They say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. That the family, father especially, never leaves you. Never. They say you are bound by your family name, and all that it comes with it. Forever connected. Psychologically, psychically, karmically, genetically. It always went back to the father.
That wasn't true, though. When Geese did something, he had the common knowhow to not get into trouble.
Rock stared at the grey washed, fading walls and rust bars, and sighed. He had like, majorly screwed up here.
"You're under arrest!"
Outside, the silence of the night was incompattible with the chaos inside. The knocked out bouncer was no where to be seen. In this silence, a peircing shreik broke the calm, and a voice through a megaphone followed shortly after. Only assailing red flashes color was to be seen, and cries of "you're under arrest!" filled the place.
Both were disoriented. Shingo looked at him pleadingly, unsure as to wether give up or let his fighting instincts prevail. Rock noticed that his feet were kicking up dust on the floor as well.
"What do you do now?!" Shingo managed to say, reverting back to a heavy accent. He wished he could reply with a reassurance, a snappy reply, or just with any word possible. But all Rock could say was, "I don't know."
Shingo continued, "should we run away?" Staring at the squad cars, the doors now opening. "should we-"
"Stop right there," the police men lurched above Rock and grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing the kid to the policecar. Rock knees twitched. He tightened his ligaments to avoid his natural tendency to kick his captor. It was bad enough he was arrested and handcuffed right now, he didn't need to have police assult on the record as well. His companion was taken to the other car. He saw Shingo, wide eyed with panic blurting out Japanese phrases, disapear underneath the hood and into the car, his head pushed in by the cops.
He didn't see him afterwards.
It took less than a few hours before the rest of the club goers started piling up at the station. Most were shocked, half acting, half because their stoned-state wore off, and trying to bargain their way out of the inevetable. And then came the testimonial. Christina feigned ignorance, "Oh my, I don't know what happened, but these mean people did...."..sort of way. Spiral didn't have much luck. But the fact that Rock was the least bruised person in the place, along with the fact he was still reeking from the incense of that room, didn't fare well for his case at all.
His internal conflict had been raging on since the beginning. By now it tore him apart, and, in the midst of the moist prison cell, he had finally come to a unanimous conclusion.
This was a stupid idea.
This was a very stupid idea.
It struck him as irony that all the years before this date he had worked so hard, with more than a small degree of success, in completely obliterating traces of his lineage. The first mention of his family name sent him on a wild goose chase around town. He hadn't obliterated anything, just ran away.
Terry. He was his pillar of support since the beginning. When Rock had arrived in the place, and saw his father was no where to be seen. He had truly lost all his family on that day, that day when all that remained of his 'great' father was a stain of blood on the pavement.
He lost the Howard family, but gained the Bogard.
Yeah, he still remembered that day. Down on his luck, not even ten years old but forced to wander some of the most dangerous streets in the world by himself. Then, one day after so many string of miserable days, he saw it on the harbor.
The fight. Terry and another opponent were going at it. Rock had been witness to many battles, but this was unlike one he had seen before. Everything was done so gracefully, with good sportsmanship from both sides. It wasn't blood sport, but freindly competition. The seagulls in the air, the salt smell and sea breeze. In the full light of the afternoon a small crowd gathered to cheer their afternoon entertainment.
They spent a lot of time together. Terry had come to him in the alleyway one day, like Jizo with a red cap, and challenged him to a game of baketball. Nothing unusual. This man in red had come a lot for the various street rats. But they spent a lot of time together. Moreso than the others. They went fishing outside of town, undistracted by anything save the tug of war with very stubborn fishes. They played basketball in the alleyways where the afternoons would fly by. But what he remembered the most were the nights, which sometimes felt eternal.
That night by the hill was something he never forgot. How does one forget ones death and rebirth? The exact dialogue was lost to memory. He remembered saying something childish and naive about the past and the stars in the sky. Terry, in unusual moment of candidness, told Rock about his entire past history and affairs with the Howard family. Rock choked at the mention of the name. He kept his distant shell at first, but that quickly crumbled. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was the fact Terry was completely willing to let things in the open, but Rock, with tears in eyes, told his story for the first time to anyone.
That night he managed to sleep comfortably for the first time in a long time. He knew, for once, that there was someone close to him watching over him.
