Description: ...ONLY ONE LEAVES. Searching Thailand for news of Sakura, Frei adopts the costume of a Buddhist monk to move about the country. Sadly, it's not enough to fool Tran, and the two teammates rekindle a long-standing tradition of beating the hell out of each other in disreputable drinking establishments. Also Sei was a dork and was in the room and then left so I guess two guys enter and two leave. Damn ninjas.
It's some city somewhere. Maybe more of a town, really. Dr. Tran didn't bother with the details. While it's somewhat odd for him to be here, considering Blackjack's already pulled out of the country, moving on to better, if not neccesarily bigger, things, at least the doctor doesn't look too terribly out of place here- he's not Thai, but he looks like he could be from somewhere nearby. All that aside, Tran is here to get completely smashed.
Of course, why here, in this rundown bar, the Thai name of which translates to 'The Rusty Pipe'? Goodness knows that there are nicer places to get smashed at, places where you're not prone to offending someone with guns or psychic powers or whatever who can give you a complete assbeating. Then again, maybe that's the point - you're way more likely to run into trouble, get into a scrum with someone, it doesn't matter who, around here. It's not working out too well so far, though, since only one guy other than Tran's in here, and he passed out on the bar a half hour ago. Tran's doing his best to follow, if the scattered empty bottles of beer at his table are any indication.
"Bartender! Another!" Dr. Tran slams another empty bottle down, and then decides to stare at one of the walls while he waits, trying to decide just what, exactly, that stain he sees there is. Blood? Tobacco? Dirt? It's a mystery.
Journal, Day 21. Food is running low. Trees are looking at me funny. Sam will kill them if they try anything.
The line that had drawn Frei to Thailand was, mostly, Sakura. Someone he considered a friend, someone the news was reporting as missing... someone who, once he actually GOT here after stowing away on a fishing junk and plowing through two Shadaloo tanks (with help), he saw acting Really Quite Strange on international television. She was worth looking for. And since Hotaru and Ryo had their own agenda, he stepped out of their company and headed into the country to find her.
The truth is that, with his easily-identifiable hair dyed black, Frei is barely noticeable. In fact, he did the smartest thing he could think of: he borrowed a Buddhist monk's outfit and has been working his way into 'enemy territory' as a wandering holy man. It's a disguise only he could pull off, though his hair (dyed or not) does get some comment. Nobody's of the mind to bother a short monk travelling with a set of prayer beads at his side... and they're willing to share the most interesting gossip with him.
However, now that he's at the edge of Shadaloo territory, Frei is getting discouraged. He's had no sign of Sakura or, in fact, anyone else he knows... just soldiers and populace looking particularly downtrodden. He helps when he can, whispering safe routes out of the country, but he's more concerned with finding a friendly face. Disconsolate and discouraged, he enters this very bar, hoping to find some directions to the next settlement he can reach on foot.
The sight of Tran, drunk and angry at a table, smacks into him like a hammer... but for the moment, the monk simply walks past him to the bar, smiling at the bartender. "Can you do a dry martini?" he asks, hopeful. The bartender gives him the o_o look and Frei, with a sigh, just shakes his head. "A beer, then."
Let's be fair, here - it takes Tran a minute. That stain really is interesting, you know - it kind of looks like Elvis, or a butterfly, or an ink blot test, especially when you consider that Tran's eyesight is already starting to blur. The brain's slowing down, and several moments pass before Frei's arrival really even registers. It starts off as a faint twinge of recognition, in hearing the voice, and after Tran sits up and turns to take a closer look...well, he doesn't really recognize Frei at first, anyway.
Cut the doctor some slack, it's been a while, and with the hair dyed, besides? It's a minor miracle in itself when that moment of awareness finally dawns. Naturally, the very first thing Tran does is grab one of the bottles, stand up, and then smash it against the edge of the table. Makeshift stabbing implement in hand, Tran moves over, and then peacefully takes a seat next to Frei at the bar. "You're a little short for a member of her majesty's secret service." Like he's one to talk.
