Ringo Noyamano (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
soniaroadsqueen) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2015-12-18 09:11 pm
soniaroadsqueen) wrote in fandomtownies2015-12-18 09:11 pm
Entry tags:
Around Town, Early Friday Evening
Ringo wasn't used to not sleeping well, but this morning she'd woken up pretty out of sorts. By the time she was done with class for the day, she was feeling uncharacteristically introspective enough that it was actively uncomfortable.
Fortunately, Ringo knew a sure-fire way to shake off any bad mood. So she'd been out riding the town for hours, running rooftop to rooftop. It was cold, but she barely noticed as she pushed herself to move faster and faster, making longer jumps and more precise landings so that her mind was laser-focused on the ride and there was no room to think about the memories stirred by her dreams.
Then, suddenly, Ringo skidded to a stop.
The girl in front of her couldn't be there. No one from back home had ever visited the island as far as Ringo knew, least of all her. Tall, long-legged, curvaceous, with pink hair hanging down past her hips, there was no mistaking Simca. Except that Simca hadn't worn her hair long like that for over a year. Not since--
Ringo shivered, afraid to look back over her shoulder, but her body seemed to turn of its own accord. And she saw what she'd know she would: herself.
Anyone who knew Ringo would know that something was off. It wasn't the fact that this other Ringo's hair was down, or that she wasn't wearing glasses. Those were superficial. No, there was something else. The way she stood. The expression on her face. The way that smile didn't reach her eyes.
Ringo, the real Ringo, wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't. She couldn't even seem to move. She just stood there, watching, as history repeated itself.
"Crazy Apple decided to come out here herself? I feel so honored." No one could mistake Simca's tone or smirk as honored, but the other Ringo didn't look concerned at all, and her failure to rise to Simca's bait maid the pink-haired girl frown slightly. "Fine," she sighed. "What business does Sleeping Forest have with me?"
"I'd like you to disband Genesis," the other Ringo answered, voice cold, with a slightly mocking edge to it. "And I'd like you to stop interfering with Ikki."
Simca stared, then laughed. "What? Jealous?"
Ringo shook her head. "Your interference is escalating everything, making it more dangerous. You, he, or both of you together are going to end up seriously hurt, or dead." Simca started to speak, but was interrupted by a raised hand. "I know you don't care. And I know you won't stop just because I ask." Purple eyes hardened, losing even the hint of softness that they'd held. "If you do not back down voluntarily, I will make sure that you have no choice."
"Is that a threat?" The pink-haired girl grinned. "I'm not afraid of you, you know."
"You're lying," Ringo said flatly. "But, yes, it is a threat. And you don't have to be afraid, you just have to do what I tell you."
"Pfft, as if." Simca stuck out her tongue. "If you think you're all that, then bring it, short-stuff. I'll stomp you and then go back to having Ikki dancing to my tune." Her smirk widened. "Just wait. He'll ascend to his rightful place and take over Genesis yet."
A slow shrug the answer Simca got. "If that is your choice, then so be it." Ringo's flat eyes gained a bit of light, a sharp, hungry one. She rose on her toes, and her ATs whined, rear wheels spinning in place with no traction. Then, without warning, her right foot snapped out in a kick. The two girls were far enough apart that there's no way the kick could land, but a long whip extended out of the heel of her AT and snapped around Simca's ankle. A quick spin was enough to yank the other girl's foot out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground.
Simca scrambled, getting her hands under her and then kicking herself upward, back to her feet, only to have another whip sweep across the backs of her knees, shredding her pants and sending her to the ground again. Each time Simca pushed herself to her feet, Ringo took a step forward and sent her back down. Each strike tearing at Simca's clothes, then at her flesh, leaving welts and cuts wherever they landed.
The blows came faster and faster, until the pink-haired girl was barely pushing herself up from the ground before getting knocked down again. Until she couldn't muster the energy to push herself up at all.
But the blows kept coming. Now that Ringo was on top of Simca, the whips stopped. After all, you could land far heavier blows by simply stomping on someone.
Ringo, the real one, tried to move, tried to scream, but could only stand and watch wide-eyed as the other version of herself lifted a foot above her head and brought the hard edge of her heel down on Simca's unprotected shin. The cracking sound of breaking bone was a hard one to forget. Especially when you heard it over, and over, and over. Simca bravely gritted her teeth through the first two or three blows, but by the fifth she was crying and screaming.
Eventually the other Ringo stopped, staring down at Simca for a long moment, eyes pitiless. She didn't say anything, simply nodded in satisfaction and turned, gliding away, leaving a broken girl lying in a pool of her own blood. It would take seven rounds of surgery and six months of physical therapy before Simca would be able to put any weight on either leg. Longer before she'd walk again.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the vision, or whatever it was, disappeared, and Ringo came back to herself. Tears burned trails down her cheeks, and she glanced down to find her hands clenched into fists. She had to concentrate to uncurl her fingers, a tiny trickle of blood running across each palm from where her nails had dug into the flesh.
Her breathing was coming fast and panicked, pupils wide and unseeing. She stumbled backward, a couple of awkward steps just barely managing to keep her feet under her.
But each time she shifted her weight, the unforgettable feeling of bone breaking beneath her feet shuddered through her body. Ringo's legs froze at the remembered horror and she fell to the ground. Her hands scrambled, pulling the ATs from her feet and throwing them as far from herself as she could manage. Then, hugging herself tightly, she stumbled back toward the dorms.
By the time she got back to her room, her socks were totally shredded, and she was shivering uncontrollably. She wasn't sure she wanted to sleep because she was afraid of the potential dreams, but she wasn't sure she could stay awake with those memories bouncing around her head, either.
