Post by Ari Karamzov on Apr 12, 2009 9:18:43 GMT 1
OOC: Hope it's acceptable how I brought you into the thread, Tyler. Figured Ari noticing you like that works with the original plans we'd had way back when, and if you don't like it we can just say it's someone else he's yelling at.
IC:
He staggered back, gasping for breath as the blow sent him reeling. How had it...? His chest felt like it was on fire, blood pouring down his face to obscure his vision in a haze of red. Beads of sweat and blood ran down his body, adrenaline blocking out the feel of the cold air as the crowd around the octagon howled for more. What the hell did they know? They weren't the ones in there, the ones who had to fight, risking life and limb to beat the other guy to a pulp before the same was done to them. He wiped some of the blood away from his face with his glove, staring at the giant Irishman across from him. The red hair matted with blood, the face looking like it was completely smashed, the cuts and bruises...how the hell was the guy still standing? The guy just wasn't going down, no matter what he got hit with! Why was he still on his feet?! After four rounds of this punishment, the guy should've gone down! Was he even human?! How could he stand up to a guy like this?!
A few seconds' lull, then they were moving again. That look of complete focus in the Irishman's eyes...the bastard was mocking him! He had to be! The Irishman fired off a roundhouse kick aimed at his knee, but Ari's leg fired up, checking the kick with his shin. The Irishman was off balance, so as his leg returned to the ground he crouched, bringing his right hand up and around to smash into the Irishman's nose.
The blow landed with a satisfying crack, and the Irishman was knocked back, Ari following up with an uppercut aimed into the gut. An elbow blocked his punch though, and he was rocked by a hook, nearly falling over but managing to recover and retreat. More blows were exchanged, the Irishman battered yet apparently unphased as he shot in for a takedown. His body moving before his mind, he started to shoot for a sprawl, unable to afford a ground battle at this stage...
The sounds of the crowd, the pain, the octagon, and even the Irishman himself all faded away as the Greyhound went over a pothole in the road, jolting Ari into consciousness. Letting out a low groan, he looked around the bus, adjusting his massive frame in the seat he barely fit in to begin with. Perhaps it would have been smarter to take a plane, but the bus fare was much cheaper, and he had been in a hurry to move back down once he'd got word that his things had been moved into a new apartment in San Francisco.
Normally, he probably would have stayed with his family in Washington, but he couldn't stay after hearing about the terrorist attacks on Hircine and Paragon which occurred after his moving away. He had too much invested, knew too many people, it was just impossible to not make his arrangements and pack his bags. Even his position of School Captain in that school didn't matter, compared to the urgency of returning to Hircine.
Not like they need me anymore, anyway. Dad's got a great job, we're well off now.
It was pretty alien to him, having to admit that he wasn't needed, but it was a true point. His parents had found jobs that paid well enough that Ari's use as the family's muscle, protection, and breadwinner was just a relic of their life in the slums, and he was growing old enough to legally emancipate himself from them.
The Karamzovs weren't exactly rich, but now they were comfortably well off, and part of Ari couldn't accept that. His whole life, he had needed to be strong for them, but now he had to go his own way. It had taken quite some time to force his mind to accept that he no longer needed to protect his parents and put money and food on the table, even when his own father was the one urging him to make the move.
Eventually, there hadn't been much choice but to give in. Looking out the window as the bus lazily glided through the city streets, he found himself reflecting on their argument, his own divided mind and inability to decide contrasted with Oleg's insight. He couldn't abandon his family, but he also felt the need to go to Hircine, to see what had happened for himself, to make sure the people he knew were still alive.
Enticed with the prospect of being able to at least keep tabs on his parents through his phone and emails on their new computers, he had started arrangements after preparations for the MMA fights he had scheduled in the area were done. Once those were finished, there would be no incentive for him to stay in Washington, but he couldn't leave until he had fought those men.
I always miss out on these things.
The third of his MMA fights in Washington had been a brutal affair that left them both in the hospital for a time, but once he had recovered Ari was ready to go. Having secured a bus ticket, movers had brought his things down to an apartment he bought for himself, and before long Ari found himself at a bus terminal with a bag full of personal items in one hand and a slip with the apartment's address in the other.
The thirteen-hour ride didn't start out so bad, putting his bag in the appropriate compartment, finding a seat, and making polite but tense conversation with the mousy-looking businessman who decided to sit next to the giant. The bus departed, and despite the cramped, rather hard, seat, the ride seemed pleasant enough at the start, Ari settling in to get back to his home city.
Before too long, however, the boredom started to get to Ari, along with the discomfort of being in a seat intended for men much smaller than himself. Eventually unable to concentrate even on the book he had brought along specifically to deal with the boredom, and exhausted from the late hour and stress of the previous few days, he found himself nodding off.
