Description: After a long separation, two friends are reunited. What is the nature of their relationship, though, and where are they headed? What kind of future are they looking forward to creating? Ultimately, the answer may be that the strongest ties are forged in discord...
This could be troublesome.
So far, Alma Towazu has been doing alright running the YFCC with the aid of his competent and exasperatingly acerbic assistant Ms. Maxwell, and the center has begun growing faster than even he, in his faith in the human capacity to recognize good when it sees it, could have imagined. There have been some tough moments, of course; some especially tough, and involving random fighters viciously attacking him in the middle of the center. But even that only raises awareness, as far as he's concerned, and so far the good press is outweighing the bad. After all, random fights break out everywhere in this town. Something like that is nothing new.
~ That man... he was very interesting. ~
It was only afterward that Alma learned Remy's name. The young model is utterly confident in the error of Remy's thinking but equally curious as to how his stronger opponent came to such a conclusion. Not to mention his stacatto fighting style, so different from Alma's own, paralleling their difference in attitude. There is an odd synchronity between their auras, and one that soon Alma knows he must engage in again by seeking out that man.
But not yet. Not now.
Because even though he's getting frustrated phone calls from his studio manager and behind on all his homework assignments, Alma is needed here, and this is his foremost responsibility right now, he is convinced. Rose asked him to take care of it, and take care of it he will, for as long as it takes until she returns. That woman-- despite how little he knows about her, that woman means more to him that he can express in words, and he can only be grateful that given who she is, he doesn't have to.
Save for in the remarkable exception of combat, Alma is reserved, normally too reserved to try something 'political' like this. An organization on the level of the YFCC is a far cry apart from casual elementary school chaperoning.
But it feels right. It feels like the next step.
He sets his own limits, and then he pushes again...
~ This time, though... I wonder if I really have the strength. ~
So the beautiful youth is thinking as he reclines wearily against the information desk, the main room blessedly mostly empty at the moment; custom tailored suit unbuttoned and tie loosened, Alma gazes placidly up at the ceiling, seizing the spare moment for introspection.
~ I don't want to fail at something like this, but... ~
Somehow, he's not at all scared.
~ ...who would have ever thought I'd end up like this? ~
Life has taken a strange and difficult turn-- into yet another beautiful day.
As he stares at the sign over the door, Frei is forced to admit that while he may be a relatively inexperienced fighter, he probably isn't a 'young fighter', not anymore. It's a bright, beautiful June 1st, meaning that the monk's 27th birthday is only a few months away at this point... wandering as it does, he suddenly remembers that the twins' birthdays are in the middle of the month. Part of him wants to send his brothers something for their birthdays, even if it's only a card... and then, his hand on the chrome bar that opens the YFCC's front door, he realizes that this means 'revealing his existence' to his mother, and he thinks better of it.
Thoughts of family have been dominating Frei's consciousness, of late. The loss of his master, the drama surrounding Dante and Jiro, his conversation with Mizuki about her family's style... all seemingly unconnected things that poke at the monk's memories like needles. Barely noticable until you focus on them, and then suddenly the sensation of it dominates the senses.
There are two families at work, too: the bond of blood and the bond of... well, friendship. Much as they may disagree, Frei's mother Isis will always be his mother, and Threnody and Kataki his brothers. But then there is his master, the second father; his friends who are like brothers and sisters to him, the people who support him and who he supports in return. Bonded by *something* other than blood, though perhaps friendship isn't the right term for it. But they are connected. Jiro, Yuri, Sakura, Mizuki, even Tran in his own way.
Then there's Alma, and that's a completely different story.
As he pushes the door open and steps inside, a burst of air-conditioned chill slamming into him while the heat of proto-summer pushes back at it from outside, until the door shuts and the glare fades, and there sits Alma, as if somehow by thinking about him Frei has conjured him at long absence from the ether to work out exactly what's on his mind.
The autumn leaf colors of his oversize qipao seem brighter with the sun at his back, as the monk raises a hand and then suddenly starts *laughing*. "I don't believe it."
What he could really use is... some help.
Alma became strong. How he did so is difficult to explain but important. A simple if misleading way to put it would be to say that he took possession of his self, his soul if you like; he made into his own what had once been someone else's. Specifically, he took his family, what could be an aspect of great shame and weakness, and transformed it through some internal alchemy into a source of strength-- sheerly through love of life, an unconditional wish to be a part of his world for as long he is able. Alma, in his own little way, reworked himself from the ground up. By not feeling like he /needed/ anything anymore, he began to appreciate everything much more-- it's a simplistic way of putting it, but it will surely suffice.
The point is: for Alma too, family has been a keystone and preoccupation.
But his capacity to take what he loves and accept it smoothly into himself, to keep his loved ones with him in spirit always, can by his mild nature make him... complacent. He rarely seeks people out, and when he does it is because that burning passion has surged to the surface and intuition has seized him. Even that is only an expression of his manner; he submits to the firey urge, having decided that loving them is worth the price of potentially being wrong and making a fool out of himself. Distant as he can seem, he's very good at learning from people -- and from life -- because he's always paying attention; life's inherent vibrancy incessantly calls out to him.
He's a little /too/ good.
He always feels as though his friends are with him.
But... the thing is... well... they /aren't/.
~ I keep forgetting. ~
Jiro's gone. A lot of his friends are gone. If Alma really thought about it, he could realize that he's been reaching out to a lot of new people quite naturally, that it's become part of who he is and he has nothing to worry about. But-- it's something he still hasn't learned yet, mainly because of the above. To just ask for help. There was someone who once reproached him for that. If only--
Alma blinks at the laughter, and looks down silently. It takes only a moment before a smile appears, faintly at first, then quickly spreading as he rises and straightens himself and begins to approach the merry monk.
