other girl is concerned for her modesty. She is, after all, about to take off her shirt in the middle of a park. A faint tinge of pink colors her cheeks but when Chevy sits back down the miko just smiles at her gently.

"Does being seen worry you, Chevy-san?"

How strangely full of contradictions these Westerners are. They openly kiss and hug in public without a care yet showing a little skin is enough to bother them? How awkward must it be for them when they go to visit the baths if the idea of just showing her back is enough to get her new friend that worked up. Another cultural mystery.

"Thank you for the consideration," is all she can think to say on the matter.

Having served its purpose as a visual demonstration, Junko pulls her shirt back over the tattoo and starts to button up once more. Just having that demonic image exposed makes her feel uneasy. She has never seen the artwork on herself, her sight having been one of the many prices paid for her foolishness, but she would be hard pressed to scrape the mental image of the demon bird's foul depiction from her mind. She saw it often enough when it was tattooed upon her father, after all.

"Gone," she says, once her clothing is sorted, pulling the straps of her suspenders back over her shoulders with a soft snap. "Like many of those placed into positions of power, they allowed their authority to turn them into tyrants. An uprising overthrew their rule and those that remained scattered. Some came to seek refuge with us but they were absorbed into the clan. If any yet remain who bear their name, I know not."

Shuffling around to face Chevy once more, Junko reaches out again, hoping to find the comforting coolness that she has started to rely on for morale support. Whether the water bender notices her need or not, the miko continues to the next part of her story. Now that context has been established she can explain the misconceptions that Chevy continues to hold. And, importantly why everything is all her fault.

"So... now you understand what we do and how we do it. It's time to explain... my mistake."

Mistake is a bit of an understatement. Accidentally leaving the rice on the fire for too long is a mistake. Oversleeping by an hour and showing up late to daily training is a mistake. What she caused is nothing short of a disaster.

The brief bit of confidence that Junko had mustered quickly evaporates as she draws to the crux of her story, once more sinking down into herself. Her gaze drifts down to the ground, full of guilt and shame, but she ploughs on despite the obvious emotional stress that talking about these events brings her.

"It was many centuries ago that the Daidoji clan was burdened with the imprisoning of... the corrupted kami." She refrains from speaking the demon's name aloud again, not wishing to provoke it any more than necessary. "It was once a spirit of peace and prosperity. But the ill-will created by those who did not receive its blessings tainted the kami and drove it to madness. Unable to slay such a potent spirit, it fell to my ancestors to take the responsibility of keeping it locked away within their own flesh. And so they did."

"However, the...the strain of keeping a being of such... malicious hatred restrained was t-too much... even for the strongest of onmyouji."

Junko starts to choke up, stammering out the words. The emotion in her voice as she speaks is obvious though it's not immediately apparent why this particular statement would bother her to such a degree. Taking a deep breath to try and settle herself down, with only mild success, she forges on.

"The demon's rage burns away the life force of the person who has bound it. None ever lived past the age of forty. And only those with the strongest will and spiritual power could even hope to last that long. Even so... it had to be contained. The consequences of allowing it to break free were too dire. As such, it became the duty of every head of the Daidoji clan... to take that burden onto themselves... and all of the costs that came with it."

By the time she's finished speaking, Junko's voice is almost worn down to a frayed thread of control. Her lip quivers as emotions long buried well up inside, threatening to overwhelm her once again. Tears start to trickle down her cheeks and this time she doesn't bother trying to wipe them away. Apparently she still had a few left to shed after all.

"My father was head of the clan. And like every one of his ancestors before him, he accepted the sacred duty that had been entrusted to us."

Her fingers squeeze tightly, obvious anger and distress turning her knuckles bone-white from the effort of keeping her emotions in check. Even that she only barely manages.

"It wasn't so bad at first. He only suffered from minor aches and pains, sometimes the occasional headache. But as I got older it became more obvious that he was hiding the extent of his suffering. He started to fall ill constantly. There were days when he could barely walk, it was so bad."

Junko's eyes squeeze shut and more tears fall as the memories return. Her father had been a strong man. Wise and fair but also stubborn and full of pride. He tolerated no weakness from those beneath his authority and she had been no exception to that. Yet she had never begrudged him for that sternness, even as child. Perhaps it was because she got to see the kind and loving side of him as well. She knew that he always had her best interests in mind even when he was berating her for being lazy or careless.

"I had to watch, -every day-, while that damned monster consumed him! And I could do nothing! The medicine I brought him did nothing to ease his pain. I spent hours making ofuda, writing every protective spell and healing incantation I could think of! And yet every night I had to listen to him -scream- as his soul withered away..."

The words hang in the air for several seconds, heavy and ominous. Junko trembles with grief at the memory of her father's plight, that haunting moan of pain echoing in her head as if it were only yesterday.

It wasn't fair. Even though she understands the necessity of the sacrifice now, it wasn't so easy for a young girl to accept. Not while her beloved father was writhing in pain before her. Not when she had the power to save him.

By now it might have become apparent to Chevy the misconception that she has been laboring under until this moment. Junko's clan was not a bunch of monsters that threw the burden of containing a god onto the shoulders of a child. What they had done might be far worse. She had been forced to endure the steady and painful death of her closest loved one, knowing all too well that he had willingly inflicted that suffering upon himself in the name of duty and honor.

"I couldn't let him suffer like that," she whispers, shaking her head. "As the future head of the clan, it would have been my burden to bear eventually. I begged him; -pleaded- my father for permission to take it from him! But he refused. So, I..."

She swallows hard, all of that turbulent emotion suddenly draining from her face and voice. When next she speaks, the girl sounds empty; hollow. Like everything happy and kind has been ripped out of her leaving nothing but an empty void behind.

"I did it anyways. And everyone died. Everyone but me."

[CHEVY]
Chevy frowns. Does being seen worry Chevy?

"What... Me? Naw."

She thinks for a moment. It doesn't worry her, because she doesn't ever have the urge to take her shirt off. And as the waterbender's clothes tend to get wet, she's -always- wearing something opaque underneath.

