Description: Human beings do mean and spiteful things to one another for a myriad of reasons. Perhaps there has never before been a time in human history where one is willing to go about the usual breaking and entering routine to pilfer, of all things, an origami crate. Yet, is one party underestimating its importance while another seeks it so very much?
It's sad times in this country for a lot of reasons.
Howard Rust, for his part, has largely shut off the rest of the world, aside from the very basic commitments of the job he's being paid for. The Kyokugen dojo hasn't seen him. Some people say it's become hard to even hear one of his distinctive joint crackles. Benches in need remain untouched, a problem for someone else to handle. Hair stylists breathe quiet sighs of relief at not having to lay eyes on the man's scalp in passing. Trees bless the fact they are standing for another day. More complex tools lay dormant, gathering a layer of dust and, dare one say it, maybe even some rust.
He's holing himself entirely within the confines of his apartment. The TV's not on, not even the bathroom lights. It seems the only thing light goes to is a digital clock, and a dingy overhead lamp that has long needed replacement that cast a weak glow of green and a flickering, dim yellow above a pair of hands considering a stood-up instruction sheet and a pile of papers on a cleared out workbench.
Its only other occupants are four-hundred and twenty-three other crates, the number which includes that single perfect one that seems to keep getting moved around the house. For being stuck in the rain, caught under a windshield wiper, and stepped on no less than seven times since he's had it, it is in pretty good shape.
The clock turns 10:38 PM, and the middle-aged man - dressed in a white undershirt that doesn't fit too well and a pair of club print boxers (let's face it, he's not sexy enough for heart print boxers) - considers how much more he can do tonight after another tiring day with his superiors breathing over his neck, making damn well sure there is not a single misstep.
On the balcony of his third floor apartment is an American-style grill that has sat unused for some time, overseeing other apartment complexes. This one in particular houses many expats who come from abroad to work here in Japan, and is not particularly what anyone would call luxurious.
That's a Japanese mansion for you.
If this joke has occurred to one Howard Rust in recent times, it doesn't show on his tired, blank, neutral face as he takes Future Disproportionate Paper Crane #424 (or #423, depending on how one counts a crane he himself didn't fold) and starts flexing his fingers to work at creasing this thing into something that, for lack of any better ideas, will eventually go towards getting a wish to help his friends.
She's getting better at the process - the tracking, that is, of hundreds of stray paper cranes out and about. Many of the flock returned to their points of release, ready and eager to be collected and analysized, reports and metrics generated...
But then there were those that didn't come back. Many were presumed destroyed and, indeed, when maping out the network of returned cranes, it was easy to identify the dead links in the chain. Though highly resilient to natural risks, such as moisture, wind, and dirt, nothing about the harmless paper scouts would protect them from being dismantled by a curious child's hand, torn in half by an indifferent teenager looking for just one more way to demonstrate their anger at the world, or shreaded by some passing raven seeking materials for its nest. No... it was expected many of the cranes would not survive their journey into the world.
But then there were The Missing - cranes that were neither confirmed destroyed nor had returned home... and it is for those lost members of the flock that Ayame and others like her are searching. The first few were difficult - getting used to tuning out everything else, including her perpetually negative cycle of thoughts, in order to focus on the signal of the missing cranes took a while. But one by one, she's found them scattered about. A crane stuck in a grate. A crane stuck under someone's tire. A crane wedged into a young child's notebook.
A crane caught in a windshield only to now serve as the model by which an army of less perfected cranes are being held up to in comparison.
She knows nothing of that yet, however. She knows only of the location. Outside, ten minutes prior, Ayame had rested her hands at her hips and gazed up at the apartment building as lit by the nearby street lamps. "This should be a breeze." she had mused.
Once inside, she had traversed the first floor, then the second, moving slowly, eyes closed at times as she focuses on that distant cry, inaudible to all but those who know what they are listening for. Her steps are silent. She was good at this sort of thing before she fell into the ranks of Kagero. She has only gotten better in the time since.
In the hall, she hesitates, eyes half-lidded, head bowed, before extending her fingers to trace gently along the wall. "Hm..."
The apartment number is noted and Ayame exhales, slipping a large-display smart phone into the palm of her hand from one of her jacket's pockets. The LED display illuminates her face even better than what passes for night lights in the hall as she checks the address, quickly researching occupants, pulling down floorplans of the individual units, and preparing herself mentally. A narrow eyebrow arcs as she conducts a little bit more research about the resident. Finally, the device is deactivated and stowed.
"Of all the people..." she muses to herself.
Her ear goes to the door as she crouches down near the handle. It is possible to pick a lock very quietly... but not silently... And if he has a window cracked, no matter how silently she opens the door, a draft will pick up for a moment.
Her preference would be to avoid confrontation, but she is on a time-sensitive schedule. She can't afford to wait it out. Something about this crane is different from the others... it is pinging a lot more urgently than most. It must have come near /something/. Well, she decides. No point in dragging this out. She'll just go in there and get what she's here for and be on her way. What's that old shop class teacher going to do about it!?
Kneeling in the hall, her right hand goes to her left wrist where she slides out two slender, metal objects - a pick and a tension rod - they'll suffice for opening this lock.
Depending on Rust's level of distraction, he may hear the slightest bit of scratching at the lock. Depending on his focus or direction of facing, he might feel a draft that heralds the opening of his door or see the actual act in progress as Ayame strides in like she owns the place.
Regardless, her reaction is going to be the same either way, coming to a stop and staring in abject surprise. "What. The. /Hell./ Are you doing?!"
She might have just noticed all the disfigured cranes.
This is a man far, far, far too engrossed in what he's doing. The occasional crackle or sound is nothing new to him. It's just the way the buildings settle, he imagines. Maybe that crazy-ass neighbor is doing his laundry this late at night. Maybe they still haven't fixed that hallway light yet and someone's bumped up against his door.
He fails to care, as he struggles with crane #424. A low grunt escapes his throat at his frustration, slamming a hand down on the table. The cranes shudder in unison, the older man's head lowering onto the table. He really could use something to drink.