"Frei!"
The laughter doesn't seem to surprise or bother him at all.
"It's... good to see you."
But then, even Alma has to laugh at how /this/ worked out.
"You've really..." Frei begins, giving a short little wave with one hand and then looking around. A warehouse. It's really sort of the perfect thing to transform, isn't it? His current place of living used to be an art studio in someone's attic, with lots of wide open space and high ceilings and perfect natural lighting. Frei can't draw a stick figure without a t-square, but at the same time there is a QUALITY of spaces that carries over between activities. A warehouse is where you put something until you're ready to use it. Turning that into a center for young fighters... it's almost genius. Sheer, stupid accidental genius, since logistically speaking the wide open space part is likely more important.
But Frei, used to thinking on a symbolic level, is amused by it. "...got quite an operation going here."
The reality of the situation has the monk a little dumbstruck, which is a rare event in and of itself. He had *originally* come to offer to do the same thing he does at Taiyo High: teach a course in basic tai chi. Fighting and personal savings keep Frei from needing a 9-to-5 job, so he can afford to volunteer... but in truth it's also because what the center might consider 'young fighters' are the people who've helped Frei make so many linkages between philosophy and fighting and, indeed, life itself. Never mind the fact that the *alternative* is probably learning from one of those "David Carradine Teaches You Tai Chi" tapes they sell on infomercials at 3am, and that's just not right.
"It's, uh, good to see you too," the monk lamely adds, reaching behind his head with one hand and drifting his fingers down one of the long tails of his ever-present, Sakura-esque headband. "Unexpected, but that's not exactly a bad thing." He takes a step past Alma, looking around again, and then turns around. What was the advice Fei Long gave him? 'However, run through your past encounters in your mind during meditation. Come up with a strategy that is vastly different than those you've used against your opponent before.' The Hiten-Ryuu master had been referring to fighting, of course, but the old song title applies too, right? Love is a battlefield. And even if Frei is perhaps over his romantic connection to Alma -- mostly -- it's only a step away to say that Friendship is a Battlefield too, right?
Marshal your forces, Frei. "I feel like I have a lot of things to say to you, now, before we wander out of each other's lives again," he says with a small smile. "Also, you look better in a suit than in shellfish."
"Thank you," Alma says, quite seriously.
Hey, a compliment is a compliment.
Slipping his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, Alma smiles again and inclines his head toward one of the nearby couches. "Shall we sit down, then?" he murmurs. "The furniture here is quite comfortable." You would say that, Alma, you picked it out yourself. Too bad you have such little time to actually make use of it. This is an excellent excuse.
But really-- that Frei would just wander back into his life; it's like a gift. Alma is not so self-absorbed as to actually think as such, and in fact is primarily concerned with what the monk is feeling and plans on saying. Even so... this is really what he needed.
A familiar face. A familiar aura. A friend.
What weeks these have been!
"I'm glad you're here," Alma says with his usual calm sincerity once they have both settled down around a coffee table. "My life seems to be moving at a faster pace than I'm used to." He grins softly, one hazel eye obscured by a stray red-tinged bang. "It's difficult to catch my breath." Clearly that's what he was up to when Frei arrived. He seems anything but disappointed. Presumably this is an even better way to recenter himself... or something. "At this rate, though, you're probably right about wandering out of each other's lives... I can't even pretend to know anymore what tomorrow will bring."
"So... what was it you wanted to tell me...?"
DID he want to tell Alma anything? Surprisingly, the answer the monk finds in his head is 'no'. Ask, sure... but not necessarily 'tell'. It's easy to see this internal conflict briefly play itself out on Frei's expressive face, his transparent and mercurial emotions having very little distance between the internal and the external. Considering everything carefully, he tries to reprioritize what he ACTUALLY came here for compared to what he'd LIKE to do now that the situation has presented itself, poorly chosen as those words may be.
So instead of following his instincts, he follows Alma instead, trundling along toward one of the couches, his green eyed gaze flickering around the room and taking things in as the people IN the center -- perhaps a thinner crowd during the day, when many should be in school after all -- as he walks. "Ah, well... actually, I didn't know you'd be here, even after that high-profile fight you had in this very building." A certain wry expression flickers across Frei's face for a moment as he glances at Alma. "It's like you attract them. Though that guy seems familiar to me, somehow... I can't really place it. Still." He pauses, trying to recenter his thinking and bring it away from the mental replay of the YouTube footage of the fight. Handy things, camera phones. "I'd actually come to volunteer."
Now /that's/ unexpected.
"Really?"
Alma leans back into the couch, blinking at Frei in mild surprise at the assertion of his intent. "You want to volunteer here? That-- I mean, that would be wonderful." It's rare that he stumbles over his words like this, trying as he does to not say more than he feels is necessary, which is usually too much in any case. "It's just, well... the commitment, I'm not sure you would..."
He trails off, pauses, and then actually sighs, reaching up to lean his head on his hand a little. Wow. The kid really /is/ exhausted. He must be enjoying himself if he's able to not let on so much -- surely his passion fuels him, etcetera etcetera -- but even after a fight he doesn't usually slump like this.
~ It's just-- I feel this is so unlike me. ~
"I'm sorry, Frei," he says softly, straightening again and smiling a little, apologetically. "I didn't mean that. There's no real commitment. You can come and go whenever you like. I--" He pauses. Why /did/ he say that? It's important. "I-- well." This in particular, somehow, strikes him as important. And it may begin to become evident to Frei that as open and genuine as Alma generally is and always tries to be, he may not have shared his true emotions with another person in the common course of life in... some time. Certainly with nobody here.
