Description: [KoF 2: Awakenings] On his sojourn back to Southtown Zach runs into one Amy Johnson, apparently of the Knights Templar. The two have a fairly lengthy discussion on the nature and ethics of power.
Rongbuk Monastery, Tibet.
In the grand shadow of Mount Everest itself, which stands against a sky of sweeping, sunstruck cerulean. Though the atmosphere is bright, it is inhabited - as it seems to always be - by the drifting swirl of gentle clouds milling in the strong currents of the wind. An accompanying chill runs along a dusty track leading past the squat, dishevelled buildings. Upon the slope leading from the monastery proper lies the clean white stone of a monument, adorned with hundreds of colourful prayer flags which flap and billow in the air.
At this time of the afternoon, the village is quiet even by its own solitudinous standards, only the odd robed figure seen making their way alone along the track. Proceeding on a daily business that so rarely changes. No heed is paid to the traveller who sits at the foot of the monument, bundled in thick native cloth, hood drawn back to show a distinctly non-Tibetan face, pale skin and long, sleek hair framing the face of a young European woman. Her stormy blue eyes are canted downward, ignoring the copious and expansive views in favour of attacking her raised left boot with a pocket knife, extracting a particularly troublesome stone.
It's not an activity that Amy Johnson is perturbed by, going through her own motions with the same relaxed quality of the local denizens. Her pack lies a few feet away, a walking stave and a rugged water bottle propped against it. Her mood is reflective; so intent is she upon her task that she might be as inclined to miss a passerby, again, as the locals are. She is neither on the lookout, nor wary of others who may be...
Her presence is a quiet mystery, her ultimate destination not known even to the llama who strolls upon a tether several feet further from the woman's rucksack, nonchalantly hawking a mouthful of foul saliva as he awaits his mistress with the patience of one who has no reason to be anything but.
Zach Glen has no llama. He has been doing this leg of the journey pretty much on foot, and it shows. While he had always had a solid-looking physique, the trip back from Zambia has simply chiselled away what little excess there was, leaving a lean, slightly haggard-looking psychic to show for it. He is also wearing some thick clothing to stave off the cold, which is a bit much even for his Midwestern upbringing. He also seems intent, not so much on his own struggles, but maybe on everyone else he can see, hear or otherwise pick up on with his fledgling senses and instincts.
The monks do not give him much trouble, nor does Amy's llama. Zach does not recognize Amy straight away; her clothes are very different from the last time he saw her, and do a great deal to hide most of her features. On the other hand, she may notice him somewhat quickly; the purple hair that pokes out from under his hood definitely is something other than normal around here. He stops short of the monestary, looking the building over carefully before pulling out a map. He has a landmark, he needs to figure out a new heading.
As long as the trip has been, there is still a great deal left to travel.
If there's anything the Templar has learned from her globe-traversing ways, it's that a foreigner's presence is almost always accepted and welcomed should they endeavour to blend with the social climate. Wearing appropriate attire is but one step; curiously enough, the foul-smelling llama is another. Few travel any distance in the mountains without enlisting at least one pack animal - they provide more than the carrying of burdens, lending their warmth at night, acting as a natural alarm system for predators, and should the traveller find themselves in unexpected trouble, a loosed animal can save their life.
But beyond this, a llama is company. Ugly, stinky, somehow lovable company.
As Zach pauses to consult his map, Amy herself is still absorbed in her task, wrenching free the offending rock and taking her time in removing less stubborn grit and mud from the sole. Once she is satisfied, she stamps her foot a few times, places the knife beside her and half-stands to reach for her pack. As she moves from the shadow of the monument, the packbeast swings its long neck to glance at her, then swivels back toward the nearby psychic.
He's been watching Zach intently the entire time. Waiting for the perfect opportunity, which he seems to find in this moment, rolling the copious, disgusting mouthful of bile gathered in its mouth and--
"/Ketu/, what are you doing?"
Amy's crisp, clear tones interrupt with sudden sternness, her eyes flashing as she snaps her gaze up to the misbehaving creature. It turns to look at her once more, baring yellowed teeth in what even the sanest person would swear was a particularly cheeky grin. The Englishwoman can't help but laugh, rolling her eyes before she looks across to what she presumes will be some poor old woman or hapless Tibetan child about to get a faceful of stench-ridden mucus.
Only to behold that flash of purple hair bowed over a map.