"There's cellphones and cameras around. Y'show a little skin once, people get weird about it. Just tryin' to keep people from gettin' a free show."

It's likely they did anyway. Zander and Dodge could only move so fast.

It's... hard to explain. And Chevy won't, as the portents of Junko's story have her a bit too unsettled to worry about something as silly as social media right now.

"Just lookin' out for you. America's weird," she notes with a mild laugh.

She frowns... to think that the number of people who could accomplish what Junko could do -- much less -help- her predicament -- is dwindling fast. "That's too bad... There's a big need for folks like you right now, I'd figger."

She'd heard about... -something- a few years back regarding the seals around Mt Fuji, but... her memories of such a thing are too scattered to dredge up in any meaningful sort of way.

Chevy doesn't realize that Junko's reaching out to her at first. It takes a couple seconds, but then she mumbles, "Oh, sorry..." and scoots forward, pressing her chilled hand under Junko's. Grinning, she's quick to place her left hand atop Junko's, giving the miko an extra dose of cold for her to continue.

The smiles only last that one moment, though; Miss Beaumont can tell that the word 'mistake' is doing some heavy lifting here. Now that she knows about the fate of the Hojo, the Daidoji clan name takes on a more weighty role in the story ... Specifically, a father.

Chevy realizes with growing horror what Junko's getting at. At why her burden was not thrust upon her, but a burden she was forced to watch.

Chevy sniffs.
Both her hands are occupied.
She may be a waterbender.
But, as she listens to more about Junko's father...
She finds that she can't stop the tears from flowing.

She can't stop herself from commenting. Because she knows the ending of this story already.

"Oh no..."

But not the -details-. Not the -specifics-. And when Junko speaks of the tragedy, she finds it so dark she dare not complete the final stroke, lest she break down even further.

The blob of heat will shift, as Chevy sniffles out her sorrows in sympathy. "Junko, I... I..."

It's not precise to say she did the right thing. It might be more accurate to say she did what she -believed- to be right. But words... would just make it more awkward.

"Junko... I mean... Daidoji-san... I..."

She shakes her head -- a motion made clear through their shared grip.

"... I cain't go three days w-without... without thinkin' 'bout my Paw. So I can... only imagine..."

She tugs at Junko's hand -- wrapping her left hand about her wrist. Kneading the skin there, providing as much comfort as she can. She -wants- to just come out and ask for a hug, not just for Junko's sake but for her own. But no -- she'll give Junko the space she needs. And more importantly -- the time.

"I'm so sorry... that's just such an -impossible- choice to make..."

[JUNKO]
Junko says nothing for a long time because there is nothing else to say. Nothing else she wants to say, at any rate. The whole story has been laid out now, one big mess of tragedy and foolishness.

There are few finer details that she could elaborate on, of course. Such as the fact that the ritual she had attempted to perform in order to facilitate the transfer of Suzaku from host to host was normally completed by an entire team of experienced onmyouji working in tandem. Or that the process of moving the furious god was so traumatic that the original bearer almost always died in the attempt. That in her hubris she had believed herself possessing both the power and skill to perform this rite alone, in secret, and not only succeed but save her father's life as well.

The sheer extent of her stupidity and childish arrogance is staggering. Worse, she had not only condemned her father to the hellfire but her mother and countless others as well. She's spent years memorizing their names, carving each and every face into her memory to ensure that she never forgets the cost of her folly.

Kazuya-san, their grumpy gardener who preferred the company of plants to people.

Old Man Genji, who always had an interesting story to tell.

The ever-cheerful Makoto-sensei, with her contagious smile.

Satoshi-san the baker, whose sweet rolls were delicious enough that children from the village made the trek all the way up the mountainside just for the chance to earn their own by doing extra chores.

Strong, prideful Takeshi-san who loved to boast about his prowess with a spear to the giggling apprentices.

And more. So many more.

The blast that had ripped through the Daidoji temple that night had burned them all to ash and the clan's future along with them. Only the fool responsible was left behind, a fitting punishment for her pride.

When the young miko finally responds once more, it is to shake her head sadly in yet another rejection of Chevy's take on the matter. She speaks in a quiet whisper, dreadful certainty making her words heavy and solemn.

"No, Chevy-san. There was... an obvious and correct choice. To stand by... and let my father endure the suffering, as was his duty. As had his father before him. And his father before that. And their ancestors before that. Such is the burden that we are born into."

Junko's head bows in obvious shame, her misery such that not even the cool reassuring touch on her hand can do much to salve it. The tightening of her fingers on Chevy's palm proves that she appreciates it all the same. Not that she deserves such kindness.

"With my selfishness I brought dishonor to the clan. To him. Made a mockery of his sacrifice. And for my pride the kami inflicted righteous retribution upon me!"

[CHEVY]
Chevy -wants- to contest the analysis. She feels there -has- to have been a way for the child's love to save the parent. But if there was, Junko would have surely found it by now.

After all, the miko has had five years to put all of her accumulated skills and knowledge into analyzing the issue from every angle possible. There's no way that her conclusion cannot be correct.

And after turning that around for several moments, Chevy's frown grows. Teary eyes turn down to her hand, to Junko's clasped firmly around it. The small-scale contact that's seemingly preferred by the guarded miko.

"Yeah. You're... you're right, Junko."

Her tone is marked with wistful, bittersweet acceptance. She -wants- to give guidance. But... what could she even say? Any attempt to cheer Junko up, by saying that the vague and healing powers of 'love' would -usually- help in such a matter, would ... not be productive in the slightest.

Even invoking her own experience, with her dad, would be... largely self-serving.

And yet.
Isn't that...
... why she's here, kinda?
To satisfy her own desire to -help?-

The best thing Chevy can do right now, she decides -- is to not say anything at all. To just... keep holding on, as best she can.

And that's not really her style.

"I'm... sorry, Junko. I... it's. It was wrong of me to talk like I knew much of anythin'."

