Notation listing:
{This is thought.}
"[This is speaking in English.]"
"[[This is speaking in Chinese.]]"

Let's just say that it was shaping up to be one of those days.

You know.  One of THOSE days.

One of those days that'll kill you. 

Sunset.  Friday night.  Just before the freaks come out to play.  All the little children with the glow gel in their hair off to the nightclubs for a good time.  Well, unless they were from Justice High.  Clean living it was for the future elite of Japan.  There was probably some kind of interdorm social tonight.  Theme dance or whatever.  With like... balloons and stuff. He thought that it had something to do with the tropics or Okinawa or fish or something.  Hell if he knew.  What he DID know is that it would a waste of taste and striking gothic genetic mutation if he, Kurow Kirishima, were to EVER wear a Hawaiian shirt. 

Waste of talent.  Waste of time. 

A Little Known Fact: Kurow Kirishima was not a skilled assassin on the up and up because of some music lessons when he was a tot and the magic of good genetic makeup.  He did not laze about playing videogames all day and just sort of luck into his kills.  There was no chance that he was going out to the clubs every night because he knew some mysterious way out of the dorms his classmates would commit bloody murder for (having begun training to avoid security detection two years before his parents had bought him his very first fisher-price tape recorder, the campus guards and their two-years-out-of-date tech really weren't much of an issue.  Er, not that anyone outside Darkside had to know that. Anyone inside he made damn sure would.  Gawd - taken down by some stupid rent-a-cops?  How embarrassing.) And none of his classmates really called him on it, even if there were one or two among them with the audacity not to believe.  He was the freaky leather guy and thus supposed to do things like sneak out at all hours to visit fetish clubs or whatever.  Maybe to them it was really kind of cool when they thought about it - which they didn't much, he'd wager. There was supposed to be a student like him around in every dorm.  Kurow Kirishima: the much-touted Justice High rainbow of diversity achieved by patronage instead of those ridiculous scholarships that always seemed to end in disaster.   He'd so obviously bought his way into the school after all, with the horrible grades and the wardrobe one degree of strangeness below Hyo Imawano's.  No, not he (another rule of disguise, Kurow-style.  Hide right out in the open.  Saves you a whole damn lot of trouble.) 

Such a slacker, Kurow Kirishima.  His life was probably already bought and paid for by his rich family.  That's what they said, lock stock and barrel.  Even in the Darkside.  And he liked that - that they thought that - because in a way being thought a ridiculously talented dilletente was a lot more flattering than the skill brought on by hard work. 

But that's not the point. 

A little known fact, redux: Kurow Kirishima worked his ass off. 

Shhhhhh.  No one must know. 

To that end, training took place not in a gym or a bunker or his room but someplace secret.  Wouldn’t want to scare the kiddies at Justice, after all.  And the secret allowed him to maintain the particular reputation of supernatural talent he wanted - even if as if yet it was mostly in his head.  Kurow Kirishima had resolved at the age of ten to be one of those people.  You know.  THOSE people.  The ones that are so flawless, so perfect, so effortless, the ones that make it look EASY.  Natural-born killers, they might be called, but Kurow preferred natural-born survivors. 

He was only seventeen.  Give him time.  At least he worked at it, right?  Not rain nor sleet nor snow nor hail - clients tended not to care about those.  Neither did people who wanted to kill you, of which there were quite possibly a good many.  Assassins tend to build up blood debts like that.  The world had that whole honor thing going.  Not professional at all. 

Strolling.  His pace was brisk.  Kurow was late for many things, but never training. 

Father hadn’t trained the day before he died.  He skipped training to go to plays and concerts and parties. 

Strolling.  The path was not worn yet - through the back yards to the quarry.  He hadn't quite figured out exactly why there was a quarry near to such a prestigious school, yet that was one of those questions so puzzling it was probably better not to ask.  It was open and nobody went there.  It also had good acoustics so he’d be bound to notice is somebody decided that limestone would make a keen makeout environment.  That, in the end, was enough. 

Friday night.  He should be having fun now.  Sneaking out… didn’t everyone do it?  It sounded kind of strange to him, when he considered it, that in more ways than he was completely comfortable with Kurow was a lot like those kids that spent all hours cramming in the library.  Stupid nerds. 

