Description: Hotaru's been teaching at the Young Fighters' Community Center - a nice little self-defense class. But today, she gets someone else at the back of the room. Someone who's not at all interested in learning.
The YFCC is a great place to be on weekends. At least, it is if you're young, a fighter, and you like hanging around with other kids with similar interests! Much like any other Saturday, there is no lack things to do around the complex. In one direction is the library, a quiet place to catch some quiet minutes in the otherwise chaotic life of being a teenager. One of the large rooms off of the main lobby hub is showing some six months old movie for kids too cheap or poor to afford to have seen it when it was in the theaters. Some are just hanging out in the cafeteria for lunch. The meals there are subsidized, meaning even the most improvished Gedo student can get a healthy meal for mere pocket change.
Downstairs are a few rooms with mat-covered floors and bleachers along the walls. Depending on the day and hour, one might find gymnastics courses, dance classes, introductory self-defense seminars, among any number of athletic activities being taught.
One of those rooms is occupied by Hotaru Futaba and a number of kids, ranging in age from twelve to nineteen. Clothed in the traditional Chinese-styled outfit she so clearly prefers, the pig-tailed fighter stands on the mats, facing her students who she has lined up three rows deep.
Presently she is leading them through blocking exercises. "Like this," she repeats, demonstrating the sweeping motion of her arm, bent at the elbow so that her forearm passes from right to left in front of her body - a simple motion that could deflect an incoming punch to the side if used properly.
"Again," she instructs and the students all mimic her movement in unison while she looks over each of them with an attentive eye. "Close," she says, eying one young man in the front row as she steps up to him. "Do it again, watch how it works," she asks, swinging forward with her own arm with an easily predicted, slow punch, only to have her attack knocked aside by the young man's simple block.
Grinning, Hotaru nods her head with approval, "Exactly. Like that." Taking a couple steps back, "Again. Put your strength into it. You're not going to be able to deflect attacks half-heartedly!"
It's a clear voice. An encouraging voice. The sort of thing that lifts the spirits of her students. But not everyone who's listening has...such a positive reaction.
No.
Movement, at the back of the room. A door opens, swinging silently on its hinges. It opens just enough to let a man step through. He's a tall, thin figure, lean of build. He's somewhat older than the kids in the community centre - in his twenties, perhaps, though it's hard to tell. He has one of those ageless faces. Age alone is not the only thing that makes him stand out, though. He's also wearing a black leather jacket, zipped up to the throat, and a pair of heavy red pants and solid brown boots. Unusual clothing for the summer. Then there's the fall of long green hair, going to his shoulders.
There's also the fact that a man matching his exact description caused something of a stir in this very building...only a couple of weeks ago.
But nobody seems to have recognized him. Nobody stopped him when he walked through the front doors. The receptionist at the foyer didn't even notice. Nobody pulled him aside as he walked through the atrium, through the corridors, studying his surroundings with shadowed eyes.
And now he is here.
Remy stands silently at the back of the room, watching the class.
At the sound of the door opening, Hotaru casts a glance toward the newest arrival. Her expression brightens as if just the idea of a prospective student would make her day. "Okay everyone," Hotaru instructs, her attention back on the class for the moment. "Turn to the person at your side. The one on the left will alternate punching with their right and left arm. The one on the right will practice their blocking with the opposite arm. Remember, sweep inward. You will find their arm easier to knock aside that way, leaving them open for an attack." Pause, "But don't follow up after the block right now. We'll get to that. For now, I just want to see blocking. I'll have you swap roles in a minute."
There are a few seconds of students turning from side to side, each trying to figure out how they're to be paired off, but it ends up not being too hard to figure out given how Hotaru had lined them up in the first place. The enclosed room becomes filled with the rustle of clothing and the impact of skin against skin as the gi-clad students punch and deflect.
With her trainees properly engaged, Hotaru steps around the dozon and a half kids and walks toward Remy. "Hello," she offers, her voice cheerful, "Welcome. Are you here about the self-defense classes? I'd be happy to tell you all about them if you're interested." Her tone is eager. It would appear that while Remy might be a little older than the target demographic for Hotaru's class, she doesn't seem to mind.
"Will you, now."
When he speaks, his voice is soft. Hushed. But the words are clear, precisely enunciated, with just the faintest trace of an accent. There is no emotion in them, however. Nothing at all.
Remy turns to look directly at Hotaru, his eyes unblinking. For a moment, he regards her. His eyes piercing, his eyes intent. His face, though, does not change. His mouth remains in a thin line, his facial muscles moving only the bare minimum needed for speech. There is no sign of any feeling...
...save for those eyes.
He lifts a hand, gesturing with a slow movement of the wrist to the room at large, to the gi-clad students and the sound of their practice.
He exhales.
"You call this," he says, "self-defense?"
His tone is hardly encouraging and Hotaru's cheerful expression falters slightly at his first words. Everyone's a critic now days! Her smile remains though and she clasps her hands behind her back, leaning her head to the side.
