Description: Frei Tsukitomi-Renard, the young chi sage, decides the time is right to go do a bit of soul searching... but first, he hopes to touch base with one of his long-time friends still in contact before he sets off.
The Kyokugen Dojo... might hardship blah blah carpentry experts blah blah bear blah blah soba noodles blah. Well, that's how it is on an ordinary day, and by just about any stretch it is something of an ordinary day among the capable practitioners of the Kyokugen fighting style.
Extremely lengthy exercise routines that take up entire mornings and a good chunk of the afternoon, a couple bones broken, a few well-disguised (read: not at all) attempts to get free labor in repairing whatever needs fixing around the Sakazaki household, continued downward trends in monetary gains... it's always a pretty bad time to be anywhere within a mile of Takuma Sakazaki when the rival Todoh dojo over in the rural areas of Southtown is doing so much better these days!
Few outside of the Sakazaki family know this better than Howard Rust, who somehow manages to continue to be flustered by the same eccentricities he's come to be surrounded by since he first came to Southtown. The sky is gray, teasing the potential for a light rain (or, actually, a lot worse), the grounds already a bit damp from an earlier rainstorm in the morning. He stands next to a large pile of lumber as an ambulance just leaves the dojo grounds. Most of the school-age crowd among the students - small as it is - are already well on their way home, a few of the older crowd still milling about in various states of injury from earlier sparring gone a little haywire when Takuma came by to vent about the latest failed recruitment drive. (They'll be okay.)
It'll probably be going back to drills and exercises as usual in the next ten minutes or so once Rust and a couple other vaguely responsible-looking sorts suss out where they're going to begin with all the lumber, out here in the lot.
Despite its urban sprawl, Southtown can be a very small world indeed when it comes to some people.
The trip back from Sunshine City was long, and all things considered, Frei didn't consider the trip wasted... but so much was left unresolved. He left Lynn Baker and her curious Osakan friend to handle things with Johann, instead staying to protect the Ryu Zui Ken dojo while they were gone. When they returned, it was time for Frei to leave. 'Semi-finalist' in the actual tournament doesn't mean much, after all. And so he got on a plane, and for the entire duration he more or less slept. And then they landed, and he stopped at the YFCC to check in and found the place unmarred and in fact running smoothly. That was a partial surprise, but a pleasant one. So he went home, and he cleaned the apartment a bit and looked around and fidgeted a lot, until he realized it was 2am and he went to bed.
When he got up the next morning, Frei appeared to have made a decision about things.
Flash forward to now, and the redhead is in his usual comfortable travelling clothes, though he's exchanged sandals for sneakers. Slung over one shoulder is a large sports travelling bag, the kind athletes use when travelling, with a long, thin cloth bundle strapped to the top of the bag. He is, in fact, just... walking, though where isn't exactly clear, and he almost passes this very location without incident, until he hears the distant sound of martial arts training and stops. Turning to the right, he espies the Kyokugen dojo sign and blinks in surprise, as if he didn't know this is where he was until seeing it, and then after a moment of obvious internal consideration, he turns and walks onto the premises, looking around for a certain face...
There's a lot of little tiny dramas unfolding on the concrete lot. Two guys are trying to silently whisper to one another about whether or not it's just time for the two of them to cut their losses from the intensive martial arts studies and just drop out as they sit in a lot, nursing their wounds from Takuma's, er, supplemental instruction. Another is currently on a cellphone hearing about something or another that's got them looking incredibly fidgety and worried.
There is one man of familiar body shape. It should be him. They're wearing work gloves and boots, and an oddly colored pair of jeans in place of the usual martial arts gi pants. But the top is there, hell, the most damning thing of all, the toolbelt atop their green belt... and a length of pipe through one of the pockets.
The hair, though, should one delude themselves to labeling it such... it's dark purple. The man Frei might be looking for has never had dark purple hair, ever, let alone in that... style? (Is 'poorly set obvious hairpiece' a style?)