Not many of the locals carry maps.
Not many of them have purple hair. Where has she...?
"Sunshine City? We met in Sunshine City, didn't we?"
The question is brusque, all but blurted in her surprise. The event seems such a long time ago, a frown brushing the woman's brow as she reaches up to push windblown hair from her cheek, stepping toward Zach and bending forward in an internationally accepted show of friendly curiousity.
"Was it... Zach?"
Zach blinks sharply when Amy scolds the llama. Part of it is the tone. The other is the English accent. The wandering psychic had arleady run afoul of a pair of Brits on this trip, and the saying was that things happened in threes. He eyes Amy warily, apparently not recognizing her right away. He blinks again as he fights down that jolt of adrenaline that always accompanies surprise. He eyes the slightly older woman curiously before things click.
"Yeah," he says a second later. "I think it was that machine shop in Sunshine City, in fact." He thinks hard for a second. "Amy, right? Amy Johnson?"
"Zach Glen," the raven-haired woman notes in response, a nod of her head confirming that she is who he believes her to be; though at this time, she almost has to think about that too. Journeying across the peaks and valleys of Tibet is a lonely game indeed; and her purpose at either end of the trip has been less than entirely sociable. Meditative priests and obsessed cultists do not make for particularly vibrant company. She's surprised at the pleasure she takes in meeting a spirit who, if not kindred, she can at least share a semblance of a normal history with.
"If I remember correctly..."
Sure that she does, Amy shakes her head, sweeping that stormy gaze across the younger man's bundled-up frame before meeting his eye with a curved brow and a chagrined half-grin, her freckle-brushed cheeks dimpling faintly with the gesture.
"You managed to hit me almost as hard as Ken Masters himself. How /could/ I forget? You--" she hesitates, jaunty expression fading, replaced with one that lies between curiosity and uncertainty, "You wield an energy I couldn't fully comprehend... I wanted to ask you, but we had no time. Hardly the place for conversations, was it...?"
Indeed, there were questions she had for this strange-haired warrior. Before death entered her life, before the cult consumed her with a renewed purpose, when her doubts were but a flicker. A face flashes into her mind's eye, a girl possessed - a girl she can now identify with that much more strongly. An odd golden flare blooms across the Templar's body, passing in an instant, as though the clouds had parted and the sun illuminated her in startling radiance.
The Templar draws a sudden breath, throws out a smile of quiet dismissal.
"Sorry, I'm babbling. What brings you to Rongbuk? Mountaineering?"]
Zach smiles indulgently; he almost /always/ gets asked about the seemingly endless resevoir of soul power at his disposal. Moreso among the newer fighters. He blinks in surprise when she compares one of his hits with Ken-freaking-Masters. He blinks twice, in fact. "I dunno about all that. Ken Masters is pretty strong, and I'm nowhere close to being that good," he demures quietly. "But if you have questions, I have time to answer them," he says with a bit more confidence. "I'm on my way back to Southtown, taking the scenic route," he says in response to her first /actual/ question. "I thought..." ...that there may be an answer to my current troubles? ...that there may be something here I can learn? ...that it was out of the way and therefore be less likely to result in innocent casualties should someone or some/thing/ wish him harm? "My gut told me that there'd be something here."
He grins a bit sheepishly and shrugs before putting away the map to give the Templar his full attention. "I've found my gut's pretty good at these things," he says jovially.
"All things are relative," the Templar murmurs partway through Zach's reply, watching him with gentle regard as he brushes aside her rather matter-of-fact compliment. To her mind she was doing little more than stating a fact. It's interesting though, how different the man's attitude it is from the other user she fought - no boasting, no righteous self-belief. And yet such power feels so wrong that, in hindsight, Farah's attitude seemed somehow appropriate. As though it were an effect of wielding what no man should...
Perhaps Amy has allowed her assumptions to mislead her.
"And you've certainly proven more powerful than I. Southtown though?" She glances toward the dusty track winding away from the monastery, leading off into snow-capped mountains upon the distance, breaking off to veer toward the hulking peak of Everest. Majestic and awe-inspiring. Reason enough for any man to be here. "'Scenic' barely does this route justice! Though..."
Turning back with a softly breathed laugh, Amy folds her arms loosely about her middle, leaning comfortably as she continues to stand, embracing herself for the extra warmth. "I'm afraid you won't find much here but peace, enlightenment and astounding views." It's spoken with the resignation of one who has had little success herself, and she does not keep the sigh from her voice. "Unless your gut decided to lead you to me, though I can't imagine why it would."
