Description: Milk run, they told Shihong back at the office. A couple of thugs having trouble meeting their street quota. Just go over there, fix whatever their problem is and get the money flow back on track. Couldn't be easier right? Of course, nobody told her the source of the local, low-end gang's woes is a thirteen year old kid?! An unexpected crisis of conscience.. What's Shihong to do? The answer.. You may not expect. Kentou begins to realize the world is painted in richer tones than just black and white..
"What are we going to do, man?" The aching punk mutters, wiping his bloodied lips with the back of his sleeve. Leaning heavily against the decrepit warehouse wall, opposite arm slung over his knee.
"Alright.. Alright.. See.." The taller thug pants, trying to catch his breath as his hands rest heavily on the same wall. Head dangling between his shoulders as he tries to blink away the haze. Getting punched that many times in the head will do that. "..We gotta get a plan.. Alright?"
"What are we @#$%ing gunna DO?" The punk's voice picks up with a note of rising desperation. Glaring at his fellow gangster with clear and present intrepidation, "They gunna send -someone- and we'd best @#$%ing -fix- that little @#$%& before they do or-"
"I KNOW. @#$%. Alright?! I KNOW. Shut the @#$% up Cutter. CHRIST." His cool utterly lost, the taller thug screeching at his blood brother. Immediately running his hands through his short blonde hair and pacing violently back and forth. "Gimmie a sec to think.. Alright? Gimmie a sec.."
Thoughts don't come easily as the sounds of the fight nearby continue to ring throughout the filthy industrial streets behind Chinatown. This region of Chinatown is close to the Southtown docks, late enough in the day where most of the blue collar contingent have gone home. After all, nobody wants to be caught after dark in Southtown. Nobody. This area is typically off-limits to most pedestrians, a fenced in industrial park filled with all manner of warehouses and shipping businesses. As it so happens, the area is one of Southsynd's many distribution hubs for various laundered goods. Not a very major operation, its actually mostly on the up and up. By and large, its continued smooth operations is owed to one of the multitude of local gangs. The Five Monkey Fists.
They're about as competent as their name sounds, but they usually get the job done. Mostly because it's far enough from Gedo or other hotbeds of localized vigilantism that they don't have problems.
Which made recent reports painted with more red ink than a hooker from Shanghai seem out of character. Troubling, considering how stable it was before.
If there's one thing SouthSynd doesn't like, its trouble in its own backyard.
And as the sounds of fisticuffs from inside the warehouse are any indication, trouble is what they've got..
Where there's Southsynd trouble, there's bound to be at least one Southsynd.
A fight breaks out on Southtown Syndicate territory, and within a frighteningly short frame of time there's already word travelling back to the upper echelons of the Syndicate. While the trouble is minimal for an operation that is small at best. But an operation is an operation, and it brings money; something is better than nothing, after all.
But tending to such 'trivial' matters isn't for the big players in the Syndicate. Those smaller jobs are left to the up-and-comers, those who have yet to reach the top, but strive for it nonetheless. Everyone has to start out at the bottom...
While the two Five Monkey Fist brothers fret in the shadows of a dingy alleyway, far from the fray they'd since abandoned for shelter, a black Sedan makes its way along the main stretch of road at frighteningly high speeds. With a sharp cut of the wheel, the vehicle cuts off the road and onto the adjacent side road, blazing down the road toward the docks. There is a fence in the way...
But it matters little to the driver behind the wheel.
With a horrible screech and squeal of metal bending and twisting, the fence erupts, the black Sedan tearing right through it and into the industrial park, still travelling at unhealthy speeds--especially considering the area it now finds itself in, and the workers still filing about. Almost immediately men dive and leap out of the open, praying they aren't struck down by the vehicle.
It just keeps driving forward; however, halfway the brakes slam hard, back tires locking and squealing loudly as they peel against the pavement. The boot fishtails sharply, causing the car to swerve around...and bring its front end facing the fight that has still yet to reach a conclusion.
The driver's side door of the black Sedan shoots open, and from within emerges a woman clad in all black. Immediately a pale hand reaches up, ripping from her face a pair of square wrap Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, carelessly tossing the expensive eyewear into the car before she steps back and slams the door loudly. Then, and only then, slender hands rest akimbo on her slender hips, a sour look crossing over her pale face.
"What the HELL is going on here?" she calls out.
"Who the HELL is looking for an ass-beating?"