His sole motivation at this point, as he reminds himself, is the welfare of some of his extremely troubled friends. There's nothing else he can do for them, and if Antoine says he needs to open his eyes to some things, this had better be what he means. With renewed vigor - if not any actual skill - he folds another horrible crane that would see him flunking out of a kindergarten arts and crafts class.
It's that bad.
The moment Ayame opens the door, she might pick up some noise - chi noise? He's working with extremely fancy paper that might have faint traces of chi in its use, as though its manufacturer were using his own natural talents to somehow make them - it may further give disturbing assumptions as to what this aging educator and failing gladiator might be up to.
It does beg the question from outside individuals, though - what the hell is he doing?
"'m... foldin' cranes," he grunts out quietly, his voice tired. He either doesn't recognize the voice, or is too melancholy to even care. It's hard to say, as he shuffles aside the new mutant among the menagerie.
The sole crane - the very crane Ayame is after - stands a little taller than the rest. It needs a hero, or at least an adult. (Some other adult than this one.)
"I, I ain't in the mood for... for throwin' out burglars," he grouses as he slaps down another piece of paper, "just... leave my shit alone, 'n... 'n just head out the door." He coughs once, then pats his chest with a balled-up fist.
He looks to be in a lot better physical shape than Ayame may last remember seeing him in. Less fat, more muscle. In the light, she might be able to see the burn scars in his right palm - depending on her point of view - as he nonetheless replies to an outright intruder with single-minded indifference.
As her eyes trace over Rust initially, she concludes that he's already drunk. This will be easy. There's no way some middle aged man, senses dulled by alcohol, and no track record that would establish him as a threat to her could possibly present an issue. She'll just demand the crane and be on her way. After all, what are the odds that /anyone/ is really going to put up a fight over a paper folding project?
That was before she saw the cranes. The strawberry-blond, wouldbe bandit makes her exclamation, having no idea what else to say upon taking in the sight. "Well. That's certainly good for you." she declares when he explains that he isn't wantonly destroying expensive paper but rather trying to fold cranes with it. "But..."
Her hand snaps to her hip. Ayame doesn't feel like she's in any kind if danger here. She does, however, feel like she's stumbled onto something that definitely bears figuring out. It's too weird to let go of so easily.
She gazes over the vast collection, some better described as paper balls, some looking vaguely folded in nature, none of them looking like the original. It takes a moment to find it - the one, perfect crane amongst so many failures. Her other hand goes up to her forehead as she rubs it in thought. Trying to make sense of the nonsensical... it's not usually that hard.
"Not a burglar. Just came to get something that's mine back..." She should just take it to go. Tight time schedule 'n all that. She lowers her hand to her side, slouching to her right a bit.
Rust is studied in silence for a long moment. She runs any number of possible scenarios through her mind to explain this strange discovery. Why fold cranes? Why is there that touch of chi faintly present in some of them? Why is she hesitating to even figure this out.
"Che. I dunno what's eating you, pops. You look like hell but that's not my problem. I'm going to let you off easy here 'cause I'm pretty sure nothing you've got is even remotely interesting to me anyway. How about I just take-" she steps forward then, extending a hand for the original crane, "-this..."
The wadded-up never-wills stare with Ayame with unfeeling, inanimate, completely nonexistent eyes among the crowd to the young infiltrator, as if begging to be accepted. To be loved, to be a part of some heartfelt wish in which their very existences would have the definition of meaning.
Because let's face it, this man is not cutting it. Only about maybe... twenty of them, tops, could ever be really considered close enough to a crane to count. Everything else is some horrible, misshapen parody of what it is supposed to represent. Much like that combover, which has not improved in the time that's passed since their last meeting.
If anything, it's become even worse.
He shouldn't be much of a threat if he's not rising up from his chair to deal with this flagrant intrusion on his property at a time of night where guests are usually not welcome. It seems he's just going to sit there and continue his feeble folding.
Until his right hand suddenly snaps out, protectively, and scoops up the single perfect crane - nestling it closer to himself as though a child coveting a beloved toy.
"I need it," he grumbles, "gotta... gotta fold a thousand." He grunts, without making any eye contact with Ayame in question. Does he even really know who he's talking to? "I got, a, a friend actin' like he's on drugs, but... but the rehab guys says he's got nothin'. Another guy... he, he might've killed some people."
He knows damn well there's no 'might.' If that report is at all true, Zach Glen just killed three people and injured plenty more. A part of him feels especially guilty he didn't try to force the point about using a chainsaw to get the damned thing off of him.
"I failed 'em as... failed 'em as a friend, as a mentor... 's the only means I got left," he mumbles as he shoves the crane back into the crowd, none the more inclined to look his intruder in the eyes.
When he grabs the flawless archtype, Ayame's hand draws back quickly. "H-hey, don't-" she starts to try and plead that he not damage the crane. That one was special. Its ping told her as much. Some trace of chi it had come across is exactly the sort've thing she's trying to find. When it becomes clear that damaging it is the last thing this broken man is about to do, however, she relaxes, never finishing her thought. A soft exhale of mild exasperation is her reaction then, eyes rolling toward the ceiling even though there's no one but those eyeless cranes watching her now.
"What's this? How did you know there were a thousand?" she snaps back, looking suspiciously at Rust now, suffering an unfortunate view of his combover as he hasn't risen to his feet even yet. One thousand cranes released in Southtown. Remarkably, most of them are accounted for now in some way or another.
"Uh huh." She sounds as skeptical as ever, but she doesn't make a move to force the issue. It's clear she isn't taking any chances that the crane in question gets damaged by any avoidable scuffling or trying to snatch it from his hands. "Are you sure this guy hopped up on drugs is someone /else/? 'Cause I'd recommend you consider some rehab for yourself. Jeez. And if you're not on drugs yet, maybe you /should/ be. I'm sure there's something out there that'd pick you up."
