Description: A destined reunion between two warriors. Decisions, and gifts, are made as the two look to the future.
In the wake of Shadaloo's defeat, the world seems to have changed little. People continue their lives, bookkeepers resume taking bets upon the many tournaments and organized battles that the corrupted armies of China would have seen stopped for good, everything keeps on keeping on. But much like the ocean, there is more to life, and more to the state of mankind itself, than is ever truly visible upon the glimmering surface.
Where those who seek the mundane, the status quo, continue to strive for precisely that, other hearts remain broken and other souls remain in search of some meaning - their fevered psychology shaken by the trials and consequences of war, their purpose lost. What is a warrior without a fight? A law enforcer without crimes to apprehend? A homemaker without a home to make? What... are the vengeful without the need for vengeance?
Many suffered in the war. Others caused great suffering. For the Strongest Woman in the World, her conscience places her in the latter category as others around her - the doctors and the nurses - the friends and well-wishers, insist that she need care and attention, rehabiliation and kindness. But for all that has been won and lost, for all that might be regained, the one truth she must face the hardest of all... is that she is a killer. A murderer. A slayer of innocent men and women, caught between tyranny and outrage. She's stood alongside friends who have fallen in the course of /her/ duty, before, and it hurt. Every time.
This is different. These people didn't know what they faced. They were brainwashed, or desperate.
They couldn't have hoped to face her, with all the fury in her being.
But self-loathing is a hard, unyielding thing, unmoving, without flow or rhythm. Her every lesson as a child taught her to move like a mountain stream, parting the rock and running over what she could not run through; taking the path of least resistance at every turn. Vega made that impossible, sometimes, but he's gone. Whatever excuse she might make, the truth remains that there IS no excuse. She must wake up, and move on. She left the hospital with this in mind, handed in her badge at Interpol with little more than a polite explanation. This is part of the life she must leave behind, to keep on moving, to do something right.
That same path has carried her here, to a point a short train ride from Southtown. The home she lost, she cannot return to. But if ever she had a second home, it was that place. The City of Fighters. Property within such a bustling hub is expensive - more than her myriad career as a policewoman, vigilante and professional fighter could provide even in sum total. Which is not to say she lacks means. For this, she had enough.
Soft hazel eyes look with a grateful fondness and a mother's pride now upon the squat, but pretty, building nestled amongst the Japanese countryside. Very traditional, all sliding doors and rock garden, with one of those fountains that makes a gentle 'tonk' every few seconds, it's the kind of place she always imagined living with a former love. Before life complexified once more. Before Vega reared his head. Before...
No, she reminds herself, this isn't about the past. It's about the future.
Which is why it's not even about her. Not really. No act is entirely selfless; she's learned that, been forced to acknowledge it to avoid the blossoming of an ego she can neither afford nor desires. For the person she wishes to be, and believes she can be, there is no opportunity for such luxury. But this one will not be selfless either. As she stands in the garden, beside a burbling stream through which koi happily swim, she looks toward the little gate leading onto the property, its rolling grounds a peaceful sanctuary from the world. It won't be so, soon, she reflects with a smile that almost becomes a private peal of laughter.
Soon, this place will represent the future she never had. The future she wants others to have.
Written invitations always give Zach the jitters. Some major events of Zach's life, since getting into professional fighting, have started with written invitations. Jinchuu, the King of Fighters tournament, the whole mess in Taizhou. The first and third invitations were literally pinned to his pillow by one of those ninja daggars. The KoF invite was couriered. This one was brought by a rather unassuming fellow who, while being one of those professional couriers, made Zach instantly suspicious.
However, once he cracked open the envelope and read it, his eyes wide as he read the script. He read it twice, checking both sides of the letter as if trying to find something hidden. When he looked up to regard the man who brought the message, the dude had disappeared like he was the GD Batman.
Those two things alone should have kept Zach away from this. However, his curiousity alone was enough to send the psion to the address mentioned. The other factor was the name on the invitation:
Xiang Chun-Li.
The Supercop. The World's Strongest Woman. Also an exile and later tool for Vega's would-be attempt at world conquest. Zach had had a small hand in freeing her from the madman's clutches, though events conspired from keeping the young man from visiting Chun-Li during her recovery. Just as well; the after-effects of Zach's stand against the Shadaloo tyrant would have made such a visit a harrowing thing.
