Description: The Young Fighters Community Center. That's the latest project of Alma Towazu, a place for young members of the fighting world to come together. A good thing to some. But for Remy, it's an evil. It's promoting violence. It's legitimizing a selfish and destructive lifestyle. Clearly, this Alma must be made to see his mistake. If necessary...by force.
With great power comes great responsibility.
But sometimes, tragically, with little power /also/ comes great responsibility, and so it is with Alma Towazu, professional psychic prettyboy, champion of virtue, and newly established executive coordinator and vice president of the Young Fighters' Community Center. There's a lot of potential here, he's convinced-- and given how much his mentor Rose has invested in this endeavor, he is duty-bound to protect it at any cost to his time and energy. Besides, any new medium for him to express his passion for establishing strong bonds with others, and the joy he takes in such struggles, is alright with him; and, to be honest, he takes a secret thrill in doing something so opposed to his nature as take a 'political' stance, and be so overtly active in his community on an official level. Being a friendly person and chaperoning elementary school children is one thing. Taking charge of a budding nonprofit, however?
It's a little different.
And a little overwhelming. But against all of his own expectations, he might actually be the right man for the job. His unflappable calm and unusual sincere approach to dealing with subordinates are suitable to his position, and the methodical care he takes in the YFCC's financial affairs generally makes up for his lack of particular talent in those areas. Generally. For the rest, he has Clarissa Maxwell. Though only slightly older than he and fresh out of college herself, she's already proven herself adept in balancing the organization's various needs and obligations and alerting everyone to potential problems. Alerting frequently, in fact.
Thus it is that the blond fighter-model stands in the lobby by the information desk, the collar of his dress shirt unbuttoned beneath his tailored suit and tie loosened, gazing with a polite stoicism and just a hint of resignation at the dark-haired woman by his side. She's going off about something or otherÉ again. He's listening, really. He just wishes she had more of a compulsion against rattling off the current crises in front of everybody. Maybe he should keep more cameras around.
Still, it's just another challenge to savor, right?
Right.
A hand presses against the double doors at the foyer. Pushing them inward.
A man stands in the doorway, his lean frame silhouetted against the street. Black leather jacket zipped up to the throat, heavy red pants, solid boots...and a long fall of green hair, shading his half-lidded eyes. His gaze sweeps the lobby, taking in the place.
A scowl. Lips tighten, the line of his mouth pulling back. The fingers of his hand, up against the glass door...twitch, curling into a fist.
Remy pulls his arm away. He takes a step forward, letting the door swing shut.
Ah, at very last, Alma is having a taste of what a REAL job is like. If you asked Clarissa Maxwell, being a model is such a luxury, there's no filing files, there's no meetings with useless pie-charts, no stacks upon stacks of paperwork, no begging for donations from supporters! Yes, now Alma is in the REAL working world, where one has to bust their butt to get ahead!
And busting her butt is what the black haired woman (whom naturally is yammering off to Alma) always did then, and continues to do to present day, "Towazu-san! Are you even listening to me? I said that I thought we had made an agreement to cut me OUT of that commercial. I mean did you even look at it when it was done, I looked terrible! I looked like some sort of old, nagging woman, and I assure you I am anything but an old, nagging woman, I am a shining example of todays youth, I'm a role model! And for crying out loud lookat.. Whatis..." She's dressed smart in her own way, a knee-length dark-blue skirt and jacket, with a frilled blouse underneath. Very buttoned up, thankyouverymuch. Her free hand flails at Alma's 'sloppy' dress, "What is this? Is this professional, or is this 'sexy'? Towazu-san there is NO ROOM for SEXY in the YFCC! And the commercial, what are you going to do about the commercial?"
Pause.
"Are you listening to me?" Needless to say, amidst her display of very strong.. Concerns, Clarissa hardly notices that someone has entered the facility.
It would be around now that Alma would murmur soothing words, as he is wont to do-- and which, fortunately for his continued survival with Clarissa as a subordinate, he's fairly good at doing. There's not much else one can do when she gets like this. He tries to keep her away from the student volunteers.
But he is distracted; distracted by the flare of his secret sense, a tremor in the ambient aura that causes the tall youth to turn his head and shift his gaze toward the doors. It's maybe a bit silly to say, but people aren't usually unhappy here, at least not yet. Uncomfortable, at worst. Mocking sometimes, which isn't really that bad, especially when the young children are around to maintain levity. But for the first time, Alma detects a seething resentment made noticable by the potency of the anima it infuses...
