Description: In which Tran actually asks another person for help. Also in this log: a hail of brimstone, cats chasing dogs, and other events heralding the end times.
When he first heard about the idea, the Young Fighter's Community Center had actually seemed... a little cheesy. Of course when it ended up that it was an Alma(tm) creation, it's just that much cheesier. The monk would never have thought of himself as ever even *visiting* the YFCC, let alone doing so repeatedly. Yet here he is, every week, teaching tai chi and trying to get students to unlock their chi potential, and being a good upstanding citizen, and helping young fighters. What a long, strange journey it is.
For once, however, he's *not* teaching today. Many of the class instructors take turns with the paperwork; this week is Frei's week, and so he is currently sitting at the desk where the receptionist usually is, having sent her off to get them both something cool to drink while he sorts through registration forms, filling up the schedule book, and handling requests for space. He's... not exactly the world's most organized person, and it shows; the desk is a nightmare of stacks of paper in every direction, a few notebook-sized log books balanced precariously on things that shouldn't be supporting them.
Occasionally he'll look up to see someone approaching with a question and do his best to answer. The center is actually quite busy; with a heat wave passing through Southtown in the late summer style, the air-conditioned YFCC is quite popular with vacationing local students who don't even fight, but just need somewhere to be.
It's also curry bread day in the cafeteria, FYI.
Curry bread is for pussies! You know what real men eat? Bacon. Lots and lots of pure, undiluted bacon, and nothing else! Surely, Dr. Tran is one such man, a man among men, whose awesome form is only defiled by lesser foods!
And, as the pinnacle of manlitude, Tran is essentially untouched by the heat. Or it could just be that he's used to things being hot, whatever the case is, he's bristling with energy as he slams open the front door to the YFCC. At least, it seems like he's fired up about something. He'd have to be, to come here.
The doctor strides right up to the information desk, ignoring the precarious stacks of paper waiting to be pushed, and then slams both of his hands down on it. "Hey! You! You're on break, c'mere, I need to talk to you." Subtle as a brick to the back of the head.
It's probably a good thing that Frei's not easy to intimidate or anger, all things considered. He doesn't look up when Tran makes his dramatic entrance; indeed, he makes another mark in a column on the budgetary sheet and then turns to snag a stack of space requests dislodged by the good Doctor's hand-hammering entrance before they tumble off the desk and onto the floor. Filing them in a folder in one the desk drawers, he comments idly, "You keep slamming that door like that, we're gonna make you replace it." Even in a building built for fighters there's only so much damage the place can take.
A clearing of the throat behind Tran reveals the receptionist, holding two Starbucks cups -- one filled with ice tea, the other filled with... something -- and an annoyed look on her face. Apparently she's noticed the door thing too. "I got your double caramel mocha nonfat chai latte frappucino, Mr. Renard," she says, stepping around Tran and handing the mysterious cup to the monk, who takes it with a big smile.
"Maaya, can you watch the desk for a bit? I'll be right back." The receptionist swings a glance of either confusion or disapproval at Tran for a moment, then nods at Frei and sits down behind the desk, the monk taking his xtreme frappucino and indicating a pair of chairs over in the lounge area.
Remaining hunched over on the desks for a few moments, Tran just grunts when Frei warns him about the door, watching and waiting impatiently for the monk to get the lead out. Maybe the frappucino would help speed him up, if there was actually room for any /coffee/ in that cup. It's ridiculous. It's not even funny.
Therefore, Tran's course of action is clear - bitch it up, even as he walks with Frei toward the chairs. "Hmph. Almost makes me wish I had a secretary to fetch me drinks. Of course, I'd want one with a more cheery attitude than that one, I swear every time I have to drop by this goddamn place she gives me the evilest eye I've ever seen."
Upon reaching the chairs, Tran doesn't sit down - instead, he whirls it around and puts one foot up on the seat, leaning forward on the backrest. "So." He begins. Then he clears his throat, looks to the side a little, and breathes in and out a couple of times. Odd behavior, to say the least.
