Description: For someone who claims to hate the YFCC, Remy sure hangs around it a lot. Once again, he interrupts Hotaru's class at the Center. Once again, he tears verbally into her. But she gives as good as she gets.
Ah, the rise and fall of class populations here at the YFCC. Week 2 - One of Hotaru's students gets dragged off by Cross and savagely beaten in the bathroom. Week 3 - Parents, outraged at the scandal withdraw 3/4'ths of Hotaru's students on the spot. Week 4 - Word gotten around to the Junior Highs that you can get sexz0red by taking classes from the pig-tailed self defense instructor result in the class being overbooked for the space available. 10 students are turned away. Week 5 - Some snob shows up and mocks Hotaru's class. Week 6 - A 3rd of the students, feeling guilty from the accuracy of said snob's accusations, drop the course. Week 7 - The instructor stops showing up, having posted a notice about being out of the country for a while. Week 11 - The instructor shows up again, resumes classes, 10 students show.
Hotaru made the best of it, picking up where she had left off. Teaching the students basic blocking, basic punching, and just basically being basic. The course isn't too ambitious. It exists to take kids that have no idea what to do if some thug starts kicking the crap out of them and is supposed to teach them enough to have some chance of getting out of the encounter without being brutalized. There's only so much you can teach beginners in a once per week summer course, after all.
Said class is just letting out now, in fact, and Hotaru is bidding each student a fond farewell at the door of the basement studio room. One short little fellow that looks to be twelve if one were to be generous slouches his shoulders, the last one to approach the exit. He's unable to pay the nominal 10 dollar fee for the class.
"Don't worry about that," the beribboned girl laughs with a shake of her head, pulling a wallet out of her pants pocket, withdrawing a bill and sliding it under the clipboard that she is using to keep track of attendance. "See you next week, Ryan," Hotaru offers with a light giggle.
And that's when the door opens, swinging inward on its hinges. A man walks through the entryway. An odd thing, that. Against the flow of human traffic, where everyone ought to be leaving this room at the conclusion of the day's session. But then, the new arrival isn't one of Hotaru's students. Certainly not.
No, he's a tall man, a thin man, dressed not in the practice gear of an aspiring fighter, but in street clothes. Leather jacket, red fatigue pants, heavy boots. He stands in the entrance, sweeping the room with narrowed eyes. His gaze taking in the studio space Hotaru's using now... and the little exchange between the girl and her last student.
His lip curls, flexing into a thin sneer.
"Do you think," Remy asks, "you're doing that boy any -favours-?"
The boy is still is still at her side as Hotaru hears a voice she could have certainly gone without hearing ever again. Bristling just a little, she glances toward the new arrival out of the corner of her eyes as if hoping that she doesn't face him directly he might just go and antagonize someone else.
Her hand comes down and rests against young Ryan's shoulder and with a tight enough grip as to not leave room for argument, the pig-tailed girl turns toward the exit and begins to escort the kid to the door. Last time the green-haired young man baited her into quite an exhange of words, but right now Hotaru thinks that maybe the best way to deal with /his/ type is the silent treatment. After all, if he's just all talk, what happens if she doesn't provide him with ammo in the form of trying to speak to him reasonably anyway?
"I saws him before," the child-student remarks to Hotaru. "He beat up that nice man with the strawberry blond hair a few months ago." Futaba says nothing, her lips sealed in a thin line.
"If you mean Alma Towazu," Remy murmurs, in a deceptively pleasant voice, "he wasn't much of a challenge. Disappointing, really. Wouldn't you say?"
Remy smiles, mouth curving into a thin arc, his eyes boring into the young boy as he passes. Then he lifts his eyes, locking gazes with Hotaru. It doesn't matter if she /wants/ to meet his gaze - with the way he looks, with the way he simply positions himself, at the door, that contact is unavoidable. No matter how brief.
The pressure on poor Ryan's shoulder tightens as Hotaru maneuvers him /out/ the door, blue eyes locking with Remy's for a brief moment. She almost walks right out the door with the boy, her hand resting on the handle, fingers curling around it.
But something changes her mind and the young instructor pulls the door closed behind her now vacated student, leaving her alone in the studio with the pretentious young man who is making such light of the harm he inflicted on her friend. She doesn't want anyone outside hearing the tone of voice that's about to come out of her mouth.