She squeezes Junko's hand lightly. And offers a tear-stained smile.

"This... kinda falls into Ichijo-sensei's court more'n anyone else I can think of. I really ain't good at much anythin' beyond moral support. That'll probably be what's on my gravestone: Chevy Beaumont -- she's good at givin' out hugs."

She offers a hopeful smile. And if Junko -were- to take her up on the roundabout invitation she'd be more than happy to indulge her.

But... she's happy to admit, "... I just wanted you to know you're not alone, okay? That... if you do wanna talk, any time... I'm here for you. It's what teammates do -- and what -friends- do."

[JUNKO]
It isn't just the last five years pondering her choices that lends credence to Junko's conclusion. Her entire clan had been dedicated to their craft for centuries, sealed away in seclusion from the outside world so that their important work would never suffer interference. The burden of Suzaku has been a part of that tradition for nearly as long as the clan itself. If there was to be any relief found from the cycle of martyrdom that must be endured by its descendants then surely someone far more experienced and skilled than she would have found it long ago.

She isn't even a full fledged onmyouji, despite her natural talent. Even if it was possible to do what she wanted to try, she was decades too young to make the attempt. It was the functional equivalent of a high school student trying to repair an active nuclear reactor going into meltdown. The concepts involved might be understood to a point but without the years of experience and technical training necessary to understand all of the delicate forces at work disaster was essentially guaranteed.

Chevy wisely chooses to defer to the miko's judgement on this matter. She had already made several insulting insinuations about Junko's clan. Understandable mistakes, given that she had no idea of the circumstances, but insults nonetheless. To further compound her outsider's ignorance by challenging the distraught priestess likely would have not ended well. As calm as she might appear at the moment, recent events have proven that her temper is both volatile and explosive. This is a very delicate line she is towing.

Fortunately, Chevy seems to be aware that she's swimming neck deep in alligators. The apology is met with a wan smile and an accepting nod from the weary miko. She returns the squeeze with her burned fingers, some of the color already starting to return around the fringes of the blackened skin.

"It is alright, Chevy-san. You could not know my circumstances. There are few alive who would."

Which segues neatly into the name drop that follows. Junko looks strangely lukewarm in regards to the mention of her fellow miko. Her gaze shifts to the side, lips pressing together into a thin line briefly. But the topic breezes past her quickly enough for it not to be an issue and the teen's faint smile returns.

While she isn't much of a hug enthusiast these days, Junko would be more than willing to accept such an offering if she wasn't still terrified of the consequences. Sharing a bit of her past hasn't done anything to cure her of the demonic infection nor its side effects. There's already been one accidental exposure to hellfire today and it has rendered her even more gun-shy than normal about physical contact.

Instead, Junko covers her mouth with her free hand in an archaically dainty manner and lets out a soft giggle.

"We all have our special talents, I suppose."

Sniffling away the last of her lingering grief, the teenager wipes at her face and smiles at the pile of friendly reassurances being heaped on her. It's a nice feeling, knowing someone cares about her again. Even nicer is the belief that she might actually have the chance to reciprocate those feelings without putting anyone in danger.

Of course, there's no guarantee of that. Temperamental and unpredictable it might be, but Suzaku has never failed to make good on its threats. Why, exactly, it is allowing her to openly violate the contract between them without immediate retaliation she doesn't know. But that retribution will be coming at some point, of that she is deadly certain. She'll just have to be ready for it. Somehow.

But, for now, she relaxes a little and enjoys the pleasure of this new possibility.

"Thank you, Chevy-san. It... has been a very long time since I spoke to anyone at length. I will try my best to... to control myself, but... *his* influence is always there. Sometimes, it is hard to tell my own thoughts from those of the demon."

Her head lifts finally and she fixes Chevy with a suddenly intense stare, her voice full of dire import.

"You must promise me," she says, clasping both hands around the frigid palm and squeezing it tightly. "If I tell you to run, you must do it. Immediately. Without hesitation. Whatever power you might have, Chevy-san, it will not save you from the kami's wrath. Your only chance is to flee as fast as you can. Understand?"

[CHEVY]
There are few alive who would.

The statement has Chevy drooping her chin. Another sniffle follows. Her tendency to... blurt her way from one misunderstanding to a next can sometimes be endearing, sometimes less so. But now that she knows the end of the tragic story, all her mistaken words come back to haunt her.

Similarly... while she had hoped that her mention of a fellow onmyouji -- in their very own team, even! -- might give Junko some hope to eventually find a more secure way to live with the fiery god within -- it seems to receive an even frostier reception. With the miko's more conversational mood, it's easier to recognize the tight-lipped gesture for what it is -- something -less- than approval.

But, in the many salvos Chevy has fired off in an attempt at scoring a hit on Battleship Daidoji, it seems at least one of them succeeds in drawing a giggle. So there's that.

Chevelle takes the opportunity of reduced eye contact to wipe away her own cheeks -- having withheld that simple gesture in her desire to lend as much strength to Junko as possible.

When challenged, the natural inclination of a fighter is to push back. To defy the odds. To stand strong in the face of adversity.

But that's not what Junko wants to hear. She might not... fully comprehend how much threat she's in. But now, knowing what Junko has just confessed to, what might seem like a simple statement carries a -lot- of additional weight.

Chevy's blue eyes lift, meeting Junko's sightless counterparts. As Junko doubles her grip upon Chevy's chilled hands, so too does Chevy's other hand join in.

"I will, Junko-san. I promise."

Miss Beaumont may be loose with some words. But from the conviction in her voice, it should become clear that her promises are ironclad.

[JUNKO]
Tension bleeds out of the miko like a deflating tire, an appreciative sigh escaping her lips. She wasn't quite sure how Chevy would react to a demand like that. People tended to get funny when you challenged their pride or bravery. While her new friend seems rather accommodating, she was also the sort of person to approach a perpetually pissed off ambulatory bonfire to try and give it a hug. Being told to turn and run might well have triggered a pushback out of some misguided concern for Junko's safety.