"It is an introductory level course," she explains, perhaps mistaking his impatient derision as nothing more than a misunderstanding. "There is a more intermediate class later in the afternoon. And every Monday night, there is always a guest instructor. Typically someone prominent in the fighting circuits. The Monday night classes almost always provide something even advanced martial artists could benefit from learning! It sounds like maybe one of those sessions would be of more interest to you?" she offers hopefully.
While the students continue their training exercise, a few of them have started to focus less on throwing and deflecting punches and more on the exchange between their cute little instructor and the young man near the wall.
He is beginning to draw attention.
He is beginning to create a scene.
Remy's well aware of that. He knows that. He just doesn't care. He's well aware of the social conventions of politeness, of face-saving, all the graceful artistry that makes up interaction. Particularly in Japan, where respect is something so very important. Hotaru is the teacher here, Remy is the uninvited visitor. He should defer to her.
He isn't.
No. There can be no mistake. His tone, his bearing, his very presence...it is all confrontational. Well and truly.
Remy ignores the students. His eyes are fixed on Hotaru. He looks down at her, matching her gaze.
"You misunderstand," he says, mildly.
The hand he lifted a moment ago, the hand he gestured with ... spasms, all of a sudden. An unexpected contraction of muscles. His fingers curl, explosively, nearly forming into a fist.
"You," he continues, "teach people to fight."
His eyes narrow.
"I would ask why."
A perceptive girl at heart, Hotaru hardly misses the nuances of this exchange. The tone, the way he looks down at her, even accounting for their differences in height. She tried the polite appeal first, but the young man wants more from her than that.
As his hand clenches, Hotaru's eyes stay fixed on his, her smile becoming faint - still present, but perhaps a little forced. "There are a lot of reasons," the pig-tailed girl replies to his implied demand. Her own hands remain clasped behind her back, a non-confrontational, non-threatening posture. But she straightens her back some and even lifts her heels off the mats just slightly, lending herself another inch or so in height.
"Everyone has the right to learn how to defend themselves if they are attacked. Having real instruction in such things will give them confidence in other areas as well." She pauses briefly, letting that sink in for a moment before continuing. "Properly taught, a martial art is more than just kicking and punching. It's about self-control, discipline, respect. It's about improving oneself through daily practice and dedication. These lessons will carry over into all aspects of one's life." Her smile becomes more sincere, the fondness she has for what she is explaining reflected in her patient eyes.
One student turns his head to watch Hotaru and Remy while his partner continues to swing, socking him in the cheek for his negligence. A couple others cease practicing all together as more and more attention comes to bear on the two at the back of the room.
Perhaps sensing the distraction this exchange is becoming, Hotaru glances toward her eighteen students then back toward the young man in front of her, "I'm afraid I need to get back to teaching my class. If you would like to discuss these things another time..."
It's a rhethorical question. A polite way of saying that the conversation is over. A polite way of extracting herself from it. Surely, Remy must realise that. Surely he must see the hint. If he does, then... it is clear his reply is a deliberate one:
"No."
A flat refusal. A flat denial. Delivered in a tone that leaves no room for compromise, no room for argument.
"Do you think," he says, extending his arm, indicating the gathered students with a sweep of his hand, "that -all- of them are here for purely -noble- reasons?"
He makes a small sound that might be a laugh.
"Hmph."
His eyes pass over the gi-clad teenagers, studying each of them in turn.
"Hmph. I don't believe that. Some of them are going to abuse your precious little lessons. Maybe some are just here to look at your pretty little..."
A pause.
"...face. Maybe some. Maybe all."
He looks back at Hotaru.
"If you think otherwise, you're deluding yourself."
What's left of the polite smile fades at his refusal to end this civily. "I'm sorry," Hotaru replies. "But this discussion is over." The young man is extremely confrontational for someone she's never met before. What's his deal?
As he looks over the students, some turn away, perhaps feeling guilty at the accuracy of his accusation, while others continue to stare, perhaps gawk a little at what seems to be an escalating situation.
One teen, nineteen years or so, a largish build, probably fancies himself real tough, steps out of the formation to come over to the two, "Hotaru-sensei, is this jerk giving you problems?" He looks eager to fight, to prove himself against the 'intruder.'
For her own part, there is a flash of insight in Hotaru's eyes as she seems to realize something. "You've been here before," she states, unclasping her hands from behind her back. "You assaulted Alma a few weeks back. I know about you." She glances at the young man trying to step up to her 'defense' and shakes her head, "Please, go back to your spot." the girl states firmly before looking back to Remy, "Leave. Please. I have no quarrel with you, there's no reason for you to disrupt my class." The burly would-be hero stays at her side, large arms folded in front of him as if trying to intimidate Remy out of the room with his inexperienced presence.
But Remy isn't facing Hotaru. He doesn't respond to her.
