Description: It's common for attractive women to get accosted while they're out. It's no different for Farah, who gets the utterly worst kind of attention from one of the worst people imaginable. And then she meets Vega. Surely, he has appeared for nothing other than completely altruistic reasons.
It's good to be home, isn't it?
Lately Farah has been abroad; for some reason, whenever a fight opportunity came her way she would take it, no matter how much travel was involved. Thus she's been everywhere from Rome for an SNF, to the US to battle one of the Metro City vigilante heroes alongside that intriguing man from the Ikari Warriors, not that Farah can process what that really means. But there's always something to be said for taking it easy and coming home, so that is what she's done; the past few days, the Egyptian has taken advantage of the winter break and not having a need for Christmas travel, lounging in her apartment and barely even moving. Chinese takeout places that had never heard of her before were getting phonecalls. It's a curiously indulgent thing for the otherwise 'refined' Farah to do, but as she snuggled under the covers on the final night of it, she had no regrets.
That said, this morning she woke up and DID have a few, not the least of which was that a few days of awful food and no exercise made her feel rather bleh indeed. In dire need of a little exertion to get her energy levels back up, the girl headed off to the university's gym for an indoor run (thanks to the cold weather) and swim. Now? Now she's leaving that location and walking home along the streets of Southtown, using the trek as a cooldown and keeping her pace even and slow. Her hands are in her jacket pockets as she walks, glancing at Christmas decorations on the not-that-busy streets. Apparently the route back heads along some little-traveled pedestrian territory.
Such a wonderful, relaxing vacation, isn't it? Everything must have started out wonderfully. The sky, clear. The air, cold and crisp. Even foot traffic is pretty reasonable, what with everybody piling into the shopping districts. People here are just mad for commercialism. Mad!
Unfortunately, the thinned crowds makes tailing somebody a bit harder without being noticed... Since about early afternoon, a small handful of people, be it in the gym, the pool, the streets, the exotic woman catches their eye. Sure, that may be nothing out of the ordinary, but it's different here. Their faces are devoid of reaction, as though looking simply for the sake of looking. One can't even call them disinterested. In fact, it's hard to define them in any normal sort of features at all. 'Plain' is the best one could do: plain in size, plain in build, plain faces, plain black short hair, plain...presences. It might even be kind of creepy.
As Farah walks down the street, it might be comforting to see a fellow jogger--or exercise enthusiast, however she wishes to be called. A massive man, he steps out of the front of a door some ways ahead, dressed in an ill-fitting gym suit. Then again, he might not be that comforting at all. Muscle upon muscle in the most distasteful fashion, he's a walking--now trotting moutain of rigid flesh, his head just small enough to make him look weird. His head is shaven clean, as is the rest of his face, for that matter. Even his eyebrows weren't spared, leaving a sort of scrunched-up, beaten-looking visage crushed into a sea of skin. "Yo." He greets the girl as she walks past, having knelt down to tie up his Pumas. How nice, right?
And then he begins to follow her.
Why yes, I did notice Mt. Fuji as I walked past it on the street. It's impossible NOT to notice this man, and it's in Farah's nature to notice people. Plus she's not really jogging, though her walk could be a little less brisk. The cold weather approaching is probably to blame, there; while a nice leisurely walk is lovely, Farah was raised on the warm beaches of the Mediterranean, and Japan is a country that prides itself on having 'four seasons'... including a nicely chilly winter. At first, she simply glances at him, notes 'person in this direction' and then walks on.
But then she gets closer, and nearly passes him, and has time to evaluate what she's looking at. It's... unnerving. Although she's a newbie on the circuit, Farah has already met her fair share of fighters the world over. Svelte, built, they run the gamut. She's even seen shots on the web of muscular bruisers like the Red Cyclone. But this?
And the way he speaks is inocuous to the ear. Nothing suspicious about it.
~ So why... ~ Farah asks herself, ~ ...is my heart beating so fast? ~
And then he's behind her. And she's picking up her pace.
The mouse is trying to create some distance? That's fine. The bull follows suit, picking up speed. It's easy for him to make longer strides; it doesn't even sound like he's hitting the ground any harder, but he's there. Oh god, is he there. If she were to look back, she'd find him staring, and not like the other guys have been staring. He's...is he drooling? Wait, is he staring at her ass? Oh jeez, she's picked up a pervert.