"Thank you, Chevy-san. That is... a weight off my mind."

And now for the request that she's likely to have a lot harder time selling.

Maintaining eye contact, more for Chevy's sake than her own, the miko takes a deep breath and pushes directly into the next subject.

"But... I need to ask something else of you, Chevy-san. And it's just as important."

Having spilled her story in its entirety, there would likely be an urge by her team mate to share that information with others. After all, she might surmise, knowing -why- their companion was always angry and doing her best to drive everyone away might help them understand Junko's circumstances a little better. Maybe they will cut her some slack when she goes on another fiery rampage or know to get out of her way when she's in a dark mood.

"Everything that you learned here today... my history, the truth about my clan, and most importantly, the kami - you cannot speak to anyone about it."

Her eyes shift sideways as she chews on her lower lip worriedly, pondering how to explain things. Detailing the rules of Suzaku's malicious little game is definitely something that will put another check mark on the naughty list. But at this point she's more or less going down that list and checking off every box she can find. No doubt she'll come to regret it later. Chevy might as well, if she's still around to feel regret.

"There are... rules," she says, seeming to struggle with the words. "Everyone who knows about... my problem and anyone who I allow to get close. He has promised to destroy you - all of you."

Her brief moment of levity evaporates as the haunting reality of her situation returns to the fore. Junko's shoulders slump for a moment but she gathers her resolve and meets Chevy's gaze again.

"I-it isn't an idle threat either. You remember earlier... when I told you that I had... killed before. It wasn't just those that died in the blast I was talking about. A few people looked past their hatred of me and tried to help, to comfort me in the aftermath of what had happened."

She squeezes down on Chevy's hands again, jaw clenching with emotion. But it isn't sadness that is reflected in her expression and voice this time - it's anger. A seething hatred for the demon god and all the misery it has caused.

"They died. Everyone single one, burned to ash. You made the choice, Chevy-san, to take that risk." She relaxes a little and smiles again. "And, whatever happens, I'm grateful for even this small moment. But the others must decide for themselves if they are willing to brave that danger. Until I have heard the words from their own mouths, you must keep it a secret."

Her head bows in shame, her expression that of a puppy that knows it's done something wrong and expects to be scolded.

"Even from... Kasumoto-san."

[CHEVY]
Chevy may have wrinkled a lot of feathers by stubbornly refusing to run away. But now that she's done so -- and gotten -so- close to Junko... she feels the need to at least see things through. To give Junko her assurance that, as a friend, she will stand by her through thick and thin.

And now run away, when asked. It might be funny if it weren't so macabre.

Gripping Junko's hands with her own, she nods slowly. She has no idea if Junko can actually -see- her in any way, shape, or form, but that's one reason for the close physical contact, right? So she can -feel- the gesture.

"I'm listening," she says, her voice full of hopefulness.

And then... Chevy finds herself urged to accept an oath of secrecy. She can see, hear, and -feel- how much it means to Junko. And she's no stranger to making promises -- or keeping them. The fact that she'd held onto Hawksley's as long as she had, in the face of Coco's unrelenting pressure, is a testament to that.

Chevy nods slowly as Junko admits to have... maybe sorta been responsible for more deaths. Chevy's expression hardens slightly. But she insists: "In for a penny, in for a pound. I made the choice, yeah." A little bit of that hotheaded fighter arrogance, maybe? But in truth, it's the simple knowledge that she -made- her choice several minutes ago. There's no point in second-guessing it now.

To be told she has to keep it from Ichika, though...

"Mm."
Just a single moment of hesitation.
"No, that's... that's fair."
She gives a solemn nod.

"I give you my word, Daidoji Junko-san."

She draws in her breath. And her hands drop a few degrees in temperature.

"It's worth it, so I can give you my hand to hold, or my shoulder to lean on. And my ears to listen."

Chevy tightens her grip on Junko, all the more. It's a choice she might regret -- but one she'd make again, if need be.

[JUNKO]
The American idiom makes Junko lift her head and blink, her lack of comprehension obvious until the girl clarifies with easier to understand words. That confusion is replaced with surprise at the ease with which she managed to convince her of the necessity. Particularly the lack of push back regarding the situation with Ichika. Out of everyone on their team, she owed Kasumoto an explanation - assuming she is even willing to hear the miko out.

"Domo arigatou gozaimasu."

Junko folds at the waist, bowing as best she can from her seiza while still holding on to Chevy's hands. While her American friend might not understand the exact meaning of her words, it just feels more natural for her to express such deep thanks in the most formal way she can. There might be an equivalent gesture in English but if so she's unfamiliar with it. And she feels it is important to make it clear how much she appreciates Chevy's willingness to do as she asks.

After maintaining her bow for several long seconds, the miko sits up straight once more. The surge of intensified cold sends a ripple of tingling sensation up her arms, soothing the still mending burns pleasantly. Chevy's pledge brings a fresh smile to her face and the reasoning for taking that risk a splash of pink color to her cheeks. The girl looks away bashfully, tilting her head to hide her eyes behind her snowy bangs in embarrassment. She isn't used to being held in such high regard any more, nor certain that she deserves such words from someone who barely knows her. More Westerner boldness, she supposes.

"I... um... thank you..."

Fumbling mentally for a way to change the subject, Junko latches on to the last thought that was running through her mind and goes with it.

"Speaking of Kasumoto-san. Has she... said anything? About... about what I did, I mean."

[CHEVY]
There were a number of set phrases Chevy had set out to learn in Japanese. Her language guide came along with goofy English mnemonics. One was taught to remember 'don't touch my moustache' in responding to the words 'domo arigatou.' Chevy fights back a snicker -- though it might seem incongruous to Junko until she tries to pronounce the response in her native brogue.

"... Do tah-shee mash'ta."

Again, a language scholar Chevy is not. But her drawled speech might sound close enough to 'dou itashimashite' to pass muster.

She smiles, as Junko shows some signs of potential embarassment in response to her well-wishing.

