Description: In this incomplete log, something about Drake setting up a fight against Varvara that appears to never have happened.
One uber long hiatus means a lot of floating questions. A lot of unanswered questions doesn't bode for happy fans, and unhappy fans makes for a sad Domino. It's bad enough the World Tour was put on a huge delay, but for the people who were keeping track to be bummed out is just plain wrong! Thus, most of the muggy morning has been dedicated to answering what questions he can via small computer cafe. It's nothing special, just a relaxed little spot in the middle of Southtown, but Drake still manages to not fit in. With his punky style of clothes, it would seem more likely that he has no idea how to even use a computer.
But he does! Or at least, the general knowledge of how to update a very basic website and forum.
Finally though, he's finished. The schedule has been updated (and should reflect that shortly), and he's not quite sure what to do with himself for the rest of the day. So the teen heads for the door to step outside onto the sidewalk again.
Southtown. Home of the strongest fighters - a city still in turmoil after the uprooting and removal of its corrupt shadowy overlord, only for new faces to scramble to reap what rewards they can in the vacuum. Even as time passes, this is still not exactly a stable city. Especially what with all that mess going on over in Taizhou.
Across a broad range of desires for the world at large shared among those with the power to affect the way the world turns, the way people live... some just have simpler wants and needs, charging headfirst through life with their simple understandings and ways.
Varvara Economou, a Greek Cypirot who decided her destiny lay inside Southtown, is very, very hungry.
That merciful bit of money from when she (unwisely) jumped on a deal almost gone entirely bad didn't last too long. Not having a home in these parts to go to is, fortunately, not as huge of a problem when you can probably scare away a number of people despite a modest height. This particular alley has approached something towards comfort the last week or so.
That people keep throwing away half-eaten food nearby, all the better.
Stepping out of the alley to begin her usual rounds for spare change or some sort of meal out in the muggy weather. Stretching her muscles in mid-walk along the sidewalk, she catches the back of a teenager's head along the way.
It seems kinda familiar even looking from behind. She's seen a whole lot of magazines with his profile on 'em. If it's /him/, a part of her wants to see what he looks like when he's not all dolled up for cameras or anything like that.
She hastens her pace behind Domino - if it is indeed him to begin with.
Paparazzi. It goes for the most well-renowned fighters, movie stars, musicians, and other celebrities. Supermodels aren't terribly high on their list, but when one is combined with the world of fighting, it tends to draw them in like mad. Benimaru and Alma could likely verify this. And due to this, it eventually makes one a bit more aware of their surroundings. Perhaps it's a disturbance in the flow of chi that Drake's finally starting to feel more attuned to around him, rather than just in him. Or perhaps it's something something far more mundane, like the sound of hastened feet behind him amidst a myriad of slower-moving people. Whatever it is, it causes him to turn around and spot the woman.
His head tilts slightly to the side as he takes her appearance in. No, she's definitely not paparazzi. She might be an attacker, but he's not stepped on anyone's toes lately that he's aware of. She's dressed the part of a fighter, with her handguards and taping. In the end, he just gives a pleasant, but curious smile.
She's not just /dressed/ the part of a fighter, she looks it. Her facial expression, in comparison to his pleasant smile, is seemingly locked in a slight frown as she slows down a ways behind him.
"You're Domino or something, aren't you," she asks bluntly as she takes in his face which... doesn't seem too different from the magazines? Just look at that face. It's like it's free of any... blemishes or much of anything that suggests he does any real fighting. It vexes her just looking at him, alluring as those eyes may be.
"Some kinda big shot 'round the world or something, aren't you," she adds on top of that.
Well, yes, there's that too. Blame a model for noticing a girl's clothes before her face, why don't you!
The youngster nods eagerly. "Yep, Domino. Kind've a big shot," he agrees, smile turning more impish. He even tosses her an upwards thumb in approval. "But that's not really fair. You know me, but I don't think I've had the pleasure." Apparently in a rather chipper mood, despite how in these situations he usually finds a fist flying at his moneymaker, he thrusts a hand out to her.