"Ey, where you goin' so fast?" Even his voice is abrasive and his breath, it reeks of a diet of little but meat and beer. "Slow down, I wanna talk t'yous!" No, no. It's okay, right? Perhaps he just doesn't know what manners are. He doesn't look at all bright...and Southtown is home to quite a number of people coming out of broken homes and the like. He's not...he's not swinging or anything.
No. He did, however, just suck in a great bit of slobber after staring at Farah's ass for a bit, though.
In the horror movie version of this, Farah breaks into a Charlie's Angels credit sequence-style run, arms akimbo, until the meat mountain behind her suddenly clamps a massive hand over her mouth and drags her into an alley.
Needless to say, this is not what happens.
"I warn you," the Egyptian says smoothly, coming to a dead stop and spinning on her heel to face this rather physically imposing individual. She's tall for a woman, but this is something else entirely. Inside, she might be regretting this... but deep down, she knows this is the right thing to do. "I'm a trained martial artist. Whatever it is you want, make it quick. I don't have much patience for people with no manners." She keeps herself from adding 'hygiene' because why make a bad situation worse?
Hey, that - that was not what the big guy expected at all. He was expecting some sort of chase down the street, a turn into a blind alley that ended up being a dead end, and then he'd be free to do whatever he wanted in the privacy of the alleyway. For Farah to stop and turn and /warn/ him is apparently not part of that carefully-crafted plan. It's plain to see on his face, how his lips are parted and his jaw slacked a bit, those small eyes squinting like he's trying to read something just out of his range of vision.
"Yous a huh? Oh, is that, uh." He fidgets obviously, which is actually rather amusing to see. Okay, perhaps it's not NOW, but from a third-person point of view, seeing the giant man slouching and wringing his fingers as he sweats out what to say is rather comical. "I's too got manners, they's just sorta... I mean, they ain't really like a prince or nothin', but it--oh jeez, what'm I supposed t'say here." He digs through his pockets, trying to search out a scrap of paper that he'd written things to say on, but only manages to pull the pockets inside out. "Oh man, he's gonna...oh! OOH! T'hell with this!"
Now that he's had his tiny outburst, the big lug dispenses all formalities in favor of a fist to the face. ... What? It's a nervous reflex.
COMBATSYS: Shadaloo_Brute has started a fight here.
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Shadaloo_Brute 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Farah has joined the fight here.
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Farah 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Shadaloo_Brute
COMBATSYS: Farah dodges Shadaloo_Brute's Medium Punch.
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Farah 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Shadaloo_Brute
If he wasn't expecting the warning, it seems likely that he definitely won't be expecting the sudden turn she makes as his fist goes sailing through the air where she used to be. It's a transition from speech to fighting of a speed that even takes the person who does it by momentary surprise. This whole situation is plenty surprising, for both sides of the situation. The man in front of Farah -- the one around whom she just made a quick, sidestepping circular evasion, his meaty fist swimming through the air -- seems like he's from another universe to her, a caricature from some sort of terrible comic book come to life. What the hell does he *want*?
For a moment she considers the two options available to her: pull back and warn him again, or make a show of force and hope it deterrs him. She opts for the latter, looking up at the man. He may be massive... but the fighting style Farah is trained in is a 'soft' style, perfect for dealing with someone when there's a massive imbalance of size. Case in point: the Egyptian steps toward the massive thug, simultaneously attempting to push his arms up and out of the way even as she slices a leg through his, attempting to knock him over. "I cannot say you weren't warned."
COMBATSYS: Farah successfully hits Shadaloo_Brute with Quick Throw.
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Farah 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Shadaloo_Brute
And so, round and round the world goes! Okay, perhaps not that much, but what used to be a normal street is now a view of the sky between short buildings! It happens so quickly that his meager mind can't fathom what happened at first. His eyes are wide and bear notable confusion. It's only when the girl starts talking to him that he realizes that he's no longer standing on good old terra firma.
"Nnnnnh! Th'hell was that, ya dumbass??" He turns and pushes his way back up to his feet, unwarmed muscles straining to follow commands. It's no small effort to get his bulk to a standing position again; an effort that's further hindered by the way he slings out an arm while he's still on one knee like a bear swatting a fish fresh from the stream!
COMBATSYS: Farah counters Fierce Punch from Shadaloo_Brute with Gensekiju.