'Are you listening to me!?'
W~ W...whoops. ~
Alma quickly turns his gaze back to Clarissa, managing a smile as he lifts his hands in a token of surrender. "Of course, of course, Miss Maxwell," he says softly, once again turning charm on the slow burn. Enough gentility and eventually people will just forget what they were angry about. The difference here is that Clarissa always remembers-- but later. That's the important thing. "I do apologize about the commercial, but I assure you I only included you because I thought you were lovely. You are indeed a role model. You shouldn't doubt yourself." Clarissa, doubt herself? But he does sound concerned. Misdirection! Alma, sophistry does not become you. See what he's reduced to.
That aura pulls at him, but he ignores it for long enough to reach up to his collar, pausing at the button as though thoughtfully. It's been a long day, give him a break! Let a man loosen his tie. "Miss Maxwell," the young model murmurs, "I'm not sure. Is this an accusation or a compliment?" Then he grins winningly-- finishing blow! Hopefully.
The young 'executive' will begin to chuckle, if he can pull it off without offending Clarissa, continuing to stand at what is center stage for those entering the building.
It's a cute scene. Straight out of some heartwarming slice-of-life sitcom. Amusing. Touching. Or at least it would be, to some. But Remy's reaction is different. He stands just inside the lobby, past the double glass doors he walked through a moment ago. He stands there, watching the pair - Alma and Clarissa.
His one clenched fist draws tighter, fingers digging into the palm of his hand, skin stretching taut across his knuckles. His arm trembles, ever so slightly.
Then he begins to walk. Towards the bickering pair. His footfalls are soft against the carpet, but there is a slow deliberateness to his tread.
And this is the part where things start to get tricky. So far Alma has always managed to find a way to escape whatever kind of 'trouble' he's in with smooth talking in that peaceful, calm.. Always so calm tone of his. When one thinks about it, it's actually extremely unsettling, it makes one wonder if he could tame a lion with that annoying smile of his.
Little did Clarissa know was that she indeed was the lion, and she indeed was going to 'fall for it'. Again. Her stern expression softens, and she adjusts her thin rimmed glasses, her stance seeming to be a little straighter. "You.. Think so? Well, I suppose from one perspective I did look rather beautiful.. And maybe not as bad as I originally thought but.. Still, I think-"
And the woman actually doesn't have time to finish her thoughts, because her own senses tingle, kicking in much later than usual that company is present. But she doesn't turn around in any startled fashion, but it is mildly stiff, as if trying a little too hard to be professional. "Ah, good afternoo-"
A pause.
And then her eyelids drop slightly, clearly not very impressed with what she sees. As for why this is the case, is clear when she turns her head to look to Alma, the hand not holding her planner raised in in a small shrugging motion, "Towazu-san, one of your model friends are here."
At least she's modest about it, right?
Alma's grin turns a bit weary as Clarissa turns away, taking this opportunity to remove his hand from his button and run his hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly as he does so.
~ Goodness gracious... ~
How long are things going to have to continue like this?
But wait! Is Clarissa psychic too? She may have a few problems with her sense of what's socially appropriate, but her trouble senses, psychic or no, are probably fined tuned than Alma's own. This company, however, poses no trouble for her, and she soon looks back; fortunately, by this point, Alma has had the presence of mind to settle his expression again and lower his head.
No trouble for her, but...
He looks towards Remy, toward the aura that had startled him before, offering the mild smile he usually does in the presence of the unknown-- but as soon as he looks into the man's eyes, Alma's smile fades. The blond's lips part in a slight intake of breath, and then he steps forward, managing to casually step between Remy and Clarissa without giving off a confrontational vibe. Whether or not that helps, well.
~ What did I do /this/ time...? ~
But Alma's not really indignant. Indignation shall be reserved for true injustice. The concern that was, if not exactly feigned, at least strategically applied during his conversation with Clarissa is quite genuine here, touching his eyes as he meets the intruder's gaze.
"What," he says softly, "seems to be the trouble, sir?"
~ Because I get the feeling he's looking at /me/. ~
Clarissa's last comment is, of course, ignored.
Remy smiles. He comes to a halt, a few feet away from the model and his assistant.
He smiles.
It's not a nice smile, not in any conceivable way. It's a hard smile, a cold smile. His eyes are the same, devoid of any warmth. He stares at Alma, ignoring Clarissa. She is unimportant, inconsequential. She isn't who he's here for.
"Frankly," Remy says, pleasantly, "you are."