Yeah, this was exactly what Frei was hoping to avoid. Dangerously depressed when sober, homocidally morose when drunk. Barbarian heroes and Tran, the rule applies to both. Still and all, part of him still thinks of Tran as... well, if not a 'friend', then at least 'a decent guy'. He doesn't let the broken bottle too much; instead, he takes the dusty bottle that the bartender offers him and stares at it for a moment before turning around and leaning against the bar, his eyes darting to the square of light the open doorway is cutting into the otherwise dark room. "I thought the line was 'you're a little short for a Stormtrooper'," Frei observes airily, trying to push mental images of Tran dressed as Leia from his mind.
The air is tense. It's probably for the best that there's nobody here, because whatever is about to ensure is sure to draw the unwanted attention of Shadaloo troops... something Tran might be able to breeze past but which is almost certainly bad news for one of the people that exploded what was likely a very expensive tank. Thumbing the cap from the bottle, Frei takes a swig of quite likely terrible beer. "What brings you to Thailand, Doctor?" He even says the word without fingerquotes.
"Oh, you know how it is." Tran starts waving his broken bottle around, a bored expression on his face as he unconciously prepares to give Frei's Greater Unified Doctor-Barbarian Theory further credence. "Just crushing my enemies, seeing them driven before me, listening to the lamentations of their women. That sort of thing."
Tran slowly turns his head to Frei, staring for a second. Thinking. "And anyway, you're the one who asked for a martini. And it was originally in the form of a question, anyway. God, what are you, my wife? Get off my back." The clear point here is that Tran would look terrible in a gold bikini. Silver's much more his color. In fact, he's got a speedo in one of the boxes he dumped on Alma that's...really neither here nor there. Ahem.
Frei's green eyes track the movements of the broken bottle as it figure eights through the air in a random pattern, fueled by drunkenness and distraction. Well, you did ask for a familiar face, Frei... and this certainly counts. The bartender is gone, probably off in the back room praying that whatever is about to happen does so quickly and doesn't leave a trail of broken furniture in its wake, even as the other occupant of the bar snores away in a pool of spilled beer. There has got to be some way to make this turn out differently. It's a matter of finding it.
As he brings a hand up to wave it at the doorway, the saffron and off-white swaths of cloth that make up Frei's monk 'costume' rustle in the damp equitorial air. "I'm sure there's a joke here about you, women, and lamentations, but I feel like that sort of petty stupidity is beneath us, you know? Especially now that we're teammates." Did Alma bring that up? Ho ho ho.
Truth be told, Alma would have a hard time telling Tran, especially on account of how they haven't seen each other since Tran was strongarmed into joining the Glory Hounds. At least, that's how the doctor would relate it - no doubt Alma would go on about purity of spirit, and a subconcious desire to join together and bond through battle or some other crap like that.
Despite this, Tran takes the news rather well, not even blinking as he responds, "Oh, are we? Huh. Small world." He pauses, then starts to absentmindly grind the bottle's jagged edge into the bar. "So how'd he rope you into it? Or did you ask him?" There's really no need to even say who 'he' is, is there?
"It would be hard to explain," Frei responds. And that's the truth. The discussion they had during their rematch, and the topics that came out of their back and forth during the fight, are still head-swimmingly abstract even for Frei, and he was there. But he does owe Tran the Reader's Digest version, even if it doesn't make perfect sense to anyone involved. "There was a lot of... mumbo jumbo. But he asked me. I think... well, we're connected somehow, he and I. Probably with you, too... that's just how he operates."
The monk lets that soak in for a bit, drinking the beer... a beverage which is becoming more and more bearable the more of it he drinks. Alcohol is great that way. Wiping his mouth with one priestly sleeve, he turns his jade-eyed gaze to Tran, studying him for a second. Dr. Tran, Soldier of Fortune? Maybe. But that doesn't explain why he's getting blasted in a rural dive in the middle of a war zone. "Tran... you haven't seen Sakura Kasugano, have you?"
