Sleepwake (Part 12/?)
See Part 1 for disclaimer.
.
Hwoarang simply stood there, staring thoughtfully up at the lime green letters over the entrance of the bar. Jin tried to suppress his impatience, and waited for Hwoarang to voice whatever it was that seemed to so consume his attention, but the redhead remained silent. His tilted face was different, more speculative somehow. Less confident. Jin began to grow uneasy, wondering if this was a mistake.
"What are we waiting for?" Jin spoke, hushed and nervous. His own voice jolted him out of his dream-like complacency, the sound magnified ten times by the unnatural quiet of the street. What were they thinking, standing out here like this, unarmed and vulnerable for anyone to see? He huddled Xiaoyu's disturbingly limp body closer for warmth and made towards the graffitied doors of the bar. Hwoarang's hand shot out, blocking his movement.
"What?" Jin hissed, irritated. He was on edge, rightfully so, and the smell of the cold air promised impending thunder.
"This place. . ." Hwoarang began. He was still looking at the neon sign, as though caught in a trance. ". . .it's different."
That same quiet speculation. Damn him, Jin thought, not knowing what he meant or why he was angry.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded bluntly, too tired and too damn afraid by now for cryptic repartee. Hwoarang looked at him, surprised. He dropped his hand.
"Okay. Okay, let's just go," the Korean said, setting his mouth in a grim line, like a patient going into the dentist's office. "But don't say I didn't try to warn you."
"Whatever." Jin pushed the heavy wooden door open with his foot, some primitively subconscious part of his mind bracing itself, and stepped over the threshold.
He felt the exact moment when he crossed over from the side walk pavement to the smooth floor of the bar, could identify the shift of one world phasing into another. The heat hit him like a crowbar, and the music, pulsing and loud where there had been silence seconds earlier, drove its pounding rhythm into his skull in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Directly before him flowed a sea of people, sweating and jostling and half-clothed, mindless slaves to the dizzying music as dazzling rays of blue and green slashed the air in hypnotic patterns, a lightshow that beckoned with the force of a siren song.
If Jin were to describe it in one word, it would've been "siege". An attack on the senses, one that persuaded its victims to succumb. But under it, there was something else. Something sly and careful.
The door slammed closed behind Jin, the forceful sound making the thought slip from his mind. Hwoarang was there, watching Jin carefully.
"Did you feel it?" the redhead said, almost yelling to be heard. Jin didn't understand.
"What are you talking about?" he shouted back.
:: sly, careful, yes, but what are you? ::
Hwoarang's gaze burned. Jin had the feeling that something important was happening, and he was missing it.
"You didn't feel anything," Hwoarang said slowly, a question.
:: I'm invisible. Forget me. ::
"Did you?"
"Yes," said Hwoarang. The word sounded like an accusation. Jin said nothing. He was thoroughly baffled, and it was difficult to think in here. Hell, it was difficult to _breathe_ in here.
He was about to ask what it was that he should have felt, but Hwoarang turned away, heading in the opposite direction. Jin, of course, followed, squeezing through the throng of people and automatically tightening his grip on Xiaoyu. Several members of the human sea sent him lasciviously predatory looks, although they parted before Hwoarang like he was Moses. Jin saw the reason: the Blood Talon's sharp features sent a clear message- touch me and die. As inebriated as some of the dancers had to be, nobody was _that_ drunk. Jin smirked a little. Was the great Hwoarang claustrophobic?
They reached the curved counter of the bar, a small oasis where there was enough elbow room to move without stepping on someone else. Only a few wallflowers lingered here, too shy or stoned for the dance floor. Hwoarang waved over the bartender.
"Where's Mike?"
"Mike who?" The bartender's large weathered face was placid.
"Don't give me shit, Donahue, you know damn well who." Hwoarang's voice was conversational, almost friendly, but Jin could read danger well enough in his eyes.
Professional indifference changed into recognition as Donahue squinted at Hwoarang. To Jin's surprise, it wasn't followed by hasty apologies.
"It's you, is it? Mike's not here."
"Mike's always here."
"He's not tonight."
Hwoarang glared at Donahue, but the old bartender remained unyielding. It was stalemate.
"What about Natalia?" the Korean said, switching tactics.
"Natalia's busy."
"I need to see her."
The bartender shrugged.