Turning toward him, the girl rests her hands at her hips, one foot tapping impatiently, an unconcious twitch she isn't even aware of. It's not often she has to deal with people this obnoxious after all. "All right. Now there's no class here. No students to rile up and make fun of again. Just me. And I wasn't impressed with you last time, and I'm not going to be this time either."
One hand comes up, her finger pointing at the door, she adds, "So maybe you should just be on your way and quit coming around here causing trouble every weekend." She lowers her arm then, letting it hang at her side, her other hand still on her hip. "Unless you want to talk about whatever your rub is in a rational, pleasant way. In which case, I would be happy to discuss things with you." she finishes, her tone slightly mollified as if realizing that maybe she had come off a bit more antagonized than she had intended at first. Since that just means he's already getting to her. And she isn't about to allow for that!
Remy stands where he is, just inside the doorway. Not very far from Hotaru. Not far at all. He listens to the girl's diatribe, his head tilted in a faintly curious gesture. He doesn't seem at all offended, shocked, apprehensive... no, if he shows any emotion, it's mild amusement.
He laughs. A low sound, from the back of his throat. He lifts his hands, bringing his fingers and palms together - applauding, but in a distinctly sardonic fashion. That little smile remains on his features as he returns Hotaru's look, unrepentant, unbowed, in the face of her ire.
"Nice speech," he replies, "do you really mean that, or do you treat all the arrogant interlopers that way? Hm, Ms. Futaba?"
Hotaru reacts to the clapping with an eyebrow twitch, mouth pressing tightly, her lips forming a thin line. Truth be told, she feels a little trapped all of the sudden. She feels like walking away from Remy will just leave him free to hassle someone else here and she wouldn't wish that on anyone.
But just talking to him is going to make her want to escort him forcibly from the premesis. Or at least try to.
And if she lays a hand on him, she's just falling into the behaviors he so illustratively brought up in his prior interference about using her strength to lash out 'violently.'
The turmoil the girl finds herself wrestling with is written on her face, blue eyes locked on his. Her foot still taps absently. Eventually her hand moves from her hip to rub at her forehead as if just being in the same room with the young man is giving her a headache. "How did you know my name?" she asks as a complete non-sequitur.
"Oh, come on," Remy replies, chidingly. He lifts a finger, moving it slowly from side to side, pantomiming the familiar gesture of admonition.
"You're Hotaru Futaba. Your name's on the sheet for this insipid little 'class'. Your face is on television. On Geese Howard's precious SNF. Are you -proud- of your name, girl?"
Remy folds his arms across his chest. He continues staring straight at Hotaru, his gaze unwavering, unflinching. His voice is light, mocking - but there's a distinct edge to it, a razor sharpness that the casual demeanour fails to hide.
"Because it seems -everyone- knows it."
Oh. So he's a /fan/, it sounds like. The hand at her forehead lowers, wrapping around to clasp into a fist behind her back. "I don't have anything to be ashamed of by it," she replies, brow furrowed, eyebrows raised just a little at the sharpness of the jab.
"I'm not sure there's anything wrong with a lot of people knowing my name... I just didn't take you for someone who wouldbe interested in watching the broadcasts." she ponders, thinking back on the other times she's been accurately identified based on her TV appearances.
"So what's yours?" she asks in return, her own temperment shifting into a more calm state of mind - some of the annoyance bleeding out of her at the change of topics.
"Remy."
A one-word answer, a curt reply. Factual, nothing more. There's no reason for him to disseminate, no reason to lie. So he answers the question, quite directly.
But he doesn't explain any more. No last name, no elaboration on who he is, or why he's here. Just a name, shorn of any decoration and even context. Less than nothing, in a way.
He continues speaking.
"And I'm -not- interested in the...'broadcasts', as you so charmingly put it. But I'm sure you understand the basic rule of intelligence."
Remy leans forward a fraction.
"Know. Your. Enemy."
Hotaru nods slightly at the offered name. Well, that's progress, she supposes. She isn't sure if Alma already knew his name or not... the model fighter hadn't really talked about his encounter with the Obnoxious One in great detail.