Frowning slightly and more than content to call up the various rants that enforced his own denial about having any sort of work ethic (badasses never make an effort – they just have power and look cool from some innate force, don’tcha know), Kurishima kicked a stone that had strayed from the path with absentminded consternation. 

He did not hear its suicide plunge echo back through a muffled crash. 

Mweh?

No birds in the area either.  And for that matter, who’d kicked up so much dust and shit on the path?  Well that was great.  Just great. 

“Why do these things always happen to me?” Kurow shook his head, peering down into the artificial canyon with the air of someone who’s just been told that their morning paper got chewed up by the neighbor's toy poodle.  He did not seem to notice that he was mumbling under his breath.  “Probably just some damn high-schoolers who just discovered that can make chi sparks if they stop thinking about Malice Mizer for five seconds.  Goddamit.  That's my quarry. Stupid amateurs.”

Well, amateurs at least deserved a warning shout, he guessed, even if he couldn't quite make out what the hell was down there.  Some chick in a gi just out of Karate practice?  Oh, nice.  Those crazed Taiyo crusaders were reproducing like an infectious disease.  Why did those people never get arrested?  “Hello?” he called, if not shouted.  “Get out of my training ground you wannabes!  Don't make me come down there... can’t you use an alley or something!?” 

Sliding his way down the slope – stairs were for wusses – Kurow decided to figure out the best way to take those losers down.  There was some old chick… and another younger one fighting Taiyo-girl.  The non-Taiyo ones looked Chinese… and hey, the girl had some skillz of a sort.  Amazons maybe?  What the fuck were Amazons doing in his quarry?  They could get their own damn quarry for their crazy amazon… stuff! 

Ah.  But there was a sort of reddish light surrounding the girl… and then it made a surprising amount of sense.  Hmph.  Trying to off some Amazons, eh?  Make a name for herself that way?  One of the less flashy stands he’d ever seen, but it’d do he supposed.  Through someone over at Darkside was going to get the asskicking of a lifetime once he figured out who the hell gave a hit away on his turf to some random newbie. Gaw.  The Amazon was even beating her back, and what did Amazons ever do but kick and punch a lot?  Maybe she had some kinda gimp stand.  Poor chick.  That had to be rough.  Not that he cared or anything but it looked like she had to make an effort and stand users who had to make efforts were not usually naturally all that well-endowed with the mad powerz. 

“Go away, sonny boy.” The elderly woman croaked, looking every inch the nonchalant oldster she was.  Sorta like Grandpa, but with less wheelchair and more rasping and homicidal intentions.  “This is something that can kill a wet-behind-the-ears punk, even if he has some power about him.”

Whoa, HEY now.  Was HE the newbie here? 

“Oh, yeah, whatever.  You wanna try me?”  Casually flipping as his descent down the cross between a slope and a cliff ended.  Shards of gravel were kicked uyp in his wake as he ground to a halt at the old woman’s back.  “Oi!  Newbie!  Want a hand?  This hag is pissing me off.”

Hey.  Helping the newbies… that was charitable, right?  Obviously she hadn’t been a stand user or a professional killer long if she was just gonna murder people right out in the open like this where friendly cops and innocent passers by could be wandering about. Heh.  Well, whatever. The quarry was good, and maybe the newbie had talent if the stand hadn’t up and outright killed her when she joined… what was probably Keicho’s brood of random possible soulmates. 

The ghost of a smile crept onto bloodless lips, though it was clouded by a bit of a pout.  This was his training ground!  Dammit, more people needed to respect him!  Bet if it was KOJI they’d leave…. Arrrrrg!  Not fair.  SO not fair!

Little Known Fact (Director’s Cut): Kurow Kirishima worked his ass off… for a reason. 

As the voice called out over the quarry, Makoto had risked a glance away from Bru Xhu to see who it was. {I don't know if I can handle protecting someone else,} she thought desperately as she fended off Pur-Fum's brief attack. {I've been trying to hold the Tanden Reki active since the fight started, but I don't know if I can keep it up for long now! This is the longest I've ever maintained the strength boost!}

A moment later, the leather-clad arrival called down to offer his assistance, and while normally Makoto might have told him to mind his own business or bristled at the 'newbie' comment, practicality (for once) overrode both honor and temper. "If you can-" a pause to block and counter 
Bru's staff thrust- "handle yourself-" Another break to duck and roll away- "sure..."