"--'n I don't like them," Frei may be able to hear a familiar voice mumble out as the suspiciously familiar form turns around, facing their back to someone else they've been speaking with while pacing, "so what if they're raisin' their prices, it's... does he think, does he think that it'd be cheaper to just... buy stock until they give it to us for free, I mean... shit, Nao. I don't get it. I don't get any of it."
When that man lifts his head up, though, it's unmistakable - that's Howard Rust there, all right, so what the hell is going on with his scalp? It doesn't take long for him to realize that there is someone here who is a familiar face just walking along onto the premises, though he has to squint to be absolutely sure it's who he thinks it is...
"Frei?" He mumbles the name out quietly, clearing his throat to speak again a bit more clearly. "Frei? That you? Fancy, uh, fancy seein' you right now, 'cause... well," he looks down while rubbing the back of his head, an elbow popping a bit. Rust has all the appearances of a man who has had a handful of a day.
For a moment, Frei just sits in the courtyard, watching the busy activity that characterizes the Kyokugen compound. In a way, it reminds him -- pleasantly, at least -- of the YFCC and the goings on there. To his eyes, it's preferable than the perhaps more regimented and disciplined way of doing things you might find in a more... 'laconic'... sort of dojo. But to Frei's eyes, there's a certain beauty in the uncertain chaos of life, especially in the way the young do it. He's heard his own students and their versions of 'I think this is my last lesson' and such. In a way, it's reassuring... and from the wan smile on his face, it actually looks like Frei could use some reassurance right now, though of what kind is up for grabs.
The lumber -- and the man standing by it -- are instantly recognizable, however. He just... stands out, in a way. Shifting the weight on his shoulder, Frei starts walking toward the building materials and the people standing around them. He doesn't really question what they might be for; the first time he came here, Ryo almost hit him in the face with a wrecking ball. Such a building probably has need of common repairs. Before he can even open his mouth, Rust is there to greet him, and the somewhat distracted-looking smile Frei's been wearing becomes more genuine at seeing the former Pacific High handyman. Green eyes take in the handyman outfit, and inevitably skim up toward the... well, it's... it's purple. To his credit, Frei's gaze doesn't linger there long.
"In the flesh. I was, uh..." There's a pause, and Frei's right hand, which has been holding the strap of his bag, tightens a bit. "I was just passing by. You look, uh... you look good."
"Ah... thanks." Rust might not be catching what Frei is referring to, considering the wealth of things that have all caught up at once over in Southtown. He tries to ease himself at least a little considering it's, hey, a friend stopping by who might be the bright spot of a very difficult day. The older man takes a moment to stretch out one of his legs a bit as he lifts his head up a bit to make proper eye contact again.
"Yeah, things've been... pretty rough," he's putting it mildly, "between... I dunno where to start, King of Fighters," he makes a vague gesture with an open hand before settling with the old habit of pointing a finger aimlessly, which one may confuse for starting a count with his fingers until he just doesn't go past one, "that... that war in Asia," of which he is famed for somehow being in the right place at the right time to save Nepal (at first), "'n had a demonstration go bad in Sunshine, uh... you were there, weren't you?" He lowers his hand. "Some kinda tournament. Heard you got far in."
Behind Rust, a few guys start pulling logs away, towards the Sakazaki household. Who knows how many interesting holes in the walls or floor there are this time!
A tiny part of Frei's brain says: you know, letting Takuma Sakazaki exploit you as cheap contracting labor might not be 100% worth the cost of your lessons here, as a head's up. However, there's no guarantee that Takuma isn't in earshot and the *last* discussion he had with the Sakazaki patriarch over money issues ended in an... unusual way. One he tries not to think about.
Instead, Frei listens to Rust recount the big events of the past year or so, and rubs the back of his head with embarassment a bit when the Sunshine tournament comes up in the list. "I did alright, I guess," he says, with the deference one often finds in people being forced to receive compliments from peers in public. "Though I'd be wary of Sunshine City, if I were you," he adds. "Things there are... more complicated than they look." Oh right, and an ancient, semi-sentient evil may have possessed a murderous crime lord. Let's not mention that part.
