Description: The ragged Templar's desperate trail finally culminates in a dilapidated building on the outer edge of Sunshine's industrial area, and an audience with the enigmatic and charismatic Johann. Power crackles in the air as the weight of prophecy is eased upon her shoulders by the acceptance of a new master, and the destiny she has sought to embrace since escaping her monastery home.
Just how long is he going to make her search this dreadful part of the city. Amy has been in Sunshine City for quite some time and not even a hint of where to find the dragon seems to have been found. Oh of course he has been seen on television and in public, but the young woman knows better than to approach him then. Isn't he going to make himself accessible to her at some point? Didn't he free her for a reason other than to see her stumble along the dregs of the city with barely a thing to eat and drink? It is almost cruel how he treats her by not showing himself.
Or maybe he was just biding his time. Seeing if the young woman could survive and had the will to keep searching for him. After all this time it seems she almost has something of a hint on where to look. A rather lanky gang member that runs with Abobo delivered the message. An address near where the Industrial Area is. A dangerous place at that given the amount of activity around there. Even so she should be safe, right? It was a ganger that gave her such information anyways.
If she chooses to look Amy will find the address belonging to an old factory that seems to have long been out of commission. The windows are all broken out and the roof rusted from not being taken care of. The doors are off the hinges and the place is easy to go into. It is silent and given the location it is almost eerie how no gangers are even hanging around. From the inside it can be felt. That power she felt the day she was finally set free. Perhaps finally she will get what she was seeking.
Publicity is the furthest thing from Amy's mind; or perhaps, the closest, in the sense that nothing could be seen as more dangerous and loathsome. Her time in Sunshine City has been a maddened scramble of frantic searching, passed in alleys and on rooftops, and even in the dilapidated outer city sewer system. Everywhere the shadows hide. Everywhere the worst of criminals skulk - because she is among them now, her path to the Dragon marked by bloody footsteps, a pile of decaying corpses marking her escape from captivity...
If this is the price of freedom, she would pay no more by society's cruel and thoughtless standard. The mist and her guiding hand may now flow with crimson memory, but her ultimate purpose is too grand, and too necessary, to risk exposure upon the rolling cameras of the world media. They entrapped her once before, and her time on the monastery was the ultimate result; in a sense, those vultures are responsible for her madness.
The Templar does not begrudge them, putting faith in the cross at her neck and the black wings upon the horizon, rather than concerning herself with the motivations of mortal man. Still, she must play by rules even should they not move her. So skulk she has, hunted in darkness and misery, further staining her hand when she must - and never allowing, even in desperation, her person to turn toward the inner portions of the city. That mysterious, charismatic creature had bid he find her; and this, surely, is the test. To avoid temptation. To break beyond her humanity, to transcend before she is allowed to taste the freedom of her purpose.
She was found huddled in the manner of a weary predator, dark hair falling in a wild and filthy tumble over her torso, stolen trenchcoat stained almost to black, feet bare and blistered. But in her oceanic eyes, passion and drive, courage and determination. At first glance she almost struck out for the messenger, fingers forming fog-wreathed talons and gaze narrowing to a coldly fierce blaze. But then he spoke, and she listened. Something a burning bush is too obvious, after all; and this was her sign. This was her freedom.
As she approaches Johann's apparent haven, she runs calloused fingers along the rust-specked walls, the gentle scrape as untrimmed nails drag dying metal a soothing companion to her slow, solemn step. Her appearance is no better than it was-- a wild beast, she is, from the dirt clouding her pretty features to the tattered, dragging ends of her cloth trousers, a relic from her time in the monastery. There's nothing noble about her apparel, no beauty nor dignity, but she draws herself up with each pace. By the time she extends both hands to brush aside the broken doors, letting them fall to either side in an explosion of dust and a dull, heavy clang, Amy Johnson is the messiah born, her chin held high and aura bristling with the light of destiny.
No light were ever so disarmingly dim as the floating tendrils of the Dragon's Breath, but she wears it well.