"Aaaaahhh @#$%." The sitting punk murmurs as his eyes slowly close, back of his head bumping against the graffiti-painted wall behind him. The screeching tires and black sedan racing over can only mean one thing. The worst has come to pass, the most frightening thing any punk on these streets can hope to face.
Someone at Howard Tower is annoyed.
"@#$% Me!" The lead thug barks to himself, throwing his arms and stamping his foot. Grimacing deep as he watches that madman behind the wheel -crash- through the fence. A surge of alarm forces the young man to back peddle up against the wall, animal-fear nearly forcing him to dive back inside the theoried safety of the massive housing behind him as that car achieves ramming speed.
The second thug immediately gets to his feet, hopping back a step and sliding shoulder to shoulder with his gang-mate, "Whatarewegunna@#$%ingdo??"
"ShutupShutup Shut your DAMN face, Cutter. I'll talk. You shut-" His voice cutting off he straightens up as much as he can. Hastily wiping what he can of the blood from his lip as the car -screeches- to a halt not far from him.
The fight, in question, remains hidden from extremely expensive view. A singular door to the warehouse nearby remains open, unlocked and slightly ajar. Just enough for the sounds of the battle within to be heard. What was once a rapid tempo has slowed to occasional grunts and lout -cracks- of force. Not many remain standing.. it would seem.
The lead Monkey Fist looks upon this black-clad woman and instantly know what she represents, even if he isn't 100% familiar with her. He's heard of some Chinese woman enforcer, but he's too close to the street to hear what's going down at the Tower. Regardless, he ain't giving her no lip, even if he attempts to cool her jets with a modicum of calm. Stepping forth from the wall as his hands lift placatingly. The blue-eyed foreigner looks like he's been through a small war, "..Look.. Alright.. We got it under contro-"
No sooner does the excuse leave his lips as the door -bursts- open. A bald, tire-iron wielding Monkey Fist -flies- through the portal, slamming the wooden frame against the wall nearby. The powerful thug twitches a few times, laid out in a sprawl, before going unconscious.
..... The Monkey Fist leader visibly sags, eyes closing as his head tilts, praying to the higher powers. "...Just ..Just give us a little more time and.. and we.."
Annoyed isn't the half of it.
The pale-faced Chinese woman looks none too happy as she emerges, her rouge red lips pulled tightly across her face as she glares toward the warehouse door. Distantly the sounds of a struggle can be heard, and chances are whoever are inside beating the ever-loving hell out of one another are too busy and occupied to hear her threat. That just means she needs to step it up a notch, that's all.
Exhaling sharply through clenched teeth, Shihong just snaps her black eyes shut, a hand curling lightly against the fabric of her slacks. What a bother, she decides privately. She came out here to break up some random fight at yet another warehouse in Southsynd territory? A low 'harrumph' follows.
"The crap I do, I swear," she murmurs. But her thoughts are cut short, as a figure emerges from the shadows looking a bit worse for wear. His very presence causes the woman to absently tilt her head to one side, a pensive gaze fixed on the brave fool approaching the enforcer. He's got it under control...
Her thoughts are broken as a nearby door slams open, a vicious gesture that's followed by a stray body flying through the threshold. Another sigh escapes the woman's red lips, a hand reaching up to press against her pale forehead as she nurses an impending headache.
"I don't have time!" the woman yells, eyes snapping back onto the blue-eyed man at her side. "Or the patience to wait for you inept idiots to mop up a simple mess you've drug here. So you just feel free to call out your men and stand back." Sighing loudly, the woman tosses her head to one side, long black locks fluttering out behind her like a wing as she paces hurriedly toward the open doorway.
"I'll handle this crap," she grouses loudly, lifting a hand to absently toss it over her shoulder.
Then, without an ounce of hesitation, the woman steps into the warehouse. Black eyes survey the area, searching for the source of the perceived trouble. Whether it becomes apparent to her or not, the woman's hands rest on her hips once more, her pale face seized in an obvious expression of annoyance as she bellows,
"Someone here is in for a very serious ass-beating!"
The Monkey Fist leader flinches at the loud retort, inclining his head as he immediately scuttles to the side, staying the heck out of her way. After all, he knows what's good for him. Unlike certain rabble rousers inside.
As the darkly clad woman strides within the premises with purpose, a good dozen armed thugs lay strewn all over warehouse floor. Most of which moaning, nursing their arms or bruises. Many of which slowly trying to crawl away from the middle of the wide, open space. The source of all this misery and woe?
Surely its a small army of vigilantes and would-be heroes? Not really.