She snaps up one of the disfigured attempts and holds it on the palm of her hand, "I'll trade you that one for this one?" His ramblings... they're not making sense to her. That isn't to say she's ignoring him however, processing them, digesting them, compiling them against other known facts and details. Let it never be said Ayame's mind is an idle thing.
"Tch." Ayame grouses rubbing her face with her hand. She's clearly impatient, but not so much that she's going to risk any action that results in the crane getting damaged. Right now it's closer to Rust than it is her. "I don't have a lot of time but I'm not going anywhere without that crane-"
Then it clicks. The crane had been in proximity of source of chi that was of interest. Pulling her hand from her face, Ayame stares at Rust, eyes flitting back and forth as she thinks about what it is he's said. "This friend... the one that is exhibiting the extreme personality shift." she pauses. Maybe both of these friends he's mentioned have changed violently. "The first one, Captain Drug Addict. Did you take that paper crane near him?" She seems intensely interested now. This might be the first solid lead the entire investigation has managed to produce.
For all his shortcomings that he seems content to share with her at some length, this broken shell of a man may be the very link she needs to start piecing together the bigger picture. The Enemy had made their move, Seishirou declared. It was now time to respond.
Considering it's already been stepped on a few times, it may be something of a wonder that there's still anything stored in there of worth. But there is no doubting that it, in itself, holds an incredibly important key to the investigations of Kagero.
It just somehow happened to end up in the hands of... this guy, of all people. It sometimes seems like trouble magnetically clings to him. Maybe Ayame and her cohorts could start a legitimate business off the side, bottled trouble. Just get him to shower it off every so often somehow, collect this theoretical physical embodiment of trouble in a vial, sell it for big bucks.
"The hell do ya, do ya mean, were a thousand? 'm only... up in the four hundreds." Truth be told, he doesn't follow her query either, he knows he's got... about four hundred, maybe, off the top of his head? He's since lost count and just decided to fold, fold, and fold some more. "I mean, uh, you make a thousand, you... you get a wish, right," he asks without making any real eye contact, still, as if focused on folding this latest, next monstrosity to all things papercraft.
It may actually be a positive karma action to just set them all on fire, because there is no way their existence is doing any latent feng shui in this bachelor pad any good.
He pauses in mid-folding to lower his head as she mocks him about possibly being hopped up on drugs himself, a low growl but no real aggressive actions. He doesn't want to have to deal with any of this /either/, and yet he still possessively seeks to keep the crane he did not fold. "Put that down," he commands - to the extent his tired, quiet voice can really command, "I need... I need every last one."
He's clearly /there/ enough to know she's attempting to con him with something he's already made. He's ready to suggest that she please just leave so he can maybe hit five hundred or so tonight, maybe six hundred if he gets really inspired. Really pushed. At least, until she asks what might be the single most important question this night.
Next to 'have you showered at all lately?' The second-most important one.
"Uhhh... no," he mumbles, "I was, I was driving by where he was held, y'know... makin' sure it wasn't... on fire or anything. It was raining, so, so I got the wipers on, 'n... something got snagged."
Which by itself answers the mystery, no doubt, as to how this ended up in his calloused, firm working man hands that might be great at putting together birdhouses and spice racks and benches.
They are clearly not meant for origami cranes.
"'n I didn't have a chance to, to pull it out until I parked near a, a friend's place, I mean... it survived... being wet, being crunched... hell, I dunno where it came from."
He exhales loudly, mentally weighing how much patience he has versus what of his little amount of aggression he has to leverage to really want this person, whoever it is, to leave.
The voice is starting to sound a little more familiar, but he's having trouble piecing it together.
The impatient girl squints when Rust says he's only up into the four-hundreds here. Then that aspect of whatever dementia this soul is experiencing clicks. "Oh. You're making a thousand. Because of that silly... wish story..." Her words come slower, her tone deader with each second, as if somehow becoming bitterly disappointed that the explanation behind this gaggle of folded shapes is so juvenile. Funny, she thinks to herself, that that's the precise number of cranes released in each region... A bit of the required jutsu or just one of that Ryouhara youth's facinations with the old ways? She doesn't worry about it for now. Who cares if this crazy man needs to make a wish.
She puts the crane down when asked, annoyed but not surprised that he's not far enough gone for something that simple to work. It seems she's going to have to continue conversing with him for the time being. She isn't happy about that.
"Why would it be on fire?" comes the question. It's remarkable how patient she sound when she puts her mind to it. Fronting her mood as something other than how she really feels is how she's gotten anywhere at all in life. "Who is this friend?" Her voice almost catches on the word friend. It isn't one spoken often by her. "The one the experts can't help?"
Ayame backs up a step now, seeming to settle into this place she doesn't belong a little more, no longer crowding Rust or leaning over him as he folds. "It doesn't matter where it came from. It isn't going to go granting wishes though," Ayame snorts, folding her arms over her chest, lifting her face to stare at the ceiling of the dingy apartment. "You should know better than that. You want to be a mentor to anyone? Start by not filling their heads with rubbish like that..."
She finds the nearest wall and makes it hers, leaning back, legs crossed at her ankles, arms still folded, eyes lazily wandering back to resting over Rust. So physically built, yet so weak at the same time.
"These friends of yours... Wouldn't happen to be the people you were teamed up with in the King of Fighters, would it?" Knowing the numbers and details about many fighting events is one of Ayame's hobbies. That KOF 2011 is of special interest to her associates makes it all the more certain she wouldn't forget one of the lineups in the biggest fighting phenomenon to come along in almost a decade. "Let's see... that Zach fellow was one of them..." The only teammate of Rust she had, well, actual history with...
For now the girl is just digging, looking for the key to get Rust to relax his obsession with the crane long enough for her to depart with it. Though the extra information she stands to collect has, much to her chagrin, become worth the wait.
That silly wish story... yeah, it's silly, but god damn, he thinks to himself, I have one of those crane things just cram itself into his windshield, bad things happen... Antoine suggests he look into things he hasn't seen before, he has to mean something like this, right? He seems absolutely convinced that this is the only way he can help them, if his continued attempts at folding - in complete spite of how absolutely disgusting and misshapen these things are - prove any indication.