"Enough games," she speaks into the power-wreathed air, suppressing the shudder in her spine as it settles deep at her centre, coiling with her own earthly potential to create a silent maelstrom in her gut. It's at once nauseating and thrilling, quickening the beat of her heart and the intake of her breath. She speaks with all the strength she can muster, but cannot keep the quaver from each note; malnourished as she is, tired and... fearful. It is the martyr's place to feel fear, then fight beyond it. "The child has come."
Her voice echoes about the shattered husk, seeming to stir the debris before she takes a step forward, the exposed flesh of her toes slipping through dirt and dust, the mist buoying beneath as it begins to intensify and thicken-- while one power may be the greater, together they resonate and sing.
"Show me my freedom, Dragon. Show me the mould by which we'll shape the future."
The inside of the building is not lit well at all. It doesn't need to be really. The young woman can easily feel the power inside that draws her to where Johann is. Further in he seems to wait patiently as he hears her speak up. "This has been no game, my dear. This was a test. I can see now that you are willing and ready." he calmly says with his voice slightly raised so she can hear. A few twists and turns finally seem to lead her to her goal. To the man that has promised her a new, better future.
The room itself is vastly different from the rest of the factory. A large table has been set up with a chair for the young woman to sit. Food and drink have been set out while only one other chair rests on the other side of the table. That is where the Black Dragon himself is seated with a smile on his face and leaning back in the almost throne like seat. He motions for her to sit and he straightens up a bit more while that smile turns more into something of a rather evil grin. "The first of your rewards. Many more to come. We can't have you such a mess afterall." It is almost cruel because his waiting is what really made her downward spiral into a bestial like appearance happen.
He does get out of his seat as he stands up straight, his garb not at all like the usual suit he wears when out in public. Instead a crimson like top with long sleeves covers him along with black pants. Even so his he carries himself like the regal man he often portrays himself to be as he steps around and he reaches out to let a hand brush hair away so he can get a better look at Amy's face. "Everything you could want. It will be yours now. You have shown you can be loyal to me."
Cruelty is in the eye of the beholder. Amy's progress into the ruined building is swift once she hears that voice, hesitance falling away like a dropped veil as she steps through the rubble, disregarding the harsh impact with a piece of old, twisted steel; she leaves another trail of blood from her battle-damaged foot, but she is heedless of it. For this trial, these tests, and all the others throughout the past decade...
Their measure is made by the result she knows will come. It's taken so very long, but Amy has finally come to accept her place in the world - and the destiny laid before her by the Grandmaster of the Knights Templar. She'd dismissed Michel Le Roi as a madman, following his path only because he possessed the strength and charisma to convince her it was better pursued than the dull, pointless existence she had already. Listlessness brought her to the winding road of fate, but pain and suffering - hers, and others - have set it aflame. The way is well lit now; stepping into Johann's presence feels easy, and natural.
It's his eyes that she meets immediately, looking beyond the proferred chair and the food. Her shoulders slump, a long sigh leaving her body as she stands there a moment. He speaks of rewards, and all she can think is that she's already found it-- the thing she's needed for the past twelve months, now lost as time immaterial. Her Lord had seemed to spurn her, but the truth was... she was given a taste that her hunger would bring her here.
Her verbal response seems more dubious, a frown brushing her brow as she moves to be seated.
"But this was a game. It's been said the world is a stage, but... it's a board, and each of us a piece; perfectly sculpted for our purpose, placed in readiness for what awaits." It should be bitter, but it's spoken so softly. Respectfully. A smile smoothes the smeared lines of Amy's face, less crazed than unbelievably relaxed and comfortable - as though the complete removal of free will were the free-soaring flight she has sought. She turns her gaze up to the man as he brushes aside knotted raven bangs, oceanic eyes bright.
"You know what I want. I..."
