Description: Himezaki-san's garden parties are a fixture of the social calendar, and Dudley has long been on the Himezaki Christmas Card List. So when a soiree is announced, Dudley helps his chums achieve a greater degree of social mobility by obtaining invitations for himself and his friends. But whilst the party itself is lovely, it is the rather less civilized figure of Aoi Himezaki who catches Dudley's eye. The Gentleman Boxer considers himself to be a good man, always willing to help others - especially the young. Zaki, however, puts that to the test, and the pair soon find... some grudging respect, and reservations about what the future may hold for each of them. Whilst Dudley had hoped to impart some wisdom to her... perhaps Zaki's brutal assessment of his contribution to the world may yet force Dudley to consider what he is doing. This is how one parties... LIKE A GENTLEMAN.
Constructed by chic artisans and set upon the opulent side of Southtown, the Himezaki residence is modern-built but traditionally-styled; resembling an old Japanese mansion in all but the least desirable ways. Ringed by beautiful gardens and lit of an evening by an array of artful lamps, it is the perfect location to hold social functions for the elite businessmen of the world. Indeed, this is the precise purpose for which it is most often used, when not seeing service only to the small, but excessively wealthy family.
Himezaki-san's parties have become legendary not for their debauchery, but for the many lucrative deals inevitably cut by the exceedingly classy guests. Even where business is not discussed, fine clothes are worn and the world set to rights in lengthy, cultured discussions. Himezaki-san himself is the key host, his dutiful and hard-working wife focusing upon alternately looking pretty and masterminding the backstage operation. Servants throng the corridors inside, whilst stunning waitstaff patrol the gardens. It's an elegant chaos.
For Aoi, the tearaway daughter, these are the nights she most dreads. Recently returned from an ultimately-worthless if agreeably spirited showing in the Devil's Tournament, the sukeban has only recently returned to her hated homestead, to find her frill-bedecked bed has sprouted a designer dress. Her eyes narrowed, she's shrugged off the ironic 'cupcake' shirt worn during the demolition of the loathed Adon, and retired to her en suite bathroom to stare long and hard into the mirror. She's been experimenting this past week with removing her iconic mask; replacing it with a simple black kerchief that has allowed her quite literal time to reflect.
It's not a face even she is used to seeing, but she's been focusing intently upon it. For Aoi, her brutal pair of losses was not just an unlucky draw, or a valiant effort against two overwhelmingly powerful warriors-- it was a significant battle lost in the war of her life. Her image is everything, has always been everything. While she would be the first to declare, vehemently, that the mask means only what others attribute to it - that it's the woman below, and her ideals - the matter, she has grown attached herself. She has bought into her own masquerade. A display of strength and potency, a display of barely-feminine dominance.
To feel that come undone, it wounds. Her trademark pride has faltered. Watching Adon fall, screeching...
She empathised with him. She actually felt a kinship with that disgusting wretch.
Spinning from the mirror, taking quick strides back into her excruciatingly neat bedchamber, she's come to a decision regarding this night. Contrary to what she generally presents, the brash vanguard of Seijyun does make appearances at her parents' functions, albeit bedecked in that mask along with whatever foul concoction of a garment they've presented her with. But now, she's played enough stupid games.
A few moments later, Zaki presents a jarringly unassuming and slender figure as she slips through the servants' corridor in a simple, beaten old gi. Her crimson hair is pulled into a tight knot atop her head, and she's left the leather mask behind once more; her mouth is covered with a simple line of dark material. Hardly unrecognizable, neither is she entirely 'herself' as she slips from the rear door into the gardens. The gabble of conversation surrounds her on all sides, but she knows the best, quietest route to take...
She never, ever shows it, but this isn't the first time her prideful resolve has faltered.
There's a place set aside, secluded at the horizon of the Himezaki property, where she can be alone.
Where she can hit things. Where she can start to feel like Zaki again.
/Alone/.
Dudley would never tell his friends, but he does find these business parties... tiresome. And yet, they always seem to enjoy it so much. Discussing their latest business ventures with the men and women who can truly understand them is the closest many of them ever get to relaxing. The fact that Dudley's family, and the Himezaki family, have a long history of friendship between them, means that when Himezaki-san's parties are underway, it is not uncommon that Dudley's friends lean on him to get an invite.