Now, however, Zach would be hard-pressed to stay away. The wandering psion makes his way into the garden, looking around for a moment. The peace of the setting, along with the quiet contentment coming from Chun-Li, lull Zach into a restful moment of peace.
Peace. It was a rarity even before the horrors of war overwhelmed the world, a commodity in high demand but scant supply; something certainly beyond the easy grasp of men like Zach, and women like Chun-Li. Those who pursue power - for whatever reason, in whatever manner - too frequently cheat themselves of life's tiny pleasures. Quiet and solitude, contentment and love, all the things that others take so for granted they often renounce them entirely... seeking danger or adventure. The thrill of adrenaline rushing through their veins.
For her part, the Strongest Woman in the World can't remember when she last felt so relaxed. She's standing, supporting herself on legs that no longer strike as hard or fast as they used to - and even that fact, the sadness of her diminished prowess in the wake of her horrifying injuries, does nothing to concern her now. A smile grazes her lips, the faint prick of pleasant colour coming easy to porcelain cheeks that no longer bear the wild bruises of her ordeal. The stains on her soul, the cracks in her heart, are hidden well.
"Mr. Glenn," she offers in formally-accented English, her voice like a gentle breeze for all the weight of confidence it quietly carries. The winds are not shy, and neither is she, though she carries herself so gracefully it seems almost as though she should be. "I'm glad you came." Unhesitant it may be, but the pleasantry is more than that; she truthfully means it, and it's clear she may have wondered if he would. Mystery can be a sign of conspiracy, especially in such tumultuous lives as they lead. Trust is hard to give.
But it can be won, and he has hers completely. There's no awkwardness in her motions as she straightens her body and then bows, open palm meeting closed fist before her chest, her gaze never leaving his. When she's erect once more, she tarries to draw a breath and glance about, as if inviting him to do the same. Eye contact is broken, and she begins to speak again before it is resumed, not letting silence linger too long.
"I never thanked you, for what you did. For saving my life."
A note of curiosity creeps into that, as though she'd never considered herself worth saving.
Perhaps she's just not used to being the one who's saved.
"But then it wasn't my life, was it?" Something else lies beneath that, an odd darkness as she attempts to catch his eye, a slight cant of her head probing into his green eyes. It's not a suspicious stare - rather, a querying gaze, as though she's unsure of a memory. "What you did, it...-- I was frightened, when you did it. You reminded me of someone. Of Rose." It's a name she's almost sure he must know. Almost. A smile touches her mouth once more, one cheek dimpling inward as it rises to a faintly self-effacing edge, "I think you saved my soul. I did horrible things, and you tried to wash them away. Thank you."
She lets that hang there. But it doesn't have finality... an apology can't be the only reason she's called Zach all this way.
"It's no trouble," Zach says, mimicing the bow hastily. The bow, as Chun-Li executes it, is native to the culture of martial arts. Despite the thrown-into-the-deep-end nature of Zach's entry into the world of fighting, the whole thing is like picking up a second language in a way. "I'm just..." Zach frowns. "I didn't get the chance to see you earlier. Perhaps..." There's a bit of guilt in that statement. Zach shakes his head, listening for a bit.
She mentions Rose, and Zach grins. He's met the woman; she set a couple challenges in front of him, one of which has been met. She mentions her soul, and his role in that whole fiasco of a fight. He had met her gaze up until that moment, taking her statements in stride with a humble and polite expression, but when she states what she thought he had done he looks away.
"I... think you read too much into it," he says quietly. "I didn't do as much as all that. I don't know that I /can/ do what you think I did." He looks /distinctly/ uncomfortable at the moment. "I can't do anything so profound." If he could, he might have tried to do so for himself. Chun-Li is not the only one with innocent blood on her hands. "You got yourself free of what was done to you." Zach shrugs as he glances at her. "All I did was lend you some of my strength."
"Sometimes," Chun-Li replies softly, "That's all anybody can do."
Her mind's eyes sweeps through an entire vista in the moment that passes between words, as though the resonations of Zach's own mind were prompting it. This may be the case; her sensitivity to his particular power has been honed through the teachings of his own tutor, many years ago, and raised - though she ill considers it - by the many meetings with Vega and his empowered creatures. They're not all she sees now, though, a series of images in motion laying out her path through the war. Imagining Zach's, too. Seeing the whole. The man claims not to be profound, and as she surfaces from the instant of thought, it seems...