The madness grips her, her shoulders shaking as she keeps her gaze on his, lips parting with the need for deeper breathing than she can achieve through her nose alone; for a moment, she feels as though she may simply explode, the tribulations of brain and heart conspiring to end her. Then, with an impulsive, darting motion she reaches forward with her right hand, closing quivering fingers quickly upon the hilt of a serrated bread knife. Her other hand reaches up, barely brushing Johann's own as she gathers the thick, tendrilling mass of her hair, pushing back against the mist that still hangs around her, parting it with the swiftness of her movements.
And then she brings the blade to the nape of her neck, slicing coarse strands with a snicker-snack.
Her raven bangs fall to the floor in a drifting heap, writhing about one another in their parting.
"I want to leave the past behind. It's all-- all meaningless, now. Everything leading to this moment has been a sham, a... a distraction from truth and righteousness. I'm loyal to my Lord," she drops the knife suddenly, letting what remains of her drastically shortened hair fall about her face as she reaches instead for the cross at her neck, gripping it tight before /tearing/, neck jerking as the delicate chain snaps in two. She draws a long breath, holding the crucifix out before it too, falls toward the floor, flashing silver and ringing brightly as it lands upon the old stone. "To the Dragon. There's no need for anything else. I have to let go."
A laugh breaks her lips, short and breathless, "To think, they almost stopped me..."
It seems the actions only amuse Johann even more. The cutting of the hair, the discarding of her God. It almost seems too easy to have her in his clutches. Another loyal follower for him is just what he needs. Even in her madness she is strong and as she is cleaned up and given time among his other followers she will start to recover. she will not return to her old self, but why would she? She will have everything she wants here. A lord who will not abandon her, fellow followers that protect her. There is still much work to be done and he will need her less shattered in order to obtain what he wants.
That hand pulls away and he just lets out a small laugh. "If you wish to think of things as a game feel free. I rather view it in a different way." he tells her as he moves to just sit on the edge of the table near her. "If you want to see it as a game think of me as a King on the chess board and you could be my bishop.....or even might knight." He considers things for a few moments as he watches her. She may have overall been weakened by her time on the streets, but in the long run it makes her stronger. To suffer through such strails just shows the resolve she has despite to many she would come off as crazy.
"I hope you can recover quickly. There are a few that seem intent on causing some problems. Abobo and his gangs do well enough to distract most, but there are some others that I would rather use more reliable sources when handling them." She hasn't even done a task for him and it already seems he trusts her quite a bit. Or is this just more tests to see how loyal she truely is. "Also.....tell me of the one you talked to not long ago. The Spider."
Not renouncing her God, a fact Amy would protest were such voiced - and were she fully cognitive. Rather than turning away she is merely leaving the trappings behind, dispensing of the crass iconography, no longer clinging to the tokens bestowed on her by those who were too misguided to understand the true path. For years she has sought for the Cup of Christ, an artifact renowned in myth both new and old, yet never reinvented to be anything more than the physical item-- she, however, has found what it represents. A mindset. A way of being.
"An empty vessel," she murmurs seemingly apropos of little as Johann mentions the troublesome Spider, her gaze remaining upon Johann but finding new focus as she speaks once more. "He... may have been a friend." Wonderment creeps into her eyes as she attemps to explain, brow knitting and both hands lifting to clasp atop her head then work down, slowly, through her hair, snagging on knots and pulling the shorn mass straight. It's the kind of gesture most would only make alone, shying from such a bizarre display when watched. "He tried to stop me, because he doesn't understand; man believes they can help, but all they do is break the circle. Over and over."
Another breathless laugh, and she shakes her head, leaning forward to place her hands upon the table. Her stare leaves Johann for the first time, casting about the gathered contents, until she sights out a shiny red apple sitting amidst a bowl of fruit. A hand darts out to clasp out, dextrous in spite of her continued shivering, twisting it about to bare the cleanest, freshest side. She doesn't bite yet, merely looking upon it.
"A knight. They all want to be that. I never did, and yet it found me. It always finds me. Am I so fated?"
