It's Showtime
Roleplaying Log: It's Showtime
IC Details

The time has finally come for the inter-continental professional wrestling extravaganza! But things take a strange and dangerous turn…

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: September 20, 2019
IC Location: Madison Square Garden, Midtown Manhattan
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 01 Oct 2019 05:52
Rating & Warnings: PG
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

* * *

The time has finally come, and though the phrase is an utter cliche, the air is truly electric. Professional wrestling fans from all over the world have set aside time to visit America, land of the free and home of the brave, and watch firsthand nations collide as they vye to be crowned the dominant force in sports entertainment. The United Kingdom, Russia, Japan, and naturally, the United States, are all represented here by a single federation, chosen for its participants' raw athleticism, in-ring presence, fan appeal, or any combination of the three. But the elbow-to-elbow crowd gathered here in Madison Square Garden spans beyond those territories.

The sun is starting to set. It's almost time to get started. Those with press badges or VIP access are allowed backstage to meet with the talent, or more specifically, the promoter who put this all together himself - Mister Vance Delaney. Delaney is only too happy to keep the press enthralled with the sheer enormity of the event, special interest though it may be considered to those outside the fanbase.

Meanwhile, Katsumi Oshiro has separated herself from the small herd of her country's 'team'. She doesn't really get on well with them, anyway. Even in these moments where, by all rights, everyone should be beyond stoked. She's energetic - shockingly so, compared to how she's been feeling over the past couple days. And the doctor gave her a clean bill of health after her fainting spell in training. So she's trying to put that out of her mind and focus on the show. On her matches. She's already dressed for it, in her striking ensemble of blue and gold, pairing sporty sensibility with fashionable finesse in a two-piece; short shorts, boots, sportsbra-style top, and fingerless gloves. Of course, those familiar with the punkette would recognize something off about her; formerly dark green eyes are now a brilliant magenta hue. No flecks, no splotches, just a complete and vivid change in the color.

The girl comes to a halt, watching Delaney schmooze with the press up ahead. She brings a shoulder to prop against the corner of the wall, arms folding over her chest.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Daily planet…

Perry White had just finished screaming at just about every single reporter as he always does during his 'briefings', but he mainly just barked orders at Clark, not insult, probably since Clark is one of the best writers there. But, on the other hand, he's also been an on-again, off-again wrestling fan. He thinks its really fun, especially when the entire events get so hype that you can't hear yourself think.

So, Clark makes the journey down to Manhattan for the wrestling federation event. Thankfully, the label 'Daily Planet Reporter: Clark Kent' is enough string to manage to get a backstage pass. He questions several of the performers and jots down notes about if they're gonna win a championship or if a woman is going to beat her archnemesis of three years. You know, all that gossipy juice.

Eventually though, he finds Katsumi and he gives her a wave. "Hello! Miss Oshiro, Clark Kent. Do you perhaps have a moment to talk about the event tonight?" He has his notepad open and a pen at the ready. He seems absolutely ready to hear what she has to say.

* * *

Delaney is distracted! Kent makes a clean break! Whoosh!

Hearing her name, Katsumi seems to snap out of a reverie. She jumps slightly and whirls to face Clark, expressive eyes widened at first. Her head has to tip back somewhat to look at him, given the height difference, but nothing the Japanese girl hasn't been getting used to in America. Back home, she's considered tall. What gives?

"Oh, hells yeah," she replies in about as offhanded and colloquial a manner as any native speaker might. Were it not for just the faintest of coloring in her accent, she'd sound as American as apple pie. Blame overbearing parents and frequent bi-lingual promotions. Nevertheless, her off-the-cuff abrasiveness gets a self-conscious blink and she clears her throat softly. "I mean- sure! Clark Kent," she says, hitting the 'K's a little hard, "you're a press person? What would you like to know? Something about how 'roided up musclefreaks from Russia can't hope to keep up with my dynamic style?" An impish smile begins to tug at the corner of her lips. "About how these dandies from the U.K. are gonna burst into tears the moment they break a nail? Or are we talking about 'team America', and how they don't even /have/ a style?"

