Well, it's better something than nothing, right? This is a concept I have had in the works for a while: an origin story for who I feel was an underutilized character in the show: Yo. And it isn't just about Yo himself.
I guess a better way to get a clear understanding of what's to come is to take a look at my previous story Calamity Hoppers and my on-going (and soon-to-be-finished) story Volatile Scene, since this story will serve as a backstory for the universe I've created for the aforementioned two stories. If you're familiar with the two stories I just brought up, however, then I hope you enjoy what's to come.
This is the Triple Y origin story fan fiction: A Legend Is Born.
My heart pounds against my chest in a slow, steady rhythm. The air passes in and out my orifice in a gentle current. I shut my eyes and envelope myself in the silence of the room, concealing my entire frame from the world outside. Any slight twitching my body is about to attempt, I suppress with ease.
With a booming shout, I throw my punches and kicks to the air. I pay close attention to my form as I thrust my hands and feet out. I am as still as water, unmoving as the earth beneath my feet, fluid as the wind. I am in control. Each strike is powerful, but not excessive.
Being in control is paramount for a warrior. One must maintain a firm grip on everything. On the situation, on the adversary, on one's own body. Control is rooted on calmness, on serenity. Attunement with the self. Without that attunement, your grip will falter, and failure is guaranteed.
These are but a few of the teachings imparted unto me by my masters. But no other teaching has been stressed more than this one. As though it were the most important thing one must know.
Because it is.
Finishing up my routine, I end with a specific posture – hands outstretched, small and index fingers and knees bent. I maintain the stance, feel my breath as it leaves my mouth and stand easy after ten seconds.
Gazing at my hands, I clench them and lose myself in my thoughts. These hands of mine are sworn to protect. They are sworn to end conflict and never to initiate it. These are the hands of a Woo Foo warrior.
The doors behind me slide open, making way for my masters: the tiger brother and sister, Chai and Ti. They enter the room with their usual stern expressions.
The moment I notice them, I stand at attention and pay my respects to them with a bow. At the opposite end of the room, they kneel on the floor.
"Good afternoon, Masters Chai and Ti," I say fervently, failing to keep myself still.
"Good afternoon, Yo. Please kneel," responds the sister, Chai. "How is your training going?" Her voice is cold and matched by her narrow-eyed stare.
A bead of sweat breaks from my pores and slithers along my fur. "It's going well." The words roll from my tongue with hesitation.
"By 'going well', you mean…" says the brother, Ti, leaving the sentence there for me to complete.
Bowing my head as far as I can, I curl my hands into fists to regain control of myself. It does not work, as I am still trembling, harder than I have. "I'm making progress with my katas and my spells."
There is silence. I notice Chai and Ti sizing me up, analyzing every portion of my body. Searching for signs that I may be lying. Exchanging looks briefly, they ease some of their severity and exhale.
Chai nods her head and keeps herself from cracking a smile. "That's good to hear, Yo. But…" She pauses to swallow, and my anticipation builds.
Taking his sister's place, Ti clears his throat and says with a not-as-harsh tone, "We cannot take our training for granted. You remember our responsibility to society, do you, Yo?"
I feel my heart sink as his question enters my ear.
"As the only remaining practitioners of Woo Foo, it is our duty to embellish everything that makes our art what it is. What makes our art special. We must set an example for the people to see, so that we can return our art to its former glory," says Chai commandingly.
I begin to drift away from the conversation and lose myself in my thoughts. A chuckle almost falls from my mouth, but I catch it before it does. I think to myself of how we are to be taken seriously. How a martial art with a stupid-sounding name can ever earn respect from the public.
"Are you paying attention, Yo?" asks Ti, snapping me back to reality.
Jerking my head towards them, I gather my bearings and calm myself.
Chai looks at me with her squinted, slit-eyed stare before shifting into a calmer expression. A motherly expression, one of compassion and understanding.
"Do you understand what I've just said?" she asks.
I nod once, in a swift, snapping motion. "Yes, Masters Chai and Ti."
Ti squints his own eyes, but unlike his sister, they are unchanging. "We take pride in our art, Yo. We hope that we see that same pride in you. We need to see it," he says with authority. His words are cinderblocks that pin me to the ground. "Do you understand?"
I feel like curling into a ball and shut away everything. Find solace in silence. Instead, I say quietly and unquestioningly, "Yes, Masters," and bow to them.
Leaning my body forward in a bow, I sense their eyes lingering on me. I avert my head to the right, taken aback at their remark. At how faithless they are in me.
On the outside, I appear strong. I am the diligent, steadfast student that the two of them expect me to be. Always obeying their every word and never questioning their guidance. But not even their scrutiny can see what this mask of fortitude belies. They do not see me for the burdens that encumber me so. The weight of being an advocate for the art that I practice.
If only I were stronger than what I am now. If only I could prove my strength to them. A strength built not on pretenses, but on genuineness.
The dojo at night is an entirely different place from the dojo in the daytime. Everyone usually minds their own business. Well, I do, at least. The place has always been so quiet, but after sunset, it is completely mute. It feels like walking around in a graveyard, except without the excitement of potentially being pursued by an unknown presence.
Nevertheless, it gets boring here when none of us make passing mention at each other, and lonely considering we don't get many visitors, if at all. And the ones we do get are either angry neighbors who interrupt our training and demand we stop shouting every time or random passersby who mock us for being so archaic.
