[color=slategray]The van drew to a rolling stop two parks down from the front of [i]Liu's Fix-It[/i]. Qing paused a moment and tapped the steering wheel, before finally finishing with a sigh. The total mental transformation needed to go from the situation he'd just experienced to back to home life. The bell jingled overhead as he opened the door, and the buzzer sounded as his foot crossed the threshold. The redundancy; the daily reminder of the change since they lost his mother. [color=tomato]"Ba!"[/color] Qing called out, in case the two warnings weren't enough. They were, but he was busy. There was a regular at the cash register. [color=white]"I'm sorry. I should probably take my television somewhere else. We're moving house..."[/color] [color=springgreen]"You're moving?"[/color] [color=tomato]"Evening, Mrs Wing."[/color] Qing tried to gently make his fresh presence known. His father's greeting was a slight hand raise, as his eyes never left the customer. [color=white]"Yes, across town. Chinatown. But it's a long way for the television, and our contact information wouldn't be the same. I don't still have the stub and it would be tougher to make it here. We received an offer for the place and since our neighbours were killed, it doesn't seem as safe anymore."[/color] [color=springgreen]"'s fine."[/color] Bo Wen replied. [color=springgreen]"Qing can bring television when done. What happened?"[/color] [color=tomato]"So you're just gonna volunteer my van up as your shop's delivery service, lă obà..?"[/color] Bo Wen made another swatting hand gesture. He hated when he'd call him that. Qing knew and did it on purpose. Made him sound old, and at the moment he was too interested in Mrs Wing's story for the distraction. [color=white]"It was a sword..."[/color] She replied. [color=white]"Truly horrible. Mr Zheng was butchered, I heard it from Mister Zhou's young son, Kim, who just passed through the police academy. Otherwise we would have never known how."[/color] [color=springgreen]"A sword?"[/color] Bo Wen was taken aback. [color=springgreen]"Who kills someone with a sword in these times?"[/color] [color=tomato]"In this crazy city, it probably doesn't narrow things down as much as you'd think..."[/color] Qing glibly added, whilst starting to close around his father for the night. He was busy with a customer, if he didn't make some effort to close the store, the lights could well remain on long into the night. The buzzer sounded again as he passed the entrance to bring in the shopfront sign. Accompanied by the bell. A thought drifted through his mind from earlier, as he carried the sign back through the door with another buzz and a ding-a-ling. [color=tomato]"So who are you selling to, Mrs Wing?"[/color] [color=white]"I don't know. I was just told there was an offer present that was very generous, when I asked how much, the agent told us the amount."[/color] [color=tomato]"Hmm."[/color] Qing mused. He had his suspicions. [color=white]"It makes sense, we've had other neighbours selling up and moving as well."[/color] [color=tomato]"And your place was down on Phillips..?"[/color] [color=white]"That's right."[/color] [i]West of Brubaker...[/i] Qing clocked. Everything tied together. Bo Wen looked at his son with curiosity. He didn't socialise with customers as much as he did, but when he did, conversation was seldom as stilted. As interrogatory. Singular short questions and answers. [color=springgreen]"Just moving to Chinatown?"[/color] Bo Wen asked hopefully. [color=white]"Yes, we won't be strangers. But I was worried since I don't still have the stub..."[/color] [color=springgreen]"Oh don't worry! Mrs Wing is regular!"[/color] He said, beaming widely. [color=white]"...And with the size of the television to take it across town."[/color] [color=tomato]"We could make you up another stub right now if you feel so bad about it..."[/color] He felt the old man's eyes on him. They bore a hole in him which omitted Qing's deep sigh. [color=tomato]"...and I could probably run your television down to your new address when he's done with it."[/color] [color=springgreen]"He could easily leave for you or husband, or your delightful young daughter Lian."[/color] The old man's hospitable smile was wide. [color=tomato]"Hey-- wait..."[/color] Qing finally realised what the old man was doing. He thought he'd just been pushing him into customer service, but, now he realised the depths of his ulterior motives. [color=white]"Oh, no. Lian's gone away for college. She's actually been doing really well with her studies..."