Which naturally means that he, has to make an appearance. And honestly, there are parts of the party he does enjoy! The trials and tribulations of the family, what is going on with them, and the personal elements all interest him deeply. The vast amount of ways which the upper crust of society intend to profit from the reconstruction of the world following Vega's wrath? That, does not interest him. He has given vast sums of money to the effort; the logistics of such things, and how they may be turned to a profit... these strike him as somewhat, distasteful.
So it is that Dudley has slid away from the party proper, as he is wont to do. He has secured a glass of wine, and is sipping it lightly in the guardian where the hubbub is lesser. He cuts quite the dashing figure in his suit and matching, polished black boxing gloves. But when he sees the figure of the youngest Himezaki moving in the darkness, he excuses himself from the young woman who is trying to attach herself to London's most eligible bachelor, and allows his curiosity to get the better of him.
He is surprisingly discrete for such a large man, and it is only when both of them are far enough from the party that he won't attract attention by speaking, that he does so. What is his friend's daughter's name? Well, he wouldn't be much of a gentleman if he forgot such things.
"Aoi?" He asks, curiously. It is the first time he has seen the girl in... years. He has, to her, likely remained a half-remembered memory, one of a million interchangable faces in the social calander. But he has always ensured that she has received a birthday and christmas present; usually something in line with what he understood her interests to be from her mother. High fashion and traditionally Japanese hobbies and pursuits.
"I hope I am not bothering you. I was hoping to see you, actually. I saw your recent fight. I didn't know that you were pursuing a fighting career."
Dudley is, of course, an adult, and a rather large man at that. But for all these many failings, he does not sound condescending at all; he genuinely didn't know that little Aoi's 'rebellious phase' had any real talent to it. That she hadn't just given up, that she is still wearing fighting clothing even now, seems remarkable to him. Why, this is a talent that should be nurtured, to his mind!
Discussion of business, of profiteering, couldn't be any more abhorrent to Zaki; she's a young woman of principle, her ideals fixated upon the foundation of an equal society where money doesn't rule. Where might is respected and even followed, to an extent, but the true purposeful thrust inherent in the populace's actions is mutual survival. Pride and self-belief are important traits, though respect and selfless consideration form the foundation. Her anger, her violence, her pain, these are all just reactions to the world around her.
She's a smart girl, but she doesn't consider herself an intellectual. In her heart, she admits she has issues.
Sharing these with others, though? That's not something she will ever do lightly.
'Aoi'.
Her name strikes her ears as she slips through the shadowed shrubs and walkways, pausing just beyond an ornamental pond to stiffen abruptly when the single syllable reaches her ears. There are two reactions common to hearing that word spoken; the first, a mild and distant sort of confusion, as her self-deceived brain struggles to form a link between the name and she. But is it deception, really? She is who she is. She doesn't feel like the person that moniker describes, and never has. Regardless, it's the second instinct that could present a problem-- wrath, vitriolic and passionate, that causes a shudder as it's violently suppressed. Making a scene at home isn't something she inclines herself toward. She's the lesser party here. Just the daughter.
"Zaki," she corrects in that cold, hard voice. A conceit, of course; by nature she possesses a fairly deep set of vocal chords, but nothing so stony as she presents. It comes without thought, and with a flare of the pride she's almost lost, as she turns slowly to face the interloper. She already knows who it is. Even if he wasn't famous... she pays attention, some part of her even cares for her life at home. Idiotic as it may be.
Dudley continues speaking, earnest and kind, and she's unsure what to say, immediately. Her shell may be present, but he's caught her in the closest she ever comes to an unguarded moment-- merely running now instead of fighting, a position she would profess to never find herself in. One lithely muscled arm, shrouded in the unusual long sleeves of her training garb, draws across her chest, pale-skinned hand - visible, for once - tightening against her shoulder. It's a protective gesture, as though even the vaguest hint of womanly flesh made by the converging halves of the gi were too much for her to bear.
He doesn't care; why would he? She's just a child. It's an awkward, stupid thing to do.
"I-I don't have a career," she blurts suddenly, after such the wrong amount of time has passed to make the situation suitably arrythmic, her masquerade falling away for an instant. Her face can be seen moving beneath the cloth covering, though darkness obscures the finest of her features, at least. She's aware of this also, and presses on, rallying herself in sterner repetition, "I don't /have/ a fucking career." Her teeth grit hard at the end of the sentence, her chin canting upward as she attempts to recover her mien.
"This isn't my career, it's my life. I'm a leader. I'm an anarchist. It's a way /forward/."
Mukai's words echo in her ears. Grow, Aoi Himezaki. Grow.