Perhaps some kind of super-powered warrior sent from the future to defeat the evils of the past? Aaah no.
A martial art champion of an ancient Chinese fighting art here to do battle with the enemies of peace? A little warmer but..
How about a thirteen year old kid?
That's about right.
"Say your sorry." Kentou announces in a low tone, standing atop the giant fallen lug in the manner one would stand atop a conquered mountain. The meaty brute lies face-first onto the dirt-covered concrete floor. His arm held up and behind him, wrist gripped firmly in a painful hold as Kentou presses his bare foot to the base of the man's neck. The youth seems a little winded, but not the worse for wear. Mousy eyes narrowed at the glistening shaved head at his feet, "Saaay iiiit.. Saaay iiiit!"
"Grn..S.sorry okay!.. Leggo!" The man yelps as Kentou keeps twisting that thumb just a little more.
"Well.. Alright.." Kentou sees fit to release that hand then. Letting the man pull his arm beneath him with an agonized grunt. Taking another step the boy presses his foot to the back of that shiny noggin, leaning down as he accuses, "From now on, I don't want you OR your friends to -ever- mess with Mister Sh-"
The boy blinks at the sudden barking voice, completely unlike the worthless gangsters he just laid waste to. The shorter youth quickly turns his attention to this stylish Chinese woman. Not entirely certain what to make of this newcomer.
She's clearly not some stupid gangster.. But she sounds like she has some kind of business here, "..Uhm." The youth carefully scratches the back of his head, sending his braids dancing over his shoulder, "Sorry if ..ah.. Sorry if this if your Warehouse Ma'am! Stupid-face here was just leaving." The boy frowns at the thug lying beneath him, "Wasn't he?!"
With a humiliated grunt, the thug starts crawling away.
A...thirteen year-old kid?
The sight that lays before Shihong's black eyes is truly one she was least expecting; in fact, it is likely a disappointing sight to the Chinese Southsynd enforcer. She expected some powerful or strong opponent, some hulking beast of a man that would provide an impossible challenge to the woman. But...a kid? And a tiny, almost scrawny, scrappy one at that.
A hand lifts, rubbing at her forehead more. The ache swelling in her head is growing by the minute...
Slowly the woman's eyes open, regarding the young man as he stands with a thug in his grasp looking a bit confused. Her eyes level on the boy, thin brows slowly furrowing as she just stares him down, her features lacking in any real emotion, save annoyance. Even his apologies earn him little more than the tiniest of smirks from her rouge lips.
"It's not MY warehouse," the woman begins, stepping forward. The click of steel heels against cold concrete mark her steps, black eyes half-lidded as she just sizes the shorter youth up a bit. It's obvious he's more than just some vigilant kid; he took down a bunch of grown men, after all. But then again, hired help at that level is generally...lacking.
"It's someone else's. Someone much scarier than these men, and even myself." A hand lifts, pressing gently against her bosom before she lightly chuckles, a soft shake of her head following. "But that's beside the point, really, kiddo."
Several feet from the kid and his victim, Shihong's heels come to a pause, her black eyes hardened as she stares at the youthful fighter, her jaw tense as her lips purse tightly. "The point is...you've bitten off a lot more than you can chew. But despite my irritations today, and this headache--" Lifting a finger, she absently taps her forehead. "--I'm feeling surprisingly generous.
"You can pack up your things and ship off and never show your face around here again, or I can throw you by the seat of your pants out of here. Frankly, I don't like the idea of the latter, as I was never one to get my jollies off of picking on children, but..."
Pausing, the Chinese woman shrugs helplessly, a smirk edging over her pale face.
"A job's a job. I have to do what I'm told to do. And my superiors asked me to come down here and 'handle' matters. So." Lifting her arms, she folds them casually over her chest.
"What'll it be?"
As the boy hops off his conquered mountain, He turns out to be shorter than he seemed before. Taking a moment to wave his toned arms in and out in a bid to cool them off after that serious workout. While the Kenpo fighter is somewhat oblivious to this woman's intent as yet, there's something in her movements that keep him on edge. The clicking heels draw his attention as his wide eyes move down then back up, taking her stride in at a glance.
Excellent balance, fantastic poise. She's a fighter alright..
Her slowly unfolding words draw his attention as the boy's expression grows slowly more perplexed. However, as she mentions the nature of this place's ownership, the youth ventures, "Oh! Well. Be sure to tell him I took out the trash for him!" Brightening a moment, taking pride in putting those local thugs in place for messing with his favorite antique shop owner down the street. They've been running a local protection racket for months. After getting particularly rough with Mister Shinoda down the block, the boy decided to take matters into his own hands.
