GW: Huntress
William Shakespeare once said that the world was a stage. If that was true, then tonight, stage management was doing a bang-up job setting the scene.
With a thunderous roar, the black skies split open, pouring crushing rain down on the city. Grey buildings and black streets took on an ominous sheen, the whole of Dallas transforming into a water-slick dream world.
It was on one of those dark, shimmering streets that they stood. Polar opposites, they were: one wrapped in black, the other in white. They stood motionless and resolute; swords in hand, steel and plastic mounts at their sides. They were like ancient knights reborn, warriors reshaped for a new age.
Mirroring each other's movements, they mounted their steeds. The white knight slid her gloved hand over her motorcycle's rain-slick handlebars, and pressed herself to its body, attuning herself to the vehicle's feel. Sheathing her blade, she slid the key into the bike's ignition, and brought it to life with a twist. Closing her eyes, she lowered her head and listened to the engine's purr. She smiled, almost contently, behind her helmet, as she felt the machine's subtle vibration rising up through her. Peacefully, she rested, until she heard another engine roar to life.
Barely moving, the white knight's eyes flicked up, across the two hundred feet of space, to her opponent. The black knight's mount spewed angry gouts of smoke, as if it were eager for battle.
Nodding imperceptibly, the white knight flipped her sheathed blade, readying it to be drawn. She couldn't see it from here, but she knew her opponent had done the same. An instant later, she squeezed the throttle.
The things I do for love, she thought, as she rocketed towards inevitability.
***
Several days prior
The flight back from Detroit passed in oppressive silence. The private jet, which less than a day before had been filled with love and merriment, had become a cold, oppressive tomb. Even hours later, at home, neither Thunder said anything -- Rokku had retreated to the basement and begun pounding on something almost immediately, as he always did when his emotions raged out of control.
And so Yoshiko was left alone. The house seemed so much bigger to her than it had before they'd left -- so much more empty and cold.
Yoshiko realized, though, that it wasn't the house that was empty and cold. It was she. She was still trying to process the events of the weekend, trying to figure out how everything could have been so good and go so horribly bad so quickly
And she kept coming back to one question. Who would want to set her up? Why? The potential answers were far too numerous, and all too disturbing. Ice, or some other member of the Elite, would be the prime suspect, using the distraction of Yoshiko's "affair" to take Rokku's mind off the title match.
And maybe it had been one of them. Rokku had lost, after all. The distraction very well might have worked.
But there were more people than just Ice who could profit from seeing Rokku torn up inside. The entire membership of The Upper Echelon was suspect as well. Hell, most of GW was suspect -- it seemed like everybody had wanted a piece of him from the moment he'd stepped into the Global Arena.
So the problem wasn't really determining who could have done it and why -- it was determining which of the many suspects was actually guilty. Once she had proof, she could clean this mess upand then she and Rokku could get to tearing the guilty party limb from limb.
That thought put a smile on her face -- the first smile since Sunday night. It was time to start hunting.
***
A few days of phone calls, sweet-talking and favor-spending later, a vision in white leather sped down the highway on a similarly colored Honda CBR1000RR.
Her efforts hadn't yielded much in the way of results, but they had yielded enough:
First, a place to look.
And second, a person to look for.
The rumble of thunder in the distance only strengthened Yoshiko's resolve. She would learn tonight who was responsible for shattering the peace in her life.
And they would be made to pay.
With a thunderous roar, the black skies split open, pouring crushing rain down on the city. Grey buildings and black streets took on an ominous sheen, the whole of Dallas transforming into a water-slick dream world.
It was on one of those dark, shimmering streets that they stood. Polar opposites, they were: one wrapped in black, the other in white. They stood motionless and resolute; swords in hand, steel and plastic mounts at their sides. They were like ancient knights reborn, warriors reshaped for a new age.
Mirroring each other's movements, they mounted their steeds. The white knight slid her gloved hand over her motorcycle's rain-slick handlebars, and pressed herself to its body, attuning herself to the vehicle's feel. Sheathing her blade, she slid the key into the bike's ignition, and brought it to life with a twist. Closing her eyes, she lowered her head and listened to the engine's purr. She smiled, almost contently, behind her helmet, as she felt the machine's subtle vibration rising up through her. Peacefully, she rested, until she heard another engine roar to life.
Barely moving, the white knight's eyes flicked up, across the two hundred feet of space, to her opponent. The black knight's mount spewed angry gouts of smoke, as if it were eager for battle.
Nodding imperceptibly, the white knight flipped her sheathed blade, readying it to be drawn. She couldn't see it from here, but she knew her opponent had done the same. An instant later, she squeezed the throttle.
The things I do for love, she thought, as she rocketed towards inevitability.
***
Several days prior
The flight back from Detroit passed in oppressive silence. The private jet, which less than a day before had been filled with love and merriment, had become a cold, oppressive tomb. Even hours later, at home, neither Thunder said anything -- Rokku had retreated to the basement and begun pounding on something almost immediately, as he always did when his emotions raged out of control.
And so Yoshiko was left alone. The house seemed so much bigger to her than it had before they'd left -- so much more empty and cold.
Yoshiko realized, though, that it wasn't the house that was empty and cold. It was she. She was still trying to process the events of the weekend, trying to figure out how everything could have been so good and go so horribly bad so quickly
And she kept coming back to one question. Who would want to set her up? Why? The potential answers were far too numerous, and all too disturbing. Ice, or some other member of the Elite, would be the prime suspect, using the distraction of Yoshiko's "affair" to take Rokku's mind off the title match.
And maybe it had been one of them. Rokku had lost, after all. The distraction very well might have worked.
But there were more people than just Ice who could profit from seeing Rokku torn up inside. The entire membership of The Upper Echelon was suspect as well. Hell, most of GW was suspect -- it seemed like everybody had wanted a piece of him from the moment he'd stepped into the Global Arena.
So the problem wasn't really determining who could have done it and why -- it was determining which of the many suspects was actually guilty. Once she had proof, she could clean this mess upand then she and Rokku could get to tearing the guilty party limb from limb.
That thought put a smile on her face -- the first smile since Sunday night. It was time to start hunting.
***
A few days of phone calls, sweet-talking and favor-spending later, a vision in white leather sped down the highway on a similarly colored Honda CBR1000RR.
Her efforts hadn't yielded much in the way of results, but they had yielded enough:
First, a place to look.
And second, a person to look for.
The rumble of thunder in the distance only strengthened Yoshiko's resolve. She would learn tonight who was responsible for shattering the peace in her life.
And they would be made to pay.