The Colour Purple Chapter 96: Bloodsport, a king of fighters fanfic

The Colour Purple... The King of Fighters '95

pointblankassassin . com

This (chapter) fanfiction was originally written circa: [XX.96] (Thank you)

"Which Character are you?"

Note to self: Legacy chapter numbering (32- - -), does not match. [Original chapter written 2016]

Kono kitanai bashyou he… Kono samishii tokoro de…

The 7th day. December 25, 1977. Christmas morning.

Oh Hail Ye. The King of Kings.

"COME!" the boy exploded with all the rage he could muster. "Come and FUCKING TAKE IT!" his lower jaw trembled; a wild BEAST, sharp fangs ready to tear his enemy apart with no reservation and without any fear of consequence. KILL YOU. His hands were cocked in mid stride, gnashing his fangs with seething rancor - running feverishly at [it] – if you beat a boy for 6 days non stop – destroy his body, his mind – his spirit – until there was nothing left but a quivering thing that clung desperately at shreds - remnants of pride left for death… did you not think… did you not even consider… time had stopped for us. Now. In a wistful romance.

Can you really stop [war]?

"CLARK!"

Knight said, lifting his body from the chair where he sat.

…did you not even CONSIDER the possibility…

"THAT I would BE ABLE TO DO [IT] TOO!?"

Time would stop for us. In an invisible, slow romance. Between a boy and… a girl. Even for a moment, when God was not looking, the world would stop revolving and leave us in a place – all to our lonesome devices – in a moment of our own choosing. IN THIS ROOM.

"I see…" she sighed. Then I will meet you half way, also.

If so – then PROVE IT!

…

1971. Dr. Richard Chan pulled off the cap of a black dry erase marker and placed a single dot in the center of the whiteboard in front of him. "Dark squares…" he drew four lines around that dot. Then, in between the quadrilateral and the dot he traced yet another square with dotted lines carefully in between the single point and the solid lines that trapped it. "…and light squares."

…

"Yes..."

King droned out in speech and replied flatly.

…

For all these years that passed… perhaps, one day, you, would understand it too…

"These petty, ridiculous action movies…" was "Was what kept me alive, Yamashita."

SUICIDE.

They were the ONLY thing that kept me from falling into the despair and darkness, left only to the devices of that soft lullaby of insanity. Said Eiji.

…

"Yes." King said again, this time slow, cold and frigid as painful to the ears as two rusty bars of steel that rubbed against each other.

…

The dried up blood and wax had begun to flake and fall out his ears, slowly he was able to hear normally again.

…

9:03 AM. 1993.

Yamashita let out a long exasperated sigh. She pinched a tuft of her long hair between her right index finger and thumb and put the mass in front of her face. Her hair was in absolute chaos, tangled, dried up, ends split and torn in uneven lengths, it was all thanks to the horrendous affair that started as a simple exercise with Eiji Kisaragi – but soon developed into a cutthroat WAR – one that mimicked religious consequence.

Almost five days - near a week had already passed; yet despite a savage affair, for some unknown reason their everyday lives had returned to one of dreary pace and tasteless, boring note. Her boys would continue on with their exercises at the break of dawn as they always did, simply to pass the time, and Billy, the Englishman and the slave girl known now as 'Ojyou', made about their daily chores caring for the house and their still unconscious lord, Iori Yagami. How many days, how many weeks, even that, how many chapters had it been, and we were all still busy playing house. Yet the incident that had been already near but forgotten a week before when they still lingered with their remnant injuries.

Yamashita, utterly disgusted by her deshelved and tattered hair that would no longer comb flat nor straight without a pain in her scalp despite her best efforts, turned her gaze to her left arm that now slung limply in a cast. Her left arm was imprisoned in plaster and hung up solely by a cloth sling. The Yagami doctor assured her that with her conditioned superwoman body and past history she should heal in short order, but still, even when she tried to move her left arm, her body reminded her that she was still mortal and she knew better than to try any rash or daring movements. Then there was her face, by some slight of luck she had not needed stitches, but the adhesive bandages that littered her visage all over made her look like a broken and beaten patchwork doll.

She forced herself not to think of it, but even then Yamashita eventually forgot about the numbing pain in her left arm, her shoulder, and took another curl of hair around her right index finger and propped it up in front of her face in disgust. "Ugh." She groaned.