"Don't remind me." As ever, Tran isn't thrilled that he and Alma have some kind of connection. He can't put it into words, he can't sort out how he feels about it, and essentially all he's really sure about is that it pisses him the hell off. He grinds the bottle a little harder, even as Frei tries to get some information out of him.
"Hell, everyone's seen her. She was on TV a week or two ago spouting 'la la la, Vega this, Shadaloo that, blah blah blah blah blah.' Of course..." Tran's mouth slowly curves upward into a grin, bringing his head tilting back so that he's starting straight up at the ceiling. "If you're wondering if I've seen her in person, then no, can't say I have. I was mostly assigned to more out of the way places, and I imagine she's usually used for more high profile shit." The psuedo-doctor peeks at the psuedo-monk out of the corner of his eye, watching for a reaction. "That is what you wanted to know, right?"
It's not the reply that Frei's expecting.
In fact, it's *so* unexpected that the monk is uncharacteristically silent for a long while. Of course, most of what Tran says isn't exactly news, right? Frei saw the SNF where Sakura's Shadaloo alleigance was on display for all to see. But the part about Tran WORKING with her? How? Why? Frei had never considered the man's claims of Doctorhood to be any more real than his claims of monkliness, but he assumed there was a core -- a belligerent core with an inferiority complex, but a core nonetheless -- of reasonable goodness in there.
It may be a shock, but Frei is a champion when it comes to landing on his emotional feet. Plus... one of the core tenets of his philosophy is that every choice is worth something to the person who makes it. No judging, right? Tran picked his path... though he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit some disappointment. "Yeah, it was," Frei murmurs, puzzling this out for a moment. He lets the silence hang in the air for a moment, and then looks forward, slumping even farther against the bar, and bringing the bottle in his hands to his lips. "Why?"
Dr. Tran finds that amusing. It's funny. He starts to chuckle, crossing his arms on the bar for support and hunching over forward. It doesn't take long for it to die away. "Everyone always wants to know, you know that? I'm amazed people don't just take note of the fact that I'm still breathing without people wondering why I'd go and do a thing like that." He sighs, leftover mirth mixed with rising bitterness. It's not like he goes around asking people why they're doing what they're doing all the time; not usually, least, not unless it's important and has a very real effect on himself.
"So you want to know? Pick a reason. Money, power, blind fanaticism, I don't really care, they've all been suggested." In quick succession, as a matter of fact. "Funny thing, though, the last time someone tried to figure it out, I didn't much feel like telling them, and I don't much feel like telling you now. So." Tran spins around on his barstool, facing Frei head on. "What're you gonna do about it? You aren't hanging around here for your health, are you?" The doctor's tone is almost mocking as he asks the question, a dare for action.
Didn't they first meet like this?
"No... no I'm not." And Frei really does think this over. It's not like the reasons Tran suggests are BAD reasons. Money and power are pretty natural, you can't blame someone for seeking those. And if Tran is in this for blind fanaticism, Frei will eat his barstool. He doesn't know a lot about the Doctor, but he knows that causes are not his forte. Part of him really does wonder what he knows, though... and his tone suggests that he's daring Frei to do it his way.
Well, fine.
Turning slowly toward the bar, Frei nods, setting his bottle on it. A perceptive person might notice a little flare of red light, no bigger than a candleflame, over Frei's forehead. It's like the red dot of Indian women.
In a heartbeat afterward, the monk turns and tries to headbutt Tran right off his barstool. The pinpoint of red light turns into a sudden flash of fire. That's right, folks: Frei just tried to HEADBUTT TRAN WITH FIRE.
COMBATSYS: Frei has joined the fight here.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 Seishirou
COMBATSYS: Tran has joined the fight here.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Tran
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Seishirou 0/-------/--=====|
COMBATSYS: Tran fails to interrupt Fierce Punch from Frei with Strong Punch.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Tran
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Seishirou 0/-------/--=====|
Finally. You would think that Frei would have the decency to be provoked into violence sooner. It's a pretty damn good start, too - Tran's prepared for something, but he's not quite prepared for...well, that. Rearing his head back, the doctor tries to counter-headbutt, but it doesn't go well, mostly because Frei's head CATCHES ON FIRE WHAT.