It's also an incredibly ugly face. Scarred. This is someone who is not going to have a future in any sort of modeling career (her height is also a significant issue).
She wonders if that smile is nervous or... practiced, or something, she's not used to seeing people try and smile at her so brazenly. Well, random strangers, more or less, like these two here are.
"Varvara." She doesn't meet the handshake. There's some finger pointing. "How's a guy with a face like that get all famous as a fighter?"
This is probably not an admirer!!
"I don't see a single friggin' scratch or bump."
The smile dims a little and his hand lowers. But Drake opts for a more teasing, mirthful approach rather than being outright offended - Hell, maybe she wasn't trying to be mean or something. "Skill," he replies.
...
"Plus magic."
The hands stuff into his pockets, and he hunches his shoulders forward a little. "Maybe one a little more than the other," he suggests with a deliberately careless tune to his voice.
There's a somewhat obnoxious sniff, her nose wrinkling at that explanation. "So let me get this straight in layman's terms," she crinks her neck a bit, her tone no less venomous or anything of that sort. There is a definite sort of mean-spiritedness behind her.
Or bluntness.
"You got money and a cute mug." She all but sneers when he's putting his hands in his pockets, the forward hunching being interpreted by her as him looking down on her. "So who do I gotta meet? If you're gettin' rich just standin' around looking pretty, they're sitting on a lot of lunches."
Her stomach growls noisily at the thought. Who knows what /he/ does with that money beyond continuing to stand around and look pretty, she knows what she'd do with an apparent salary like his!
"Hahah! C'mon, there's more to it than that!," Drake chirps, for some reason more charmed than put off by her attitude. Or perhaps he's more amused. The fact that she's female doesn't hurt her, of course, any tabloid would tell her that. Nevermind that she has her... setbacks, we'll say.
But the girl's noisy midsection draws his attention, smile dulling into a surprised look. Oh.. snap. For someone who likes to think he's helping the world, he seems to have totally blanked on this woman. She's not giving him the business for the sake of being mean. Her demeanor, her word choice - 'lunches' - the rough look about her...
Ah, now he feels like a jerk.
"Hey, uh.. I was actually just headed to get a bite to eat," he lies, jutting a thumb over his shoulder. "If you wanna join me, I can tell you all about it. My treat?" He gives a hopeful little smile at that, spirits clearly dampened by something he's not saying.
The end of that first paragraph there, that's putting it so incredibly nicely. So very incredibly nicely. Perhaps Domino is truly a gentleman in the face of something you wouldn't want to grace the cover of a glamor magazine with.
Her eyes suddenly follow his thumb while she's busy parsing those almost nervous-sounding words of a most bold lie.
Her eyes narrow. Is she mad? No. There is something far more important at stake beyond the scopes of honor and envy.
She is so freaking hungry.
"Then we're goin'." She declares. It's not a suggestion, it's an outright command, trying to grab Drake's lean arm and literally just drag him there.
"Glad you're paying," she adds. If he shows resistance to being dragged there, she's not above sweeping him straight off his feet and just outright carrying him there.
"Yeah, it's-"
Grabbed! Drake finds himself being tugged along, and he tries to get her to pause to ask her something. Instead, he winds up just hefted up and carted along, most likely just draped over a shoulder with a helpless look on his face.
"So, this how you usually make friends?," he asks wryly. "So, Varvara, huh? Where're ya from?"
An icon of male beauty is being given the business by a thuggish lady. This is probably the sort of thing that tabloid reporters will get a laugh over, if they see it. It may also literally break the hearts of thousands of adoring fans on the mistaken perception he may have actually /chosen/ this... hungry dog.
She doesn't say much about the 'making friends' business. She's going to make sure he's putting his money where his mouth is. And then turning that money into nourishing things to put in /her/ mouth. It's math even a low-brow simpleton like her can get right.
"Cyprus." She replies in regards to where she's from. "Why? You want to prance around in makeup there?"