Seeing that they had finally reached San Francisco caused him to breathe a sigh of relief, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He had been sweating for real? The dream had been intense, but he was surprised to find that he had actually broken into a sweat. That hadn't happened to him before, not unless the night had been extremely hot, which it hadn't been in this case. That damn fight again...even after it was over, it kept popping up in his sleep.
That bastard wasn't fucking human. There's no way...
The businessman on his left didn't seem to notice his movement, absorbed in his phone call with some random contact. Looking again out the window as he started regaining his composure, he took comfort not only in finally being in his home city again, but in noticing the fact that they were getting closer to the bus terminal. Each corner the Greyhound turned was one corner closer to his destination, which was oddly comforting to the man. He hadn't been away particularly long, but he still didn't feel right being out of the state. He had been in California all his life, as far as he was concerned his blood was Californian and Armenian, there weren't any other places where he was particularly comfortable or at ease.
Fucking finally. Can get off this damn Greyhound soon.
It wasn't too long after this realisation though, that he felt the numbness in his legs. Not just the numbness, either, but the feeling of being pricked by thousands of tiny needles, running up and down the entirety of both limbs. Even the most token attempts at movement sent an almost painful shock through his whole body, causing him to grimace and hiss. His limbs didn't fall asleep on him particularly often, but when it did happen it was incredibly annoying, or even painful sometimes. Either way, it always sucked, especially as the bus started to grind to a halt as it reached the terminal.
Well, this is fucking perfect...
The constant prickling, and the shock that came if he so much as twitched a muscle, went on relentlessly, much to his chagrin as the bus finally stopped, the doors opening to let what passengers were left out into the city on the bay. After a few moments, the businessman next to him got up to join the line of people, and his legs had yet to wake up. That meant there was only one thing to do. Raising his arms a bit, he slammed his fists into his thighs repeatedly, trying to beat them awake. After a few hits, the feeling in them returned, though he still had to wince a bit.
"...Ow," he muttered to himself, realising that he had struck himself had enough that there would definitely be bruises on his legs after a few hours. Still, it was better than being trapped on this cramped hellhole of a bus. Standing up with a glare at the people who were giving him odd looks, the giant made his way into the aisle, a hand on the seats to make sure he didn't fall. Eventually, he was out of the bus, taking a good long breath of the fresh San Francisco air. It had only been a few months, but he had fucking missed this city.
"Fucking Greyhounds," he said to himself, shaking out his legs a couple times before approaching the bus' luggage compartment to grab the bag he had placed there thirteen hours ago. After a quick rifle through to assure himself that none of his money or other personal items had been taken, he slung the bag over his shoulder, reaching into his pocket to grab the cell phone his father had given him as he walked into the Port Authority. It would probably be a good idea to call the man, he figured. Let him know the bus didn't blow up or anything. Nodding to himself, he flipped the phone open, dialing in the relevant number and waiting as the dial tone sounded.
Come on, old man, pick up.
"Hello? Dad?" he asked when his father answered, more a rhetorical question than to make sure it was indeed Oleg. While he and his family spoke to most others in English, they always spoke to each other in Armenian, so that they would never forget their actual heritage. Or some other reason, Ari honestly had no idea, but that's how he always assumed it worked. When the man greeted him, Ari couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, it's me, dad. Just wanted you to know I got here safely. The bus didn't blow up or anything," he chuckled, letting his father get a word in. "Come on, admit it, you laughed. You and mum okay? That's good. Look, I'll call you back when I get to my apartment, okay? Yeah, love you too, dad. Bye."
This still feels weird...
Turning off the phone as he and his father hung up, ignoring the people bustling around the area even at this relatively early hour, he couldn't shake the feeling of something being wrong. He was nineteen years old now, and this was the first time he was more than several minutes' drive away from his family. Part of him still couldn't get rid of that idea that he needed to be with his family, protecting them. It wasn't that he couldn't make it on his own in the real world, but still...it didn't seem right, not being able to run to his father's or mother's aid if they needed him.
Dad's strong enough to take care of himself and mum. Everything that makes me great is because of them.
Sighing quietly to himself, he continued to walk through the building, lost in his own thoughts for once. He would have to do a lot of catching up, he really hoped everyone he knew was okay. Shit, what if they'd all died? He hadn't been there, they could easily have been killed. Ari was going to make a note to really raise some hell once he found out who was responsible for the bombings, when he thought he saw someone staring at him from the corner of his eye. They didn't look familiar, but he found himself spinning around to face them anyway.