He should be honest about this, even if he's not sure. But he really isn't sure; so uncharacteristically he averts his eyes as he's talking to Frei, looking off to the side and down as though trying to visualize what precisely it is he wants to say.
"It's just that I trust you, Frei. And... once you started helping me, I know I'd want you to stay. ...I mean, of course I don't /doubt/ anyone here, but... I /know/ you." Maybe that's a little overconfident of him, considering how little time they've spent just hanging out, but-- if he means it in the fighter-to-fighter sense, surely Alma's intuition makes some sense. "And... I'm not sure that's... your style."
He finally looks up again.
"But even if you were around for just a little while-- I know I'd be happier."
He seems happier even now, just for being honest.
It probably wasn't necessary to say all that, but-- what is?
"I'm glad you offered, Frei. You'll always be welcome."
Something is rotten in Denmark.
To say that Alma and Frei have represented, in their dealings with each other, 'fire' and 'water' is a little bit of an exaggeration. But it does hold that Alma typically is not so... subdued. A tiny bit of Frei's mind -- an uncharitable bit, but he owns that, as he thinks it over -- thinks that after his many speeches on passion Alma owes him some enthusiasm, damnit. Thankfully for everyone involved, the monk's forebrain is both more charitable and infinitely more perceptive. So true to his personal philosophy, he shifts gears. As troubled as he feels about... topics yet to be breached, there's certainly no reason that these two problems might not, in their own way, coincide.
Sitting on the arm of the couch rather than the seat, the monk drapes one leg over another, the loose-fitting wooden sandals he favors tapping against his heel with intermittent *clack* noises as he moves his toes under the straps. "That has to be the longest 'We'd like that, thank you' I've ever heard." 'Not sure it's your style', huh... what IS Frei's style? Even Frei himself seems a little confused by that. "I've been doing it at Taiyo on the weekends, did you know that? Since I came back from China. After everything that happened I... felt a little lonely, I guess. I didn't know what I was expecting. I even thought 'hey, if someone's got talent, I could start teaching them what I know'." Frei's green-eyed gazes rakes across Alma's face at this point. He isn't alarmed, but genuinely concerned. "Do you think that's arrogant? Or maybe that I'm trying to fill the space where my master was by becoming him, a little bit. I'm not sure."
"Arrogance..."
Alma may be getting into better spirits already, but he's still fatigued, and it shows in the way his eyes soften even as he smiles his mild smile again.
"...I've managed to convince myself that presuming to head this organization isn't arrogant of me... so I have no doubt that your efforts, Frei, and your desire to impart what you've learned are totally appropriate." He pauses for a moment before his smile gets a little stronger. "Besides-- by passing on what you learned from your master, you perpetuate his memory and continue to expand his effect on others. Right? I think that's a sign of deep respect, not of any usurpation of his technique or purpose."
Fill the space where his master was, eh?
"Rose-sensei is the real head of this place," Alma murmurs -- perhaps more to himself than anything. "But as far as everyone else is concerned..."
He pauses for a few silent moments.
"It's good, though, isn't it?"
His eyes suddenly brighten; a statement, not a question.
"Cut loose, we bounce ourselves off of anything and everything. In a strange new place, every moment can be one of self-discovery and self-definition." When the world is as bright and full as it is to Alma, every moment can be a strange new place, and every day a beautiful day; it's only times like this that make it difficult, challenging to stay that way, to remember. Challenging, and all the more meaningful. "I'm really looking forward to what's going to happen. I can't remember the last time I felt that way. I always-- am so easily satisfied. There's never any need for hope. But now-- now my passion can take on a whole new form-- my duty, my responsibility has expanded far beyond anything I could have imagined before."
Hey, there's the Alma we know and love. Passion and duty.
"This is... going to be a thrilling fight."
That fatigue-- where did it go? He always finds a way.
"Hey, Frei..."
Sitting straight, smiling softly, eyes warm, Alma looks right at him.
"...let's both do our best."
And, smile becoming a grin, he extends his hand.
"Together!"
It's so silly, so absurd, that only Alma could say it and /really/ mean it.
It's like magic.
The pinball metaphor isn't entirely out of place here, is it? Even the conversation appears to be bouncing around like one. Still, seeing some degree of the 'old' (or maybe 'real'?) Alma appear in terms of his philosophically expansive dialogue, Frei relaxes a little bit. And in truth, what Alma says makes sense. What remains of Frei's master is inside him, so to speak: his teachings, his philosophies, Frei's memories. Giving those to others is a form of immortality, in a way.
And with that thought Frei's eyes widen, just for a terribly fleeting moment, as he processes disparate information from his own memories of people -- Alma in particular -- and comes to a conclusion he had not expected to reach. He doesn't share it with Alma, not just yet; but he does get to his feet and stretch, his fingers linked as he pushes his connected palms up toward the ceiling. "You've heard the saying 'the net of heaven is vast; its meshes are wide but nothing slips through', right? What it means is that even things outside our notice affect us, that nothing happens 'by mistake'. I suppose you might call it 'destiny' in that respect. But... things don't always seem connected, do they? They bring us together all the same. It only seems random because it's all happening on a scale that's outside our perception."
He recalls speaking with Jiro about Jesus, about the passionate fire of Christian religion. Suddenly, that makes sense. The 'perception beyond human perception' is God's plan, isn't it? Or so the Christians believe. Nothing is random. Everything has purpose. And purpose allows you to go on.
Well, that settles that then.
Frei's voice is clear as a bell, when he simply says: "I want a rematch."