Hwoarang was obviously reaching the end of his patience. His words came fast and harsh.
"This is serious. This is so god damn serious, it's making me molt. At least tell me where Natalia is."
Donahue seemed tired of it. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward, all menace. Jin realized that ten or twenty years ago he might have been a bouncer.
"How many times it been, Bob? I'm sick of you storming in here, making demands. They don't owe-"
"Mary," Hwoarang said, the word like an icicle; cold, sharp. Donahue froze, and Jin could practically hear the doors slam shut. What the hell was Hwoarang doing?
"How old was Mary, Donahue?" The Korean was fierce, but by the grim set of his face, he didn't want to be doing this.
Donahue stared at Hwoarang with all the hatred one person could feel.
"She was fifteen, but Mary was older than her years," Hwoarang answered for him. In a swift movement, Hwoarang took Xiaoyu from Jin, held her out in front of him like an offering to the bartender.
"This is Xiaoyu. She's seventeen but acts and thinks five years younger. Do I have to tell you about her, Donahue? She likes candy, loves it, the sugar highs make her bounce off walls for hours. She loves soft, furry things, like panda bears and rabbits. She wears pink and yellow bows that blind everyone else. She'll babble for eternity about everything or nothing at all. When she's happy she smiles, and when she smiles it's like looking at the sun. When she's sad, she'll try to smile anyway."
Donahue's eyes were on Xiaoyu's face, but it was clear that he saw someone else, long ago lost. Hwoarang's expression softened, almost imperceptibly.
"I don't want to do this to you, Donahue. I wish we could go to the hospital, but we can't. She needs Natalia. Natalia could've saved Mary."
His former resolve demolished, the bartender did nothing, staring at the tiny girl in front of him, oblivious to the music, the people, the world. Finally, he put a set of keys on the counter.
"Gold one," he whispered, "West corridor, third door on the right."
Hwoarang took the keys. He gave the bartender a regretful look.
"I'm sorry. I know what it's like."
As they swam back into the crowd of dancers, Jin asked "Who was Mary?" Hwoarang didn't meet his eyes. "Donahue's granddaughter. She's dead now." Jin didn't press it. He felt bad for Donahue, but overriding that was the knowledge that Xiaoyu would be fine, that Natalia, whoever that was, would help her. Everyone was selfish. Jin was no exception.
Hwoarang stopped in the middle of the crowd and looked down. He was still carrying Xiaoyu.
"Oh, uh. . .here." The redhead placed her in Jin's arms, looking almost flustered, if that were an emotion the Blood Talon was at all capable of feeling.
Soon enough, they had left the dance room and its suffocating crowd behind. The music was merely a faint hum in the halls where they stood. The décor here was markedly different: tapestries in rich colors hung on the walls, along with unfamiliar trinkets and dried herbs. Where the previous room had been expansive and modern, this place possessed a sense of age.
The third door on the right was lacquered red. Questions chased each other half-formed in Jin's head, but Hwoarang beat him to it.
"You really didn't feel anything?" the redhead asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Nope."
Hwoarang shrugged, moving to knock on the door. Before his knuckles touched the wood, the door swung silently open.
"Show off," he muttered.
They entered.
.
Author's notes:
Hey people, still remember me? ^_^ I feel really bad for not getting this chapter written and posted sooner. Part of the reason was school (always school =_=), part of it was that there's been a lot of things going on in general, but to be perfectly honest with myself, the real reason was that I just grew lazy. After winter break, I thought I'd give myself some time to adjust to the chaos of the new class schedule, along with other things, and a week of inactivity turned into two weeks, turned into three, turned into over a month. I got into the habit of putting the writing off, but then one day I got the sweetest email from Ancientwriter (thank you _so_ much -^_^), and I realized that if I didn't start writing, eventually I'd just forget about Sleepwake completely.
Why do I care so much about this story? Not because I have delusions of literary grandeur, or even because I love Tekken, though I do (ahem, love Tekken, that is. ::cough:: ^_^;;). It's because I began writing Sleepwake and it's not done. I want to prove to myself that I can start something that takes time and effort, and complete it.
Hee hee, you guys landed smack dab in Maomi's self-therapy session ;p .
Anyways, don't worry folks, the next author-rant won't be this long ^_^.
Also, thanks again to Sam Blackcrow for beta-reading help!