However, the boy's burst of joviality is cut short as the woman stops her approach. The tension in that jaw and mirthlessness of her tone kills his amusement dead. He's getting a serious vibe here.. The kind he usually gets whenever someone .. mean and predatory is nearby. A tension in the air. He's getting just good enough at fighting to notice it now..
Also.. Wow she's tall!
Pieces of this puzzle slowly add up, if in an incorrect order, "Wait. Wait wait wait.." Slowly lifting his hands, "..You're -with- these clowns?" Asking somewhat incredulously.
This woman is clearly a well-mannered, reasonable person and really wealthy-looking to boot. Why would she be working with a bunch of street trash?
Clearly, this boy is just really, really ignorant of how Southtown actually works.
..Kids.
Took out the trash? His words earn him a light laugh from the woman, her expression giving way to amusement--but only briefly. It really is just a kid, she decides, and it's very likely he has no idea what he's really gotten himself into here. It's definitely a first for the enforcer.
Hopefully it's a last. The idea of 'enforcing' kids doesn't settle well on her pallet.
Lifting her chin, the woman shrugs the thoughts off, opting for a stern and serious expression as she regards the young Kenpo fighter with an ultimatum of sorts. He can leave and be on his way without harm...or the alternative she really doesn't want to deal with. SNFs against kids is one thing, but this? This isn't for sport.
His question earns him a coy gesture from the woman, black eyes drawing to a close as her lips pull into a tiny grin. "Well, sort of," the woman replies, arms still crossed over her chest as her weight shifts from one foot to the other. "You could say they're sort of 'hired help,' but help nonetheless. I don't associate with them."
A single black eye opens, peering at Kentou. "You can see why." The fact they're weak, she means.
Exhaling a light, wispy breath over her red lips, both eyes open once more as she settles her gaze on the youngster before her, arms finally breaking away to rest comfortably behind her back. "But that's beside the point, I think. What matters now is you have two choices facing you, and you really need to decide, because... well..." Pausing, black eyes drift upwards, as her arms move, a single, spidery finger tap-tapping against a silver watch strapped to the opposite wrist.
"Time is money. So what will it be..?" she asks, offering an alarmingly disarming friendly smile.
"You're going to leave, yes..?"
That and they smell.
The situation proves doubly awkward for both parties involved. As the woman admits to some measure of association with these cretins, albeit way above the food chain, the boy's slender lips continue their descent into a full-blown frown. The boy's head tilts forwards, exhaling slowly even as his eyes never depart her symmetry for an instant. To be honest, he isn't entirely certain how he should respond to that.
On one hand, the boy gave those punks his peace of mind and he's fairly sure they won't bother the shop owner anymore. There'd be nothing to gain by fighting here and now. Especially when the boy genuinely takes her at her word. Why would she lie?
Of course, Kentou generally believes everyone at face-value anyway. Deceit is not something the boy concerns himself with much. His Sensei, Hotaru, would suggest avoiding fights wherever possible. Why not just walk away?
And as those mousy eyes look to the open door, the notion is tempting.
She may be amused to know that the boy generally doesn't start fights with girls. His Mom always told him to be nice to girls, and so.. He tries! Even if they keep beating him up. Grr.
At the same time..
His gaze returns to Shihong's face. Spying that smirk with firmly pressed lips, wild bangs framing those luminous eyes of his. He wants to believe that friendly smile, he really does. But something tells him if he walks away right now, more thugs are going to come for Mister Shinoda sooner or later. Kentou's personal safety doesn't concern him. Only the welfare of his neighbors.
Something this woman apparently forgot about somewhere along the line.
"<How could you betray your own like this?>" Kentou suddenly states in provincial Cantonese. The common Canton spoken by those in Southtown is heavily accented compared to the mainland, nearly to the point of ridiculousness. Although, somehow adding to its sincerity. "<Do you even know what these people do? They hurt people for money! Innocent people!>" Pointing to the woman then. Brow furrowing as his accusing finger waggles, "<YOUR people! You don't feel anything at all about that?!>"
She doesn't really want to fight him, the boy can glean that from the ultimatum. Possibly because she thinks he's completely beneath her maybe. But.. maybe because she doesn't actually want to hurt him? If so.. That creates quite the moral puzzle. How can she side with these.. Monsters then? Doesn't she know what that makes her?