Bru forgot to be cautious as she rushed after Makoto, who took the chance to Fukiage her into the air. As the Amazon renegade was still dropping, Makoto called out in a warning to the leather-clad man, "Just watch yourself! They killed two people the last time they came after me!!" Hoping she hadn't just invited someone to his death, Makoto hit Bru with a Hayate as she landed. 
She still caught the man rolling his eyes, though, and kept glancing at him. {If he gets hurt, it's my fault! Have to make sure he's okay!}

"Oh no.  Not two people.  Woe is me - when will the bloodshed end," the man - who seemed to be an albino now that Makoto had a better look at him - moaned in *utter* sarcasm as he sauntered down into the Quarry proper.  "You really ARE a newbie, hunh?  Even with an experienced style," he noted. Uncrossing his arms, he moved into an offensive stance, a substance akin to mercury pooling at the fingertips of his red gloves and forming into bladelike claws.

*That* was surprising enough that Makoto hopped back from Bru to watch, fascinated as much by the power she vaguely sensed from the claws as by the morphing. "Whoa. *chi* claws. That's a new one- Oof!" she said, breaking off her speech as Bru slammed a kick into her midsection. Blinking away tears snd sucking in a breath to replace the lost air, Makoto saw Pur-Fum finally 
deign to pay attention to the albino.

"This is your last chance, boy. You're two hundred years too early to win against me," the crone threatened, taking up a stance, pulling her gnarled, pointed staff out of wherever she kept it.

The albino groaned at Makoto's comment. "Ooouch. Chi is for amateurs, newbie.  Even you gotta know that."

"This I *have* to hear," Makoto said, her eyebrows high as she kept her eyes on Bru, maneuvering so she could see the albino and Pur-Fum past the younger Renegade.

The albino made a bring-it-on gesture to Pur-Fum with the claws. "And the threats?  That's for amateurs too.  I see the Amazons have really gone downhill." Suddenly he grinned. "Or are you just posers?"

Makoto smirked. "They're renegades, actually." That flat declaration goaded Bru Xhu into a rash assault, which Makoto promptly repaid with a Hayate/Karakusa/Oroshi chop combination, sending the former Champion reeling back.

"Your funeral, boy," Pur-Fum told the albino indifferently, advancng slowly on the newcomer.

“What's to hear?  Or haven't you had the "talk" yet?”  Kurow kept a careful distance between himself and the other battle, not wanting to get caught in a throw gone horribly wrong.  “C'mon, newbie - it's like my Uncle Koji always says...” 

Kurow took a quick dash at the Amazon – he’d never really been one for patience.  Soon he was airborne, suspended just above her, and missing by a fraction he contact that would have allowed him to make a brilliant set of scratch-marks right across her face.  He knew it was risky... airborne maneuvers were always easy to take down.  But… but… just like dad, he’d always had a weakness for the wind in his hair and the fatal attraction of flash. 

Kurow landed a bit more heavily that the nonchalance he desired would really permit, but it was made up for with a flawless technique.  Kirishimas were precision fighters.  Not the strongest or the fastest or the most creative or even the most powerful… but, but reputation at least, very much efficient with their movements. 

The girl, he noted, was much more into the power thing.  She was probably stronger than he was.  Not that he SHOULD be noting.  What did he want – to get himself killed?  Fuck, Kurow, stop your mind wandering… it’s no wonder Koji sticks you with a babysitter. 

“Everyone and their DOG knows how chi works.  Or, in this case, the Dogs themselves.”  Kurow winked at the crone.  He was… NOT exhaused in the least.  Not at all!  Or maybe a bit.  Hadn’t had time to warm up like for a proper mission.  Smarmy comments covered for that, right?  Dammit, he needed to do more lunges and build up those thighs. Image is everything. He couldn’t afford to look anything other than invincible and badass and cocky and… himself.   “And where's the fun in that? 

He kept his eyes half-closed while avoiding, with a last-minute roll, the crone’s return dash.  Kirishima did not like to look like he was working, even if he was?

Breathe.  Breathe.  Establish a rhythm.  Get proper oxygen. Now is NOT the time to feel gravel dig into your back.  Keep your eyes on the target, always, and listen for the fight about you.  This is your world.  This is your time.  Now go. 

