Post by xpressfighting on Mar 9, 2019 1:19:16 GMT -5
((OOC note: I wrote this for a story-telling fed, as the Nakamas are in my wider "family" of characters, and thought that you guys might enjoy this. And, assuming they read this, there might be a couple of people here who go "On, snap!" at a couple of the people and names mentioned. Enjoy!))
Dexter Severin’s tired eyes drink in the duo in front of him with aplomb, the waning light making every moment harder and harder to see. The cherry blossoms, flowering surprisingly early this year, captured the light of the sun and glowed with a gold that nearly brought tears to those sad eyes. This scene was one he envisioned, had thought about, had PLANNED for, yet still he was wholly unprepared.
Sitting across from him was a slight Japanese woman dressed in a white and red robe, her dark hair pulled up and held in place with a pin. Grey streaks made their way throughout her hair, but unlike his, which aged him and told of a rough few years, hers did little in the way of maring her beauty; indeed, while she had years on him, he would never have guessed it at first glance. A cup of tea sits before her on the ground, a large blanket underneath them, and even that dainty piece of porcelain looks thick and rough when compared to her lithe hand.
”He was...beautiful.”
The meeting had not started this way. It had taken Dexter what felt like a lifetime to make this connection. His first attempts, with his own name and position as a sports journalist, had gotten him nowhere. But a “friend of the family,” Bobbi London, joining the Xpress Fighting Systems gym had been welcome news. He had had to promise Bobbi some shocking “favors” in return, but she had gotten him in contact with the crazy little man in the thick glasses and loud suits that “spoke” for the fighting gym, and that had ultimately led him to this temple.
”Passionate. Powerful.”
Even when he met her, the woman across from him wouldn’t speak to him. Made him wait. Make him speak through an interpreter. It wasn’t until his intentions were clear, as well as the fact that it was, indeed, he who wrote so many words that were part of her story, that she sent away the interpreter and spoke with nearly perfect English.
”He spoke with such conviction. Such fervor. He knew what God wanted. What He had planned. But only He knew what role I would play.”
The woman turned her head to the side and the writer did the same. Next to her, dwarfing them both, sat a massive man. Tall and wide, the man had the distinctive almond-shaped eyes and dark skin of the woman, but also had the two features which had caught the writer’s breath all those weeks ago: Bright blonde hair and blue eyes that he knew well. The woman smiles as she places her hand on his broad shoulder.
”Did he know?”
The writer had his suspicions, given how close they were, but he had been surprised more than once about the information withheld by his departed employer. The woman keeps her face and eyes on the giant of a man and shakes her head slowly.
”No. I did not tell him. He was...distraught. Pained. He was in so much...pain.”
She shakes her head again and turns back to the writer, and he can see the pain and loss in her eyes was as equal to those he himself carried around with him for over a year.
”His parents....they died because of him. He was different. Rare is the white man who goes through the dojo from the very beginnings. His peers did not treat him as they do other outsiders. He was one of them. And when he earned his first championship match, his parents promised to be there. They were not. He was devastated. But nothing like…”
She cuts off for a moment, her eyes seeming dull, and the writer could tell that she was no longer with him, no longer sitting in front of him on a blanket in a field outside her temple amidst the cherry blossom trees. She was THERE. She was THEN.
”...nothing like when we found out the truth. It was carried in the sports pages. There was a detailed article in the magazine the next week.”
She raises her hand into the air, her fingers blocking out the words.
"Plane Crashes in Tokai Ocean. American Industry Man and Wife killed.”
She slowly lowers her arm back down to her side.
”He was inconsolable. Blamed himself. Blamed God. Took to...drugs...offered to him by some of his older peers.”
She looks back to the writer, and while her eyes again have their life, are back to the here and now, they look even more sad than before.
”I did not know I was pregnant until after he had gone. And I could not tell him. His path was different. God brought him to me, but then took him away, and it was my job to raise his son.”
She looks back to the large man and gives a wide smile.
”My beautiful Shinjiro.”
The large man, his face as passive as a mountain, sits even straighter than before. The writer chews on his lips for a moment in thought.
”Love you, Cuddles.”
The writer looks down at the phone sitting on the blanket with his sad eyes. The sound of his wife’s message to him, now used for notifications, makes his heart wish to break anew. He takes a moment and presses his thumb to the bottom, allowing the notification to be seen:
The writer shakes his head and lets out a mirthless laugh.
”You really ARE unbeatable. Good job, kid.”
He looks back towards the duo in front of him and chews his lips for a moment again.
”Does he know who he is?”
A soft sigh and laugh comes from the woman.
”Yes. He knows exactly who he is. He is the Mountain.”
She turns her eyes back to the writer.
”I understand that a woman holds the throne?”
Severin gives her a nod.
”Yep. The old man’s widow.”
The woman turns her eyes to the blanket below them and nods slowly.
”How is she?”
The writer chews on his lip again in thought, and decides to tell the truth.
”Vicious. Demanding. Unrelenting.”
The woman raises her head again and her entire face explodes with a bright smile.
”She sounds perfect for my Jean-Paul.”
The writer can only laugh.
”Something like that.”
He looks back up towards the massive Shinjiro.
”Should I tell the kid about him?”
”No.”
The immediacy of the answer catches the writer by surprise and he looks back to the woman, and his surprise grows as he sees her smiling face is now serious.
”If she is anything like her father, the child will not react kindly to no longer being the eldest child of the Savior. And only the Lord can say how the Queen would react. We will know. And until then…”
She reaches down and picks up her cup, the porcelain again reminding us of its ugliness in light of her beauty, and raises it up into the air.
”Let us remember him, Mister Dexter Severin.”