"So, what? You want to fight? Is that what this is about?"
Dudley comes closer, until he is lit under the light of the moon. Behind him lays Zaki's family home; comforting safety, the hubbub of the bourgeois at play. The rich and powerful have always had a bad rap, but Dudley is living proof that not every one of them is a heartless wretch. Indeed, Dudley has always been faintly surprised at the money that his success has bought him. He enjoys it, yes, but he also makes sure to give back to the community. Not just with money, either. The vast bulk of his time dedicated to giving back... because hasn't the world given him enough?
He is good with children, too. Though he doesn't consider Aoi Himezaki a child, after her performance. He is not smiling, and he does not look down on her - at least, not any more than he has to, by the fact of their differing heights. He listens, and unlike many people, he *hears*. This is a determined young woman, who has decided to carve her path. It is not going to be easy for her, but... he would be remiss if he did not at least try to help.
"I'm sorry, Zaki." He says, earnestly. "I did not mean any offense."
He sips his glass, and then, carefully, sets it down on the ground (memorizing where it would be so that he can find it again later). As he straightens, he puts both hands behind his back. He is quite relaxed; the World Heavyweight Champion perfectly at ease in himself.
Which is true. From the very fact that their discussion with him about their rebellious daughter had been so painfully brief, he understood innately that Himezaki-san, whilst a master of the business world, knew not a thing about how to relate to his fighting daughter.
"So. I wanted you to know that I was genuinely impressed with your showing. That learning how to lose is just as much a part of fighting as learning how to win. And that if you would like any help going over your performance, I would be happy to lend my eye."
He allows that to hang in the air for a moment, before he adds, settling his feet carefully apart at shoulder width.
"Of course, if you'd rather just fight... it would be unbecoming of a gentleman to disappoint you."
Nobody knows what Zaki does with her own money; she's been in a few major tournaments now, taken part even in the lightly gladiatorial entertainment pushed by Howard Enterprises and the Masters Corporation, drawing substantial paycheques simply for performing. Before accepting the Devil's invitation to compete, her record was fairly acceptable too; and even now, she's only suffered losses to devastatingly powerful fighters - famous, fearsome, or both in some measure or another. Those displays pay well. They always do.
And Aoi's barely spent a single penny on herself. Her allowance from the Himezaki estate is considerable, more than covering her budgetary needs for precisely the lifestyle she chooses-- moderately Spartan as it is, outside of these luscious garden limits. The rest? That's her little secret. But they likely share some common ground here. More than she's ready to openly acknowledge. Although, perhaps...
"What the hell is this?" No. She's too wary to just give herself like that, tightening the grip on her shoulder a little more and taking a subtle, quarter-step backward as Dudley comes forward. The other hand twitches at her side, fingers threatening to dart toward the chain she's not actually carrying. Instinctive. Violence is generally the answer when anybody gets this close, outside of her Ladies' Team. "I don't need help..."
Grow. It resonates again even as she starts to protest, this then dying on her lips.
She releases a fuming breath, the cloth covering her face fluttering against the firm exhalation. Vulpine blue eyes flicker up the British man's robust form, over that frankly ludicrous moustache until she meets his gaze. There's no lie in the expression, and nothing she even feels compelled to manipulate. Distantly, she's aware that all the hatred she's itching to feel is completely unwarranted. That it's not right.
Her shoulders relax, perceptibly, and her raised arm at least stops bunching quite so fiercely.
"No," she acknowledges, her voice remarkably soft for her usual demeanour, "I don't want to fight."
So what do I want, she wonders, glancing askance toward the secluded spot she was bound for. Sectioned from the main garden by a nondescript trellis, blended into the background, lies the area she's set aside for studying. It's common belief that Zaki doesn't train, at least for her own benefit-- but she does, every day. Sometimes for hours, working on the basics she then passes on to her girls. Judo, karate, and even a little yoga. There's a reason that place has to stay private. It's part of who she really is. Zaki, but not as the world knows her.
"How do you do it?" She asks suddenly, voice ringing with demand as something of her usual self flies back, rounding on Dudley with a toss of her head. "Every day, the same old ridiculous crap, fighting for money, fighting for fame... never getting anywhere but a little bit better, a bit more experienced. I don't understand why it's worthwhile-- and not just fighting. To you, to /him/," she flicks her gaze and her head toward the house, clearly implicating her father, wherever in the complex he may be, "Your lives are led by somebody else's rules, and you keep on going. Smiling, drinking, laughing; whatever. Why? It makes no /sense/."
