Description: Troubled by recent conversations, Frei turns to one of the people he's met in Southtown he trusts the most... and finally lays out the details of a troubled past few would suspect the cheerful monk of having. Alma graciously listens to this catharsis, and offers his own views on how Frei should proceed... ("The Moon's Three Treasures" - Prologue)
The Pao Pao Cafe! Handy haven for students from all of Southtown's various high schools and even college freshmen reminded of their recent days in the halls of public education. But at this late hour most of the kids have gone, and the adults who come for the various world musics that get played on the cafe's prominent stage for appreciative audiences. Tonight, for example, is a band from mainland China that mixes jungle rhythms with traditional Chinese instrumentation to create an interesting mood... right now, the tone is at a low patch, the Chinese fiddle contrasted with the sounds of Brazilian tribal drums.
Sitting alone in a corner booth is Frei Solo, sans wookie; he has a dinner engagement with one Alma Towazu that is sure to have totally confused the young model's handlers at Studio Giorgio when the monk called (access to YFCC employee records is a wonderful thing). But since the model lives a busy life, Frei felt totally justified in calling him 'at work'. The crew should be so lucky that Frei, who lacks a day job, didn't just walk on in and deliver the message in person. Of course, that same lack of day job means the monk has ample free time to show up early; he lives only blocks away from the mall anyhow.
Chewing idly on a breadstick, Frei swirls his bendy straw around in a tall glass full of... some fruit concoction. A mix of a daquiri and smoothie, or so he was told, with pina colada flavors. It's actually quite delicious, but it's alcoholic... a rare choice for Frei. Maybe he needs a dose of the old liquid courage if he's going to go completely through with what he wants to do here tonight...
It might have been interesting for the modern monk to see Alma Towazu, young would-be champion of virtue, at work at Studio Giorgio; specifically, interesting to see the beautiful blond not only surrounded by his peers in beauty but in taking only the most professional of notice in them. It's a side of Alma that few are aware of but yet can be quite revealing. The fighting model's demure manner and reassuring presence can strike his admirers as a kind of charming boyish naivety, in spite of his occasional mature insight; yet it is difficult to synch that image up with the sight of him surrounded by scantily clad men and women and for all intents and purposes save those of courtesy, ignoring them.
As to how this is possible while the sight of Mizuki Kamigawa in a button-up shirt can make him flush, well... the simple answer is, as always, 'auras!'. Yet were Alma actually able to communicate to others what his aura sense is like, he would have to describe it as a kind of visual metaphor, the "color" that he sees merely a personality made manifest by the vibrant power of a fighting spirit. A power that can make that which is otherwise meaningless meaningful; a power that flatters and awes him whenever he has the blessed luck to enter its proximity and experience it, interact with it, for himself.
Which is why whatever Frei is planning, he really has little to worry about; Alma is no mind-reader, but he can sense sincerity, and the trust of this powerful man -- though Frei might hesitate to describe /himself/ as powerful, Alma, as is his wont, has a very broad definition of the term -- will be more than enough for him.
Thus, though every day may in fact be a beautiful day for Alma Towazu, he finds himself in a particularly good mood as he strolls through the entrance to the now settled down Pao Pao Cafe. Life has been more interesting for him lately, and it's unclear who he has to thank for that, a situation that somehow just makes him all the more pleased. Certainly it took courage to approach Mizuki the way he did, but it took just as much courage if not more for her to do what /she/ did; certainly it was good of him to engage Camille as he did, but he behaved rather foolishly at points and only his instincts, for which he can only take partial credit, saved them from emnity. These whirlwind scenarios feel right to him. At these moments where he can't tell what he gave the world and what the world gave him, where the boundary between internal and external truly does seem to blur...
"Frei."
...he feels most at home.
Dressed with his trademark style without self-consciousness, a pale plush cotton high-collared shirt with large bronze zipper above dark blue designer jeans, the dusky-skinned blond smiles down at his auburn-haired friend. His tone is gentle and amiable, as usual.
"Thanks for inviting me."