He reminds her of Howard Rust.
"Profundity is not a skill," she continues, breathing a gentle sigh and rolling her shoulders as she takes a step away from Zach. It's not an unconscious gesture, but a measured one, placing her on a small, decorative bridge over the narrow stream. Her gaze slips downward, focusing on the slipping form of a golden carp. "We all have a soul, and emotions, and understand what we see in others, even if we don't realize it." Looking up, she cants her pupils back toward the young psychic, smiling in a fashion that almost suggests she's the same. "That power you have, that he had, it's just an extension of that. Of who you are. If I felt something touch me, then it must be inside of you, somewhere. Do you know what this place is called?"
It's something else that seems to come from left field. For a policewoman, she's remarkably obtuse at times.
"Yuán Quán Fáng," she chimes, melodically, before translating more simply, "Wellspring House."
"Because that's all any of us are. Mountain streams, carrying all we have from our hearts, to the world. It takes courage to do that sometimes; because a stream is clear. It may muddy, or pick up stray life along the way, but it's all clear, pure water at the heart. We can see one another, and we can see ourselves." Suddenly she laughs, glancing off toward the nearby building. 'Tock', goes the fountain behind them. "I think that you do, Mr. Glenn. See yourself, I mean. Ken told me what you're trying to do."
There are a ton of reasons Zach hangs out with, associates with, and pits himself against Howard Rust. It's not all that different from Ken and Ryu, in some ways; the two men are friends and rivals at the some time. The actions of one pushes the other into action, both becoming stronger as a result.
He tilts his head in consideration of Chun-Li's comments. For all the stock people might put into the otherworldy abilties that psychics may or may not have... they are, at the end of the day, still human. They do not have all of the answers. They cannot even claim a majority of them.
In many ways, Chun-Li is laying out things Zach has learned since coming into his own power. He nods in confirmation of thee facets of those who wield the power of the soul.
Then Chun-Li mention's Zach's... project. His eyes narrow a bit, a frown tracing his features. "Well," he finally says, "It wasn't his PR department, at least." He looks to Chun-Li again, his expression openly curious.
"I just know what it was like for me, coming into my abilities the way that I did. Struggling with them even as I went through some of the things that I did," Zach says. There is weight to his words; his experiences with his power have not always been great and wonderful experiences. People have paid, dearly, for some of them. "So I know, a bit, what it is like to reach out to someone. Anyone. I know, a bit, what it's like to feel alone in that situation." Zach looks at the pond. 'Tock'
"Which is why I am sorry that I didn't get to you sooner, after your press conference. After the bombing, I mean."
Even Vega was human, taxing as it may be to admit such a thing. To share kinship with such a man. A bond with other men - with Rust, or Ken Masters, with all their positive qualities and every niggling thing that makes them so fragile and very, very real beneath whatever they might choose to portray - is something to be treasured more greatly with each passing day. Nobody is perfect, but most flaws can be embraced. Learning to love and empathise with a tyrant, even trying to understand...
It can be nearly impossible. Psycho Power itself is anathema to some, its users a social pariah. Chun-Li used to fear it because she did not understand. It took time, and care, to reach the conclusion that she has. There was a time she would not have stood so close and comfortably to a warrior like Zach. That time has passed.
"Not everything can be timely," Chun-Li replies with an echo of regret, her own missed opportunities flashing past. She's had a lot of time to reflect and reassess things, lately. "There are worse things than missing an invitation to share knowledge and experience another's wisdom." She flashes her teeth in a quick, teasing grin, "I'd forgive you if you hadn't saved my life." It's hard to make it sound totally flippant though-- she knows something of what he saw, of what she was, and what he touched when he reached out for her mind. She's the one who's sorry; who needs to be. But she already said it. She's not one to dwell in self-imposed purgatory.
Crossing her arms behind her, the Strongest Woman in the World looks up to the skies.
"You've had a long journey, I think," she muses, canting her head as she watches a passing cloud, drifting cottonwool mass only pleasantly distracting for one sense, allowing the others to work smoothly. This garden has that effect. It's supposed to. "If we'd met sooner, we could have helped each other then. This dream you have, this project, it's something I wish I'd been able to do, before--" Before Vega died. She can't say it. She shakes her head, looking back to Zach and stepping off the bridge, closer to him once more.