It should be a joke; and it is, though her smile comes out a little wan as her mind wanders to the purpose of her own visit. There is something cagey now in the woman's manner, as though her initial friendliness has led her too far, as if she desires to pull away. She rallies with a toss of her head, gestures toward her pack upon the ground, "If you wanted to stay anyway, I have food and plenty of water. You won't find much trade here until morning."
Somewhat hastily she appends, "I'd... be glad for the company, truth be told."
"Why not?" Zach asks shortly after she self-depricates. "You seem nice enough, and who knows? Our meeting here may prove to benefit us both." He loosks in the direction Amy indicates, taking in the view with a gentle smile. It /is/ a nice view, to be sure. He seems to be enjoying the moment, and the fact that he has /pleasant/ company for once. Everyone else has been trouble in some way or another, from Neo League fighters who wanted to use him as a stepping stone to crazy brainwashed assassins. The smile broadens a bit; Amy's general demeanor the last time the two had met had shown him a fairly generous woman, eager for what life had to offer. This might /actually/ be enjoyable.
Then, of course, is when it happens.
The choker clasped around his neck, which had proven to be far more of a bane than a boon, writhes around his neck. It doesn't choke him, or even pinch him, but /damn/ if it is decidedly squickly.
It shows on Zach's face, almost as if Amy had just dumped a bunch of bugs and small mammals down his pants. He doesn't even realize what is actually happening, or what the choker is reacting to, but he collects himself fairly quickly and start to look around with more than a bi of concern on his face. "Company may be best," he finally says quietly. "But I can't promise you any safety if something should happen."
It seems they're made kindred by recent experience. Perhaps, in a way, they are both fleeing across the mountains - it is a route that has been otherwise fully free from the rigours of familiarity. That they have crossed paths is a bizarre quirk of the fortunes, but doubtless for either there are others they would have been far less well-disposed to meet. If fortune were to smile slyly as it introduced a rogue element of the past, it is best that it be this one. For that same moment, they are united in sharing a certain gladness.
Until stormy blue eyes are distracted, lancing with wary rapidity from Zach's pleasantly smiling features to the flesh of his neck. She might not have marked the choker as anything more than a curiosity - partly shrouded as it is by heavy material. But this, this is almost unbelievable. One who spends her life in pursuit of esoteric relics should perhaps not be so surprised, but such phenomena are read far more often than seen, and there is something else...
A nagging sensation in the pit of her soul. At the back of her mind.
"Zach?"
This is a different kind of familiarity.
"Are you okay?"
And it is not welcome.
His talk of safety assures her she need not defend herself; and the Templar appears as fearless as her station would demand, only subtly grounding her stance as she cants her head faintly to one side, watching the man before her with intelligent concern rather than the air of panic that others might. What he cannot see is what she tries not to regard - the knotting of her stomach, a tension at the centre of her being normally kept so limber and ready. An echo from a time only recently past creeps into her skull, from the dreams of last night's disturbed sleep upon the path...
Amy lifts a hand, confident in her uncertainty, brushing fingertips in a loose gesture toward the dangerous adornment about Zach's neck. "I'm not worried for myself, but this thing, is it connected to your power? I told you I've encountered it before, and I believe it can twist people. Compel them."
It's a stab into the darkness, blunt and crude, but her intentions are good.
"I understand if you can't tell me."
Zach grumps, and tugs the material of his parka to cover the choker. "I will be," Zach replies, visibly calming down a bit. "I was just surprised by something." Now that he knows something may be up, he can handle it. In fact, he is already going through a routine of coping mechanisms to ready himself for a potential confrontation. But with /what/? he asks himself. Amy can see it in his body language. Zach loosens up, taking a relaxed stance while his left hand drifts down to a bundle dangling off of that hip.
Then he slides into explanation mode, his eyes flitting around the area as if searching for something. "Soul power is like many other kinds of power," he says. "For many fighters, putting it roughly, it's another weapon. Like a sword, or a fist," ...or that mist you use, he does not say. "It doesn't have any kind of good or evil to it. It's the person that brings that to the table."
