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"Friends Like These"
Accessing... Account: WINDERMERE K_KAREN Password: ******* Searching.... Search complete. View File? y Confirmed Student ID#011009223
Kurow had come again last night. She was never really sure why he came. Goodness knew things would be easier around here without him - or, well, perhaps to be more precice things would be more smooth. Kurow, despite being rather the more devious of the Kirishima siblings, had absolutely no sense of subtlety at all. This did not bode well for his career as a commuting crossdresser.. even if he was admittedly marvelous with disguises (that Batsu likeness was a work of art). She'd told him - repeatedly - that if he'd just room with her he could stay on permenantly and they wouldn't have this problem. But no, no, that would wound his male pride or what have you. And now with the garage occupied it was quite simply highly inconvenient. Ah well. At least he was burning off some of that excess energy. Goodness knew what Kurow would do if he ever felt motivated. Her brother was sadly a bit of a sociopath. Shame, really. They'd been up practicing late into the evening - so late that even the mechanic girl who insisted on occupying their safehouse had left afore them on the back of some motorized monstrousity. Whatever it was, it had looked far more complicated than whatever car Kurow was using. But her brother, naturally, couldn't be bothered with whatever labyrinthine engine designs the Kazama had laid out. Kurow was not, as they say, a 'details' person. And so it was up to Yurika, sole representative of the Dark Student Council (nee 'Intercollegiate Music Club') with an in to the up-and-cominng Kazama clan. And Yurika that was going to have to Deal With This. How inconvenient. Not that Akira didn't seem nice or what have you, but Yurika found the whole buisness of attempting to keep other underground organizations great and small out of their affairs more than a little tedious. Especially considering their location. Baxter Corp, the Shadowlaw (who, though not physically present, were quite frankly everywhere these days - like Starbucks), the small-time but growing Kazama interests, those horrid girls that Zaki sometimes brought aound to harass the richer students... and of course the Dark Students' Council born of Project Burning Justice. It really was a mess. Strategically important, but a mess. Ah, the woes of relocation. Thank goodness that Shadowlaw couldn't be bothered with anything so mundane as plain old earthly organized crime anymore. All this running about making robots and doing genetic experiments and travelling to other dimensions and whatnot had allowed the seedlings of a hundred small-time drug, prostitution, and extortion operations to grow up through the cracks. They really must be losing a fortune. In fact, their whole existance didn't make really much of any sense. Where was that old bulwark of the aristocracy - the love of all things monetary? Shadowlaw would fall eventually for that reason alone. No sense of history. They were, much like the ruined communists, so very.... commonly idealistic. What did the Kazama's have that they didn't? Oh, nothing really. If that Akira could be taught a bit about being a touch more proper she'd fit right in with the ranks of the wealthy and ethically questionable (she and Kurow held some rather lucrative stock in a few sweatshop-using, rainforest-burning corporations among other inherited interests - though what had posessed father to give him the flute she'd never know). But surely they'd have eyes to see. And pointing a cop towards Windermere Institute would be like shooting fish in a barrel. It made a wonderous den of iniquity. People would expect the Dark Student Council to be operating with Kurow out of the infamous Justice Academy, not out of innocent little Windermere... But nevermind. Akira seemed.... nice. Yurika Kirishima was, she fully admitted, a bit weary of associating with those who couldn't possibly understand or know of the pressures of operating a little under the societal radar. Even if the Kirishima family did live a life a bit more rife with opera gloves than bike parts. Speaking of opera gloves, she was late. Goodness, how the time goes when one is tuning one's violin. Truly absorbing, despit the callousing of fingers and the repetitiveness of it all. But still.. she'd need it, along with her gloves, if she was to prove her point today. It was, after all, the beginning of that most dreaded of activities, the physical education class.