Here in the kitchen area, I scrounge around, searching high and low, up and down. From the cupboards I fetch a few glasses and plates. Inside the drawers I find spoons, forks, knives and chopsticks, all organized in their respective piles. I grab three of each and go back and forth between here and the adjacent dining table, meticulously setting every plate, glass and utensil, fixing the creases on the table cloth and adjusting the place mats.
Accompanying me in the kitchen is Master Chai, in front of the stove, working her culinary magic and tossing her cooking about, catching them in her wok. A fresh aroma wafts across the dojo and finds its way into my nose. Our noses. She stirs the food with her spatula, looks over her shoulder and flashes a smile at me.
This is a different Chai from the one I saw during my training. There, she was cold, serious and practical, never cracking a smile, the ones that managed their way into her face melting without second thoughts. Here, she is fun-loving and spirited, moreso than anyone I know, even myself. The cares she has in the world are cast aside. I wish I could see this Master Chai more often, but that might be asking too much.
"I can tell just by looking at you that you're really hungry," says Chai playfully. I reciprocate her smile and hold my hand against my stomach to quell its grumbling.
"What gave it away?" I ask, resting my chin on my palm.
Chai gestures at her bottom lip. Doing as she does, I find a strand of drool dangling from my mouth and wipe it clean, chuckling the silly thing away.
Before long, Ti enters the dining area and starts sniffing up the scent himself. He's as carefree as his sister. Again, he is not the tiger master I'm used to seeing. If only I saw more of him. More of them. If only there were more days like this. Days where the three of us spend time together. Not just in our training sessions.
"I wonder what smells nice," says my master, a wide grin on his face.
The scent leads him to the stove, where he is promptly stopped by Chai, who thrusts an open palm in the air, encasing herself in a shimmering white barrier. He pouts a frustrated pout, but she won't have it.
"You'll find out soon, brother. For now, take your seat," says Chai, looking over her shoulder again and then tending to her cooking. "You too, Yo."
At the mention of my name, I heed her and sit by the table, drumming my fingers on the wood and fidgeting my feet underneath to pass the time.
After a minute or so, the stove shuts off and Chai makes for the table, carrying a bowl in her hand. Wisps of steam rise from it, and I feel the skin beneath my fur becoming a little thicker with sweat as she takes her seat.
She sets the bowl down and announces, "Who's in the mood for stir-fry noodles? It's my specialty."
Brown-colored noodles with her special touch. Topped with an assortment of greenery, from cauliflowers to string beans to bamboo shoots, and dashed with slices of chicken and tofu. To the common eye, it is a delicacy. Perfection incarnate. As for me, I am still getting into the habit of eating something like this. I'm still in the phase of glossing over my greens whenever I eat.
Chai and Ti grab platefuls of the stuff and get started. Ti shovels his serve so quickly that it might have just vanished, while Chai digs in as delicately as she prepared it. Reluctantly I fill my own plate, but gaze at it boredly, twirl it on my fork and inspect it. A training session doesn't seem half that bad now.
"Aren't you hungry, little buddy?" asks Ti, spewing scraps as he speaks.
I lost my appetite. That's what I intend to say, but withdraw it in the last second when I glance at Chai's presence on my right. My years training as a martial artist has also taught me basic etiquette. Where and when it is applicable. That, and I hate feeling guilty. I can't come up with an excuse to get out of dinner. Not after the effort that my master has put into it.
With this in mind, I dig into my serve of noodles. Eventually, the taste grows on me, and I shove bigger forkfuls into my mouth. I can't say I love it, but I do appreciate it. The fact that my master is happy that I'm eating her cooking restores my mood.
After dinner, the three of us are stuffed, drooping down our chairs, rubbing the bulges on our stomachs. The ability to talk returning in her, Chai lifts herself up and exhales.
"So how did today go, brother?" she asks, linking her fingers together. "Any luck enlisting new students?"
"No," Ti replies with a sigh. "It's the same story as always. I go around and let the people know about Woo Foo, they laugh it off like it's supposed to be funny." Sitting upright, he leans the side of his head on his fist. Frustration glints in his eye as it squints, creases rising along his snout.
I join in to somehow lift their spirits.
"At least no one threw eggs at you this time around," I say, beaming at them. Ti gazes at me, more creases on his face. Five seconds of consideration, and the realization kicks in. "Oh. Sorry for mentioning it." None of us like being reminded of past mishaps, especially not Ti. Being pelted with eggs for spreading word of his art made him especially mad. He didn't speak at all for an entire week after that, spending his days meditating, venting out his anger through his training.
Chai takes her brother's hand into hers and gently runs her palm along it. "The important thing is that we're both alright. Alright?"
Ti sways his head to the side. "I suppose."
"Maybe it shouldn't be us to come to people about Woo Foo," I try, and I am suddenly met with my masters' curiosity. I relent a little, but gather the will to out my thoughts. "Maybe we should let the people come to us about Woo Foo. Y'know, let them learn because they want to, not because we ask them to." Patience is a virtue. My masters said it themselves.
Chai stands from her chair and starts collecting our plates and utensils. She laughs a little and carries everything to the sink in the kitchen.
"Perhaps you're right, Yo."
Fun fact about this story: it was my entry for 2014's NaNoWriMo. Tee hee.