He sits down across from the monk, folding his arms on the table, leaning in.
"How are you?"
This question seems to take more time to answer than it really ought to. In fact Frei gets what could be called a puzzled expression once it's asked, and various things run through his mind. Speaking with Hotaru at the churchyard; speaking with Mizuki on the steps of the shrine. His unresolved feelings for Alma, his life having changed quite a bit since he got involved with the Community Center.
The pina colada drink thing.
Eventually, it's the drink he holds up, as if toasting the model, and he smiles brightly. "Somewhat tipsy!" When in doubt, be honest. The truth is that if Frei IS drunk, he is skirting the edges of drunkenness... able to appreciate its liberating possibilities but not hampered by its tendency to remove all inhibition. Choosing to drink was a calculated risk, but since of all the images available to him he focused on *that glass* rather than anything else, perhaps it was a risk worth taking. Apparently Alma's not the only person at this table who's been having enlightening encounters of late.
It may take a moment to notice, or Alma might see it right away, but Frei's long-tailed headband is in absentia today; his dark red bangs fall slightly farther into his face than normal as a result, highlighting the faint hint of freckle just under his eyes, a legacy of his British/Irish father. Otherwise he's dressed as normal. It may be that he just has an entire closet of dark black and russet brown-orange Chinese shirts, 12 pairs of the same jeans, and those wooden sandals. "Otherwise I'm fine. I'm glad you got the message. The, uh... lady seemed to lock up when she asked what agency I was from and I couldn't think of an answer." He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his glass, before adding: "I hope she understands I was kidding when I said 'Central Intelligence Agency'."
Small talk. Is that... really Frei under there? Maybe he's drunker than he thinks.
Alma sweatdrops a little.
"Sounds a little familiar," he murmurs, sounding cheerful enough despite Frei's lack of explanation for this particular summons. "I met a young lady the other night: Camille Irvine. She had quite the temper, but she seemed to get in a much better humor when I had something to drink." His honest brow furrows in serious contemplation. "Though I'm not sure whether she actually did or I only felt she did after drinking." He grins softly. "But she didn't cut me in half with her sword, and at first I thought she might, so I can't have done too badly."
Instinctively accomodating to Frei's social desires and something of a rambler in any case, Alma seems to remain relaxed, though he is beginning to feel that something about Frei drinking puts him ill at ease. Why exactly is that? He could just find it entertaining, and not necessarily at the monk's expense.
~ Normally he's capable of letting anything slide off his back... ~
There must be something bothering him.
~ ...bordering on the flippant... that's where we seem to differ, but... ~
And when has Frei ever needed to drink to have fun?
~ ...I remain convinced everyone, in some way, feels the ties of duty. ~
This doesn't seem like some zen-like act of randomness on Frei's part.
Alma does chuckle at Frei's last comment, but he is rarely one to hide such profound misgivings, and they prevent him from formulating any kind of response. Instead, his eyes begin to reveal a concern tempered by simple curiosity in a friend, more empathetic than sympathetic, more interested than patronizing.
"I didn't know you drank," he finally says. Well, right back at you, Alma. Though what was that, your third time ever?
"I thought maybe... was there anything in particular you wanted to tell me?"
He leans back from the table a little, warming up with a smile.
"Not that there needed to be, of course."
The model tilts his head slightly, gazing out through the partial curtain of his bangs.
"I've missed you, Frei. Seeing you at work isn't really enough."
"I don't," Frei confirms, perhaps too cheerfully. He takes a sip of the drink and finds that it's now empty... well, so much the better. He's been eating nothing but complimentary breadsticks since he was alone anyway. "Well, not usually. I have a big sweet tooth, as you may or may not have noticed. Most alcohol is too bitter for me. Plus... it seems to get me in trouble. You'll believe me when I tell you that of the times Tran and I have fought, two of maybe five were in bars." He furrows his brow a bit, remembering his clash with the good Doctor in Thailand in a dingy street bar... and the first stirrings that there was something deeper wrong with Tran than anyone thought. "And one got us kicked out of Dream Amusement Park for six months." Did Tran ever get to ride the Facekicker? Who knows.