Sighing, though it's in anger rather than resignation, she brings her other arm about her midriff.
Somehow, she's growing more aggressive and also more defensive. A strange dichotomy.
"There's got to be more to life than running in place."
Dudley does not rush things. Does he ever? To allow the time necessary to the task is, perhaps, one of the surest hallmarks of the Gentleman. He lets the girl speak, and he takes in what she is worried about. Dudley would never say that he is a genius, but he has not earned his title by being an idiot brawler. He knows people; he reads body language. From the reflexive move towards violence, to the acceptance that he is not trying to take advantage of her. In the ring, knowing when your opponent is feinting and when they are going to try and lay you out makes the difference between glory and defeat. It is a skill which has made Dudley incredibly difficult to deceive; there are plenty of people who would try to manipulate him for their own ends. But when they duck one way, Dudley can see where the real blow is coming from.
"Money is a tool. I use it to have fun; I enjoy my cars, and my garden, and my charity work. Fame... is fickle. You know, there are people who hate me, who have never shared two words with me? I don't enjoy fame. I certainly don't fight for that."
He looks up at the sky now. Why does he fight? What rules does he live his life by? Why? These are... heady questions. But he doesn't want to fob Aoi -- no, Zaki -- off with some quaint lie.
"Life is about living by the rules *you* find important. I live by the Gentleman's Code, because it is important to me that people worthy of respect get it." He considers his audience. "And that the people who aren't worthy of respect get a dashed good thrashing, when appropriate."
For the first time, he does smile. Sharing a little joke with the young would-be fighter. Perhaps, he wonders, he has made a mistake by simply believing Himezaki-san and his wife. This young woman is clearly not going through any short phase. Perhaps she would decide to give fighting up... but even if she does, she is sharp enough and determined enough that it would shape who she is in years to come.
"If you want the truth, I don't think any of us can ever know... who we are, exactly. But life is about finding out, and surrounding yourself with people worth sharing the journey with. They are who give us... motion."
The large man finally looks back down, to meet Zaki's eye. It is a hard line to walk. He doesn't want to sound like he is preaching... but she asked him how he does it, and that is the best answer he can think to give. Can anyone ever truly be happy with their answer to that question?
Honesty. That's a trait Zaki values perhaps more than any other. There a lot of idiots in this world, brawler and otherwise; the vast majority of these making at best a dim impression on the crimson-haired sukeban, at worst people she truly cannot tolerate. 'Sheep' is an overused term, one she steers away from, but certainly the common mass is inclined to follow orders and bind themselves to the status quo in a way she finds counter-productive and obscenely uncreative. This world has unlimited possibilities, it could be so much better-- there is still sexism and racism, pointless hate and meaningless acquisition of wealth at the expense of supposedly 'lesser' men and women, in whom the system sees nothing more than a net sum.
That isn't honest. It's hidden behind smiling politicians and fussing, mechanical mothers, it's concealed by an educational system that claims to have childrens' best interests at heart-- but that amounts to nothing more than a production line, churning out worker bees conditioned to believe that contentment lies in the cars and gardens that Dudley speaks of. No, worse; that this is somehow an achievement, something to take pride in.
Zaki knows a thing or two about pride. It's the glue that keeps her together. There's no true pride to be found in anything less than making the very most of what you can be - and every woman, every man, has potential so many believe stored only in their dreams. The trick is in reaching it. The trick is in never faltering. Life's a struggle, life's a war, but the other side - the enemy - isn't death. It's stagnation.
Dudley's response echoes some of what she feels. And that's surprising. Aoi is guilty of much, or she should be, but foremost is that she refuses to listen to just about anyone older, more experienced, or branded as wiser than she. This is because of her own rules, her own Code. His little crack makes her snort a laugh. He seems to understand her well enough-- and she wonders, is this what growing entails? Listening?
When he catches her eye again, she is watching him with a careful, measuring glance.
It's like matching stares with a wary cat.
"I know who I am," she responds slowly, her head nodding as she probes out her convictions even as the words come tumbling forth. She really believes it, too, even beneath the simple cloth mask she's wearing now. "And I know the rules I want to live by. So, that means that I should." It's not a question. She breathes out a sigh, and unfolds her arms, as though doing this were the most delicate of procedures. As though she may explode if she mishandles her own frame. For someone so stern, and aggressive, she's... thin, really. Delicate. It's normally so difficult to see, but with the layers peeled away, she's really just a girl.