For a second, Frei stops talking, letting the travel bag slip off his shoulders and onto the ground with a *whump!* sound. Distractedly, he reaches out a hand and runs it over the surface of one of the logs for a moment, careful to move with the grain so he doesn't get a palm full of splinters. But then he turns back to Rust, and smiles a bit... but it's a tired-seeming smile, to an extent. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. I might have... a favor to ask. If you don't have too much on your plate already, that is," he adds at the last second. "I know this place keeps you busy."
How many people here are hoping, no, praying to the gods that Takuma Sakazaki hasn't just come back for another round of venting over some recent events that - for sake of timeliness in communicating the goings-on of immediate interest - are probably not worth listing.
"I... was kinda gathering that," the older man mumbles as he muses upon Miu's cryptic statements and her own requests to try and keep an eye out for people attacking the schools. So far, so good (by Southtown standards), nothing overtly malicious appearing to be organizing in this particular neck of the woods, "can't say I even really... really get what some of the fuss was, between..."
His voice trails off, as if unsure as there even was a 'between' beyond the on-TV verbal sparring between the infamous female uber-delinquent Zaki and the local crime element, which alone should have been really worrying!
"I know Sunshine ain't the nicest place to live, that's... that's kind of why we were hoping to bring, y'know, Kyokugen to it, but," the older man sounds both parts dejected and disappointed, given the bizarre circumstances surrounding everything. He seems about ready to mumble on about whatever's creeping slowly onto his mind like some sort of particularly determined ant attempting to scale a surface their feet can't quite cling to, when Frei brings up his elation at running into him.
"Yeah?" He coughs once as he pats his chest, "'scuse me," he clears his throat as he draws back in the leg he was stretching out. It's surprisingly - or maybe even worryingly - pop-free, for once, as he takes a step back towards the logs to lean one of his hands up against the log... no, make that an elbow, he thinks, as he leans up against the log.
"You're right 'bout all this just, just keepin' me busy," he vaguely gestures, knowing full well that Frei can probably guess /why/ it does, "but I can try 'n, ah, 'n make time, what's up?" He tries to think about what Frei could be asking for... is the heater in the YFCC down again? A need to recommend a new dry cleaner since the most popular one in Southtown went under? Spare cash? (He's hoping it isn't about cash.)
"Acculturation through martial arts, huh," Frei says distractedly, fixating on that for some reason out of all the things that Rust has to say about things. "There are worse goals. You should talk to Lynn Baker," he adds offhandedly, taking his hand off the lumber he's been pawing for whatever reason. "Honestly, that seems like what she's trying to do with the Ryu Zui Ken dojo since her grandfather was k..." He breaks off, then quickly substitutes, "...since he died." No sense letting that story run away with itself right now.
There's a pause, and then Frei looks Rust square in the eye. Only way he can bring himself to do this, really, in the end. "Actually, that's kind of what I want to ask you to do," he says, his lips suddenly set in a nervous/frustrated line, green eyes darting elsewhere momentarily before coming back to Rust's. "I'm... leaving. And I don't really know how long, or where I'm going, just yet, and..."
And what? Alma's been gone. Hotaru's busy with her own things. Who else is left? Student volunteers... and Frei, who didn't expect the YFCC to become as big a part of his life as it ended up being in the end. Frei, who has shed literal blood, sweat, and tears to help the place grow and keep it safe. Finding that it now runs mostly like a machine without him was both heartening and depressing. But it was one link in the chain... and without it, suddenly, the sage finds himself free of it.
"The... the Center mostly runs itself, nowadays," Frei continues, in a too-clipped tone, clearly babbling on to keep from focusing too much on what he's saying. If he were the hand-wringing type, he'd be doing it. "But if you could... I don't know. When Vega or Geese or Godzilla or whoever decides to wreak havoc, can you... can you look in on them for me?" he asks. "It won't be for free. I can set something up so you get a little pay each month for the job. But I'd feel safer knowing... knowing someone who can fight, and who cares about the safety of kids, would be there in an emergency."