* * *

Clark looks at Katsumi when she seems to look surprised for a moment, but then she decides to strut her stuff. Yes, he's very tall and well-built, especially for someone who decided to be a reporter when he looks like he could be a football all-star or something of the sort. But he smiles at her excited nature, but then she turns serious and starts talking smack about members (implied) from the teams of other nations.

This was indeed a dream team kind of sport. It was certainly going to be something worth watchin'!

Clark smirks just for a little bit. "All of those are interesting points, but what do you consider about your own opponents tonight. You're scheduled to fight in a fatal-4 way match against a member from the other three nations who are participating in this intense event. What do you think about your opponents? The United Kingdom is offering a whopping eight time world champion, seems they're coming in with some confidence. Are you worried?"

* * *

"Worried!," squeaks Katsumi in faux-incredulity. "Erin's coming in with a huge bullseye on her head! She's gonna be the one everyone else is targeting to take down, because /they/ think she's the biggest threat. But Kent," she pokes an index finger at his chest, "you're talking to the two," poke, "time," poke, "women's," poke, "champion at the NLWF! Let's put aside the /enormous/ difference in skill between the kindergarten leagues you've got here and the real, world-class competition at the NLWF, and just say that the real threat's the one they're not paying attention to. The real threat's the one who's skilled, talented, /and/ brilliant."

She pauses to whisk a hand through her silky black hair. For a moment, she forgot there isn't a camera on them. This was definitely preening.

"You see Clark, m'boy-," she pauses to squint up at him. "Hey. Lean down a second." If he does, she'll attempt to throw an arm around his shoulders in a deliberately chummy fashion. "Y'see, there's a difference between coming in confident, and /earning/ that confidence. And these other chicks? They just aren't ready! Because Japan's about to drop a /bomb/ on oh my god no, edit that out."

Her hands are over her mouth, eyes wide at the clear blunder she was waltzing into.

* * *

Clark looks at Katsumi as she seems to be full of confidence. He's suddenly being poked in the chest repeatedly, and geez, maybe THIS guy should be a pro-wrestler! He's really well-built, not to say that the average person has virtually no chance at even moving him in a wrestling match. It'd be so boring! Squash match galore!

But Clark is then leaning down as she tells him to, and suddenly she hooks an arm around his neck, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He's interviewed chummy celebrities before.

But what makes him laugh? Is when she drops that literal bombshell, referencing pearl harbor, which makes Clark just chuckle and shake his head. He notices her cover her mouth and suddenly look super sincere and down to earth, like her villain persona is only a gimmick. But he pats her on the back and leans back up, showing her his notepad. "Edited out." He smiles at her.

* * *

Those bright magenta eyes flick to the notepad, then back up to Clark, hands still over her mouth. Finally, she lowers them with a 'hoo' of a breath. "Oh god, that was awful." A hand fans at her face, as if she suddenly needed air. "Could you imagine? I'm used to being hated, but like, come on, that's a bit much! I don't wanna get killed out here!" Despite it, there's a self-conscious smile playing on her face.

"Real talk? Off the record? I'd never say something that stupid. Jet-lag's been an absolute b-, uh, /nightmare/ this time." That's what she's landed on as an excuse for her bizarre and sporadic fatigue and fainting. It's all she can really come up with. "Ugh. Okay." Her hands raise again, this time to rub at her face as if to clean off the embarrassment physically. "Where do you wanna take it back to?"

When suddenly!

""Ho there! Talking to the talent, are we?," comes the energetic voice of a clean-cut, well-groomed man in a blazer. He flashes Clark a smile that practically tooth-pings in the light, along with a hand for a shake. "The name's Vance Delaney, creator and promoter of this little get-together; this 'national summit', you could say! Who might you be?"

* * *

Clark seems to chuckle just a little bit. "I totally undertsand it. I've had my own blunders over the years don' you know. I know how it goes." He whispers to her. Then there's real talk, and Clark seems to have no issue whatsoever about Katsumi going 'off-script', instead kinda standing in a observational and, more important, in a way that implies he really wants to hear what she has to say, not as a reporter, but as a person.

"Hey, its completely okay." he whispers to her. "This stuff is hard and you've come a really long way. So don't worry about it, okay? You got this." He clears his throat after a minute and he replies. "uhm, what do you think about the competition that America's going to be bringing? With as many promotions that the States have, they're surely to bring you intense competition from the women's division. Do you have faith in your fellow competitors from the Land of the Rising Sun?"