Unfortunately for Kurow’s concentration, she had anticipated his dodge and used the opportunity to lay hands through leather on what was probably a pressure point on his leg.

Um, OW?

A cackle.  She was behind him now.  Urrrrg… dammit, IGNORE the pain.  You can do this!  “Seems we don't know *everything* about how chi works, do we? Lucky you have a fetish, or you might never walk again...”

Swimming out of the pain – ignoring it as he’d trained himself to do, or at least in theory – Kurow came to himself with the newbie’s shouts dancing across his eardrums.  “She's lying! Pressure points are temporary! Don't let her psych you! Gnngh!”

A parry.  A… counter?  Did he have time to pay attention to her?  He shoulda known.  This old chick was wily – just like Grand Aunt Arisu. 

“You wanna test that theory, old woman?  Sorry, but I think you're a bit too advanced to play Mistress of Pain, although I know I'm a bit hard to resist,” Kurow smiled through a wince, grabbing his leg.  “Maybe if you have a great granddaughter somewhere...”

The old lady, apparently, had moved past the witty banter stage and into the walking menacingly towards him with a staff phase.  Oh, FUN. 

One second frozen in time.  One day it would kill him, this paralyzing thought: 

Breathe.  Isn’t this how father died?  Blunt force trauma.  You’re gonna fall here, little boy.  You never were anything.  It’s coming for you.  One swift stroke then nothing: ash, the dark black of the universe.. will you experience it if you’re not even you?  Oblivion?  There's nothing left for you once this is all done, boy.  God is dead, and you're gonna be dead too laid out flat in the morgue - frozen solid and waxy with rigor mortis. Fear.  That’s all you have left, boy.  All this talk about goals… and that’s still really all you’ve ever had. 

Eyes widening slightly – and, he hoped in the back of his mind, imperceptibly – the albino slashed out at thin air into the running woman’s path... and through it.  The thin cracks carved into the air were invisible to all but him.  And yet were they enough?  The panic threatened to drown him.  It could all end now.  There’s always that fear waiting.  The fear of death that’d haunted him since the day he died and was born again in the halls of a Middle-Eastern hospital.  Youthful cheer and arrogance - even now he’ll never tell. 

Kurow took the transferrence of his own pain as an opportunity to punch the old bag in the gut.  Mwaha!  Was there ever really any doubt he’d come through?  Who’s power was she kidding!?  Just you watch, motherfuckers.  Kurow Kirishima was gonna find a way ... Just.  You. Watch. 

Fear was something he’d never banished but knew damn well how to ignore.  Did that make it worse later?  Did he care? Faugh. 

“See, if I were a Chi user, I would have had to parry that.  Why don't you just bring out the big guns, newbie?  These losers won't live to tell about the stands, after all.” 

Heh.  The Hag was probably knocked out.  Better watch over the newbie now.  Gods knew what could come over a girl like her with no experience, and helping others was good for community morale, right? 

"WATCH OUT!!!" Makoto howled, seeing the damn fool albino turn his back on the recovering Pur-Fum. She tried to charge by Bru to save her ally from a serious wound or worse, but the former Champion wasn't having any of it. Makoto took the broad side of the staff across her head as she ran, and then Bru wrapped her arms around Makoto's neck in a carotid-artery hold.

Despite her brain immediately fogging from lack of blood, Makoto could still see Pur-Fum and the albino in front of her.

"Only fools turn their backs before making sure!" the Elder gloated as she whipped the blunt end of her staff into the albino's arm with an audible 'snap' of bone.

"FUCK!  That is IT, you old bat," he said, falling to his knees from the pain.

Makoto's anger surged again, the red aura around her seeming to intensify, almost coalesce into something else for a moment as Makoto reached back for Bru's arms, peeling them off her neck with childish ease. "Get.. OFF me!" Makoto growled, and hauled the offending arms over her head in a shoulder-throw, one aimed at a railcar some twenty feet away in the effort to slam Bru Xhu into its sheet-metal side, Makoto putting every scrap of strength she could into the effort.

Bru hurtled at the car like a meteorite.

And went *through* it.

In one side and out the other, smashing holes in the sheet-metal in both cases.