"And just what the fuck do you want?" he found himself asking them, despite still not having any idea who they were. Some part of him found it funny how he was ready to smash someone's face in not three minutes after arriving back in San Francisco.
IC:
He staggered back, gasping for breath as the blow sent him reeling. How had it...? His chest felt like it was on fire, blood pouring down his face to obscure his vision in a haze of red. Beads of sweat and blood ran down his body, adrenaline blocking out the feel of the cold air as the crowd around the octagon howled for more. What the hell did they know? They weren't the ones in there, the ones who had to fight, risking life and limb to beat the other guy to a pulp before the same was done to them. He wiped some of the blood away from his face with his glove, staring at the giant Irishman across from him. The red hair matted with blood, the face looking like it was completely smashed, the cuts and bruises...how the hell was the guy still standing? The guy just wasn't going down, no matter what he got hit with! Why was he still on his feet?! After four rounds of this punishment, the guy should've gone down! Was he even human?! How could he stand up to a guy like this?!
A few seconds' lull, then they were moving again. That look of complete focus in the Irishman's eyes...the bastard was mocking him! He had to be! The Irishman fired off a roundhouse kick aimed at his knee, but Ari's leg fired up, checking the kick with his shin. The Irishman was off balance, so as his leg returned to the ground he crouched, bringing his right hand up and around to smash into the Irishman's nose.
The blow landed with a satisfying crack, and the Irishman was knocked back, Ari following up with an uppercut aimed into the gut. An elbow blocked his punch though, and he was rocked by a hook, nearly falling over but managing to recover and retreat. More blows were exchanged, the Irishman battered yet apparently unphased as he shot in for a takedown. His body moving before his mind, he started to shoot for a sprawl, unable to afford a ground battle at this stage...
The sounds of the crowd, the pain, the octagon, and even the Irishman himself all faded away as the Greyhound went over a pothole in the road, jolting Ari into consciousness. Letting out a low groan, he looked around the bus, adjusting his massive frame in the seat he barely fit in to begin with. Perhaps it would have been smarter to take a plane, but the bus fare was much cheaper, and he had been in a hurry to move back down once he'd got word that his things had been moved into a new apartment in San Francisco.
Normally, he probably would have stayed with his family in Washington, but he couldn't stay after hearing about the terrorist attacks on Hircine and Paragon which occurred after his moving away. He had too much invested, knew too many people, it was just impossible to not make his arrangements and pack his bags. Even his position of School Captain in that school didn't matter, compared to the urgency of returning to Hircine.
Not like they need me anymore, anyway. Dad's got a great job, we're well off now.
It was pretty alien to him, having to admit that he wasn't needed, but it was a true point. His parents had found jobs that paid well enough that Ari's use as the family's muscle, protection, and breadwinner was just a relic of their life in the slums, and he was growing old enough to legally emancipate himself from them.
The Karamzovs weren't exactly rich, but now they were comfortably well off, and part of Ari couldn't accept that. His whole life, he had needed to be strong for them, but now he had to go his own way. It had taken quite some time to force his mind to accept that he no longer needed to protect his parents and put money and food on the table, even when his own father was the one urging him to make the move.
Eventually, there hadn't been much choice but to give in. Looking out the window as the bus lazily glided through the city streets, he found himself reflecting on their argument, his own divided mind and inability to decide contrasted with Oleg's insight. He couldn't abandon his family, but he also felt the need to go to Hircine, to see what had happened for himself, to make sure the people he knew were still alive.
Enticed with the prospect of being able to at least keep tabs on his parents through his phone and emails on their new computers, he had started arrangements after preparations for the MMA fights he had scheduled in the area were done. Once those were finished, there would be no incentive for him to stay in Washington, but he couldn't leave until he had fought those men.
I always miss out on these things.
The third of his MMA fights in Washington had been a brutal affair that left them both in the hospital for a time, but once he had recovered Ari was ready to go. Having secured a bus ticket, movers had brought his things down to an apartment he bought for himself, and before long Ari found himself at a bus terminal with a bag full of personal items in one hand and a slip with the apartment's address in the other.
The thirteen-hour ride didn't start out so bad, putting his bag in the appropriate compartment, finding a seat, and making polite but tense conversation with the mousy-looking businessman who decided to sit next to the giant. The bus departed, and despite the cramped, rather hard, seat, the ride seemed pleasant enough at the start, Ari settling in to get back to his home city.
Before too long, however, the boredom started to get to Ari, along with the discomfort of being in a seat intended for men much smaller than himself. Eventually unable to concentrate even on the book he had brought along specifically to deal with the boredom, and exhausted from the late hour and stress of the previous few days, he found himself nodding off.
