Description: Having heard rumours that a truly open-minded philosopher lurks deep in the heart of the YFCC, Amy decides to gatecrash a beginners' meditation class headed up by none other than Frei Tsukitomi-Renard. Could a frank discussion with the huggable monk provide some of the guidance she seeks?
The first time he tried this, it was a complete disaster. Why? Because when people in the YFCC's age bracket want to learn about 'chi' -- or 'chi' as they've seen it used on SNF and other various fighting sports shows -- most have an understandable desire to learn to untap their potential to hurl around gouts of flame and bursts of lightning. Even in a world where those abilities aren't myth, but reality, they retain to many a certain degree of romantic appeal. In fact, one might say that when you can say as a child, 'I want to throw fire from my fingertips!' and then have that desire actually *reinforced* by something you view on television, it becomes all the stronger, because there's no adult barrier where you finally realize it's an impossible dream.
That being said, what most students who enrolled in Frei's first class on unlocking your chi potential didn't realize is that it's not an overnight process. Oh, for some it may be; there are people like Sakura, naturals who almost literally picked it up in a matter of days; that such prodigy types are typically teenagers didn't help Frei's case any when he tried to explain this. But for the average individual, the ability to visibly manifest chi is a long road of arduous work and meditation that many people who just wanted to throw fire around weren't interested in... and more to the point, even among people with the talent to become fighters, there's no guarantee that being able to focus vital energy that way is even possible. So, inside of a week, he lost every student he had to a class on how to break cinder blocks with your forehead.
It was discouraging for the monk, who rather than wanting to 'pass down a style' was interested in getting people to think philosophically about fighting. After all, that's really why Alma asked him to work here in the first place, if you boil things down. If you want to teach someone *technical* fighting there's plentifully more people in Southtown with good natures, free time, and the need for a paycheck than Frei that are ten times his better, although lately he has been teaching some of the advanced students about defensive techniques, an area where the surprisingly hardy young man really shines. But instead of teaching he became 50% administrator and 50% mascot, keeping morale high and letting people like Hotaru and Mizuki get on with the real business of teaching form.
Kentou was Frei's breakthrough moment, however. Hotaru's young padawan might be more talented than the typical YFCC type, of course, but what he really gave to Frei was the knowledge that *it can be taught*. Perhaps what he lacked before now was confidence rather than the ability to hold interest... and as recent events with his brother reinforced, Frei is the sole remaining practitioner of a 'style' that deserves passing down. So he's giving it another shot.
Surprisingly he doesn't teach the class in one of the sparring rooms. It's in... well, a lounge. With big comfortable chairs and a plate of cookies. He didn't open up willy-nilly to people this time, either; he carefully asked individual people if they'd like instruction. And so he's here with no more than 5 students, and they appear to be... sitting there with their eyes closed, Frei included.
While the mass marketing of the martial arts as a sport and hobby suitable for all creeds and ages has indeed inspired thousands upon thousands of new entrants to the scene, there is certain truth in the fact that the majority of these fresh-faced acolytes seek not enlightenment, but excitement. Flashy tricks are what sells, after all. The desire to impress one's own ambition onto the world through pomp and glamour is a common one. It's also true that Frei is not alone in his disappointment. Homogenized styles abound, free from philosophy, steeped instead in the wreaking of enjoyable mayhem.
Amy's tuition has had its unusual and even hokey qualities. It's possible that she could have found a better approach herself, but this may not be unfortunate - no matter what her undoubtedly unhinged master may have led her to believe, she is a thoughtful person. Sure to find her own meanings and explanations. Exactly this pursuit has led her to the Young Fighters' Community Centre, where she hopes to find fresh perspectives on the art; if the warrior's way /can/ ultimately be generalised thus. Several times over the past few weeks, the raven-haired Templar has been found at the back of classes, quietly sitting and listening to what the local talent have to say.
So far, she's found very little. No answers to the questions recently raised through her experiences, nor to those far more fundamental, rooted in the past. But patience is a key virtue. She has yet to meet any of the real movers and swingers, those names belonging to surprisingly young but apparently very insightful fighters whose reputations are already founded; unlike her own.
Today, she hopes to meet the mascotted monk.