Alma doesn't know whether anything happens for a reason. He feels somehow as though insisting thus would be an insult to his past, that the suffering he has endured shouldn't be explained away as part of a greater plan, that such an excuse coming from one such as him would be mere existential cowardice. This may be why thoughts of God concern him so little, why one so full of faith appears to think so little about religion. Any effort to place essence outside of existence, any temptation by thoughts of heaven or paradise or eventual divine validation, would to him be a distraction from the real challenge: doing without any of those things.
But he's excited to think there might be a reason. He's not afraid to be wrong, not afraid to lose. If nothing else, no matter strange a guy he is, no matter how totally unlikely it has become that he will ever, say, get a girlfriend who isn't flat-out crazy, he's really learned to love life.
If this isn't the right time for a rematch--
"I accept."
--he'll /make/ it the right time for a rematch.
Because it doesn't matter if he's wrong, if the stars have not aligned, if no matter how much he wants it to be the fire just isn't there. He'll find out eventually if he messed up; he pays too much attention to the flow not to. And if he's called to task for his crimes of misunderstanding, for his vanity and foolishness, he will say only that he was too passionate, that he loved life too much, and that he tried too hard.
His heaven is here, every day.
The corner reserved for matches is not far away. Descending down into a short staircase will take them into a circular ring with padded walls and a mat for a floor, wide enough to maneuver, not so wide to allow people to be free with dangerous projectiles. It is there that Alma will remove his tie and discard his suit jacket, casting them over the padded ramparts, and shift into his inconspicuous fighting stance, that relaxed poised posture that only vaguely resembles Fei Long's style at first.
"It's been too long, Frei."
Looking back toward his friend now, Alma grins, eyes sparkling.
"Please... do your best!"
COMBATSYS: Alma has started a fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|
Oh good. Wrangling the actual fight beyond simply ASKING for it would have been troublesome, Frei decides, and so it's fortuitious that Alma accepts without reservation. He keeps his ideas about God to himself -- in reality, Frei doesn't believe in a divine overseer any more than Alma does, but the *concept* has validity for him, at least. It can be adapted. EVERYTHING can be adapted in some way. Frei's fighting style is proof.
Following the fighting model down to the ring, the monk thinks over why he wants to do this. A selfish but honest part admits that an unbroken record of failure against this PARTICULAR opponent is, somewhat. But experience with Alma's powers, even if Frei has no name for them, is part of it. He knows that the attacks he's going to face are something not quite exactly chi, though there is a chi-like aspect to them. What's most important is that they connect the two fighters, somehow. He felt that experience once, on the beach in the Gulf of Mexico. Alma can't attack with his own spirit *without* putting himself into it.
And it's really Alma's ability to maintain this sense of passion in a universe seemingly determined to stomp it out that interests Frei. The monk has a hunch, after all, on how this works. In fact, Alma's given him all the clues he needs to solve it. Except the one. So... they fight.
Removing his sandals at the edge of the ring before he hops in, Frei savors for a second the sensation of the mat underfoot, for he typically keeps the sandals on for this sort of affair. "You're right. It has been a while. So... hopefully we've both changed in a way that's beneficial to why I'm doing this." And with that, he doesn't waste any time; ducking forward, he attempts to snag Alma's arm and brush past him, sending the model to the ground in an uncomplicated throw made complicated by the licks of red fire that swirl around Frei's arm, casually... something quite different than the last time Alma fought him, for sure.
COMBATSYS: Frei has joined the fight here.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Alma
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Frei's Medium Throw.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Alma
The aura-- it flares brighter than before.
For Alma, the flames that now imbue Frei's attack are both a plus and a minus. The minus is not so much that they burn, which they do, but that the sharp and unusual surge of sensation the young model experiences with his opponent closes in is a bit sudden and disorienting. But fortunately, and here is the plus, Alma's reflexes act just as abruptly. Before his eyes see Frei's hand, his heart feels the fire coming forth. The taller youth brushes past and to the side, just managing to evade the grasp as the fire burns by him, singing his hands.
But the last thing he wants to do is lose momentum wondering about what's happened. On the contrary-- this is exciting. Everything is exciting. Before anything else, before he thinks, before he even takes a breath, Alma needs to get involved in this fight. He needs to get started!
So he turns his stagger into a lunge, a lunge /away/ from his opponent and toward the padded wall, and leaps at it. Kicking off powerfully with his left foot, Alma then arcs back toward the maybe-disoriented monk and swings out with his right leg, white soulfire coursing with leylines of pink and purple exploding to form a heady halo around his hooking kick.
"Hiiyaahh!"
The rest of the world becomes a blur; every obligation, every need, nothing but another piece of his self, another potential source of power to thrust out at his opponent. Every problem disappears.
There is nothing left to do but fight!
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Frei with Shooting Star.
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Frei 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Alma
Of course, trying to get something philosophical out of either of these fighters *in the middle of battle* is a mistake, but Frei has the problem of still giving the issues part of his attention while he's actually fighting. It's not usually a good idea, and the fact that Alma's kick flares *past* his upraised arms and into his shoulder, sending the monk staggering back a few steps, is proof. But the fight has only just begun, and Frei himself does not appear to be backing down. The interesting thing about Frei, perhaps, is that his breathing is very even for someone doing rigorous physical exertion... almost as if that part of his brain that's making him mistime his defenses is also at work keeping him in some sort of meditative state.
Deciding not to get close a second time, the monk takes a deep breath and cups his hands to his sides in a stance that may or may not seem familiar to Alma, palms opposite each other and a flickering sphere of multi-colored light forming there. "I guess you can sum up all those months of training... this way," he murmurs, before thrusting his hands forward, palms out and heels of the hand touching, a prismatic shockwave of chi almost as tall as Frei is arcing across the floor at Alma, with the now-recognizable cry of: "Haaaadoukeeeeeeen!"