Of course there's Alma's second statement, and well... though he is accessible, and people get in their hellos at the YFCC, the monk has been kind of a... well, a monk lately. Many of his close friends are off on the Suiryuu, of course, and it was recently revealed to him that Mizuki has her own reasons. But he's been spending a lot of time alone and this is probably not a good thing. "I can't be the one making all the dates in this relationship," he says haughtily, sniffling in mock disdain. "You should call sometimes."
He shuts up for a moment as the long-suffering waiter approaches; Frei orders something basic, a bacon cheeseburger and fries, then indicates the menu to Alma. After all, dinner was his treat, right? The offer of a refill on his 'Pina Cool-ada' as it is apparently called is politely declined in favor of a glass of good old fashioned water.
After the waiter is gone, however, Frei glances off the side at the band leaving the stage. It's getting kind of late and he doesn't want to keep Alma out forever... and thus he gets to the point, with a sigh. "I, um... I have some things I need to talk through," he finally says, squinting in confusion at his own words for some reason before he turns his gaze back to Alma. "Maybe more now than before, considering my conversations with other people the past few days. And... well. I appreciate all Hotaru said to me, and I understand Mizuki has her own problems right now. But... there's not many people around I can say some of this to."
"Oh, yeah?" Alma's mild-voiced response doesn't make him seem too surprised by Frei's Tran-fighting fact. "I was only in a bar with him once, and that time, we actually fought together." Against that douchebag Benimaru! "But I'm pretty sure at least a third of the times we've fought /he's/ been intoxicated." His eyebrows lift a little at getting kicked out of the amusement park, though. Well, he had one of his worse moments at the park himself, but-- that was more of a personal moment than one that would antagonize the establishment.
At Frei's acting-up, though, Alma can only grin.
"Sorry, baby."
Smooth as silk. Well, he's certainly comfortable with Frei, if nothing else. But maybe that's what happens when a guy sees you emerge from a shipping crate salt-encrusted with nothing but an indignant lobster to protect your virtue. Even if he doesn't lend you his Chinese jacket to tie around your waist, it's hard to escape a certain... bond being formed from an experience like that.
Ordering a large chicken caesar salad and water as well, Alma now folds his hands in his lap and listens.
So Frei's been talking to Hotaru and Mizuki. Alma's actually a little surprised that the monk needs anyone to talk to after that; he doesn't know too many more level-headed and compassionate young people, even if Hotaru is generally a bit less reserved -- or maybe just less dignified -- about it. Alma's certainly a good listener and definitely a trustworthy guy, but his expressions of sympathy tend to be a bit solemn in ways that might turn away the casual emotional aid-seeker.
Frei's problems must be quite serious.
"I'm honored," he murmurs, one of those things that probably only Alma can say sincerely.
"What's going on, Frei?"
It's do or die.
For a moment Frei says nothing, instead lowering his eyes and directing them at the tabletop briefly, his fingers becoming fidgety. Alma certainly has a point when it comes to Mizuki and Hotaru... but the truth is in both situations, the girls had plenty of their own issues to work through as well. Not that the monk resented that; quite the opposite. But for some reason, faced with the opportunity to talk about himself and not worry too much about others, he seems... uncomfortable, or reluctant, or probably both.
Looking back up at Alma, Frei leans forward and puts his chin in his hand, fingers squeezing into his cheek. "Lately I've had this... feeling. Like something bad is going to happen," he finally says. Of course, the monk's not psychic -- Alma can tell that much for certain -- and thus it's not exactly likely that he's the recipient of prophecy. "I don't know how else to explain it. Things I felt like I left behind a long ago are suddenly in my mind without any sort of stimulus, you know? Like a premonition or a bad dream..."
After a pause, the monk bites down on his lip, brow furrowed. "Where to start..." Bringing his head up, Frei puts his elbows on the table and folds his hands in front of him, fingertips touching, all ten fingers making a sort of lattice as they entwine. "Do you get along with your parents, Alma? I don't think you've ever mentioned them."