"It warn't no problem at all," she response. "We're in Team Thunder. Makin' each other stronger is just what we do."

But... in response to Junko's next query, Chevy looks down, thinking back to Ichika's words. The young swordswoman had postulated three possibilities: either Junko was a psychopath, a fiercely independent individual who considers friendship a weakness, or... someone who lost control of her power in some way. In one sense, she was closest with the last. But Chevy would conclude that none of the three paints a particularly flattering picture of the snow-haired miko before her.

"Mm... she felt it was a bit... 'cowardly,' hitting her when she was tryin' to be nice." Looking up to Junko's expression, she scratches her cheek. "'Course, she... she don't know what you told me just now. So she's missin' a lot of pieces to the whole puzzle."

She laughs, mirthlessly, to separate her thoughts. "She seemed pretty upset though, I warn't gonna press her for more details just then. ... She -did- guess your power was 'wrong' or 'corrupted' somehow. Like it warn't comin' from you the same way it does from other people. So."

She kneads her thumbs lightly into Junko's hands. "... Are you gonna try an' talk to her again? I... I cain't really tell her much about you without breakin' my promise. And I don't intend to do that."

[JUNKO]
It turns out it's a good thing she decided to bow so deeply because Junko is unable to hide the cringe on her face at Chevy's continued butchery of her language. She doesn't sound that bad when speaking English, does she? What an embarrassing thought.

Maintaining her bow for the few extra seconds it takes to wipe the disgust off her face, the miko waits patiently for the answer to her question. She can't see Chevy's expression but the obvious delay necessary for her to consider what she wants to say is telling. After what she pulled, she doubts there's anything positive forthcoming.

Cowardly. Yes, that is an appropriate word for the ambush Junko had unleashed upon her would-be friend.

When she had decided on that course of action she knew how it would appear. In fact, it was precisely because of how dishonorable and harsh of a reaction it was that she had chosen to do it. Ichika's unusual determination made it clear she would not be discouraged by simply being yelled at. Perhaps if she had known the reasons for Junko's desire for solitude she could have been convinced but, by demonic design, to inform Ichika of those reasons would be the same as allowing her to unwittingly put herself in danger.

Perhaps if there were more people like Rei around, she wouldn't have to worry so much. But Ichika is a far cry from that level of power. She couldn't even handle Junko in a fight when she was holding back. Suzaku would burn her like an ant under a magnifying glass.

Now, however, circumstances have changed. Or rather, her perspective has. Junko was convinced for years that the only way forward that wouldn't drive her insane was to isolate herself from the rest of society. In this way she would be free from the temptation of risking others. But, as resolved and willful as she might be, her human desire for companionship being denied for so long had taken its own toll of misery.

Junko's head bows sadly and she nods. She had expected as much. Figuring out how to drive people away was something she had an unfortunate amount of practice at. Consequently, she was quite good at it. Picking up the pieces of the mess she's made, however, is something she's much less familiar with.

"What I did to Kasumoto-san was... something I felt had to be done at the time. She surprised me with her boldness. And... after our encounter... *He* spoke to me... directly... for the very first time."

The miko shudders at the recollection of that chilling moment. Suzaku had been silent since the first days after their joining, influencing her with its presence, haunting her with nightmares of destruction, and cursing her to bring death to anyone who dared show her the slightest bit of kindness. But, after meeting Ichika, it had spoken with clear and calculated words, encouraging her association with the strangely determined swordswoman.

That Suzaku would take such a direct interest, much less throw its malicious support behind her interaction with Ichika, had been more than enough to convince Junko that she needed to do everything in her power to drive a wedge between herself and her team mate. The question of why the demon would suddenly be so enthusiastic about something it had done everything in its power to prevent for years still fills her with a sense of dread. Perhaps there is something about Ichika that her soul mate can sense, something dark hidden beneath the surface.

'Tragedy is inevitable. The future I make is worth suffering for.'

Those words still left her chilled and uncertain. She isn't quite sure what Kasumoto had meant by them but they certainly sounded dire.

"I was terrified by that. I do not know why He would take such an interest in anyone. I am yet uncertain if it is wise to foster a relationship with her without understanding His motives. And yet, I do regret the pain I inflicted upon her. I fear my lack of understanding about the modern world led me to causing damage I did not intend."

Lifting her gaze to Chevy's face again, the miko cants her head slightly in a gesture of curiosity.

"What do you think, Chevy-san? You know Kasumoto-san better than I do."

[CHEVY]
It's no secret that the bond between Beaumont and Kasumoto is one of the strongest in the NFG. They complement one another like two halves of the same coin: many times, the scholar from the city provides insights that wouldn't have occurred to the rough-and-tumble country bumpkin, and vice-versa. So of course it was wise of Junko to expect Chevy to share thoughts with Ichika -- that's just common sense.

Perhaps the two have rubbed off on one another, really. Would Ichika have even bothered to reach out to Junko, knowing her withdrawn behavior, if Chevy hadn't helped to broaden her horizons? Was there a chance that Ichika might have just... remained in her room, keeping up with her studies, rather than tempting fate by bringing her laptop out into the common area? Once the stage was set, of course, what happened next was quintessentially Ichika's natural behavior -- but could it all have been *prevented*?

Perhaps there's nothing to be gained from questioning what -could- have been. What's done is done -- and time marches onward. When Chevy began this conversation, she had no idea of what Junko had been through. She had hoped, maybe, to hear Junko's side of the story. To know what was going through the miko's head, in her own words. And now that she hears it...

Well, she frowns.

Because she has no frame of reference for understanding the existence of a powerful god living inside her head, aside from that brief flicker just a few minutes prior. Her widened eyes show that she can imagine the horror. Her slackened jaw shows that she... is missing a piece of the puzzle. But she's afraid to ask. Fearful, at last, of what stipulations might arise from that knowledge. Fearful of how it might impact Junko, and possibly, the rest of the team.