"I can't imagine why, what with the bluster and the nearly breaking the door and the bad attitude and all that," Frei says in a distant tone as he sits down. It's not as if he's recriminating Tran for it -- it's just Tran being Tran, after all -- and so his voice has a bizarre, matter-of-fact tone. As if he were saying, 'well, you bought the yak, why are you surprised that it ate your flower garden?'. Only perhaps with a better example.
Unlike Tran, Frei DOES sit down... and promptly removes the dome-shaped cover of his drink, responding to the doctor without actually looking at him. "Well, I brought in donuts this morning so she offered," he explains... before effectively dipping his entire FACE into the whipped cream on top, snapping most of it up in one big gulp before bringing his head back up, whipped cream amazingly not on his face at all. How did he DO that? Replacing the dome cover, he glances up to find Tran... hemming and hawing.
Something is rotten in Denmark.
Taking a sip of his drink through his straw, he keeps his green eyes on Tran, patiently, waiting for him to drag out whatever the hell it is he came all the way here to say.
Something is, indeed, rotten in Denmark. Perhaps it is one of those confounded yaks - however, such a question must be left to the philophers, because nobody important cares about Denmark because it sucks.
People do care about Tran because he's rad, as evidenced when Frei's chatter temporarily distracts him from what he was thinking about. "The door's fine, if it breaks then it was a crappy door in the first place. Sheesh, isn't this place supposed to be for kids? I'm amazed more shit in here isn't child-proofed."
Rocking back and forth on his chair, Tran returns to his original thought, and after a moment's more stalling, finally decides to grit his teeth and come out with it. He's literally talking through them. "I...Frei...look, I need your help." Everyone, duck and cover. The endtimes are here.
There is something apocalyptic in the silence that Tran's comment falls into. It's actually just a long series of conicidences that lead to it: the cafeteria line emptying, a class downstairs starting, the door shutting. The silence coming from Frei is, of course, actually caused by Tran. But when he says he needs help, it is a comment followed by a long period of absolute quiet.
After a moment, the monk finally swallows the mouthful of frappucino he didn't know he'd been holding onto and glances at his teammate intently for a moment. He knew this day would come, after all. Tran really is one of nature's lost sheep, after all. A man sorely in need of guidance and direction. Presumably this was Alma's reason for letting him on the team... well, that or a night of man-passion best left undescribed here, thanks.
Thus it is with great solemnity that Frei looks at Tran, then nods. "I'll do what I can."
There's a short pause, while Frei sets his drink on a nearby table.
Then he says, with perhaps too straight a face, "Well, Tran... when a man and a lady love each other very much..."
Dr. Tran is completely still in that pervasive moment of silence. Unbreathing. Unblinking. Unmoving.
And then, at last, Frei speaks. Dr. Tran's hand, still clutching the chair, reflexively tightens, knuckles whitening under the pressure. His teeth were closed together before - for a brief instant, they grind sideways across each other. This looks like it's going to get violent.
It's pretty weird, then, when it doesn't. Slowly, forcefully, Tran loosens his deathgrip on the seat in front of him. "A man and a lady loving each other around here is a one in a million chance, thanks to Alma. Total sausage festival."
With another grunt of irritation, Tran kicks the chair away a few feet, so that nothing's between him and the mad monk. "I'm not asking for advice from anybody knowledgeable about relationships, I'm asking it from you, so just what, exactly, do you think that means I wanna know, huh?"
The expression on Frei's face says that that's a damned good question. What WOULD Tran have to ask him about? Knitting his brow, the monk looks off to the side for a moment, then picks up his drink and has another sip again, clearly thinking this through... probably to Tran's great annoyance. After a period of contemplation, he ventures a few guesses: "...clothing tips? Feng shui for your apartment? How to read the I-Ching? Spoilers for the last Harry Potter book?"
With a shrug, Frei takes another long pull of frappucino before setting it back down on the table and leaning forward toward Tran, putting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin in his hands. "You know, we could probably skip all the preamble if you just decided to *tell me what you want* instead of beating around the proverbial bush." Proverbial? Maybe a yak ate it.
Staring ahead, an expression of mild anger still plain on his face, Tran notes, "Harry d-" He pauses, readjusts his train of thought. Naturally, the engine is powered by cursing and being an ass. "Damn it! If you weren't so dense, I wouldn't have to say it!"