A blunt statement, stripped of any social nicities. That isn't the sort of thing one says in polite social interaction. That's the sort of thing you say to provoke a reaction. Which is precisely what the Frenchman is doing. The look on his face, his body language, the way his lean muscled frame is held - there can be no mistake.
Clarissa's hand lifts again to adjust her glasses, an eyebrow raising as she studies Remy a little closer. There was something mildly familiar about him but she just couldn't quite put her finger on it. Hmmn.
Though there is a stronger feeling of bad vibes than before, but it actually wasn't much worse than what she'd feel when she saw Alma punch in his timecard. Likely nothing worth sticking around for then, she did have plenty of work to da anyway. The officelady gives a sudden laugh though, as she adds, "Trouble? You got that right, and I'm stuck with him for at least a year, how do you think I feel??"
And then the black-haired woman turns to look to Alma once more, "No no, I'm just teasing Towazu-san."
Pause.
Her expression straightens once more. "... No I'm not. Anyway you take care of things here and remember you're on the clock, got it?" Clarissa gives a mildly warning glare, followed up with a dismissive nod of her head. This is where she'll be taking her leave. Play nice, boys~.
~ I thought /I/ was the boss around here. ~
Alma slumps ever so slightly. It's only just noticable. "Thank you, Miss Maxwell," he murmurs. "I'm sure that--"
Whatever he was going to say is lost, sudden focus taking the place of words as his posture straightens again abrupt, staring expressionless into Remy's eyes. The two men stand in silence for a moment-- just long enough for Clarissa to walk away. She may be a bother, but Alma has his priorities straight. The quiet hubbub of student volunteers and various visitors chatting quietly on the comfortable couches continues from the corners of the wide room; the new tile beneath the two men's feet gleams quietly in the fading light that enters through the large front windows.
"I don't understand," Alma says simply.
That may be true in an important sense. But that cultivated inscrutibility, that particular relaxed poise, can only reveal to observation that he understands at least one thing:
He's in danger.
There is no need for words.
The meaning is clear.
Remy's hands are held by his side. One fist is curled, but his other hand lies open, his fingers loose. No apparent tension radiates from his frame. No, the sense of warning from him is somewhat more subtle - and perhaps all the more dangerous for that.
He turns his head just a little, watching as Clarissa goes. Then his gaze returns to Alma. He raises one slender eyebrow, arching it in a critical manner. He smiles that smile once again, that expression that speaks more of contempt than mirth.
"No? Mmn, well," he muses, "then..."
He waves a hand, gesturing with a negligent flick of the wrist to the lobby of the community centre.
"...this, a place for fighters. Young fighters, you say. And you are proud of this?"
"Of course."
There is no hesitation in Alma's voice.
Perhaps feeling as though this deserves some explanation given Remy's apparent lack of appreciation, however -- or perhaps just seizing yet another opportunity to share a piece of his heart with another -- the beautiful youth continues.
"I've been told," Alma begins, "that too many young people today lack a sense of purpose. I suspect that such a lack is what defines the state of youth in some important sense-- but for a young fighter, it can be especially dangerous. An increase in power exacerbates every tension... including the tensions in a young person's heart. A directionless fighter can be like... a gun fired directionlessly."
Alma sweeps out his arm silently, gesturing at the scene around him.
"This place is a place for fighters. It can't give them direction. But it can keep them safe." He nods toward the couches. "Those of us with a strong sense of purpose can share it with those who want to listen. Those of us who have no desire to find direction-- can do so in the context of a community."
Alma looks back, meeting Remy's eyes again.
"This way, we can find out who we want to be-- without denying who we are."
"Hmph."
Remy sneers. If he were a cat, his hackles would raise. As it is, his voice is still a hiss, sharp and piercing.
"You control violence by /promoting/ violence?"
Acid sarcasm drips from his voice, thick and black as night. The emphasis in the word twists his words into an accusation.
He swings his arm back, pointing right at Alma. One finger extended, stabbing at the younger man.
"Spare me your platitudes," he says, "you're just the same."
Alma's expression remains still.
"Better to shape the violent impulse than to presume to deny it entirely," he responds quietly. "Or to ignore it; our only other options. Better to stage challenges and make violence a force for self-expression and not the last resort of the desperate, the vengeful violated, or the oppressed. Better to define it /as/ a form of self-expression, so it becomes only one option among many more appropriate ones..."
He already knows Remy is just going to cut him off. This isn't about convincing him, though, just like fighting isn't about the result. This is just about standing up for what he believes in, making sure what he wants to say is at least said.