But that's not a shameful thing to be.
"I still think you're wrong though," she continues, keeping her glance locked sidelong as she half-turns and takes a step away. There's mirth in those vulpine eyes now, but she's still speaking from the heart, and there's something coldly dismissive in the presentation that attests the image may not be a construct entirely. Aoi is Zaki. Zaki is Aoi. There may be questions to be asked, growing to be done, but she's damn close to complete-- she's not wrong in that. "Your way of life, it's stupid. All of you." Her gaze slips from him, back to the house - which she's now facing, set between it and Dudley. "I mean to change the way people live. Not because I want to rule, not because I want power, but because I think we could be better."
Her mind slips to the recent war, and she suddenly laughs, a single soft bark that's almost feminine.
"Does that make me a terrible person? That I want to change the world, whatever it takes?"
Dudley is somewhat wary himself. To change the world, whatever it takes, can be a good thing. It can also be the rallying cry of the fascist, the zealot. He cannot see this slight, slender girl marching on a road of bones. But, perhaps he is being too naive. The fact that she finds his way of life stupid? That, is shrugged off. There are very few gentlemen left in the world today. They are a dying breed. Just because everyone else in the world thinks you are ridiculous, that does not make it so. And at the end of his gloves, Dudley has proven that fair play and good sportsmanship need not be the handicap that they believe it to be.
"Do you really mean that, Zaki? *Whatever* it takes?"
There's a hardness to Dudley's tone that wasn't there before. He's going to take her at her word; that she knows who she is, and what she wants. And that she's willing to do it. An anarchist with that creed is... a dangerous thing. Even if it is difficult (almost impossible) for him to think of the daughter of his friend in that way.
"Will you kill to make people be the way you think they should be? It is not uncommon to want to change the world. In my own way, I hope that I help to build the world I want to see, too."
He straightens, and shakes his head just the smallest amount. "That doesn't make you terrible. Deciding that your view is worth killing for, that your ideal is worth more than the lives of other people... *that*, is where the line is drawn. To me."
And he shrugs his shoulders, easily. As quickly as it had come, the serious, stern note in his voice - which might just have been bordering on paternal, despite his best attempts not to go that way - is dispelled. "But I do not think you are that sort of person, Zaki. I think you will find your limits, when you find the sort of... resistance that the world will give you, when you change it."
There's a stark assumption there; a faith. That he knows and accepts that Zaki *will* go forward, that she won't just try to change the world, but that she will succeed. The question that remains unanswered is whether she will change it for the better, or for the worse.
"If that's what it takes."
Her reply is softened by a distance that settles upon her, as though Zaki were peering through her childhood home and into the future - arrayed upon the Southtown skyline, sprawling and vast yet so simple and small. Whereas she embodies the wondering frailty of a mere child with the intent ferocity of a lioness, her spreading pack awaiting her example more than her command, the world as she sees it is a limitless cage. Confined at every angle, there are nonetheless gaps; there could be something more, beyond. It could be so much greater.
But death? Killing? Thousands died in the war. And, now that she thinks on it...
"It wouldn't be the first time."
Bravado, as the persona creeps back in, but upon reflection it must be true. At this very moment, several hundred girls are taking to the streets of Sunshine under her banner, under the auspice she presents here to Dudley-- to beat back the unsavoury element from her town, to slay the rival lion in its den. Their methods are structured to be scarcely more brutal than one sees daily in the fighting rings under bright light, beset by cheering crowds, but casualties occur. She does not keep a body count, but men and schoolgirls aliked have ended up hospitalized by their droves. Some will be crippled, scarred, and others may die. It's possible. How many times has she struck with her full force, uncaring if the man before her could take her full fury?
Perhaps she's already a killer. That this is a possibility makes it the case.
Morally, she is no different from a murderer.
"Believe what you want," she continues, her voice raising as she turns to face Dudley once more. Her arms cross again too, but this time with an underlying strength, folding over her chest in a display of stolid confidence. There is a girl underneath, someone who needs to grow up and learn a few things, who has to face who she intends to be-- Mukai was right about that, and Dudley's words ring truer still. His counsel is just. She's taken it, considered it, and made it a part of herself. She owes him nothing more, nor herself. "But there are thousands of women out there who want what I want, who see the world as I do. The old standards aren't dead, there are rules and practices keeping every one of us in place; whether you see it or not, it affects you too. I'll keep doing what I know to be right, because one day I will make a difference."