As he rebuffs her light tease about watching the SNF fights, Hotaru smiles faintly at first but then frowns as he leans toward her, actually leaning back a little bit in turn. "I'm not your enemy," she replies, becoming aware that she had leaned back and over compensates for it by leaning forward back toward him in turn. "If you weren't coming around here all the time and being annoying, I wouldn't even have any issue with you in the first place. It seems like you just go around trying to pick fights, verbal or otherwise..." She shakes her head, "What put you on this crusade, anyway?"
That smile is still on his face. But there's no humour in it. None whatsoever. His voice is casual, conversational. And yet, there's a subtle harshness to it. A chill.
What gives it away...
...are his eyes.
"You ask that," Remy replies, "but do you mean it?"
His face is close to Hotaru's now. He angled his body forward to emphasize a point, infringing on her personal space. But the girl didn't back down. And now, they're close, very close. Such that although Remy is virtually whispering, his voice is still audible. Inescapable.
"Do you -really- want to know what drives me, Ms. Futaba?"
He draws back, all of a sudden.
The smile on his face broadens, a fraction. Something shifts in his eyes.
"Or do you just want me to go away, hm?"
She keeps her eyes locked on his as he challenges her level of /real/ interest. There's something unsettling about it. Usually zealots are eager to proselytize whatever fantastical religion that has put their feet to the road and sends them into harmless self-defense classes to torment innocent course instructors for seemingly no reason whatsoever.
But that he has hesitated, as if she might not be /ready/ to hear what it is that pushes him to act this way, Hotaru pauses. It's a fair question, really, and one she actually has to think about, hesitating perhaps a glaringly long moment.
But then she lowers her hand back down to her hip, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly, "Does it really matter what I want? If you were so interested in what I want, I don't really think you'd talk to me this way." It's somewhat avoiding the question - but if it wasn't a sincere question then should she feel obligated to answer it in the first place?
Remy laughs, once again. He seems genuinely bemused.
But then, it's hard to tell.
"Perhaps."
He spreads his hands, palms open, giving a small tilt of his head. The body language is distinct: that of a man claiming innocence, forthrightness, saying he can be trusted. There is only one tiny hint of insincerity - the gleam of his eyes.
"Perhaps not."
He lifts one finger, pointing it at Hotaru. Stabbing across the space separating the two.
"But I ask you this, Ms. Futaba. By holding this...'class'. By taking the persona of a fighter, in televised competition, in broadcast matches...haven't you made yourself a /public person/?"
Smile.
"You shouldn't be surprised...that you're under scrutiny."
For a moment she looks uncertain as to whether or not she called his bluff. But as his unctuous smile settles in again and his finger gestures out towrad her, she begins to suspect that she probably did.
Her hand from her side lifts and rests lightly at the base of her neck as if feeling strangely vulnerable all of the sudden even though she feels like she could deal with the young man if his talk ever progressed to violence.
"W-well, it isn't just a persona," she replies, not liking the idea that he's accusing her of merely playing a role on TV to cater to an audience. "I guess I haven't thought about the scrutiny quite so much..." She looks mildly uncertain for a moment, but her smile, far more sincere, is forthcoming a moment later. "But so far it hasn't really changed a lot for me. I get recognized sometimes, but I'm nothing like a... a Kyo Kusanagi or other big name that everyone knows. So maybe it just doesn't seem as big a deal to me." she offers, shrugging now as if no longer quite so antagonized by his words and gesticulations.
"So..."
He inclines his head, nodding to himself.
"So. Why do it?"
Remy folds his arms, crossing them over his chest. His gaze is level, focused on Hotaru. There's no more baiting, now. No mockery, no attempt at antagonizing the girl.
The question's real.
He actually wants an answer.
"If not for fame, why do you fight, Hotaru Futaba?"
Her eyes narrow at the question and for a moment they seek something to focus on other than the young man who insists on standing so close to her personal space, taking 'getting in someone's face' to a very literal level. It's a deep question though - one that cuts to the heart of so very much of what defines Hotaru Futaba, and deciding whether or not to give an honest answer takes some thought in and of itself.
"Well, it's certainly something I've thought about a lot," she allows slowly at first. "There's so many reasons, each of them varied in their importance to me." Her voice picks up speed as her eyes come back to focusing on him.