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Farah 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Shadaloo_Brute
Inside, Farah is surprised at her own calm... a normal person, she thinks to herself as she steps back from having sent the massive man to the ground, would feel her heart racing, be trying to find a way out of this situation. Yet something in her has tripped her fight or flight response switch directly to 'fight', which is... confusing, but lately the girl has tried to simply follow her intuition and instincts in these situations. Thinking too hard can get you in trouble, she's discovered... though one might argue she's not thinking at all.
And you never know when following your intuition might get you into trouble.
When the man's fist comes sailing toward Farah a second time, she doesn't move. It doesn't even look like she PLANS to move... yet shortly before the fist would connect, it slams into a length of cobalt-blue ribbon, glowing with Soul Power like a starry night sky and strengthened by that power to nearly steel, stopping the punch dead. "Fighting," Farah replies smoothly, before twisting the ribbon into a fulcrum point and shifting her weight, hurling the goon away from her before starting to tie the ribbon around her right wrist.
Oh, the poor man! How mortifying it must be to be tossed and stopped by someone so much smaller than him. It's visibly enraging, shown by the reddening of his skin, the creeping of veins across his temples. His teeth are grit after his hand is stopped, and the dumbass continues to push against it! Oh, it hurts like a bitch, but that doesn't stop him, oh no. It just makes him more angry. "Th'hell...you...are...!" He really should, if he were smart, forget about the ribbon and try to grab Farah with his other hand. But is he?
The fact that he's flying moments later answers that. "You biiiiitch!" He lands in a crumpled mess on the road, flipping over. He pounds the street once, twice. It doesn't matter that his hand is growing bloodied from the asphalt tearing at the skin. All that matters is the adrenaline. No, that's not quite right. The endorphins. In the midst of his rage, however, a voice lingers as though brought on the winds.
"...good..."
Only that single word can truly be made out, so sudden and followed by such silence as to be easily dismissed. The voice was undoubtedly masculine; perhaps the brutish man's constant snarling and cursing is lapsing into momentary coherent words? It has to be; a look to either side shows that the street is disturbingly bare and silent, where there were people not a minute before. Such things are apparently unimportant soon enough, when he jumps back up to his feet and bellows out. Lumbering forth in a well-telegraphed charge, Farah's opponent comes barelling forth, waveing his right arm in a windmill fashion before putting most of his considerable weight behind his sole tactic: punch the christ out of whatever's standing in front of him!
COMBATSYS: Farah blocks Shadaloo_Brute's Shadaloo Smash.
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Farah 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Shadaloo_Brute
She's feeling confident. A real fighter might have provided a challenge, one Farah would have relished, perhaps. This... thing... is just a brute, and one she feels no particular reason to treat well. It's her hope that if she can manage to land a few good hits, he'll change his mind about this, walk away. That there is no finesse to his attacks seals it, to her. She knows strong fighters, perhaps not the most agile fighters, but even the lumbering motions of the Turk, Hakan, had a certain grace to them. This is just... weird. She seems about to leap out of the way of that fist...
Violet eyes widen. Breath comes in. At the last second, she clumsily defends herself against that blow, arms crossed in front of her. It's ragged and amateurish, making her stumble backwards, perhaps giving the Brute a moment of apparent satisfaction.
But it wasn't him that rattled her.
She can't even bring herself to attack; for a moment she stands there, staring at the massive man, hands up, breathing heavy. To him, it must look like fear, and it really is... but instead it is Farah dealing with a sudden chill feeling that, while transient, she felt to the very depths of her marrow. "What...?"
COMBATSYS: Farah focuses on her next action.
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Farah 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Shadaloo_Brute
THAT is better. With planted foot, the man's weight nearly sends him toppling forward, and indeed, it would, were it not for the opportune and sudden stomp of a shoed foot that smashes down upon the road. His right arm is crossed, the shoulder dropped. At first, he's surprised that he'd hit. It's an expression that soon melts into something awful and malicious with a wide grin that reveals a few tobacco-yellowed teeth. "I said, y'ain't so tough, are ya bitch?" He stands upright, rolling his shoulders back. Yeah. That felt good, even if it wasn't a clean hit. He pushed her back, so she must know how strong he is...right?