"Oh..."
He's silent until the mention of his parents, at which the young man's expression falters slightly, a moment of uncertainty flickering through his gaze. This is one of those questions it's difficult to answer without a degree of awkwardness, and being Alma, it is the awkwardness, not the telling, that he dreads. If only people could just communicate from soul to soul and express themselves fully without all this language business. How convenient that would be in moments like this.
Convenient but, upon reflection, probably much less interesting.
"My parents passed away some time ago," he says gently, seeing no way around it. "My father died when I was young, and my mother a couple years ago. Before I entered the fighting scene. But I--"
Yeah, he can't help it. He averts his eyes for a moment, considering.
"My memories of them... mean a lot to me."
It's an obvious evasion, and it's supposed to be obvious. When Alma looks back at the monk, there's no grief in his eyes. Obviously, there's stuff he could say. We've all got problems; Hotaru and Mizuki already demonstrated that. But though Alma's parents exist in the present through him, unreversably intertwined with his own being, his problems are in the past. It is clear to him that it is Frei, not he, whose problems exist in the present. He is quite willing to make this time Frei's to speak, not his.
His silence on the matter is intended to evidence that.
"Why do you ask, Frei?"
A very unfortunate response to that statement flashes a fin deep in the sea of Frei's subconscious, and it is responsible for the startled expression he suddenly adopts. Of course, Alma's revelation is shocking news, but that is in his case merely a cover. A part of him, a very tiny part... is a little jealous of Alma. Jealous that his memories are good and strong... and jealous that he doesn't have any of the problems Frei himself is facing.
"I, ah..." Shaking his head, Frei runs a hand through his auburn-red hair, breathing out sharply. "My father passed away when I was young too. He was never in the greatest health... which is kinda funny, since I take after him the most of us three brothers, and I'm pretty indestructible." For a moment, a brief moment, he grins at Alma. "Idiots don't catch colds, right?"
However, the grin fades fairly fast. "Mizuki... she talked about the history of the Kamigawa clan. And Hotaru talked about her relationship to her parents when she was young. That idea of 'family' keeps jumping out at me from around corners when I least expect it, lately. You know I have two last names, right? 'Renard' being my father's family from Britain, and 'Tsukitomi' being my mother's family from Japan."
Reaching down to his tightly-rolled napkin and silverware, Frei snaps open the paper ring keeping it all together and withdraws the butterknife, then experimentally swings it through the air a little bit, speaking as he does so. "The Tsukitomi clan, founders and maintainers of Musou Tenkei-ryuu battoujutsu since the 1600s. A long line extending into the past..." And here his voice becomes dark and even a little bitter, "...like an anchor, weighing us all down. I'm lucky that my mother is still alive... but I haven't spoken to her, nor my younger brothers, in seven years... not since I left the country and dropped out of college."
Indeed, duty binds us all.
A philosopher once noted that it is, so far as we know, uniquely the human condition to need to choose; whether consciously or unconsciously, we constantly redefine our being, our self, by the option we select. Yet he concluded that in fact this means that we can never really escape our circumstances, for the options we are presented with are determined by our background, by the setting in which we arise, by those close to us; the facets of 'duty', as our Alma so likes to call it. Turning away from those initial connections too is a choice, even if it appears merely as neglect...
"Musou Tenkei-ryuu..."
...so while one may escape the connections themselves...
"Your family practices battoujutsu, but you chose not to learn the style?"
...one cannot escape being defined by them.
"Do your... mother and siblings practice it?"
Duty binds us all.
Talking about the fighting style might be an odd thing to focus on, but given Alma's own perspective, it may be understandible. If his parents had possessed their own fighting style, he wouldn't even give a second thought to mastering it, no matter how they themselves might have rejected him-- which doesn't make him better than Frei. It only means that-- he doesn't quite understand.
There's a solemn pause.
"Seven years... is a long time, Frei."
Well, it's easy to say that when you're nineteen.