As Frei and his chosen pupils meditate, a quiet hand places itself upon the room's door. With equal near-silence and subtlety, the portal is opened just enough to admit a seventh figure. Darkly clad and momentarily grim of aspect, Amy's entrance is soon made less sinister as she looks toward the dimunitive man at the gathering's fore and offers a small, apologetic smile. She's disturbed something. It was always likely, the pair of students who directed her here (with whom she was vigourously sparring only a few days ago) mentioned that Frei had been playing the picky professor. What most interested her about this? Nothing else suggested he would be a dominating or imposing sort of man. She had, however, imagined he would be substantially older.
If, as she suspects, she is not immediately acknowledged, Amy remains the most courteous gate-crasher in existence, gracefully slipping away from the door after gently shutting it behind her to take a place at the back of the room. Observing. The class carries an interesting aura, though whether this comes predominantly from Frei or from the collective mind remains to be seen. It's certainly the right environment in which to garner some wisdom.
There's very little indication that Amy's entrance is noted by anyone in the room. No heads swivel toward the door; no coughs or blinks or random opening of eyes. Of course, that may be because a few of the students seem to be trying to meditate, by which it is meant they are Trying. Very. Hard. to meditate, as evinced by the furrowed brow and not the closing of the eyes but rather something akin to the *squinting* of the eyes, as if by merely focusing the musculature in their foreheads they can force the brain to relax. Were he the type to do so as an instructor, at this point Frei would very likely smack these people in the back of the head with a folded fan for not getting the point.
Instead, everything is merely quiet for a moment, before the monk says, eyes still closed, "So... did you see it?"
The class seems to take this as a sign that they can relax (from the effort of relaxing) and open their eyes, which they do, letting out breaths they didn't know they were holding... except one young girl, probably only 16, who is still keeping her eyes shut. After a second, she blinks, and then turns around to look right at Amy, brown eyes wide with surprise. Her head turning causes everyone *else* to turn, blinking at the silent new arrival. "I did, sort of," squeaks the girl who first turned, as if the sound of her own voice is surprising. "Right before you asked."
Frei nods once, and then opens his eyes... an emerald green atypical of Japan, as are his red hair and slightly freckled cheeks. "Well, that's good," he starts, not really processing where everyone's eyes are as he talks. "That feeling you get, that someone's right behind you, sometimes... it *can* be chi. Not always. But knowing what to look for is important. So..."
And then he turns toward Amy, with a smile that seems too friendly to belong to someone who punches people for a living. "What is it *you're* looking for?"
One's first steps toward a clear conscious mind can be daunting, even moreso for those open and intelligent enough to quickly grasp the concept. The part of the brain given to understanding is also the most likely to rebel against a practicioner's wishes, prone as it is to a chaotic maelstrom of thought. More processes must be shut down, along with - as was Amy's chief obstacle - the doubtful, insistent force of cynicism. Humans as a social beast are not raised for peace and clarity, but rather for speed and efficiency. True also that sheeplike acceptance is a drill most are subject to, though increasingly few accept and increasingly more strive consciously away from. The latter may make the better philosophers, and the more powerful martial artists, but the world's pressures can turn achievement into a long uphill struggle. A fight against oneself.
It comes as some surprise that one of Frei's youthful attentive has already overcome her own inevitable misgivings. Amy happens to be watching her when her eyes flicker open, the monk's mysterious query hanging in the air. It brings forth another smile when that astonished gaze settles upon her, a trace of nervousness not overcoming amusement and a little joy. Some of the same she has been experiencing whilst prowling the halls of the YFCC; that forgotten excitement often so hard to recall through adulthood. A beat later, the lady knight realises that /all/ eyes are upon her, and it is her turn to blink, turning her attention from the single girl to sweep a panning glance across the small assembly of faces.
What is that she's looking for?
The question has been on her mind anyway, and before Frei has chosen to direct it, is there again. Knowing that the chi tutor has hand-picked this group makes them all worthy of wondering the same- do they search for such cliches as power and enlightenment, or something more indescribable? For all her lessons, despite the lengthy education she has undergone over the last few years, Amy is not well placed in this regard. She knows what others want, but in many respects she remains the lost soul she was throughout her childhood. There is one shining light on which she believes she can place her hope... but this does not seem enough. It seems, in short, like an excuse.
There are scant few seconds to muse before Frei's attention is upon her. That he has targeted her comes as no real surprise- his expression is unexpected, reassuring in it's simple humanity, but she expected acknowledgement. Even if he intended to dismiss her outright for entering uninvited and unannounced, any good teacher would seek to form some further lesson from her interdiction. Amy pauses for a moment, meeting that friendly gaze with her own, holding it. A canny cheat would seek to read Frei and ascertain the 'right' answer, others would try and impress with some doubtless pre-judged soliloquy. Amy fits neither of these archetypes. She almost seems to be looking for inspiration.