Yamashita walked through the main hallway of their house, past the kitchen looking left and right. As time passed, the ninja captain grew more and more annoyed. Forcibly searching for something, or someone, she pouted, "AUGH!" she groaned, walking through the kitchen.

Around the counter, through the doorless arch and walking to the side of the dining table she turned her head to the left then to the right, through the glass sliding door outside, yet nothing – she could not find what she was looking for. "AAAAG!" Yamashita beat her fist firmly on the table once, driving the soft part of the bottom of her right hammer fist into the wood, scanning the world from right to left until her vision stopped at the back of the living room couch. Perhaps it was NOT what she wanted to see, it was likely the LAST thing she wanted to find at the end of her trek, when she groaned painfully...

"Aggggh." Yamashita's words had now degenerated to prehistoric grunts.

"O." Was the reply in mocking similar fashion, lifting his right arm up waving a sneer L-shaped right angle salute. "Captain Yamcha-sama!" Eiji Kisaragi's head did not even bother to turn around as he was absolutely glued to the television.

…

It was just another day. Ah la laa…

A Sequence of Uneventful Mornings part 31.

…

"What are you doing, Kisaragi." Yamashita said, not asked – she said firmly like a mother beating down on her child with a stern voice.

"I am watching a movie." Eiji replied a matter of factly, still not turning around from his perch in that soft couch - his voice absolutely annoyed by the preposterously rhetorical question.

"I can see that, what,"

"If you understand, why do you even ask?" Eiji cut Yamashita short.

A low grumble erupted from Yamashita's throat. She walked slowly to the sofa and put her right hand on the soft cushion, grabbing a fistful of cloth wanting to rip a bloody piece out in anger. Even as Yamashita gnashed her teeth, she was sure that Eiji sat in silence but snickered deep down inside when he surely pretended not to notice the twisted look on her patchwork face. Perhaps, perhaps, Yamashita mused, she could still kick the back of Eiji's head in easily and as he stumbled she would wrap her good right arm around his neck and pull his head off his spine.

I SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU! KILLED YOU THEN!

Still, it took her best efforts to say nothing else and force her breathing to not break from its slow pace to reveal her raging agitation. It was another day, and another day of fighting. Still, Yamashita wished that she had instead not noticed and turned away, but now she had stepped into this pit, head first, just as she leapt from a towering precipice and had to see the scene through. She continued to grip the cloth of the sofa that was a mere 8 inches from the back of Eiji's ear, and if she wanted to, she could likely drive her middle finger into Eiji's right eye socket before he could even realize the foolishness of his petty arrogance, but instead the cloth, bit by bit, tore with a slight sound as each thread reached its limits that seemed to span tens of years.

SILENCE.

THEN.

"Bloodsport."

"What." Yamashita uttered unconsciously, her thoughts derailed from its original course.

"Jean-Claude Van Damme." Eiji continued. "Bloodsport, starring Jean-Claude Van Damme released in 1988 in the United States of America. Do not you know…" Eiji, the Kusanagi Ninja, turned his face slightly, just barely, by the razor's edge, the sides of his eyes looked up and to the side, over his shoulder up to the female Ninja Captain of the 8th Yagami Brigade.

Yamashita's shoulders eased now, her thoughts calmed at the strange exchange of words.

"I paid good money when I was younger." IT distracted my mind from my madness. "Once a month I would go to the nearby village to watch 'action movies' from the United States."

"Ac…tion." Yamashita mouthed slowly. "Movies?"

Not slowing his pace, "Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone, Chuck Norris, Jet Li, Dolph Lundgren… and Jean-Claude Van Damme… Van Damme was absolutely wonderful to watch! I absolutely ENJOY watching 1980s action movies…" Eiji finally broke the concrete wall behind him and looked over and back, tilting his head back to meet Yamashita's eyes straight on. "Yam-Cha."

She felt her throat tie up into knots when the gurgling rage bubbled up from under her diaphragm at the mere uttering of that nickname, corkscrewed through her stomach, finally burning her throat and wrapping her brain with razor wire.

I should have. I knew I should have KILLED you then. Eiji Kisaragi.

…

"You break my record. Now I break you," the villain said on the, by today's standards, 'small' television. "Like I break your friend." The goon of a slant eyed Asian man replied before he pushed his thumb into his nose and let out a mass of snot into the ground.

"Why are you even watching this Kisaragi? Those two are just standing there!" Yamashita hemmed and hawed – even as the preposterous movie that was 10 times removed from reality simply made her insides curl because it was so fake, for some reason beyond her comprehension – like a train wreck, she just stood firmly behind the couch where Eiji sat. "They are literally just standing there slapping each other like schoolgirls."