COMBATSYS: Frei successfully hits Alma with Hadou Souran.
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Frei 0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0 Alma
Alma touches down lightly after his successful kick, aiming to take advantage of however much his attack might have stunned his opponent to get an edge on pre-empting the next attack. This, however, is not quite what he expected. Drawing his hand back automatically in preparation for a crushing blow, Alma ends up blinking like a deer in headlights as he finds a veritable wall of fire suddenly surging toward him.
Not even aura sense prepares a man for that.
"Aaarghh--!"
Hurtling back toward the wall again, this time decidedly not on purpose, Alma just manages to tuck into a roll before he hits the ground and skids into a crouch, ending up poised on his toes. But he still takes his time getting to his feet, reeling from the unprecedented power of that strike.
"That... was really good," he murmurs. "Kind of... familiar..."
He grins again once he finds his feet, and runs a hand through his hair.
"Thanks for showing me a new technique."
'New' is kind of a funny word for it, considering; but whatever Frei's style is, it's certainly unique, eh?
COMBATSYS: Alma gains composure.
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Frei 0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0 Alma
That technique is *draining*, though to anyone but Alma and Sakura, perhaps, Frei would never admit it. "I guess that depends on your point of view of the word 'new'," the monk says with a grin, taking a deep breath and staying in stance. No sense in going full-bore berserker just yet, right? They're just getting started. "I could give you this big speech about the elements according to onmyoujutsu but you probably wouldn't like to hear it." Suddenly, he laughs. "Or maybe you'll walk by when I'm teaching it here in a workshop, 'Chi and You 101'."
Centering himself again, the monk falls into a defensive posture, drawing on the ambient strength not only in his own wellspring of energy, but in the very air around him, which responds by dramatically fluttering the tails of his headband backwards behind him. "But what might interest you is the realization that I've *always* known how to do that. What I really needed to see was the trick to realizing that. It wasn't so much learning a technique as re-learning it. A lot like life."
COMBATSYS: Frei gathers his will.
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Frei 1/------=/=======|=====--\-------\0 Alma
Always, huh?
"I'm impressed," the young man murmurs in response.
He doesn't quite know what to think about that, so he has nothing else to say; but that's the nice thing about fights. No one necessarily expects you to say anything. No wonder everything feels simpler.
There's nothing holding him back now, if there ever was anything. Frei is going all out and Alma is happy to oblige him. He'll let the monk do what he likes; right now, the model feels the urge to attack, to press his offensive. The rhythm goes back and forth-- time to bring it back again!
So he leaps once more as he seems wont to do, skipping into a lunge and then seeming almost to glide off the ground as another burst of psychic flame buoys him up. He lashes out again with his legs but this time in rapid succession, twisting furiously in an effort to disrupt Frei's concentration and crush his formidible defenses.
It might not be the best plan, really, but--
"Shhyaaaahhh!"
--it is only the clash of souls he's seeking.
And what plan is better than the one that achieves that?
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Frei with Rising Fury.
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Frei 1/---====/=======|=====--\-------\0 Alma
Apparently, Frei wasted his best efforts on the offensive, as Alma's pair of strikes snaps through the guard that he was expecting to need *from above*, noting that both Alma and Fei Long tend to favor acrobatic kicks in their fighting styles. Grimacing in pain, the monk stumbles back a step, shaking his head out. Probably not the best way for this to turn out, but far from over, at the very least. "Don't be," Frei says with a faint smile. "If you're impressed it just makes me overconfident."
Brushing his hands off on his jeans, the monk sizes up his opponent again. The fight with Fei Long WAS instructive, and he can start to see the rhythms of the Hiten-ryuu style between both fighters. Try something you haven't tried before, huh... well. His previous fights with Alma have been all about the slinging of energy and witty barbs. So Frei misreads Fei Long's intent behind the statement entirely and just charges Alma, staying low and terrestrial, sweeping a leg around to try and trip the model. Of course, the simplicity of the move is deceptive; if Frei can get him off-balance, Alma finds his fall suddenly turned perpendicular to the ground in a swift palm-focused burst of wind chi.
COMBATSYS: Alma interrupts Charged Throw from Frei with Divine Intervention EX.
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Frei 1/=======/=======|======-\-------\0 Alma
Now is the time!
If at first you don't succeed, prepare to transition into a penetrating follow-up attack again. This time, Alma's aerial acrobatic kicks, most decidedly adapted from the founder of his chosen fighting style, are not met with a wall of flame in response, and so the forward motion he generates can finally be put to good use. If he has to scramble, it can unbalance him; if he's able to attack again immediately, burning with the passion to offer up yet more of his spiritual energy, it can be the slim edge that cuts a path to victory.
So Alma practically staggers into this one. Frei goes low and intuitively Alma leans in, moving just a little faster than his opponent thanks to the flame-boosted leap he's just made, and thrusts out his hand as the monk prepares to trip him. Palm flat against the ground, his fingertips emit a piercing lance of white light that appears to spear through his opponent's torso, again imposing all of Alma's, well, imposing self upon the soul that seeks to rival his own. He just can't stop himself.
Admittedly, the half-connection of that trip attempt combined with the explosive force of that collision does something to stop /him/, namely sending him staggering back as well and almost slipping up and falling over entirely, but at least he got the better of this exchange.
God or no, the divine has intervened yet again.
"You know..." Frei says as he stumbles to his feet, having been knocked clear off them by the lance of light that holds him frozen in place for a moment. Sadly, it took being hit quite hard for it to happen, but this is in fact the moment of connection that Frei was really hoping for the entire time. It's somewhat like having someone play with the rabbit ears in the television of the mind; everything turns, for a moment, into static. You're not sure where you stop and the other person begins until it ends.