This is about integrity, and dignity.
"So be it," the younger man says quietly, maybe a bit sadly. For the first time since Remy entered, Alma's expression softens.
"Why are you here?"
"You're trying to /legitimise/ violence," Remy spits, pure vehemence in his tone. His arm is still held before him, that pointing finger an indictment.
His face shifts into an angry mask, all pretense of calm abandoned. He takes a step forward, then another.
"You think fighting is so good?"
He smiles, his eyes alight.
"Let's see how much you like -real- violence, /model/."
Lightning quick, he snaps his raised hand round, grabbing at the collar of Alma's shirt.
COMBATSYS: Remy has started a fight here.
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Remy 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Alma has joined the fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Remy
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Remy's Crazed Waltz.
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Alma 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Remy
And with that grip, he grabs, -yanks-, pulling Alma into the path of a raised knee. Following it up with a palm-thrust uppercut.
Just another day at the office...
Alma's hands snap up reflexively as he senses the real violent intent now coursing through Remy's aura, but not so quickly as to prevent the man from catching hold altogether; this guy is fast! But as the model is hefted off the ground, he does manage to bring his own knee up before Remy does, and partially deflects the strike away from his abdomen. Having averted the brunt of the move, he thrusts out his own palm and pushes away, breaking out of his opponent's grasp just in time to tilt out of the way of the following uppercut.
Weaving to the side, Alma quickly loosens his tie the rest of the way and discards it as all eyes turn toward them, a stunned hush falling across the room for the moment.
~ I guess this isn't the right time to ask him to use the sparring corner... ~
"Hmph!"
He twists with his own momentum, spinning into a crouch--
"How..."
--and lashes out with a sweep kick as he finishes the rotation, aiming to scythe his attacker's legs out from under him while finishing in an artfully poised low stance.
"...inappropriate!"
COMBATSYS: Remy dodges Alma's Light Kick.
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Alma 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Remy
Remy gets out of the way. Just that. It is not an acrobatic feat, not a movement of amazing speed. He simply /gets out of the way/, shifting his position with absolutely no wasted motion. He takes one step back. Just one step, the soles of his boots gliding soundlessly against the carpet. Alma's kick goes wide, though only barely - in fact, the model's heel brushes against the heavy fabric of Remy's pants.
"Isn't this," Remy says, mockingly, "a -fighting- centre, hmn?"
No. Alma brought this upon himself, with his delusions, with his pretentions. He deserves a lesson. He deserves to be taught that he is /wrong/.
And so, incredibly unconcerned with the fact he's causing quite a scene in the lobby... he lunges forward, stabbing a hand downward at the crouched Alma, jabbing his rigid fingertips like a knife stab towards the flesh between one shoulder and his chest.
COMBATSYS: Alma fails to interrupt Quick Punch from Remy with Divine Intervention EX.
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Alma 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Remy
No flair fighting, huh? It makes sense, considering his opponent's attitude toward fighting in general-- and it's something Alma will have to adjust for.
As soon as possible, too, because he fouls him this time. A little startled not at his miss so much as the simple way in which his opponent evades it, the suddenness of the assault catches him off guard. A flare of light accompanies Alma's automatic psychic response, but this is a moment when some more conscious thought might have come in handy; the jab near his shoulder sends a numbing jolt of pain through his arm that causes the young model to falter and his energies to fizzle, dissipating into the aether.
Reeling back, not so much from the pain as from the need to get out of close range while his right arm is weakened, Alma still manages to do so by twisting back, planting his left palm firmly on the ground, and turning a sprawl into a one-handed cartwheel back onto his feet.
Drama is important. Just ask Fei Long.
Alma has nothing to say in response; he simply reaches up to massage the place where Remy struck and gaze intently into his opponent's eyes, awaiting the next assault.
"Hmph," Remy snorts. The look on his face is one of pure disdain, disapproval. His eyes narrow at Alma's acrobatic antics. His scowl deepens ever-further. No, there is little showmanship in Remy's style - if it can be called a style at all. He has a certain natural agility, but this is overshadowed by the simple brutal utilitarian nature of his attacks. He stalks forward, a slow and weighted tread. Then he explodes into action, driving his arm forward. Reaching to grab Alma, once again, but the front of his cotton shirt, fingers clawing at the designer fabric.
To grab, to lift, to introduce Alma's face and body to the lush carpet of his preciously decorated fighting centre - and the hard ground beneath.