Makoto stopped dead in shock. {Wha... where the hell did THAT come from!??!?} she thought, staring at her hands and momentarily losing the Tanden Reki in her surprise at what she'd done.

While she was stopped in shock, however, the scene before her progressed.

"Do not underestimate your elders, boy," said Pur-Fum, her face taking on a sinister look as she backhanded the albino across the face. A cut opened up there, and as the albino reflexively brought his good hand up to it, Pur-Fum lashed out with the staff again, breaking the wrist.

Incredibly, the albino wasn't afraid, simply coughing up some blood as he said, "I can afford to be cocky.."

In reply, Pur-Fum began to choke him. "Simple male.. you should keep out of Amazon affairs."

That was enough to shake Makoto out of her shock and get her anger going again. Re-summoning the Tanden Reki, she leapt up and rebounded off the railcar to come at Pur-Fum with the attack the Elder was sure not to ignore - the Abare Tosanami Kudaki - howling, "LET - HIM - GO!" as she came.

Pur-Fum whipped one arm away from the albino's neck and parried frantically, defending against the assault she remembered all too well... and even though she managed it, the albino began to laugh, almost hysterically.

"Oh newbie..." he said, bringing his limp arm up to the crone's cheek. He didn't even have the strength in his broken wrist to cut it with the claw... but that didn't, it seemed, keep him from grinning maniacally. Past the one wrinkled hand still clutching his neck, he wheezed, "You've gotta have FAITH." Grimacing in pain, he seemed to put out a supreme effort... and smiled even wider as one claw broke the skin, just barely, on Pur-Fum's weathered old cheek.

"Are you insane, boy?" she asked him disdainfully, ignoring the drop of blood trickling down her face.

In reply, the albino chuckled and whispered something about the moon too softly for Makoto to hear, then said, "Pleasantly so."  He then took a deep breath in as his arms suddenly began to... *right* themselves.  There was a crackle of energy along the claw in Pur-Fum's cheek, and once 
his wrist was healed enough he plunged the other four claws into her shoulder.

Pur-Fum's eyes went flat, almost dead, and her breath became a wheeze. She quivered, but couldn't seem to move... and Makoto's mind flashed back to Sakura Yugure telling her of an attack of M.Bison's that had leeched the vitality right out of the Satsu twin. Drawing back instictively, Makoto said in an almost-frightened whisper, "...shimatta... a life-drain attack..!"

A screech from behind drew Makoto's attention. "DIEEE!" Makoto whirled at Bru Xhu's scream, but the Amazon was rushing the albino, not her, Bru's bare hands extended to grab at the boy's throat.

A flash of awareness let Makoto see that Bru was heading right for the albino's other set of claws, which were poised and waiting for her. Not pausing to consider her action, the karateka levelled the Amazon with a Hayate and pounced on her, pinning her down where she fell. As the two girls 
looked back to the albino, Pur-Fum's body just seemed to...wither away, all the years catching up to it with a vengeance as the crone sighed out one last breath. Supressing a shiver of revulsion, both for the act of killing and the gruesome nature of it, Makoto growled down at Bru Xhu. "See that? I 
just saved your life, Bru. Are you going to renounce the vendetta now like an honorable warrior, or should I drag you to Auntie Comb?"

Bru was likewise horrified, but was still grudging about it as she said, "...I renounce my blood vengeance, Champion."

Makoto nodded and stood up, allowing the Amazon to rise... and Bru promptly ran, sprinting away like a rabbit. "Wait!!" Makoto called after her, but she vanished into the night. "...nuts," the karateka grumbled, turning to the albino. "Are you okay? And..." a pause and a sigh as the unnecesary question rose up and demanded to be asked. "..Is she dead?"

The albino stretched like a cat, and tossed the shrivelled husk of Pur-Fum to the side before replying.  "Well, that was refreshing," he began, taking stock of himself - and indeed, all of his wounds were gone. "And yes, she is. You gotta wrap things up when you're done, newbie," he finished.

Makoto blinked, surprise overriding horror for a moment. "Whoa, a combined drain and heal. Nice..." she said, then peered at Pur-Fum's body. "..if a tad gruesome. Ick," she finished, moving up to prod the husk with a toe.

