Description: Frei Tsukitomi-Renard, the cheerful irreverent monk. And Remy, a man just seething with irrational anger. There was really no way...this could have ended well.
Although he would never admit it, not even to a likeable and genial person like her, Frei feels a little indebted to Hotaru. Ever since he started to get that pit-of-the-stomach feeling about disaster looming, and unbidden thoughts about his family, he's been... well, moping. Not that anyone else in the world would notice, since on the Frei Scale of Emotional Unease, a 'mope' still looks a bit like a kitten in a room full of catnip. The truth is that the monk bottles up his negative feelings because he knows many people around him rely on his cheerful presence to help ameliorate theirs. He considers it, stupidly, a public service.
However, Hotaru's request that he train Kentou has actually given him something to focus on and think about, something 'good' he can do... and thus for a while, anyway, Frei's sense of focus and purpose is much renewed. Of course, now the kitten is in a UNIVERSE of catnip, which probably explains why in the past few days he's been buzzing around the building like a hummingbird, offering to help people with whatever they need.
At least once he actually spent an entire day scanning eBay for a toy a girl in the center loved as a kid and put up for auction by mistake, then bidding on it, THEN emailing the winner when it wasn't him and arranging to get the girl her toy back. Thanks to the marvel of the cordless phone he also made cookies and lemonade halfway through the 4 hour process.
As it stands now, however, Sunday afternoons are pretty sleepy times, and even Eek-the-Cat-mode Frei needs downtime. Since the administrative assistants have weekends off, the monk is in a customary spot for him, behind the front desk. Oddly, he's not dressed per normal at all: a white tank top, black running pants, and sneakers. Even the headband is gone, though a white towel does sit around his neck... apparently he just got back from a workout of some kind, because his bright auburn hair is dark with recently-dried dampness.
He appears to be doing the New York Times Sunday crossword.
Badly, too.
Across from the reception desk, one of the glass doors fronting the lobby opens. A cold gust of air comes in from the street, along with a tall man. The soles of his boots crunch over the welcome mat as he steps into the foyer, fingers flicking the door shut behind him. The visitor stands, for a moment, adjusting the collar of his leather jacket, letting his gaze flit round the room...before he snorts, faintly, stepping up to the front counter.
"Excuse me," he says, in a voice that lacks any sort of actual politeness, no matter what the words are, "is---"
He stops, cutting himself off in mid-sentence. His eyes, framed by locks of green hair, narrow suddenly, his lids dropping and pupils shrinking to the size of subatomic particles. Remy lays his hands flat on the countertop, staring at the man sitting behind it.
"YOU," Remy hisses.
[OOC] Frei says, "Oh man."
[OOC] Frei says, "I've never been a YOU! before."
[OOC] Remy is glad to be of service!
[OOC] Frei has been limited mostly to who? or you? to this point.
[OOC] Remy says, "Well strictly speaking due to grammar, you were a YOU, not a YOU!."
[OOC] Frei can hear the ! hidden deep in your soul.
He doesn't look up. Well, not immediately anyway. What he does do is raise both eyebrows, and then scribble in the clue for 45 down: 'a female sheep'. If Remy can read upside down, he indeed sees Frei meticulously pencilling in 'E-W-E' in the boxes. "Perfect! I've never been good with animals."
THEN he looks up, eyes shut in the ^_^-style expression. "Whoever you are, thanks. I suck at crosswo--" Of course, then he OPENS his eyes and beholds who it is he's talking to. Yes, he did just get his first lifetime 'YOU!', but he doesn't seem perturbed by it. If anything, he's *confused*, freckled face shifting 45 degree declination to the right, blinking his Irish-quality green eyes(tm) a couple times. Oh, right. That guy.
Perhaps somewhat confusingly given the way Remy just spoke his name, Frei brings his head back up and smiles at him, giving a little salute with his pencil. "What's up, bright eyes? Never imagined I'd run into you *here*, of all places," he says cheerily, also likely stealing the next words out of Remy's mouth. There's a pause, and then the monk looks down, tapping the pencil against his cheek and eyeing the clue list. "Do you know a 7 letter word for 'swamp gas'? I think it's methane, but I'm not sure."