COMBATSYS: Alma dodges Remy's Disturbed Sleep Outline.
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Alma 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Remy
Alma learns fast.
But he cheats a little, at least by the usual standards. He is adjusting to the differences in his opponent's approach strategically, which is one of the few things that alerts him to the potential for another sudden lunge-- but said approach, Remy's attitude, is more than just an intangible concept for the young model. Attitude is visual, if you will. Alma might not understand, might not know exactly what's going on, but he can see what Remy intends... and how he feels, if not why.
This might be a more serious fight than the ones promoted by the YFCC, but-- that won't stop Alma from doing his thing, and savoring what insight he can glean from his opponent, from the vibrant aura that burns all the brighter in the heat of combat.
He sways in, not away, brushing just out of range of Remy's fingertips but closing in rather than withdrawing again, aiming to push his opponent back this time-- with a blast of white soulfire, psychic energy now successfully gathered in his fingertips, his hand thrusting out fiercely toward Remy's abdomen. His attack may be partially obscured by his movements despite the flare of sparkling light.
Light, echoed in the depths of his eyes.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Remy with Self Expression.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Remy
The psychic energy roars against Remy's abdomen. It throws him back, his feet skidding backwards over the floor. He stays upright...but he hunches over, spine curled, wisps of residual soulfire curling from his gut.
He draws a laboured breath.
"So," Remy murmurs, "you're more than a dilettante."
He looks up, his eyes blazing with rage, framed by locks of green hair. In its own way just as furious as the fire in Alma's eyes.
By now, the conflict between the two has begun to draw notice from others in the lobby. Remy pays them no heed - or if he does, they're merely at the periphery of his awareness. Merely a backdrop for the public humiliation of this man.
"But," Remy continues, his voice deceptively soft, "you're still deluded."
He moves, then. Unleashing his own energy, a brilliant blast of blue-green, shot through with white. Spiritual power erupts from Remy's body as he closes the space between him and Alma. He swings -both- his legs in an upward rising slash, a punishing blow to Alma's torso and head. Pivoting his entire body before landing in a crouch...his power drawing a retina-searing crescent in the air, following his arc.
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Remy's Rising Rage Flash.
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Alma 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Remy
"Gghh--"
Alma skids back as well, arms crossed in front of his face shielding him from the brunt of Remy's crushing blow. The force is so intense that Alma has to slip back into a crouch to compensate. He had at first felt the urge to strike first again -- to break his opponent's rhythm, such as it is -- but this man fights with too much stark simplicity for Alma's usual tricks. There's no opening to be found in this overwhelming rising slash.
Better to just catch his breath.
"I wish your words meant more to me," Alma says in return, rising slowly back to a standing position. "But a man who denounces violence even as he resorts to it out of mere... frustration..."
Alma lowers his head slightly, gaze intent and heated beneath his bangs' silky shroud.
"...I think this place was made for people like you."
COMBATSYS: Alma gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Remy
Remy laughs, a harsh an abrupt sound.
He rises to his feet, straightening his spine. His eyes remain locked on Alma, matching the model's gaze for sheer intensity.
"Are you," he asks, "calling me a hypocrite?"
He smiles, once more, that same ghostly grin.
"No," he says, "I know violence is wrong. You don't. That's the point. Call this..."
He shifts his stance, turning his side towards Alma. He rests his weight on his left heel, grinding it into the carpet. His right leg shoots out, the hard-clad heel of one boot pistoning towards Alma, travelling on a straight unyielding line.
"...a remedial evil."
COMBATSYS: Remy successfully hits Alma with Light Kick.
- Power hit! -
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Alma 1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Remy
The kick blasts the wind out of Alma's lungs; he just slides back from the sheer force before folding up in a slow collapse into a kneeling position, bowing his head for a moment as he clutches his hands to his chest and struggles quietly for breath.
"Violence... isn't... wrong."
With an iron resolve, with uncomplaining silence, he patiently struggles again to stand.
"Violence... is... a tool."
When he raises his head, he shows no pain; only purpose.
"A tool that can be used well or poorly... most often poorly."
His eyes gleam.
"If you blame a tool for the faults of its wielders--"
And he lunges.
"--how could you even begin to understand its real nature?"
And he soars; after one long step he pushes against the ground and sails shockingly high, thrusting with unnatural force up into the air, ripples of wind becoming ripples of heat and then the searing brightness of psychic flame as Alma twists with complex smoothness, his hypnotic acrobatics concealing as long as possible the intended end result: a flying, hooking, fire-imbued kick to Remy's head.