"When me and, and one of his friends found him, he was," he seems almost hesitant to describe it, "he was... he was nuts. The part of the forest we... we, uh, found him at," he gestures uselessly with the hand facing Ayame, "looked like it... rotted away. Broke down, it was... it was really somethin', but, when I took him to rehab, they said he... wasn't on anything. No... cocaine, none of that... Burn, or... Glow, or anything. Nothin' at all."
His voice builds a bit in intensity, as if he himself were as absolutely bewildered with this whole scenario as Ayame herself might have been coming in. When she so much as suggests not to fill in their heads with rubbish like that, he's the one shaking his head.
"He's the, he's the guy who suggested it." He didn't suggest it directly, but in spirit it was his suggestion the man open his eyes up to these sorts of things. Where Ayame goes for one of the walls, he's wiping his brow... as if working off a stress-induced headache, of which he has no shortage of at all. (That's another thing one could sell in bottled form!)
When she starts bringing down names, he visibly sits up with a start, as if maybe this were a little too knowing, a little too well into the loop. When she starts mentioning 'that Zach fellow,' he's slowly craning his head.
At least, he sees who she is, even though where she leans it's tough to make out some of her features. His eyes are currently most comfortable with that light he has in front of him. The darkness, not so much. His eyes squint, his face difficult to read between 'anger' or 'fear' or 'outright confusion.'
"...It's you," he says at last, although he doesn't appear to be making any gestures that suggest he wants to get up and personally throw her out. "From, uh... two years back, about... during the invasion," he waves a finger while trying to recall.
Ayame is giving Rust his space now, leaning against the wall, arms folded in front of her, her legs crossed at the ankles. One would think she were an invited visitor, a welcome guest, with the way she acts so comfortable in this admittedly quite strange situation.
She listens to the account of his friend, taking in details as always. No factoid is too minor, every word may carry a clue she'll need here. The older teacher may have no idea he's being so heavily scrutinized here, but he is at the center of a puzzle that Ayame needs to solve. That makes him interesting for now. Something he says sparks a raised eyebrow, but she doesn't interrupt, relaxing back into her expression that's best described as walking a fine line between bored stiff and infinitely patient.
She idly brushes her nails on her top as Rust's intensity builds, as if responding to his fervor with the exact opposite demeanor, content to wait in shadow for this mystery to come together. She glances up from her nails when he looks toward her, eyes in the darkness, her mouth twisting into a smile that seems out of place in such dire circumstances, "It is. Out behind Pacific's auditorium too. You gave me quite the fight that day. But let's not dwell on your fond memories of me, those are not important here and now, hm?"
She continues to contemplate, eyes rolling toward the ceiling again, searching her exhaustive memory of names, dates, places, facts needed to pry more information from Rust. Finally she pushes off from the wall, inhales then exhales, stretching her arms out at her sides. "Do you have anything good to eat around here? If I had known I'd have to put up with so much moping, I'd have probably caught a snack before trying to finish this job."
The details Rust has provided have filled in some of the blanks for her, though she hasn't indicated as such. "Ah, nevermind me, I'll help myself." she declares, moving kitchenward now. "You were talking about your teammates, right? Don't let me destract you, feel free to carry on."
Cripes /it is her/. Why am I not throwing her out the window, again, Howard asks himself as she brings back memories of that particular day... man, it reminds him how he was afraid he may have accidentally stabbed her at one point, that... that wasn't a good thing.
Kind of like how he's heard the guy he beat the crap out of trying to mug that woman may never actually walk again from the police officer that came by to ask him questions about that incident. Being very strong and powerful is one thing, but when it comes to being powerful enough to completely ruin someone in a fit of emotion, well... that's a scary thing, in a lot of ways.
He might be sued for medical expenses regardless, and that's never good times.
Ayame goes and helps herself to his kitchen while he sits there being a sad little (big) man, grunting as he turns back to his desk. Why should he care, it's not like he doesn't need to get some more groceries as of... two days ago.
"Hey," he says in an annoyed, if inaudible, tone of voice as his eyes catch something missing. They narrow.
Dangerous theories come to mind.
Over in the kitchen, well, it smells like he hasn't done the dishes properly yet. There's only a bunch of disposable cups, plastic utensils, and paper plates for use to eat much of anything. The fridge has a carton of OP (orange pulp, there's basically nearly no juice in comparison to said pulp - WHY THE HELL DO PEOPLE EVEN LIKE ORANGE PULP, C'MON) and a nearly empty gallon of whole milk. Some sodas. No beer.
However, the centerpiece of this cluttered kitchen is host to something amazing next to the spice rack - an open bag of potato chips. It's almost empty, and it's a limited edition flavor that they don't make any more. Despite having been in open air for a while, they're fresh, they're crispy.
With Ayame's expertise in pickpocketing, she could likely do the impossible and outright steal chips without so much as rustling the bag - but is she willing to deprive this man of the last of a chip flavor he may never come across ever again?
Something small moves onto the linoleum. It's hard to make out. The sound of something crackling - Rust's bones - follow, a prolonged grunt as he has since stood himself up and waddled along over to the kitchen.
"Hey," he speaks up suddenly, "did you just take--"
His toe nudges something. The perfect crane, once again, fails to make its escape. He looks down with his mouth slightly open, as if in disbelief. "Jesus, how... just, how in the hell does, uh, does this thing keep moving," he growls as he bends on down to scoop it back up.
His back sounds horrible and stiff.
"Hm?" Ayame asks back at his first 'Hey.' "I'm still listening." She acts like everything that happens is all about her. She always has. There's the sound of some not-quite careful searching going around. Dishes rustled, something glass clanking against something else glass. Cupboards opening and closing. "You have got to be kidding me-"
The sound of the fridge being invaded, its inventory inspected, "Ah hah." The pop and hiss of a soda can being opened as Rust begrudgingly makes his way over to the kitchen as well. "You need to go shopping!" she helpfully points out. Ayame, ever prepared to dispense helpful advice, just ask her! "And this... this needs to go in the trash. I don't even know what it used to be."