"S-Somethin' like that," and also for tuition fees - like it or not, there's still that economical element that few people can really afford to escape. Takuma Sakazaki is a martial arts genius and one of the all-time greats, but he will never be remembered historically as someone who knew how to handle the business side of... well, anything.
As Frei describes Lynn, there's a bit of nodding. The near-slip about 'killed' seems to be missed, if going by Rust's face - he probably doesn't pick up on it, given there's no arched brow or anything. He does step up from the log to roll one of his shoulders... ah, there it is, one of the trademark pops. They're still as wince-worthy as ever.
Just in time for Frei to break the ice with that sort of nervous look on his face, which Rust does manage to pick up on.
"Leaving?" He scratches at the side of his head, as the way Frei words it just makes it more confusing. Not knowing where he's going? How long? The possibilities go to some strange and maybe even unflattering places, but none of them are ever really fully-formed as theories in his mind... let alone voiced.
Rust keeps his quiet through Frei explaining where he's going with it all as he rests his arm back against the log again. It shifts unexpectedly under his weight, prompting him to recoil and draw back a foot as though he were expecting something to roll into him, but after a moment of being sure that's not the case, finally thinks to start resting it again when Frei asks the question.
'Can you look in on them for me?'
Surprisingly, for what should be such a weighted question, for something that has incredibly deep implications for the men involved, there isn't any draw dropping or dramatic pauses of 'oh I don't know if I can do this because, because.'
No, instead...
"I, uh, I actually... kinda already do," Howard says as he stands up straighter, thinking that maybe it's not a good idea to lean on the pile of logs lest it actually crush someone's foot or something equally... inconvenient. One guy already had to get taken out of here by ambulance for that earlier.
"I mean... look." The aging martial artist moves forward to put a hand on Frei's shoulder as he starts talking about pay. "I got a, a lot of friends in Southtown, Frei. Made a lot since I first came by as a, y'know, shop teacher." Some days he really wishes he had his old 60k-a-year career and not the whatever-tournament-winnings-you-can-scrape salary he's been on, even if this is his lifelong dream in living color right here. "I, I keep an eye out for trouble. Y'know, maybe one of the kids has a, uh... difficult dad, or... punks tryin' to get, what do they call it, protection pay from the li'l stores."
The older man clears his throat again, "'scuse me," he backs away from Frei to cough a bit before continuing. Allergies have not been kind to him lately. "I mean... I can't be, be everywhere at once. Can't solve every problem, can't... fix everything, but, whatever you're doing," whatever Frei's doing /indeed/, he still doesn't yet have an idea as to what he's getting at, "if, when it comes to it, Frei," he nods his head once more again, "I'll do what I can for 'em, and... uh... I dunno how to say this."
This is more 'I don't know how to deal with reluctantly ignoring something I really need right now," as he starts to look away, "Towards the end of my career back over in, uh, in Pacific, got in some serious trouble over... over my work visa, 'n what things I can, or can't do and be paid for. Almost got my ass deported, so... uh...."
'So, uh, I hate to say this' is what he means to follow this up with, and yet...
"I'm gonna say... don't about any pay, all right? I'm gonna need to, ah, y'know, play it safe with that." This does sting a little, inwardly, given how much he could use a little extra cash.
Rust has quite the story to tell, in response, but his words send Frei back years and years. Almost seven years now, in fact. Coming off the boat in Southtown. Moving into Chinatown and being a sort of resident friend of the community. Meeting the Kasagis and Alma and Sakura and Hotaru, among many other kids in the local schools. Joining the fighting circuit when all he really had was a knowledge of various chi techniques and enthusiasm. And all that only within the first few years. But what's happened since then?
Multiple wars, multiple city invasions. Frei made up with his estranged mother, fought with his murderous brother, had 26 clones of him made and helped kill all of them. He's been in tournaments and battles, fights and scraps. He's been mind-controlled and lost and then regained his connection to the energy of the world. He's been to what feels like every country on Earth. He even helped train a student in whatever you'd call his 'style' -- from 'clueless chi prodigy' to 'wise beyond his years'.