She smiles as if at a joke, looking up at Johann with a playful gleam in her eye; despite the content of her unhinged speech, looking like a very intelligent, mature woman caught in a mischievous moment. The apple is brought to her mouth, and she bites down with slow savagery, chewing and swallowing the mouthful quickly. She leans back in her own seat now, exhaling as she relaxes, a knee drawn up that her extended, apple-bearing arm can lounge over it, leaving the piece of fruit suspended in the air just below the level of her gaze.
"I begged him not to speak of me. I don't believe he understood... but I believe he'll do it. He's not like the others." Her free hand reaches to tap the index finger against her left temple. "Though, thought is not spirit, nor soul; he's not a threat to the future, so long as he keeps thinking. I'm worried about the others." That frown re-emerges, as she glances back to the apple, rolling it about in her palm to bare the unbitten side. Tightly she swallows, staring off into memory. "They think power is... bad. Wrong. Evil. Forgetting where we all come from, as though we don't pray to power every day of our lives. Somebody, somewhere, will oppose it."
She draws the apple to her lips, halting just before to look back to Johann, an eyebrow raising quizically.
"If not the Spider, then who opposes the serpent? A bird? An eagle? Or the lion...?"
He seems intent on listening to her thoughts on Aranha for the time being. He remains silent and that gaze of his remains focused on the woman before him. He had hoped perhaps Aranha could be of some use. Not some one he could have direct association with, but perhaps someone he could hire and use if he needed. Someone with his skill set would prove to be great for information gathering and he is always high on those. Not to mention the man managed to give one of the Bogard brothers trouble in the tournament which is no small feat.
"Oh he never bothered me. I was more curious. He seems to have no allegiance and I wondered if he would have been of some use. Perhaps I was wrong." It still may prove worthy of keeping a tab on Aranha. To find some sort of what to eventually get some use from him. He could always sent Sonia out to properly test him. For now perhaps he will just leave the dancing fighter on the backburner while he considers other options.
"Not too many worry me. Some look at this city and just see the small picture. The gangs that trouble these people. They aren't really a problem to me. Some schoolgirls looking to play hero. A foolish detective that still thinks he chases a watch thief." he explains while seeming more amused than anything when speaking of that lot. Abobo can have his fun with them. They are not worth his real attention. "So far there has been one that might be a problem. One that might be a bit too much for you to handle. Hyo Imawano."
The ninja knows something is going on more than just gang violence. The is a smart one and has shown to perhaps be the most astute of those that came to this town for the tournament. He is having to keep a close eye on him and make sure he doesn't stick his nose into things that he doesn't need to know about. A shame there is no use he could find for a man like him. He would be too hard to control. "For now recover. Meet your new brothers and sisters. When I feel you are ready I will be sure to point you in the right direction."
"As a tool..."
Amy pauses in thought at the idea of drawing Aranha to their cause, that convincing him her sacrifice and the power barely held dormant within Johann might be one worth fighting for... it's difficult for her to comprehend anyone as a true ally, held to a knight errant's lonely path as she is. The parts of her that remember, the part of her that wanted to simply be a Real Girl, push to approach him again; but she could say the same about those stated 'others' too, even as she knows their meddling could undo so much.
"No," she decides, shaking her head, shorn ebon strands slapping against her cheeks, "Perhaps with, but not for." Her time with Keith Mason has been brief, but their first meeting told her much of him - in battle a great estimation can be afforded - and she can sense an independent spirit. It's in his eyes, his voice, the way he moves, and especially the way he fights. "The Spider spins a web. It can't be controlled."
There's an edge in her voice as she says it, an edge that sets even her to a swift blinking. Her gaze slips downward, past her unfinished apple to the cross flying amidst the discarded mess of her hair. For a moment, her resolve seems to falter, until she swallows and looks up.
"A pride of schoolgirls, and a Japanese hunting hawk. I... don't know this Imawano beyond a name, but your judgement is greater than mine. The Dragon sees and knows." Her head bobs in a tight little nod, as though acknowledging what is simple fact to her; of course the Dragon knows, how could it not? "A servant of the law, though... they don't understand a thing, believe the future is in lines and pages. Screens and printouts. We wrap ourselves in regulation because we're afraid, we hide behind things we /can/ understand... a detective seeks, but not where or how he should. Pries into the empty spaces around the crystal ball."