He glances at Amy. "My control of my energy has always been rough. It reacts mostly how I want it to, but sometimes..." He pauses, thinking about it. "Going full-tilt, I can do. Not going at all, too. Going part way... has always been tricky for me." He gestures irritably at his neck. "This... /thing/ just makes it worse, and the damn thing won't come off."
"But there's no taking back that choice," he says firmly, "And I'd do it again if I had to." He looks away from the Templar, gazing up the mountain. "A life was at stake. My friend's life, and as I was before was not enough to save him."
Even should the Templar miss Zach's initial tightening, his attempt to relax his posture makes it all the more obvious, along with the motion of his arm. Though she maintains eye contact for the most part, a downward flick of her gaze does take in the movement with the instincts of a fighter perhaps accustomed to weaponry in some manner. The bundle is marked but not lingered upon, and she immediately looks back up, chin lowering faintly as she smiles. It's not a guarded gesture; she trusts the reply. Nothing about Zach suggests he is lying - even if he may not offer the full story.
Amy feels no need to press for it directly, keeping her attention predominantly on the young man but busying herself by crouching down, seizing up her abandoned pack and rooting inside for a few seconds as she listens. It's an explanation she has been longing to hear, though it does little to allay her fears for either of the two she has met. With the revelation of the collar comes a further bloom of suspicion, not in Zach himself but in other forces that seem to be marshalling...
"You're right," she concedes his point with a short nod, at the same time pulling a folded blanket from her bag, spreading it on the rock-strewn ground with a deft billow of her arms before looking back up to the psychic. Her activity ceases as the subject matter turns personal. As Zach lets on to his plight. His diverting of her attention back to the collar has exactly that effect, and the Englishwoman looks at it with a thoughtful frown, biting down upon her lower lip. "But..."
"Choice? You made a choice?" 'Not enough to save him', he says. The words are a painful echo, the Templar's stomach knotting further as she barely prevents herself cringing. Her eyes blaze with a sudden intensity as she draws breath, sinking back upon her haunches with a long sigh. "You tried to save somebody. You wanted to grow stronger. I've heard similar things before, Zach," her voice drops to a murmur at that, a hand drifting upward to her neck. She fingers something beneath thick cloth, fingertips closing around an object concealed just above her breast. "I've felt the same way."
She seems distant, but with a shake of her head she comes back to the present, gestures toward the blanket beside her. An oddly cosmopolitan act given their surroundings, and the matter at hand.
Amy says, "Please. Come sit, and eat. Being tired and hungry won't help you control your emotions; and that's what drives your power, isn't it?" It is a question, but he does not truly need to answer - she seems fairly assured as to what the answrr will be. "Perhaps you'll also allow me to examine your collar. I... know a certain amount about artifacts, mythical and religious in nature. It's part of who I am. It's--" she tails off with a soft hiss of breath, darting a troubled gaze back to her pack as she heads in presumed search of food. Her closing words carry a measure of guilt, "It's why I need to be strong, too.""
Zach eyes Amy cautiously. "Saved him, actually," Zach says tiredly. He considers the woman in front of him carefully. Just how far should he trust this person. He hardly knows her, despite his first impressions. He casts another look around him before setting himself down carefully, as if he is in a bit of pain. He keeps his hand on the other bundle.
"Talk to me while we do this?" he asks almost vulnerably. He's curious as to Amy's store of knowledge. Where she came by it. Anything she's willing to tell, really. It's nice to have someone to talk to who is not out for something from you.
Amy withdraws her hands a second time, now bearing a bundle of greaseproof paper held closed with string; practical if primitive, all of her supplies being purchased from outlying villages where she presumably also acquired the llama lurking still nearby, occasionally swishing the contents of his mouth at a silently scuttling passerby. At least he's not troubled by inner demons.
"I wasn't planning to sit here in silence," the Templar murmurs to Zach as she turns and sets the packet down, slipping from her haunches to sit cross-legged beside the psion - not too close, but enough that she can lean and reach for his neck. She does so, but pauses before she can actually make contact, drawing her hands back faintly as she raises a questioning brow. "Perhaps I shouldn't be touching it, though. Would you...?"
She allows him to do the honours, but doesn't wait for a verbal reply, catching the look in his eyes - the trepidation, the unease - and disarming her businesslike approach with a smile. She's not entirely sure she needs to add what she does, but call it a gut feeling. "You can trust me, by the way. My own goals aren't selfish; I'm travelling to..." She draws her chin up, a prideful gesture for all that she accompanies it with a note of self-deprecating mirth, "To save a lot of people, actually. Don't laugh, but I'm a knight. The kind that helps people..."