"It does the job," the albino shrugged, retracting his claws. "That's the thing about those chi-users - all style and no substance. Not that I don't have style an' all."  Sitting down on some nearby rubble, he asked conversationally, "So why'd you let her live?  That'll lessen your cut... unless you didn't negotiate damage pay when the Amazons got you to take out their renegade elder. That's really shoddy.  You should get representation," he went on with a gesture at the increasingly confused Makoto. "And I expect a piece of that action, by the way, seeing as how I did the job.  Kirishimas 
don't work for free," he noted, extending his hand. "Kurow Kirishima"

Makoto blinked, but accepted the offered handshake. "Um, Makoto Tendo..." she introduced herself, embarrassed. "Um, and *they* were after *me.* I think I mentioned that..."

Kurow recoiled in surprise. "Whaaat? No contract? Goddamnit!" he cried out, then grumbled, "This is what I get for helping someone out of the goodness of my heart.."

Makoto snorted sarcastically at that. "Goodness of your heart? Yeah, right. You got involved because you were too stubborn to go when she told you to!" She paused for a moment and walked over to Pur-Fum's withered body, then glanced back to Kurow before biting her lip, mastering her pride, and saying a quiet but sincere, "...thank you."

Then emotions she'd been holding at bay since the deaths of Rin-Rin and Roshon boiled up, and she spun back to the body, kicking it hard enough for something to CRUNCH. "You deserved that, you hag! Serves you RIGHT!" she howled, and took several shuddering breaths before turning back to face Kurow again. "Sorry... you're right," she sighed. "You'd think that after I helped save her whole damn *village* she'd let it go... I was being naive. As for money..." she began to offer, then cursed as a moment of fishing around her *gi* reminded her that her fighting gear had no pockets. "Dammit! Hang on," she said, grasping at the shoulder of the *gi* and again performing the Kunoichi Clothes-Rip, returning her Pacific High uniform to 'worn' status again as the *gi* vanished to wherever clothes went when someone performed a Dramatic Uniform Change. From the pocket of her uniform, Makoto produced the Hyper Platinum Card she'd been using to access the accounts holding her share of the royalties of her fight video. "OK, let's get to a bank machine. I *hate* owing people debts," she said.

Kurow shrugged easily. "Eh, it's all good.  Hey, you go to Pacific?  That's cool.  My cousin's gonna be so pissed off.  She hates it when people take bounties away from her," he finished with a snicker. "So how'd you get into blood debt with the Amazons?  That's some nasty shit there.  They're relentless... like to take things into their own hands instead of leaving it to the professionals to do a nice clean job.  Oh, hey, here's my card if you need anyone else offed," he said, handing Makoto a business card - which seemed to be basically his name, and email address, and a logo with a little 
pair of devil wings above it, and the word 'Darkside' printed in gold across the top.

Makoto took a moment to blink-blink at the card before sorting through Kurow's statements and replying. "Um.. well, I'm kind of an Amazon by adoption.." she began, then smirked. "But you're right, we *are* stubborn. Sometimes too much for our own good," she sighed. "As for blood debt... The old woman challenged my adoption into the tribe, and she tried to cheat. I won anyway, she got caught, and she was banished..." Another sigh. "..and swore revenge, I guess." Resentfully she muttered, "Damn bitch got her nephew and his wife *killed* over it... stupid!" Looking down at the card again and trying to change the topic, she recalled what the albino had said about his cousin. "So... your family are bounty hunters?" she asked, making an assumption.

Kurow shook his head. "Assassins.  Hence the Darkside Society thing, y'know? You haven't been around much, have you?" he asked, looking a bit puzzled. "I mean, I can tell you can fight and all, but... you didn't pick that up with us I guess?  That must've been before you got shot.  That sucks about the whole blood debt thing though.  Really not progressive.  Like my uncle always says - 'people who kill for reasons other than money are fucking psychos'.  Well, okay, that's paraphrasing, but whatever."

Makoto's eyes had gone VERY wide at Kurow's bald statement of his occupation. "Huh??? Assassins?" she blurted out, then wrestled with herself for a minute, for once restraining her immediate gut reaction. Finally, she muttered, "He may have just saved my life. I *will* handle this." Returning to normal volume, she asked, "..and what's this whole 'darkside' thing anyway? I never heard of that.  "Something occurred to her then, and she drew back warily. "This doesn't have to do with Shadoloo, does it??"

