Description: When Justice is in the air and snow is afalling, leave it to Sokaku and Zangief to save the day and unleash a great disaster on the world. Will the world survive or will it .. not. (Winner: Yeti) Wait, this isn't a fight.
Russia is many things. It is a land of high culture! Vast expanses of cold ice and snow! And communism!
Well, not so much of the Communism these days, actually. But if there is one thing that still unites the Russian people, it is the peoples hero: Zangief. Not only for his many thundering successes in his recent battles on the world stage, but also because when danger threatens the people of Russia, there is one man who can be counted on to step up to that nefarious menace, and spinning piledriver it into oblivion.
If there is one thing Zangief is /not/, however, it is subtle.
The large man has been put on the trail of some gun runners, and it is for that reason he has come to the little village of Borsk. It is cold, but that doesn't deter him for a moment. A large trenchcoat draped over his massive shoulders keeps the snow off, and large, red, shiny boots smash through the snow with no care for the romantic qualities of that white blanket!
Up ahead is his target: A warehouse, quite far from the village proper, with a river at the back which has had the ice broken to enable boats to come through. Many large crates dot the surrounding area. It seems that someone /may/ have spotted seven feet of Russian justice coming their way, and scattered to try and prepare.
The unfortunate fools.
Weapons wasn't the only thing they were transporting, only likely no one was the wiser that the crate marked with a skull and crossbones, do not open and DANGER, in big red letters and over a hundred different languages might contain a weapon of the most fear. The most. It was a simple crate, not too big, only perhaps three feet by three feet, wooden, nailed shut and chained. Such a horrifying weapon was sure to fetch a worthy sum and yet there hand't been any buyers yet and though curiousity had caused many a curious glance toward the crate, the truth was that no one had bothered to peek inside. Who knew if it contained a nuclear weapon or something worse. Fear drove them to leave it alone. Fear and uncertainty. That and the solid way in which it was shut. Sure a skilled hand could get it opened, but it would take time and it would be impossible to hide the tampering.
"Hey Dimitri, didn't you say this was bear country?" One smuggler asks the other,
"Da," replied Dimitri, "Grizzly bears, big ones but they keep the tourists and introlopers away."
"Panyatno," (I see), "Is that one of them?" The smuggler points at a wall of muscle moving their way.
"Let me look closer. Mmm, it could be. We had best not go outside for alittle while."
"This bear, he is coming right this way? Did you feel him? YARI? Did you feed a bear?"
A third man shouts from a open bed truck he is working on,
"Feed bears? Are you crazy? I would not do something so foolish, what are you seeing, I will take look."
"Are you sure that is a bear Dimitri?"
"Da Da, it is bear."
"I think it looks more like Yeti."
"Yeti do not exist, only faery tale."
Meanwhile the mony python style reset of Zangief is surely going on if they can hae this conversation.
The conversation carries on. And suddenly... when they look back out there. It's gone. Whatever the horrible mass of muscle and fur had been, it clearly isn't there any longer. There is probably a sigh of relief. Oh, those crazy russians. Getting all worked up over a little bear out in bear country. What next, eh?
The silence is... oppressive.
Almost as though
They weren't...
Alone.
SUDDENLY the door to the warehouse is battered in, a crunch and splintering of wood and the terrible noise of terrifying amounts of property damage /echoes./ Nicely timed with a sudden howling of the wind. The eyes of the figure that takes up the space the doorway had been in almost -glow- with rage. Not man. No man could be so massive! Not beast, for what beast can display such sentient, malevolent rage?!
He is... a cyclone, given human form!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Zangief roars, raising both fists in a gesture of primal fury. "DOSVEDANYA, COMRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADES!"
There is screaming, oh yes screaming and a general concensus that after long thought out and more proper spelling, scientists agreed - or at least these three russian smugglers - that this figure, this behemeth creature was infact the fabled and feared.. Soviet Yeti!
"Shoot it!" comes a cry, followed by another of , "No doon't, shooting just make more angry!" They can't decide what to do, except well run around the warehouse to find a hiding place or an anti-tank missile launcher. Or maybe.. maybe just pray. Pray and discuss.