When it does end, Frei sees it: blackness. A circular blackness where the two spirits touch, even as his will reasserts itself. Emptiness. He's got his proof now, or at least what he thinks of as his proof.
Finishing his climb, Frei doesn't attack. He's been hit fairly hard in the past few moments and it's taking a second to sort out his senses. "I told Fei Long you were my 'weakness'. No matter what I do, you're like a shiv under the scales of the armor. He told me I should never admit that about anyone, but I don't necessarily see it as a bad thing."
COMBATSYS: Frei gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Frei 1/-======/=======|======-\-------\0 Alma
Weakness...?
Alma regards Frei with a solemnity made conspicuous by the fire that still burns in his eyes and the strangely slow rippling of his clothes, caught in an otherwise unfelt breeze yet simultaneously held fast by the palpable force the young man now emanates, manifesting like friction from the struggling of his spirit.
"Every weakness," he says quietly, "can become a strength."
Slowly he approaches.
"Fighting for the fight itself -- for the 'drama' of the match, to use my master's words -- means that no matter hard you are hit, no matter how dismal you feel your defeat is, you are victorious in an act of shared creation."
Flames quietly begin to ripple around his finger tips. He seems to either pick up speed, grow taller, or both, but really nothing is happening-- nothing physical or determinable.
"Even when fighting for a good cause, one that you feel you must win for, one where defeat truly would be tragic... still, your integrity is at stake, and if weakness gets the better of you it is more than taking solace to say that you achieved a victory-- for you were able to remain yourself, courageously, as you neared defeat, and sacrificed everything to prove that what you fought for was more important."
Grasped by this glory, Alma raises his right hand; it gleams with purpose.
"And if the one you are weak to becomes a friend, an ally, a complement to your own abilities... then the trust you yourself have forged is proved far more powerful than any weapon-- and far more meaningful than any physical triumph."
He really isn't walking that quickly at all. It's just some sort of illusion, some sort of odd side-effect of this growing mental force. Realistically, he should hurry this up. But... it's fascinating. /He's/ fascinating. Guided by his light, like an angel he descends, slowly... but inevitably.
"Don't let me be your weakness! Let me be your strength! Frei! To the fire I bring--"
With self-collapsing force he brings his hand to bear, flashing forward directly toward Frei's face, aiming to fill his eyes with the blinding, glorious light.
He's so close. How did he get so close all of a sudden?
"SURRENDER!"
Straining toward the merging of their selves, the impossible resolution of their individual discontinuities, Alma reaches out toward his opponent, encouraging the acceptance of his exquisitely painful gift, eyes burning like a man possessed yet face relaxed like a man dreaming, fully in control of himself, choosing to strive once again toward the perfect expression beyond language.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Frei with Absolution.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Frei 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|-------\-------\0 Alma
You can block that sort of attack. Most people don't know the trick, of course, which is that physical defenses aren't enough. You have to... suffuse yourself with some sort of counterforce, and even the oblique and shifting Psycho Power that Alma uses is not, really, so different from chi. They are both energy bound up in life. One from within, one from without. Frei sees the attack coming. He actually thinks about blocking it, lets the energy of the world seep into his *skin*.
At the last moment he changes his mind.
Maybe it was the effect of Alma's earlier attack? Or maybe Frei is too slow after all. Regardless, in the end he doesn't move. The wave of light washes right through the monk, a blazing trail of searing pain that seems to be *everywhere*, the two fighters momentarily lost from sight. The physical effect is the damage, the searing of neurons and pathways and all the other physiological nonsense that someone in Shadaloo has charted somewhere. But for Frei it was worth it. He sees it NOW, in the wake of this much more personal and powerful attack, more than he did before. That circular darkness, that 'hole', somewhere deep in the connection. The two 'souls' fading AWAY from it, retreating as the connection is broken.
It should have been enough to floor him, and it's not. In fact, as Alma draws back, Frei's eyes open, small motes of light of every color, no larger than a cotton ball and seemingly as substantial, floating around him. Power flows back in, from somewhere... or maybe everywhere. "I refuse," he says, though it's not in a mean way. "I know you mean figuratively, that word 'surrender', but I refuse... somewhat."
The monk puts his hands down to his sides, palms out and facing the ground, and the inner wellspring of chi that Frei represents starts to harmonize with the air, the motes continuing to flow, the atmosphere almost humming. "I understand what you're saying, that 'weakness can become strength', but then it's not weakness anymore. I don't see the problem with weakness, so I guess I have to disagree. I can't surrender. If there's no weakness, then strength doesn't mean anything. If there's no darkness, light is just a number, a way of describing a phenomenon."
And now he looks Alma straight in the eye, green eyes shining with some inner force. "For a long time I thought, for someone to be like you, Alma, something very good must have happened to him, something wonderful. But I was wrong, and I had to experience it for myself before I understood. Something *terrible* happened to you, didn't it? You *lost* something, something irreplacable. That's your weakness. It inspired your strength. So it might be a little of both and a little of neither."
Bringing his hands up before him, Frei almost cradles a sphere-shaped ball of energy, much like the not-quite-Hadouken he threw before. "That's the source of MY power, Alma. Not harmony, but contradiction. So I guess as 'harmony', you're my weakness... but maybe as 'contradiction', I..." And here he thrusts one hand forward, the sphere becoming a halo, and then a massive invisible shockwave once Frei gets his hand over Alma's heart. "...am yours."
COMBATSYS: Alma endures Frei's Fukami Reikai.
[ \\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Frei 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Alma
Alma doesn't need to say anything.