[ooc: Warning for literally gratuitous violence perpetrated against a defenseless person. Open if anyone wants to catch Ringo on her way back to her room.]
Fortunately, Ringo knew a sure-fire way to shake off any bad mood. So she'd been out riding the town for hours, running rooftop to rooftop. It was cold, but she barely noticed as she pushed herself to move faster and faster, making longer jumps and more precise landings so that her mind was laser-focused on the ride and there was no room to think about the memories stirred by her dreams.
Then, suddenly, Ringo skidded to a stop.
The girl in front of her couldn't be there. No one from back home had ever visited the island as far as Ringo knew, least of all her. Tall, long-legged, curvaceous, with pink hair hanging down past her hips, there was no mistaking Simca. Except that Simca hadn't worn her hair long like that for over a year. Not since--
Ringo shivered, afraid to look back over her shoulder, but her body seemed to turn of its own accord. And she saw what she'd know she would: herself.
Anyone who knew Ringo would know that something was off. It wasn't the fact that this other Ringo's hair was down, or that she wasn't wearing glasses. Those were superficial. No, there was something else. The way she stood. The expression on her face. The way that smile didn't reach her eyes.
Ringo, the real Ringo, wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't. She couldn't even seem to move. She just stood there, watching, as history repeated itself.
"Crazy Apple decided to come out here herself? I feel so honored." No one could mistake Simca's tone or smirk as honored, but the other Ringo didn't look concerned at all, and her failure to rise to Simca's bait maid the pink-haired girl frown slightly. "Fine," she sighed. "What business does Sleeping Forest have with me?"
"I'd like you to disband Genesis," the other Ringo answered, voice cold, with a slightly mocking edge to it. "And I'd like you to stop interfering with Ikki."
Simca stared, then laughed. "What? Jealous?"
Ringo shook her head. "Your interference is escalating everything, making it more dangerous. You, he, or both of you together are going to end up seriously hurt, or dead." Simca started to speak, but was interrupted by a raised hand. "I know you don't care. And I know you won't stop just because I ask." Purple eyes hardened, losing even the hint of softness that they'd held. "If you do not back down voluntarily, I will make sure that you have no choice."
"Is that a threat?" The pink-haired girl grinned. "I'm not afraid of you, you know."
"You're lying," Ringo said flatly. "But, yes, it is a threat. And you don't have to be afraid, you just have to do what I tell you."
"Pfft, as if." Simca stuck out her tongue. "If you think you're all that, then bring it, short-stuff. I'll stomp you and then go back to having Ikki dancing to my tune." Her smirk widened. "Just wait. He'll ascend to his rightful place and take over Genesis yet."
A slow shrug the answer Simca got. "If that is your choice, then so be it." Ringo's flat eyes gained a bit of light, a sharp, hungry one. She rose on her toes, and her ATs whined, rear wheels spinning in place with no traction. Then, without warning, her right foot snapped out in a kick. The two girls were far enough apart that there's no way the kick could land, but a long whip extended out of the heel of her AT and snapped around Simca's ankle. A quick spin was enough to yank the other girl's foot out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground.
Simca scrambled, getting her hands under her and then kicking herself upward, back to her feet, only to have another whip sweep across the backs of her knees, shredding her pants and sending her to the ground again. Each time Simca pushed herself to her feet, Ringo took a step forward and sent her back down. Each strike tearing at Simca's clothes, then at her flesh, leaving welts and cuts wherever they landed.
The blows came faster and faster, until the pink-haired girl was barely pushing herself up from the ground before getting knocked down again. Until she couldn't muster the energy to push herself up at all.
But the blows kept coming. Now that Ringo was on top of Simca, the whips stopped. After all, you could land far heavier blows by simply stomping on someone.
Ringo, the real one, tried to move, tried to scream, but could only stand and watch wide-eyed as the other version of herself lifted a foot above her head and brought the hard edge of her heel down on Simca's unprotected shin. The cracking sound of breaking bone was a hard one to forget. Especially when you heard it over, and over, and over. Simca bravely gritted her teeth through the first two or three blows, but by the fifth she was crying and screaming.
Eventually the other Ringo stopped, staring down at Simca for a long moment, eyes pitiless. She didn't say anything, simply nodded in satisfaction and turned, gliding away, leaving a broken girl lying in a pool of her own blood. It would take seven rounds of surgery and six months of physical therapy before Simca would be able to put any weight on either leg. Longer before she'd walk again.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the vision, or whatever it was, disappeared, and Ringo came back to herself. Tears burned trails down her cheeks, and she glanced down to find her hands clenched into fists. She had to concentrate to uncurl her fingers, a tiny trickle of blood running across each palm from where her nails had dug into the flesh.
Her breathing was coming fast and panicked, pupils wide and unseeing. She stumbled backward, a couple of awkward steps just barely managing to keep her feet under her.
But each time she shifted her weight, the unforgettable feeling of bone breaking beneath her feet shuddered through her body. Ringo's legs froze at the remembered horror and she fell to the ground. Her hands scrambled, pulling the ATs from her feet and throwing them as far from herself as she could manage. Then, hugging herself tightly, she stumbled back toward the dorms.
By the time she got back to her room, her socks were totally shredded, and she was shivering uncontrollably. She wasn't sure she wanted to sleep because she was afraid of the potential dreams, but she wasn't sure she could stay awake with those memories bouncing around her head, either.
[ooc: Warning for literally gratuitous violence perpetrated against a defenseless person. Open if anyone wants to catch Ringo on her way back to her room.]