"Uurryaaahhh!"
COMBATSYS: Remy counters Shooting Star from Alma with Blue Nocturne.
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Alma 1/---====/=======|-------\-------\0 Remy
Remy stands his ground. He makes no attempt to evade or dodge. He simply remains where he is. The leg he kicked Alma with pulls back. It does not, however, return to his normal resting position. No. Alma's probably noticed by now, but the concept of a fighting stance is largely alien to Remy. He simply stands there. Not this time, though. Not this time. As he waits, his leg is raised slightly, bent at the knee, his foot off the floor.
"That depends," he says, "on your definition, doesn't it?"
He watches, as Alma arcs high into the air, nearly reaching the ceiling with his leap. Quite a feat, considering the expansive size of the fighting centre lobby. His eyes track the model's flight, unpeturbed, impassive.
"If you think it's /just/ a tool..."
As Alma blasts back down towards him...
...Remy glows.
A distinct aura of blue erupting from his body. With a massive discharge of power, he smashes his own kick into Alma, crashing his boot into the other man's gut before /his/ attack slams home. And before Alma hits the ground, Remy spins into a follow-up series of upward palm and knife-hand strikes, concluding with another Rising Rage Flash - blue energy cascading from his body all the way, leaving a trail of after-images in his wake.
"...you're wrong."
Such savagery.
The beating is as brutal and merciless as it is efficient and eminently precise, and Alma is caught entirely off-guard in a vortex of suffering. By the time he is cast out by the final rising strike, his tall body is limp from the sheer trauma, and the way he spirals seems like a natural effect of the attack -- and not a result of any conscious effort on his part.
Somehow, though, it is.
For when he hits the ground his palms manage just barely to fold out from under him, breaking his fall, and as he rolls across the carpet, he seems to just happen to conveniently unfold into a slumped kneeling position. He leans forward precariously, yet it becomes just a sway and not a collapse; a sway on his way to getting back, yet again, to his feet.
"...a tool..."
Shouldn't you be saving your breath, man?
"...especially dangerous... thus... especially meaningful..."
Oh, for goodness sake.
"...but... though using it might shape us..."
On one knee now, Alma raises his right hand and clenches it into a fist.
"...it cannot control us..."
A surge of power, like a great intake of breath--
"Not if we strive to understand!"
--a burst of fire, thrust toward the ground. It should seem as though the carpet should catch fire; instead, a flash of light, and nothing. Alma remains in place there, fist nestled there.
"Not if we have faith."
And he lets his faith be known; its manifestation, a geyser of pure Psycho Power, white and pink and purple, glimmering and sparkling like the waters of the fountain of youth, the pure and unhindered release of his emotions in the form of a passionate flame that seeks to incinerate his opponent's mental defenses-- and objections.
It is Alma's testament-- to the strength of his belief.
COMBATSYS: Remy blocks Alma's Full Confession.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 Remy
The fire fades. And when it does, Remy's still on his feet. His arms in front of him, shielding his face. Tendrils of soul-charged energy dissipate from the weathered leather of his jacket sleeves. He lowers them, turning cold green eyes on Alma.
"You think..."
His breath is ragged. Passing through the crucible enacting its toll on his spirit.
"You can master /this/?"
He is unbroken, unbowed - a flame searing at the soul can do little to a heart already consumed in wrath.
"That you're somehow /better/?"
He exhales. Inhales.
"That you're /righteous/?"
He does not seem impressed.
The people watching in the lobby - teenagers that were using the centre's facilities, counter staff, bystanders - they are all blinking, shielding their eyes, murmuring with surprise and awe.
But not Remy, not the man at the heart of the storm.
"No," he says, with clenched fists, "it consumes us all, in the end."
COMBATSYS: Remy focuses on his next action.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 Remy
"Never."
Alma has finally gotten to his feet. His voice is clear again.
"Violence is a medium-- for rage, for fury, for passion. Like any vessel, it can indeed define, to a degree, what it contains."
He begins to stride forward. He must be in terrible pain. It doesn't show.
"Like any art form, no matter how much hold we /think/ it has over us-- we choose why we pursue it, what we put into it, how meaningful we make it-- and what we will sacrifice to make the most of it."
Alma raises his fists as with a smooth acceleration he closes in.
"Violence cannot consume me. Violence is one way for me to show how I am already consumed--"
A sudden flurry of jabs blur forth, aiming to lure Remy into a single high right cross.