"Purpose," she finally announces, in a clear British accent, still not breaking eye contact, "Something by which I can define myself, independent of other concerns. Life, by necessity, creates many. More and more I find them blinding, confusing..." she tails off momentarily, finally glancing away, toward the two students in the left foreground, "Even annoying." Her shoulders lift in a shrug, and she turns back to Frei, only semi-consciously fingering the tiny silver cross hanging from her neck. "I feel guided by things I can't control. But the things aren't the problem. I am. My attitude is. Honestly? As much as I clear my mind, as much as I pray and meditate, there's nothing I come back to instantly," she laughs softly, breath expelling in amusement that does not reach her eyes, "No touchstone for my soul."
"I'm looking for a way out of the confusion."
Did Amy get the wrong guy? That series of statements takes *everybody* in the room aback, not the least of them being Frei himself. He's often called 'boy' despite his age compared to his peers; his looks peg him as a teenager, but even beyond that are simple mannerisms he has that do much the same. Case in point, as Amy comes to the conclusion of her response, his head tilts to the right a bit, eyes blinking a few times. Well, he DID ask. And she answered. "I don't know about touchstones," he says at last, the students still afraid to speak, trapped between their teacher and this singular, mysterious interloper.
Stretching his arms up over his head, the monk gets out of the far too comfortable chair and picks up a small plate from a small table between the various chairs, holding it out to Amy. "We do have cookies, though... well, or 'biscuits' for you, hm?" Again the wan smile, and he keeps the plate held out to the Brit while he turns his head to his students. "But she said something important you might think about. In the end the only thing you have consistent control over is yourself. If you're determined about this, what we're doing here today, then you have to understand it's more about understanding yourself than it is about finding some terrible cosmic secret." He pauses, blinking at the seriousness of his tone, before adding with a large grin, "This isn't Final Fantasy. You don't learn fire magic as you level up." The statement has the intended effect, giving the students a much-needed laugh, cutting the tension.
Whether Amy has taken a cookie by then or not, he sets the plate back down and then steps toward her before turning around again. "I'm going to talk with our visitor for a bit. We're almost done, anyway. Just... until the next time we meet, try to do what we were doing today on your own. Close your eyes and see if you can tell where people are just by sensing their aura." Homework given, the students nod and file out, some grabbing a cookie before they go, exchanging goodbyes with a smiling Frei.
He doesn't turn to look at Amy until all the students are gone, and the door has slid shut with a final *click*, leaving the two alone in the room. Only then does the monk give Amy his full attention, putting one hand palm-down on his hip and letting the other hang at his side. "What brings someone with such a philosophical bent to the Young Fighters Community Center, I wonder..."
Well, that's what he says out loud. 'ALMA!' is what he says inside his own head.
He did indeed ask, and some credit is due the monk that he has created an atmosphere conducive to such a frank and verbose response from the Templar. That she has come here with an open mind to seek wisdom from the wise merely ensures she is receptive. Her words hang in the air, creating a prickle of tension that threatens the environment in the classroom. It's not something Amy allows to bother her; despite her relative level of experience she is here as a student much like the others. She flickers another glance about the chamber while silence reigns, hand dropping from her neck to rest atop the other in her lap. Calmly, she waits...
...for Frei to break the ice. She can't help but laugh again as the plate is extended, the sound this time louder and freed from the concerns expressed moments before. "It's okay, I speak savage," she notes, a grin tugging at her lips, and reaches out to politely pluck up one of the proferred treats, "Thank you." Nothing else is added for the moment, though clearly there is more to say. Whether or not she allows it to affect her demeanour, she does feel some element of intrusion to her presence, and so she sits, quietly devouring the snack while Frei addresses his pupils.
None of them pay particular attention to her as they leave, and why should they? She does look up nonetheless, amiable until the last of them exits. The sound of the door closing comes almost in tandem with her last bite, and as Frei addresses her she finishes off the cookie, dusting her fingers idly before she uncrosses her legs and rises to her feet. What brought her here? The full, literal answer would be convoluted and unnecessary, and also leads to further diversive conversation she'd rather not have. Not now, at least. The answer she gives...