"I fight to honor my father's teachings. The things he taught me were his gift to me. I will not shame him by letting my skill atrophy with disuse." The hand resting at the base of her neck lowers, clenching loosely, "I push myself because I want to be strong enough to help those in need of defending. Evil people won't stop attacking just because everyone else is too weak to fight back. I have to be able to help others that way..."
The clenched hand loosens, coming up to brush through her hair, sending some of the dark locks back over her ears from where they had slipped over her face. "I push myself so that someday when I find my brother, I can show him that I'm not weak. That like him I have honored our father's teachings and grown because of it. I'm sure there will be a test when that day comes... And I have to be ready for it." She smiles faintly at that, her voice laden with distant hope, an optimistic mind dreaming of a day that may never come.
Remy laughs.
It's not a nice laugh. Not a nice laugh at all. It's a harsh bark, scornful and dismissive. He gives Hotaru a look, his eyes fixed firmly on the girl - his reaction incredulous.
"Your -father's- teachings?"
He stresses the word. Then he continues, his voice rising, nearly spitting each accusation.
"Proving you aren't weak? Finding your brother?"
He shakes his head in exaggerated disbelief.
"So," he sneers, "you're just a brainwashed little puppet. Following someone else's footsteps."
The girl swallows as he starts to laugh, finding it hard to finish her answer. "I... I'm grateful for the lessons my father imparted to me," she replies, confused at the disbelief exhibited by the young man. "He's out there still, himself. Someday I hope to have the chance to show him how far I've come."
She frowns, brow furrowing as the irritation from before is starting to build up again in the presence of the insufferable foreigner. "Maybe it's something you just don't understand... I understand cultures might be different elsewhere."
Maybe just bad upbringing in general put the chip on his shoulder. "You're obviously a fighter yourself." There's no thinking otherwise considering he was able to best Alma, "Your abilities haven't come about due to apathy or lazy indifference. Why do you train and fight, only to treat others who do with such scorn?" Hotaru is leaning toward him now, apparently reacting to his invasion of her space with the same treatment in return.
"Do I," Remy says.
His reply is quiet, barely above a whisper. A strange and sudden contrast to his raised tone of a moment ago. Hushed, deceptively subdued. He regards her, unpeturbed by her newly confrontational posture. He doesn't back down. He's still standing, his arms folded, his tall frame in the doorway of the community centre's training room. His eyes locked on the girl, staring down at her.
"Do I? Maybe I do."
He lifts a hand, holding it up. His arm bent at the elbow, finger pointing towards the ceiling.
"Or maybe you and I," he murmurs, "aren't so different. You were taught by your father? So was I. He made me train soon as I could walk. And when I made the slightest mistake, he beat me until I -couldn't- stand."
As he speaks, Remy tilts his hand, pivoting it at the wrist, so his digit stabs towards Hotaru.
"You say your father's...somewhere out there? Well. So's mine. He left us because we were /weak/. And he wanted to be /strong/."
His voice is still level, deadly calm.
"So you see..."
Remy bares his teeth.
".../you understand/."
And there comes the stabbing finger again. Hotaru backs down a little. Not confrontational by nature, it's hard for her to maintain it for long. The upbringing he describes sounds... very familiar. There's a twitch of a frown in her features and she avoids eye contact for a moment.
"Yeah," comes soft acknowledgement, her face turned to the side, eyes glaring across the length of the gym if only to avoid his own. "I understand. You use your father as an excuse to make people miserable so that you can keep wallowing in your own misery. You must be trying to make everyone feel like you." Her attention is back on him again, eyes narrowed slightly with accusation.
Folding her arms over her chest, she hmphs. "While I am sorry to hear that your father..." her voice trails off, a certain tinge of pain in her tone. The subject of fathers has struck a nerve. "Well." she finally states, her voice strong enough to continue as long as she doesn't pursue her previous line of thinking. "You let that be what defines you and that's the real tragedy."
Another laugh, a brief snort of breath. Narrowed eyes, curled lips. Remy looks at her, his eyes flashing.
"Is it," he says.
All of a sudden, he moves, a jerk of the head, a motion that sends stray strands of green flying. His mouth opens, fully. "And what about -you-," Remy challenges, "isn't -your- past what defines -you-?"
He keeps his hand up, finger still jabbed at Hotaru.
"Whereas I," Remy declares, "am taking /control/."