The simple digitized tune served as the staple of music back in the mid to late 1980s, it was a grotesque wonder how this could even pass as entertainment.

"What is wrong with your hair?"

"Hah?" Yamashita replied absolutely annoyed that the terse expression on his face was reflected in her squinting eyes – so much that her cloth ninja mask could hardly hide it.

"Can you… STOP; doing - that?" Dragging each word – cocky - Eiji twirled his index finger in mid air in a swirling corkscrew, stuttering his finger's motion mid sentence to match the cadence of his sneering insult.

"Yamashita caught herself off guard when she realized that her right hand could not stop fussing about the split ends of her ripped and burnt black hair.

She was about to speak but in true fashion Eiji cut her thoughts short with his voice like a dull, painful knife. Unable to get a word in edgewise – it was so ridiculous.

"You and Kaori are the same." Eiji sighed on second nature, eternally trapped in that same spiral, even though just 5 days ago he had promised himself he would no longer utter that phrase, it seemed like old habits died very hard - absent mindedly throwing both arms up and shaking his face back and forth. "Always too troubled with your HAIR!"

DOES.

"…"

DOES EVERYTHING YOU DO IN LIFE.

"If you really do mind my opinion," Eiji said sharply, his voice broke at the edge like a revolver's hammer just as Yamashita was about to say something, almost as if he was trying to cut off Yamashita on purpose. "This obsession with your hair will interfere with your fighting."

"…"

REVOLVE AROUND.

"If not because it looks so beautiful." Eiji finally sighed in surrender. The old man rolled the ends of his bones in its sockets and pushed his shoulders back into the soft cushion behind him, dragging his breath softly and now, sweetly – so much.

AGAIN. [HER.]

"If women did not look so pretty with long hair – I doubt," Eiji said, "Men would put up with this nonsense."

AGAIN. THIS.

I am SO… SICK. AND. TIRED…

Of what SHE did or did NOT do?!

Of… THIS. Fucking…

I really should have killed you then, no, 13 years ago.

When I first laid EYES on you.

[If not because it was so beautiful.]

…

"Action movies are a staple of the 1980s, Captain." Eiji seemed to unconsciously repeat Yamashita's cynical thoughts, absolutely unable to take his eyes off the, then, huge 42" television screen, exclusively for aristocratic buyers at a cost of around $3000 US dollars.

"This is ridiculous." Yamashita sighed flatly, crossing her arms. "Why is that Caucasian screaming like a retarded child?!"

"Shhh…" Eiji punctuated her thought, putting his index finger over his lips that were covered under his cloth mask, but not fast enough to cut her off in mid sentence, but his arrogant cuss was enough to annoy Yamashita even further. "This is the BEST part, woman."

…

Chapter 96: Bloodsport.

Yamashita looked forward at the drab coloured off-white wall in front of her, and with each minute she mused, she felt hundreds and thousands of seconds pull back and rewind – even when her brain refused to accept that time had reversed in an instant, her body froze before turning around, walking backwards when the flow of time reversed – the sound that filled the silence was like the shrill shriek of a tiny mouse – reversing - just like when a VHS player made that strange, peculiar, whirring mechanical sound, when the still frames flashed in a sequence that made the concept of regret seem so inconsequential. The pace of the world reversed again.

Yamashita turned her face sharply to the side when she saw a slight motion disrupt her peace from the edge of her vision.

"SLAVE!" Yamashita grunted tersely.

"Y… Yes," Ojyou broke herself from her casual thought, dropped the tray of teacups in her hands onto the counter and turned around immediately, "H.., hhhai… Hai, Yamashita Taichyou!" the little slave girl turned around in the affirmative and faced the older lady firmly, absolutely stunned and committed her undivided attention to the woman who had called her out.

The snarling curl in Yamashita's voice made it seem like she was about ready to tear the small slave girl completely in half – only to devour the bits of her body for sport.

"Y… ye… yes…?"

Yamashita said nothing in response to the slave. With her one good arm, she pulled a wooden chair in between her and the younger girl, dragging its feet across the lanolin floor, scratching a piercing sound through each of their ears. The shrieking legs of that wooden chair cleaved the soft, senseless space in between Yamashita and Ojyou – in that kitchen.