"I'm here to learn, like them," she strays a hand toward the closed door, then lifts it to push a lock of black hair behind her ear, leaving her hand against the nape of her neck as she continues, "Though my circumstances might be slightly different. I suppose, really, there's not too many places someone /can/ go for guidance - we live in a competitive world. Most places offering philosophy or discussion of any kind have a viewpoint they want you to pursue, and most martial arts masters seek prodigies in their own style. The worst of them want people to win fights on television and make them famous."
"Everything I've heard about this place," she gestures with her hand as it's lowered back to a comfortable position, "Told me there was something different here. Free thought, and an offering of opportunities not for personal gain - but for the greater good. Nobody judges because nobody's led to judge. I don't trust people often. Maybe I hoped to find somebody I could."
"You shouldn't be so surprised that people might want you to pursue their way of seeing things if you go to them," Frei says, somewhat unexpectedly, as he bends down and picks up a cookie -- ginger snaps, by the by -- before putting it to his lips and taking a bite with an audible crunching sound. He chews thoughtfully for a moment before he continues speaking, holding half of the cookie up near his mouth with his eyes turned toward the wall with the door in it. "I think it's natural for philosophers to want others to believe them. The line between wisdom and megalomania," he says, turning his head to Amy with a grin, "is thinner than people think."
Having dispenses pithy wisdom, he turns and walks to the other side of the lounge, opening windows that seem far too large for the room itself, owing to the YFCC's origins as a warehouse. The action brings in a burst of slightly warm air from outside, the suddenness of it sending the monk's red bangs fluttering for a moment. He pauses, looking out over the city center, before turning back to Amy and sitting on the ledged windowsill. "But generally speaking, no, we're not like that here, or we try not to be. The point of this center is to give people a place to explore their potential with guidance, but as little guidance as possible. I guess you probably already know about the 'teacher-student relationship', right?" He inclines his head toward the door. "They're young enough that they think the adults know all the answers, so we try to avoid situations where we're put up on a pedestal. It's better to let them form peer groups, learn from each other. Well, that's my philosophy, anyway. People don't need answers, they need the tools to find those answers on their own."
A quiet moment passes, perhaps seeming longer than it is, before the monk speaks again. "Well, all that spiel being said..." He pauses, then laughs. "My name is Frei Tsukitomi-Renard, by the way. The last sound French, but my father was British. Don't worry, though," he adds impishly. "I speak savage too."
Wisdom to megalomania, like genius to insanity. Light to darkness. The seemingly opposed often prove to be an image mirrored - but are those not the same thing? To see a reflection, one must stand before it. Hairdressers' tricks with mirrors notwithstanding, each can always glimpse the other.
By the minute, Frei further validates Amy's decision to come here. When his face lights up following his frank admission - especially so, for he would seem to /be/ a philosopher - she returns his grin with a quirk of her own lips, albeit more subdued and really closer to a smirk, touched with a trace of what may be chagrin. In any case, she can agree with this conclusion. If not with where the line might be drawn. Apparently not given to verbal diarrhoea on the whole, she says nothing else for the moment, stepping nearer to the monk to lean up against the back of one of those comfortable armchairs. She relaxes as she listens further, her arms folded loosely across her gut.
"Summerhill for warriors," she murmurs when the YFCC has been sufficiently summarised in Frei's terms, admiration in her tone as much as gentle amusement. This is the kind of institution in which she wishes her scholarly education had taken place; the system was never to her liking. "It's a noble goal, and one you seem to be achieving. There's some talent here, but more than that- there's love and respect. Every pupil needs that if they're really going to learn."
When Frei belatedly introduces himself, she reacts smoothly and easily with a smile. She is not particularly intent to play the mysterious stranger, but the less you socialise... the less you think about these things. She tilts her head in silent acknowledgement of this fact, unfolding an arm to extend a hand toward the quirky monk, "Amy. Amy Johnson. The family name's not an original. My grandfather was German, but I'm your quintessential English girl. Grew up in the north, though thankfully the accent never took."
"I like what you've got here. Sorry if I disturbed anything... I just wanted to experience something real. Making appointments is fine, but then we'd both be expecting something. Oh," she jerks her head toward the middle of the room, "The biscuits are a nice touch, by the way. Very homey."
That elicits a laugh from Frei, who gives the ginger snaps a glance for a moment. "I bake. A *lot*. You'll find that out if you hang around here long enough. I want to say I have some elaborate reason, like it gives me a chance to work with my hands or time to think or whatever, but the simple truth is, I have an absurd sweet tooth." He does NOT mention that when he's nervous or upset his baking goes into overdrive, but even the wisest of individuals is allowed a blind spot to some of their own foibles. "But, I think having food handy makes people talkative and relaxed."
Sliding off the window, Frei steps forward and shakes Amy's hand. "Well, nice to meet you, Amy Johnson." Taking his hand back, he seems to give the issue a little bit of thought, before launching into a little more small talk. After all, it can't hurt. "I don't know much about England, really. I was raised in Kyoto in a very traditional Japanese home." This would for sure account for the lack of accent, and indeed if one looks at Frei's face hard enough, *traces* of his Japanese ancestry evince themselves; a slight twist of the shape of the eye, a more angular than round face. "It's also why I have some degree of experience with people wanting you to follow a certain... way of thinking." Someone with even a token amount of knowledge about traditional Japanese culture probably knows what he means, and so he doesn't elaborate.
He blinks at her apology, then shakes his head. "We were almost done, you weren't intruding. I'm... pretty informal anyway, as things go." If Amy had the chance to ask around, she would already know this fact, and that his statement is the understatement of the century. "It's hard to teach people what I'm teaching them. Not everybody can really learn it, and so many end up disappointed... I'm taking things very slowly so that they can still get *something* out of it even if it turns out they don't have the potential."
"Some knowledge is worth having no matter who you are. There's lessons in what we do that go beyond hurting and killing." This is delivered with a downward glance and a serious mien, soon dispelled with a smile as Amy looks back up at Frei, "If a student feels disappointment, then it's possible they've failed to understand that. I imagine I was an absolute terror to teach- always expecting something for myself, instant gratification, immediate answers to questions I still don't understand the nature of. You're.. not like most teachers, though." Bad attitudes go both ways.
Shifting her posture slightly, Amy lifts a leg off the ground to better settle back against the plump cushion behind her. She stays quiet for a moment, looking Frei over as though gauging him further before she speaks again. In truth, she has not particularly pursued information on he, or any other, instructor at the centre. Trace impressions have been picked up here and there, but the many-cultured man is almost as much a mystery to her as she is to him.
It's possibly clear not only from Amy's brief introduction, but from the way she dresses, that Frei is not the only one whose nature has been affected by a wide variety of influences. Some welcomed with open arms, others imposed by birthright or a position on the social scale, and a few through sheer chance. There's some similarity there, something which makes the Templar all the more willing to seek counsel. "Tell me..."
"This place seems to be founded on something very selfless. From what I've heard, everyone seems very giving, and very modest. But it's not just the students who benefit, is it? I don't believe for a second that you've ever stopped learning, that you impart what you know because being you.. knowing what you know.. is in any way fulfilling an end goal." Flickering her gaze up and down Frei's relaxed form, she chews on her lower lip before continuing, figuring out her words, "What I need to know is, what do you strive for? What keeps you at work here? Everybody wants something. Everybody /lives/ for something. How about you, Frei?"
For all her confidence, the last sounds almost childlike.
For a second, a hand comes up and brushes long red bangs off of Frei's face, hair fluttering a bit as a breeze wafts in from the now-open windows. It's a reasonable enough set of statements, in Frei's mind; he *isn't* like most teachers, by design. A 'typical' teacher can't teach what he does, at least not what he's trying to teach to the young people that filled this room not long ago. Again, his mind drifts to thoughts of Kentou, the student he 'shares' with Hotaru, who very specifically brought her student to Frei to be trained in the art of chi manipulation rather than doing it herself... something Frei knows Hotaru is all too capable of. At the time, he'd wanted to refuse, not wanting to confuse the boy, or accidentally hurt him. 'I don't want the mantle of most qualified', was how he had put it to Hotaru when she asked him. 'Every day I learn a little bit more from people around me who don't have the benefit of my training.'
Smiling, he lets his eyes close as he responds to Amy's question, one step at a time. "A young man came in here months ago... wanting to know why we were still open. He had a grudge against 'fighters', I think, and he seemed very angry when I told him I wasn't one." Opening his eyes, he regards Amy with an intense gaze, as if measuring how she reacts to this part of the story very carefully. "I don't know that I've ever considered myself a 'fighter' first. I like to think of myself as a scholar. I learned to fight because through fighting, a deeper understanding of how chi works is possible."