Trailing off, she frowns and flicks her gaze to one side, "Or tries to."
The moment is brushed aside like so many others, her eyes back on Zach. On his neck.
"Now let me take a look..."
"It's been handled before," Zach replies. "And I don't think anything's happened to him for it. He couldn't find a clasp either." He pulls the parka down enough to allow Amy access to the choker. He glances at Amy with a raised brow. He remembers some of the constructs he's made with his power. Armor. Swords. Shields on occassion. He smiles softly. "That's kind of neat, actually."
Amy will not find any kind of clasping mechanism on the metallic choker. She almost has to wonder how he got the damn thing /on/. "Being a protector," he says. "That..." Zach draws in a breath. "That sounds like something you can be proud of. Was it hard? The training for it?"
"Yes." The word is spoken without hesitation, though it does dash hard and stern from the woman's lips, quietly considered as she leans in to look over the artifact. A lack of clasp was almost to be expected, but she cranes her neck to glance around the side, before reaching up to tenderly finger the cold metal, testing for rotary give. "Well..."
Her examination continues as she explains her answer, keeping Zach's request in mind.
"Belief is hard, faith is hard. The station I was afforded meant I had to accept a great deal of things I used to consider foolish, and see beauty where I used to see the ravings of the delirious." Smiling distantly, she runs two fingertips along the choker, tracing the curious serpent motif until she reaches the mouth. She jerks away suddenly, as if shocked, her withdrawn hand burning with a searing golden corona that dissipates as she closes it to a fist. A gentle gasp and a shake of her head before her gaze slips to Zach. "Where did you find this? It... something about it is familiar to me..."
Amy gets a finger between Zach and the choker, causing the psychic a bit of discomfort. She sees a bit of chafing underneath, which is reasonable considering Zach cannot remove the thing. Zach's eyes go wide as Amy jerks away. /That/... is new. "It was given to me," he says with a bit of awe in his voice. "The old lady pulled a fast one on me, I think. Even /if/ she meant well by it," Zach says. "I don't think she was completely up front about it."
"I think I'll have some words with her if we ever meet again." Zach scowls. "Maybe more than words."
New and disturbing. There is a mixture of shock and awe esconced in the gaze of the Templar as she settles herself away from Zach, absent-mindedly wringing her hands together in her lap, the left massaging the formerly burning right. It's not the energy itself that bothers her; but the reason it manifested. She glances from the psion to his ornament, and back once more, forcing herself to breath evenly as the pulse quickens in her breast.
"I've never heard of anything like it, but you say it affects your powers? Was this 'old lady' like you? Did she wield the same manner of force?" There's a connection, somewhere. Between Farah, and Zach, and mayhap with herself also. The serpent. Where has she seen that before? Why does she react to it? So many questions, and then an answer surfaces, Amy's eyes widening with a sudden realisation. "The dreams... /my/ dreams..."
She cuts in on any reply the man tries to make, voice gaining a certain haste.
"I've dreamed every night of a creature shrouded in shadow. I see a silhouette, but it seems to be a wyrm with many heads. I've communicated with it all my life, in a sense, but now it speaks to me when I slumber; bids that I draw closer. And," she smiles, still pawing at her hand, and for a moment golden flecks creep within the stormy blue depths of her eyes, "I trust it."
"There are forces in this world that choose us, Zach, for better or for worse. I struggle every day to consolidate the happenings of my past, and the actions I must take in the future, but I've found that there are things we cannot avoid; we can only embrace with our hearts and act as best we are able. Perhaps you need to fight this, or perhaps it's a boon. Perhaps--"
Perhaps the same thing that calls to her has found him. Her smile broadens, reaching those oddly tainted eyes, sunlight swimming in the oceanic abyss. Amy's shoulders lift into a short, carefree shrug, and a hand lifts from her lap to tip toward Zach.
"You seem an intelligent and compassionate man. What does your heart tell you?"
Zach frowns as Amy starts to speak at a surprisingly fast pace. "This thing," Zach says, "Takes what I have and increases it to dangerous levels." To illustrate his point, Zach pulls his parka off, then slides the Chinese style top off to reveal a well-muscled, but heavily bandaged torso. Some of the bandages look like they could use some changing. "And not just to those I use them against." Zach tilts his head to Amy's last question, thinking deeply for a moment, trying to gage not only the question but the intent behind it.