He doesn't need to express how much joy he feels from Frei's refusal. Because that's the point, isn't it? He won't /really/ surrender. He may lower the boundaries that normally constitute his self, which is what Alma wants, what Alma forces his opponents to do whether they understand what's happening or not. But he won't give up the fight. He can't give up the fight.
If he gave up, Alma too would lose.
It is only through the clash of their souls that the pathway to his expression is opened; only through their differences that expression is necessary, becomes meaningful, becomes so important. The pain that they feel is the pain of their sacrifice, of allowing so much to be stripped away for the sake of being close for just one moment, close in a way it is so hard for people to be with one another. Alma has to make up his terminology as he goes along. He says a lot of silly and dramatic things that he can only get away with because he is so utterly sincere, because his overwhelming presence makes his delivery acceptable, and because he has a raw power that makes people notice him, a power he calls passion. That he speaks in such overwrought terms is only another sign of how inadequate language can be-- and how even so, this otherwise mild-mannered young man tries again, and again, and again to get his point across, to share the life he's learned to love with others.
Frei's right.
He's right about it all.
Alma could struggle. He could try to turn away-- maybe. Maybe. But what happens here is less a choice than what he's just done; because he's stunned, he really is. That Frei has come up with his own way to articulate what Alma too has experienced, that they are able to see the same beauty from different angles, is a source of infinite bliss; but that Frei has, in a conventional sense, simply perceived something personal about Alma-- that's a personal gratification, one that Alma did not at all expect and to be honest rarely experiences.
Frei was thinking about him. Frei cares.
All this spiritual abundance, all this mighty universal energy resonating through them, but somehow, it's that, it's that little thing, that /really/ grabs him.
Because he's an individual. And however petty trying to perserve that may be in the grand scheme of things, however absurd it may all seem in comparison to the vastness he delves into-- it makes all the difference.
Alma feels his light shatter within him, his passion torn from his breast. His harmonizing influence, the unrelenting force of fusion he wields to make all one, to weld selves together until the comparative meaninglessness of the boundaries between them becomes apparent, is crippled and diffused by the multifaceted, divergent power of his opponent.
Only the emptiness is left.
Lips parting, Alma pauses for an eternity of a moment, until his hand continues to rise, the fingertips that brought his being to bear on his opponent moving up from chest to shoulder, as though to rest on Frei's shoulder.
And from the void comes light again, sourceless unconditional light, the darkness itself blazing to life, inspired by the truth of that nothingness.
He has no words to speak.
~ ...Thank you... Frei. ~
Only one last flash of light to offer, hand settling on the monk's shoulder.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Frei with Self Expression.
[ \\\\ < > ////////// ]
Frei 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Alma
He was right.
Well, that's comforting, isn't it? Slowed by fatigue and the effort of fighting and, let's face it, having been smacked in the face a few times, Frei's defensive effort appears to be limited to a stern frown. It's not a LOT of damage, per se, but it's enough. The monk doesn't say anything, though he does knit his brow. He wanted this fight to end differently than it did, maybe, but that doesn't mean he's dissatisfied with the results.
The two fighters are left in close quarters for a moment, before Frei opens one eye at Alma and forces himself to grin. "We shouldn't stay like this too long," he jokes. "People will talk." He's got one last gasp in him, after all; though the speed is bled out of him, Frei has enough presence to try and work his palm to a point at Alma's chest, fingers already crackling with a halo of purple-blue electricity. If he can get a grip, the monk shouts a kiai and, in one motion, drags Alma to the ground behind him in a single forceful shove, adding a dose of lightning for kicks.
Either way, though, he face-firsts onto the mat afterwards. Not exactly out, but certainly out of the fight.
COMBATSYS: Frei can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ <
Alma 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Alma dodges Frei's Tenrai Enbu.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ <
Alma 0/-------/=======|
Alma fades back, breathlessly.
Frei's fingertips brush against the front of the model's dress shirt, lightning crackling, but no last jolt can be made. Having unleashed so much, it is more intuitive than anything for Alma to sway back, so he can't fairly take credit for a successful evasion. They're both exhausted. Yet somehow, despite how drained he obviously must be, Alma feels /less/ fatigued than when he started.
This makes sense to him.
He was able to reconnect with his purpose, with his world and himself-- with the help of his friend. A friend who can now offer more than he ever before anticipated, who has been growing just as he has.
A friend who knows what grief is, and how glory can become.
He breathes deeply of the cool air, chest heaving as he relaxes on his feet, before quietly lowering himself into a crouch next to his opponent.
"They can talk all they like," the younger man offers, cheerfully enough. "That was worth it."
He'll offer Frei a hand up, but not just yet, not so soon.
"...hey, Frei."
Something else... feels right.
"Let's work together."
Yes, at the YFCC too hopefully, but.
"Join the team Jiro and I founded. The 'Glory Hounds'. Jiro will be gone for a while, but-- friends should stick together. I think he would be happy if you joined us." He pauses for a moment, before adding mildly, "Tran decided to join me as well." That's right folks, Tran and Alma are on the same team. Boggle over that for a while. Yes, take your time.
Now, smiling softly, he stretches out his hand.
"Right now... I could really use your help."
Now that they are who they are-- more than ever before.
COMBATSYS: Alma has ended the fight here.
With a groan, Frei flips himself over, leaning back on the mat and supporting himself on his elbows. The fluorescent lighting in the room somehow seems dim compared to the massive lightshow the two fighters just exchanged, but there's still spots in his vision from the imprint. Squinting for a moment, he decides it's better to stay where he is, so it's a good thing Alma doesn't offer a hand. However, he's apparently awake enough to chat.