His eyes are on the large youth behind her. The boy who fancies himself a hero. He's tall, yes. However, Remy's not a short man, himself. He's taller than the Japanese teenager, in fact. Of course, Remy build is lean, his frame narrow. The boy probably outmasses him...but not by enough to constitute any sort of physical intimidation.
Not that Remy would be intimidated in the first place.
Cool green eyes study this challenger.
"She's right," Remy answers, tilting his head ever-so-slightly at Hotaru, "I beat Alma Towazu. So do you honestly think I'm scared of -you-?"
He snorts.
He turns his eyes to Hotaru.
"But that's the problem, isn't it? You teach people like this..."
He gestures at the glowering teenager.
"...to think they can fight. And where does /that/ lead to, hm?"
It is unfortunate that the large teen seems to be proving Remy right but Hotaru doesn't seem too dissuaded by the development. The young man on the other hand seems only to be antagonized by the thin man's words, his fists tightening as he unfolds his arms, clearly getting close to striking out.
In one step, Hotaru moves to stand between the two young men, looking oddly out of place as the smallest of the three ending up in the middle. "Shibata, return to your spot now." the girl repeats, her tone leaving no room for doubt about how serious she is about the demand.
Mouth twitching in barely contained ire, his face a little red at having been ordered back to his spot by the diminutive female, the teen finally takes a step back, turns harshly on one foot, and plods over to his place in the perfectly formed rows.
Relaxing slightly as the young man is now further away from someone who was strong enough to beat Alma quite soundly, Hotaru focus back on Remy. "He lacks the self control yet. That comes with more training. People will fight without being taught how. It takes discipline and lessons to curb such impulses. I don't teach people how to fight. I'm teaching them how to live."
"You teach 'discipline'..."
Remy's mouth curves into a sardonic sneer.
"...by training them to inflict violence in a /more efficient manner/?"
He draws out the last three words, putting undue emphasis upon them. He snorts in disbelief, shaking his head. His gaze sweeps the classroom, pinning each of the students. Remy weighs them, considers them - and then discards them.
No, Hotaru's claim is something he does not...something he /cannot/...accept.
There is a soft exhale, the girl studying Remy silently for a moment, her eyes meeting his. "Someone taught you at one time. Did they not also teach you manners, respect, self-control? What do you do with what you were taught? What did Alma do such that you attacked him? You demonstrate only half of what is to be learned by proper training."
All eyes are on the two, all pretenses of maintaining the practices abandoned, a couple murmuring voices can be heard between a few students, but mostly they stand silently. Perhaps Remy's questions have cast doubts on some of their motivations. Maybe they just wanted to attend the class where they had heard a cute girl would be on hand to demonsrate her physical prowess. Maybe they just want to beat people up.
"I'm sorry if you never had the right example to follow. It seems like you have a lot to still learn about these things..." Hotaru states before taking a step backward. She isn't about to turn her back to him, but the distance might help him know that she is threw trying to exchange words with him. She wants to try and salvage what's left of her class.
"And /your/ example is the right one, hm?"
Remy smirks. He bows at the waist with an elaborate courtly flourish. Then he rises, again, his palms open, fingers spread.
"Clearly so. For I am just a humble lout, and you the all-knowing, all-seeing, all-wise mistress, hm? So very self-confident, so self-assured, so /self-righteous/."
His eyes flash to her so-called students. He studies them for a second longer, before breaking eye contact. A lot of them are angry. Some are confused. And perhaps, just perhaps, some are thinking. That is enough, for now.
He does not turn, though he does step back, towards the door.
She bristles a little at the faux compliments, biting one side of the inside of her lower lip a bit as he speaks. "I still have a lot to learn, myself. But I have experience I can share with these students right now. That is all I am trying to do. Thank you for not disrupting my efforts any longer."
She does turn around then, making her way back over to the students, blue eyes glancing over them as she moves back to the middle of the room. In their faces she can see the questions, the uncertainty. The anger that needs temporing, the confidence that needs shoring up.
Fullfilling her summer volunteer hours by teaching the saturday courses seemed like an easy enough job to begin with. Teach some kids how to block. How to punch. How to keep from being easy pickings on the streets. How can that go wrong?
But now? Now she feels like she's taken a lot more on than she even realized up front. What happens when they take what she teaches them and go misuse it? Is she helping mold future bullies or future champions? Is she going to be able to instil the discipline that even she at time lacks? The control to not use their abilities for selfish reasons?
Sighing, Hotaru shakes her head, "All right. Same exercise as before. Switch roles, please." she states, her voice projecting the authority that she begins to question even having. From behind the wall of gi-clad youths, Hotaru casts another glance toward the door, toward Remy if he is still there, a flicker of uncertainty in her own eyes.
Remy returns the look. He stands in the doorway, looking back into the room. He meets Hotaru's eyes.
He smiles.
But there is no humour in it. No humour at all.
He closes the door behind him. And walks away.
Log created on 13:18:46 06/09/2007 by Remy, and last modified on 01:09:40 09/04/2007.