~ ...Hesitate and he'll kill you... ~
When this whispered hint filters through the edge of Farah's consciousness, it's obvious that it's not the man before her speaking. She can even look around if she wants. There's nobody there. Not a single, solitary person. That doesn't make the advice no less apt, however. Grinning madly and chuckling at his own imagined might, the man slaps at his right shoulder. "Y'know, we might oughta get a lotta use outta ya back at the base." His steps are deliberately slow; he thinks it's threatening. His right hand sits in his left, pressure popping the knuckles one after another. "Assumin' I leave SOMETHIN' LEFTA YA!" As his voice gains in volume, his upper body lurges forward, all defense thrown to the side as he goes for the 'macho' act of headbutting a hot litle Egyptian woman.
COMBATSYS: Farah interrupts Head Bomber from Shadaloo_Brute with Ascending Heart EX.
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Farah 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0 Shadaloo_Brute
Whatever that is she's hearing -- and Farah DOES look left and right, KNOWING that this is someone speaking in her mind but rattled by her inability to pinpoint it -- really is making Farah seem a little crazy to the man she's fighting. To the person looking into it from afar, the girl's soul must be an open book, and it may be a familiar read. She is a special breed, one of a very rare few who have the innate talent for that ability that Rose calls anathema to Vega's power, though in nowhere near a threatening magnitude. Soul Power... but inexperienced. Untempered.
Therefore: vulnerable.
The huge man's arms clamp around Farah's, gripping her in place, portending pain to come. However, the prophecy is rewritten by Farah's reaction to the voices in her head. That beribboned hand comes up in a fist, fast as lightning, glowing with her cobalt blue, starry-night Soul Power and the tails of the ribbon twirling a perfect double helix in the air as she sails upwards in a twisting uppercut that knocks even this massive mountain of a man off his feet. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" the girl shouts, voice ragged.
Up, back, and over! The man's skull is like granite, but it's that extra touch of mental torment that really does the trick. His response is something not unlike "Brrglfhhh!" as his meager senses are assaulted by this weird, foreign sensation. He collapses upon the ground once again, stars dancing in his vision. For the moment, he's out.
"Quite the feeling, isn't it?" the voice in Farah's head is louder now, more clear. By god, someone /should/ be standing next to her, but there's still nobody around. Perhaps this really is all in her head. Perhaps she's freaking out in public and there are others around, watching her in a fit of madness.
"Go ahead, enjoy the sensation. He won't stop so easily, I assure you..."
The owner of the voice is surely watching from /somewhere/ nearby. With a jerky start, the lump of muscle on the ground snorts awake. His eyes are crossed, but gradually swirl in their sockets as focus returns to his vision. He sits up, rubbing at his chin. It hurts? Why would it...? And then, there's a wince of pain! Thick fingers reach into his mouth, gripping a tooth. And then, he pulls. Instead of a single tug, the weak enamel actually -cracks-. It's a horrible thing, one that causes him to shudder. "MmmmMMMMMH! YES! OH GOD!" His teeth clench even tighter, heightening the awful pain as he lifts himself to his feet. He stumbles only once, his clenched fists unwilling to push on the ground and help himself up. "Just like that, keep IT COMING!" It's impossible to tell if he's pissed or elated; his expression changes so quickly between the two that either emotion could be driving him at any given moment.
It's safe to say that the awkward kick coming up toward Farah's face is born from anger, though. Probably.
COMBATSYS: Shadaloo_Brute successfully hits Farah with Chin Music.
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Farah 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Shadaloo_Brute
Whoever is toying with her, whoever is speaking into her mind, may or may not know the reservoir of doubt and frustration that, so far, only one person has touched. Poor Antoine, who only wanted to see what Farah was capable of, and instead served as a painful and accidental reminder that she is alone, and strange, and might just be a failure as a fighter. A desire to hurt back the people who attack her, to find retribution on those who manage to pierce her defenses. At Quon for his revulsion, at Wang for being so pointlessly macho, at Denji for seeming to get away with murder for being so clueless... Even as she watches the main yank out his own tooth in fascinated horror, she can feel that mental touch bringing those feelings to the surface.
When the kick comes toward her the girl, as if on auto-pilot, hurls herself at it.
Doing that for tactical advantage is always a possibility. The problem is that one has to know what they're doing, to read the situation, for such a thing to happen, and Farah most certainly is not. She gains no real advantage, other than the sudden sharp shock of the blow, but her eyes narrow at the man in front of her. Something about him... she just wants to *disassemble* him, somehow. Take him apart and find out what went wrong. She could do it... not physically. But perhaps she could just reach right into his *being*.