[/color] Qing sees the old man's face fall and brightens. [i]Yeah, take that you sneaky old...[/i] [color=springgreen]"Must be holidays soon though. Nice to have her home then? When are they?"[/color] [i]Oh don't you even think about it, you diabolical old--[/i] [color=white]"Yes, school holidays are again in a month's time..."[/color] [color=springgreen]"Well that's great! Television take about one month for fix! You rememb--"[/color] [color=white]"But Lian will be taking an educational sabbatical. Along with a few of her friends, they're actually going away to intern at a series of very successful businesses in their corporate offices."[/color] [color=tomato]"Well, you heard the old man. Television should be fixed in one month. Hope it looks great in your new place. I'll bring it right over when its done. In one month."[/color] I pat my crestfallen father on the back, with my widest genuine smile, and revel in the fact that I 'won one' for a change. Farewells are made and as Mrs Wing walks out into the night, Bo Wen hits Qing. [color=springgreen]<"What is wrong with you?">[/color] The old man barks at the younger one in Wu. [color=tomato]<"Me? Nothing. Don't involve yourself.">[/color] Qing replied in kind. [color=springgreen]<"Lian is a delightful young girl.">[/color] He continues. [color=springgreen]<"I don't understand what you could possibly have against--">[/color] [color=tomato]<"She's currently pursuing a masters in Business Administration, minoring in Finance and is about to intern at Fortune 500 companies where she's going to be looking to make the connections required for continuing her career after graduation. I own a van and fix people's pipes, wiring, air conditioning or dry wall.">[/color] [color=springgreen]<"She doesn't seem the kind who would think of--">[/color] [color=tomato]<"If she's not then she's a fool, and I don't think of her a fool. But besides the fact we are in two different worlds, my greater point was more that neither of us have the time.">[/color] [color=tomato]<"I have my business... and when I don't have my business, I have [b]CLOSING YOUR[/b] business...">[/color] He slapped the sides of the register to prove his point. [color=springgreen]<"Do not use me for your excuse! You know full we-- what is it?">[/color] Bo Wen saw Qing curse and re-open the register. [color=tomato]<"Ah! I told Mrs Wing I'd write her up a new stub...">[/color] He pulled slips from the register. [color=springgreen]<"Why? I said she's a regular and that it's not necessary...">[/color] [color=tomato]<"Yes, I know that. I know I didn't have to, except I said that I'd actually do it. And what you always say about customer service...">[/color] [color=springgreen]<"Always[/color] [color=tomato]deliver[/color] [color=springgreen]what you[/color] [color=tomato]said you[/color] [color=springgreen]were going[/color] [color=tomato]to do.[/color] [color=springgreen]Our word is our promise,[/color] [color=tomato]And our promise is our bond. On it!">[/color] He scrawled down the name, and stopped by the TV on the shelf to jot down the job reference number, before running out the door. The bell and buzzer's warning in his wake. [i]Phillips Street... Phillips Street...[/i] He repeated in his head as he ran down the city streets past every major corner. [i]She can't have gotten too far... She's just a sweet old lad--[/i] Suddenly a scream punctured the night. [i]Phillips Street... West of Brubaker... It was a sword... Mr Zheng was butchered...[/i] [color=tomato]"Mrs WIIING!"[/color] He called out into the night, breaking into a sprint. Hitting Phillips he turned the corner and caught sight of the old woman standing before him, frozen in place, staring down a backalley. [color=tomato]"Mrs Wing? Are you alright? I found you... Just made you... another stub."[/color] The older woman raised her hand in silence and point down the alleyway. Qing turned his head to follow her raising arm, and at the end saw a lone figure wearing a balaklava standing on a fire escape. Steel's glint winking a reflection of the moonlight. [color=white]"The Muramasa blade thirsts tonight..."[/color] He held it drawn, with two hands. More a baseball player's stance than a samurai. The burden of the weight clearly foreign to the wielder, despite how light a katana would usually be. This was not a man used to brandishing a blade, so he leant into that which was more familiar. [i]The Muramasa blade.[/i] Where the tales and legends of historic lore met briefly with those told by and of his own family. The Masamune and Muramasa blades, of peace and war, from famed Japanese swordsmiths of the generation gap between the Kamakura period and the Muromachi period. Masamune's came to be known for peace, compassion and respectable authority, whilst Muramasa's were renowned for razor sharp blades which could cut through anything and everything without discernment. His great grandmother had once seen one up close, and later heard of its relentless thirst for blood in the rape of Nanjing. Muramasa and Masamune were both actual people, however, and had a legacy of actual swords left in their wake. Not all were truly Yoto - cursed weapons - but from his own family's experience he didn't doubt that they were truly out there. Nor that he was watching one wink back at him, in the amateur hands of this man who threatened to quench its thirst all the same. With one hand he gently moved Mrs Wing beyond the alley and stepped forth into the breach. Everything he had ever learned about how to fight against weapons sounded off like a klaxon between his ears. In this place he would need all of it in a fight which would see him given no quarter. In this place he faced death. [i]Breathe in.[/i] [color=white]"It thirsts for [b]YOU[/b]!"[/color] The masked figure jumped down from the fire escape onto a dumpster. [i]Breathe out.[/i] [hr] [CENTER][sup][h1][center][img]Banner[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] F L O W S T A T E[/color] [color=tomato]F L O W S T A T E[/color][/center] [/b][/h1][/sup][/center] [hr] Qing advanced into the alleyway. Every natural instinct told him to stay between the swordsman and Mrs Wing, but he was determined to do the opposite. Qing made himself the bigger threat, his posture and his presence. Pushing beyond in the alley he would make the sword advance [b]away[/b] from Mrs Wing, giving her the opportunity to flee. And for the swordsman to advance on Mrs Wing it would mean turning his back to Qing. So he kept his distance and pushed further into the alley, maintaining a bagua circle. A stable core and hands pronounced, with fluid motion. The man dropped from the dumpster and advanced on him. He had less room to negotiate, worse for combat against a bladed weapon, and he could see Mrs Wing peeking around the corner at the entrance to the alley rather than taking the opportunity to run. [i]Great...[/i] Below the swordsman's hip the scabbard dangled from a threaded cord. Nothing about him demonstrated any proficiency or respect for the weapon he brandished more like a bat than a blade. It remained an extension of the man's body, but the body had an extra flawed 'joint'. [color=white]"I have already drawn the blade! It thirsts--!"[/color] [color=tomato]"You really... have no idea what you've got there, do you? No respect for what you're--"[/color] [color=white]"I have your end!!"[/color] He lunged forward and swung with both hands. With a quick v-step, Qing effortlessly evaded the home run attempt. Gauging the distance and speed. [color=tomato]<"I don't even mean Muramasa...">[/color] Qing spoke in extremely rudimentary Japanese.[color=tomato]<"I mean a sword... in general... the weapon.">[/color] He switched to Mandarin. The swordsman gave no inclination or suggestion that he understood or even cared what Qing was saying. Qing took note. He racked his brains trying to think of the Cantonese sentence he'd once heard his father use, before it came back to him. [color=tomato]<"Do you even know how to use that thing?">[/color] He mimicked in Cantonese with an exaggerated twang. Still no sign of recognition whatsoever. [color=white]"Hope you finished your last words, because the blade and I have heard enough!"[/color] Another swing. This time larger, as he finished with one hand instead of two to extend his reach. Qing effortlessly kept his distance again, re-adjusting for the new range of the swing. [color=tomato]"I'll keep it to English for the ignorant. That sword costs a fortune and there's no way you know how to use it, let alone how to acquire one. How did you get it?"[/color] [color=white]"Since you're so interested, I'll let you see it up close!"