Campus: Windermere Institute Japan
Akira Kazama had a problem. No, wait, make that two problems. Or maybe, since life had decided to make itself a bitch as of t-minus yesterday, three problems. Two of these were less than pressing. Yurika and Kirishim and Saori Isami. Why did the mechanic attract the most suspicious people in the whole school to her? This was so very, very wrong. "Akira! Pass it to me!" "C'mon Akira - catch!" The third was phys-ed clas. Horrible, horrible phys-ed class. Site of such activities as 'team work' and 'cooperative learnging' and 'rules'. Lone wolves do not take well to phys ed class. And phys-ed class - replete with shorts and t-shirts in official blue - did not take well to them. "Akira, come do the school cheer with us!" Oh the pain, oh the pain. "Gooooooooo Swans!" Oh the horror, oh the horror. "C'mon, show us your backflip again!" Maybe if she started faking some kind of stomach ache... or a headache? Knee pain? Chronic fatigue syndrome? The possibilities were endless and inviting. ... but then she'd have no excuse for the next class. And the brunette had already survived half of one torturous period on the sadistically slippery hardwood gym floor. Leaning against the brick wall of the volleyball court and studiously avoiding any afforts to sub her on whatsoever. At least this way she could kind of semi-manage an aloof glare. And even if she couldn't, shorts were the next best thing to pants and she should enjoy them while she could. Until, that is, a melanin-deprived tap robbed her of the carefully-constructed little world she'd decided to bury herself in for the remaining thirty minutes. It had lain in between the third brick to the left of the north corner, and the fourth. Just beside where the swan crest painted on the wall intercepted clotted cream base paint. "Horrid, isn't it?" ".... Yurika?" Akira gave a small - alebeit unrepressed, start. The voice that had settled besides her smiled an affirmative. "Of course. I hate to say it, but such a class really is a bit of a waste of time, non? I'd hoped you might perhaps be able to help me fix that." "How would we do that?" cocoa eyes narrowed in response. Cheshire cats have many tricks. "You'll see," Yurika nodded brightly, ivory curls rustling in time. "Come on, it's time we proved ourselves. It's so lucky we have one another to demonstrate on!" "Demonstrate?" Akira allowed herself to be dragged away from the wall and into the foreground. Why the hell did she have a violin in gym class.... This was a very disturbing, somewhat vicelike form of hope.
Status: placement: fourth secondary form
This would have to be the way of it, quite simply. There were, in fact, two ways they could do this. Escape the simple unbearability of such vulgar physical exertion, secure more stable practice time, and forge the link that Yurika was looking for. Akira seemed nice. It would work handily either way. But the harder way would make the other sudents avoid them. This was both Akira's painfully obvious desire and her own, and as such to be enacted forthwith. It is, after all, better to be feared than loved. Especially in a ... less vulgar manner than anything other than a lightshow might provide. "Excuse me, please!" Kirishima called to the busily pounding gym, daring to step strait in the middle of a heated intermural battle. "If you'll excuse me, I think that Akira here and I would be better suited to an independant classroom and as my request has been denied we shall be forced to practice here!" In her hands the shy girl stuffened a bit, and then dared to glare a little. Good. That was good. She's appreciate this later. Even if the world's eyes were on them for the moment. This was also good. Yurika Kirishima was a born preformer. This was evidenced most gracefully in the way she raised the bow of her violin and used it to quickly smack the off-guard Kazama in the shoulder. "What the..." "Just play along," Yurika whispered, appearing to have linged in for another hit while the surprisingly bloodthirsty crowd formed a ring around them. "We'll be out of this soon. You'll see. They won't dare let us stay near them if we're going to exercise like this, and we're both too rich to be expelled." Something.. different flashed in the wiry brunette's eyes. That would bear investigation. There was something a little strange .. a little... off when she fell back into a classic stance and softly answered. "Gladly." Well now. This should be a real workout.
Medical: Birth Defects - partial melanin defficiency
Akira didn't know what the hell was going on, but she did know that she wanted it to stop. And in the heat of the moment, under a hundred eyes, she ran across the valauble life lessons she had learned as the de facto ruler of Gedo High's largest faction. If something bothers you, and you can't get away 'cause you're trapped like a rat in a corner... make it hurt until it stops. Then it's less likely to bother you again. This might not be the Akira that would have had Yurika Kirishima up against the wall for her nonsensical behavior, but it was an Akira who knew when enough was enough. And that this was a very uncomfortable plan that she had not agreed to. Pulling back, Akira fell easily into a defensive posture. The fighting style of the once and future biker could perhaps be best styled defensive - unlike that of her other self. When Yurika struck a quick note on her insturment (what the hell?) she instinctively moved back. When Yurika moved the bow in a glittering foreward arc that screamed en-guard, Akira did a handspring out the of the way. All the while avoiding a worrysome injury despite her minorly annoying shoulder. All the while waiting for those few perfect moments when a devestating little punch or a well-placed kick could be executed. The mechanic was not quite as graceful as Yurika - her form loping and ridden with the sudden starts and stops that built her power insted of a fluid pirrouetting grace. But it was effective. Oh-so effective. And they whirled about in a nonlethal study in contrasts, cornered by a group of shrieking girls and the talcum-powdered sweat that was beginning to permeate the room. Whatever she was doing - and it looked sort of like ballet - Yurika was good. And she seemed to be.. enjoying this? Duck. Roll. Dodge. Weave. Neither of them, flying to the off-beat music, wanted to hurt the other. And Kirishima obviously had something to prove. Damn. "GIRLS!" Something that involved getting them pulled apart by the gym teachers and taken to the vice-headmistress's office. Though appreciating Kirishima's sentiment, the audience had been uncomfortable and their intent moreso. Kazama was not amused.