"Along with the fact that my output's almost impossible to control when I use it," Zach says. "Using it just to hurt people... isn't right." He considers. "Professional fighting aside, I mean. And even then, I present a greater risk of seriously injuring someone... and that isn't acceptable to me either."
"I understand."
It's spoken without the bitter air of the resigned; an honest admission. Amy does understand. She has questioned her own power, without experiencing the same destruction and loss as the man before her. A glance goes to his bandages, as the scope of his situation seems to grow wider. In context, she can only assume this damage is in part due to his struggle with the relic - if such it may truly be called.
"The mists I wield move at my command," she murmurs, picking at a strand of thought as she glances back to Zach's face, "Though our relationship is respectful, the illusion of control is mine. But that light you saw, just now, that's new. And it comes unbidden, sometimes. It was gifted me by a man who believes I can help him change the world; for the better. He's not the first to promise me that dream, but he's the first to do it without giving me cause for doubt. I believe him..."
"And yet," she settles back with a sigh, a sad smile brushing at her lips, "I understand that there will be difficult decisions, things I can't control, and sacrifices may have to be made. It's always the way; even in merely improving oneself. To reach for a goal beyond that is admirable, but how much is too much? That's for you to decide. But there's no doubt in my mind that it's a choice you need to make. Escaping from this... collar, could also have consequences."
The Templar glances toward the towering mountaintop, considering it a moment before turning back to Zach.
"Somebody saw fit to give you this thing, presumably asked you to wear it. You've said yourself that you're not among the most powerful fighters in this world, so would the malignant target you? This woman must have glimpsed something within in you that was different, Zach. Had you crossed paths before? Faith /is/ hard. But there is no harm in wisdom before you leap. Think before you choose a path; try to know that your path is right."
Amy smiles, "That's the most and the best that you can do."
"Never met her before in my life," Zach says. "As for whether or not I'd be targetted, hell." Zach scowls as he recalls the incidents. "It would not be the first time someone has come after me for what I am capable of without the collar. What I have is... unusual among fighters. You'll find that about... one in every ten or so fighters uses it. Everyone else is generally fighting with chi. Even the others who are /like/ me, those who use soul power, agree that my ability to throw energy around is... extraordinary to say the least."
"And since my power is mine to use, or not use, as I see fit," Zach continues, "I would prefer to overcome the obstacle this presents, whether by removing it or adapting to it, before I get my life back to what passes for normal." He leans back, putting his weight on his hands as he supports himself with his arms. "If I have to defend myself, or others, I have /some/ means to do so. But I won't put people in danger just to save my own ass."
For all that power is relative, the trial by psychic fire that Amy experienced in Sunshine City means there is little need for Zach to convince her of his claims. She has long harboured pride and arrogance amongst her flaws, in one measure or another, but her forays into the wider world of fighting have taught her to make few judgements toward her opponents. So many unique styles, odd quirks of power, and staggering hidden talents mark the warriors of the world. That the psion considers himself a danger /is/ wise, because in time...
In time they might all be. It is an ever-present risk.
"With the intent to kill behind you," the Templar tosses her head, before canting it to one side, gold-flecked eyes regarding Zach levelly, "I would have cause to be afraid. Perhaps other people would be scared already. From what you've told me, I all but expect that to be the case. But you speak of a 'normal' life?" Her mouth twitches, threatening to curl into the faintest of smiles. She dispels it, glances away again with a soft snort of breath. "I'm not sure those like us should be aiming for that."
When she turns back, her gaze has hardened a touch even in her passion. Her precise emotions are difficult to read in the depths of her eyes, but a certain resolve is clear. A resolve that perhaps goes too far.
"Don't you believe that power can achieve good also? In controlling it, but making it as great as it can be, surely you could do even more wonderful things. And if it cannot heal," she glances again as his bandages, momentarily frowns, "Even violence has a place in this world - so if a warrior you must be, then fight for a cause. Make things /better/. Master what you have, then use it for justice and for the righteous. The choice you have may be to hide, to run and keep running, or to embrace this."
"Your mysterious benefactor may have awoken only what you already held inside; to force you to see what you are and make a decision. It's not my place to tell you where to put your faith, but I'm sure that there's a link between us. Between those who sought us out. And I know what I have chosen."