Then there's a suit.

"Hello there, Mr. Delaney. I'm Clark Kent of the Daily Planet." He offers a handshake to Delaney. "Honor to meet you, sir. You're running quite the operation here."

* * *

"Daily Planet! That's," fingersnap, fingersnap, "Metropolis. Right?," guesses Delaney, following the handshake. It's very curt and business-like, whereas his presented demeanor is purely friendly and upbeat. "Oh, you better believe it. I do all the talking, and these fine people do all the heavy lifting," he notes, gesturing aside Katsumi. "Will you be sticking around for the show? We could fit you in at the press box, or near the entrances. You just have to watch out for pyros. But we have crew who'll warn you about anything like that. We might need you to sign a waiver, though - just a small formality. A just-in-case! You understand." The smile never falters.

Katsumi clears her throat again, then fluffs back her hair. "I should put on some finishing touches. Catch me after the first match. Me against that Russian chick, Lillian. Give ya better stuff!"

"Oh, Oshiro," Delaney cuts in, "let Takegawa know we've moved the four-way into the second half. Wait, did you change your eyes? New contacts? Keeping it fresh! I like it!"

The girl blinks slowly, then looks to Clark, then Delaney, then Clark again. "I'm, uh. Gonna go."

* * *

"Yes sir, Metropolis." Clark seems to be very comfortable with members of high society or other important figures, like those who run entire events, perhaps? "Oh! Uh, sure I can probably stick around for at least a short time. I don't mind signing wavers or anything like that. Anything for the grand show, right?" Clark rolls with the conversation like the expert that he is.

Though Clark looks on over at Katsumi. "Sure, I think that'd be really neat. I can get your thoughts after the match. But then Delaney makes a comment that her match was scheduled later in the show. Usually they do that with important matches! That?s a compliment in Clark's book.

"See you soon, Katsumi. Really great to meet you!"

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro seems distracted now, distant. Her mind is elsewhere. A vague nod is her response, followed by a turn to amble away.

Delaney doesn't seem fussed by this. "Oh, you have to stay for the whole show! Let's get you situated." He turns to begin guiding Clark along, and tosses up a hand with a sharp whistle. "Press waiver!" And in a flash, an assistant has the form in his hand.

Time rolls on, and Clark Kent will have been ushered into a nice spot near one of the two entrances being used by tonight's stars. Though indeed there is a risk of catching some heat from pyros, he should be far enough away that they won't singe his outfit. On the plus side, he has an excellent view of the arena, if a bit further away from the ring than a die-hard fan would prefer. Still, the fact that they managed to squeeze him in at all is an impressive enough feat on its own.

The show plays out as expected. The setup is meant to be a 'tournament' style affair, eliminating competitors from either team, separated into gendered divisions. Each competitor is introduced with great gravitas, clear national heroes to their respective countries (or just treasured icons), and the rallying patriotism behind each side is palpable. Tensions are high in the best way possible.

As the sun nearly disappears over the horizon, it comes time for Katsumi's first appearance of the evening - a hint of a spoiler given, due to previous conversation. She's introduced as Katsumi Oshiro, the Punk Princess, with what some might recognize as remixed Streets of Rage music. The girl is confidence and sass, all rolled into a single, perky strut down the ramp and into the ring, hands out to acknowledge while at the same time paradoxically ignoring the fans at either side of the aisle. Her opponent, Lilliana, seems a fair match for her in terms of size. But she's a complete contrast to Katsumi in personality, being pleasant and sweet with the audience.

* * *

Clark is dragged to the press seating, or more specifically, the 'splash zone' of the seating. When the waver comes, he does sign it and almost immediately, he's extremely surprised by the amplitude of the event and the crowd response.

Every pin fall, every submission, every kick out at two at the last second brings an impossible amount of energy into the foray of the evening. It actually gives Clark some chills.

Then the scenery becomes magic. The sun goes down and Katsumi's music hits. Of course, she's popular in the states and so there is an astronomical cheer for the 'heel' of the match. Even Clark stands up to Clap and welcome the woman to the arena.

He then takes his seat. If Katsumi looks for him, he gives her a friendly wave if she notices. The crowds are already chanting the names of the competitors.

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro has done many shows, many special events - it's taken up the entirety of her adult life. What was supposed to be a career in the music industry took about the opposite turn. But hearing her name jeered and cheered, oddly simultaneously, is a sensation she can't imagine living without. This is her home turf. And from the moment boot had touched mat tonight, she couldn't have been more comfortable and in control.

The bell sounds off, and the two lock up. It's a quick exchange of standing jointlocks and reversals, with Katsumi demonstrating some clean and agile single-handspring rotations to counter a time or two. But they seem rather evenly matched - until the Punk Princess turns things into more of a brawl.

Strikes are exchanged with increasing severity and harshness, the sound of hand or boot slamming into body catching on microphones. These are stiff impacts. And soon, pin attempts are being made on either side.

Outside the arena, the sun has disappeared. Stars shine like pinpoints in a darkening purple sky.

Lilliana has Katsumi on the ropes, with the punkette barely breaking free at a two-count. She pulls her to her feet again, and whips her into the opposite ropes. The two run at each other - and Katsumi is a blur of motion, clearing the span of the ring in a flash. She pops into the air and thrusts her feet out, nailing Lilliana on the chest with a surprise dropkick. The Russian girl is unable to make more than a strangled croak from the hit as all breath is blown out of her. But more than that, her momentum is completely reversed. She's left her feet. Her back hits the ropes, stretching the cables and snapping them from their fastenings. She flies free of the ring, sailing several feet over the first several rows of audience, before crashing, /hard/, amidst chairs and confused cries.

Medics are already en route, trying to weave through the audience. Katsumi had landed on her back, but is immediately sitting up. The color is drained from her face, jaw hanging slack, and eyes wide as saucers. A panicked look is shot to the side, noting the cameras and spectators. Her mouth moves a little, as if trying to will something into effect… before suddenly getting back to her feet.

"Y- yeah! That's right!," she announces. A keen observer will note the severe uncertainty behind that otherwise cocky smile and voice.

* * *

The match is heated and people are LOVING it. Body slams, big boots, a cover, a lock up. But then it seems as though they are going to go for some kind of finish or a spot, and Clark seems to widen his eyes when they make contact, with the Russian competitor going OVER the ropes, and landing several rows in.

Oh no.

Clark is too far away and lacks any real medical knowledge aside from CPR…but heh as a feeling its going to take a lot more than CPR to fix what just happened. So, in response, Clark lookso ver at Katsumi as she tries to save some kind of face.

Is she a mutant? Metahuman? The terms are oftne jumbled in exchange for 'enhanced individual'. Clark doesn't look scared, buth e does look worried. He knows that was an accident. That she didnt' mean it. That this definitely was NOT part of the show.

* * *

And Clark has good instincts! Katsumi is giving the crew on the side that 'come rescue me' look. None of them seem to be doing so, until Vance himself is waving at the referee.

"Winner by injury! Katsumi! Ooooshirooo!"

Oh, that is one mixed reaction from the audience. The good news? Professional wrestling tends to be larger than life, so no one is immediately levying accusations. The bad news? Katsumi has no idea how that happened. She knows how strong she is. She knows what she's capable of. And that ain't it.

She makes her way up the ramp to take her exit, smirking to the audience as she moves along. The path brings her right along Clark, and though she's still smirking, the look behind her eyes is haunted and watery.

"Give us a moment while we repair the ring!," announces Delaney, trying to pull attention away from the girl being taken out on a stretcher.

And now, freshly backstage, Katsumi has found a corner to pace in. Her palms rest against her eyes, her head bowed, muttering a constant string of quiet, "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod."

* * *

Clark does have good instincts. X-Ray vision helps him with things like heart rate and he has basically memorized what a 'terrified individual' looks and sounds like. So, as soon as Katsumi is back behind the curtain, Clark is tempted to pop the shirt open and come back as the Man of Steel to kinda force things back into calm control. But now wasn't the time. So instead, he's going to go help support someone.

Clark goes behind the curtain with his handy dandy backstage pass when nobody was looking and he manages to find Katsumi after about five minutes of looking. "Katsumi?" he whispers towards her, giving her a little wave. His reporter tools were stashed away, so he's not here to get a scoop. "Are you okay?"

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro hears her name. Her hands lower, and her eyes widen in panic. "Nonono, no interviews!," she flounders. The last thing she wants is to give any comment on what just happened. She doesn't even know how to spin it. Or if she even can. Sure, she's hurt people before on accident, but never during a show, and never with that much force!

Vance rounds the corner at a power-walk, and immediately spots Clark with Katsumi. "No interviews!," he balks, rushing over to join them.

"Is she okay!?," is Katsumi's immediate question. Vance doesn't give much of a response, his hands raising in a flabbergasted shrug. She shrinks back into her huddled state, arms crossing her torso defensively. "I-I don't know what happened. I hit her so hard," Katsumi explains to neither in particular. Her voice begins to develop a quaver. "I just.. I don't.."

The thoughts of seriously injuring the other girl is bad on its own. But the potential ramifications can't be ignored. Forget having a chance to grow her fanbase, she could be out of a job. Or be charged with a crime!

"Kent," says Delaney, cutting in. "Just, you know, part of the show! I'm sure the other girl is fine. Very physical sport, you know? The important thing here is that everyone remains calm, right?" He offers a broad, hopeful smile. Yes, keep the press happy. Damage control, that's the name of the game.

* * *

Clark stands there for a moment, so he doesn't approach. The reinforcement from Vance Delaney seems to be ineffective on Clark, though he shakes hish ead. "Not here for an interview, sir. Here to help out a friend." He looks at Katsumi then, kneeling just a little bit so he's eye-to-eye with Katsumi. "Are you okay?" Because this is Clark speaking to her as a person, but if she doesn't want to answer, then thats on her.

But then he looks at Delaney. "I'm sure. You got some pretty heavy hitters here. Certainly kept everyone on edge and in line with the show." Clark says with a light smile, like what Katsumi did was totally normal. Though he trusts she's perceptive enough to know that he's just rolling with it.

Either way…Katsumi has a friend, and thats what someone needs right now. Clark's blue eyes fall back on Katsumi, a worried look on his face.

* * *

"Delaney!," rises a voice in the back. "Need you a second!"

Vance snap-points to Clark, "That's my cue. You're free to linger, you know, and if you need to talk to anyone, I'm your guy!" He thumbs towards himself with a persistent smile. He's satisfied that Clark seems to be playing ball, but he's absolutely still on damage control. He backpedals a few steps, then wheels around to hurry along.

Katsumi has retreated more into herself in the interim, but Clark had to go leaning in to attain eye-level with her. She's hesitant to look at him. But when her gaze finally lifts, there's an almost alien level of timidity behind them. "There's something wrong with me," she whispers. It's almost a plead, but for what, she couldn't even say. A random reporter wouldn't be able to tell her why she's been fainting, or having manic spikes in energy. Or why she was even physically capable of hitting someone that hard, or moving that fast. Or why, as she discovered just after first meeting Clark, her eyes are the wrong color.

* * *

Clark watches Delaney walk off towards someone who really needed him. God he hopes that girl isn't dead from the impact. But considering that people arn't currently screaming bloody murder or accusing Katsumi of anything currently, Clark is somewhat relieved. So, he looks at Katsumi as she claims something is horribly, horribly wrong with her.

Clark sees that look in her eyes. Its changed. He uses his X-Ray vision to try and see if her insides, like organs have changed. Is her skeletal structure normal (appearance-wise), things like that.

"There's nothing wrong with you. You just…might be one of the more special members of the world." he tries to tell her then, a look of hopeful encouragement on his tone.

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro is physiologically completely normal. Why, she isn't even resistant to X-ray vision! Her muscle fiber, her skeletal system, it's all intact and perfectly fine. Better than that, in fact - she's the very image of picture-perfect health. Granted, normal healthy humans tend to not have eyes this color. But that's it!

"I just-," Katsumi starts, aghast, then quickly lowers her volume to not be overheard. "I just kicked a girl /through/ ropes, into an audience! Ropes can take a lot of damage! And- and she was going the other way! And she flew!" The more she talks about it, the more dismayed she becomes.

