Description: A fine day on a beautiful Spanish beach. The successful fighting model, Drake 'Domino' Vyril, newly arrived on the latest leg of his new tour, has a chance encounter...that may very well change the course of his career forever! Probably not, though.
Barcelona! Bright suns, warm air, lots of people, and pretty darn posh! It's -the- place to go when you hit Spain, and it happens to be where Drake "Domino" Vyril's jet has set down to continue the World Tour. Having been in town for only two hours so far, he's had enough time to find a hotel room and freshen up. Why here? Because he's not sure where exactly the combat location will be for his next fight, and he rather enjoys soaking in the cultures of these places. He's only ever been here for the sake of modeling, and never very long. He always loved it, though.
As for his next opponent? Apparently a local legend in fighting, but not much else information on him. Nevertheless, Drake's stoked about seeing what the country has to offer, and pitting his own skill against him in the ring. Awesome experience, excellent publicity, and who knows? Maybe an ally!
For now, however, Drake's opting to examine what Barcelona has to offer in terms of beaches. What he's found is a rather nice stretch of sand, and though the water's full of boats of varying sizes, he can't help but admire the Spanish setting. The rich blue sky, the fluffy clouds, the people milling about in their own upper-class lives... it's very picture-esque. So for the moment, he's standing just on the edge of the shore, hands cocked casually to his hips and gaze set out over the waves.
The beach is mostly picturesque, at least. At the moment, there is but one thing marring its pristine majesty, one complication sticking out of it like a sore thumb. A man, dripping and caked in sand, staggering down the beach with one hand held protectively over his eyes.
If it were any other day, perhaps that would be all there was to it; however, as the man makes his way down the beach, step after shaky, halting step, he stops. His head turns, slowly and inexorably. If he weren't already squinting from the sun, his eyes would narrow. Perhaps Drake can feel the eyes on him, radiating a dangerous feeling of hatred, pure rage; certainly, a pretty young couple nearby takes a step back, although that might be from a variety of other failings in personal hygeine that the man has going for him.
Raising an unsteady finger to point directly at the man called Domino, Dr. Tran speaks. "You...YOU!" Gradually breaking into a run toward the wrestler, he starts to scream. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-" His hand curls into a fist raised over his head. "-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAwait a second." Stopping dead in his tracks with a spray of sand, Tran lets his arms drop and takes a couple of deep breaths. "You...who are you? You're not..." The doctor lets his sentence trail off, opting instead to stare at Drake, obvious confusion on his face.
Rolling water.
Seagulls.
Screaming lunatic.
Crashing waves.
Wait. Screaming lunatic? Drake's head snaps in Tran's direction, and his eyes widen. All he can make out of this situation is that a mad scientist wants him. Or hates him. Drake has offended the natural order of things! Or defies scientific law! He's not sure how, but be damned if he's going to allow himself to take a beating for it! So he sets into his stance, feet spreading wider, hands lifting, and preparing to-
-stand stupidly in front of his 'attacker' when things suddenly come to a stop. "Uh.. Domino," Drake replies. Best to give the ring name to people he doesn't know. Amethyst eyes narrow briefly, brow knitting in confusion. "Err.. we know each other?"
Domino's brow isn't the only one that's knitting. Tran's mouth works its way around the name presented to him, testing it out softly, trying to determine where he knows it from. "Dom...dom...domino...domino..."
Shaking his head, Dr. Tran's mouth keeps moving, slapping open and shut as he tries to get it to stop being so dry. Finally, he decides to press on anyway. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."
He's silent, then, letting the gentle sounds of the beach wash over him. "You're not just jerking my chain, right? What kind of name is Domino, anyway? That's not a name, that's..."
Tran kicks at the sand, waving one hand around in a pointless circle. "Well, it is, I mean, but for a little black thingy, not a people."
"Aw, c'mon..," Drake sighs at the lack of recognition. His fame in professional wrestling, modeling, and entrance in street fighting has spoiled him somewhat, it's true! His posture slacks a bit, shoulders slouching briefly. But when the name is questioned, Drake becomes animated with a jump and fistclench.
"It's poetic! Metaphorical! It's my fighting name! I have a -real- name, of course, but the name 'Domino' has a lot more impact!" Gush.
Poetic? It is way too early for Tran to deal with...wait. "What time is it?" Tran starts to look upward toward the sun, then thinks better of it and yanks his coat up over his head like some kind of demented hunchback.
"Whatever, doesn't matter. The point...the point is...look. You can't have a fighting name, and look at you, you can't be a...a fighty guy." Tran gestures vaguely with one hand, then starts fumbling into his coat pocket, in doing so negating his own recently constructed sun-shield. He gets a bottle, which he shakes at Drake meaningfully. "It's been done, is the thing."
The question completely throws off Drake's empassioned poise almost violently, the young supermodel staggering back into a casual posture. "I.. have no idea. Didn't check the time lapse off the jet, and-.."