Seeing that they had finally reached San Francisco caused him to breathe a sigh of relief, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He had been sweating for real? The dream had been intense, but he was surprised to find that he had actually broken into a sweat. That hadn't happened to him before, not unless the night had been extremely hot, which it hadn't been in this case. That damn fight again...even after it was over, it kept popping up in his sleep.
That bastard wasn't fucking human. There's no way...
The businessman on his left didn't seem to notice his movement, absorbed in his phone call with some random contact. Looking again out the window as he started regaining his composure, he took comfort not only in finally being in his home city again, but in noticing the fact that they were getting closer to the bus terminal. Each corner the Greyhound turned was one corner closer to his destination, which was oddly comforting to the man. He hadn't been away particularly long, but he still didn't feel right being out of the state. He had been in California all his life, as far as he was concerned his blood was Californian and Armenian, there weren't any other places where he was particularly comfortable or at ease.
Fucking finally. Can get off this damn Greyhound soon.
It wasn't too long after this realisation though, that he felt the numbness in his legs. Not just the numbness, either, but the feeling of being pricked by thousands of tiny needles, running up and down the entirety of both limbs. Even the most token attempts at movement sent an almost painful shock through his whole body, causing him to grimace and hiss. His limbs didn't fall asleep on him particularly often, but when it did happen it was incredibly annoying, or even painful sometimes. Either way, it always sucked, especially as the bus started to grind to a halt as it reached the terminal.
Well, this is fucking perfect...
The constant prickling, and the shock that came if he so much as twitched a muscle, went on relentlessly, much to his chagrin as the bus finally stopped, the doors opening to let what passengers were left out into the city on the bay. After a few moments, the businessman next to him got up to join the line of people, and his legs had yet to wake up. That meant there was only one thing to do. Raising his arms a bit, he slammed his fists into his thighs repeatedly, trying to beat them awake. After a few hits, the feeling in them returned, though he still had to wince a bit.
"...Ow," he muttered to himself, realising that he had struck himself had enough that there would definitely be bruises on his legs after a few hours. Still, it was better than being trapped on this cramped hellhole of a bus. Standing up with a glare at the people who were giving him odd looks, the giant made his way into the aisle, a hand on the seats to make sure he didn't fall. Eventually, he was out of the bus, taking a good long breath of the fresh San Francisco air. It had only been a few months, but he had fucking missed this city.
"Fucking Greyhounds," he said to himself, shaking out his legs a couple times before approaching the bus' luggage compartment to grab the bag he had placed there thirteen hours ago. After a quick rifle through to assure himself that none of his money or other personal items had been taken, he slung the bag over his shoulder, reaching into his pocket to grab the cell phone his father had given him as he walked into the Port Authority. It would probably be a good idea to call the man, he figured. Let him know the bus didn't blow up or anything. Nodding to himself, he flipped the phone open, dialing in the relevant number and waiting as the dial tone sounded.
Come on, old man, pick up.
"Hello? Dad?" he asked when his father answered, more a rhetorical question than to make sure it was indeed Oleg. While he and his family spoke to most others in English, they always spoke to each other in Armenian, so that they would never forget their actual heritage. Or some other reason, Ari honestly had no idea, but that's how he always assumed it worked. When the man greeted him, Ari couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, it's me, dad. Just wanted you to know I got here safely. The bus didn't blow up or anything," he chuckled, letting his father get a word in. "Come on, admit it, you laughed. You and mum okay? That's good. Look, I'll call you back when I get to my apartment, okay? Yeah, love you too, dad. Bye."
This still feels weird...
Turning off the phone as he and his father hung up, ignoring the people bustling around the area even at this relatively early hour, he couldn't shake the feeling of something being wrong. He was nineteen years old now, and this was the first time he was more than several minutes' drive away from his family. Part of him still couldn't get rid of that idea that he needed to be with his family, protecting them. It wasn't that he couldn't make it on his own in the real world, but still...it didn't seem right, not being able to run to his father's or mother's aid if they needed him.
Dad's strong enough to take care of himself and mum. Everything that makes me great is because of them.
Sighing quietly to himself, he continued to walk through the building, lost in his own thoughts for once. He would have to do a lot of catching up, he really hoped everyone he knew was okay. Shit, what if they'd all died? He hadn't been there, they could easily have been killed. Ari was going to make a note to really raise some hell once he found out who was responsible for the bombings, when he thought he saw someone staring at him from the corner of his eye. They didn't look familiar, but he found himself spinning around to face them anyway.
"And just what the fuck do you want?" he found himself asking them, despite still not having any idea who they were. Some part of him found it funny how he was ready to smash someone's face in not three minutes after arriving back in San Francisco.