Hands lift to run nervously through her hair, pulling the bangs back from her face. It takes her a couple seconds to register what he's saying, and her mind immediately lands on something that visibly horrifies her. Her eyes, tearing up, lift to Clark. "You think I-I'm a /mutant/?," she asks, voice tiny.

* * *

Clark looks at Katsumi as it seems to him that everything about her is normal. So then, there's nothing wrong with her and thats the end of it! So, either way, Clark isn't scared of her. Plus, he also punches SIGNIFICANTLY above Katsumi's weight class, so he's not intimidated by her either.

"I saw." Clark looks her in the eyes, not backing away at all unless she asks him too. But then she looks at him. "I don't know." He answers her honestly.

"But I can tell you that you are not a mistake and you are not a monster or a freak." Clark says with a kind smile. "You listening to me?" he asks her curiously.

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro fidgets uncertainly, but she's managing to keep the moisture in her eyes from spilling over. He says she's not a freak, or a mistake, or a monster. Any other day, that would've been unbelievably appreciated, and for completely different reasons. By most accounts, she considers herself each of those things, and with the track record to back it up. But there's something to be said for how unshakably literal the word 'monster' feels right now. And with the knowledge that the eyes she's showing him aren't the ones she was born with, it's difficult to be eased by it.

"Then what /am/ I?," she asks. Her frame has taken a slight tremble. "Wh-.. what do you call something that does.. /that/.. to someone?" 'Inhuman', her mind fills in.

"OSHIRO!," comes a commanding voice, considerably more accented than Katsumi's. A tall, stately Japanese man rushes over to their nook of the hallway, and he gives Clark a critical once-over, followed by a tight, tense smile. "Hello. I must take her away for a moment. We have an emergency meeting to attend."

Katsumi is frozen with dread. It's only when the man says, "/Now/, Oshiro," that she manages to take a hard swallow and inch forward. She looks back at Clark, that question still on the forefront of her mind.

* * *

Uh oh.

Clark seems to stand up a little taller when she asks him that. "Someone special." Clark smiles at her. "Look at me, no matter what happens, you're still just like everybody else. You want to know how many people have…expressed talents like that? A LOT."

But then he looks over at the commanding voice who seems to be absolutely trying to at least be nice to Clark. "Sure thing." He looks at Katsumi then. He has a feeling he knows whats coming next, but he's said his piece. He pats her on the back to encourage her. But then he gives the japanese man a look that says 'please be nice'.

* * *

The smile doesn't flinch. The eyes betray nothing. Not even a flicker of the gaze. This is one steely businessman. And this only makes sense, given he's Katsumi's boss. Who, unfortunately, may have to face the brunt of his wrestler's 'indiscretion'. But he nods politely to the taller Clark before all vestiges of friendliness vanishes from his face in an instant when his attention turns to Katsumi.

Katsumi attempts to shrink a little more into herself at the stare. She glances again to Clark, the uncertainty and fear clearly written on her face. There are a /lot/ of people like that? Why has she never met any? But she has no time to ask further questions. She takes the pat, then hangs her head and slinks on into the private meeting.

* * *

Clark watches Katsumi walk off towards her meeting. He crosses his arms after a moment and he clearly looks somewhat unhappy about it all. But he knows that since Registration hit, even sudden metahumans or mutants aren't exactly being treated fairly like human beings.

So, Clark stays where he is, apparently giving a little bit of a shrug before he starts to walk away. He does stop and pause near one of the doors though. His eyes shifting on over to Katsumi's path.

He hopes she'll be alright.

* * *

Super hearing might reveal a few details on how the meeting went, but if you want the Sparknotes version? Not well. Not only was Katsumi unable to explain how or why it happened, but the safety regulations were called into question by someone with a thick Russian accent. Then blame was levied on Katsumi herself for taking things too far. Threats of legal recourse, lawsuits, medical bills. At least the reports have come back that the girl is alive, if hospitalized. They're checking her out for the extent of damage done, but it's too early to tell.

The Russian was the first to leave the meeting. Then Delaney. The Japanese man scolded her about 'changing her appearance' without consulting him, and gave her strict orders to stay in her hotel room over the next day. No public appearances. First flight to Japan where they'll discuss her future. Then he left.

Katsumi lingered in the room to, as quietly as possible and with every expectation of privacy, sob.