"Well, well, what do we have here..." By the time the rightful owner of the kitchen's contents appears in the entrance, Ayame is chomping on chips swiped from the opened bag, "Wow, now that's more like it." She glances over her shoulder toward Rust, "You're going to need to get more chips." More helpful advice dispensed. She's better than Yahoo Answers at this rate
He starts to ask if she just took something, and she speaks answers without hesitation, "The crane? No. That's on the floor. Your chips and soda, yes." She leans back against the counter then, brown eyes coming to rest once again on Rust. This /should/ be a highly confrontational situation. How much can she help herself to his home before things escalate to another level?!
"It's trying to go home; that's what it was made to do, you see." Crunchy chomp of another handful of chips before the now mostly emptied bag is tossed back onto the counter at her side. She chews for a while, looking at Rust as he collects the crane back from off the floor. "That's why I came for it. /However/," she continues, raising her hand, finger pointing toward the ceiling, "I'm going to let you keep it, on one condition."
She lowers her hand, pressing on the counter as she hops up into a seated position on its edge, leaning forward a little. "Finish your story. I want to know specifics. The strange condition of your friends... I want to know if any persons of interest have been near them. Did the fight anyone, mention anyone that seemed out of the ordinary? What about this fellow that might've killed someone? What's his story? What happened to him?"
Ayame leans back, swinging her feet a little, heels kicking lightly against the side of the counter, "Tell me about these things and you can hold onto that crane for as long as you are able..." She grins a little, "I mean, it'll probably get away eventually... you'll leave a window cracked, a door slightly ajar, and it'll be on its way. But until it takes its leave, you're more than welcome to be its caretaker for now."
Nobody should ask what that used to be. People should ask why /it's still in the fridge/. Whatever it is, it needs to go in another plastic box bin thing and then have it and the tupperware holding it tossed right into the garbage. It smells like it was once dangerously incredibly spicy. Maybe he just has it in there as an air freshener now? (...Ew.)
His face turns from surprise to something a step or two removed from outright horror when she reveals she's been eating /chips/.
"Please tell me you... ate the ranch ones, not the, the..."
The unspecified limited edition flavor. Yes, she is. He lumbers over - all but ready to shove Ayame out of the way if she stays in front of where it lies - to check and make sure the last of those chips aren't eaten. "Please tell me you did... not just... eat those... god damned chips," he repeats, the crane clutched a little more tightly than ought to be comfortable given the information it holds.
For the first time ever, the crane starts actually trying to /move/ within Rust's grasp, weak papery wings hardly registering against flesh weathered against years of hard work, hard weather, and hard beatings. (And easy slips in the shower.)
It's only in that context that what Ayame says making sense, about it trying to 'go home.' His eyes fall off from the largely empty bag and onto the paper crane that is now fluttering in his grasp, as if to say 'yeah, do what she says, release me bitch or I'll motherfuckin' papercut your ass, I'll fuckin' do it, I'll cuchoo, I'll cuchoo so bad you wish I didn't cuchoo so bad.'
"What?" He asks, not paying a whole lot of attention to her conditions as he holds the thing by one of its wings. If it were capable of amusement or its direct opposite, it would not be amused. It thrashes around a little. "How in the hell--"
Is this what Antoine has been talking about all along? That stuff like /this/ exists? Even after being caught in the rain and being stepped on so many times? There's a certain wonder to be had in his eyes as it dangles in one of his hands, struggling to be freed so it can report back to its master its findings. It's like the whole world around him, for that moment, ceases to exist - that he really and truly is witnessing something of a miracle, an amazing thing that the jaded among the fighting world and even those familiar with the machinations of Ryouhara would not think special at this point.
"Wow," he says, aggravatingly forgetting to answer Ayame's queries, "this thing's... this thing's... god damned amazing."
"Oh, that's right, they don't even make these anymore." Ayame replies innocently with regards to the emptied bag, not a shread of shame evident in her expression. "Guess you can't get another bag. At least you still have ranch ones, hm?" She isn't in his way, but rather adjacent to the discarded chips bag, watching Rust as he comes right next to her to confirm the horrible truth for himself, watching the man without any apparent care in the world. No one would blame him for striking out at the intruder after an offense like /that/, but Ayame doesn't budge or even seem to be on guard.
"Careful," she intones. "Your strength is getting the better of you." It doesn't seem to be a threat but rather a legitimate urge that he be cautious - she had noticed the dangerous peril the crane was in as Rust's temper was threatened. But she needn't say anything further. He sees now. And maybe, in some tiny way, he understands.
Still seated on the counter, Ayame cants her head to the side, her palm propping her up against the countertop. She realizes she's lost him by that point, that he is no longer paying any attention to what she's trying to get him to explain. It's just as well, she decides, half closing her eyes in contemplation, leaving Rust to marvel at the wonderous, albeit perhaps ill-tempered, paper creation.
He actually gets an agreement out of Ayame, however, as he stammers out his awestruck declaration. "It is, isn't it?" Her eyes are open again, focused on the crane as well. "There were a thousand like it... in this city and in a few other places around the world. For its creator, it is no more complicated than a child's play thing. But..."
Ayame shrugs, being more honest than normal perhaps, "I've been trying to make one of my own for a while now. The folding isn't so hard..." her voice trails off, she's grinning a little, poking a bit of fun at Rust's epic struggle to make one decent orgami crane. "It's the chi matrices. I can make rather complicated ones. I can even sustain them for a little while... But to imprint them like this? To have the energy weave hold its own for so long? I can't do that yet. They almost seem alive, don't they?"