"--by my passion!"
COMBATSYS: Remy dodges Alma's Quick Punch.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 Remy
"You call it 'passion'," Remy shoots back, with a sneer.
"Call it whatever you want. Doesn't change what it /is/."
He backs away from Alma, evading the punches. But while he does that, he doesn't fall victim to the feint. For when Alma throws that one right cross, Remy simply leans to one side. The fist blurs past him, the speed of its passage and the simple proximity stirring his hair. Indeed, the punch barely misses - only by milimetres. If that.
But it's enough.
He moves, then. Dropping low, his legs flexing, bending over. Then his muscles release. He erupts into the air, pounding the ground so hard it craters the floor, sending flecks of carpet and flooring into the air. His body twists in a tight compact spin, arms flying out to control his rotation - as he pistons a leg towards Alma.
"You're just lying to yourself."
COMBATSYS: Remy successfully hits Alma with Cold Blue Kick.
[ \\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0 Remy
Alma just can't keep up.
He's exerted his utmost effort, but the man's power and speed are overwhelming, and on top of that Alma must continue to accustom himself to his opponent's very different manner of fighting. There's no lack of grace, but there is an odd lack of a rhythm that the young Hiten-Ryu prodigy finds it almost impossible to deal with. Just short, sharp, staccato bursts of tightly contained viciousness. Where is the unifying force? What is linking all these attacks together?
What can Alma exploit?
What can help Alma understand?
He can't afford to lose any more ground. Instead of sending him back, the kick thrusts the suit-clad youth into a bridge position, his palms twisting to support him as he falls back but keeping his feet in place. He can't have even a bit of breath let in him, but sheer blind determination, the knowledge that he at least has a speck of vitality left, keeps him going. There is still some fuel yet to burn.
And burn it he shall.
Alma has no words to respond with; he can only show, again, the resilience of what he calls passion. Pushing off against the ground with his palms, finding again an unnatural source of momentum, the tall fighter propels himself off the ground and slashes out with a fierce kick wreathed in the wisps of his flame, aiming to catch Remy before he can touch down from his own again. If the sudden recovery succeeded, Alma will find it in him to continue upward for another couple feet and lash out with two more strong spinning roundhouse kicks, gliding back to the ground and landing, hopefully, in a standing position.
Where he might be able to refill his lungs. That would be nice.
COMBATSYS: Remy fails to interrupt Rising Fury from Alma with Vague Temptation.
[ \\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Alma 1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Remy
[OOC] Alma says, "Vague Temptation, eh?"
[OOC] Alma imagines Remy gesturing in the general direction of his rear.
[OOC] Remy >> I'D HIT THAT - PHYSICAL 0 105 PROXIMITY ATK+ PRIORITY CRUSH PRIME
And he gets that pause, that moment to catch his breath. Because Remy does indeed go flying, smashed out of the air - and then kept painfully aloft by the force of Alma's kicks. The final roundhouse sends him across the lobby. The Frenchman crashes into the neon-lit frontage of a vending machine, his body impacting painfully with cola logo. He slides to the ground, rammed halfway into the machine, his spine and skull forming a distinct indentation in the plastic-and-metal surface, the eye-catching display no longer properly illuminated...just sparking fitfully.
"Nngghhh," Remy growls, as he claws his way back to his feet. Shards and debris cascade off his jacket as he gets up. He glares balefully at Alma.
"Does this body lie?"
What may be most impressive is not that Alma manages to stay standing after completing his vigorous series of kicks but that he manages to make it look less excruciatingly difficult than it really is. At this point, the beautiful youth is basically falling apart. Surely he is on fire in more than just the spiritual sense. Soon he must succumb to the pain. His physical limitations allow for nothing else.
So why does it seem like he isn't struggling to contain the agony he must feel?
"You say that I lie to myself. But--"
Why do his actions seem, if not easy, then at least natural?
"--is this effort not the essence of sincerity? When in the face of such pain... still, I will not submit? Still, I hold fast to what I believe, and share it with you for as long as this lasts...?"
He breathes deeply, his fighting spirit like a phoenix that dwells within him, burning brightest as he lingers at the edge of consciousness. Somehow, now, when he should have next to nothing, his aura begins to build palpably around him, beginning to manifest in a veritable halo of white light starting to shine around him as though his form is backlit.
"Surely you too are sharing with me through combat."
It's not a question. It's a statement. It's what Alma has reasoned and what he believes.