Coming along towards the front door, she doesn't think of putting the poor wrestler down. No, she's more than happy to just open the door with her shoulder with a little more force than is actually warranted, a loud 'thud' as the door swings open into a wall.
"Get us seats," she tells whoever looks like a waiter and God help them if they have to ask how many!!
Drake just sort've dangles there. Indeed, the professional wrestler is being manhandled by a shorter woman. "I might!," he fusses at her. ..Prance around in makeup? No. Just, no. But hey, maybe it /would/ be a nice place for a shoot. He's never really looked into it!
They bust in (literally) and the wait-staff person stares blankly for a second. "Uh.. h-how ma-"
Drake frantically waves his arms and shakes his head.
"..Right this way!" And he turns to guide the two.. or rather, just her with her luggage, to a nice little booth where he then sets down menus.
Fortunately for our local prettyboy of the moment, he is (not so gently) set down on his seat while she takes hers. There's not even a pause of small talk, she opens the menu so fast it's a small wonder she just doesn't rip the poor menu in two and sets about looking for what the most filling thing looks like.
"Oh. That looks so good," her tone lightens up some. Her stomach growls again. This is what sucks about restaurants, you have to PICK and CHOOSE and you can't eat the whole menu.
...
Well, you could eat the whole menu but it's probably not... supposed to be eaten. Why the hell would you want to eat plastic and ink?
Plop.
Drake is sat down, and the moment his eyes set to Varvara again, she's already looking as though she's settled in. Outstanding. His eyes lower to the menu, slightly dazed, and starts to open it. That's about the time he realizes the waiter is still standing there.
"Oh, water!," he notes. "And, ah, whatever she wants." A look is shot over to Varvara curiously. "..And let's just make it a burger'n fries for me. Keep it simple." And American.
Let's take a good look at Varvara here. The way she's built, the way she carries herself, it seems almost too obvious what she'd ask for, as if maybe in a stark contrast to any sort of perception of what feminine tastes should lean towards.
"Water," she says without looking away from the menu. Then she points her finger at a picture of... a salad. Not even a meaty salad, just a simple arrangement of fresh leafy green matter.
"Five of these," she says. It earns a funny look, but the menu is eventually taken from her with a degree of reluctance. As though there are doubts that these five salads could hold her.
Maybe she'll just grab another one if it's not enough.
Five salads. Drake's mouth hangs slightly open at this, the menu snatched away from him without so much as noticing. When he finally does realize what's happened, the waiter is already gone. So he's back to looking at Varvara, dumbfounded. "..Five salads?," he asks. "That's.. pretty impressive."
Clearing his throat and regaining his composure, he settles back into his seat. "You look like a fighter," he points out finally. "How long have you been at it?"
"They make 'em quick." Varvara offers her nugget of wisdom. "I'm hungry. Simple as that." She leans back in her seat in order to await her meal that just may not be her entire meal because she hasn't eaten all that well in who knows how long by now.
Refuse is rarely filling. It's bad enough when your body has a lot of itself to feed.
"How long?" She repeats that first part of Drake's question. "You mean fighting-fighting, or..."
"They usually don't bring things out by themselves, though. They'll probably give you your salads when they bring me my food, too." Drake's head lowers slightly, scratching at its side lightly. "Aheh... anyway.."
His amethyst eyes lift back to Varvara, brow quirked slightly. "Either way! Which do you think is more important?" His elbow sets atop the table, which in turn props his chin upon palm.
If she has to wait, Domino there had better pray they cook hamburgers very rare here. Very, very, very rare. That stomach growling from before did not lie about how hungry she was.
She gets a little grumpier when he props up his head as though either one doesn't make a difference. Following the suggestion of the possible wait, her mood darkens just a little more.
"The kind where people get hurt," she says with a straight face even with the underlying irritation over the prospect, "long as I've been able."
"Uh-huh...," trails Drake, studying the woman across from him with a degree more scrutiny than previously expressed. "So what brings you all the way to Southtown? Looking to get into more fights?" It would seem the obvious reason. It's why /he/ moved here, after all. "And what is it you fight for, anyway?"