And then there's no more beating around the bush.
"I want to give this place to you. If you'd like me to stay here, and help, I will, but all I want is for this to be somewhere that people can use to learn about one another. To avoid falling into the pitfalls we have. To better themselves, and be better for the world. After all that's happened, after everything..."
"I think that's what the world needs. Better people."
'Better than me'. She doesn't need to say it.
Chun-Li doesn't /need/ to say it. Zach can all but read it off of her like a book, which startles him even as the impression comes to him. He frowns a bit, folding his arms across his chest as he gives the woman a solid stare. "We haven't even built the main campus," Zach says a bit grumplily, "The bidding's still going on for that. I think it might be a bit premature to consider a second campus already."
He grins a bit, but only a bit. "If you're that set on me having it, though, I'll find a good use for it," Zach says after a moment. Perhaps as a more removed locale for training, or protection. "And I don't want you to stay, either."
Zach takes a single step towards Chun-Li, craning his neck back a bit to maintain eye contact. "You're more than welcome to help, if you want. But I think we'll all be better off if you are back in the world. Working to become one of those better people." Zach unfolds his arms, placing a hand on Chun-Li's shoulder.
"And I'll work to become one too, while I'm doing this." Perhaps it's fair to say that both psion and supercop have a long way to go.
Chun-Li's face doesn't fall as Zach mulls it over, she simply nods in understanding. A gift is not given with an expectation, especially when it's least expected. A second nod falls as he flashes that grin, a hint of her own good humour emerging more in the glistening of her hazel eyes than anything. For all her composure and grace, she's an expressive woman-- when she wants to be. When she allows it.
"That's all I want. I was going to build a school of my own, but..."
He cuts her off there, but unwittingly, as she falls into silence. His assurance is a welcome relief she didn't know she wanted - not quite as ready to settle as she had been leading herself. It's curious, how the actions of a person emulate their truest wishes in spite of the personal masquerade. One can hide from oneself; but not for long, not with an honest and open soul. A soul that begs to be free. A good soul.
Zach's descending hand almost shocks her, but it's a callback to an earlier age. There was a time she was not given to such displays; all business. Icy, in her way. That time passed a long time ago, her barriers lowered for a succession of special people, until she became a person she believed lost on the day her father died. It's what follows from that thought that makes her smile, even as she relaxes with an outbreath, yielding to the gentle gesture. Welcoming it in the spirit it's offered; as he did her gift of this place.
"I won't get too far away," she says, quite suddenly, the words carrying more than their base meaning. Distance has done her ill, before. It's almost killed her. Even at the outset of the war, it was pushing people away that led to her greatest atrocities in life - a mistake, no matter the spirit in which it was attempted. "This place hasn't seen the last of me, and neither have you. I want to see what you accomplish, Zach." It comes out naturally, though it's the first time she's used his forename. There's a time to drop the formalities.
Which is why she starts to turn away with a brisk intake of breath and a happy nod, almost a much younger woman for a moment or two as she acknowledges his own quest for betterment. She's glad he understands - more than that, though, she's glad to be here, and to have done something right. Beside mope, beside lament.
"Come on, I'll show you around before we leave. I think you'll like what I've done..."
"Oh, and--" She hesitates, lifting a hand - unusually sans one of the heavy bracelets she is known for wearing - to gesture out at the peaceful grounds, "Don't think of it as a campus. Some people need discipline, and regimen; they need to be guided and carefully monitored to succeed. Others..." The smile she gives now bears the subtle hallmark of a quietly mischievous spirit. That certainly isn't something she's known for, but her friends get to see it; those she loves and values enough to lower her guard. "Well, we like it more relaxed. And never forget that teachers need to keep learning, too. Perhaps this is where they can do that."
A school without form. That's something she can appreciate. It draws from the greatest hero of her youth.
She won't linger any more, flashing a renewed smile as she beckons Zach to follow.
It's a beautiful place to spend time, this garden, but the future is always waiting. It's important to keep moving.
Log created on 18:49:23 05/06/2012 by Zach, and last modified on 21:58:11 05/06/2012.