"It is Stalin's secret weapon in world war two! I knew Stalin make invincable Yeti. There it is, we must get out of here comrades!"
"No, we must fight," "No we must pray!" But whatever they do there was one big problem. It was between them and the door.
"Quick Yari, to truck, we must try to run it over!"
Zangief clearly enjoys this. Yes, it's true. He didn't get out all that much. But! Who could deny that he really -is- the most powerful weapon in the Soviet-- ah, Russian-- arsenal today!?
"AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" He booms, stomping further into the room, the hulking behemoth of /truth/ /justice/ and /communism/ grabs the closest crate and hefts it over his head. Not... particularly caring if he's handling a box of guns, or grenades, or anything at all, it is only when the chains over it rattle that he actually pauses and looks at what he's holding.
Danger in many languages, eh? Skull and crossbones?! There is only one logical thing to do in this situation.
And that is exactly what he does, /hurling/ it right at the man trying to convince them to run him over with a truck.
FOOLS! TRUCKS CAN NOT STOP THE INVINCIBLE SOVIET YETI!
Two of the men manage to get into the truck, but the third is hit by a crate with the markings of some sort of extremely dangerous weapon and wouldn't you know - the crate shatteres into like a gazillion pieces. All three Russians hold their breath, well except the one who just got struck by a crate who is now totally out cold, so really only two hold their breath. Both pairs of eyes are on the crate and Dimitri just manages to whisper,
"Oh no, we're doomed."
And then standing out of the rubble, looking kind of out of sorts as though she had just spent the last week in a wooden crate, is none other than the Red Witch, Naerose Delphine.
"Aww man! I really gotta go." The witch exclaims and starts to hop and dance in the middle of the warehouse.
"That.. is most dangerous weapon?" asks a disbelieving Yari.
"Da. I was told it could eat a country hungry in a week, or less. Drop it anywhere and it decimates the food supply."
"Hey where is the nearest bathroom?" the witch persists and tries to make sense of her surroundings. She fixes her shades, then shivers, being in just her typical red dress and boots and no coat.
"Hey.. Am I in new zealand? Er.. I must of mailed myself to the wrong place.. it sure is ccccoooold here."
Sokaku hasn't been there the entire time; on the contrary, the old monk only entered the warehouse (sanely, through the back door) a few moments ago, snagging a fleeing thug by the face and pounding it against the wall in an epic-level skull-smashing; indeed, said thug's blood is currently running all over the ground, his nose busted by the monk's mighty hand.
Mother Russia's chi was cool, cold, freezing, just as she herself was frozen, but there was a fire within that ice, as paradoxical as it sounded, a fire of incredible power that burned in each of her children. The chi-sorceror stands in the shadows, observing Zangief's rage even as he feels out the chi in the surrounding area, that ice and fire merging in the world's pulse on which his thumb forever rested.
Sokaku takes a step forward as the ringleader tries to flee. The man's terror gives him a brief moment to shout "Who the hell are you?" before he's hurled across the room...on fire. Yes, Sokaku's flame spell, drawing on the soul of Mother Russia, licks at the man with unprecedented pain and suffering, until he goes limp; the monk waves his hand, dismissing the fire.
"Justice." He murmurs, pulling his hat down and turning to start sweeping up the rest of the thug filth in the room.
Zangief is content to ignore the monk for now... though Naerose gets a double take. He /knew/ her. He's beaten her up. Perhaps she had come to Russia in order to get some /proper/ training after witnessing the power of the Red Cyclone! He didn't doubt it!
Stomping in front of the truck, Zangief braces himself against the floor, and rips off the trenchcoat that hid his scarred, massive bulk. Lips curl back in a deaths head grin, as he squats down. Fully intending to just *grapple* the truck.
"COME ON COMRADE! MAKE MY DAY!" He roars, his eyes meeting those of the man in the driving seat, twinkling with a deep, dark excitement. Could he wrestle with an oncoming truck and win?! HE DIDN'T KNOW!
But he'd have -fun- finding out.
Dimitri stares into the eyes of the cyclone and guns it. The tires screetch as the vehicle totally guns forward, accelerating dangerously toward Zangief. Yari only just buckles his seat belt and braces himself for their Velma and Luise style of all or nothing, go for broke attempt to get free. The air fills with the heavy smell of burnt rubber, so thick you can almost taste it on your tngue and speaking of taste. . .
"Man, I'm hungry." complains the witch and then goes about poking over the room. Shes almost in a daze, having been in a crate for a week can do that to someone. She steps over thug one, thug two, stops, stares at Sokaku, hey, I bet he knows where to find a bathroom and a vending machine.
"Hey mister, do you know where I can find a bathroom and a vending machine and some change for something to eat? I'm starving!"
Yeaht the scretching of tires of the situation unfolding around her like a crime drama does not shake the witch from her most basic of needs. Bathroom, more food.
Sokaku glances at the witch for a moment before pointing at a door. Maybe it was the bathroom, maybe not; he had bigger problems on his mind.
Mainly, that truck that's about to collide with Zangief.
Yeah, that doesn't do it for him. But Zangief was clearly looking forward to it; he was a fighter...worshipped by millions, perhaps billions. He was a soul that sought conflict.
One of the new pantheon. One of the ones who had risen up to replace the true gods.
Sokaku's lips purse beneath his helmet, his distaste strong. A man comes at him with an uzi, only to be beaten down by his staff, the prayer-rings singing out like a bell, eerily loud even over the truck and the roaring russian bear-man. The sorceror's staff whirls back under his arm, sending a man who had been hoping to sneak up on the monk flying to smash into the wall, and the monk settles it back on the floor as he makes his way towards the imminent Truck/Zangief collision.
Zangief is indeed looking forward to it. As the truck guns towards him, he crouches lower, and prepares himself for the impact. It would be hard enough to lift the truck from a standing start! Let alone when it was ploughing towards him. Time seems to slow down... and then there is the impact.
Surprisingly, it's not... quite as one sided as one would expect when a /man tries to stop a truck with his bare hands/.
The Red Cyclone grabs, and swings to the side. Unfortunately for him, this isn't enough to protect him from the fact several tons of metal have just smashed into his form. It is enough, however, to force the cab off all its wheels, and wrench it into a position from which trucks are not designed to drive.
But what of Zangief?! Is this the end of the Invincible Russian Yeti?!
Almost. But no, friends. Zangief is sent hurtling across the room from the impact, where he goes through one crate, and impacts heavily with the wall. Cracking the plaster and brickwork with his head.
But he isn't quite dead!
Honest! He's getting better!
Zangief might of been sentback and generally not killed as intended, but that's not even spaeking for the truck. It hit an object that took most of it's force before finally relenting and thus the grill and the front of the vehicle crumples in order to protect the drivers and while they're okay (having worn their seatbelts) the now smoking vehicle doesn't seem terribly keen on going anywhere.
"Comrade. Lets run for it!" And thus both smugglers get out, and run for it. Their best bet is that maybe there is a chance they can get away before Zangief gets up, but they never banked it seemed on there being more than one fighter for justice. Lets take a look now at one of the not fighters for justice. Naerose Delphine.
While not bad, per say, she's not exactly helping the good side either. She follows Sokaku's instructions like an innocent baby seal about to get clubbed, but lucky for her the clubbing doesn't happen - yet. The door as it turns out, leads to an office which, as luck would have it, has a bathroom. It also contains money. Of course smugglers get paid, right? Naerose is totally like, LUCKY!.
Then she gets clubbed. The head hauncho smuggler, who has heard the commotion was just waiting by the door. Let Naerose walk in, go to the office bathroom and even move to start collecting cash and shoving it into her hat before hitting her atop the head with a stout bottle of vodka.
"Hey, ouch that hurt!" she complains and is met with the muzzle of a gun.
% r "Woah! I totally give up!" she exclaims. Thus she becomes Naerose, the hostage.
Sokaku ploddingly, achingly, sweeps his staff around towards the running men. The monk's chant - ancient words, full of power and meaning given to them by generations of Sokaku's family - echo in the sudden silence, as though all else had gone quiet in awe at the monk's abilities.
Mother Russia answers the call, rushing in through the window to ensnare both men in an impromptu avalanche. Sokaku may not be one of her children, but the old man speaks for the world, and understands it in a way that few in the era of steel can claim. The men might cry out, or might not, at the sudden surge of frigid snow sinking in to smother them and snare them, a jail colder, more frigid (but less anal rape-filled) than any on Earth - cold, unyielding justice.
With that, the monk turns to face the man with the gun holding the woman hostage. "..."
With a mighty grunt, the man who is, perhaps, more a child of Russia than any other on the planet picks himself up from the wall. Shaking himself off, he groans and cracks his back. Looking at his handiwork, he chuckles heartily. "Ah... yes, that was good!" He declares, slowly taking stock of the situation as it unfolds...
Sokaku and his staff...
... Avalanche ...
And a hostage.
He'd need to worry about Sokaku in a minute, what on earth that crazy monk was doing was entirely beyond him. For now, there was something far more important to worry about.
"COMRADE!" The Red Cyclone bellows, shaking plaster and bits of wall from his hair. "Surely you do not wish to see what -horrible- things I will do to you if you hurt my good witchy friend, yes? Be careful now, she was enough to give even me a little trouble! She could turn you into a newt with the slightest provocation!"
"Ah.. Please don't make him angry, he might totally shoot me or something!" exclaims the witch.
"She's right -comrade- Now step back or I will be shooting woman now." The man with the gun does not step down for either the monk or the soviet Yeti. He is a desperate man and one who has been in these situations before.
"We will be negotiating my escape now, you will be securing a vehicle for me and I will be taking the woman. If you attempt to follow me I can not promise her safety. I will leave her in the first town I pass through if you comply. She is nothing to me, I will kill her if you do not, I swear it."
Meanwhile Naerose whines because this guy totally has vodka breath and she wrinkles her nose and scrunches her brow and tries to avoid the noxious fumes that erode the senses.
"Please, save me!" exclaims the witch who 'gave even zangief a little trouble'. Suddenly this claim looks very unlikely to the man holding the gun.
Sokaku starts walking. Whether he's concerned for Naerose's safety or not doesn't appear to factor into Sokaku's easy steps towards the man with the gun; his staff rises and falls with the slow, steady pulse of a heart, rapping against the ground evenly and ringing out proudly like the prayer bells in a temple against the howl of the outside world. He continues walking towards the uzi-wielding man...
Even as behind the fellow, his creature rears its head, a demon of indeterminate form, more just a head and arms pulling itself from the abyss to grab the man by the legs (well, by the everything) and send him flying over Sokaku's head into the snow should the unusual chi-assault fall into place. This...doesn't seem to affect Sokaku in the slightest, as he continues walking steadily towards the back door he came from.
The man with the bloody nose cringes as he wakes up, and pretends to go back to being unconscious.
...
Zangief just stares as the chi-monster is created. He says nothing. Not a word. Looking from the gangster, to the hideous, hideous monster behind him, and then back to Naerose. It does not even occur to him that it may be Sokaku's doing- Sokaku looked like some kind of monk, and holy men do not go about summoning monsters. This was the work of...
A WITCH!
Zangief has literally just finished beating the hell out of a truck by letting it hit him. But he doesn't know how to respond to the arrival of... a horrific evil spirit. All the colour drains from his face, and he stares at the gangster, looking him right in the eye before he finds the words to speak.
"YOU FOOL! You've made her angry and DOOMED US ALL! WITCH! WIIIIIITCH!"
And with that, he dives to the side, shielding his head with his arms.
And all of this happens while Naerose, just standing there, realizes she is free and just sort of sinks down in place, looking drained in the traumatized fashion, but the thing that made her feel so out of sorts wasn't necessarily what people expected it would be, it was instead. .
"Man I'm hungry," the witch whines and holds her hands over her tummy.
"Yo.. you don't know what you have do," the man who previously had a gun and a hostage manages. He's lost his gun, he's lost his fight, he can barely speak and not even stand. He needs a bit of rest, but still he talks,
"That thing, she is monster, will eat everything. She will eat Russia poor. Must get rid of her," The man pleads. "We.. have information... See.. there.. " He collapses before pointing toward the opened office door. What likely no one is going to bother to check is the profile they have on Naerose, written by some blogger about nobody fighters that no one has ever heard of. Chief amongst them, Naerose Delphine, with an apitite to rival even the worst. Natrually this was badly translated and taken a little too seriously when she was found asleep in a storage container with weapons during her botched attempt at mailing herself to New Zealand for a vacation.. That is neither here nor there.
"So hungry.." The witch whines. Having spent a week in a box.
Sokaku looks over at Zangief as he starts moving for the door. The Red Cyclone was a credible, capable fighter, but he was still a fighter, and that was reason enough for Sokaku not to get involved. His huge hand opens the door, making to step out of it, unless something suddenly intervened for whatever reason.
The monk stares out into the freezing snow and sleet and wind of Mother Russia quite welcomingly, especially for someone in nothing but a sorceror's garb. He rattles his prayer beads a bit, inhaling and once more drawing on the land for warmth.
"There is food in the warehouse somewhere." He informs the witch, his deep voice echoing through the warehouse and mingling with the howl of the wind. "Look for it, and you will find it."
Zangief becomes aware that he is neither being ripped limb from limb, nor is he having the flesh stripped from his bones by the malevolent demon-spawn of a hungry witch. This is a step up from what he had been led to believe is supposed to happen in situations such as this.
Sloooooowly picking himself up, the Red Cyclone dusts himself down, and then looks to the monk. "Do not worry about the witch." He rumbles, doing his utmost to regain some semblance of dignity as he strides over to pick up the leader of the mob, and sling him over one shoulder like a bag of potatoes. Indeed, this action will gradually be repeated with the rest of the gangsters, too. Stack and store mobsters.
"For her part in ridding Mother Russia of this menace... I am going to treat her to a free meal! You, too, are welcome to join us, friend. Any friend of Mother Russia is a friend of mine."
"Noo.." gasps the leader, no on Zangief's shoulder, "Don't.. feed her, it will only make her hunger worse.. and will only make her expect more. For Russia, I beg you." The man gasps and then loses total consciousness.
Naerose is on her feet instantly, as if the mere mention of food has gotten her totally back to full health, like not feeding her but agreeing to feed her was good enough and that actual feeding of her was not necessary.
"Alright!" she exclaims and even forgets that she's dressed for a warmer climate. Someplace NOT winter. Who ever dresses for Russian weather besides Russians anyway? That country is really cold!
Sokaku almost seems to consider it. Well, alright, he stands there and doesn't just walk out, so that's almost like almost considering it. The monk's head tilts to the side, so that he can look at Zangief out of the corner of his eye, and his mouth moves into a frown.
"I do not have time for frivolity. There is much evil to purify."
It was a little better than 'screw off, you stupid fighter'. Maybe.
With that, the monk rings his staff once, digs into his pocket, and hurls something backwards. Some-things-, actually; little strips of paper, with kanji written in blood, little charms falling to the ground...each finding their mark on the forehead of one of the enemies, and at least one landing on Zangief's forehead (with another on Naerose's for good measure). The charms read - to those literate in Kanji - 'Evil Purification Ritual'.
However, the monk himself has already departed. The blizzard covers his tracks, Mother Russia herself cloaking the old man in secrecy and mystery, and he's already too far away to be seen. However, the song of his prayer rings still echoes in the room, a firm reminder to the evil-doers that Evil Must Be Purified.
Log created on 10:14:53 11/25/2008 by Naerose, and last modified on 16:46:10 11/25/2008.