-And this man keeps changing his pace! Drake's expression scrunches, and his hands ball into fists. This guy is quickly becoming frustrating! He moves forward and brushes past the threatening bottle to jam his index finger before Tran's face. "Look, you! I've been a professional wrestler for years, I'm the leader of the Shooting Stars, I've warred against the Shadaloo forces in Thailand, I've been a pretty heavy participator in Neo League's past seasons, and I'm in Spain right now to face its best fighter as a part of my World Tour!"
He falls silent there, and the tension visibly rises in his demeanor. One obsidian eyebrow twitches a little lower than the other.
"A-and the name's cool!"
As soon as Domino gets a little bit threatening, Dr. Tran's demeanor completely changes. His posture straightens, and suddenly he's barely breathing. His look is closer now to what it was when he first approached the wrestler. But he waits in silence as the credentials are presented, his only action to pop off the bottle's lid with one hand, then quickly upend the contents into his mouth.
When Drake adds his final insistance of his name's coolness, Tran swallows loudly. "Really." The doctor's expression is flat as he carefully considers what to say next. There's no rush, clearly, as he stretches his neck out, rolling it around with a horrendous cracking and popping. When he's done, he stares the taller man right in the, uh, neck, about.
"Doesn't matter, never heard of them, if you were in Thailand you're a dumbass, the Neo League may as well be a spitting contest, and last I checked Blood was in Strolheim snuggling with Krauser or whatever it is they do together in that god-forsaken castle."
Tran pauses. "And if it's a fighting name, it's practically dumb by definition."
Drake deflates promptly. No, really. He deflates. In as much a literal way as a person can.
It begins with his mouth unhinging from his jaw in an almost cartoony way, and the outstretched arm hangs. Then the shoulders go, and the rigidity in his body unlocks entirely. It's nothing short of a miracle that he doesn't simply fall over.
"You're just plain unpleasant, aren't you?," Drake accuses more weakly. His eyes narrow a little, and the rigidity returns to his body as he folds his arms tight over his chest. Stubborn as can be. "You're just livin' under a rock, Mister. Poke your head out every once in a while, and maybe you'll catch up with the rest of the world!"
Drake's eyes shut and he turns his head askance, cocky smile on his face. "Blood.. feh. Don't know who that is. -I'm- up against a legend of Spain."
"Probably because he IS under a rock. A miserable, cold, wet, rock. About as completely unlike here as you can get." Tran sweeps his arm across over the view of the beach. "Wherever it is. We are. Whatever. It's not a rock, is my point."
Tran pauses, more or less uncaring that he deflated the younger fighter, or that he's trying to rally. "And you've got an ego, don't you? Kch." The doctor spits to one side, a futile gesture considering his mouth feels about as sandy as the beach. "Goddamn pretty-asses, always thinking they're all that, like getting a haircut at a salon gives 'em the right to rule the world..." Tran continues grousing about Drake, but by the way his eyes are unfocused, it's like he's complaining to himself more than anyway else.
Drake's eyes open again to peer towards Tran out of their corners. "Hey, no commenting on my a-," he begins, only to pause as a thought occurs to him. "..Are you drunk, Mister?" Really, it's amazing how sheltered some people can be, despite the world at large.
His posture relaxes a bit and he turns once more to face Tran, less imposing and defensive. His left hand sets to the back of his neck, scratching awkwardly. "Can't be too safe like that in a place like this. Your pocket'd probably get picked pretty fast," he warns helpfully. "And a guy in a coat like yours would probably make a pretty noticable mark."
"I was drunk. Past tense." Tran pauses a moment, looking down as he tries to recall, exactly. "This is the part where I'm cranky and hungover and it's bright and you're annoying."
Closing his eyes and rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Tran sighs. "Look, I appreciate the thought, really I do, but I don't need you to tell me to watch out for myself." It's kind of endearing, how he thinks Tran doesn't know any better. But mostly it's kind of irritating. "So just...go lounge somewhere and then go have your little fight and I'm sure it will be very pretty and nice." It would be difficult to be more condescending than the doctor at this moment.
"So then you're hungo-..." Tran confirms it for him, and Drake looks rather amused at first. But then just a bit annoyed, himself. "Y'know, maybe you should show up to it. Lay off the booze enough to pick up a newspaper or focus on the tele' to see when and where it'll be." His right hand lifts, fingers snapping in the air. "Might learn to recognize talent when it's staring you in the face, old-timer."
Drake all but 'hmph's with that. The look is there at least, until a few stray bangs of obsidian drift over his right eye. These are dealt with via puff of air from the lips. "Why don't you sleep it off, eh?"
"That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard." Tran's response might be a little overly testy, but to be fair Drake just called him old-timer. It's not even that the doctor minds being thought of as old, so much as he's annoyed that the wrestler thinks it should annoy him.
Oh, the tangled webs.
"Even if for some reason I wanted to see you fight, and I don't because you're an arrogant jerk just to be clear, I sincerely doubt you're all that. No Terry Bogard, that much is clear just looking at you." Tran snorts, derision evident in the gesture. "Hell, you're probably not even a Hotaru Futaba."
Age gaps. What can you do, right? But the accusation of ego and jerk-dom gets a couple blinks from Drake, followed by a smaller, more internally focused frown. "I am not!," he protests. "I'm a pretty nice guy 'til someone comes up and starts insulting me!" For some reason or another, that actually seems to have stung him somewhat. "And for your information, I just finished fighting Hotaru for the Japanese chapter."
Eyes shift after a beat of silence from him.
"I wouldn't want to be Hotaru, anyway. Might make my being male kind'a weird." He's just tossing that out there.
"You're the one who started braggin' all over the place." Although it is true that maybe Tran was a little harsh. Drake deserved it, but still...maybe Tran should say something, make an attempt at peace while he still can. "Wouldn't be that weird. Hell, fake boobs and a wig and you're basically there."
Or maybe he'll say that, instead. Whoops.
"You were questioning my credentials!," Drake argues back, suddenly turned on Tran again.
But the comment on the looks earns... the eye-twitch. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not into cross-dressin' or gender-bending." His back stiffens, and the arms re-fold over his chest. The teen gives Tran an assessing once-over, and a smirk draws over his lips. "Now it was weird enough that you go and talk about my fine ass, but to start picturing me in drag? Startin' to think I might need an adult over here."
"You don't even really need the fake boobs, frankly." Tran just throws that out there while scratching at his chin. More dried sand scrapes off, and the small asian man suddenly feels a need to stare at his fingernail. Is it really that intriguing?
No, probably not, but it helps to convey exactly how bored and totally not-annoyed Dr. Tran is. Nevermind the mild grinding of teeth. "Really? Is this really what we're doing now?" Tran looks up to stare directly into Domino's eyes. "Are you really going to turn this into a round of 'you're gay, no you'?" Breaking away with a disgusted look on his face, Tran shakes his head. "God, I hope I'm wrong and you're halfway decent in a fight, because otherwise I'd have to feel bad about all this."
Drake screws up his expression. "You starte-", he starts to say, but catches himself.
Whoa, seriously, he was about to take it down that road. Drake shoots a look off to the side in an odd sort of silence, attempting to recollect himself for just a moment. His left fist lifts to his lips.
A-hem.
Drake's gaze returns to Tran. "Frankly, I'll be surprised if you remember any of this." After another moment, his shoulders lift in a mild shrug. "Just who're you, anyway?"
Unexpectedly, Dr. Tran finds his opinion of Mr. Domino rising. Not highly, but a little. He was still about to, but at least he had the awareness to stop himself. That's worth something!
Unfortunately, it looks like Drake's still not a rocket scientist. Or at least anyone with a firm working understanding of alcohol. "That's...nggg." Tran clutches at his head with both hands, feeling almost physically pained. Beyond the actual, real headache pain.
"The blackout's already happened, but, just...nevermind. Nevermind. I'm...ugh, I guess I owe you an introduction at least." Suddenly feeling surprisingly self-concious, Tran begrudingly lets it slip, softly. Barely more than a mumble. "Dr. Tran."
"It'd be fair, considering," Drake offers, as if to make it easier. His lack of knowledge on alcohol? Well, to those who really know him, that wouldn't be much of a surprise. He's underaged still, and what alcohol he -does- get ahold of, is always wine. Never enough to even get tipsy.
Not to his knowledge, anyway.
"Dr. Tran, huh?," he repeats. The young wrestler considers for a moment before deciding, what the Hell. He'll just ask. "Are you actually on-duty out here?"
To help explain, he gestures towards the coat with a hand.
"I..." Tran continues rubbing at his temples. "Did you actually just ask that? You just asked that." He sighs. "I just woke up, not more than fifteen minutes ago, on the beach over there, after what I can only assume was a hell of a bender because I can't remember it for the life of me. Yesterday, I wasn't even in this country." Tran staggers a step or two up the beach, away from the ocean.
"I hope that answers your question, because I'm done, before you make my headache worse."
Return of the tiny frown. "Hey, you wear the uniform... and -I- don't know the Spanish customs that well." Drake seems content enough to let the man be on his way, however, if that is his wish. But not before one final thing. "Find the fight when it takes place, if you've got the time. I might surprise you, who knows?"
It's an effort to be polite, at least. But that being done, this was one Hell of a way to start his journey through Spain. What a precursor, at that. Drake turns to face the ocean again, expression slightly skewed towards reflective bemusement. This is going to be one heck of a stay, apparently.
Log created on 01:31:40 12/27/2008 by Tran, and last modified on 02:14:02 12/29/2008.