Suddenly she shudders, the apple falling from nerveless fingers, drawing her other knee up until she sits in a foetal ball upon her chair. Her head falls forward with a gasp, shortened hair falling over her eyes, the badly-cut strands tickling and itching about her flesh, but she's too intent on the gripping fit to care. "Recover?" She whispers in echo, turning the thought about in her damaged mind, but the last is her salvation. A sign he promises, a sign that points the way. It's what she came for, what drives her journey.
"B-Black wings upon the horizon," she speaks into her own chest, "Very well."
Her voice is tiny, but she lifts her head, staring at Johann past a tangled fringe.
"Show me the family I thought I'd lost."
Johann just gives a faint nod as he stands back up and he straightens up fully as he looks down to the poor woman. She will need to heal in mind and body for quite some time, but in the end it should be worth it. That time will be used to make sure he truely has her trust and in turn see that she will not falter and possibly betray him. If he starts to sense that may happen he may just have to cut ties with her quickly and put her out of her misery. Right now he has little doubt that she will follow him without question, but one can never be too cautious.
"Of course. For now sit and eat. Get your strength back." he tells her as he reaches for a glass filled with wine and takes a small draw from it. "I will go, but soon some of your family will come to collect you. To clean you and provide you with clothes." the glass is set down and he reaches out to rest his hand on the top of her head as he closes his eyes. "You are now protected by me. In turn I expect you to protect me when needed." His eyes reopen and he gives a bit of a wry smile as his hand draws away and he turns to start wandering away.
He only makes it a few steps before he stops, remembering one last thing as he looks over his shoulder towards the woman once more. "Someone seeks you. He has been asking questions about the mist. He must remember the old you. Perhaps you should let him know that you have moved on and not to interfere." He isn't too worried, but it is best to get rid of a pest early than to let it linger around and actually cause trouble. "Bring some family with you if you think he might cause a problem." With that said he moves onwards, disappearing into the darkness and the power felt from his presence starts to fade.
A piece that has found its place need not do so without regret; for all the dedication she has to her discovered purpose, Amy Johnson was born and remains a human being. The presence of that rolling mist changes it no more than the shearing of her hair or the breaking of her silver chain; gifted she may be, touched by a higher power, and taken into the service of a host that could change the world for the better...
But the 'old her' still exists, and has never left. What she casts behind is a shadow, a memory of an outlook not forgotten but certainly evolved and shifted. She was completely without purpose, not fitting in society or possessin any drive to be more than a loose end - even the Dragon's Breath changed nothing until it was named and described, just one more reason to hide away and achieve as little as she could. 'Witch', they called her, and in a former age she may have burned or tasted the hot kiss of flung stones. In this world...
In this world, the unusual is merely shunned, forced to become weak or bitter by turn.
Johann's protection is something she might deny through pride alone, but it's the duality of this state that appeals-- because at least the old Amy still had found her strength, drawing herself up even as she slunk in shadow, too embittered to care but not brittle enough to ever break. "I shall," she responds without hesitation, feeling her heart surge again in her breath. Of course she'd protect the Dragon, protect the future, and she will buy that protection with her own life, when the time comes.
At the news that someone seeks her out, asks about her, she shivers again. But this time it's genuine, not brought about by madness or the thrusting consumption of twin powers. A human gesture, from someone fearful to be found; in a way, she /has/ become weaker, but she knows she should not be.
"Let him find me," she announces after a long moment. She thinks she knows who it is, expects a flashing blade in the dark. Fingers shift toward the front of her trenchoat, brushing against cold steel within as they search for the one object she has never lost during her trials. It's time for the weapon to emerge into the cold light of dawn - time, perhaps, that it was turned against its master. "Let him see how I've grown."
Log created on 13:10:27 06/16/2012 by Amy, and last modified on 09:25:54 06/18/2012.