.
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum.
See Part 1 for disclaimer.
.
Hwoarang simply stood there, staring thoughtfully up at the lime green letters over the entrance of the bar. Jin tried to suppress his impatience, and waited for Hwoarang to voice whatever it was that seemed to so consume his attention, but the redhead remained silent. His tilted face was different, more speculative somehow. Less confident. Jin began to grow uneasy, wondering if this was a mistake.
"What are we waiting for?" Jin spoke, hushed and nervous. His own voice jolted him out of his dream-like complacency, the sound magnified ten times by the unnatural quiet of the street. What were they thinking, standing out here like this, unarmed and vulnerable for anyone to see? He huddled Xiaoyu's disturbingly limp body closer for warmth and made towards the graffitied doors of the bar. Hwoarang's hand shot out, blocking his movement.
"What?" Jin hissed, irritated. He was on edge, rightfully so, and the smell of the cold air promised impending thunder.
"This place. . ." Hwoarang began. He was still looking at the neon sign, as though caught in a trance. ". . .it's different."
That same quiet speculation. Damn him, Jin thought, not knowing what he meant or why he was angry.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded bluntly, too tired and too damn afraid by now for cryptic repartee. Hwoarang looked at him, surprised. He dropped his hand.
"Okay. Okay, let's just go," the Korean said, setting his mouth in a grim line, like a patient going into the dentist's office. "But don't say I didn't try to warn you."
"Whatever." Jin pushed the heavy wooden door open with his foot, some primitively subconscious part of his mind bracing itself, and stepped over the threshold.
He felt the exact moment when he crossed over from the side walk pavement to the smooth floor of the bar, could identify the shift of one world phasing into another. The heat hit him like a crowbar, and the music, pulsing and loud where there had been silence seconds earlier, drove its pounding rhythm into his skull in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Directly before him flowed a sea of people, sweating and jostling and half-clothed, mindless slaves to the dizzying music as dazzling rays of blue and green slashed the air in hypnotic patterns, a lightshow that beckoned with the force of a siren song.
If Jin were to describe it in one word, it would've been "siege". An attack on the senses, one that persuaded its victims to succumb. But under it, there was something else. Something sly and careful.
The door slammed closed behind Jin, the forceful sound making the thought slip from his mind. Hwoarang was there, watching Jin carefully.
"Did you feel it?" the redhead said, almost yelling to be heard. Jin didn't understand.
"What are you talking about?" he shouted back.
:: sly, careful, yes, but what are you? ::
Hwoarang's gaze burned. Jin had the feeling that something important was happening, and he was missing it.
"You didn't feel anything," Hwoarang said slowly, a question.
:: I'm invisible. Forget me. ::
"Did you?"
"Yes," said Hwoarang. The word sounded like an accusation. Jin said nothing. He was thoroughly baffled, and it was difficult to think in here. Hell, it was difficult to _breathe_ in here.
He was about to ask what it was that he should have felt, but Hwoarang turned away, heading in the opposite direction. Jin, of course, followed, squeezing through the throng of people and automatically tightening his grip on Xiaoyu. Several members of the human sea sent him lasciviously predatory looks, although they parted before Hwoarang like he was Moses. Jin saw the reason: the Blood Talon's sharp features sent a clear message- touch me and die. As inebriated as some of the dancers had to be, nobody was _that_ drunk. Jin smirked a little. Was the great Hwoarang claustrophobic?
They reached the curved counter of the bar, a small oasis where there was enough elbow room to move without stepping on someone else. Only a few wallflowers lingered here, too shy or stoned for the dance floor. Hwoarang waved over the bartender.
"Where's Mike?"
"Mike who?" The bartender's large weathered face was placid.
"Don't give me shit, Donahue, you know damn well who." Hwoarang's voice was conversational, almost friendly, but Jin could read danger well enough in his eyes.
Professional indifference changed into recognition as Donahue squinted at Hwoarang. To Jin's surprise, it wasn't followed by hasty apologies.
"It's you, is it? Mike's not here."
"Mike's always here."
"He's not tonight."
Hwoarang glared at Donahue, but the old bartender remained unyielding. It was stalemate.
"What about Natalia?" the Korean said, switching tactics.
"Natalia's busy."
"I need to see her."
The bartender shrugged.