In spite of himself, Frei grins at Alma's perceptiveness, though one does not exactly need to be a world-class detective to know that Frei isn't a practitioner of any sword style, let alone a highly technical type of fighting like battoujutsu. "No, I stopped learning right before college, in high school... around age 16. My mother is the current master of the style, and my brothers... um, I have twin brothers, I guess I should say. Threnody and Kataki... around your age, maybe a little younger. They were always Mom's little boys when it came to training. They loved it. I, uh..."
He's interrupted by the arrival of food, though the monk doesn't seem particularly abashed to be overheard discussing such arcane topics. After all, isn't the Pao Pao Cafe's owner and operator a famous capoerista? Still, the food is a welcome excuse to pick up the burger and bite into it, not realizing how hungry he actually was until the monk has sawed through some of it and swallowed. Draining some of his water, he continues with the story. "But... I never got into it. I don't know how much you know about battoujutsu, but it's the art of the fast draw. You strike as quickly as possible and look to end the entire fight in one decisive stroke... 'one cut, one kill' is how it used to be called. But Musou Tenkei was developed because our clan served the shogunate as... enforcers, I guess. There was never any philosophy to it. No... mystical bent, no why or wherefore. Just the celebration of the absolute perfect moment of skillful execution."
Frei pours some ketchup onto his plate, then picks up a french fry and twirls it in the air a bit before dipping it in and taking a bite out of it. The food, in a weird way, seems to relax him... of course, as Alma probably knows, the monk is something of an epicure when it comes to eating. "When I was little and it was just me and Mom, I didn't mind it. It was a way for us to spend time together. But as I got older, I realized it wasn't what I wanted, you know? I needed more than just that isolated moment of violent perfection. And the more I wanted, the more disgusted my mother got with me, and the worse my technique got... while the twins just improved and improved every single day. In the end all we did is fight."
The absolute moment of skillful execution, an end in itself...
For a moment, Alma feels as though he can understand both sides.
But he reminds himself he really doesn't know enough to come to any conclusions.
Instead, he listens, and nods occasionally, eating quietly and steadily.
"I see," he murmurs quietly. Saying something like 'I'm sorry' would probably just be silly at this juncture, especially to Frei, even Frei at his most vulnerable. Besides, Alma is usually pretty good at evincing such emotion just through his demeanor. Instead, he continues in a more conversational, if still restrained, tone: "It sounds like your relationship with your mother was defined mainly by martial arts back then. Was that... all you did together?"
~ If so, to lose the capability-- ~
"Is that moment... all your family seems to value?"
~ No wonder he left them all behind. ~
A short, sharp laugh is the initial response, and there is deep bitterness in Frei's voice when he responds... a bitterness that he has likely never once displayed in the entirety of his friendship with Alma. "This is going to sound patronizing, but you clearly don't come from a family with a 400 year martial history," he says, brushing hair out of his eyes. However, his expression soon relents, and he looks down at the table somewhat askance, not wanting to meet Alma's gaze. "That wasn't called for, sorry. But no, we really didn't. I've got my father's temperament, which is funny... she loved it in him but couldn't handle it in me, even after he died."
Pausing to take another bite of his burger, the monk thinks things over for a moment. As he sets the oversized sandwich back down, he runs a finger along the rim of his water glass again, and seems to adopt a more pensive air. "I don't think it's that we enjoyed killing, or the moment of perfection, so much as the idea of continuity. The family style represents... a sort of immortality, a rock around which the family is organized, you know?" He looks up at Alma for a moment. "Every family has something like that but in Japan... well, here it's very strong, culturally. And the problem was always 'inheritance'. Nobody can stay the master of a school forever. Eventually it has to be passed down, usually to oldest child. Well, the oldest Tsukitomi son right now is me, and... you can guess for yourself how much interest I have in being successor."
Alma lowers his gaze for a moment.
"There's no need to apologize," he murmurs, before looking up again.
He's never seen that emotion expressed by Frei before, no, but he can't bring himself to be completely shocked. For this scenario itself is unearthing a part of Frei that Alma feels he must not share very often; perhaps does not even share with /himself/ very often. The young man doubts that the monk could continue to be the kind of man he is if he allowed these memories to hound him and drag him down, yet...