"Yeah," Zach says with a smirk. "The 'normal' life where I fight in the Neo Leagues and push a mop at a local youth center. Along with the occassional stint of vigilantism that occassionally occurs in the spare moments when you get thrown into the deep end." Like Egypt or Taizhou. "Power, /any/ power, is a tool. By itself, it achieves /nothing/," Zach says, recalling his one spar with Alma after the almost four years he has been working at the YFCC. "The soul power only makes me..." Zach pauses, considering. "...has only ever made me, really, more of what I am. I wield it, not the other way around." After all, he thinks, that is the only real check that he has.
Zach tilts his head to one side curiously as he starts to pull his outfit back together to protect him from the cold winds that blow through. "But enough about me," he says ironically, "What did you choose?"
Amy nods slowly as she listens to Zach's response, continuing to regard him with that same hardened intensity, only briefly cracking a partly wry, but surprisingly gentle smile at the outset. There seems nothing wrong with that life; neither is there anything wrong with what follows, a level of agreement with the meaning behind her own words that is only further encouraging. In spite of her resolute speeches and devotion to a cause yet undescribed, she is relaxed in front of the unstable psychic. He's trustworthy.
She is opening her mouth to reply when he shifts the subject, turning matters toward her. Her newfound purpose. A moment's consideration drifts between them, the Templar shifting position upon the blanket, a hand briefly toying with the package of trail food still sat unopened between them. She draws it away as a knee rises, folding her arms about it and leaning forward thoughtfully. Where does she start? What does she even say?
"I chose to put my faith in a vision of the future. I'm not just a knight, but the youngest of the Knights Templar. We're secretive," she laughs, the sound soft but reasonably bright, "I shouldn't be telling you why, but I'm seeking something. Originally I worked for the Lord and for my Grandmaster, but now I find myself walking alongside another. Many others, who want the same thing that I do; truth and light, Zach. Truth and light."
Looking up at the sky, she releases a slow breath, enjoying the sensation of passing warmth upon her lips. The odd golden taint in her eyes seems to flare as it catches in the cloud-dimmed sun, her pupils disappearing in a searing glow for just an instant. When she looks down again, Amy appears unchanged, relaxed as she nods her head.
"We want answers that have been withheld, and others to see as we do. There are things in this world hidden away that should be shared - I seek the greatest, but I will assist in opening the eyes of others too. Whatever the cost."
Suddenly Amy shifts posture again, rising to her feet as though to leave the revelation behind. As though it were nothing more than the most casual of passing stories between friends. Her tone shifts, turning businesslike as she motions toward the nearby monastery, "The sun starts to fall in an hour or so, and your bandages need changing. I should see if there's somewhere you can bathe. Help yourself to food while I'm gone. Share some with Ketu if you're feeling kind."
Truth... can be an elusive thing. Zach suppresses a bit of a shudder when Amy states her 'at any cost' determination; he's seen some of the things that have been done as a result of that statement. Hell, he's experienced some firsthand. Zach decides instead to smile a bit as he leans forward to go grab the rucksack he had left on the ground. He starts to rummage through it a bit, pulling out a snack, and a first-aid kit that shows signs of serious use.
He takes a bite from the candybar as he starts to lay out some bandages and ointments. "I've got a bit of experience in scrounging," he explains. "It's a lot easier when you have access to a decently stocked bank account, let me tell you."
He seems comfortable enough in Amy's presence for the time being. While the golden glow thing was slightly unsettling for all-too familiar reasons, he figures that maybe they can still help each other out. "Looks like my gut was right after all," he calls after the retreating Templar.
Faith is hard. It demands difficult things. But as Amy begins to walk away, offering a faint snort of amusement at Zach's comment, she reflects that company can make the hard parts easier; that perhaps she has shied too away from society in obeying her newfound resolve. Maybe when they move on from this place, it will be time to turn her step back toward things - and people - she should have confronted long before making her choice.
Sometimes the smallest fortunes can yield the greatest treasures.
"I was going to trek on hours ago," she calls back over her shoulder, halfway toward the monastic village before she glances back toward their makeshift encampment. Her stomach isn't knotted any more, she realises. A hand brushes at her abdomen as she laughs, turning away with her parting words. "Maybe my gut knows a thing or two, as well!"
Log created on 17:30:15 03/11/2011 by Zach, and last modified on 18:24:16 03/12/2011.