And now?
"Alright," he says to Rust, putting the sudden rush of memories behind him, and focusing on the present. He's talking to a man who has somehow gone through much the same. Someone with a talent, and drive, caught up in circumstances that feel bigger than he is but who weathers them just the same because that's just how he operates. A natural defender. "But still. The Center has beds and food and more boxes of Post-It notes than you can shake a stick at. You're welcome to the resources there. I'll be sure to let them know."
A pause, and then Frei looks into the middle distance, not sure what to say. "I'll feel better knowing that you've got them in mind," Frei says at last. "Maybe what I'm about to do is selfish, in that light. But I had to know... I had to know that someone would still care about them, before I decided, you know?" He turns back and gives a questioning gaze to Rust, putting a hand on the stack of lumber again. "Like... if I didn't, it'd be the difference between 'doing something for myself' and 'walking away'."
The food perk stands out most of all among the offers of little bits of assistance, considering how many nights as of late he's had to settle for soba noodles. So many dinners spent being just... soba noodles.
Howard looks back over his shoulder as Frei describes these little things for assistance. He frowns, and it's almost right on his lips - where are those guys? Where are they? He looks back to Frei just as Frei starts looking into the middle distance, in which it seems both men are taking turns dramatically looking away for whatever reason.
"Listen... Frei," he speaks up as he goes back to the finger waving, "just... what I said, doesn't go for just, the kids, the other people at, at the center, or... really, just the people I was talking 'bout."
"It goes for you too." He lets those words hang as he lowers his hand, keeping his eyes straight on Frei. An attempt at being reassuring, given the worry Frei expresses. "Just, uh, wherever you're goin', if... if something comes up, you gotta let me know too," he puts a hand to his chest, "I know... you got friends who'd, well, do a lot for you in a heartbeat. I mean... hell, all these years of, just... crazy shit. Nobody pulled through any of 'em alone." Howard says this with certainty, even with Frei expressing legitimate worry about having 'someone that would still care for them.'
Someone faintly calls Rust's name in the distance, from inside the Sakazaki household. It's not a familiar voice - most likely not Takuma screaming for blood or for how to fix the toaster, but the older man doesn't pick up on it.
A lifetime of faces seems to pass in front of Frei's inner eye, at Rust's final comment on the matter, and his eyes -- which he didn't process he'd closed -- open up, and Frei gives a genuine smile. "No... we haven't."
He lets out a breath, lets his shoulders drop a bit, and genuinely seems to go through a few of the physical markers of stress's impact on the body fading as the stressor itself moves away. Not entirely, mind you; as Frei slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder, his fingers are restless on it as they grip, tapping out some tune or the other in staccato rhythm, an idle gesture. And eventually he opens his mouth and the reason why becomes clear.
"I... haven't told anyone else," Frei says carefully, as if he's even now re-evaluating the wisdom of that choice. It took a while to come to that conclusion. Shouldn't he say his goodbyes? Shouldn't he make promises to return when he's done, make some sort of assurance that he's not going to disappear forever? Frei thought about it, but in the end, he realized that would just make it impossible to go. The people who cared, who it would affect, well... they'd know in their hearts. He hopes, anyway.
And now he turns back to Rust. "I'd appreciate it if you did the same. I don't... people will want to know where I'm going and even I don't know that yet. I just know I'm looking for... something. I'll know it when I see it, just like the last time I did this." The last time, when you left home, left college, moved to China, and was... everything, for a time. A monk, a mendicant, the lone student of a wise but mad individual who taught Frei everything he knows. "I don't know how long that will take, either. So..." He pauses, trying to think of more to say, and then fails to do so. "...yeah. I think someone's calling your name," he adds, nodding his head toward the dojo, secretly thankful for the change in subject.