"Yes... I think I see what you mean."
...at the same time, he's not entirely surprised that Frei has managed to evade the memories catching up to him for seven full years. In what would be a rather nasty thought if he felt even a trace of self-satisfaction about it, Alma suspects that whatever the weaknesses of his own life philosophy, this may be one up he has on Frei. Alma considers: If Frei possessed the kind of rigorous zeal that compelled constant observance and reassessment of one's duties instead of a quasi-amoral humorous detachment, then...
"Do you think--"
~ Well, then he probably wouldn't be Frei at all. ~
"--you ought to contact your family again?"
It's a hesitant offering, and not intended as a suggestion so much as a potential direction to the conversation and Frei's thoughts. If nothing else, it will hopefully prevent the monk from brooding at all, especially if that bitterness re-emerges.
"That's a good question," Frei admits, "though... not precisely the one that's bothering me."
It's certainly plausible to think that the monk buried all of this emotional baggage a long time ago; it seems highly unlikely that he could have developed emotionally the way he did without SOME sort of method of dealing with the estrangement, healthy or not. "I worry about my brothers sometimes," he admits, not ready to lay claim about his concerns to his mother first. "Well, maybe not Kataki. He's as sharp as they come, takes entirely after his mother. Threnody got the worst of it. He has Mom's sense of duty and honor and Dad's artistic, philosophical bent. Of course, a lot can change in seven years. Maybe they're entirely different people now..."
Frei shrugs, stuffing another french fry in his mouth and taking a rather too-long swig of water before continuing. "We're lucky, you know that, Alma? We both lost something important to us at a young age and I think... we're more free because of it. The transience of existence was thrown right in our faces, even if we ran in different directions with the ball. But... when I went back to China and found out my master had died, all of this stuff I'd tried to forget... all of that effort to say 'Well, I'm this way and Isis Tsukitomi is *that* way and this is just how things are', all the little protective spells I wove around that door... they came crashing down. Yes, I WOULD like to see my mother again. I want to prove to her that I found a way to fight that satisfied what I wanted, even if it wasn't what history said I should learn. But the style and the successorship and my brothers and even Dad's death... they're standing there in the way and I can't get AROUND it!"
Alma can't help but be rather curious about Frei's brothers. Especially if they're around his age. How would he and Threnody get along?
But what Frei has to say means a great deal to him.
"I agree."
That recognition -- the grace they were compelled to acquire in the face of loss in order to keep going, the soul-searching they must have been forced to do to find enough self-respect to carry on without what they had once found most meaningful -- that recognition that the monk speaks of: it must be one of the great steps along the path from childhood to adulthood.
Some people don't ever take it.
"I often," Alma says softly, "feel blessed by my loss."
Some people... if only they had suffered in a way that made them think...
~ I remember when I learned his master died. ~
...might have become so much more than they are.
"But Frei..."
The young man smiles slightly, humbly.
"You don't have to get around it, do you?"
He pauses in eating, meeting the monk's eyes.
"We've both lost in a way we couldn't run away from, that we had to learn from. And, well-- I don't think I /overcame/ that loss. I don't think I /got around/ it. It's always here, with me; but I made it a part of me, something I could thus be proud of simply because it defined me, nothing I needed to hide. And the confidence I got from that... I knew that even if I never really understood why it happened or what it truly said about me, as long as I kept that pride -- that dignity, really, I guess -- I had faith I'd take a stand if anything returned to haunt me. It feels a bit silly saying this to /you/, Frei, but..."
His smile softens.
"You don't have to fight it, right? It's a problem, but it's a part of you. Make it your own, with all the pain or shame it might represent; then I don't think it can stand in your way."
The handsome psychic tilts his head.
"Who knows... if you can accept even this..."
His smile widens, good-humoredly.
"...maybe the solution will just come to you."