Hwoarang was obviously reaching the end of his patience. His words came fast and harsh.
"This is serious. This is so god damn serious, it's making me molt. At least tell me where Natalia is."
Donahue seemed tired of it. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward, all menace. Jin realized that ten or twenty years ago he might have been a bouncer.
"How many times it been, Bob? I'm sick of you storming in here, making demands. They don't owe-"
"Mary," Hwoarang said, the word like an icicle; cold, sharp. Donahue froze, and Jin could practically hear the doors slam shut. What the hell was Hwoarang doing?
"How old was Mary, Donahue?" The Korean was fierce, but by the grim set of his face, he didn't want to be doing this.
Donahue stared at Hwoarang with all the hatred one person could feel.
"She was fifteen, but Mary was older than her years," Hwoarang answered for him. In a swift movement, Hwoarang took Xiaoyu from Jin, held her out in front of him like an offering to the bartender.
"This is Xiaoyu. She's seventeen but acts and thinks five years younger. Do I have to tell you about her, Donahue? She likes candy, loves it, the sugar highs make her bounce off walls for hours. She loves soft, furry things, like panda bears and rabbits. She wears pink and yellow bows that blind everyone else. She'll babble for eternity about everything or nothing at all. When she's happy she smiles, and when she smiles it's like looking at the sun. When she's sad, she'll try to smile anyway."
Donahue's eyes were on Xiaoyu's face, but it was clear that he saw someone else, long ago lost. Hwoarang's expression softened, almost imperceptibly.
"I don't want to do this to you, Donahue. I wish we could go to the hospital, but we can't. She needs Natalia. Natalia could've saved Mary."
His former resolve demolished, the bartender did nothing, staring at the tiny girl in front of him, oblivious to the music, the people, the world. Finally, he put a set of keys on the counter.
"Gold one," he whispered, "West corridor, third door on the right."
Hwoarang took the keys. He gave the bartender a regretful look.
"I'm sorry. I know what it's like."
As they swam back into the crowd of dancers, Jin asked "Who was Mary?" Hwoarang didn't meet his eyes. "Donahue's granddaughter. She's dead now." Jin didn't press it. He felt bad for Donahue, but overriding that was the knowledge that Xiaoyu would be fine, that Natalia, whoever that was, would help her. Everyone was selfish. Jin was no exception.
Hwoarang stopped in the middle of the crowd and looked down. He was still carrying Xiaoyu.
"Oh, uh. . .here." The redhead placed her in Jin's arms, looking almost flustered, if that were an emotion the Blood Talon was at all capable of feeling.
Soon enough, they had left the dance room and its suffocating crowd behind. The music was merely a faint hum in the halls where they stood. The décor here was markedly different: tapestries in rich colors hung on the walls, along with unfamiliar trinkets and dried herbs. Where the previous room had been expansive and modern, this place possessed a sense of age.
The third door on the right was lacquered red. Questions chased each other half-formed in Jin's head, but Hwoarang beat him to it.
"You really didn't feel anything?" the redhead asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Nope."
Hwoarang shrugged, moving to knock on the door. Before his knuckles touched the wood, the door swung silently open.
"Show off," he muttered.
They entered.
.
Author's notes:
Hey people, still remember me? ^_^ I feel really bad for not getting this chapter written and posted sooner. Part of the reason was school (always school =_=), part of it was that there's been a lot of things going on in general, but to be perfectly honest with myself, the real reason was that I just grew lazy. After winter break, I thought I'd give myself some time to adjust to the chaos of the new class schedule, along with other things, and a week of inactivity turned into two weeks, turned into three, turned into over a month. I got into the habit of putting the writing off, but then one day I got the sweetest email from Ancientwriter (thank you _so_ much -^_^), and I realized that if I didn't start writing, eventually I'd just forget about Sleepwake completely.
Why do I care so much about this story? Not because I have delusions of literary grandeur, or even because I love Tekken, though I do (ahem, love Tekken, that is. ::cough:: ^_^;;). It's because I began writing Sleepwake and it's not done. I want to prove to myself that I can start something that takes time and effort, and complete it.
Hee hee, you guys landed smack dab in Maomi's self-therapy session ;p .
Anyways, don't worry folks, the next author-rant won't be this long ^_^.
Also, thanks again to Sam Blackcrow for beta-reading help!
.
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum.