Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter Two
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & possible explicit sex later.
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story.
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*
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Author's Note 3: Thanks for responding favorably to my attempt! ^ ^ You've spurred me to keep writing. Maybe my concept for this tale will actually take some form of definition, and I'll have the motivation to get it all down. ^_~
Author's Note 4 (lol): No, Hwoarang is not guilty, just keep reading...
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When his eyes opened, he was staring up into the dull gray darkness of inner-city nightfall. His clothes were wet all over and stank of alcohol, urine, and other unmentionable odors. The light drizzle stung his eyes, making him wince as he tried to sit up. "Slow down there, kid, you took a hard fall." The old familiar voice sounded like gravel, and certainly grated on his hangover-induced migraine. *Master Baek? No. Impossible.* He pressed his palm to his forehead as though the external pressure might relieve some of the internal. Gritting his teeth in pain and shame, he blinked away the rain and peered at the huddled figure squatting in front of him in a tattered uniform. The gray eyes looking calmly back at him seemed alien somehow, although the craggy features and tousled hair were those of his mentor. "There, that's better. I won't have you fainting again; you owe me some answers."
"I thought you were dead," Hwoarang managed to choke out, in a low tone full of shock. He leaned against the alley wall, taking note with discomfort that he had no idea where they were. He prided himself on knowing every nook and cranny of his town, and most of several others as well; but he'd never seen these graffiti-stained walls before.
"Whatever are you talking about? You're closer to being dead than I am," the martial arts instructor growled. "If I didn't know that you're my most promising student I would beat you within a centimeter of your life! Such a stunt as you pulled- are there any other hobbies you have that I am not aware of?" He searched his pupil's eyes, anger feeding on itself when he got no answer.
Hwoarang didn't say anything, not quite sure what was going on. Besides, the sound of cars passing the alley entrance were distracting him. He felt a warm trickle down his elbow and stared down at the thin rivulet of blood. He saw, then, a broken needle laying on the pavement at his feet. Baek followed his eyes and stood abruptly, face a mask of rage. "Master," the Korean began hoarsely, "I don't-"
His mentor cut him off with a sharp jerk of his head. "I took you in, I treated you as my own son! Is this how you repay me? Being a thug and a hustler wasn't enough for you, was it!" Baek stopped yelling for a moment, eyes going cold and blank. "No more. No student of mine would waste their life in such witless indulgences. I do not want to see your face in my studio again!" Hwoarang tried to stand up and follow, tried to explain that he had no idea what was going on, but Baek's long strides were carrying him swiftly away from his pupil, uncaring of the sounds of vomiting and agonized groaning behind him. Hwoarang grasped his inner elbow weakly, dazed. The bricks were swimming and changing shape before him, dancing like leaves in the wind that cut fiercely through the alley. The sound of Baek's angry steps faded, although they continued to echo for a long time in Hwoarang's mind.
Then, inexplicably, Hwoarang's eyes opened again. He dreaded consciousness, but he had to find answers. *I'm no dopehead... I gave that up to take lessons with Master Baek, years and years ago.* He stood slowly, wincing with every motion as he staggered toward the street. He walked on and on, but the traffic didn't get any closer, and he began to tire. *What in the name of all gods is going on...?* He tripped over an irregularity in the pavement, falling to his hands and knees.
"Don't be silly." The whispered words gave him strength to jerk to his feet again and stare wide-eyed at the humanoid form in front of him. The being's aura was so strong and bright and clean that Hwoarang almost wept. "You're dreaming." Suddenly the aura faded, leaving behind a blackened, charred shell that reminded him of Ogre. The stench of sulphur, along with the visual horror in front of him, triggered another wash of nausea. The figure began laughing, a dry, maniacal sound. "Run, boy! The devil's gonna get you!" Hwoarang's bewilderment now was complete. He blocked a swift punch automatically, but there his luck ended. His body was not responding to his demands, and childlike terror swarmed through him like a thousand insects as the demonic thing grabbed his throat with both hands and slammed him against the wall...
"Stop it!" A flash of tan and black rushed past, taking the creature down to the ground in a milisecond. *Jin?* Hwoarang slid to the ground, still unable to move beyond spastic twitching. He watched mutely, feeling strangely as though he were watching a movie through the eyes of a rag doll. Jin gave a good account of himself, but the demonic thing subdued him shortly and had him in the same sort of position that the Korean had been in but a few moments ago. Jin's hands grabbed at the air, his face going red and then pale as the pressure on his windpipe took its toll. *Don't take him from me,* Hwoarang tried to say, the anguished words a silent scream. *Don't take him from me!*
Jin kept silent vigil all night, meditating some, but kept getting distracted. As night faded into morning, he stretched and began preparing for a little shopping venture. He took a moment before he left to feed the fish in his room. He watched them for a while, but his attention was drawn to Hwoarang again. He wondered if he should wake his restless guest up when the redhead started thrashing around and whimpering incoherently in his sleep, but recalling the Korean's stubborn pride and dislike of showing weakness, he decided that he ought to wait for Hwoarang to wake up. *And best not to be present when that happens...* He paused, walking over to the bedside and putting his palm lightly on the damp forehead. The worry-wrinkles faded from the sleeper's face, and his ragged breathing slowed down somewhat. After another long pause, Jin smiled to himself and tiptoed out of the room.