Perhaps disappointingly, that suggestion -- well thought out as it is -- doesn't appear to cheer Frei up at all. He doesn't seem depressed nor sad, even in this state. Instead it's a great degree of... frustration, even anger, the more he thinks about it and the more suggestions are made on how to deal with it. "It's not dealing with everything... maybe I said it wrong." He pauses, running both hands through his hair this time, throwing the ginger locks in disarray. "You know, Hotaru talked about her father being disappointed in her when she tried to learn his style of kempo. And... I might have said something to hurt her without knowing it." He pauses, then looks up at Alma, normally bright green eyes dull. "I demanded to know why she kept at it, why she was learning something her parents were using to *hurt* her. Because I couldn't understand the gap... I couldn't cross over. I know I've changed. For the better! Always for the better. I don't regret any of my choices in life."
There's a pause, and then Frei shakes his head, as if disagreeing with some unspoken statement. "Have you ever wondered what you'll say to your parents in the next life, if you believe in that? I think you'd want them to be proud of what you've become. I think that's all any child wants. But... I don't think that will happen. I'm not sure reassuring myself my mother has moved on with her life is worth the pain of knowing that I will forever be the family's disappointment. And I'm not sure knowing my brothers are healthy and well is worth the pain of understanding that my freedom was bought at the price of their complicity with my mother's wishes."
Alma listens in silence until Frei is completely finished.
"No, I haven't wondered."
His voice is less gentle, now, more serious.
"I don't presume to know whether or not there is an afterlife, but-- it doesn't concern me if there is one, because I certainly don't presume to know what my parents would think of me still looking down. And... more importantly... well... this is hard to explain, but..."
Alma's eyes soften.
"I don't really... care."
For a moment, he looks away.
"My duty isn't to them, exactly; as far as I know, they're gone. It's to my memory of them, to my recognition that they created me, my refusal to allow myself to forget that they're a part of me. Because they are, whether I like it or not. I choose to like it, but that's my choice. My duty is to myself, really; it's just that I consider 'myself' to include more than most people do. So... although maybe it sounds weird to use these words... I live for myself, too. I don't live for anyone else. I just bring other people in my life. But I can't live for anyone else."
He looks back again, hazel eyes shining.
"That too, I think, is a part of self-respect."
He is silent for a few moments.
"If Hotaru were acting from fear... I would be worried about her. But I think she's trying to empower herself, Frei, and that may very well be the best way for her, as she is, to do it: to become the master of that which before had been her worst enemy. Not because she needs to; even if it would weaken her as a person to turn away, I don't think she needs to. It's still... her choice. So... Frei..."
Alma blinks a few times. His expression is as calm and voice as mild and steady as ever, but his eyelashes catch the light in a new way, refraction from their new dampness.
"...don't... do what you do for them."
He swallows once, quietly.
"They're already a part of you, even those who are still alive, so... do what you do for yourself. Even if they never understand. I think that you, much more than many, know who you are, Frei. And... even if you're not sure yourself... I really believe, Frei... that if you do meet them again..."
He inclines his head forward slightly, handsome features downcast.
"...you won't forget... what you /really/ want."
There's a long period of silence after that, as the monk digests what his friend has just told him, thinking carefully on it. Somehow Alma provided an answer to a question Frei put to Hotaru and which she answered but perhaps in the wrong way for Frei to actually understand her point. When asked why she kept at it, why she kept going, she said she wanted her father to be proud of her. It may just be that the 'enemy' Alma is speaking of is the spectre of parental disapproval that hangs over all children from the day they realize who their parents are. Life is the ultimate gift; to the person who gave it, an unbreakable bond is formed. With fathers... but especially with mothers.
"You really are... 'free'..." Frei eventually says, closing his eyes.
"There's so many things about myself I don't like. I'm fundamentally lazy, I'm flippant and silly... I don't like authority and I'm a better talker than I am a listener, you know? But I was never *unhappy* about those things. I've never believed in 'eliminating weakness', because I think weakness is necessary for strength to develop. You know? Opposites have unity in mutual definition. But sometimes I wonder... is there a 'me' that exists independently of everyone around me? Would 'Frei' continue to have meaning without an 'Alma' to observe it, to understand it, to form opposition to it?"