So the lone wolf now had a cub. Terry's friends kept joking at how Rock managed to 'domesticate' the wolf. It was a sign of growing up, sure, but there were little irresponsible habits that Terry abandoned with the help of Rock. And Rock, of course, was riding everything like a giant tidal wave. The air of freedom, not the stagnation of uncertainty, he breathed every day. He cheered Terry on every King of Fighters. He started practicing the moment he could lift a weight. And, as growing up, everything was just simply cool. That's how the story goes, anyway.
If anything, fighting for him was a repression of skills. Yeah, that sounded weird. Very weird. But if a person is forced to have a gun with him all the time he would do much less damage knowing how to use it. Rock wasn't a fatalist, but he was realistic in acknowledging the shadow of his heritage would never leave him. Sins of the father, we all want to deny it, but pragmatically? He had to accept that, no matter how small that voice was. Little kids felt sad that their skin, eye or hair color was different than the others in class. Rock felt sad that his entire being was different than the others around him.
And small voices are unbeleivably loud when you're alone in a cell. They're the only thing that can keep you company. Like a friend who completely rips you apart mentally for the sake of "being honest" and "for your own good".
Actually, had that voice appeared sooner, things could've been better. Things could've been avoided. Bye bye Second South, hello whatever new town Terry was in right now. With a hint of smile, he also wondered how Terry would manage not having a personal chef for him. Rock had learned cooking out of survival instinct. Following Terry's sloppy culinary habits was the shortest path to an early grave (died when his tongue finally decided to revolt against what it's being put through).
But then thoughts came crashing back in the gray-washed room, and he wondered what would be his fate for now.
________________
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. It was 14:00, the clock outside the cell told him. He kept track of time to keep himself sane at first, but now it just seemed to make him even more tense. It had been a lot more than twelve hours. No one had come for him or anything, just like they'd abandoned him in jail and completely forgot. He wondered if Shingo was let free by now.
Balancing his weight on the tip of the bench, his feet scrapped the floor a few times. He digged deep in his pockets, absent mindedly doing whatever to keep his body from going numb. Something felt rough on his fingers and crunched as he squeezed it. He took out that damn piece of paper, the initials that made him do that stupid thing anyway.
His mind played a little game. He pushed his back to the wall and slumped, trying to conjure up a perfect image of the scene. Maybe now in meditative solitude he could find more clarity than the confusion of the moment. Yes, the place. A cheesy looking arena filled with red and smoke. And the chair, very much official looking, with the person next to it...
The voice, yes, he heard the voice before. Come on, think think think think, Rock grit his teeth. The voice was very very familiar. Like a half remembered dream with the solution at the tip of the toungue.
Sliding doors opened just as he blurted out the answer.
The cop motioned at him to leave. Rock's heart raced. He was more afraid of what was at the end of that hallway, waiting for him outside. Terry Bogard, without a hint of anger in his face (though Rock wouldn't be fooled by appearences) whispered into his ear, "Welcome back."
His voice sank. What could he say to the person he'd majorly screwed over for selfish reasons. The office fan kept on whining. Things were so silent he felt the need to blurt something out just for the sake of making noise.
"Terry....I..."
"I know."
The fan continued to click while Rock tried to find the proper words.
"I gotta see this through."
He stepped back. Waiting for the judge-jury-excecutioner to smite him for his stupidity. The office seemed much smaller now. All rested on Terry's next words.
"I said I know, kiddo." Terry smiled, giving him a thumbs up. "But someone had to open the doors for you, right?"
He smirked. "Thanks....."
Cobalt blue rubble and dust as far as the eye could see. The ruin of Southtown, where this whole thing started, and where, damnit, he would end it here and now. It wasn't easy at first, the ruin seemed to be the same thing over and over.
The shadow marked the spot. His obsession, the form and voice which he saw in the room the other night, was standing there, staring into the sky. The outline was still vague, but at least he was identifiable, and had no way to escape.
Billy Cane turned to Rock and said, "I was wonderin' when you'd show up."
