dont own YYH


Chapt. 31

Old Man Named Frank

"Whatever. We should probably get down there right now then," I grunt, dusting invisible dirt off.

"She's right," Kurama adds, walking for the door.

Every one follows.

"Hey," I start.

They turn back to face me.

"Whose shirt is this?" I tug at the one I'm wearing. It was a black T-shirt with a red dragon on the front.

"Hiei got it for you," Yukina smiles.

They all leave; save for Kuwabara, Yusuke, and Hiei.

"What she doesn't know is that Hiei lifted that shirt for you with his lightning speed and walked back to make it look like it took him a while," Yusuke snickered.

"Yea, we could see him out the window," Kuwabara snickered in addition.

"And if either of you bakas tell anyone else," Hiei threatens.

"Save it for the match Shorty," Kuwabara says, composing himself and walking out the door.

"You know why he left right after he said that right?" Yusuke said, on the verge of wetting his pants from laughter.

I just nod.

Yusuke trips out of the room, laughing after Kuwabara.

"Some team captain," I say sarcastically.

"Tell me about it," Hiei agrees.

I take a deep breath to start telling him about it, but he shoots me a hard glare; I smile stupidly. We walk to ring like that: me grinning like an idiot, and him trying to act like he doesn't know me.

"The match will be team versus team! First team to have all its combatants' dead, ring out, or unable to battle loses! Ready? Go!" the ref shouts into the mic. Five descent fighters of the human race rush at us.

They're knocked out of the ring with a blow by each of us. Hiei didn't even kill his opponent.

"Well, that was quick. A record time of five seconds! The winner is Team Urameshi! Advance to the next bloc!"

"That was way too easy," Kuwabara complains, hopping from the ring.

"A waist of time if you ask me. I'm surprised those humans even got past their first match," Hiei growls.

"Maybe the team they fought was full of weaker humans," I suggest.

"Is that possible?" Hiei snorts.

"Sadly, yes," I sigh, acting disappointed.

"That was it?" Botan asks as we join them.

Kurama nods.

"That was fast."

"I'm hungry," Yusuke says after we walk a while. "Think you could get us some food, Hiei?"

Hiei shoots him a death glare.

"Yea and you could pick up a few sweaters for the girls," Kuwabara adds, holding back his laughter.

Hiei desperately tries to hold back his urge to kill them.

"I'll get it," I say quickly. Before they can say anything, I rush down the hall; waving to them without turning to look at them. I burst through the glass doors and into the sweet air of the woods. A beaten, cemented path leads along shops, dinners, and take-outs.

I walk down the abandoned walkway, looking at the neon signs.

"'Frank's Everything'," I read. "'Pizza, chicken, ice cream, etc. You want it? We got it!' " I walk into the small dinner. Two booths and a couple of tables with two chairs each were the only seating options. A gruff looking man was sleepily cleaning a counter top. His baby blue eyes were glazed with age. A long white beard was neatly braided and tucked into the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. His long silver hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.

"Excuse me, sir?" I say, walking up to the counter.

He looks up at me with his tired eyes. Deep wrinkles defined his features; he was terribly old.

"Frank, nice to meet you," he growled kindly, holding out a gnarled hand for me to shake.

"Same here," I say sweetly, gently shaking his fragile hand.

"What are you needing miss?" Frank asks with a distinctive Scottish accent.

"What would you recommend?"

"Oh! Wait right here!" he says excitedly, wading up his towel and throwing it aside. He scuttles to the back room.

He's only gone a moment or two.

"Here it is! My ultimate sandwich!" he shouts giddily. He sets out an easy three-foot sub sandwich, filled to the brim with meats, cheeses, and more meat. Fresh white bread gives off a wonderful aroma.

"It's amazing!" I say, sniffing the scent.

"All my life," he begins sadly, "I've waited for someone to ask that. Thank you."

"Sure, we all need that little recognition. Sit with me for a while?" I ask, motioning to one of the booths.

He nods happily and comes from behind the counter. He walks nervously beside me, leaning uneasily on his maple wood cane. Situating himself in the seat, he sighs.

"Are you here for the tournament?" he asks.

"To fight in it."

"I knew it! I could just tell by the fire in your eyes when you walked in. You can always tell an honorable fighter from a regular one."

"How's that?"

"By the way they treat others – especially the elderly." He winked at me. He gave a hearty laugh; I joined him.

"Were you a fighter once?" I wonder, noticing old scars.

"Along time ago. I was undefeated here. Every year, I would enter with my friends, and teammates, and we would fight to the top. We never killed, though." He paused for a breath. "But one year, we lost.

"Demons had been allowed to enter. We had made it to the final bloc and were ready to win. But the team we were up against was a group of ruthless demons. The price we paid for losing was our lives."

"You still live."

He winced. "If you call this living. My best friends were mutilated before my eyes. No one knows me any more. No one cares to hear my tales. I lost my pride then. I had begged them to kill me too, but they only laughed. They left me to live with the pain off loss."

"I'm sorry."

"You are the first one in a long time to care like this. You truly are an honorable fighter. Always keep that."

"Tell me more. Tell me the stories you know."

So he told me. Hours passed by, but he never faltered a detail. Such enthusiasm came from this man as he spoke of his adventures. And the description! Oh, the description! I could taste the rancid meat; the blood; the vanilla.

"That is all I have," he finished, smiling proudly.

"Thank you, sir!"

"Please, Frank."

"Thank you, Frank. Your stories were amazing and inspiring. I hate to leave you now, but I must get back; my friends will be worrying about me."

"Understood. And, thank you. You've made me a happy man today. Maybe I can die in peace."

"How much do I owe you for the sub?" I inquire, reaching for my wallet.

"Now charge! Just you being here and listening is price enough for me."

"But I must give you something!" I protest.

"You will do no such thing!" he says sternly. "You will take your food and go with it without paying a cent."

He cut the sub into three parts and put them in a box.

"Now, you go and remember what you heard."

"I will. Thank you again, Frank."

He turns into the back room again. Quietly, I lay a twenty on the counter and hurry out. The cool, brisk air meets my face; pushing me home.

"One more stop," I say to myself. I walk up the strip and step into a clothing store. Thirty bucks for twelve sweaters; really good deal.

"Done," I sigh with little enthusiasm, walking back towards the hotel.

"You shouldn't worry the others, y' know," a familiar voice mocks.