Ayame holds her hands out in front of her, palms up, fingers curled, as if she was cupping something. A soft flare of rosey hued light merges into the shape of a pink, glowing crane hovering just over the palm of her hands. It animates, wings flapping, head held straight forward, but it doesn't move from her palms... It doesn't really exist. The girl herself is holding her breath, eyes focused intensely on the small light show given shape by her own precision manipulation of chi.
Just sustaining it for the next several seconds takes all the concentration she has.
Sure, he's already seen some things that defy explanation for the outright worst - but this might be the first time, in a good long while, that he's truly and honestly feeling a sort of uplifting sensation for seeing something so wondrous he cannot even begin to really understand. It's a sort of wonder that's increasingly harder and harder to come by as the years go by. Childlike wonder at simply /experiencing/ the world, something outside of the norms of comfort and familiarity as people grow older and more set in their ways.
He actually works up a rare laugh, even if what he's doing would be unmistakable cruelty to a living thing. Maybe this paper crane /is/, in some way, a truly living thing thanks to forces well out of his control.
It slips out of his hold and flutters down towards the floor, caught quickly by the man's scarred right hand. It calms a little as it roosts there, perhaps expending as much as it was capable of in that burst to break free, bringing it back closer to his chest with the slight creak in his elbow.
The jab at his exceptionally poor folding crane skills goes unanswered as he lovingly rubs its head with a finger from his left hand, as though petting a beloved pet. A fragile, beautiful piece of craftsmanship, doted on so by a large, aging, slightly vulgar man almost like a newborn child.
Mentally he names it Clay, for reasons that will no longer make sense following the passing of this wondrous discovery.
"Chi... what?" He has trouble following, being a man of extremely mundane disciplines and skills, head tilting but otherwise with her at mention how they almost seem alive. He watches her hands, the pinkish glowing crane-shaped chi pretty nice to behold.
The actual physical paper crane would probably tap that if it could, probably.
"Wow, and... and you were all," he clears his throat as he considers who he's talking to. This is the girl who was causing problems on campus years ago - and later after that, someone with connections to some truly and honestly dangerous people. Should he actually be trusting her with this?
Should she even be /explaining this to him?/
He stares down at the crane for a little while as he takes in the last of those several seconds Ayame may be looking to concentrate. He runs a thumb over the back of his paper crane - does he possibly want to even subject his friends to Rolento, if she is with him? He never thought a man like him would be capable of such wondrous things.
Then, there's another somber realization, looking off to the side with a loud exhale. He has absolutely zero idea, at all, how to help Antoine or Zach. What Antoine's been doing defies explanation - and he cannot for the life of him still figure out what it is about the thing on Zach's neck, other than that he should've knocked his lights out and took a chainsaw to that thing at the earliest opportunity instead of... letting what happened, happen.
"Hey," he speaks up, looking back to face Ayame, "this thing," he holds out his right hand, "I'll... I'll give it back. It's," he swallows, realizing he may never again have exposure to something this breathtaking and beautiful ever again in his life, "it's just one crane. If... if you're willin' to, to, y'know... bust in my house, eat my friggin' chips, drink my... soda. Even if you were being a friggin' hooligan some time back, I... y'know, I think, I think I can respect its importance... but."
There's always a but.
"Can ya, uh, hear me out for a li'l bit?"
The image of the pink crane is sustained for around fifteen seconds. Finally Ayame exhales, lowering her palms, and the ephemeral light show collapses into a small swirl of cherry blossoms that drift down toward the floor, each vanishing from existence just before coming in contact with that unclean surface.
The girl always had a flair for fancy chi manipulation. Seishirou described it as wasteful flourishes, but his observation wasn't enough to get her to change the habit; a special fondness for cherry blossoms... Reminiscent of the old trees that line the road to the family shrine she ran from four years ago and of long summer afternoons training with her staff under the watchful eye of her father.
"Hm?" Ayame asks, eyebrow arched as he stammers, contemplating the rather contrasting history of the young ruffian. "Everyone has their own version of chi. Even run down, worn out old guys like you. It's just that not everyone learns how to focus it, to channel it in such a way that it's made manifest." She shrugs her shoulders a little, as if explaining the basics aren't of particular interest to her.
If she had known that the help that came in the wake of her message was none other than Rolento Schugerg, she would exhibit a rare moment of laughter herself. Geese's resources were vast back then... she was tasked with delivering a message of promised help to the desperate Pacific High. That that help came in the form of a man as dangerous as Rolento... well, Rust is still alive to this day... perhaps it worked out in the end.
"Yes?" she replies when he says 'Hey', her tone calm but the way she keeps answering him every time he so much as mutters 'Hey' suggests there is still some underlying impatience there. Ayame leans her head to the side as he talks about giving it back, eyes straying back down to the crane in his hand.
A tired smile works its way across her lips as he offers the crane back in exchange for hearing him out. "I suppose that's fair enoguh." Her tone is slightly begrudging, as if he's putting her out instead of actually giving her exactly what she was hoping for all along. The girl hops down off the counter at that point. "But let's go back in the other room. It smells funny in here." She takes another swig from the can of soda and then strides out of the kitchen.
It not only smells funny in there, it's probably going to stick with her for a while. The smell, it'll be in her clothes and, worse comes to worse, probably in the crane too. He's found it in there a few times. Maybe it has been mistaking the fridge for a door out, which would now explain why when he /does/ see it in there, it's waiting patiently near the fridge.
For not being a real bird, that paper crane sure is a bird brain.
Still better off than Howard here, who hasn't grokked the thought it actually is a living, moving thing and not just something that just so happens to end up in weird places.
"Ahh, all right," although he is still pretty upset about the chips, there's... not much you can do about eaten chips, is there. He's at a time of his life where he's been realizing, more and more, there's not really much he can do about things all around him.
He does let Ayame go ahead of him, just to make sure there's no funny business.
He clears his throat again, paper crane in tow as he keeps one hand on top of it, the other gently holding it. It seems relatively content enough with this particular arrangement, its head peeking out of the gap between the two hands.
He exhales loudly as he observes the desk where he's been keeping the misshapen cranes on his foolish quest to make a thousand, er... things.