And while the poor boy struggles inwardly, conflicting emotions battling for some sense and degree of coherency in this mess, the Chinese woman just stands easily enough, a pleasant-enough smile haunting her otherwise pale face. Inwardly she knows he'll choose the right decision. He'll leave, she'll scold the idiots for being beat up by some kid and be on her way. It's so simple.
When he looks to the woman, her smile only broadens, her head lightly tipping to one side as her face glows. Is her expression genuine? It certainly seems that way, but considering the woman's perceived ties and associations, it's almost impossible to be absolutely sure. The Syndicate is founded on all sorts of unscrupulous behaviors, after all.
But the expression almost immediately falters as she's addressed in a more familiar tongue. Put on the spot, she offers no immediate response to the young boy as he accuses her and calls her out before the remaining thugs gathered...not that they likely understand the exchange. But actions speak louder than words, and slowly that friendly glow fades from her face, the smile slowly shattering into a more neutral expression.
"<My own?>" the woman replies, her accent more native, lacking the Southtown accent altogether. Pacing forward, the woman's features shift, an uncertain, almost incredulous look in her eye as she moves with the click of heels on concrete.
"<I don't associate with anyone here; these people aren't 'my people.'>" Chinatown, she means. "<And do I know what 'these people' do?>" That alone draws a grin across her pale face once more, black eyes darkening the slightest bit. "<Of course I do. Why do you think I'm here?>" It's pretty cold, but it's the truth.
Her people, the kid insists. The woman's response is little more than a flat look, her head turning to the side as he accuses her of betraying the denizens of Chinatown and feeling nothing. Does she? It's impossible to discern, and the woman does not immediately reply. Instead a heavy silence lingers, almost choking as it fills the warehouse, the youthful Kenpo artist's words hanging on the air.
...and only broken when the woman offers an oddly cheerful and good-natured laugh.
"<Do you even know why 'these people' hurt 'them' for money? I'll tell you.>" Black eyes narrow, fixed on the youth standing before her. "<It's because they get themselves involved with 'bad' people because they want a quick and easy solution out of a financial mess. They come begging for money, seeking immediate satisfaction for their troubles.>" She pauses, arms crossing again over her chest as black eyes narrow sharply, her pale face cold and merciless.
"<It's as much a business as their own, albeit one that is a bit rough around the edges. You can't expect to get something for nothing. If they can't pay it back, then they get roughed up for a bit of 'encouragement.' You ask me, do I feel anything at all about it?>"
Again the woman pauses, her face cold.
"<No, I don't. If they don't like the consequences, they shouldn't have gotten into this mess in the first place. You know it's the truth, kid.>"
As the woman completely denies kinship with the local Chinese populous, Kentou's expression sags. Unlike this woman's careful mask of well-tended emotions rivaled only by her exacting fashion, the boy's emotions are on his sleeve for all to see. He hides nothing, and his disappointment is as clear as day. Slowly shaking his head as she admits to knowing full well what these brigands do the local populous. His leading hand curling into a fist.
He really didn't want to fight her..
...And then his fist slowly uncurls, fingers downward. The sudden laugh stuns him just enough to prevent a reckless statement, listening to her sudden impromptu education of local business practices.
The boy's eyes slowly widen as she details out the reason for the misanthropy of these hoodlums. As he words sink into his mind, the boy's arm slowly lowers until falling at his side limply. Astonished eyes breaking contact with Shihong's own as his head starts to hang.
Mister Shinoda.. Did business with these people? Borrowed money from them? That.. That changes everything. It shatters the notion of the elderly shopkeeper being completely undeserving of the harassment. Not that anyone deserves to get beaten up over money. But, if he owes money than he owes money.
Eyes once again snap back to the taller woman, close enough now to force the boy to tilt his head to match her gaze. He may be trusting, but he won't dismiss Mister Shinoda's integrity so readily! The boy resolves to ask the shopkeeper just what his dealings are with these people, to understand the nature of this 'debt'. And maybe, perhaps, help him figure out a way to get out of this mess and keep everyone happy.
"<..Alright. I'll go..>" The boy adds then. Taking a step to the side, carefully beginning to skirt around the woman towards the exit. But not turning his back on her. "<I.. Gotta talk with people. Eitherway..>" The boy nods his head in the direction of the goons, clustered outside the door not far away, "<...I think your hired thugs got a lesson not to get rough. If they remember it then I won't be back.>"
His words trailing off as his eyes linger upon her. It just doesn't make sense. How can she turn her back, not even acknowledge her roots? Where she came from? Chinatown is one big family. The people there stick together through thick and thin. Even a home-lander like her should feel.. Well.. Something.