"Glory Hounds..." His green eyes track... something along the wall, some spot in his vision that distracts him long enough to mask the pause as he considers it, with a smile. "The name... haha, that's pretty clever. One of these days I'm going to ask Jiro where he got that nickname, 'Stray Dog'..." A team, huh. What is a team but a family? Isn't that what this whole thing was about, at first? How could he say no? "Alright then, I accept. You youngins need someone to keep you in line, anyway." There's a beat, and the monk coughs into the back of his hand. "Especially Tran."
For a second, Frei has time to reflect on the rematch. Maybe in terms of following the letter of Fei Long's advice, he didn't really succeed all that well. But in obeying the spirit... yeah, he did. He embraced his enemy's strength as something he could use that has nothing to do with the fight. He did it differently. And at least in terms of the dull ache he is entertaining everywhere, especially his temples, it had its price. Was it worth it?
"I didn't mean to throw that at you in the middle of the fight. But it's been bugging me... you don't need to tell me about it. It was... when I went back to China to see my master I found he'd died. And other than losing my father when I was too young to even remember him well, that was the only really big loss in my life. A permanent one, I mean. And when... this whole thing with Jiro and that guy Dante, and Jiro's poisoning, and everything..." He pauses, and actually needs to catch his breath.
It's not easy, questioning what you've believed.
"I've always held that death and loss are part of the natural cycle. They give meaning to life, just like I said about strength and weakness. But that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. And I wondered how people protected themselves from that sense of loss... I realized what I said to you. That it may be that the source of great joy is great loss. Something that was in front of me the whole time, and I didn't think about it... I thought of it as zero sum, and it's not."
Alma smiles, nods, and listens.
In that order.
Their philosophies have always clashed, more or less. That Frei would admit even his uncertainty is a courageous act of trust on his part, and something Alma would never dare to try and take advantage of by promoting his own worldview. So it's difficult for him to know how to respond, to know how to use his own words to complement what the monk is saying, to not disgrace the situation by turning it into some kind of argument.
Frei's master... his master died.
"Frei..."
~ I'm sorry. ~
The words wouldn't mean much said, now matter how genuinely they're intended-- and they both understand the complications of it all too well anyway; after all, what they're talking about is joy from suffering. But... being /glad/ for suffering, not even /feeling/ the loss... that would miss the point. The pain has to happen, and even if it is loved in a sense, it cannot be sought. Maybe that's what tragedy is all about.
"I think you're right."
He continues to crouch by Frei's side, gazing at his friend.
"That natural cycle... we might seem so small in comparison, but... we are a part of it. And... I think... in allowing ourselves to care, to feel loss... to bravely become a real part of our world, painfully so... we can find that joy."
He lowers his head briefly, smiling slightly.
"You're probably right about the... zero sum game. In the end, it may all end up even... everything that was found lost. We'll forget, be forgotten, and pass away. But-- that's the cycle. That's not anything we can change. What we can change is... what we choose, what we make of what we're given. We can struggle on no matter what the future holds, and allow ourselves to be hurt, to grieve for what has passed and... glory in that we could have something we cared about enough to grieve over... because..."
Hesitant at first, Alma reaches out, but when he takes Frei's hand, his grip is strong, gentle, and sure.
"Because right now... right now, we are here, together."
Now he clasps with both his hands, kneeling down besides the monk.
"Because we opened our eyes and hearts and cared enough to make it matter."
And he smiles wide, though his eyes are damp.
"Because... we did our best."
He can't help it. Even if the words are so common:
"Oh, Frei... I'm... I'm so sorry. Your master... I didn't know."
"Ah ah ah!" Frei says carefully, putting a finger on Alma's top lip to get him to stop. "Don't be. For starters, he was a believer in reincarnation. For all we know he's happily enjoying the benefits of childhood as we speak." It's not the sentiment that Frei is trying to shut down; he appreciates the expression of solidarity. But the word 'sorry' has connotations he'd rather avoid, as if what had happened was preventable, or fixable. Obviously that's not Alma's intent, but certain words lead to certain unkind ways of thinking.
"It comes down to expression, doesn't it? We don't think the same about many things but honestly, we're coming from the same point. I don't think knowing what I know now is going to make us any more similar... and if it did, that would be a bad thing. But I understand why you're so devoted to things now. You choose to create, because that's how you deal. I'm not really a 'creator', but I have my own ways of thinking it through."
Alma is fortunately prevented from any more blubbering, but he can't help but shed a few silent tears even as he smiles at his new teammate. He, at least, can understand how admirable Frei's spirit is.
"Yeah..."
Ironically, most of Alma's creation comes from destruction, the destruction of barriers and boundaries he considers to be for the most part artificial. But creation it is, because the goal is fusion, and upon the inevitable separation, the growth of each individual. Not in spite of the knowledge of the inevitable end of both, but /because/ of it... because only in the pain of that knowledge can the glory be found, the glory that gives rise to his very strength.
This, of course, means he'll be hurting all his life.
But, hey-- desire is suffering, right? And who needs nirvana anyway?
"...I'm glad."
Alma finally releases Frei's hands to reach up and wipe away his tears.
"I'm glad you have your own way."
~ I'm glad we can sit together like this, and be so different. ~
"Frei... while we can... let's be together for a while."
~ And still be... so much the same. ~
"Until our ways diverge again..."
Settling down next to the monk, Alma places his palms on the ground and leans back, smiling softly again.
"...let's walk together for a while."
~ Because we're going in the same direction... ~
For as long as it takes, Alma will wait here with Frei.
~ ...so I'll see you again at the end. ~
For as long as it lasts.
Log created on 14:05:21 06/01/2007 by Frei, and last modified on 03:25:08 06/10/2007.