The monk can't help but reach over and smile at Alma, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. It's a silly, stupid gesture -- thank god the paparazzi aren't in evidence -- but it's his own physical way of recognizing the pain the model has taken on Frei's behalf. "Maybe the truly free think like you do, and argue that there is an indelible 'self' that exists independently of others. I don't know that I'm that person... at least, not yet. So while I might not be living for someone else, I'm constantly aware of how the people in my life define themselves in relation to me, and me in relation to them... which I think is a beautiful thing, because it means a part of me lives on in everyone I care about. But it can also be a source of terrible pain and doubt." There's a pause, and then Frei hangs his head. "Everything you're saying makes sense. But I don't know that I have the resolve. And... that feeling that something terrible is going to happen, soon... I can sense it deep in my marrow. It can't be a coincidence."
Alma, of course, does not pull away.
"There's nothing," he says softly, "I dislike about you."
He lets that one stay out there for a while.
"I don't know how independent I am," he continues, beginning to smile again. "I certainly have a great number of flaws, and while I see them as useful too, and -- more profoundly, I like to think -- can even just be happy that the struggles they occasion remind me that I'm alive... I always strive to overcome them. But I don't dislike them either. I guess it's a paradox, to always be fighting things that aren't even necessarily wrong, but-- I think it's an important one, you know? To reach for self-improvement even when perfection is impossible, to really /want/ to achieve that goal even when its the striving and not the achieving that matters. And I think... I think I'm right."
"I don't know that there is an indelible 'self'," he continues. "In fact, I seem to... see evidence all the time that there isn't such a thing." Not everyone's Psycho Power works like Alma's, but for his part, his concept of the soul has become rather nuanced as a result of all his psychic barrier-breaking. "But I believe it. I think it's important to believe it. I don't think it's possible to exist without believing in it. And my awareness that my supposed boundaries are always in flux... I just use that to bring in as much as I can. And I claim that it is mine, knowing that there very well might be no 'mine' at all... well..."
He lowers his gaze again.
"...our methods... we express ourselves very differently..."
He looks far too demure to be a fighter.
"...but I've really always thought... in a funny sort of way..."
Alma looks up, lips parted, almost shyly.
"...we're quite similar, Frei."
A moment's pause.
"So if... anything /does/ happen, Frei..."
He reaches out, and takes the hand that Frei had stroked his hair with.
"...remember you're a part of me, and I'm a part of you."
And eyes still faintly damp gleam with sincerity of purpose.
"I won't just let you go."
Perhaps it's because Alma took it on himself to utter a lot of heavy emotions and sentimentality in his way of expressing the situation -- something the monk is sometimes amused by, but respects, about his friend -- but somehow, Frei's expression lightens a little at that exchange. If nothing else, it appears as if the heavy weight that seemed to drop onto his shoulders when he really examined the situation, and was forced to recount details of his life he would rather have forgotten... it doesn't necessarily disappear, but at least retreats so that the 'real' Frei under there somewhere can emerge.
Obviously, the first thing he does once Alma lets go of his hand is snag his hamburger and take a huge bite.
"Similarity and difference are a very thin line. Paradox is all around us. So yeah, I can agree with all that. Something that's true, yet not; something that's the same, yet opposite." He chews for a moment, then takes a deep breath and exhales. "I appreciate your support. And... thanks for listening to all of this total nonsense." Apparently even Frei seems to recognize that this is highly atypical... even if he seems to disregard the fact that 'highly abnormal' might mean 'important'. "Maybe I just needed a moment of catharsis. I know I've talked about the style, and maybe about inheritance... but never about my mother. Ha, probably because half the time I'd prefer to forget. But..."
The monk gives a shrug, popping a french fry in his mouth. "All you can ever do is exist in the moment you're in. Even if there is a storm coming, or even if I'm wrong and it's all in my head, you can't do anything about it until it happens. But... at least if it does, I have friends to keep me in line."
Log created on 00:03:49 10/09/2007 by Frei, and last modified on 16:06:54 10/09/2007.