Why couldn't the legend involved a thousand tumbleweeds? He can do those. He can do those very well.
"Anyway," he starts as he stretches out one of his legs with the expected popping noise, "I'm, I'm at a loss," he starts, shaking his head. "The guy who, who went nuts and we've no idea /why/, somethin' about... corrupted chi, maybe, but, I don't know where to turn there. Most I can do for him... if he, if he goes angry-ass again, I could probably, uh, stop him, but.. don't think that's gonna cure him."
He's extremely hesitant to share the rest, and it shows in his eyes even in this relatively poor lighting (seriously he should be replacing bulbs, is almost everything about this man in a state of disrepair, this is an honest question). "Another one, he got this... collar, 'round his neck. He's... he's not, y'know, going violent like the first guy but apparently he, he can't control his powers any more, and... look, I know my way 'round lots of things, y'know, and... and I don't even know how he got it on. It's, it's physically /impossible/." To his understanding, meager as it has been shown to be, he doesn't know how Zach got it on in the first place.
"'n, I don't think it's... it's gonna be coming off easy. He, he let it get out of control when he 'n I were attacked by this, this big guy, uh, I think he mentioned the name, sounded kinda like a, a girl's name. Carrie? Big guy with a hammer. Some other guy who... who could turn the colors weird," this description in comparison will be of next to no use whatsoever. "The news said some people died, and... and I don't want to admit it, but it was, it was most likely because he couldn't... just, hold it in." It's a hard thing to swallow, when a friend of yours is almost assuredly guilty of manslaughter.
Actually /is/ guilty of manslaughter.
"If I could help 'em, y'know, I would. Would've. But, but the more I'm lookin' at all this, the more I realize, it's... it's all just beyond me." He looks ready to throw his hands up. "I can, uh, I can really only do so much for 'em now. I'm, I'm not even gonna pretend I understand half of, ah, not even a quarter of what's goin' on."
At this point, he holds his arms forward, removing the hand atop the crane so it can move free. It does jump with a sudden start down towards the floor, a wince on his face as he shakes his hand out. Said crane leaves a papercut.
No Soak score, ever, can protect you from papercuts.
"If this, if this thing can... can help 'em in your hands, then, that's that. Mine're tied like, like you wouldn't believe," he says with some irony as he inspects the cut closely... wow, that's a pretty long one, "and, and there's... there's not much left I can d
"If this, if this thing can... can help 'em in your hands, then, that's that. Mine're tied like, like you wouldn't believe," he says with some irony as he inspects the cut closely... wow, that's a pretty long one, "and, and there's... there's not much left I can do for 'em or... or maybe even much of anyone, now."
After all, he made it clear to Elle that he wanted no further part in underworld dealings. He's a schoolteacher, not a super special secret agent vigilante like half his students seem to be!
As the encounter continues back in the front room, Ayame has reclaimed one of the walls as her own, leaning back against it, content to stand, not sit. She doesn't so much as look at the existing paper-made disasters as if they don't even exist to her anymore. It's better that way.
And then? She's quiet the whole time while he speaks. She's looking at him this time so there's no question that she's paying attention. But her expression remains neutral, eyes searching Rust's face from time to time, or straying to his cupped hands, noticing the evidence of some kind of injury on his right hand and just filing away another mental note.
She lets Rust theorize about corrupted chi or whatever else might be wrong with Antoine without interruption. There's a long pause then, before he goes on, and Ayame does and says nothing, leaving the choice to continue entirely in his hands, apparently. At least it sure seems that way. When he mentions the collar, there is a single blink and nothing more. He would never know the whirlwind of thoughts that declaration have stirred up.
Of course she knows who the choker-bearer. The dots are connected in an instant. Zach was on Rust's team. One of Rust's teammates has a choker. The person who is wearing the choker was responsible for some deaths. Recent headlines mentioned a warehouse in Southtown had exploded from an apparent gas leak that claimed three lives and injured many others. Zach was wearing a choker. Zach was headed for Southtown when last she saw him. Zach killed three people when his power, augmented by that choker, exploded out of control.
Ayame says nothing at all. Only the way she adjusts her posture slightly on occasion and keeps her focus on Rust or something near him makes it clear that she is taking all of this in.
The crane lands on the floor and begins to move forward. Ayame pushes off of the wall and crouches down to collect it into her palm, picking it up with a rare demonstration of gentleness from the run-away ruffian. "I'm sure you would," the girl replies, her voice quiet, contemplative. "Help them, that is. If you could." She exhales softly, eyes straying down to the crane in her hand. Technically, it's no different from dozens others she's collected around Southtown, trying to get her work done here just so that she can catch a flight off to another region and begin the process of collecting the strays all over again. But somehow it seems more special than any of the rest. Maybe because, for a moment, she saw it as Rust saw it. A marvel, a sign that miracles do in fact happen.
She brings her hands together briefly then pulls them apart - the crane is gone from sight, perhaps never to be seen by Rust again. The strawberry blone lifts her eyes to focus on him once more. "I don't know if anyone can help Zach now. He might have gone too deep."
The girl pauses then, slipping her hand into her jacket to produce her fancy smart phone. Flicking the device on, the screen illuminating her face in a dim blue while she focuses on it for a moment, moving her fingers over its surface. "Of your other friend, Antoine... I'm afraid you might have to do more to help him than you already have."
Ayame takes a step forward and places the phone on the table in front of Rust. "I'm sorry." The phone, connected through an ultra secret, encrypted 5G network is now serving the very mundane purpose of being a web browser. Ayame has left it sitting on an article posted on the news blotter for the Southtown Times, the headline in large font reads 'Up and coming KOF Fighter Rampages Local Rehab Center.' "I already knew it was Antoine Huang the moment you mentioned a friend and a rehab center," she admits in a rare moment of honesty. "Knowing the lineup of your King of Fighters team, it was easy to put it together from there. And his described symptoms match what you were saying."
The girl is quiet then, letting Rust take in the miserable news. This might even be a worse revelation than the emptied chip bag! "It looks like he needs to be found now."
He kind of is, as it stands, a hopeless wreck trapped in mundane commitments he can't easily give up. For all intents and purposes, Ayame is conversing with someone who is, in spite of his occasional bouts of semi-invincibility to physical harm, a normal guy with normal problems being surrounded now by things that are just way out of his entire scope of comprehension.
He watches blankly as Clay, his name for that little crane, disappears from view. He's never going to see it again. A part of his inner child goes back to sleep at the thought, a small inner child ready to cry at a lost toy it was only beginning to truly discover the marvels of.
The crane in question is clearly a little scrunched in places, but it should be able provide important information that confirms every suspicion that Ayame may have already confirmed as true as to the very locations of the enemy's influence. It is, indeed, one of the most successful of the flock in spite of happening to come into possession of... this guy.
His face goes a little sour at mention about Zach, as if ready to start shouting about something or another. He's starting to lean forward, raising a hand to shake a finger as he typically does when she continues about Antoine... he has to do more to help him than he...
"What?"
Good thing she provides the phone down right on the table in front of himself, snapping it up and actually putting it up to his ear as if expecting him to say something about being held hostage - this may be worthy of an eyeroll from Ayame, but let's be honest here, he's a tired man and isn't completely all together. Moments after he realizes she didn't dial anyone in, he looks at the phone proper to see the headline.
The light of the cellphone illuminates the terror in his eyes perfectly. It'd be a great shot for any horror film posters Seishirou may be manufacturing on the side for extra cash.
"Up 'n comin' KoF fighter--" he stops reading there after 'rampages.'
"Shit!" He curses as he places the phone down, uncaring as to Ayame's explanation as to how well she knows names (but let's be truly honest here, who wouldn't - everyone who follows organized fighting knows who's on what team) as he fumbles around in the dark for wherever he threw his pants, probably on the couch. One of his shoulders and knees crackle loudly in protest of the sudden activity on his part, as his body is much too tired for how fast his heart is beginning to pump.
"Where's my, where's my pants... my shirt," he mumbles out loud before looking over his shoulder, "you're, you're damn right he needs to be, to be found now!"
This late at night, when he needs to be up so very early again tomorrow?
Is that the reaction she expected? Perhaps. The girl often finds herself playing messanger. It's what she gets for knowing too much, perhaps, but it's gotten her this far. As Rust observed, she was a High School campus menace in the not so distant past. Now she's... what exactly? Her place in Kagero is something not easily defined... her reasons for sticking with it maybe even /moreso/.
Ayame leans forward and swipes her phone back the moment Rust puts it down. Flicking it off, she slides it back into an inner pocket of her jacket before backing up again. "How should I know?" she asks when he mutters about finding his clothes.
"Take a jacket too, it's chilly out there. You shouldn't be catching a cold. Oh yeah, shoes too." Duh. More useful advice from the advise dispensor. Her tone is very level, matter of fact. Not dead yet not lively either, as if she's capable of remaining entirely nonchalant about everything that has transpired in this humble apartment over the last thirty minutes or so.
"Be careful out there." she cautions as he heads for the couch. "I'm afraid I can't offer any promise of help coming to save the day this time." So Rolento showing up was 'saving the day?' "Everyone just has to do their best." There's a pause. "And maybe believe in a little magic, I suppose. Don't stay out too late. You still have six hundred more cranes to make."
Her voice might sound a bit off with the last couple lines - a little distant, in fact. It becomes obvious as to why the moment Rust looks over his shoulder back toward where Ayame should be only to find that she's no longer there. Or anyone else in sight, for that matter.
On the surface where she had swiped her phone back is a familiar figure - the original origami crane sits perfectly composed. Whether Ayame was able to discern its secrets in that brief time she had contact with it or she determined she knew everything useful to be gleaned from the crane is anyone's guess. For now it sits idle, its energy spent, its purpose served in more than one way.
"'ve worked in colder," he offers although her advice /is/ sound. He can handle the elements all right for the most part if he has to go without one or two articles of clothing, but at minimum he's going nowhere without pants. He doesn't want to run around out there in his boxers, it's a popular urban legend, something about knights being harassed by ghouls and goblins and often finding themselves stuck not in the armor that they embarked with, but in their underwear.
It's a weird one. He's not feeling like exploring whether or not that's true!!
"Where's my sho--" he trips over one immediately. Maybe he should think of doing something like, oh, turning on the light? He leans up against the wall to catch his breath after a particularly bad toe stub. Man, being stopped by a toe stub, he curses, when Antoine needs him most. What the hell have I fallen to, he curses to himself as the hand up against the wall travels around for the lightswitch.
If he didn't know better he'd assume the /lightswitch/ was traveling around whenever he's not looking at it, too. "I'll, I'll just... I'll just work it out when I find him," he replies to Ayame's fears of being unable to help, even though for the life of him he has absolutely, positively no idea in the least what he'll do when he finds him.
Maybe have to subdue him again, sure, but then what? He's not on drugs, they won't take him again and it's really only because of his persistent badgering that they kept him in the first place. The mental ward? Ehh... that's a dangerous place even for the likes of /himself/.
"Y-yeah, I do, and, uh, if you could--" he turns over his shoulder just as he flips the light on, eyes squinting with the rushing of light to his vision. Agh! His free hand goes to his face, eyes covered until he feels enough comfort to open them up... she's no longer there.
Was she even ever there to begin with? In her place, the origami crane sits there, as if defiantly claiming the table as its own.
He eyes the windows, unsure as to where or how Ayame may have disappeared... well, there'll be plenty more time to worry about that when he needs to FIND HIS PANTS and get out there and save Antoine, or at least just yell his name a lot until he's had enough.
Tomorrow's going to be even worse than usual, and when you're in his position at work where any little mistake might see him getting the boot, any day is going to be pretty bad to begin with.
Log created on 00:58:09 03/24/2011 by Rust, and last modified on 04:11:55 03/26/2011.