"... Well, it went a step beyond just shovin' her away..." starts Chevy, keeping her gaze low. She doesn't want to... put Junko on the spot, per se. She keeps her tone as distant from accusation as she can. She thinks for a moment... and then the thought comes to her. She looks up and addresses Junko more directly.

"You were tryin' to protect her from that him. Your heart was in the right place, and still is -- since you don't wanna make a situation worse."

Her lips turn into a lopsided smile. "I think... if you were to come at her with... vague 'hints' about what's goin' on with the big guy, she'd want to know the whole truth: Everythin' you just told me, and probably then some. She ain't one to leave a mystery unsolved."

Ice crystals blow past, as she spends a moment focusing on keeping the air cool.

"I -want- all of Team Thunder to get along. I think y'all can help each other. But I don't really know how to get her to trust, to *really* trust you without... " She shrugs her shoulders, the motion communicated clearly through the stress imparted upon her hands. "Without all this, y'know?"

She looks down, a soft sigh escaping her.

"So I can understand if you'd want to protect her. But I can also say: she's tougher when she ain't holdin' back."

[JUNKO]
Junko listens quietly to Chevy's assessment, offering the occasional small nod. Most of what is said lines up with what she expected to hear.

Ichika had clearly been furious about being ambushed. All of the bold cheerfulness she had displayed in their initial encounter had turned into spiteful vitriol in an instant, almost as if her normal appearance was some sort of mask that had been ripped away. The girl had shown not an ounce of hesitation in turning her blade on the miko, inflicting injuries that might have been crippling were she not possessed of Suzaku's unnatural regenerative powers.

It is that underlying rage that makes her hesitant to reach out to her team mate again. Suzaku feeds upon such emotion, draws strength from and manipulates it inherently. Simply by being a part of Junko its presence has forced her to master her own emotions in a way that most people couldn't hope to comprehend. And, in the process of overcoming the struggle with her own super-charged rage, she has learned how to get a decent sense of what others are feeling.

Ichika's anger was too quick and burned too hot to simply be an isolated incident fueled by the attack. Her eagerness to exact retribution and the obvious glee she took from drawing blood spoke of an underlying darkness. Suzaku himself had said as much during their brief scuffle. He could feel the rage flowing through her and warned Junko that she was seeing the girl's true face in that moment. While she would never trust the words of the insidious demon outright, her connection with Suzaku had given her some of that insight as well and Ichika's emotions had burned almost as bright as her own.

What might the result be if she allowed herself to foster a relationship with the ambitious swordswoman? Could Suzaku use his mastery over the domain of hate to influence others besides Junko? Or would she get dragged into Ichika's vision for a bloody future? Neither possibilities sound like they would have happy endings.

But, she could just be over-thinking things in her paranoia again. For all she knows, all this worry is just another byproduct of Suzaku's influence, another way to trick her into avoiding making connections that might weaken his hold over her. Chevy has proven to be an earnest and kind individual, at least thus far. If she has such faith in Kasumoto then Junko will just have to take that as a sign that she can be trusted.

"I worry that she has no wish to hear anything I will have to say. And I do not want to antagonize her further by pressing the issue."

Chewing gently on her lower lip, Junko gains a thoughtful expression. In Japanese culture, it is customary to give gifts for a variety of occasions. Visiting a new household, returning from abroad, celebrating holidays, weddings, and other special days. While gifts are not inherently a part of asking for forgiveness, they do represent the desire to foster a pleasant relationship. Perhaps by offering Ichika something of value she might understand the sentiment.

The real question is what she might give. Her own wealth is not particularly substantial. While technically still the scion and future head of her clan, her uncle currently holds the position of authority which gives him control over all of their finances. He had provided her with a small stipend to use as she sees fit during her travels but she has no idea how far the money she was given will stretch here in the West. More importantly, she doesn't know what Ichika would find particularly appealing. Fortunately, she knows someone who might.

"If... if I were to present Kasumoto-san with a gift, what would be appropriate? I am afraid I only spoke with her the once and know little about the things she cares for."

[CHEVY]
Chevy knows firsthand that Ichika... goes a little too hard, at times. She knows her friend better than many, and she -has- found moments in which the swordswoman -isn't- scarily overcommitting her resources. But those moments are few and rather far between.

Her clashes with Junko, though... she's heard about those. Things happened, and stuff broke. Most notably, that laptop that she'd taped the first few Ichikasts on -- a material possession that's took more than a little of the highschooler's meager resources. And now that Chevy understands Junko a -little- more, she can get a better sense for how Junko might want to atone -- being unfamiliar with both the United States -and- the world of technology.

"... Yeah, it might... be good."

Chevy normally would be quick to offer words of advice. But after the mishaps already taking place in this conversation, she's a bit more gunshy to make the same mistakes again.

Instead -- she carefully watches Junko's expressions. Seeing how she thinks. And realizing that... well, she sees the miko more as the friend she believed in when she -first- tried talking. Just another human, buried under the weight of society's expectations.

The question does bring a pleasant smile to Chevy's face. "Huh!" She gains a thoughtful expression, bobbing her head lightly.

"Mm... well, she likes crepes. I usually make her those when she's not feelin' so hot."

She looks down at Junko's hands again. And her own. Maybe 'hot' is a word she can avoid for the moment?

Looking back up to Junko, she nods once, twice more. "But... she -really- loves a particular band from Japan. I know you might not be into music and all... but there's this group called Babymetal. I'm pretty sure she done got, like, -all- their albums already -- otherwise I'd say you could get 'er one of those."

She draws in her breath. She has something in mind. It's a big ask... but that -was- a whole laptop...

"The thing is, I just saw a new poster on the tunnel today. Babymetal's havin' a concert down at the Garden in a week. I ain't gotten a chance to look into it yet, but... I know she'd *love* to go..."

The thought of Junko in the middle of arena seating with thousands of empassioned fans makes her... a little nervous.

"I like 'em, but they're super loud, so I can see their music might not be for everyone. But she might like tickets to go see 'em perform, y'know?"