The rest of the event played out without her. They declared she'd been disqualified due to unnecessary malice, and played it off as a part of the show. America won in the end.

Katsumi remained in the meeting room until it was over, not wanting to see or run into any fans. Or, Hell, new enemies. She's lingering, seated at the far end of the oval table. Her elbows rest atop the flat surface, her figure hunched forward, and her head rests in her palms. She's still wearing her attire. She's just listening, waiting for all sounds that everyone - or at least mostly everyone - has cleared out. But at least she's gotten herself under control. She's down to a periodic sniffle.

* * *

Super hearing is super grand!

Clark hears Katsumi's tears. Finally, that was it. He exits the stadium and goes into an alleyway where nobody could see him. He rips open his suit jacket, revealing the 'S' shield on his chest. From there, he takes to the skies like the beacon of hope that he is. Why?

Because this is clearly a job for Superman.

The Man of Steel lands in front of the arena, and honestly? Not even the guards are willing to stop him. Especially since he took a picture with one of the guards, who is currently making an attempt to look cool for his son. Guess who's about to be the coolest in the entire world.

But if there are businessmen still in the building, they will probably not want to even bother stopping Superman. But Katsumi could probably hear his footsteps as he then opens the door.

"Hey champ. Heard you're having a rough day."

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro was hoping to hear less noise from the halls outside. That'd mean it would be safe to slink out, tail tucked between legs, and await her doom back at the hotel room. But instead she's hearing an increase in murmurs and commotion. So the overall winner is probably back there meeting fans and stuff. Must be great, being the winning team. As if her boss would ever let her anywhere near a main event again after tonight. Or ever in the ring again. How could he trust her not to hurt the next person when she herself has no idea how it even happened?

The doorknob!

Katsumi's head lifts, immediately apprehensive.

In walks Superman.

She doesn't know a lot of superheroes in Japan. That's something the west has more stock and trade in. But Superman is a worldwide phenomenon. A purveyor of justice. Protector of the planet. And he's here. And she just put an innocent girl in the hospital. Nevermind his calm tone, she is so effing screwed right now.

Her heart plummets into her feet, and she stands with such jerky force that her chair is tossed back several feet. She's immediately back away from him into a corner, her hands raised defensively, horrified at the idea of being apprehended by an actual damn superhero. "I-I-I didn't mean to! I didn't!," she pleads, her voice cracking. Her shoulders bump into the corner, but her feet continue to scoot at the ground, as if to somehow dig herself protectively into the bricks. "I know people hate me, but I didn't do this on purpose!"

* * *

Superman is followed by that glorious red cape. But sure, he might look scary. But he's really the nicest guy in the world. He just LOOKS like he's well built enough to bench press this building as a warmup. Either way, he pulls along a chair, looking very relaxed as he does so, and he takes a seat right next to Katsumi. He smiles at her while she basically has a panic attack.


He waits until she looks at him.

"Take a deep breath." He demonstrates by taking a big breath in, then letting a big breath out. In, then out. In…then out.

"You're not in trouble with me, Katsumi. As far as I'm concerned, you're a metahuman whose abilities simply awoke at an unfortunate time. Now, talk to me. Vent, if you like."

* * *

Her eyes are already threatening to spill over again, if from nothing but sheer frustration and panic. A superhero! To take her down! Normally she might be flattered, but tonight, she's an emotional wreck. It feels like so much overkill when a strongly-worded reprimand would probably make her roll over. But this isn't what he's offering. Instead, he's just telling her to breathe. And saying her name.

Crap, Superman knows her by name. Nevermind that she isn't an unknown random civilian, there are /levels/ to fame. Being recognized by a global superpower is flooring.

Her mouth opens, and she makes an awkward, wordless protest. But, at a loss, she simply does as she's told. One shakey inhale. One shakey exhale.

"What's a metahuman?," she finally asks, her tone tentative. As if the information itself might be damaging. But while she's fluent in English, her lexicon isn't perfect. 'Meta' for her comes with a very different context - specifically, gaming. People can't be meta, right? People don't have stats, or rotations, or classes.

* * *

Superman doesn't seem to mind. He knows who he is and so does literally everybody else on the planet unless they've been living under a heavy, HEAVY rock for the majority of their lives. He looks calm though. When she finally does as he asks and asks her question, Superman gives a light nod of his head.