She's starting to massage her own stomach at this point in an attempt to settle her stomach's desire to not try and eat itself out of hunger. C'mon, any minute, now, come out with those damn salads or she's going to go in there and eat them right in the kitchen.
She sees a little packet of ketchup. Maybe she could suck on that to stave off the hunger for a bit. She swipes it without a second thought as the hearthrob tries to put her under scrutiny for fighting. Why, isn't he a fighter? He sounds more and more like a pompous pretty-faced boy than anything.
"I gotta eat." She answers his question with those three words as she just pops the whole damn packet in her mouth and chews on it like it's bubblegum. Maybe she is capable of blowing entire ketchup bubbles?
Did.. did she just pop a whole ketchup packet? Drake is absolutely bewildered by this.
"Holy shit..."
There goes his civility and etiquette training! Mother would be so very disappointed. But he stands by what he murmured there. In fact, he turns aside to wave at a passing waiter. "Hey, uh, make sure our order goes extra fast, a'ight?" He plucks out a few additional yen to palm to the staff person, who dutifully hurries to the kitchen.
His attention returns to the woman before his eyes avert. Awkward, staring at her while she dines on.. sigh.. 'fancy' ketchup. "..So you fight because you have to," Drake says more quietly, brow furrowed. "I see..."
Good news is, she doesn't blow ketchup bubbles. Frightening news is, she chews at the plastic even when the legitimately edible component has long since been absorbed out of the flavorless plastic mess. Anything just to make her body /think/ she is politely eating something.
"What?" She asks as a blessed precision S-strike falls out of Domino's mouth like... a toppling series of dominoes, except it's just one in this case as he turns and murmurs something to a waiter. What's it about? She turns her head over to said waiter before settling back to Drake.
She leans forward as Drake expresses some sort of bewilderment over the idea of having to fight to eat, leaning forward at such a speed her elbows thump against the table hard enough that it's a wonder it doesn't crack. She swallows the plastic-y mess she's been chewing the last couple of seconds.
"Sounds too real for you, doesn't it," she says in a not entirely friendly tone of voice. The kind of tone you really shouldn't take to someone who is about to pay for a meal, but - she generally doesn't come off as a bright sort of person.
Drake sometimes loses his proper upbringing when the guest he's entertaining seems a little crazy. You'd think he would be used to it by now, all things considered, but no. Her question, however, gets a much sharper look from the model.
"No."
His head lifts, eyes resolute. So she knows he's a model, but doesn't know the kinds of things he's done or seen. She only knows what's on the surface. "There are a lot of ways a person can fight for themselves. Some fight to really know who they are, some fight to better themselves, and some.. like you.. fight to get by another day. It's the most unfortunate kind, and I'll give you that. But it's not 'too real' for me, sugar. If anything could be 'too real' for me, it would be people who /can't/ fight trying to stave off a tank until those who can show up."
He leans back a little, relenting some space. "Don't get it in your head that I'm a poser."
The stark contrast in defiance is a little surprising, especially that tone when she manhandled him all the way into the restaurant to begin with. It's enough to make her lean back when he so much as lifts his head, continuing on to his rant about the meanings, the reasons why people can fight - or maybe even why they should.
The rather colorful descriptor about staving off a tank would seem a complete non-sequitur were it not for the whole thing about the siege of Southtown being the biggest thing in the news from... last year by now, was it? But, one thing does remain constant.
He lacks the scars and bumps for it. Any sign at all, so far as she can see, that he's actually been fighting. His denial that he's a poser. That he seemed surprised at all that someone like her fights simply so she can /eat/.
The only thing that can save this restaurant from violence is having her food right about now. She curls the fingers in her left hand into a tense fist, the act of which flexes the muscles of said arm into visible tension as Drake leans back.
"My name's not sugar." She replies sternly.
Where's the food...?
"Now there's a surprise, what with how totally sweet you are," dryly chides Drake. "Chill."
And fortunately, the money slipped to the wait-staff to hurry the process along has paid off. A rather large serving tray is brought over, and a plate is set before Drake. Several plates are set before Varvara, and then the waiter turns to hurry away. Oh, and at some point the water was delivered, too.