[JUNKO]
Junko blinks owlishly at the responses she's given. There are a whole lot of words thrown at her that make absolutely no sense to her, sheltered as she was from the outside world until recently.

"Ku-re-pu?"

Out of all the foreign words she has tried to pronounce thus far, that one gives her the most difficulty. The miko sounds it out slowly, doing her best not to butcher the word completely. Her previous silent judgements of Chevy's attempts at Japanese have made her particularly self-conscious about her English all of the sudden. Judging by the faint tint of pink in her cheeks she's not confident in her success rate.

Most of what follows likewise seems to go over the poor anachronistic girl's head. Even something as simple as a band or an album is beyond her purview of understanding. Music she understands, though she has no idea what a metal baby has to do with it. Is that the awful racket she heard coming out of Ichika's machine? Surely it can't be, that sounded nothing like music! The modern world is so strange.

Junko withdraws a hand to scratch at her cheek uncertainly, glancing away. It shouldn't be embarrassing for her to admit that she is completely out of her element here. After all, her village hasn't had contact with the outside world for centuries, barring a few merchants that were allowed to go out and acquire necessary goods from time to time. Still, it's a little disconcerting to be so completely clueless, particularly when she's trying to figure out how to mend a thoroughly annihilated bridge.

"Um... I-I will take your word for it, Chevy-san. You think she would like these... tickets? I do not have a great deal of money but if I can afford it, I will gladly purchase one for Kasumoto-san."

[CHEVY]
"... 'Crepes,' yeah." Chevy says it without her usual drawl, to make it a bit clearer to understand. "They're like, pastries, as thin as paper. Really light, and a bit sweet, and if you try one you'll probably want like ten more." She grins cheerily, glad to have some expertise in a field that Junko is lacking, for a change.

She... does seem to miss out on the fact that she was talking a bit too animatedly for Junko to catch up. She was so eager to get the thoughts out that she'd forgotten to, well, slow down.

"... Mm, yeah! I think she would love it. It's totally her favorite band."

She gauges Junko's expression as she says -that-, and decides to backtrack a bit further.

But first -- she pats Junko's hand lightly, and retrieves one of her hands so that she can dig into her scorched jacket's pocket. "Mm... so bands are... people who specialize in makin' music. And concerts -- that's where these 'bands' get together to share their music in a big open space, with hundreds or thousands of people at a time. I don't think Ichika's been to one before, but I'm sure she'd get a kick outta..." She pauses, to clear her throat. "I'm sure she'd enjoy it."

She pulls out her cellphone. As one can expect from someone who gets wet often, hers is in a sealed, waterproof case -- so it's a bit more armored than Junko's may have been.

Her thumbs slides around on the screen, and then she turns to the phone, speaking clearly into it: "Video of last Baby Metal concert."

She also bumps the volume buttons down a bit on the low side. So that when she presses the center of the screen, the sound from the concert actually -isn't- deafening. Junko might not be able to see the three girls in all black, bouncing around... but she'd be able to hear the noise. And she'd be able to hear all the people shouting along with the music.

"Here they are," she announces, "Babymetal. Just three girls on stage, and musicians jamming along with them." She keeps quiet -- so that she can gauge Junko's reaction, and mute the phone if she's had enough.

She shares a half-grin with Junko, shaking her hand lightly. "You can hear all the people there, right? It'd... be a great time for her. Past few weeks have been... a little rough." She pauses for a moment, giving Junko a few moments to relax her ears if she needs them.

"If you want, I can help you out on gettin' her a ticket..." It's a lot -- and Chevy's more than happy to chip in and help if it comes down to that.

[JUNKO]
Sweet breads! Now that's something Junko can get behind. She was always right there alongside the village children eager to earn a freshly baked treat from the shrine chef. Or dango! Oh, what she wouldn't give for another taste of that. A shame she never learned how to cook herself. A hand-made snack would make for an excellent gift. With her blindness and lack of talent in the kitchen, however, all she would make right now is a horrible mess.

Tickets it is, then.

"That does sound quite appealing," she says wistfully, upon being explained what a crepe is. "It has been a long time since I ate anything sweet."

The reassuring pat gives Junko a moment of warning to adjust and she releases her hold on Chevy's palms to allow her to fish out the phone. The miko's blind eyes peer curiously down at the blob of orange heat that represents her team mate in her mind, trying to decipher the subtle movement. What little heat the phone puts off is largely shielded by the thick case leaving her more or less in the dark for the moment.

The description of bands, and in particular concerts, makes the miko's eyes go wide. The very idea of hundreds of people all gathered together to witness a single group of performers is quite astonishing. The only time anything resembling that level of a gathered happened at her village was some of the more festive holidays. Even then, those people would be spread out across a wide area, not crammed together to try and hear the same performance. It sounds like utter chaos.

Chevy's spoken command causes a look of puzzlement, her tech-ignorant audience not quite sure what she means. The sudden eruption of thrashing guitars interwoven with heavy electronica beats almost bowls Junko over. Even with the volume turned down to more sane levels, Junko lets out a squeak of surprise and flinches backwards, her eyes wide.

She's heard bits and pieces of modern 'music' before, usually blaring from the speakers of passing automobiles or sometimes playing inside stores. All of it sounded completely alien to her. To her mind, music is flutes and drums, maybe a biwa or kokyuu if you wanted to get fancy. Whatever in the various Hells that noise is, it's not music.

"T-That's what a metal baby sounds like? It's... it's..."

Junko's mouth twists like she just bit aggressively into a fresh lemon.

"...unique."

Ah, so she can be diplomatic.

Why on Earth anyone would willingly want to go to a crowded place to listen to -that- is beyond her. But, if Chevy says it's what would make Ichika happy then who is she to question it? No accounting for taste, she supposes. Once the 'music' dies down and she can hear herself think again, Junko takes a moment to smooth out her clothes primly then huffs out a sigh.