_____________
Note: I feel terrible for neglecting this. I really do. I wish I had an excuse but....there's none. I'm just lazy. And the chapter's so much shorter than I hoped it'd be. Anyway, the next chapter is the last, expect little author rant then (oh as if anyone reads these things =P)
That wasn't true, though. When Geese did something, he had the common knowhow to not get into trouble.
Rock stared at the grey washed, fading walls and rust bars, and sighed. He had like, majorly screwed up here.
"You're under arrest!"
Outside, the silence of the night was incompattible with the chaos inside. The knocked out bouncer was no where to be seen. In this silence, a peircing shreik broke the calm, and a voice through a megaphone followed shortly after. Only assailing red flashes color was to be seen, and cries of "you're under arrest!" filled the place.
Both were disoriented. Shingo looked at him pleadingly, unsure as to wether give up or let his fighting instincts prevail. Rock noticed that his feet were kicking up dust on the floor as well.
"What do you do now?!" Shingo managed to say, reverting back to a heavy accent. He wished he could reply with a reassurance, a snappy reply, or just with any word possible. But all Rock could say was, "I don't know."
Shingo continued, "should we run away?" Staring at the squad cars, the doors now opening. "should we-"
"Stop right there," the police men lurched above Rock and grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing the kid to the policecar. Rock knees twitched. He tightened his ligaments to avoid his natural tendency to kick his captor. It was bad enough he was arrested and handcuffed right now, he didn't need to have police assult on the record as well. His companion was taken to the other car. He saw Shingo, wide eyed with panic blurting out Japanese phrases, disapear underneath the hood and into the car, his head pushed in by the cops.
He didn't see him afterwards.
It took less than a few hours before the rest of the club goers started piling up at the station. Most were shocked, half acting, half because their stoned-state wore off, and trying to bargain their way out of the inevetable. And then came the testimonial. Christina feigned ignorance, "Oh my, I don't know what happened, but these mean people did...."..sort of way. Spiral didn't have much luck. But the fact that Rock was the least bruised person in the place, along with the fact he was still reeking from the incense of that room, didn't fare well for his case at all.
His internal conflict had been raging on since the beginning. By now it tore him apart, and, in the midst of the moist prison cell, he had finally come to a unanimous conclusion.
This was a stupid idea.
This was a very stupid idea.
It struck him as irony that all the years before this date he had worked so hard, with more than a small degree of success, in completely obliterating traces of his lineage. The first mention of his family name sent him on a wild goose chase around town. He hadn't obliterated anything, just ran away.
Terry. He was his pillar of support since the beginning. When Rock had arrived in the place, and saw his father was no where to be seen. He had truly lost all his family on that day, that day when all that remained of his 'great' father was a stain of blood on the pavement.
He lost the Howard family, but gained the Bogard.
Yeah, he still remembered that day. Down on his luck, not even ten years old but forced to wander some of the most dangerous streets in the world by himself. Then, one day after so many string of miserable days, he saw it on the harbor.
The fight. Terry and another opponent were going at it. Rock had been witness to many battles, but this was unlike one he had seen before. Everything was done so gracefully, with good sportsmanship from both sides. It wasn't blood sport, but freindly competition. The seagulls in the air, the salt smell and sea breeze. In the full light of the afternoon a small crowd gathered to cheer their afternoon entertainment.
They spent a lot of time together. Terry had come to him in the alleyway one day, like Jizo with a red cap, and challenged him to a game of baketball. Nothing unusual. This man in red had come a lot for the various street rats. But they spent a lot of time together. Moreso than the others. They went fishing outside of town, undistracted by anything save the tug of war with very stubborn fishes. They played basketball in the alleyways where the afternoons would fly by. But what he remembered the most were the nights, which sometimes felt eternal.
That night by the hill was something he never forgot. How does one forget ones death and rebirth? The exact dialogue was lost to memory. He remembered saying something childish and naive about the past and the stars in the sky. Terry, in unusual moment of candidness, told Rock about his entire past history and affairs with the Howard family. Rock choked at the mention of the name. He kept his distant shell at first, but that quickly crumbled. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was the fact Terry was completely willing to let things in the open, but Rock, with tears in eyes, told his story for the first time to anyone.
That night he managed to sleep comfortably for the first time in a long time. He knew, for once, that there was someone close to him watching over him.