Will Drake be getting the last say in this sassy conversation to someone whom has easily demonstrated the ease and confidence of lifting them right on their shoulders? The tension is lathered on thicker than the amount of saturated fat in some of these menu items (the best part of being Japan's great big Americatown - all the saturated fat you could ever want, and then some).
And then, there it is. Five whole leafy green salads, right there. Her stomach's heart sings (wait, what, a stomach's heart?) as the smell enters her nostrils. They flare once.
Greedily she claims her fork, tightening her grasp upon this claim strongly enough that it bends in her hand.
She daintily plunges it into one of the leaves and starts to chew while her stomach eagerly awaits having new things to digest that aren't half-rotten! Food, food, food, delicious fresh food, and not just some chewed plastic!
But... is all forgotten, let alone forgiven?
Speaking of which, what happened to that plastic wrapper? Drake finds himself staring across at the woman, puzzled. He never saw her spit it out, and now she's going through green faster than a lawnmower. She.. she totally swallowed that, didn't she? Good God...
Fairly distracted by this, he looks back down to the burger and lifts it, starting to nibble at it at a much, much slower pace. With his guest, Drake feels particularly aware of his own eating habits, and is thus much more... deliberate in his actions. Odds are at this rate, she'll plow through three of her salads before he's finished three-fourths of one burger.
For all her hunger, Varvara probably would not win a speed eating competition. There is a certain haste that comes with being as truly hungry, yes, but she rather enjoys some of the flavors that get on her tongue. It's been much too long since she's had something like this - even if, in the end, all of it is simply what it is. Food. Sustenance.
She does stare a few times to make sure Drake's still there. A worry he might leave her the bill... or maybe she's seriously eyeing whatever might be left over of his burger.
(Varvara X Drake's Leftover Hamburger, OTP?)
This is a valid concern. There are still fries that haven't yet been touched. And fries, Drake fears, are perfectly grabbable. But nevertheless, he's rather taken with the burger. Once that's finished, he idly plucks a few fries and observes her curiously.
"So, how was it?," he asks. Apparently the tensions from before aren't lingering for Drake. Or if they are, they're pushed beneath the surface!
Does Drake really need to ask how 'was' it, as Varvara continues to shew along her food? Maybe he doesn't really know what it's like to truly, utterly be hungry. Otherwise he wouldn't ask, she allows herself that bit of introspective amusement while her digestive juices happily caress the tattered confetti bits of nutrient-laden leafy matter. There is a party going on in her stomach. Drake's not invited. (The fries are more than welcome.)
"What's it look like," she replies straightforwardly enough after she finishes swallowing that last mouthful. She immediately gets another in there.
"It looks like you might not've tastes it yet," Drake replies impishly. But ultimately, it looks like something she needed. So whatever else, whatever her attitude, he can feel a little better about things. "So, Cypress, huh? Fighting your whole life? I might have an offer for you."
His head tilts slightly to the side and he pops a fry into his mouth. "I'm doing a world-wide tour of fighting, taking on the best each country, nation, and region has to offer. Looking for their representation to test myself against."
Even when she could first effectively throw a punch, she was able to quickly equate things easily: fighting = having food. Not fighting = not getting food. A driving element of her life that has seen her come this far.
Though it remains arguable as to what 'far' actually entails... or how one measures the distance of her life experience to begin with when she survives almost entirely on beating people up and/or grabbing spare change, sometimes a combination of both.
She polishes off a salad as he explains what it is he's been trying to do... world-wide tour of fighting, huh, with a face like that she idly wonders if he ever actually leaves some beauty parlor or some such. Maybe he only goes to really select, safe parts of the countries he fights in.
But he wants to take on the best each of country, nation, and region they have to offer, he says. Does she fit that description? It's difficult to say. She looks the part of a fighter, yes - but she's also a literal no-name. She's hardly anything more than a vagrant now. Surely if she were truly successful - even in the wake of the fall of Howard Enterprises - she wouldn't be out here just living life on the edge, would she?
These considerations are not on her mind.
"What's in it for me?" She asks.
A predictable question, and one Drake doesn't mind addressing. "Fame. If you beat me, more fame. The people of your country could see you as a rallying figure - the 'defender of Cypress'." He cracks a thin smile. "Win or lose, you'll have respect. And I can't guarantee a big payout, but after gaining the respect of your people..."
He pops another fry into his mouth, chews politely, then swallows.
"You don't have to worry about your trip back there. When it's time, if you think you'd be up for it, I'll take care of it."
Defender of Cyprus. Wouldn't that be something, huh. She tries to wrap her head around what sounds like a 'make me look good for free, no guarantee of money' thing to her simple mind as she chews along her salad, that little thin smile attempting to win her over.
She's not going to lie, as much as she dislikes how /clean/ that face looks, it's a pretty one. The sort of thing that'll stand out any time she passes by the magazine aisles that will undoubtedly have his face on a cover somewhere.
Then there was that presumptuous behavior. He called her 'sugar.' How fun it would be to smash that pretty face on live television, even if he is ultimately doing a great service for her continuing existence - whether it is by whimsy or amusement of having way too much money on their hands, so far as she can tell. Or that she bothers to even think.
She stares at him for a while, while finishing up the last of those five salads. Yes, she really ate them all. Let us hope for the sake of the many people who are starving that she will never be carrying a child, or else whatever's going on in Taizhou will be the least concern to the ongoing survival of a civilized world.
"Tch." She grunts. "Long as you pay for the food."
Her response gets a little snicker from him, and he plucks another fry. "Glad to hear it," before popping the edible. Once that's done, he glances down to his plate. All these fries. Drake exhales a sigh and slouches back. "I couldn't finish," he lies modestly, eyes drifting aside in such utter shame. Yes, it's an obvious invite for her to take whatever she likes as remainders.
"I'll have my people contact you when it's time. I have a thing to do in England first, another match scheduled. But I'll put you down on the list."
She could say, 'don't mind if I do.' But Drake shows that moment of weakness, and she takes that plate of fries. Now, there is a very important question here to be asked - would Drake relent that easy if he were under significant danger and pressure in a fight, to give up something like this so easily?
Varvara is taking notes in how he surrenders those fries. If he is anything like that in the ring, she knows he'll crumple just as easy.
"Yeah?" She asks after she finishes trying one of these fries... not as good as the salad but she's hardly in a position to complain, it's friggin' FREE FOOD. "Don't have any of those phones or a home." Contacting her may prove surprisingly difficult, considering Drake is all but asking a hobo to represent an entire country.
"You're not makin' this easy," Drake muses dryly. "One second."
Out comes a cellphone. He flips it open, and unless she dodges away, her picture will be taken! Saved in sweet, sweet digital memory.
"I have a name and a face for my people to track down. So unless you have a better idea..." It'll do. His people are a part of an organization based almost strictly on seeing people based on looks and description! They should be able to track her down, right? He'll get her food and an opportunity to make her life a little easier, but giving her a cellphone might be a little too much. She might, /might/ be the evil sort.
Though he hasn't really gotten that impression off of her. Just.. rough.
Good? Evil? She's hungry and all she can ever really be proud of is her fighting strength. In the present, it's not a good time to only have that as your sole virtues, here in a world full of seemingly incredibly lucky people with beautiful faces and way too much money being flung their way seem to be coasting along through these times juuuust fine.
She winces as the cellphone camera flashes - she's not terribly used to the sensation, and it shows when she rubs her eyes with her foreaarm. This in itself may prove a valuable tactic to keep in mind down the road.
"Your people, huh." Great, he's got a whole gaggle of people waiting at his hand. She almost feels that much more ready and raring to go to just yank him on a plane back home to get it over with.
Except she doesn't have the money to get another ticket. She blew her entire savings just to get to Southtown to begin with.
Log created on 13:56:51 06/22/2010 by Varvara, and last modified on 10:30:38 10/20/2014.