Description: In a brief moment of peace at the Futaba estate, two injured survivors of the conflict -- Shurui and Frei -- meet as the former goes about her day and the latter wakes from days of recuperative sleep. However, the road to recovery for Frei has an extremely scary surprise on it, one that Shurui herself is in a unique position to understand...
Life goes on. That seems to be the only thing Shurui can possibly say to herself about this whole mess- while it hurts to think about her level of responsibility in Hotaru's, Ichiro's, and even Frei's kidnapping, life's moving on without her. Laundry still needs to get done. Cooking does as well. Making sure the patients are alright, and that the refugees are safe as well. Bugulars and thugs still come and are easily dispatched, even while Shurui's still in the state that she's in.
She's still bitter, however. About Chun-li's disappearance, the fact that she couldn't really save Hotaru, and that, in the midst of it all, no headway seems to have been made in securing some part of Southtown back. NESTS, Shadaloo, Howard... they're attacking their souls now, claiming fighters for their side or corrupting them to become faint semblances of their former selves.
One such person was Frei, who was someone Alma managed to successfully take back. She never got to actively see Frei while he was in this state, but after seeing and directly experiencing Hotaru's change, she could take a guess as to what he was like. The bruises Hotaru left are still blossoming on her body- ugly knots of blue and purple making it hard to move too quickly as she walks through the hallways of Futuba Mansion. Checking on people. Maybe there's a change in Frei.
Busy people, Alma and Kentou... and with the defenders of Southtown making so little headway in preventing disaster from spreading, it's little wonder that people with such heroic souls are off as soon as they feel their bodies let them to leap back into the proverbial fray; doubtless, if Shurui were not so badly hurt, she'd be out there herself. Thus there wasn't a lot of time for chitchat, or explanations, or anything of the sort; the fight that had released him from whatever foul influence was tormenting him left Frei and his rescuers exhausted, drained, and terribly injured. One of the refugees, an EMT that the survivors are blessedly fortunate to have around, took charge of the body at some ridiculous hour of the night, while Shurui was out attempting her own rescue of Hotaru Futaba, the estate's rightful owner.
That was days ago.
In truth, the patient didn't seem in much danger. Clearly unconscious, and obviously badly beaten after fending off the assault on his person, Frei nevertheless seems likely to survive, if nothing else. For the first 12 hours or so his temperature was far too high, and in his sleep his teeth clenched and it was fitful. After that, however, he rested peacefully, fever gradually subsiding... but sleep is certainly what he did. A LOT of it. At least a full day, if not longer. If it weren't for the regular pulse and breathing, the EMT would be much more concerned. As it is, there are people with more pressing injuries in need of his care.
The one thing that nobody could explain, however, was his hair.
That is the first thing that's visible ahead of Shurui, down the hallway, as a groggy and not-entirely-there Frei stumbles up and out of the small room where he'd been kept alone... perhaps in case whatever S.I.N was using to control him made a resurgence, where he wouldn't harm anyone else immediately. Half his body slumps forward, as if some weight were pulling him down, as he leans against the doorjamb; a hand comes up and grips his face, and spilling over his fingers are his unruly locks. Pale white ones, rather than the dark red of normal. But his clothes and his frame give him away even if his face isn't visible. He is awake, and he's not hurling energy blasts at other people or the four walls. All in all, this is an improvement.
Shurui would, if only to find Hotaru. She's never considered herself especially heroic; everything she's done was because a friend was involved. Because her 'home base' was disturbed. The fact that it was for the greater good came secondary. The fact that she heals relatively quickly is a perk as well, even if the girl finds herself getting into painful situations twice as much because of it.
Yet lately, it seems fighting hasn't done much in the way of success. She feels uprooted, a downed tree with its roots dangling in the wind instead of in the ground, firm and solid. Nothing feels right; it's probably because of this that the girl is always pacing around doing chores for the Futuba household. It keeps her mind off things.