The writer picks up his own cup and mirrors the movement.
”Miss Nori Nakama.”
Their cups give a dull clink as their rims touch.
Dexter Severin’s tired eyes drink in the duo in front of him with aplomb, the waning light making every moment harder and harder to see. The cherry blossoms, flowering surprisingly early this year, captured the light of the sun and glowed with a gold that nearly brought tears to those sad eyes. This scene was one he envisioned, had thought about, had PLANNED for, yet still he was wholly unprepared.
Sitting across from him was a slight Japanese woman dressed in a white and red robe, her dark hair pulled up and held in place with a pin. Grey streaks made their way throughout her hair, but unlike his, which aged him and told of a rough few years, hers did little in the way of maring her beauty; indeed, while she had years on him, he would never have guessed it at first glance. A cup of tea sits before her on the ground, a large blanket underneath them, and even that dainty piece of porcelain looks thick and rough when compared to her lithe hand.
”He was...beautiful.”
The meeting had not started this way. It had taken Dexter what felt like a lifetime to make this connection. His first attempts, with his own name and position as a sports journalist, had gotten him nowhere. But a “friend of the family,” Bobbi London, joining the Xpress Fighting Systems gym had been welcome news. He had had to promise Bobbi some shocking “favors” in return, but she had gotten him in contact with the crazy little man in the thick glasses and loud suits that “spoke” for the fighting gym, and that had ultimately led him to this temple.
”Passionate. Powerful.”
Even when he met her, the woman across from him wouldn’t speak to him. Made him wait. Make him speak through an interpreter. It wasn’t until his intentions were clear, as well as the fact that it was, indeed, he who wrote so many words that were part of her story, that she sent away the interpreter and spoke with nearly perfect English.
”He spoke with such conviction. Such fervor. He knew what God wanted. What He had planned. But only He knew what role I would play.”
The woman turned her head to the side and the writer did the same. Next to her, dwarfing them both, sat a massive man. Tall and wide, the man had the distinctive almond-shaped eyes and dark skin of the woman, but also had the two features which had caught the writer’s breath all those weeks ago: Bright blonde hair and blue eyes that he knew well. The woman smiles as she places her hand on his broad shoulder.
”Did he know?”
The writer had his suspicions, given how close they were, but he had been surprised more than once about the information withheld by his departed employer. The woman keeps her face and eyes on the giant of a man and shakes her head slowly.
”No. I did not tell him. He was...distraught. Pained. He was in so much...pain.”
She shakes her head again and turns back to the writer, and he can see the pain and loss in her eyes was as equal to those he himself carried around with him for over a year.
”His parents....they died because of him. He was different. Rare is the white man who goes through the dojo from the very beginnings. His peers did not treat him as they do other outsiders. He was one of them. And when he earned his first championship match, his parents promised to be there. They were not. He was devastated. But nothing like…”
She cuts off for a moment, her eyes seeming dull, and the writer could tell that she was no longer with him, no longer sitting in front of him on a blanket in a field outside her temple amidst the cherry blossom trees. She was THERE. She was THEN.
”...nothing like when we found out the truth. It was carried in the sports pages. There was a detailed article in the magazine the next week.”
She raises her hand into the air, her fingers blocking out the words.
"Plane Crashes in Tokai Ocean. American Industry Man and Wife killed.”
She slowly lowers her arm back down to her side.
”He was inconsolable. Blamed himself. Blamed God. Took to...drugs...offered to him by some of his older peers.”
She looks back to the writer, and while her eyes again have their life, are back to the here and now, they look even more sad than before.
”I did not know I was pregnant until after he had gone. And I could not tell him. His path was different. God brought him to me, but then took him away, and it was my job to raise his son.”
She looks back to the large man and gives a wide smile.
”My beautiful Shinjiro.”
The large man, his face as passive as a mountain, sits even straighter than before. The writer chews on his lips for a moment in thought.
”Love you, Cuddles.”
The writer looks down at the phone sitting on the blanket with his sad eyes. The sound of his wife’s message to him, now used for notifications, makes his heart wish to break anew. He takes a moment and presses his thumb to the bottom, allowing the notification to be seen:
Title Change Tonight at UGWC Infinity!
Angie Vaughn has defeated Alan Wallace in the main event for the UGWC World Championship
”You really ARE unbeatable. Good job, kid.”
He looks back towards the duo in front of him and chews his lips for a moment again.
”Does he know who he is?”
A soft sigh and laugh comes from the woman.
”Yes. He knows exactly who he is. He is the Mountain.”
She turns her eyes back to the writer.
”I understand that a woman holds the throne?”
Severin gives her a nod.
”Yep. The old man’s widow.”
The woman turns her eyes to the blanket below them and nods slowly.
”How is she?”
The writer chews on his lip again in thought, and decides to tell the truth.
”Vicious. Demanding. Unrelenting.”
The woman raises her head again and her entire face explodes with a bright smile.
”She sounds perfect for my Jean-Paul.”
The writer can only laugh.
”Something like that.”
He looks back up towards the massive Shinjiro.
”Should I tell the kid about him?”
”No.”
The immediacy of the answer catches the writer by surprise and he looks back to the woman, and his surprise grows as he sees her smiling face is now serious.
”If she is anything like her father, the child will not react kindly to no longer being the eldest child of the Savior. And only the Lord can say how the Queen would react. We will know. And until then…”
She reaches down and picks up her cup, the porcelain again reminding us of its ugliness in light of her beauty, and raises it up into the air.
”Let us remember him, Mister Dexter Severin.”
The writer picks up his own cup and mirrors the movement.
”Miss Nori Nakama.”
Their cups give a dull clink as their rims touch.