Kurow laughed.  "Shadowloo?  Please.  Shadowloo's way too ambitious.  They'll collapse within the decade.  Darkside's been around for almost a hundred years - think of it as a professional union for mad skillz assassins such as myself," he explained, then grinned sardonically.  "And hey, weren't you the one who was just kicking that old lady's corpse and saying good riddance?  I wouldn't do the whole moral thing if I were you.  Hey - a little weapons training and you could probably break into the business."

While Makoto tried to decide whether or not to take offense at that, the cocky albino took on a puzzled expression again.  "Why would you learn to beat people up if you DIDN'T want to make money off of it?  You're not one of those crazy Ryu fangirls, are you?" he asked, sending Makoto into spasms as she tried to keep from laughing out loud, the thought of Sakura - both Sakuras - leaping to the front of her mind.

Finally, she managed to calm herself down to the point where she was only snickering, and reply, "N-no... but I know a few..."

Unfortunately, the thought of her friend - Friends, now? - set her giggles off again, and she couldn't say more for a moment.

Kurow, luckily not offended, just shook his head. "Yeah.  That Ryu guy.. now there's a freak.  Those tournament circut people ... I've met A LOT of sociopaths in my line of work, but learning how to kick he crap out of people for NO REASON AT ALL is kinda up there on the psychosis meter, don'tcha think?" he asked, shaking his head again.  "Kinda sad, actually."

That helped Makoto get herself under control again, and she replied without sniggering this time. "I don't think it's for no reason. Most of them I know started because they wanted to protect themselves. Or loved ones." She paused to smirk for a moment. "And where do you think I got the money for this," she asked, waving the Hyper Platinum Card at him, "since you already know I'm not a killer? Some of those fights and tourneys are pretty damn lucrative," she finished, her smirk growing.

Kurow simply shrugged.  "Meh, whatever.  I still think it's crazy.  If they want to protect people, who do they go into the tournaments just to hurt people?  We assassins are at least honest about what we do.  Why was it okay for me to kill that woman and not for you?" Then he smirked evilly back at her.  "And I'd wager we make more money too," he finished, winking.

Makoto sweatdropped, thinking of the sums coming in for just the one unofficial video of her fight with Sagat. "I'm not so sure about that... you know, there's the marketing and stuff. I don't think you can *do* that for assassins... well, not in most countries. And we go into tourneys to test our skill - the point usually isn't injury." Looking up, Makoto caught sight of a large ATM.  "Ah! Finally. So, what's the total here?" she asked.

Kurow raised an eyebrow at her.  "Well, I'd usually go at least into the hundred-thousands or the millions but seeing as how she was just *there* and all... I'll give you a break.  Thirty thousand American?"

"Meep," Makoto managed to reply. Marshalling her wits, she replied, "You must go for *really* challenging targets to be worth those fees. Hang on,"  she asked, fiddling with the machine. After a moment, it began to spit out lots of bills. "Whew! Most of them won't do this much," Makoto commented, and muttered, "Dad is *really* going to wonder where this went."

Then she raised an eyebrow as a thought struck her. "I don't suppose you folks would consider going after M. Bison?" she asked, then giggled, waving her hand in denial of the idea. "Nah, I couldn't afford *that* fee if it's based on difficulty..."

Kurow laughed.  "We're assassins - not STUPID."

Heh.  Stupid newbie.  Was it his fault she didn't know anything about assassin fees? Fees build a reputation, dont'cha know.  A guy had to charge as much as he could.  Besides... FFX just came out!  And there were, uh, acessories to get.  Like that Lulu poster he's seen in the Digicube by...

Ahem. 

"Hey - if you ever wanna move out of the kung-fu movies and get in on the REAL action you still have that card.  I could probably put you in touch with some people," Kurow gesured randomly.  He probably sort of owed her something because of the cheating her out of a dozen grand thing... but hey, who's to know?  Meh. 