Her arm swings around, the psychic-imbued ribbon making a twisting path through the air, looking to sear right across his chest and deliver a burst of that power of hers.
The starry night, cobalt blue is now tinged at the edges with a barely noticeable haze of shadowy black.
COMBATSYS: Farah successfully hits Shadaloo_Brute with Soul Reflect.
- Power hit! -
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Farah 1/------=/=======|=======\==-----\1 Shadaloo_Brute
As the foot came up, it comes back down. The man ends up standing sideways with his legs bowed, hands on his knees as both feet once again are touching the ground. He breathes in quickened puffs, as though his lungs are trying to simply circulate short amounts of air as quickly as possible instead of partaking in long, calming breaths. It makes him appear simply rabid, proper thought having long since been tossed out the window. Standing still, he again hitches his shoulders, goosebumps creeping up his flesh as arcs of perverse bliss course through him. THIS is why he joined Shadaloo, just for stuff like this. The pain, both given and received, is -exquisite-.
He's still going through his endorphin high when that light catches the edge of his vision again. He's too slow to do much about it more than look up and utter out a "huh?" before he's snagged. His body may be thick, but his spirit is defenseless! Defenseless and...small. There's no enrichment to be found, just a featureless blob of instincts and desires.
~ Deeper... ~
As Farah mucks about with her inexperienced probing, there comes from behind a rush of formless power, like an enormous wave set to crash upon the sea. No, perhaps that's not exactly right. It's...supportive. A steady, stable mooring for the woman to use as the cold, foreign energies peel apart the brute's being, layer by layer. Only flashes of history are laid bare to her: his training, his womanizing, his brutality. Terrible things, one and all, are at the periphery of the man's essence. But the probing is still shallow, and before she can go any deeper, it's all cut off.
Back in reality, the large soldier is gripping his head, hunched over and smashing a bloodied forehead to the ground. "Get out get out get OUT GET OUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!!!" When the invasion finally stops, it leaves him breathless, gasping like a dying fish. That doesn't stop him from looking at Farah with wide, wild eyes. "Gk--lly, mff--HHHH!!!" He can't even form the words anymore, such is his rage! Physical pain, he can deal with, but the torment of having his psyche forcibly torn into is another thing entirely. His shoes scrape and slip on the ground as he scrambles to his feet, arms flailing just to try and grab the Egyptian woman, to rend and bend and beat and twist until he starts to feel better. Even if he WAS trusted enough to be told not to kill the girl, he's far past the point of such reason anyway.
COMBATSYS: Farah counters Bone Grinder from Shadaloo_Brute with Gekirinju.
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Farah 1/------=/=======|=======\======-\1 Shadaloo_Brute
It's her last sane thought, for the few moments that will follow. It's Farah's own voice, saying to her: ~ ...wait. Wait, come back... ~
And then she's lost in a sea of thoughts, memories, and emotions. For her age, Farah is a natural, but she's inexperienced, and more importantly, has doubts. Lots of doubts. They're an in for that insidious wave of dark support, cracks in the dam that in the end send it exploding into little tiny bits. The man leaps at her, all attack, all fury, that strange desire for pain driving him forward like a puppet on strings. There's no need for control by an outside source, here; he's simply given in to his own urges.
So Farah gives in to hers.
His first attack, before any follow, slams into the ribbon again, and with a flick of the wrist that almost seems telekinetic, Farah flips the man straight up into the air. What follows is, the last few times she has used such a technique, a pinpoint burst of Soul Power, an elegant riposte finale to her graceful, dance-like technique.
Needless to say, this isn't it.
"aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Her voice is a howl, all her rage and frustration and fear pouring out of her in literal, tangible form; the lines and pulses of dark black course through the otherwise starlight-like glow of her signature psychic energy. It is no directed blast; it's a wave, a tsunami of power -- a hint of her potential -- that looks to do nothing less but blast the horrible, beast-like man away from her as far as humanly possible.
When it's done, though, she slumps forward, eyes hooded, hair dangling in her eyes. Rather than their typical wave in an unseen wind, the tails of her ribbon dangle lifeless, dragging on the ground. The ragged, erratic sound of Farah's breathing is all that can be heard.