[/color] Another v-step, allowing the blade to pass... ...and explodes through with a quick stride. Qing put one hand on the wrist that held the blade and let the other drop by the man's hip. He grabbed the scabbard, and as the masked man panicked and whipped the blade back, Qing angled the saya between the pair, and the katana slid down it's perfectly crafted edge and sang as it drew first blood. The masked man cursed as he cut himself. Qing responded with a clean sidekick to the solar plexus and the man flew back into bagged up garbage, struggling to regain his breath. The katana clattered to the bitumen. Qing walked over to the weapon with the saya, never taking his eye from the masked man. He bent down to pick up the sword, and his head swirled. With sweet promises, and plans and visions of a future carved clean from it's means and stained with blood. He'd hold a force, a chi beyond reckoning, and anything he could want could be in reach. It wanted what he wanted. It knew him how nobody else did. It understood the power and feeling of life's energies taken and put to use. He looked at the man before them, in his bed of trash. What could this man really offer any kind of just world. He was about to take his life after all. And he looked back down the alley. Mrs Wing peeked on still. She was only a different shade of red. [color=tomato]"Mrs Wiiiing..! Run!"[/color] It took everything he had to release the blade. The katana clattered back to the ground. He dropped to his hindquarters away from it as they both fell from each other. He felt hollow. And could only imagine how impossible it would have been if he'd actually drawn the blade from it's saya, rather than picked it up after it had freshly tasted blood. He didn't have the energy to try again. And the masked man was now regaining his strength. Qing turned and ran back down the alleyway. Never stopped looking behind them as he walked Mrs Wing home. [hr] Qing walked back through the shop, as his father spoke into his phone. [color=springgreen]"Thank you. Yes, he is here now. Thank you again."[/color] With a targeted aged finger he hung up the phone - new technology. [color=springgreen]"That was--"[/color] [color=tomato]"Mrs Wing."[/color] [color=springgreen]"Yes. She just want to know you got home safe. She said both ran into man with sword."[/color] [color=tomato]<"Not just a sword. It's a Muramasa blade.">[/color] Qing took things to Wu where his father would be more comfortable. [color=springgreen]<"A Muramasa blade? Like Grandmother?">[/color] [color=tomato]<"Exactly. Like Great Grandma.">[/color] [color=springgreen]<"Could it really--">[/color] [color=tomato]<"Oh. It was the real deal alright. Trust me on that. Cursed sword gets mighty talkative. And it's being wielded by someone local. American.">[/color] [color=springgreen]<"You saw his face? You're sure? Mrs Wing said--"[/color] [color=tomato]<"He wore a mask. But he doesn't speak Japanese, Mandarin or Cantonese... so its a pretty good bet.">[/color] [color=springgreen]<"You don't even speak Cantonese... Or Japanese.">[/color] The old man raised an eyebrow. [color=tomato]<"Do you even know how to use that thing?">[/color] Qing mimicked once again, exaggerating the Cantonese twang even further. [color=tomato]"I learned it by watching you, Dad!"[/color] He mimicked an old anti-drug PSA statement with an equal Americanised twang to his English. [color=tomato]<"And some of the Japanese they used to make us take in school stuck apparently. Congratulations, you didn't waste your money.">[/color] Returning to the good old Wu dialect. [color=springgreen]<"A Muramasa blade... Do you think they know we're here?">[/color] [color=tomato]<"Who? The Japanese Imperial Army that Great Grandma was trying to hold out from in the Rape of Nanjing? I think they might be over it, Ba... Or the CCP who we fled from who have nothing whatsoever to do with an ancient Japanese sword? I'm pretty sure it's a coincedence.">[/color] [color=springgreen]<"Still, it's worrying.">[/color] [color=tomato]<"It is. Someone or something has to stop the guy.>"[/color] [color=springgreen]<"Well, it's a good thing we live in this city full of heroes then. Powerful people who are the best of American values!">[/color] [i]Qing pictured a flying man. Someone who could fire powerful beams from their eyes. A person who could lift a bus over their head picking up the sword. Looking out amongst the people. And what a 'hero' like that might see. A different shade of red.[/i] [color=tomato]"Shit..."[/color] His English came back. [color=springgreen]"What?"[/color] [i]I'm going to have to take care of this myself, aren't I?[/i] [color=springgreen]"What?[/color] [color=tomato]"Oh, I've just got a phone call. That's all."[/color] Qing pulled his phone out and answered it with the business name. [/color]