"Yam…" Ojyou was about to speak, but her thoughts, then her voice, was cut short when the Ninja Captain turned round by the balls of her feet and sat down on the chair that separated her and her just 6 inches from each other.

"Can you cut hair?"

"Wha… what did…" Ojyou stuttered a bit.

"If you can cut hair, then cut it." Yamashita instructed, the tone in her voice cold and dead – she did not even care what the slave girl was to reply. Only Yamashita's back spoke to the slave and pointed to a pair of scissors on the marble topped table next to them.

Cut it.

...

It was a familiar and welcome fragrance that took Yamashita by surprise. The boys did not notice it but there was a small teapot that was only made for one among the array of chilled glasses for everyone else.

…

The Captain, Yamashita sat calmly in the wooden chair in their kitchen and put her hands on her lap. "Can you cut hair?" She repeated once yet again.

"Yes. Yes I can…" Ojyou stammered. "The men at the palace asked me to do it… but, but," at a frantic pace, she continued uneasily, "I can only…" She paused, looking upwards just pulling back and dragging any form of commitment. "I have cut the hair of Master Iori… I have only cut the hair of boys…"

"Stop talking." She said. "I asked you, can you cut hair or not."

"Yes. Y…es yes I can." Ojyou stood erect, focusing her ENTIRE attention to the Captain with now, both the Captain's and her fists on their thighs. "BUT I CAN ONLY CUT SHORT HAIR!" The girl shrieked! Ojyou, the slave girl wailed in utter, stammering and petrified fright when her shoulders curled inwards locking in place. She did not know what else she would rather do than curl into a fetal position while standing up.

"That is fine."

That is fine. Yamashita replied in turn. "Just, just CUT it all off." She said. "I simply do not care anymore…"

Cut it all.

Cut it ALL OFF!

Cut it until all, I do not care, cut it all, so that all is left is a loathesome, an ugly mess. "Cut it all – so no one will think it nothing else but not beautiful."

"Yam… Yamashita Tai…" Ojyou whispered in a sad, downcast sigh – a voice that betrayed her, the pair of scissors in her hand – it was a voice and a notion, that was caught within an inability to keep track of the complex array of triple negatives in the Captain's speech…

…and [her's] was one… That was devoid of happiness.

…

Ojyou bit her lower lip, unsure of what to do next. She took a mass of Yamashita's hair in her left hand and, slowly cautiously even, pulled the hair in between the blades of the pair of rough kitchen scissors in her trembling right hand. Ojyou was unsure. She was caught in a trance still unwilling to make a decision just as she was about to command her right hand to cut a mass of the captain's long hair in half.

Yet Yamashita made no movement and said nothing. She simply sat in place, her left arm in a sling and her right palm absolutely frozen on her lap, as unmoving like a criminal, she was kneeling in front of a guillotine.

Ojyou held her breath and bit down. She moved her right hand forward, then just at its apex, the slave girl pulled back to catch her breath, the once again she tried to force her hand to do as the captain commanded. Yet, despite her efforts, at the very edge of her action, Ojyou was unable to cut that first tuft of hair.

"Slave."

"Captain Yamashita." Ojyou pouted her cheeks at the same time she gnashed her molars. She painted a peculiar expression in her face – absolutely unable to walk forward. Even when she felt the loaded rifles pointed at her back, she simply refused and could not move forward.

Not like this.

"Slave." Yamashita sighed again. "Just cut it." She gripped her left shoulder with her good hand to ease the piecing pain that seemed to radiate across her body now.

Ojyou pulled her right hand back, and in so doing placed the metal scissors in front of her chest. She was sure that her body was spinning – little did she know that it was that cold, quiet kitchen, glowing with light that instead rotated around her and the captain.

"No." I say no. Ojyou pouted - eyes darting open, when her pupils shrank into pinpoints. "Not like this. NOT here!" The slave girl dropped the scissors on the marble counter on her right.

"Slave!"

Ojyou pushed the wooden chair forward with her entire weight 6 inches in front of her, shuffled her feet meekly, driving her body forward with her head hunched in a low bow as she walked and pulled the glass sliding door. Without looking up, she waved her left hand across her body motioning for the captain to leave.

I will not cut your hair in a dirty place like this.

Kono kitanai bashyou he… Kono samishii tokoro de…

Not here. Not in this cold, not in this lonely place.

A cold place, where the sounds of sadness only serve to chain us to a time we are best served to forget.

"Please, let me, Captain Yamashita."

She said.

…

"Yes."