Her chin cants up, and she watches him a moment before - beneath the cloth - she smiles.
It looks sinister through the dark covering, but it's touched by poignance. Even a little regret.
"Perhaps the difference is, I'm willing to sacrifice myself, too. I don't need a normal life. I don't need to be happy, or be surrounded by friends. I don't need a husband, or children. All I need to see my dream, to bring myself a step closer to it-- so that maybe, one day, those I love will see it come for their children. Life's not about doing the best for yourself, old man. It's about doing the best you can for others."
Zaki tosses her head, and turns to walk away, her vulpine gaze finding the floor as she tarries a second more.
"Even if, sometimes, they won't understand."
It's about pain, she told the Obsidian Knight. And it is. Her pain; and what that pain might buy.
"Thank you, for talking to me. I'll see you again."
It would be easy for Dudley to write this off as youthful bravado or naivety; to remain confident that Zaki would not have it in her heart to kill when the reality of it is in front of her. But Dudley can see the truth, and that truth is that Zaki is walking down a very dark path. If she doesn't have help... if there aren't people willing to show her that she doesn't *have* to kill, to change the world... then she will do it. That knack with body language reveals the truth, even when it is a truth that Dudley doesn't want to know.
He actually takes a step backwards when she tosses her head. The accusation strikes him hard. What is *he*. He's twenty seven! Not an old man at all... and he does everything he can to give back, to help others. Surely his little luxuries don't negate that he wants to help. No. The moment of self doubt is faced, and Dudley actually squares up to it, quite literally.
He shakes his head, adjusts his suit jacket with his gloves, and hrmphs as though shaking off a physical strike from the young woman. He clears his throat, meaningfully. It might be that he winds up talking only to Zaki's back, but he isn't going to allow her to have the final word. Not when it is *that* word.
"It is noble to give of yourself, Aoi Himezaki. It is despicable to force others to give for you. You might think that I am a stupid old man."
And he exhales slowly. "But if you wish to speak again, about anything, your father has my number. I will always have time for you. I do not think you want to be a terrible person, and I am certain that you will find another way to change the world. Because you do not seem to me, to be the sort to take the easy way out."
He half expects that this will reignite something in her - either the use of her full name, or the accusation that she is taking the easy way through her stated objectives. But if she is insistent on walking away, Dudley will make no further attempt to follow her.
There is a party to rejoin, after all.
Zaki waits. Though Dudley indeed finds himself addressing her back, dissonantly slim and slender inside the worn cloth of her training shirt, she lingers upon ready legs until his reply is fully delivered. Pride is one thing, arrogance another, but she's not rude; even wrapped so profoundly in her sharp and steely convictions, she is determined to not turn away the wisdom of this man. When she makes a decision, she sticks by it.
However bitter the end.
"Nothing worth doing is ever easy," she replies with a shake of her head, the crimson knot bobbing at atop it, somehow managing to do so with a sense of ferocity that mere hair should not have. Everything about Aoi, about Zaki, permeates the totality of her physical being. "But I bear that burden. Not others. What my subordinates do," she calls them that, but she says it like anybody else says the word 'friend', "Is their own decision. If they're not ready, if they don't believe as I do, then they're kept from harm. We all deserve our independence. I'm honest about hating your choices; but I don't seek to judge you. That's why I stay away. If you don't like my business, or my choices, leave them be. They're not yours."
Hypocrisy lies in her words, and she knows it. While she may not deliberately search for Dudley, she does strive for conflict-- she wants to make a mark, to impress upon others that which she believes. Worse, a part of her loves violence alone, seeks an outlet to vent the rageful turmoil of her adolescent heart. But there's a hint of honesty at the same time; did she not sneak out here, alone, in the dark? She knows where she belongs.
"But," she hesitates, drawing and releasing a breath, "I'm sorry, if I offend you. I doubt you'll ever hear from me, but I won't turn you away for an act of kindness; I think you're stupid, but you mean well. I know that. In spite of my beliefs, neither of us is an idiot. Though--" There's one more point of business...
"If you call me that again," she murmurs, before rounding over her shoulder, "We'll be having that fight."
Vulpine slits blaze beneath furrowed brows, but somewhere in her eyes... there is a form of mirth.
It's fleeting, and then it's gone, as the sukeban turns and strides off into the darkness.
Log created on 12:31:09 05/11/2012 by Dudley, and last modified on 15:33:58 05/11/2012.