Makoto raised an eyebrow, but decided to be polite. "And if you ever want to make some money without risking your life, you can come see m-" Realizing she'd been about to give her identity away, she cut off and restarted her sentence. "..Um, my trainer," she finished. "You have another of those 
business cards?" she asked, and when Kurow handed her one, she scribbled the Rindou Dojo address onto it. "I saw some of that fight. You're really good, even without those claws..." Stopping, she peered down at his hands.  "Wow, you're good at Hidden Weapons. I can't even see them. Best I can manage is a kodachi, and that's in my *gi.*"

Kurow gave her a cheezy smirk in reply.  "Risking my life?  Please.  I'm MUCH too good to be risking my life.  And fighting for an audience is just.. well, whatever floats your boat I guess.  See you around, vendetta girl!" He waved back to her as he sauntered off.

Makoto shook her head, then thought back to the fight. {He kept talking about 'stands', like in my dream last Monday,} she remembered. {And how I threw Bru there... The Tanden Reki increases my strength, yeah, but that was beyond the pale there. I put her *through* both sides of a sheet-metal railcar!} She shook her head. {Not enough information. I need to ask someone about this. I don't want to be in debt to that Kurow guy any more than I am, so he's out, and it's too far to go back to the dojo and ask Akiko-sensei about this...}. Breaking off, she nodded to herself as she remembered someone she could ask who *was* nearby, and broke into a jog.

"Hey."

"Hey!  Thought ch'all were training t'night.  Though since it's Frahday ah don't know WHY... gawd, you ahr such a nerd."

"Hey!  I am not a nerd!!!!!"

"Please.  You ahr so a nerd."

"Look at this clothing.  Is this the black leather of a nerd?  Is this the skateresque belt-with-chains of a nerd?  Is this the vintage eighties punk dog-collar of a nerd?  No.  No it's not.  Because nerds do not dress like that and I am not a nerd!!!"

"Ah nerd in wolf's clothin' is still ah nerd. When ya don't spend all ya time practicin', trainin', and playing those videogames and yoah actually out on Frahday night lahk normal people... that's when yoah not a nerd."

"Fine.  Then maybe I'll go arms shopping by mySELF."

"Where'd yah get that much hard cash!?!"

"Some newbie chick.  Stand user - the useful kind, not the shitty kind -  but she's wasting it on all this not-killing honor stuff."

"Yah got paid this much foah a spot-job?"

"Well she WAS a newbie..."

"Kurow!"

"What!?  Nobody at Darkside has to know.  And it was just a dozen grand over.  Enough to pick up a few flash grenades for Momo, Yurika's friend's glock and that poster of Lulu I saw at...."

"That's brilliant!"

"Heh - I know."

"Lulu poster?"

"..."

".... you ahr so a nerd."

"Do you WANT to get in this car?"

"Ah'm just saying.. I mean, Manhattan project was fulla nerds an' look how that turned out all deadly.  And Ah bet they had ahl sorts of weird fetishes too. Awwww... Kurow... c'mon...."

Gally was just closing for the night when a knock sounded on the door of the diner she'd given her name. Moving to the door, she took a moment to compose her reply in her head, vowing again to practice her Japanese more, then opened it a crack. "I'm sorry, we are closed for the - Oh! Makoto, it *you* is!"

Outside the door, the girl in the Pacific fuku sighed and replied, first in Japanese and then switching to English. "That's 'it is you', Gally. [May I come in? I have something I have to ask you.]"

"[Certainly!]" Gally replied, switching to English herself and opening the door. "[So what brings you here so late in the evening?]"

Makoto turned to her father's longtime friend, a somber expression on her face. "[You may not know anything about this, but you're the closest person I could think of to ask about it,]" she explained. At Gally's nod, the karateka went on. "[Well, things have gotten wierder than usual for me lately, and I found myself *really* exceeding what I thought were my limits tonight. I've only got one clue about it, too... Gally, what do you know about 'Stands'?]"

Of all the reactions she might have expected from the elfin fighter/chef - honest puzzlement, an 'aha' revelation, nervous evasion - Gally going pale enough to qualify as a Goth and sitting down hard on one of her chairs was *not* one of them. "[Gally!?!? What's the matter? Is it that bad!? Gally??]"

"[I'm fine,]" the chef replied, holding up a hand as a half-panicked Makoto moved in to look her over. "[So it's finally come full circle.]"

"[Gally...? What do you mean..?]" Makoto asked, an icy finger of nervousness creeping down her spine.

"[Your mother was a Stand User, Makoto,]" Gally told her somberly. "[And she died of it.]"