His gaze drifts off to the side, and one hand comes up to brush against the small scar on his temple. "But I'm 'fighter-born', if that makes sense. My mother is Japanese, and comes from a long line of swordsmen. I broke from that, and without going into much detail, that 'break'... the need to fight *purpose* in fighting, if I was going to fight... has been a strong influence on my life ever since."
Pausing, the monk crosses the room to the plate of cookies, taking a ginger snap and then sitting himself down in one of the chairs, chewing it thoughtfully for a moment before turning his attention back to Amy. "I can't speak for my colleagues. But I do get something out of being here and doing what I do: the privilege of observing, and learning by observing. I don't know that I have a 'strive for'. Is one really necessary? Goals are a sword that cuts both ways."
Whatever might have been the case in her past, Amy listens attentively now, not interjecting or fidgeting throughout Frei's reply. There is nothing terribly polite motivating this; she simply holds genuine interest in the monk and what has to impart. She also has no desire to hear herself speak, chattering for the sake of it. A little more odd is that she makes no vague mutterings of assent, agreement or understanding. None of the social niceties people have come to expect. She would make a poor salesman.
This happens to make her quite unreadable. When Frei's gaze intensifies, perhaps the only thing he'll catch is a slight flicker hidden within those deep, dark eyes. He may not be able to ascertain exactly what it is... amusement, empathy, admiration... but either the Templar possesses incredible self-control or there is no dramatic inward response. She reacts more obviously when hints are made toward a dark chapter in Frei's story, a faint frown furrowing her brow. This seems to disquiet her enough that, when he moves, she slips her full weight back to the ground and paces in the opposite direction, taking his place at the window.
"Hm," she settles back when he finishes speaking, hands gripping the ledge to either side. Her fingers thrum a brief rhythm as she digests his answer, and then she laughs, "The wise man eschews goals, while the megalomaniac pursues them? I know that's generalising. Interesting though. Everyone I meet seems so driven, motivated by something - material or otherwise - that consumes so much of their life. I always felt.. guilty, really, for drifting about. Never had a career in mind, only stuck with school because I figured I had to. Always loved learning, but only on my own terms and never with any particular use for it."
"As to being a 'fighter'..." She issues a soft snort, looking aside, "'Fighter'. Someone who fights. I don't know when people started using that term, but it doesn't /say anything/. I learned martial arts for the same reason I read about the Amazon, or the Napoleonic War - more knowledge can only be a good thing. I didn't expect to find some amazing purpose behind it all." She pauses, looking troubled by some background thought, "That sort of fell on me. Now it feels like something I have to be defined by, like there's no turning back. To possess power is to possess responsibility."
She sighs, shaking her head, "Does that even make sense? It does sound like this angry friend of yours might have felt the same way."
That statement about drifting earns a smile from Frei, though it's a smile tinged with the smallest amount of bittersweetness; Amy may be hard to read, but Frei wears his heart on his sleeve. "There's nothing wrong with goals. I think people need them from time to time. But... being driven can be just as bad as being totally aimless. If you're too focused, you lose perspective... but if you're not focused enough, you miss fine details. In the end everything is a balancing act." The very definition of Frei's philosophy is the words 'balancing act', undeniably... something he's become hyperaware of, lately.
Biting into the half-finished cookie, he gets a thoughtful expression. "We have a lot in common. I was a drifter for a long while, once I made what I thought was a clean break with my family. I learned because I liked learning." A pause, then a laugh and a shake of the head. "Well, and because I wanted to find something I was 'good at'. I guess when I found something I was 'good at', I stopped." A thoughtful second or two more, before he shakes his head. "But I know what it feels like to want knowledge on your terms and not someone else's."
Getting up, Frei walks back to the window and puts both hands palm-down on the sill, looking out over the city again, the breeze making his hair drift about. "I don't really know how he felt, other than to know he was... very angry." This is an understatement to be sure; he beat the bejeezus out of Frei and smashed up the reception desk in the process, leaving only when the monk accidentally hit some thread or chord that resonated. "I don't think power and responsibility naturally go hand in hand, though," he adds, turning. "I'm not big on universal absolutes. I think that people of conscience find themselves drawn to exercise power justly when they hold it, and notice when those aren't, don't. But power in and of itself is just that: power."