The woman's assailant, gone. Even if he'd been dumb enough to get back up after being assaulted so heavily both inside and out, it wouldn't have helped any. He's simply caught in the torrent of Farah's psyche as it gives under the Psycho Master's gentle pushes. He's unconscious the moment that the unfocused blast connects, flooding his whole being with terrible agony. It's not the good kind, once again, and he'll be glad that he'd passed out from it whenever he revives. IF he revives.
And that is that. The danger is gone, right? And for once, the Soul Power wielder tasted a glimpse of her potential.
Once again, she finds herself supported, all of a sudden. A thick hand catches the back of her top's collar, keeping her held up just in case she were to fall. The owner of the earlier voice has finally arrived, appearing as though born from the very air. "Crude..." Yes, that's definitely the same voice. It's also quite apparent how chilly it feels just to be around him: in the brute's mind, senses of heat are mere suggestions. But now, the aura emanating from him is very potent indeed. "But effective nonetheless." The crimson-clad man isn't even looking at her. He stands beside and behind the woman, staring at the twisted man that now lays in his bed of a newly-crushed mailbox. If there were any time to attempt to lash out at the sudden presence, now would certainly be it.
COMBATSYS: Shadaloo_Brute takes no action.
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Farah 0/-------/------=|
COMBATSYS: Shadaloo_Brute can no longer fight.
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Farah 0/-------/------=|
Perhaps it's some sort of self-preservation urge that prevents her from doing so, or her genuine exhaustion at having used her powers at a capacity that to this point she had not been capable of doing, or some combination of the two. In the end, though, rather than attack the figure in front of her mindlessly, Farah stumbles backwards away from him, shocked and confused and angry and hurt. That said, Vega is a man to whom the words 'terrible presence' can be applied without hyperbole, and the chill aura of it sobers her somewhat, the Egyptian raising her head and trying to focus on him.
"More of you?" she bites out, connecting perhaps that this is the mastermind who sic'ed a very pointless pet on her. If she were thinking clearly, the young psychic might realize what this means; as it is, she only begins to see Vega as yet another obstruction, another source of sensory input in a universe that doesn't make a lot of sense right now. "What do you want?"
When Farah pulls away, Vega does nothing to stop her. His hand remains where it was for a second before the fingers curl and the arm pulls into the charcoal cloak that fully surrounds him. Though his face only half-turns toward her and his eyes lack pupils of any sort, it's quite apparent that he's looking at her. Unlike the aforementioned Hakan, bearing the Shadaloo Lord's gaze is a weighty thing, feeling as though the man is looking /into/ her as much as he's looking /at/ her.
And then he smiles, big a wide to show a brilliant double-line of pristine teeth.
"I wanted to see you give the maggot what he deserved." As he speaks, he steps over toward the brute. The joints in his shinguards clink and clank as he moves, asphalt crunching beneath his boots. He reaches out to lift the man by the head, and by the look of it, effortlessly. Sure, Vega is large, but there are limits to things. The world has /laws/. With a flick of his arm, the brute is tossed back toward Farah, face-down. He's breathing--barely--and his position is vaguely reminiscent of his awful, mind-scraping episode just before the end. "You've saved me the effort of doing it myself, after all. Not a wholly unpleasant experience, was it?"
~ No... ~
But she can't hear that inner voice.
It did feel good. And it's not as if the man was an upstanding pillar of the community. He accosted her in the street, and she saw into his memories. He has done terrible things... WOULD DO terrible things. She was acting in self-defense. Wasn't it right and good that she put him down? Maybe she got a little overzealous, but in the pursuit of the right thing to do, that's excusable, isn't it?
Was he supporting her for that reason? It could only have been him. And 'awe' and 'awful' have the same root word, refer to the same emotion.
"...I warned him," is what Farah decides to say. Deep inside, she knows she's distancing herself from what her hands have wrought. He could have run. He could have left her alone. She can't be blamed. It's not her fault, really.
The longer that little voice stays locked up, the harder it may find to come back at all. Vega himself bleeds psychic energies, capable of turning hate and anguish into palpable sensations, no matter how deeply they've been buried. It's often refreshing, in a way, to let all those dirty little thoughts come to light, justified by excuses and false logic. It's /not/ her fault. Everything was the brute's fault; she didn't ask for him to accost her.