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & possible explicit sex later.
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story.
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*
---------------------------------
Author's Note 3: Thanks for responding favorably to my attempt! ^ ^ You've spurred me to keep writing. Maybe my concept for this tale will actually take some form of definition, and I'll have the motivation to get it all down. ^_~
Author's Note 4 (lol): No, Hwoarang is not guilty, just keep reading...
---------------------------------
When his eyes opened, he was staring up into the dull gray darkness of inner-city nightfall. His clothes were wet all over and stank of alcohol, urine, and other unmentionable odors. The light drizzle stung his eyes, making him wince as he tried to sit up. "Slow down there, kid, you took a hard fall." The old familiar voice sounded like gravel, and certainly grated on his hangover-induced migraine. *Master Baek? No. Impossible.* He pressed his palm to his forehead as though the external pressure might relieve some of the internal. Gritting his teeth in pain and shame, he blinked away the rain and peered at the huddled figure squatting in front of him in a tattered uniform. The gray eyes looking calmly back at him seemed alien somehow, although the craggy features and tousled hair were those of his mentor. "There, that's better. I won't have you fainting again; you owe me some answers."
"I thought you were dead," Hwoarang managed to choke out, in a low tone full of shock. He leaned against the alley wall, taking note with discomfort that he had no idea where they were. He prided himself on knowing every nook and cranny of his town, and most of several others as well; but he'd never seen these graffiti-stained walls before.
"Whatever are you talking about? You're closer to being dead than I am," the martial arts instructor growled. "If I didn't know that you're my most promising student I would beat you within a centimeter of your life! Such a stunt as you pulled- are there any other hobbies you have that I am not aware of?" He searched his pupil's eyes, anger feeding on itself when he got no answer.
Hwoarang didn't say anything, not quite sure what was going on. Besides, the sound of cars passing the alley entrance were distracting him. He felt a warm trickle down his elbow and stared down at the thin rivulet of blood. He saw, then, a broken needle laying on the pavement at his feet. Baek followed his eyes and stood abruptly, face a mask of rage. "Master," the Korean began hoarsely, "I don't-"
His mentor cut him off with a sharp jerk of his head. "I took you in, I treated you as my own son! Is this how you repay me? Being a thug and a hustler wasn't enough for you, was it!" Baek stopped yelling for a moment, eyes going cold and blank. "No more. No student of mine would waste their life in such witless indulgences. I do not want to see your face in my studio again!" Hwoarang tried to stand up and follow, tried to explain that he had no idea what was going on, but Baek's long strides were carrying him swiftly away from his pupil, uncaring of the sounds of vomiting and agonized groaning behind him. Hwoarang grasped his inner elbow weakly, dazed. The bricks were swimming and changing shape before him, dancing like leaves in the wind that cut fiercely through the alley. The sound of Baek's angry steps faded, although they continued to echo for a long time in Hwoarang's mind.
Then, inexplicably, Hwoarang's eyes opened again. He dreaded consciousness, but he had to find answers. *I'm no dopehead... I gave that up to take lessons with Master Baek, years and years ago.* He stood slowly, wincing with every motion as he staggered toward the street. He walked on and on, but the traffic didn't get any closer, and he began to tire. *What in the name of all gods is going on...?* He tripped over an irregularity in the pavement, falling to his hands and knees.
"Don't be silly." The whispered words gave him strength to jerk to his feet again and stare wide-eyed at the humanoid form in front of him. The being's aura was so strong and bright and clean that Hwoarang almost wept. "You're dreaming." Suddenly the aura faded, leaving behind a blackened, charred shell that reminded him of Ogre. The stench of sulphur, along with the visual horror in front of him, triggered another wash of nausea. The figure began laughing, a dry, maniacal sound. "Run, boy! The devil's gonna get you!" Hwoarang's bewilderment now was complete. He blocked a swift punch automatically, but there his luck ended. His body was not responding to his demands, and childlike terror swarmed through him like a thousand insects as the demonic thing grabbed his throat with both hands and slammed him against the wall...
"Stop it!" A flash of tan and black rushed past, taking the creature down to the ground in a milisecond. *Jin?* Hwoarang slid to the ground, still unable to move beyond spastic twitching. He watched mutely, feeling strangely as though he were watching a movie through the eyes of a rag doll. Jin gave a good account of himself, but the demonic thing subdued him shortly and had him in the same sort of position that the Korean had been in but a few moments ago. Jin's hands grabbed at the air, his face going red and then pale as the pressure on his windpipe took its toll. *Don't take him from me,* Hwoarang tried to say, the anguished words a silent scream. *Don't take him from me!*
Jin kept silent vigil all night, meditating some, but kept getting distracted. As night faded into morning, he stretched and began preparing for a little shopping venture. He took a moment before he left to feed the fish in his room. He watched them for a while, but his attention was drawn to Hwoarang again. He wondered if he should wake his restless guest up when the redhead started thrashing around and whimpering incoherently in his sleep, but recalling the Korean's stubborn pride and dislike of showing weakness, he decided that he ought to wait for Hwoarang to wake up. *And best not to be present when that happens...* He paused, walking over to the bedside and putting his palm lightly on the damp forehead. The worry-wrinkles faded from the sleeper's face, and his ragged breathing slowed down somewhat. After another long pause, Jin smiled to himself and tiptoed out of the room.