He has a feeling this isn't going to be the last of this matter, but there's been enough brutality for one night. Her revelation gives him.. a lot to think about and look into.
Secretly and most privately, the Chinese woman derives some odd sense of satisfaction in the reactions of the poor, good-hearted youth. But while some may derive pleasure in his defeated appearance and sullen expressions, hers are for any reason but; as far as she can tell, she's given the kid a bit of a real life lesson he likely needed. A little education goes a long way, after all.
Patient as the day is long, Shihong stands with her arms folded, even as the young fighter mulls over his situation, as well as the situation of those hassled by the hired hands of the Syndicate. Her expression remains stern, her pale face unyielding in its cold expression as she observes the brown-eyed boy. His emotions aren't so easily hidden from the woman watching him with an eye of certain scrutiny. He did beat up a bunch of grown men, after all, though weak they may be...
He'll go, he offers.
Shihong blinks twice, her stern expression breaking away to something far-less cold and unforgiving as she observes him stepping to the side and skirting around her lanky form. Only after he passes does she turn to face him, peering at the kid's back as he moves on. He has to talk to people?
Her native tongue dismissed, the Chinese woman lifts her chin, her jaw squaring briefly before she hardens her gaze, whether he looks to her or not. "Be careful. In China they say to remember the frog's view of the sky from the well." She pauses briefly, pursing her lips before she explains.
"A bird stopped at the well for a drink. The bird and frog got into an argument over how the sky looked. To the bird, the sky looked one way. To the frog, it was completely different, because of his limited view from inside the well." She pauses briefly again.
"Remember that the things you think you see may not be what others see. And of course,"
Red lips pull into a fleeting, eerily friendly smile as she adds,
"You're young. It's best not to meddle in the business of others. You could get hurt. You're making the right, and very mature, choice here." A nod of her head confirms this as truth, as far as the Chinese woman is concerned.
As for the thugs, a light laugh follows. "<They got the message, I'm sure.>" she offers.
Only after the kid leaves does the woman sigh heavily, eyes snapping shut as her hand lifts, rubbing at her forehead. What a hassle, she decides, but ultimately finds herself relieved. She didn't have to punch a kid, after all.
That's a victory of its own, right?
The boy's gaze lingers on the woman for a few moments longer before finally turning towards the door completely. More than anything, the boy wishes he could be certain he's doing the right thing. In his mind these matters were so simple and straightforward.
Having dealt with Mad Gear previously and related thugs, their wickedness was clear-cut and unforgivable. Those kinds, not unlike the Five Monkey Fist the boy had just laid low, are easy to judge. They're just merit-less thugs who deserve only the brutality they traffic in. Fighting until they're all beaten up or they trash him is an easy decision that he does not regret.
This woman however? Kentou just doesn't know.
She seems reasonable. Severe but friendly, if not borderline cheerful. He can't just.. fight that for no good reason. She's working with terrible people, and she knows exactly what she's doing but... Trying to beat her up wouldn't solve anything. Especially when it may not be the right thing to do. Moral shades of gray are not things Kentou is well versed in. Matters that aren't simply black and white are confusing to a boy who sees a world as good or evil, with nothing inbetween. He can only hope that walking away now.. Isn't going to make things harder for people he knows.
Before the boy gets too far with his turbulent thoughts, the woman's voice catches his attention. Pausing in mid-step, the youth slowly turns his head about in halting motions. Milk chocolate colored eyes look to her and listen with an uncertain expression. The light pout on his lips implies he hasn't heard this one before and the boy listens intently.
An unexpected wisdom from an unexpected source.
Eyes again gravitating downwards, visibly processing this parable as those glittering orbs shift. How can smiling, beautiful lips say things so wise ... And yet be party to such terrible things? Her remaining, encouraging words of maturity are given more credibility with her earlier, sincere advice. While the boy would be dismissive over concerns for his welfare.. Well.
He does think he's learned something important here, even from a source he never would have expected. A small, tepid smile teases the corners of his lips for a moment, unable to keep from reciprocating her kindness completely. Nodding precisely once, before slipping out the door and into the darkening evening beyond.
It was an unexpected victory to be certain..
...One where the Five Monkey Fist are the losers..
They got some 'splainin to do.
Log created on 23:50:38 04/24/2008 by Kentou, and last modified on 04:16:52 04/25/2008.