Vega did, but that's really not the point here.
Even now, the road remains empty. There's nobody else to refute or chastize the woman. There's nobody to point out her fallacies. "It could have gone much, much worse, were it not for your little 'gift'." He has to force himself to say the word with a straight face. 'Gift', indeed. Just having to suffer supporting someone with that damnable 'positive' energy is enough to cause his mood to curdle. But thankfully, Farah is new to this. Reading /his/ mind is damned near impossible for all but a couple of people anyway. It means that he can keep it hidden. The point of the visit must be made soon, however, lest he lose the advantage he has.
"That was but a /taste/ of what you're capable of. If you wish to learn more about it, you could become so much greater than you are."
Yes... she could, couldn't she? She always knew she was different, but it took something else to make her realize she was *special*. She could be so much more than the people she sees day in and day out, wasting their lives. Wasn't Farah's destiny for something amazing, something glorious? And look at the people standing in her way. Fresh in her mind is Megane, who troubled her so in two separate Saturday Night Fights. He mocks, but he wouldn't be able to mock her for long. Nobody would. She would show them her p--
Something inside sparks. Hidden, but Vega can sense it. Some seed planted there long ago. In the midst of this faceless fantasy of dominance, she has a sudden an unnerving image. Denji and Wang lie at her feet, in the same pose -- and state of intense physical disarray -- as the man who assaulted her. ~ You could dominate them... you could break them. This is the result. ~
She actually reels from this, hand coming up and covering her face, her voice an almost piteous moan as her powers and Vega's presence turn an ethical and philosophical conflict into a palpably physical one. What the hell is she supposed to do? Wasn't the whole point of this... fighting thing, to become a beacon for others? To show them what was possible if they dedicated themselves? Someone's offering her a chance to improve herself. Why shouldn't she take it? What could go wrong?
That voice... perhaps it will survive. Hopefully, it won't need rekindling.
"And how... would I do that..." she murmurs.
And just as Vega thought that the woman was perfectly mouldable, that damnable voice creeps up again. The thought strikes him to simply snuff it out and take the girl by force. One needn't be willing to aid him, and yet...that's not what he's looking for. In this particular instance, it doesn't fit his plans. No, he needs her to retain much of her free will if he's going to get any results.
And yet, there is that image. A vision of sorts, he's certain, as the power of the Soul is wont to impart. Lukcily for him, it's just the sort of outcome that would benefit him. Perhaps there's no need to push her /just/ yet. There's time for that seed to germinate.
The question brings a wide smile to Vega's face once more. It's the smile of someone knowing that they've won, a smugness as deep as the ocean. "How?" He repeats the word, turning to once more heft the downed man. This time, he doesn't squat, he doesn't reach. He simply extends a hand. Violet energy quickly coats it from wrist to fingertips, and as it does, the brute's body rises off of the ground. His arms, legs, and head are limp, loose; it's obvious that he's not moving under his own power. The body floats toward Vega until he can grip him by the back of the neck, now holding him up like a doll, left to dangle and groan.
"Simple. You fight. You win. You crush those that would harm you. But don't worry..." Before the woman's very eyes, both the eccentric dictator and his underling grow discolored, faint. Their outlines waver as they grow transluscent. "I'll be there to push you in the right direction." The words linger in the air as he vanishes, along with him the oppressive, hate-fueling air.
She didn't just see that.
...did she?
That daze that seems to have hit Farah the whole time she was in Vega's presence only really passes when he gone, and not immediately, either; there are long moments where the Egyptian girl just seems to stare at the sky, looking at nothing, well after he's gone. 'You fight, you win.' Is it really that simple? Is that what's been holding her back? Up until now it's been about doing her best. Winning, losing... they weren't as important as having a good match, testing her potential. But maybe that's subconsciously holding her back? Has this stranger with the cold eyes and the impenetrable smile -- by every sense -- simply shown her the answer?
Another image of Denji at her feet, bleeding. Perhaps the worst part is that, true to life, he simply looks... confused. As if wondering why she did this to him.
It's gone as soon as it came.
The entire walk home, agonizing slow from fatigue and the physical effects of her little crisis of conscience, is peppered by her thoughts aloud, mumblings. "Just need to win..."
Log created on 20:12:58 12/10/2010 by Vega, and last modified on 19:07:42 12/11/2010.