"Surely you too seek to share what mere words cannot express through the medium of violence."
Alma's body trembles with the ecstasy of his suffering, of his reality.
"Surely through this struggle you are reforged!"
COMBATSYS: Alma gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Alma 1/---====/=======|===----\-------\0 Remy
"Hmph."
He watches, unimpressed, as Alma glows. The bright light radiating from his body casts the lobby into stark relief, patterns of light and dark. He's almost painful to look at. But Remy doesn't avert his eyes. He just takes a step forward, then a second. Then he lunges, thrusting a fist, driving his knuckles toward the model.
"You talk too much," Remy says, simply.
COMBATSYS: Alma fails to interrupt Quick Punch from Remy with Full Confession.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Remy 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: Alma can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Remy 0/-------/----===|
That, if anything, is probably true.
All that power Alma was gathering, to-- well, to keep himself standing, actually. To keep himself talking. It was both intentional and unconscious, if that can be understood; for while he knew he wanted to cling to the waking world, and he knew that summoning his energies in such a fashion would be the way to do it, what demanded it was nothing but the joy of the fight, his furious passion for life. He really had little else to offer.
He might've-- with just a bit more strength, he might've--
But not this time.
Alma reaches out his hand, for what it is not quite clear, and it will never be revealed. Remy strikes once and finally knocks the younger man off his feet for good. The model slides on tile until his back hits the information desk, whereupon he slumps forward in a state of complete and utter exhaustion.
Remy stalks forward, his fists still balled - so tight that his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands. His shoulders are squared, his body held in tight rigidity. He walks over to where Alma lies, sprawled at the base of the information desk. His approach draws a squeak from the girl behind the counter, but Remy ignores her.
Instead, he studies the fallen model.
"Not getting up?"
Spitefully, he lifts a heel, grinding it into Alma's abused ribs.
COMBATSYS: Remy has ended the fight here.
For a long while the 'audience' has been silent, but as Remy approaches Alma's fallen form a murmur starts up and a few of the young people populating the area begin to close in. The intruder's presence has been respected, such as it is, during the course of the fight, but it's at this point that it begins to seem like he may have overstayed his welcome...
For now, though, Alma can only grit his teeth and look up at his opponent.
Not that he can see much through the white haze, but.
"No," he manages clearly through the searing pain. "I can't fight... any longer."
Despite it all, he can still meet Remy's eyes.
"But I proved... my willingness to defend... what I believe in..."
~ He's so powerful. But-- ~
"...what have you proved, through your victory?"
~ --if only I knew why he fights. For his sake. ~
"Nngh... d... do you feel... like you've won...?"
"Frankly?"
Remy looks down at Alma, his face unreadable, cast from iron. His features are still.
"That depends," he says.
His booted foot, resting on Alma's injured side, digs in ever further.
"If you've learnt anything."
He pulls his leg back, straightening. Then he turns his back on the fallen model. His gaze upon the crowd. He begins to walk. They let him pass, though not without muttering. Again, Remy pays them no mind. Their words do not affect him.
"Consider this a warning, Alma Towazu."
He pushes through the glass doors of the lobby, stepping into the street.
"This place is a mistake."
Alma allows his eyes to close as Remy finally walks away.
~ What have I learned... ~
"T...Towazu-san," the girl behind the counter timidly manages, "I'm, I'm so sorry... should I call someone from the infirmary...? Or... or do you need a hospital?"
~ I've learned I have a lot more to learn... ~
"The infirmary will be fine, thank you," Alma says, after a few seconds of tense -- at least for everyone else -- silence pass. "I would appreciate a stretcher..."
"Y, yes, of course!"
~ ...and that fighting me won't solve that man's problems. ~
"Thank you," he says as the darkness claims him, "very much."
He might be on the verge of swooning, but he can at least be polite about it.
~ Who... are you... ~
He can at least be himself.
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> Re: YFCC Fight?! [Re: gadouken99] [Quote] [Reply]
* FightFan (Forum User - Posts: 547 - 5/23 2.40pm)
________________________________________________________
Quote: does anyone know what happened at the YFCC today? ________________________________________________________
This guy just came in and started fighting Alma. My sis was there
she says he yelled something about Alma promoting violence, that
the young fighters community center was a mistake or something.
She got a vid with her cell phone:
[link]http://faitotube.com/watch?v=wzEsahyIFTs
Looks like he beat Alma pretty badly
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Log created on 03:18:17 05/23/2007 by Remy, and last modified on 10:27:39 05/23/2007.