Forest Law returned to his room to find Hwoarand sprawled on a bed, smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke toward the open window. Law scowled. "You're not supposed to smoke in here, you know."
"Who's gonna know?" Hwoarang puffed on his cigarette and this time blew the smoke toward Law. "Why did you sleep in the other room, anyway?" He snubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. "You boning Phoenix or something?"
"It's tradition, asshole," Law shot back. "The first night, the three of us stay up late and reminisce about all our old fights. It gets us all pumped up for the Tournament." Hwoarang stared at him blankly for a moment.
"Yeah," he said, "you're boning Paul." Law glared at his obnoxious roommate, then locked himself in the bathroom. Rolling his eyes, Hwoarang pulled himself to his feel and walked into the hall. He smiled as he pictured Law crying like a little girl, dabbing primly at his eyes with a piece of toilet paper. He took the stairs and slid down the railing on the last flight. He pumped his arms, sliding across the floor in a Michael Jackson dance.
"There's something you don't see every day," Julia commented, quickly descending the stairs. Hwoarand stopped dancing and ran a hand through his firey hair. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment; he had not expected anyone to come through the lobby.
"What are you doing here?" he asked flatly.
"Participating in this little thing called The King of Iron Fist Tournament?" She rolled her eyes. "I would have thought you'd be training the whole time, Mr. Big Shot Street Fighter."
"I don't need to train," he informed her. "In case you've forgotten, I've never lost one of those street fights."
"Yeah, well, this is different. I don't see you in control of the Mishima Zaibatsu."
"Oh, you didn't hear? I won the Tournament last year, but I got bored and sold it back to Heihachi."
"Yeah, I'm sure." Julia headed toward the main door; Hwoarang shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Quit following me," she ordered."
"What, I can't watch your fight?"
"If you have to be there, fine, but if you even try to distract me, I will beat the crap out of you."
"Ooh, touchy, touchy!" He smirked, but said no more as he followed her toward the Mishima Zaibatsu grounds.
"Who's gonna know?" Hwoarang puffed on his cigarette and this time blew the smoke toward Law. "Why did you sleep in the other room, anyway?" He snubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. "You boning Phoenix or something?"
"It's tradition, asshole," Law shot back. "The first night, the three of us stay up late and reminisce about all our old fights. It gets us all pumped up for the Tournament." Hwoarang stared at him blankly for a moment.
"Yeah," he said, "you're boning Paul." Law glared at his obnoxious roommate, then locked himself in the bathroom. Rolling his eyes, Hwoarang pulled himself to his feel and walked into the hall. He smiled as he pictured Law crying like a little girl, dabbing primly at his eyes with a piece of toilet paper. He took the stairs and slid down the railing on the last flight. He pumped his arms, sliding across the floor in a Michael Jackson dance.
"There's something you don't see every day," Julia commented, quickly descending the stairs. Hwoarand stopped dancing and ran a hand through his firey hair. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment; he had not expected anyone to come through the lobby.
"What are you doing here?" he asked flatly.
"Participating in this little thing called The King of Iron Fist Tournament?" She rolled her eyes. "I would have thought you'd be training the whole time, Mr. Big Shot Street Fighter."
"I don't need to train," he informed her. "In case you've forgotten, I've never lost one of those street fights."
"Yeah, well, this is different. I don't see you in control of the Mishima Zaibatsu."
"Oh, you didn't hear? I won the Tournament last year, but I got bored and sold it back to Heihachi."
"Yeah, I'm sure." Julia headed toward the main door; Hwoarang shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Quit following me," she ordered."
"What, I can't watch your fight?"
"If you have to be there, fine, but if you even try to distract me, I will beat the crap out of you."
"Ooh, touchy, touchy!" He smirked, but said no more as he followed her toward the Mishima Zaibatsu grounds.