Well, honestly, Tran's not that surprised. He remembers Frei's use of a Variety of Elemental Energies. It does hurt a bit more than he remembered, though, the force of the headbutt sending him crashing backward, off his stool, into another stool, onto the floor. It makes the doctor laugh again, lightly, even as he slowly rises to his feet. "That hits the spot, yeah. Not quite drunk enough, though." He staggers over toward his table, where his own drink, almost untouched, lies. Tran takes a nice, long pull off of it, more or less completely ignoring Frei for the moment.
The monk rebounds from that hit holding his forehead; he'd forgotten what a freakin' thick skull Tran has, for example. Wincing in pain, he grabs his beer and drains the last of it himself before slamming it back on the bar and turning to Tran, cracking his knuckles. It always ends up like this. Of course, it always ends up like this with Alma too. What's the difference, the monk asks himself, if Tran's a little angirer and a little less homoerotic about it? It gets the message across.
"Like, I don't care really what you're doing here, and I'm not gonna give you the Alma wasting-your-life speech, but if you really wanna get yourself knocked the hell out why not go outside and call one of them Shadaloo goons a weasel-fucker?" the monk asks, not pressing his attack. There's a purpose here, violence or no.
COMBATSYS: Frei focuses on his next action.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Tran
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Seishirou 0/-------/--=====|
"Do they even have weasels here?" Tran barks a quick laugh out, and then finishes chugging the rest of his beer, tossing the empty bottle carelessly to the side with a clatter. Rolling his neck around, he continues, "Anyway, who's to say that wasn't on my to-do list before you showed up? I ain't at the top of the game, exactly, but there's still not many of these goobs who can take me. Not like anyone would give a damn, either."
Taking a step back, Tran slides his hand along the table that all his discarded bottles are on. "This, now, this is a proper barfight!" Tightening his grip, Tran knocks the table over, moving behind it, gripping the base, hefting it up, and awkwardly throwing the entire affair at Frei.
COMBATSYS: Frei interrupts Large Thrown Object from Tran with Medium Throw.
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Frei 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Tran
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Seishirou 0/-------/--=====|
It's... a table. Okay. And Tran just called it a proper barfight. Okay. Fine. Frei turns around and sees it SAILING AT HIS FACE and just sort of spaces out for a second. "They probably have ermines or something," he says offhandedly, his hand reaching out to the side and starting to crackle with purplish lightning. He should block it, or maybe zap it out of the air or something. Who knows.
What he actually does is punch the hell THROUGH it with the electrically charged hand, splintering the table in a crackle of chi thunder. Splinters drive themselves into his hand, a chunk of the thing smacks him in the face... the monk does not escape that confrontation unscathed, for sure. But it also isn't enough to slow him down, as Frei gets a grip around Tran's neck. "You have got some messed up fetishes, Tran!" he shouts, letting the volts charged around his hand travel through his grip and into the good doctor's body. It's like back alley unlicensed electrolysis.
COMBATSYS: Seishirou has left the fight here.
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Frei 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Tran
Well, Tran will be the first to admit, he wasn't expecting Frei to just go through the goddamn table. Admittedly, it wasn't a very sturdy table, but still...Tran might be seriously disturbed at this point, if he weren't already kind of used to getting the life choked out of him with lightning. Goes with the job, sort of.
Of course, the doctor's response to Frei is naturally delayed, as it still hurts quite a bit. It takes a moment's struggle, but Tran is able to break free, taking a few uneasy steps back. "Fetishes, nothing. I'm not the one doing the local wildlife." His voice is a little raspy, but he keeps talking anyway. "You've been doing something, though. Eating your wheaties?" Tran doesn't wait for a reponse, though, instead charging forward and crashing THROUGH the table if neccesary, looking to reach Frei, knock him down, and then pummel the shit out of his face with an extra helping of chi.
COMBATSYS: Frei dodges Tran's Man of Action.
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Frei 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Tran
You really don't want a berserker to make contact, you know? Because Frei knows Tran is *exactly* that type of fighter. Not the kilt wearing chuckleheads with the axes, but someone who, once he gets a hold, is really not going to let up until he has effectively hit you everywhere he can reach you with everything he can possibly hit you WITH. Frei's felt it before, knows how effective that can be. Contained chaos. No wonder Alma's so fascinated with him. It's got to be like seeing his Evil Universe clone from Star Trek.
Thus Frei leaps out of the way in a really ungainly sort of backwards dive, smacking his shin on the bar and wincing as he does so. "Wheaties suck. So do Grape Nuts. I eat Cookie Crisp, myself," he mutters, watching Tran carefully. What is powering this self-destructive impulse, Frei wonders. What internal imbalance is making this happen. He ducks forward and cracks the knuckles of one hand before trying to bop Tran in the face with a quick jab, a flare of silver-white light gently haloing his hand. "Enjoying yourself?"
COMBATSYS: Tran blocks Frei's Quick Punch.
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Frei 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Tran
"Not enough!" Tran's grin widens as Frei's punch shoots in, raising a hand to catch it. It smacks right into the base of his palm, forcing his entire arm back, but at least it didn't hit somewhere important, like Tran's nose. He holds it there for a moment, hiccups, and then notes, "Have fun with it while you can, Frei. You look like you need a vacation." It's a strange piece of advice to take into consideration. Not that Frei's the type to need to be told to have fun, but it's a weird time.
Now, if Tran were perhaps more fighting-savvy than he currently is, Tran might try something like yanking Frei's hand, trying to pull him off-balance. Instead, the doctor just drops it and moves in immediately, raising a foot high only to slam it forward toward his teammate's chest, looking to drive Frei painfully into the floor.
COMBATSYS: Frei endures Tran's Heavy Kick.
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Frei 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\1 Tran
The monk considers his entire life a vacation. After all, he's free of so many of the strictures of everyday life. He has enough money to live well and not to work, to travel where he wants, to do what he wants. It's freedom, bought by effectively cutting himself off from his family forever and whoring himself out to the fighting world as a costumed freak. Twice in the cat costume. TWICE.
He doesn't bother to get out of the way of Tran's axe kick, noting the Doctor's abandonment of good old fashioned common sense in order to beat the hell out of Frei. It trips something important in the monk's head, a sort of realization that perhaps this is as much a 'drinking' thing for Tran as alcohol is. The stars bursting in front of his eyes as he's smacked into the floor at Tran's feet certainly convey that there is a hearty distracting power when it comes to pain. You really don't have time to think about much of anything else.
Unfortunately, Tran knocked the monk to the floor right next to a barstool, and in homage the monk snaps it up as he rises, at point blank range, and keeps on rising, a twisting jump that looks to uppercut Tran in the jaw with a hastily-grabbed barstool. "SHO RYUUUUU KEN!"
COMBATSYS: Tran endures Frei's Random Weapon.
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Frei 0/-------/-======|=======\==-----\1 Tran
Clearly, Frei needs to learn just what a vacation really is. It's an escape from your everyday life, no matter how great and laid back said life may be! Perhaps the young monk should go take a relaxing trip to the forced servitude and backbreaking labor of the acid mines, or find a large, wooden wheel to push toward no easily discernable purpose.
Then again, whatever he's got going for him now seems to be working just fine, as the barstool crunches into Tran's jaw, bringing him up teetering on his tippy-toes for a moment. He sways, as that did hurt quite a bit, and then reaches upward for the very barstool Frei just smacked him with. Frei's coming down, it's coming down, and Tran's coming down, and he's going to try his damnedest to make sure at least two of those make firm, painful contact.
COMBATSYS: Frei interrupts Random Weapon from Tran with Rebound Throw.
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Frei 1/------=/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Tran
Firm painful contact: achieved.
What goes up must come down, right? And Frei went up and thus must come down. He could do some sort of wacky acrobatic nonsense to slip himself out, or maybe bounce off the barstool and to safety, or something. He decides against these, however, in favor of giving Tran the satisfaction of feeling said barstool smack into his face at high speed.
Unfortunately what goes up in this case is also Tran, and he too must come down. "WHY'S IT GOTTA BE THIS WAY?!" he finally bellows, snatching the barstool out of Tran's hand and, in one quick motion, wrapping the stupid thing around the Doctor's neck and shoulders. Descending as the two are, he uses the momentum to his advantage and SWINGS the barstool, using it like a slingshot to hurl Tran into the far wall, a sudden burst of wind chi speeding the good Doctor's flight even as Frei lands in a heap, the barstool dropping out of his hands and crashing to the floor.
And, suffice to say, ow. Once that barstool goes around Tran, it's pretty much over for him. He's not good at this close-quarters maneuvering crap. He's not a light and airy fairy, either, despite being both airborne and on the small side. The end result: one small asian doctor, crashing into a wall and leaving a sizeable crack where he impacts. He falls over limply, letting a moment pass before he pushes himself up with one hand.
Staring up at Frei, Dr. Tran starts to laugh again, although it quickly cuts off into a fit of bloody coughing. Twisting around, Tran leans against the wall, eyes closed. "I think...that ought to do for a while, yeah." Mission accomplished.
COMBATSYS: Tran takes no action.
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Frei 1/------=/=======|
COMBATSYS: Tran can no longer fight.
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Frei 1/------=/=======|
There's a tension that stays in the air during a fight. You can really sense it: a crackling of energy between peoples. Nothing so tangible as chi, but people who know how to look for it can sense it. Frei and Tran have been stepped in it, and as Tran stops, it washes out of Frei almost instantly, the monk slumping back against the bar and taking deep lung bucketfuls of air. The man drinking at the bar has barely even woken up. For a moment, Frei wonders if he's even still ALIVE.
After a moment, the monk's green eyes flicker back over to Tran, who appears to be... bowed but unbroken, a good sign. "You need a better hobby, man," Frei gasps out, putting a hand to the many tender bruises Tran has inflicted. "Or a Xanax prescription." There's a pause, and finally he says: "This IS my vacation, Tran. I'm taking some time off from being a useless gadabout and trying to do something useful. So tell me where I can start looking for Sakura."
COMBATSYS: Frei has ended the fight here.
"Heh." Tran actually says it, a little too exhausted at this point to laugh. "Well, if you really wanna know..." Tran reaches into his coat, producing a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, and proceeds to light up before saying anything else. All with his eyes still closed, no less.
After taking a long drag, Tran tilts his head upward, exhales, and opens his eyes. "I told you. I haven't run into her. As I understand it, she's all over the place, though. Tough to pin down. If you're gonna find her, I'd say head to Bangkok, head to Vega, and hope you run into her or someone who can help you on the way." Pausing again, inhaling sharply, Tran pushes himself up to his feet, and starts to stagger toward the door. "Good luck with that, though. Write me a postcard, let me know how it goes, I'm outta here. This place blows."
It does blow.
The monk doesn't try to stop Tran, nor help him; in fact, he's almost entirely certain the latter would just make the good Doctor erupt in violence again and probably injure himself in the process. Instead he smooths out the sleeves of his monk's outfit, the white and faded orange stained with flecks of blood, both his own and Tran's. The bartender cautiously peeks his head out from the storeroom door, and then starts bellowing in annoyed Thai about the destruction of his bar. Frei, for his part, looks embarassed and starts helping him clean up.
But he does watch Tran go, with one final comment to the Doctor as he hobbles out: "Enjoy your vacation."
Tran laughs again, and immediately regrets it, clutching his ribs. He pauses at the door, hand against it for support, and turns slightly, just enough to get Frei in his field of vision. "This was just a weekend after a Monday through Friday grind, Frei." The doctor chuckles again, resuming his awkward stagger. He raises a hand to give a quick wave to Frei, assuming he's still watching, not actually even turning to check. "Duty calls."
Log created on 20:40:45 06/26/2007 by Frei, and last modified on 11:43:18 07/03/2007.