The doctor begins to pace back and forth, full of nervous energy. "It's chi, you gigantic moron, chi! I need your help because I'm trying something different, but I'm having trouble keeping it in control!" He stops and glares at his placid teammate.
"There, I said it, happy? Now are you gonna help me or not? Christ on a stick."
The monk's face is the pure, unaltered essence of ^_^. If you could mine ^_^icite ore, it would look a lot like Frei's face right now. Of course, this might lead one to wonder: did he know the entire time and was just yanking Tran's chain? Or was he really entirely clueless and needed it spelled out for him? The answer, my friends, is locked behind that ^_^ somewhere. Mankind will never truly know the answer.
"Oh. Sure," Frei says, as if Tran had just asked him if he wanted to go get a burger or take in a movie. He pauses for a moment to take another sip of his drink, before looking at Tran critically, rubbing his chin in thought. "Though you know, I've never been able to do steam, myself, so I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask." What he very carefully does not supply is: NOBODY does steam, you fool.
Indeed, Dr. Tran is pretty much the only user of steamy chi that he has ever known of. It makes things kind of difficult when he can't figure something out for himself. So, essentially, Frei is the next best thing - an all around knowledgable chi guy. If he can't help the doctor out, then it's gonna be a long series of nights, trying to figure things out - and frankly, Tran's busy enough as it is.
Also, pissed off. There's just something about Frei's cheery equilibrium that infuriates him. People aren't supposed to be that happy! The doctor briefly toys with possible reasons - lobotomy, struck by lightning, space alien? It's a mystery.
"Yeah, well look on this as a chance to really get a good look at it, because I don't really have a lot of other options here." Looking around at the YFCC, Tran adds, "So, where can I meet you? The hell I'm trying to figure anything out here." He finishes by mumbling something mostly unintelligible. If Frei's sharp, he might hear 'Alma' mentioned once or twice.
Tran's unilateral denial of YFCC facilities actually cuts Frei off with his mouth open, the words dying before they were even said. Look at that, Tran. You're a dirty word killer! Closing his maw, the monk presses his fingertips to his forehead for a moment. "Um. Well... Sundays I work out in Taiyo Dome, but that's probably too public for you. Uh..." Well, hell. Not that he doesn't somewhat understand Tran's rationale, here, but as he says in response: "This really IS the perfect place, you know."
Then he pauses, a brief image of a training Sakura Kasugano flickering through his consciousness, and he holds up a single finger. "Actually. On the edge of town in the forest there's an old abandoned Shinto shrine. It's usually quiet up there on weekday nights, and there's plenty of space and, most importantly, very little to accidentally destroy. That might work."
"Yeah, I know the place. A couple nights from now, that work? Good." Tran nods, then pauses as he finds himself without anything left to talk about. At least, nothing he really wants to talk about. He looks around again, and then reaches up to scratch the back of his neck.
"So...alright, then." Tran decides it's time to excuse himself as quickly as possible. "This place makes my skin crawl, so if you can't think of anything else, I'm out of here." He half-turns, ready to leave, only pausing to see if Frei's got anything else to say.
There's a pause as Frei watches Tran go, simply sipping up the rest of his frappucino and contemplating what exactly went down here. There's something in Tran's makeup that predisposes him to refuse help. A part of him suspects it's just that American 'man' thing he's heard about and doesn't particularly hold much truck with either. If being a 'man' means eschewing things you enjoy and acting like a crazy person half the time, he will pass, thank you.
Still, it *does* seem to give Tran a sort of... nervous, exuberant, raging energy. So it's got to be good for something.
Finishing his drink, the monk walks over to the reception desk and, after tossing the cup into the wastebasket, reaches into one the piles of paper Maaya is trying to sort out and grabs a blank sheet and a pen. Snagging a clipboard from somewhere, he scribbles something out furiously while the receptionist watches. Eventually, she ventures: "...what IS that?"
"A work order," Frei says, watching Tran storm out. "For a revolving door."
Log created on 19:34:17 08/07/2007 by Frei, and last modified on 08:39:43 08/12/2007.