"You're mocking me," Remy says, flatly, his hands clenching into fists, fingernails scraping against the polished wood of the reception desk. He leans forward, gritting his teeth, his eyes boring into Frei's skull.
His shoulders tremble ever so slightly, tension running through the muscles of his lean frame.
"And don't you -dare- say that's 'not a seven letter word'," the Frenchman growls, cutting off the anticipated wisecrack.
And there's another lifetime fir-- scratch that, the monk suddenly tells himself. Another person has indeed suggested Frei wasn't taking her as seriously as she might like. Interestingly enough, given his mood, that person was Hotaru. Still and all, Remy's reaction is... confusing at the least to him, since he wasn't TRYING to mock him. Lucky for Remy that Frei read some Stuart Hall in college.
Scooting his chair back a bit -- let's face it, an angry man leaning forward on the desk looking like he's about to explode is pretty damned intimidating -- Frei squints one eye somewhat closed as he regards Remy. Why so tense? The man is an enigma. "Er, well, technically that's three words anyway. But I wasn't *trying* to mock you even if I've *succeeded* at it. There's also the fact that the situation we met in didn't exactly lead to a business card-swapping sort of scenario, so..." He suddenly blinks, then ooohs! and wheels his chair back foward, rummaging through a bottom drawer of the desk and producing an actual business card with his name and the YFCC logo on it. In deference to his sense of whimsy, his title is listed as 'Martian Overlord', as Remy may be able to see once the monk hands him the card encouragingly.
Or he may see a mist of red through which he desires to knock Frei's teeth out. Either or.
Remy does, indeed, take the card. He holds it up to eye level, studying the name and position printed on the rectangle of hard paper stock.
Then with a flick of his fingers, he crushes it in his palm. The mangled name card falls to the floor, bouncing at the foot of the desk, besides Remy's boots. It's a senseless action, utterly pointless, the act of a petulant child. But Remy doesn't care.
"Funny," he states, in a tone that clearly indicates he doesn't find anything amusing at all.
"Hey!" Frei says in... well, let's be honest, it's mock annoyance. "Those things don't come cheap and we're a non-profit organization." Sadly, this really is the worst complaint he can think of to make in this scenario. The man is a breakwater for anger that waves have to be really high to breach, apparently. Getting up, Frei laces his fingers together and stretches both arms over his head in an arch for a moment, before taking the towel from around his neck and laying it down on a clear part of the desk.
He takes a moment to look Remy over once again, 100% sober this time too. Tall, lean. Broody. Angry. And seafoam green, which in and of itself, a little unusual. Still, it's that affective response that the monk is really interested in and confused by. So he, stupidly, keeps on trying the only thing he can think of: politeness. "Well anyway, welcome to the Young Fighters Community Center, etcetera etcetera. What do you need?"
"An answer to why," Remy replies, his voice deceptively calm. His tone is level, very level. Too level, in fact. Level and cold. His expression is still, an iron mask, his lips set in a thin line.
He leans forward another fraction, bringing his face closer to Frei's, coming close to invading the monk's personal space. If he has any sense of space to begin with, anyway.
"You're still in business."
Beaming with pride, Frei nods. "Ten million strong and growing!" There's a pause, and then he looks... confused, putting a finger to his lips and furrowing his brow. "Wait. That's Flintstones vitamin takers. Anyhow. Yeah, we're doing pretty well. I would love to say that it's my personal animal magnetism that naturally draws people in but I think, first, I'd need the personal animal magnetism to back that up." Oh god, is he drunk? How does this man's mind operate?
As for a sense of personal space, well... Remy probably has a great look at Frei's pores right now. Which are *spotless*. The man clearly exfoliates. Still, Remy DID ask a question, even if it's a roundabout way, and the monk is determined to give him something approximating an answer, even if he doesn't have all the information about the scenario just yet. "As for why, well... people keep coming, and they need somewhere to be. No random meteorite strikes have leveled the building or anything either. I have to say, I'm trying to think of a good response to your question and I'm not 100% sure I can."
"Really," Remy snaps, sarcastically. Annoyance drips from his tone. He pushes off the counter, straightening, crossing his arms across his chest. A low growl builds from his throat, gutteral and savage. He snorts, contemptuously.
Any more adjectives related to irritation, and he's liable to fall over from an overwhelming amount of stick rammed up his posterior and digestive tract.
He just stands there, giving Frei a hard glare.
You can sum up Frei's entire being right now in the following way:
o_o?
That is undoubtedly the expression that he's wearing. He is confused, beyond measure. In his fighting history he's met the rational (Hokuto), the irrational (Jiro), and the close to insane (Mimiru, among others). But even the nearly crazy ones seem to have REASONS for doing stuff, or a pathological NEED to explain their reasons for doing stuff. They don't just stand there looking mad. This is definitely what's progressing here, too. Something of a staredown:
Remy: =_=
Frei: o_oa
And if you really want to break a staredown, you've got to have the guts to make the first move. And ladies and gentlemen, Frei Tsukitomi-Renard has the guts to make the first move. This much is clear.
He reaches up and, very lightly, makes to poke Remy on the tip of his nose with his right index finger.
He also adds, because you need to, a sotto voce "Poke!"
This can't end well.
COMBATSYS: Remy has started a fight here.
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Remy 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Frei has joined the fight here.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Remy
No, it can't. It can't indeed. But the immediate consequence of the matter...is a slender fingertip resting against Remy's nose.
The Frenchman's eyes focus on the offending digit, nearly crossing in the process. Then he returns his gaze to Frei himself. His expression shifts, subtly, frowning slightly.
In a soft, exceedingly quiet voice, Remy murmurs, "Hm."
It's an oddly thoughtful, introspective sound, as if, for a moment, he's not sure what to make of this. There's a sense of unearthly stillness, a hush as everything hangs in the balance.
And then Remy breaks the impasse by the simple expedient of smashing a palm thrust across the counter...directly towards Frei's neck, along a parallel path to the other man's outstretched hand.
COMBATSYS: Remy successfully hits Frei with Crazed Waltz.
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Frei 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Remy
...before the Frenchman lunges over the counter, smashes a knee into Frei with a follow-up blow, before finishing with a brutal uppercut.
Well, that wasn't expected, now was it.
Frei had expected some anger, sure, but he had high hopes for a smile, even if it was the cold smile he's seen Remy bust out before. SOMETHING other than a random set of strange noises and dark glares. 'Palm thrust leading to combination' was so far down the list that 'busts out into Rogers and Hammerstein-esque song' was higher... which just proves that Frei can be, when he's determined to show it, a colossal idiot.
Regardless, with very little effective reaction time to do anything about it, the monk gets smacked right in the jaw and hurtles backwards into a nearby wall, with a loud *THUMP*. That... kinda stung, a little bit, maybe. Pushing himself up from the slump of 'hitstun', as it were, he blinks at Remy for a moment or two, brow furrowed.
Then he lunges an inexpert but still pretty nasty-looking right cross straight for the Frenchman's own jaw... of course, unlike Remy's, his burns with a sudden burst of scarlet flame. "Hey, that hurt!"
COMBATSYS: Remy interrupts Fierce Punch from Frei with Light of Virtue.
- Power hit! -
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Frei 0/-------/-======|===----\-------\0 Remy
Remy's eyes flicker as he watches the monk come at him, his arm wreathed with crimson fire. Spiritual energy though it may be, he can feel the heat from where he's crouched, kneeling atop the reception counter.
He doesn't hesitate, though, not for a second. Moving on sheer instinct, he slashes an arm up and over, black leather sleeve blurring in the air. His fingers splayed, open, as a wave of green-white energies wells up from empty space. Remy channels his own chi, pulling it in and forcing it out, shaping it into a whirling disc, formed from paired bladed crescents. This he sends blasting into Frei at point-blank range.
"That," Remy spits, "WAS THE IDEA!"
Unexpected, again... but perhaps Frei should have known that a fighter like Remy -- who he is coming to find has a disturbing passing similarity to Jiro Kasagi, only without the adorable inner shyness -- would favor the aggressive defense rather than simply avoiding or blocking. He has plenty of time to reflect on this as the chi impact sends him skidding across the floor to land with another *THUMP* noise on his back.
Okay then.
If he's got to beat the hell out of a cute guy to find out what his damage is, *so be it*. As he kippups back to his feet the monk's hands are already glowing blue-white with yet more energy, which he fires off in his *own* pair of signature projectiles, the chilly orbs swirling about and intended to clash together into a massive burst of ice shards right in Remy's face. Of course, thanks to that last blow he's a little farther away than he'd like to be, but...
"Is this because I said you were cute? Good god!"
COMBATSYS: Remy dodges Frei's Hyoushou Rengeki.
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Frei 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Remy
"No," Remy answers, levelly.
The course of battle has taken Frei a little further from Remy than he'd like to be. But the French fighter, it seems, has absolutely no problem with the distance. He slides back over the slick counter of the reception desk, spinning to his feet. Boot soles skid against the wood surface as he pushes himself up and away, the glittering shards of ice exploding scant inches from his face - but they miss, and that is enough. Chips of frost rain around the table, a few flecks lightly dusting Remy's clothes and skin. But he's unharmed. And sneering at Frei from his perch.
"But there's that too," he continues, flatly, without any trace of banter in his voice.
COMBATSYS: Remy focuses on his next action.
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Frei 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Remy
With a sigh, Frei rubs his hands across his cheeks and then drops into a defensive stance, gathering his energy. This guy hits hard, and is fast... but apparently he's got something to work out. So whatever the result is, seeing the fight to the end is the logical conclusion. For a moment, the monk's thoughts stray to his exercising of this tactic with Dr. Tran and that being a relative success, all things considered. More importantly, if Remy really does have a problem with him, better that he take it out SOLELY on him and not the YFCC or the people there.
The loose tanktop flutters a bit in phantom wind as Frei's chi resonates with the chi in the air around him, and for a moment the normally cheerful expression on his face turns briefly melancholy. Why are there so many fighters who can ONLY be reasoned with this way? "I'm sorry to hear that," he says, and means it.
COMBATSYS: Frei gathers his will.
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Frei 1/------=/=======|==-----\-------\0 Remy
"No you're not," Remy snarls, almost automatically. He dismisses Frei's statement with nary a thought. It isn't true because it /cannot/ be true, and thus the matter is settled in his mind.
It isn't a rational position to take. It isn't rational at all. But reason has no place in those angry eyes, his face a mask of barely-restrained fury.
In the background, there's shouts of alarm from across the lobby - a few kids hanging around the reception area reacting with alarm. But Remy doesn't care. He's focused entirely on the man called Frei.
Remy's boots pound into the countertop, hard enough to crack the wood, as he lifts off from the desk. His lower body sketches a whirling arc of crimson in the air, as he whips his legs toward the monk, two spinning kicks racing for Frei's skull and torso in quick succession.
COMBATSYS: Frei blocks Remy's Heavy Kick.
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Frei 1/----===/=======|==-----\-------\0 Remy
He doesn't look like a fighter, and deep down he's not, really. But when push comes to shove, Frei does have some talent for dealing with other peoples' attacks when he need arises. As Remy's twin kicks head toward him he almost lazily interposes an arm into the first and pushes backwards, forcing himself into an awkward sort of crouch but entirely avoiding the second kick altogether... which is fine, since the impact of the first stung enough for ten. On the other hand, it does keep him in close quarters rather than sprawled on his back, which is fine by him.
"Now why do you think that?" Frei asks, genuinely curious. Lunging forward, the monk looks to snap a hand around Remy's leg before he can fully retract it. If he can get a grip, the monk shows... a might that doesn't seem like his relatively small frame should be able to produce, effectively hopping up and forward and dragging Remy with him, then swinging the Frenchman overhand and into the ground at high speed, earth-based 'gravity'-type chi giving the swing some extra bite and causing a burst of green light at the point of impact.
COMBATSYS: Remy endures Frei's Daichi Kudaki!!
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Frei 1/---====/=======|====---\-------\0 Remy
Emerald energy erupts in a geyser, along with flecks of carpet, shattered flooring, and chunks of debris all the way down to the bare concrete. Such is the force of Remy's collision with the ground, the damage multiplied by the power of Frei's elemental mastery. A grimace stretches across the Frenchman's face, breath involuntarily escaping in a ragged gasp. But his eyes are open, still fixed firmly upon the monk.
With one hand still clamped on Remy's leg, the two fighters are still in close proximity.
In the split second after impact, before Frei can release his hold on Remy, the Frenchman shoves his arms against the floor, pushing himself, -twisting- himself, in an incredible inhuman display of flexibility. His /other/ leg goes flashing towards the monk, the heel towards the monk's skull.
COMBATSYS: Frei endures Remy's Light Kick!
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Frei 1/=======/=======|====---\-------\0 Remy
Remy's kick holds true, and it is an impressive bit of acrobatic trickery. He probably has the satisfaction of seeing Frei's green eyes widen in surprise, and definitely not being able to get out of the way.
He may be less pleased to see Frei not flinch in the slightest when the kick actually impacts.
Remy is pretty fast... faster than he'd like. Frei has trouble dealing with more technical or evasive fighters due to, quite honestly, his lack of fine expertise. But occasionally, he gets bright ideas or just plain lucky. As it is, he snaps out hand out at snakebite speed the grab Remy's outstretched leg before he can retract it, and quite succinctly turning it into an arm bar if he can... and *if* he can, said armbar becomes something else entirely as the monk lets a massive pulse of crackling purple lightning discharge through the Frenchman's body. Gotta make it look natural.
COMBATSYS: Remy blocks Frei's Charged Throw.
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Frei 1/=======/=======|=====--\-------\0 Remy
Remy /roars/, his voice rising in an agonized cry as the electricity crackles over his form, chi-forged lightning slashing through his muscles, nerves, and synapses...warring with the power of his own aura. But he gathers his own spiritual force, fueling it with pain and sheer bloody-minded rage - resisting the attack by raising his own chi. He wrenches himself free of the monk's hold in a violent, explosive, movement. He comes to a halt on the battle-scarred lobby floor, almost on all fours, looking for a moment like some kind of feral animal.
Then he's on his feet, once more, one arm rushing towards the monk. Aiming to grab him, haul him up, and then spin him hard into the ground.
A moment ago, Frei asked him /why/ Remy thinks the way he does. Why suspicion and distrust is the first thing that comes to his mind, not open acceptance of Frei's statement.
Remy hasn't given an answer.
Not in words, at least.
COMBATSYS: Frei fails to interrupt Disturbed Sleep Outline from Remy with Hizashi Ronde.
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Frei 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Remy
Frei hasn't let the energy coursing through his veins go, not just yet. It's always best to look for an opportune moment. When he sees Remy fight off that electrical assault, he feels the time might be now. Hands glow orange-red, almost like boxing gloves from the circular aura, as he twists and makes his move... right into Remy's clutches. The chi-formed light slowly winks out as the monk smacks the floor on his back, breath expelled in one sharp gasp. That particular strike didn't hurt quite so much as he thought it would... but at the same time, he's been taking quite a pounding, and even resilient fighters like Frei have their limits.
When he does get up, it's into a crouch, one hand pressed down on the floor to steady him. And indeed, just as Remy noted, the monk has noticed the lack of verbal response. "You didn't answer my question," he says simply. No rancor, no real anger. If anything, disappointment. Remy should be so lucky he finds people who don't mind getting beat up to make a point.
Maybe he is lucky. But if that's true, then Remy's too damn ungrateful to realize it. Even now, he certainly isn't appreciative of Frei's efforts on his behalf. Nor is he settled by the other man's neutrality. No, no, quite the contrary. Frei's bland statement seems to infurate Remy even more. His teeth grind against each other as he works his jaw. His fists clench tighter, nails cutting into the flesh of his palms.
Remy stalks forward, walking straight up to Frei. He looks down at the monk, crouched on the floor.
"Stupid question," spits Remy.
Then he lifts a foot, raising it, bending it at the knee...and shoves the sole of his boot into Frei's face.
COMBATSYS: Remy successfully hits Frei with Light Kick.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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Frei 1/-----==/=======|======-\-------\0 Remy
Whatever power sadness and anger are giving Remy, it's pretty impressive. Seeing the boot coming, he brings up a hand to catch it, and thanks to his lack of fighting expertise, does it at the worst possible angle. Remy's kick shoves Frei's hand aside, taking a particularly nasty toll on one of his fingers, which bends the wrong way as it moves... and then smacks him in the face with crushing force. There's a... combination of a *crack* and a squishy-sounding noise as the monk's nose is broken and he ends up kneeling on the floor again, blood dripping from between his fingers as he holds them to his face.
"No such thing," he says carefully, voice distordedly nasal. If he sounded unhappy before, he seems genuinely sad now; he knows so few fighters who strike with the expressed purpose of *causing* damage rather than just making a strike. The two don't seem different, but there is one if you look deep down. Frei doesn't get back up; apparently that stung a little harder than it looked, even considering the blood. "Knowing is better than not knowing. Understanding is better than ignorance."
COMBATSYS: Frei gains composure.
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Frei 1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0 Remy
Remy laughs. It's a harsh sound, a bark from his throat. He draws his foot back, wiping the sole of his boot against the lobby carpet, scraping off the few flecks of blood left by the contact with Frei's face. His own expression twists into a grotesque parody of a smile.
"Is that what -you- think," Remy sneers, staring at the fallen monk. He stands over Frei, his arms at his sides, his feet flat on the ground. It's not a combat stance. He's just -standing- there, confident that the monk no longer poses any sort of threat.
If he ever did.
"You want to understand me, /fighter/?"
He says the word like it's a curse.
COMBATSYS: Remy takes no action.
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Frei 1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0 Remy
The shock's worn off, or at least the physical shock has. But it would appear that Remy still has the ability to surprise Frei, because the monk, somewhat in the process of getting to his feet, actually freezes when he gets called a 'fighter'. An entire conversation he just had with Hotaru and Kentou on this very spot plays back in his head. I'm not your 'sensei', I'm nothing special, I'm just a guy who knows some things, but I'll teach those things to you, if you want.
Kentou wondered why Frei's style had no name, how it could even EXIST without a name. Everything needs a label or we won't know where we are... that was Kentou's accidental metaphor. Names are guideposts to the way things are, but as Frei himself retorted, once you put a name to something, the thing BECOMES the name, forever, in some small way. Names are self-fulfilling prophecies.
He stands up.
It seems impossible to imagine it, but when he moves his hands away, he's actually smiling. He found the way in, and Remy delivered it to him on a silver platter. And all he had to do was get his nose broken... though amazingly, it's *already* healing; if Remy can sense such things, he might notice energy being pulled in, subtly, shaped into internal power, routed into the body. A trick some can do externally, others only for themselves, like Frei.
"What about me," he asks gently, in total contrast to his bloodied face and bruised body, "suggests I'm a fighter?"
He pauses, then shakes his head. "Fighting is something you do, not something you are. You obviously don't like fighters, but you don't think of yourself as one either, not really, because it would be inconsistent, and... I have this feeling you don't like inconsistency. Right?" He has another name for it. It can't be fighting, it's got to be something else. "But other people can subvert that label too. I know how to fight, but... I'm not a 'fighter'."
COMBATSYS: Frei takes no action.
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Frei 1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0 Remy
"Then what's your job at this Young /Fighters'/ Community Center," Remy shoots back, lifting a hand to indicate their surroundings, the lobby of the YFCC building.
"Tea lady?"