So the lone wolf now had a cub. Terry's friends kept joking at how Rock managed to 'domesticate' the wolf. It was a sign of growing up, sure, but there were little irresponsible habits that Terry abandoned with the help of Rock. And Rock, of course, was riding everything like a giant tidal wave. The air of freedom, not the stagnation of uncertainty, he breathed every day. He cheered Terry on every King of Fighters. He started practicing the moment he could lift a weight. And, as growing up, everything was just simply cool. That's how the story goes, anyway.
If anything, fighting for him was a repression of skills. Yeah, that sounded weird. Very weird. But if a person is forced to have a gun with him all the time he would do much less damage knowing how to use it. Rock wasn't a fatalist, but he was realistic in acknowledging the shadow of his heritage would never leave him. Sins of the father, we all want to deny it, but pragmatically? He had to accept that, no matter how small that voice was. Little kids felt sad that their skin, eye or hair color was different than the others in class. Rock felt sad that his entire being was different than the others around him.
And small voices are unbeleivably loud when you're alone in a cell. They're the only thing that can keep you company. Like a friend who completely rips you apart mentally for the sake of "being honest" and "for your own good".
Actually, had that voice appeared sooner, things could've been better. Things could've been avoided. Bye bye Second South, hello whatever new town Terry was in right now. With a hint of smile, he also wondered how Terry would manage not having a personal chef for him. Rock had learned cooking out of survival instinct. Following Terry's sloppy culinary habits was the shortest path to an early grave (died when his tongue finally decided to revolt against what it's being put through).
But then thoughts came crashing back in the gray-washed room, and he wondered what would be his fate for now.
________________
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. It was 14:00, the clock outside the cell told him. He kept track of time to keep himself sane at first, but now it just seemed to make him even more tense. It had been a lot more than twelve hours. No one had come for him or anything, just like they'd abandoned him in jail and completely forgot. He wondered if Shingo was let free by now.
Balancing his weight on the tip of the bench, his feet scrapped the floor a few times. He digged deep in his pockets, absent mindedly doing whatever to keep his body from going numb. Something felt rough on his fingers and crunched as he squeezed it. He took out that damn piece of paper, the initials that made him do that stupid thing anyway.
His mind played a little game. He pushed his back to the wall and slumped, trying to conjure up a perfect image of the scene. Maybe now in meditative solitude he could find more clarity than the confusion of the moment. Yes, the place. A cheesy looking arena filled with red and smoke. And the chair, very much official looking, with the person next to it...
The voice, yes, he heard the voice before. Come on, think think think think, Rock grit his teeth. The voice was very very familiar. Like a half remembered dream with the solution at the tip of the toungue.
Sliding doors opened just as he blurted out the answer.
The cop motioned at him to leave. Rock's heart raced. He was more afraid of what was at the end of that hallway, waiting for him outside. Terry Bogard, without a hint of anger in his face (though Rock wouldn't be fooled by appearences) whispered into his ear, "Welcome back."
His voice sank. What could he say to the person he'd majorly screwed over for selfish reasons. The office fan kept on whining. Things were so silent he felt the need to blurt something out just for the sake of making noise.
"Terry....I..."
"I know."
The fan continued to click while Rock tried to find the proper words.
"I gotta see this through."
He stepped back. Waiting for the judge-jury-excecutioner to smite him for his stupidity. The office seemed much smaller now. All rested on Terry's next words.
"I said I know, kiddo." Terry smiled, giving him a thumbs up. "But someone had to open the doors for you, right?"
He smirked. "Thanks....."
Cobalt blue rubble and dust as far as the eye could see. The ruin of Southtown, where this whole thing started, and where, damnit, he would end it here and now. It wasn't easy at first, the ruin seemed to be the same thing over and over.
The shadow marked the spot. His obsession, the form and voice which he saw in the room the other night, was standing there, staring into the sky. The outline was still vague, but at least he was identifiable, and had no way to escape.
Billy Cane turned to Rock and said, "I was wonderin' when you'd show up."
_____________
Note: I feel terrible for neglecting this. I really do. I wish I had an excuse but....there's none. I'm just lazy. And the chapter's so much shorter than I hoped it'd be. Anyway, the next chapter is the last, expect little author rant then (oh as if anyone reads these things =P)