And here, it pays off. The signature of his aura is extremely different- muted, even. Almost to the point that Shurui doubts that the person is indeed Frei, as opposed to someone else entirely. But didn't those treatments or conditioning also change Hotaru's as well? "....Hold on." Darting towards the slumping aura (a motion her body very much protests), Shurui positions herself alongside Frei, clinically grasping and guiding him to rest his weight against hers if he'll allow for it. "Your energy level is really low," she says with a grunt. "You can't be moving around yet."
If the camera were from Frei's POV right now, the view would be very stereotypical; black, with the vertical movement of eyelids blinking open slowly and erratically until finally, fully open, they reveal nothing but a blurry, unfocused world that slowly comes into sharpness. Both visually and mentally, that's what the YFCC instructor *feels* like... as if everything is wrapped in cotton and the lens is coated in vaseline. Eventually his hand comes down from his face and, despite Shurui's words muffled in his ear, he glances down at his empty palm for a moment. To him it's like an eternity; to an outside observer, however, it's a fraction of a second, perhaps a little longer. His senses seem to come back to him all at once, however; the feel of the wooden door frame against his arm through the still-ripped Chinese shirt, the sound of Shurui's voice telling him he shouldn't be up and around, the taste of having been asleep for days on his tongue. The hallways of Hotaru's mansion.
Hotaru... the name brings back memories all in one go. Ichiro, a tank... a lab. Hotaru and Ichiro and himself, some scientists. Mizuki in a dark alley. Alma and Kentou. The sound of green.
Eventually, after all that, he turns his head to Shurui and smiles, faintly; he does lean himself on her frame just long enough to stand up from the doorframe, but once he's upright, he seems to be able to stay that way on his own without any danger of imminent collapse on the horizon. He seems... well, how one would expect a person that's been asleep for more than 24 straight hours to seem. Out of it, but he could be much worse. That muted aura, however... not even a visible improvement in his faculties changes that.
He smiles, though it's a little forced from the feeling of fatigue running through his veins. "Shurui... so, I must be..." He looks around again, then back at his companion. "Hotaru's mansion. Hnn..."
Shurui's hands are cool as they support Frei's taller frame for that moment; as clinical as her movements are, it's gentle as well. A cool presence and a young yet mature voice. The girl herself is dressed differently, no longer wearing her trademark hoodie, but a simple white T-shirt that hangs over her thin frame. Pants. Slip-ons.
She stands solid, there, feeling in control. Frei needs help. She can give it. When Frei seems to insist on moving, Shurui goes along with it, despite her misgivings. "... It's probably good that you're up, then. Your body probably needs some food." She looks directly at Frei as best as she can manage, trying to hold his attention as she attempts to ask him a question. "Can you handle soup? We can eat in the kitchen, or I can bring it to you."
Should his aura be so faint? She didn't see him when he came in, or when he was under SIN's control. All she has to go by was her memory of him before this all happened, before even her bout with that psychic flu. Normal, happy Frei. Even during that flu which robbed her of her sight- Frei, comforting her and giving her treats.
She owes it to him to at least be as gracious, even if she sometimes has no idea how to.
He takes in a slow breath, and exhales slowly as well... the sort of breath one takes when a doctor asks to listen to your heartbeat: measured and highly noticeable. And indeed, there IS something very soothing about Shurui's presence. It might be that voice, or simply the steady and no-nonsense personality she has. Either way, the longer she and Frei are in the same relative space, the better this effect on him gets. He stands a little straighter, seems a little more confident. Still, in both his demeanor and his aura, there is still something... reserved. Or perhaps a better word is 'suppressed'? Either way, it doesn't seem to be affecting him negatively in a physical sense, so perhaps it's not so important.
His hair may have changed, but his eyes have not; and unlike during his fight with Alma and Kentou, Frei's green-eyed gaze has regained some of the light and vibrance it normally has. For a moment, the chi sage looks Shurui over, blinking in surprise at obvious evidence of a serious fight. "Wow... how are *you* doing?" he asks, seriously concerned. Those look nasty, even by fighter standards. Momentarily, he realizes that if Alma and Kentou came to his rescue, then certainly someone must have gone after Ichiro and Hotaru too. Didn't Ichiro mention something about Shurui? Right before... the tank... He can't help it. His eyes squint shut for a second, and then he grimaces, putting a hand to his head. Memories aren't exactly clear, and the closer he gets to SIN's administration of the drug into his system, the hazier and more painful they get.
Shaking it off, he takes another deliberate breath before opening his eyes. "Soup sounds... pretty good, actually. Lead on to the kitchen," he says, gesturing in front of him with a hand. He doesn't know his way around Hotaru's abode, and Shurui clearly does.
The more Shurui looks at Frei's aura, the more disturbed she feels. She's missing something. Could it really be fatigue?
Hotaru's aura was... stormy. Excessive. Her energy was amplified significantly, making the already skilled martial artist a deadly powerhouse. If Shurui wasn't close to death when Hotaru pinned her against that wall and finally recongized her, she was getting there. her gaze looks pained as Frei looks over her bruises, remembering the panicked look in Hotaru's eyes. The confusion. The realization that she raised a fist against someone she swore to get revenge for.
"Worry about yourself," Shurui finally says, her voice soft, attempting to usher Frei along with her body movement as he deals with a sudden bout of nausea. "You have enough on your plate as it is."
The kitchen is found easily enough, despite Frei's guide being mostly blind. Her footsteps and hands are of that of someone who has the entire place memorized, top to bottom, every detail in its place. Leading Frei to a table, she crosses over to the fridge, her fingers touching the handle before pulling it open. "Do you hate egg drop soup?" Eggs mean protein. Vegetables can be added for more nutrients. Broth means liquid. Warm soup means a warm body.
Frei may be in better shape than expected, but when they reach the kitchen and he's ushered into a chair, he can't help but let a bit of relief run through his system. Passing a rack of hanging pots, he turns and looks at one on his way to the table... and blinks, briefly. Apparently, his hazy reflection in the shiny metal is the first time he's seen his own hair, and it takes him by surprise. As Shurui asks her question about soup preference, Frei brings a hand up and ruffles his own bangs for a moment, looking confused. Eventually, after a brief silence that may prompt Shurui to turn, he says "No! No, I'm a big fan, actually... I used to live in the mountains in China," he says, crossing to the table and having a seat. "It was easy to make and good at keeping out the cold in the winter."
Slumping into the chair, Frei leans forward and crosses his arms on the table briefly, letting his head rest on his wrists while Shurui goes about the preparation of the meal. As comforted as he is by her presence, something is gnawing at the back of his mind, and has been ever since he got up. The quiet in the house might be it, or the (erroneous) feeling that only he and Shurui are around in a relatively big home. He'd put it down to nerves, or grogginess, but the longer he's awake the more insistent it is. Briefly, the green-eyed gaze looks at a wall, but really, Frei's not looking at anything in particular; he has the unfocused-looking expression of someone staring into space.
Rather suddenly, there's the jarring sound of his chair scraping across the floor.
Should Shurui turn around at *that*, she would find Frei sitting bolt upright, looking down at both of his upturned palms -- held out in front of him as if he were cupping water, or holding a round object -- with an expression that is a combination of shock and horror. His eyes are wide, and his mouth moves a little bit, but he's not actually saying anything intelligble, or even mouthing such...
White hair. It'd be as if he was one of NESTS's experiments, with their pale hair. Shurui. K'. Krizalid. It's hard telling where this 'deformity' of sorts came from in the cases of those examples- perhaps stress? A mark of someone's bid to play god? Or just some relatively harmless quirk of DNA? For Frei, the reasons could be even more vast.
Shuffling around the refridgerator among a host of containers marked with bright tape in many colors, Shurui takes out some bowls and an egg carton, setting them on the counter, opening one and sniffing to confirm its identity. In fact, a lot of things are marked by bright colors and stickers; they seem to be more for Shurui's benefit than anything else. Unhooking the very pan Frei was observing his reflection in seconds earlier, she stops as she hears the chair scooting, turning around.
What she expected to see was a possibly restless Frei, deciding to get up and move around while she cooked. Or someone adjusting his chair.
She didn't expect him to be staring at his hands, his emotion reading so clearly on her sixth sense's radar. ".... Frei?" She walks over to his side, leaving the food and pan on the counter. "Something up?"
"I... I..."
How do you even begin to describe it?
Imagine that ever since you were a child, you had an imaginary friend. A nice one, a shy one... not the type that made you do awful things and blame them for it, but one that reassured you, comforted you. Suggested the right things to do, when you wavered. And instead of speaking it would hum... a pleasant tune, quiet (it IS imaginary), barely on the edge of your hearing. But *non-stop*. And then you turn 20 and you have some sort of accident and you wake up one morning and the imaginary friend is gone. What you're suddenly confronted with is the empty space that the humming used to occupy, and instead of it being small and at the back of your mind it becomes something of a consuming black hole, eating up your attention, screaming and clawing at you.
The wide-eyed expression on Frei's face doesn't quite convey all that, and anyway the metaphor isn't very exact or even very close to the truth. But it takes him a while to find his voice, and he doesn't move his hands; he keeps staring at them, as if expecting *something* to either be there already, or materialize out of thin air. Clearly, nothing does.
After a moment, a shellshocked-looking Frei puts his hands down, palm-down, on his thighs, and turns to look up at Shurui, blinking a few times a t the dark brown of her eyes, the words coming out in the airy and distracted tone of someone who's realized a fact but hasn't yet comprehended the enormity of its implications. "It's gone. I can't... I can't feel or sense anything. It's not... listening to me."
"...." Shurui's quiet that while, as Frei stares in shocked silence at his hands. What could she say? What would she say? The suspuicion that Frei may be relapsing into his former SIN-enabled state is one that Shurui actively considers; could she handle someone like that by herself in her state? Maybe she could have tried to find Alma. Or... someone.
She feels lost again.
But then, he speaks again. "Are you talking about your aura? Your energy?" Perhaps this is where psycho and chi energy differs: chi comes from nature. The whole. And with that comes the sense that you are of that whole and collective. Psycho energy comes from the self, the soul. It is not an 'other' unless the mind makes it so. It's a manifestation of the soul. Why these two types spread themselves so unevenly is a mystery, but what is known is that core fact: the self of other. "Your aura looks faint to me- could you just still be waking up?"
She should voice the fact that it could be a side effect of whatever experiments they used, as well, but something holds her back from that level of bluntness. Perhaps it's the panic in his voice, how it reminds her of the moment when she found she couldn't see anymore after her bout with Ryan. The sense of being helpless all over again. ".... I don't know what they put you through.... but if it's anything like Hotaru, your chi..." She cuts off, realizing her mentioning of Hotaru. She composes herself. "Your chi might be repairing itself. Going into hibernation."
The return of Frei's breathing to a relatively normal pattern, in the silence between his statements and then, after Shurui's, is the first real indicator he has that he was, in a way, going into a state of panic. And what Shurui says makes sense, really. His memories of what went down are hazy, but he does remember coming to his senses at the very last... and the feeling of all that built-up energy releasing itself in one final, inexorable burst of raw destructive power. With it came so many other feelings, but probably the worst was the sense that his entire body was on fire, every nerve ending and feeling blazing with the energy of the SIN drug consuming him... not that he has a name for that. His memories of *that* process are even hazier than of his fights with Mizuki, Alma, and Kentou.
Another slow breath in, then out, before he turns to Shurui with a grateful smile... clearly she put words to his own hopes so he wouldn't have to, and he nods his head slowly. "It... could be," he admits. "I know I have *something* left since I'm still alive. All living things have *some* chi, even..." He pauses, realizing he was about to say: 'even people like you'. He chokes on the phrase for a second, cringing a little, and then continues on regardless. "But... but normally I can feel it in the air, too, and other people, and now I can't. It's a bit like..." He pauses again, and then gives Shurui an expression that's a combination of sadness and embarrassment. "A bit like losing a sense, I guess."
That comment hangs in the air a moment, before the *rest* of what she's said sinks in, and the white-haired head comes up again, an expression of surprise and concern replacing the shame he felt at himself a moment before. "You saw her? Is she alright? What about Ichiro?"
Shurui knows that feeling. She never had a sense of what it was like to see, so there was never a sense of losing her sense of sight. Losing that sixth sense, however, was devastating; she felt distant, disconnected. Unable to judge people. Everything was a mush of blotchy colors instead of solid shapes of energy, moving with no sense of being alive or something undead.
It felt wrong, even after only having this ability for a few years.
"..... Yeah." Her eyelids lower; her hand strays to Frei's shoulder, cool fingers pressing against the fabric of his clothing. "Lost. Disconnected. Suspended. Empty. Numb. I was like that, when you met me the last time." Her lips form a frown. "Dunno how it differs for chi. I still had some semblance of psycho power, but... it was like having a phantom arm when it picked up something. It didn't feel like me, and yet, it did."
The subject of Ichiro and Hotaru makes Shurui's face go pale. ".... She's free of Shadaloo," she finally says. "... Whatever they did to her is still effecting her, though. I think." Her gaze looks down, her voice quiet and hoarse. "I don't remember much beyond a certain point. Haven't heard anything about Ichiro."
There's a guilty expression on her face as she turns away. "You need to get some food in you." She doesn't have time to feel guilty about things. "Time won't wait for us to recover. That's why we have to at least try to keep going. Even if your chi keeps the way that it is, you're still strong enough to help people here once your body's mended." She places a pot on the stove. "The mansion'll be here for you. Just as it was for me when you saw me last time."
A moment or two passes as Frei watches Shurui carefully, listening intently to that description of how things were for her. He doesn't know a lot about psycho power; in fact, other than what few bits he's been able to piece together from Alma, Shurui herself, and in one case his own younger brother, he knows very little. But the way the grey-haired young lady describes the various feelings in his head fairly well, and the YFCC instructor is compelled to take her at her word. The evocative and personal way that she describes it... it has a compelling ring of personal experience to it. And it *is* how he feels... like there's a world out there of sensory input, of knowledge, even of comforting presence, that is suddenly gone. It's like waking up in a dark room with no door and nothing in it.
The news about Hotaru isn't great, but it's better than nothing... the lack of information about Ichiro, however, makes Frei cringe more than a little. Knitting his brow, he looks down at his hands, folding them together on the table. "Shadaloo..." he starts, murmuring, before shaking his head and looking back to Shurui. "I've heard the name, a couple times, but I don't know anything about them... well, until now," he says, voice and expression becoming thoughtful. "But Hotaru is... tough. Tougher than she might look," he adds, thinking back to the blue-haired girl's experiences in the past, experiences Frei himself was a part of. Yes... she's a survivor, for sure. "We'll find her. We'll find them both." He tries to sound sure, but it doesn't 100% work. Of course, as far as Frei's concerned, NOTHING in the world is sure right now.
As Shurui walks back toward the soup, he looks up at the ceiling, saying nothing, but taking stock. Yeah... he's alive, and in control of his faculties. He's hurt, but it'll heal. All in all, even the price he paid doesn't seem too awful in comparison. No matter what, life continues if you keep doing your best to live it.
"Yeah... yeah. Let's... do our best." Even if she hadn't asked -- well, 'stated' more than asked -- Frei would be back in the battle as soon as he felt able. Not because he feels obligated, but because it's what he wants to do. Because he knows things now that won't let him stand by. Because freedom to do as one chooses is the cornerstone of everything he believes in, and this occupation... when it boils down to it, is a bunch of people trying to take that choice away from those too weak to do anything about it.
He is not. Shurui is not.
"Whatever that might be..." he adds, looking down at his hands again. He has to get out there and try. But... what is he going to do, now...
Log created on 20:21:01 04/19/2009 by Frei, and last modified on 02:49:05 04/20/2009.