The dark purple-haired... er, topped man goes quiet at Frei mentioning he hasn't told anyone else. It's on his face, ready to ask at any moment once he surmises that he really should be asking it. It's there right when Frei turns back to look to him and let him know the important stipulation of whatever it is he's doing.
"Are you... are you sure of that?" No, Frei is certain, otherwise he wouldn't ask, even if the man before Frei does not appear to have completely bought it on that merit alone, shaking his head at first as Frei elucidates - cryptically - on what exactly is going on, just... wandering, getting out there?
When Frei brings to attention the idea that someone's calling his name, he turns his head. True enough, someone speaks louder - and in fact comes rushing out the door.
"YOU'RE GOING TO WANT TO SEE THIS!" Calls a Kyokugen student. "RIGHT NOW!"
"Right now?" Howard mumbles it out, given he's speaking with someone who's about to go who-knows-where without letting anyone else other than Rust know! The older man slumps a little in defeat, rubbing the side of his head, running his gloved fingers through his, er... hair. How can he even be willing to touch that with gloves on, let alone put that on his scalp?!
"All right, Frei, I, I guess I gotta let you go, but... don't do anything stupid."
He stops to correct himself as he turns around, looking back and waving a finger. "Too stupid. Don't... d-don't do anything too stupid. I mean... ehh."
"HURRY!" The student calls. This has to be something really, really bad if they're insisting he come, and not just a toilet backing up or something.
"I'm coming, I'm... just--" the man looks back to Frei. This could be the last time any one man looks at one another for quite a stretch of time, between a young man going off to find his way again, and a man who is pretty sure he has found what he has been looking for in a life that hadn't really gone the way he wanted it to for so very long. The next time the two of them look upon one another... what will they see?
"Just... take care, all right, and, uh," the older man looks over his shoulder one last time as he takes off in a jog, "next time, next chance... 'd love a good spar or something--"
"YOU AREN'T GOING TO BELIEVE THIS BUT YOU HAVE TO HURRY!" The student calls out again.
"Son of a bitch I'M COMING AS FAST AS, AS I CAN!" Howard shouts back. His haste has almost never been greater than that of a healthy jog, at best - but if he knew what was waiting, perhaps he'd find a new spring in his step as he goes across the lot towards the happy(?), healthy(?) home of the Sakazakis.
In spite of the underlying gravitas of the situation, Frei can't help but devote some processing cycles to imagining what it is that they're pulling Rust away to see. While there's a good chance it's something mundane but awful -- rotting drywall, abestos, dead body found in the floorboards -- secretly Frei hopes, for Rust's sake, that it's something awesome. Like a dinosaur.
What's the old Chinese curse? 'May you live in interesting times'?
"I won't," he says in response to Rust's insistence that he not do anything stupid... or, at least, any more stupid than wandering off on some crazy, lone errand a zillion miles from civilization without telling anyone. He has a followup comment, an observation, and it is clear that he's about to say it and then he changes his mind. But if he were to put it to words, it would be this: you might not think this is where you wanted to end up, Howard Rust. But if someone took it away from you tomorrow, you'd be yearning to get back here, and not just the physical place.
It's rare and unusual to see someone in an environment where it feels like they really, truly belong. In his own weird way, Frei's glad to have witnessed it.
"That... would be fun," Frei adds, to Rust's suggestion that next time they meet, they have a little friendly spar in the process. "I'm looking forward to seeing what you do from here on in," Frei adds. It's a bit of a creeper line, but it's the truth. The early struggle is all about finding a solid base. The middle of the road, well... that's about having the security to take as many detours as you need to satisfy yourself.
In that, they're not so different.
The redhead is left waving as Rust rushes toward the Sakazaki home, a few of the students who don't recognize him giving him an odd look. But then everyone's out of sight, and the weight of that bag is easier to handle when one is on the move. Walking at a decent pace -- not too fast, not too slow -- Frei steps out onto the street, and then onto the rest of his journey.
Log created on 19:05:24 08/17/2012 by Rust, and last modified on 10:48:46 08/18/2012.