Residence: Kanzaki Residential Hall Rm. 2-45
"And furthermore, the blatant disregard for..." The floor she'd studied before was coming foreward now, with infinite clarity. It did not hurt to sit - they hadn't been out to hurt one another, just a few taps - but the luxury of testing her theory was not allowed. Akira and Yurika were standing, stalk-strait (though the mechanic was a little wilted). Just as they had been for the past half an hour. Blahblahblahblah. The voice kind of melted into one big, giant, blob of a ... supervoice, after a while. This had gone on so long that the student wasn't sure if she even cared if the headmistress was staring at her anymore. Well... not much anyways. "School regulations force me to remove you from regular physical education classes so that you can be alone, and think about what you've done! I'f you're going to bring such violent claptrap onto the campus where impressionable underclassmen might see it then I can't condone..." Akira caught Yurika smiling out of the corner of her eye, through her cloud of chalk-white hair. Just a little grin. Akira Kazama did not like being played for an... anything. What the hell was going on here? "Behavior that might futher interrupt the flow of activity and encourage such unladylike..." All these people seemed preoccupied with speaking with her or something for no apparent logical reaons and... well.. why? Why couldn't they just leave her be? This was getting tedious, and all she could do was just... stand around and look slouchy. Because she wasn't about to say anything - oh, no, that would just be really really embarassing and probably do no good anyways. The mechanic was strapped down, pinned against the wall, manacled within her very own flesh by a myriad of questioning eyes. But.... A voice hopped through the door. "Vice-Headmistress? I hate to interrupt but some kind of mystery accident happened in the quad and you should check it out!" A voice followed by a sparkling pair of onyx eyes, and a familiar mop of coal-black hair. Saori? "I'll be right there, Ms.Isami. You two are dismissed." The clack of heels signalled the Vice-Headmistresses departure and, still slightly zoned out, Akira only barely heard Yurika and Saori make their introductions. After which they both chose to start glancing at her back (Akira could feel these things) and start a... conversation. "'Kira! Hey I hope you don't mind, but I totally thought I should get you guys out of here..." What could they possibly want with a tomboy like her? People weren't supposed to in a place like this. Want stuff, that is, from those without wardrobes from Versace. That was half the reason she'd agreed to go, independant of Daigo. "And we're out of phys ed now, which is wonderful. I didn't think you'd mind - I mean, the student population was bound to find out about your talents sooner or later and..." Nothing... but 'Kazama', it turned out. That was so very comforting. Just... when push came to shove, and the chills in her spine had their say, Akira Kazama simply didn't like being around people. It made her feel uncomfortable. It made her feel on edge. It made her feel... smaller than the blue fountain pen that Saori was stealing from the desk. It was time that this was sorted out. Gedo High had taught her action. "I... I mean..." the mechanic started softly, "would you mind if we went down to the garage? I have to show you something." "Sure thing!" "That would be interesting." Sometimes Akira hated being shy. Sometimes... she hated being herself.