"Everyone's past does shape them... but I have never looked back and sought excuses to treat others with the kind of reproach that you convey with your every action. Anyone can seek out reasons to be rude if they want to - so certain that they are entitled to that sort of behavior because of what happened to them."
The girl glances to the side now, her eyes straying over the door that the foreign young man insists on blocking, as if there are thoughts that she's considering how much she would like to end this 'dialoge' but worried about how things would escalate if she were to lay a hand on him.
"And what are you doing with that control? Where has it gotten you?" she turns the question back on him as her eyes focus on his.
He considers this for a moment. Then he opens his mouth to reply - but before he speaks, his eyes suddenly flick to the right, following Hotaru's gaze. He blinks, once, his head shifting just a little, his face changing, briefly. For a moment only, before his mask slips back into place.
But all the same...Remy does indeed step aside, moving away from the doorframe, into the corridor. Letting Hotaru pass.
As he moves, he says, quietly:
"It isn't what it's gotten me."
His hand drops to his side, fingers curling into a fist.
"But what it -will-."
As he steps aside, Hotaru eyes the doorway. Having him no longer blocking the way out seems to calm her down slightly. She takes a step forward, now standing in the doorway herself. Not to block, but to linger, facing the young man briefly, blue eyes studying his face.
"And what will that control give you? Is it going to bring you happiness? Or merely satisfy your need to be angry at everything and everyone?"
She shakes her head, turning now, such that her back is mostly toward him, her hand resting against the frame of the door, looking tired, a little worn out, as if even being in the company of the perpetually cross individual is a drain.
Remy makes no move to stop Hotaru. But he does keep her eyes on her back as she looks away from him.
"Perhaps," Remy answers, his voice neutral.
"But what do you care?"
She doesn't turn to face him again.
"To be honest, in your case, you make it really hard to care... I would be surprised if anyone did. And I guess that's the saddest truth of it all."
Hotaru's hand slides down off the frame and she finally walks through the door into the hall that will take her back up to the main floor of the YFCC. Maybe there is someone out there that can care enough to reach out further than she can. Or maybe the young man is on a course that will see no change.
All she knows is that she can't be that person. Not right now. It... feels like trying to talk to her brother.
Remy remains in the corridor, watching her go. His expression unreadable.
He says nothing. Nothing at all.
BONUS! OOC OUTTAKES!
[OOC] Hotaru waves to Alma! "For someone who hates the YFCC, Remy sure likes hanging around in it and being obnoxious a lot!" ;.;
[OOC] Alma says, "Well, he is French."
[OOC] Hotaru laughs.
[OOC] Alma pictures Remy in a beret with a cigarette. "The YFCC is stupid. This is stupid. /You/ are stupid. /Everything/ is stupid."
[OOC] Remy says, "...I can't, Alma."
[OOC] Remy says, "I don't have a sidewalk coffeeshop. =("
[OOC] Hotaru giggles. x.X
[OOC] Hotaru says, "Alma, help me beat him up. ;.;"
[OOC] Alma says, "Only if I get to sweep you off your feet after we win."
[OOC] Hotaru says, "Well, I can't think of why not. u.u"
[OOC] Alma says, "And carry you off to a romantic secluded spot."
[OOC] Hotaru says, "W-well..."
[OOC] Alma says, "And whisper sweet nothings in your ear, taking in the floral scent of your lustrous hair."
[OOC] Hotaru raises a finger in protest, "T-That might be pushing it."
[OOC] Remy says, "But, hey, he's Alma."
[OOC] Remy says, "And we all know about Alma x Mimiru and Alma x Jiro."
[OOC] Alma says, "Wh--"
[OOC] Remy says, "So clearly Alma is a Kasagisexual."
[OOC] Alma says, "We don't know anything about either of those situations!"
[OOC] Hotaru says, "W-whoa."
[OOC] Alma says, "You have no proof!"
[OOC] Remy says, "And now that there's Hotaru x Jiro, by extension..."
[OOC] Alma says, "--"
[OOC] Remy says, "WELL I'M BEING LOGICAL HERE."
[OOC] Alma says, "On second thought, your logic seems unassailable to me."
[OOC] Hotaru u.u;
Log created on 03:06:37 07/09/2007 by Remy, and last modified on 01:38:24 09/04/2007.