The quip is delivered in a snarl, almost /daring/ Frei to make some sort of wisecrack. But at the same time, indicating that the Frenchman wouldn't be amused by any clever verbal evasiveness. He's allowed to use biting sarcasm, but the monk's offhand levity is not something Remy appreciates.
"If you're so different," Remy continues, taking one step forward, then another. With each passing moment, he closes the distance to Frei.
"Then..."
Without warning, Remy explodes off the ground, swinging his body at Frei. He makes a complete three-hundred-and-sixty degree backflip, his legs wreathed in bright blue-green energy as they surge towards the monk, a corona of raw spiritual energy fueled by pure white-hot rage...a crescent wavefront of power that lashes at the monk, tearing up the floor in its wake.
"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!"
COMBATSYS: Frei blocks Remy's Supreme Rising Rage Flash.
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Frei 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Remy
Two things happen.
The first is that Remy's acrobatic flipkick slams into his suddenly crossed forearms like a jackhammer, forcing the monk to grimace with the shock of it all. That hurts, a *lot*... Frei is used to sucking up physical hits, and even when he can shunt off part of that physical power, it still stings quite a bit.
The second thing, however, is that the blaze of greenish energy, once it gets near his body, all but evaporated. Trails of it flicker across his aura, but for the most part it simply vanishes, and that is the monk's true fearsome ability: not his overwhelming power, because he doesn't have any, but his absurdly precise control. He literally reaches out into the angry chi, finds it harmonics, dissipates it.
When all's said and done, he's still standing. Bowed, but unbroken.
Grimacing in pain, he takes a few deep breaths, letting his arms hang down to his sides. "Because I want to be. Because the people who come here are no more 'fighters' than you are: people who use martial arts for something personal, something they want. Maybe it's hard for you to grasp, so you distrust it... I can understand that. It's a natural human response. But the people here... we're a family. Fighting has nothing to do with it. Separating the 'act' from the 'actor'... that's important."
COMBATSYS: Frei takes no action.
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Frei 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Remy
Remy lands, in the wake of his assault. Wisps of energy swirl round his legs as he gets back to his feet, the residual power releasing. He looks at the monk - and does not press his attack. Whatever point he wanted to make, it seems, has been adequately renforced. Beating Frei unconscious might be mildly satisfying, but it is not on Remy's agenda. At least not right now. Not today.
Instead, he laughs. He seems to find something in what Frei said...darkly entertaining, in a warped way.
"Family," he repeats, "family."
He arches an eyebrow.
"United by violence, is that what it is?"
A glob of spit splatters at Frei's feet, an expression of Remy's disdain.
"Fine," Remy says, "have your little family. When your children murder you in your sleep, don't come crying to me."
He turns, then, walking towards the glass doors at the end of the lobby.
COMBATSYS: Remy has left the fight here.
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Frei 1/----===/=======|
There goes a man with issues.
Frei doesn't say anything until Remy is out the door, and when he does it's only to let out a loud breath. That hurt, and that guy is *weird*. However, once the threat of getting peripherally involved is gone -- for which the monk does not blame them in the slightest -- a number of people hanging out at the YFCC on Sunday come over to see if Frei himself is alright. Smiling, he brushes off their concern and gingerly presses a finger to his own nose, parodying the gesture that started it all.
Soon, with people pitching in, most of the egregious debris has been moved aside and what can be repaired with materials on-hand has been so. Frei is walking in the door carrying boxes of pizza, to the cheers of the volunteers who helped him to stay and sort this out. Being teenagers, they dig in with abandon, the monk forgotten, for the time being.
"Family..." Frei has his own problems with family, of course. But he'd like to think he's taking them a little better than Remy appears to be. Betrayal, maybe? Something of the sort, the Frenchman's last words sticking in his mind.
With a shrug, he turns back and, sharing a joke with a pizza-eating student, has some himself.
COMBATSYS: Frei has ended the fight here.
Log created on 14:23:27 11/18/2007 by Remy, and last modified on 18:18:36 12/02/2007.