Interests: - music, classical and insturmental
And so, through the quickly quieting halls of a lazy clouded afternoon she led them. Past abondoned biology and the still-lively computer club room. Past the lockers and the forgotten textbooks and the Victorian painting imported directly from some English museum (for them, the best of the best). Wending by nooks decorated with tiny ornamental mohogany tables, where a doilies and flower-arrengements and lost, lonely half-full cans of diet pepsi spent the day gathering dust before the maids passed by. Out the door and along the path that was paved with brick and fallen leaves, to protect the clipped lawn that stretched as far as the eye might bother to see. Up the stairs and around to a more modern, offending road, that scarred the landscap with it's shock-treatment modernity. Akira Kazama did not feel that she blendind into teh general landscape. So she let them to her parlour. "This is what is going to happen." Led them, with Yurika in her gym clothes and sligfhtly shivering in the fall air. Led them into a room so easily, easily locked.. the one to which only she had the key. Led them out of their far more expansive sphere, and into the only one which might ever be her own. It smelled like sweat and motor-oil and the stench of metal on skin. Akira could see them both visibly adjust. And once she sopke. drawing their dual attentions, she pulled on her leather chaps over the cotten gym-shorts badly in need of ironing. And after came the helmet. Riding helped her so when she was stressed out. "What do you mean?" Isami had the temerity to ask. Don't let people ask questions on your territory - or else it's theirs. This she had learned from a rival faction leader in a place long ago where the halls had shone with the smell of spent spray-paint and fumes that she or Daigo could name at a second's notice. He had taken the profits from at least four of the local bookies for the cliche old protection. Still did, maybe.. though he paid Daigo a fee, too. An old-fashioned boy, he was, with scars on his wrists and a harvest moon in his eyes. He was a survivor. And she respected kind. So Kazama had no choice to show the Saori girl her place, really. Show her where it was proper that she be pinned against the wall. Literally. "I am leaving," she stated through foan and plastic and a glass face-shield, to Yurika's presumed amusement. Though her face was close ot the other girl's , there was no chance of her breath hotting the wild-eyed Saori's chin though she had her held un place at the throat with untrusting now-gloved hands. "And locking the door. I will be back. And when I get back - " Whirl. Turn. And withdraw with a bark. No, an order. If you order, people will assume you rule. This too she had learned. From the bully in her now-extinct fifth-period history class. His name had been Isao. "YOU are going to tell me EXACTLY why you want me to deal drugs with you," her bare arms crossed, but not in withdrawl. Saori was not looking at her, but at the mirror around her skull. And she was breathing hard. Athsma, maybe? No matter. Turn again - this time to the clever one. Masks are of no use when you stand bruised in a bathroom stall after a failed challenge to regain control of a rival pack. This she had learned "And YOU are going to tell me what the hell headgames you're playing," the words were flung out like a weapon, while the rider positioned her steed nearer to the garage door than her two... whatever they where. Sport was amusing, but the biker had no patience for games. "And since I'm giving you this time," the engine revved - no, roared - and a remote control edged open the metal shutter. It would close again soon enough. She'd fire it quickly. "I am going to LIKE the answers I hear." .......
"... what was that?" "I have no idea." ....... "Drug ring?" "Oh, it's the coolest idea! You should help."
Further Notes: n/a add Please type further notes.
Designate candidate for the SP Project.
SP Project Selection justified on: - social mobility
Kazama really did feel better when she was riding. In fact, she felt better already. They'd be let out before anyone missed them... or morning at least. The road made sense. Everything about it was regulated. Every nuance of path, or break in the well-ordered ribbon of concrete. The Bike went faster because of X, Y, and Z - a very simple formula. And speed of the generic variety truly was addicting. Goosebumps foprming on her exposed arms, the rider closed her eyes. No one would be out here at a time like this. No one at all. That was the best..... The purr of her engine was suddenly and viciously marred by a petultant screech. "What the fuck!?" One quickly mirrored by her own. "What's going on here?" ... apparently there was someone driving out here. Someone who should not own the road like she did, or be able to stop when the Bike was approaching at one hundred miles an hour. A pale young man, clothed in some fucked-up concoction of black leather, glaring up at her from the driver's seat of an equally black convertable of the prefabricated and expensive persuation. The interior was a cream color. But it was still darker than his freakishly white skin, which glowed a bit in her headlights. He was her age. And not bad, if you went for girly. Almost looked like that Yurika. "You were driving on the wrong goddamn side of the road! What the hell? I could have died, you stupid punk. " Prettyboys don't belong on the road. He should get the hell off before he got his pretty head hurt. ".. what did you call me?" In either incarnation, Kazama despised introductions.
Notes added. Further commands? Designate StudID#011009223 file classified. Security lock K_KAREN File security locked to User K_KAREN. Running encryption... Encrypted. Further commands? Quit
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