"I appreciate the offer, Chevy-san, but I could not ask such a favor from you. We have only just met, it would be rude for me to impose in such a way. In any case," she says, smiling faintly. "It was my mistake that must be atoned for. I will find a way to afford this gift. It is the least I can do to try and make amends."

[CHEVY]
"Well. I'll just have to treat you when we get back then... "

The idea of cooking crepes for Junko is an idea Chevy would have definitely not thought possible even an hour before this meeting. But now... it's within the realm of possibilities. And she happens to think that's probably worth the effort.

... Trying to get the miko to enjoy Babymetal though... that might take some more effort. And it's probably not worth the effort -- especially as Junko seems to be more than ready to bolt at the sound.

Chevy's quick to pause the video, putting an end to the sound. "Haha... it's a bit much, ain't it?" Chevy figures: she's been through enough for one day, no sense in subjecting her to more modern-day culture.

Though, as she closes out of the video, she takes a look at the phone screen -- and frowns slightly. She doesn't act on it -right- away though -- as she's happy to indulge Junko's urge to make amends. Whew! The tickets won't be cheap -- but they're a fraction of the price of the demolished laptop. And it'd go a -long- way towards patching things up with Ichika, she feels.

"Awesome! Yeah -- I'm sure she'll love it. Thanks, Junko-san -- on my behalf and hers."

Chevy slips her phone back into her pocket afterwards, clasping her chilled hand atop Junko's once again.

"Hey, come to think of it, Junko-san... if you're interested in sweet stuff... I was actually headed to this one bakery before I stopped over here. Thing is... it's closing time soon."

She pauses for a moment, taking a closer look under the ash-white veil of hair. "... Do you... wanna stop by with me? We could try some things out. Maybe find you a new favorite...! What do you think?"

[JUNKO]
Junko offers a slight bow again at the thanks. A small sliver of hope has presented itself and she's glad to have even that. By all rights, Ichika would be entirely justified in shunning her completely.

"I can only pray she feels the same way."

The cool reassurance of Chevy's hand is quick to return and the miko finds herself growing oddly complacent with the contact. That realization brings a subtle frown to her face. It isn't that she finds the idea of getting used to human contact unpleasant - decidedly the opposite. But that's the problem. She's letting her guard down too easily, something Suzaku could exploit. Or, failing that, she might simply forget that most people aren't able to regulate their body temperature and accidentally burn someone.

But the miko doesn't pull her hand away. It's been such a long time, surely she can indulge just a bit more. She'll just have to be mentally aware of the dangers. So long as she doesn't get too distracted everything should be-

Chevy's offer shatters that line of thinking so hard she can probably hear the cracking sound. Junko's eyes widen slowly as it becomes clear what is being proposed. Embarrassingly, her stomach lets out a low rumbling growl at the thought of food, reminding her of just how long it's been since last she ate.

Her last meal had been the one Ichika prepared in an effort to win her over. It wasn't anything particularly fancy, just some steamed rice and curry, but that was far more than she had been used to. That had been, what, over a week ago? Two weeks?

Technically, as the vessel for a god's soul, she doesn't actually need food at all. The raw vital force of her angry room mate would be enough to keep her body functioning at full strength for decades, if not indefinitely. But that regeneration does nothing to sate her -desire- for food. Back at home, she satisfied those cravings with whatever scraps were occasionally left at her doorstep. Sometimes it would be gifts from former acquaintances, more often they were offerings meant to appease Suzaku. Not that such mundane gifts would ever be enough to douse the flames of hatred burning in that foul monster's breast but Junko never did anything to discourage people thinking otherwise. At least the offerings were usually more decent than the table scraps. Not wise to tick off a god of fury with a poor offering, after all.

Obviously, on the other side of the world there were no frightened villagers to bring her food. After her brawl with Ichika, the miko had more or less retreated to her room and stayed there save to attend her obligations as a participant in the tournament. The possibility of running into the enraged swordswoman again was enough to keep Junko holed up away from the common room and her blindness made navigating the city for sustenance a daunting prospect.

Betrayed by her subconscious reaction to the thought of food, Junko's face turns about three shades of pink before settling on a deep crimson that saturates her pale cheeks. She stares pointedly down at her hands, marinating in that embarrassment for several long seconds.

"U-um... I... if you don't mind... I guess... I could..." she says, her soft voice quickly fading off into a flustered whisper.

[CHEVY]
Chevy smiles as Junko agrees on the tickets. She has a lot of faith that Ichika will appreciate the tickets. While there is a remote possibility that Ichika might have an adverse reaction to the gift, that's a possibility that the friend in the middle feels she has the ability to mitigate.

Not that the hayseed will -share- the plan that just came to mind, of course. She just wants Team Thunder to get along as well as they can. Life's too short to spend it alone, in her view.

The hayseed's suggestion of a bakery seems to go along well. Chevy can't help but snicker as Junko's stomach enters the conversation. There's a brief moment of hesitation as she considers that it might be the evil god locked inside straining to escape -- but the widened eyes and embarassed blush reassure her that, no, this is... perfectly normal hunger. Isn't it?

"Haha... ain't no need to be shy about it! If you're hungry, you're hungry..."

Chevy doesn't even stop to consider that Junko might not need food. The redhead was able to pick up that the miko was unable to see normally, from cues throughout their conversation. But food... just hadn't come up at all. Why would it?

For now, as Chevy taps Junko's hands as a sign that she's going to stand up, it would seem that ignorance is bliss.

"But sure! It'll be my treat! As thanks for spendin' so much time talkin' with me."

Chevy is happy to assist Junko to her feet. After a brief glance in the direction of Dodge and Zander -- who, thankfully, have -stopped- being so surly to the bystanders -- she turns back to Junko with anticipation.

"Junko, I just know you're gonna -love- this bakery. I try to stop by whenever I can. If we're lucky, they'll just be finishin' up a loaf of bread. It smells like a little slice of heaven itself..."

Log created on 22:29:40 10/03/2023 by Chevy, and last modified on 13:22:32 10/16/2023.