"Is it that simple?" With Frei sharing the window space, Amy has leaned forward, resting her elbow upon her knee, her cheek on an open hand. She looks at the monk past the sleek curtain of her hair, wondering just how long and involved his story is. How much more he knows, and has experienced. A lot of people might take his good humour and open approach to conversation at face value; she not only knows his roots must go deeper, darker, but focuses on this very fact.
"I've always suspected that power is so relative that it doesn't really exist. At least not as something attainable-- no," she turns her attention from Frei, gazing across the nearby seats and into space, "Not as something that /needs/ to be obtained. Yet people will always try. They ask others to obtain power for them, sometimes under the guise of an admirable purpose, and the macabre dance continues. There's so many myths and legends, old and modern... it makes me think the very concept of 'power' is just human propaganda."
"Listen to me!" She suddenly changes her tone, sounding markedly less distant and sitting upright. She stands, turning toward Frei with a helpless shrug, arms and hands lifting along with her shoulders. "I sound as confused as I feel. You're easy to talk to, Frei, but I'm talking your ear off about.. nothing."
The red-haired head is bowed, then shaken in disagreement at that statement. "There's wisdom in 'nothing', I think," he says carefully, trying to argue the point without implying the truth of what she said; which is to say, to disagree that 'nothing' is valueless but to argue that even what Amy has been saying has value. "There's a British author, actually, named Terry Pratchett... I don't think he writes books to your tastes. But he had a statement in one of them I thought was interesting: wisdom seems more wise when it comes from farther away." A pause, then a shrug. "I think people are inclined to look farther than they need to in these cases, because it seems like the farther you go, the better the result will be, even if the answer is lying face-down in your front yard."
There is... something to Amy, that Frei can't put his finger on. She appears humorless but isn't; she seems both philosophical and pragmatic all at once. But if there's anything Frei has recognized, it's the symptoms of someone struggling under the weight of a destiny or responsibility. After all, it was the 'weight' of successorship to the Tsukitomi family style that drove his brother to acts that many would consider 'evil'. Of course, the chain of events also brought about great good, which Frei has come to see as the natural way of things. But it takes time.
"I think it depends on what you call 'power'," he says eventually, turning to look out the window again for a moment. He brings a hand up and lazily points in the direction of the business district. "To them 'power' is economic; to some it's the ability to harm others, or coerce them. I personally think 'power' is just the force of change, but it's not the ability to MAKE changes. If anything, 'power' is stability and not change; the more you have, the more you accrue. The ability to change things requires power but is something other than that."
If there's one thing immediately obvious to Amy, about Frei as a social creature, it's that his method of speech and mannerisms are not forceful; quite the opposite. He has not made a single point that has been thrust home with weighty assertions and restricting vocabulary. Everything is a carefully wrought hypothesis, though made without the nervous insistence of a scientist or the oft-tiresome assumptiveness of so many self-centric philosophers. This is refreshing, but it makes revelations all the more startling because they come without striking the mind. More like water filling a cup. It feels natural, and easy.
"I suppose I should mention I didn't exactly come to Southtown in search of answers... but I /was/ planning on pitching up at Strolheim. Suppose I thought that was far enough for some wisdom." She admits this with a self-deprecating grin, eyes flashing with the first sign of open emotion from the knight. "I tend not to read much fiction, but of course I've heard of him. He's amassed some serious 'power'." She notes the last with a nod toward the very district indicated by Frei.
There's a pause for the humour to abate, before Amy offers a small, very genuine smile to the monk. "I think I should head off, leave you in peace for now. But I'd love to meet up again, perhaps when I'm a little less confused. I didn't really know how this would go but... you've surprised me," she takes a couple of steps nearer the door and then turns away from it, long enough to deliver two final words, "Thank you."
Surprising... well, if there's one thing Frei acknowledges about himself, it's that he is rarely what people expect. Thus when Amy mentions that, he smiles pleasantly. "Thank you for the compliment," is the best response he can manage. Her mention of Strolheim gives him a moment of pensive pause; the monk isn't really familiar with the doings of Wolfgang Krauser or any of his ilk, but the nation's reputation as a place that fosters great talent at least makes the suggestion seem sensible enough to him.
Seeing her ready to give, he gives a wave. "You're welcome any time. This is what we're here for, after all."
When she's gone, he moves to the chair he was occupying before, and sits down with one last cookie, to think over what just happened... and to puzzle out the mysterious young woman who just left.
Log created on 09:06:10 07/27/2008 by Amy, and last modified on 16:19:19 09/07/2008.