"Well, a metahuman is someone who is genetically capable of developing superhuman abilities. Usually, these genes are activated in some form or another, or at a specific time in life. It can't really be planned, I'm afraid, so it can happen at any time and the results can sometimes be drastic." Like how Katsumi sparta-kicked her opponent into the next millenium.

"What I'm saying is, I think you've awakened some abilities. I know its all very scary."

* * *

"Um…" Katsumi finally begins to pull herself out of the corner, her arms wrapping defensively around herself. "..yeah. Okay. So.. 'metahuman' is just like a person with powers." The thing she's clinging onto there is that metahuman doesn't mean mutant. At least not necessarily. She isn't sure she could handle being a mutant right now.

She takes a few more steps forward, moving around the table. She still has a healthy level of respectful fear towards Superman, and there isn't much she can do in her current state to hide that.

"You're saying I'm a.. I have.. super powers? That my genes are, uh, not human? Like I'm an alien?"

She pauses to slowly pull out a chair a few seats down from him. The sound of the legs scraping along the floor is somehow amplified in this moment of hyper-sensitivity. But she forces herself to take a seat.

"What.. uh.. w-what happens to me now?"

* * *

Superman looks over at Katsumi with a calm look on his face. "Correct. Not a mutant."

Superman feels for some reason that that distinction is extremely important to her. "Nor is your condition something to be feared. Instead, it should be embraced. Take it from somebody who knows." He presses his hand against the shield on his chest.

"Indeed. But not an alien. You're entirely human, far as anyone knows." Superman clarifies for her, but then she seems to force herself into a seat as she asks the important question.

"Currently nothing. Your status in the industry is something to talk to your bosses about. Honestly, I'd also suggest maybe practicing in your downtime so you don't accidentally break something else. But, I just would like you to know that you are not alone."

* * *

"But what about the government? I just did that on national t.v.," Katsumi says, starting to get better control of her voice. It's been this long, and Superman hasn't done something awful to her, so she's okay. Right? Surely. "And I /am/ alone," she points out. "They're taking me back to Japan the day after tomorrow. It's, um.. I don't know what they'll do to me. I don't know what they'll do to me here, either."

She glances down at the table and scratches her cheek.

"Self-control's something anyone in this line of work has to learn. This.. just.. means re-learning it. I can do that. I can't go around hurting people like that."

* * *

Superman nods just a little bit. It was an accurate concern.

"You can always just refuse to leave. You can stay, work for one of the American wrestling shows. I'm sure they'd still consider you a major draw." Superman tries to console her. "As for the government…the people are fighting back against registration. Worst case scenario, you'd probably have to sign, which means people would know that you have abilities.

It was clear that superman didn't like even so much as the idea of registration.

"But if you're certain about learning on your own, then I certainly won't try and hold you back from that."

* * *

Oh, he hit something. Something that makes Katsumi perk noticeably.

"E-even after this? You think they'd have me? After I did something like this?"

Her mind races. If she had to do this 'registration' thing, if she's understanding it correctly, there could be serious complications when it comes to her having to take a loss. She just kicked a girl into the hospital. If the world knows she has 'superpowers', who would even buy her losing to someone without them? Holy crap, she has superpowers.

Katsumi takes a moment to run her palms over her face. When they lower again, she focuses on him. "I don't know what I want," she answers to the last part. It's a lie. She doesn't want to be alone. She /hates/ being alone. But that's how it's always been, and for good reason. She runs everyone off. So it's best to establish a sort of defensive bubble early and not deal with the eventual rejection. "I just- I don't know what's going on. And-.." She doesn't know how to complete that thought. She doesn't know how to handle what's happening to her. The thought of facing it alone is, as he mentioned before, scary. She doesn't know what she is, or what she's even capable of.

* * *

Superman nods lightly. "I do. Especially if you manage to control your strength output so you're not sending people sailing. The company you work for will most likely try and sell that it was all part of the show and just a special effects malfunction." He shrugs ever so softly with a kind smile on his face.

"I have a feeling that you do." Superman can tell a lie pretty easily, and her poker face isn't all that great. Now, someone like Batman? Superman can never tell.

Either way, he turns his head to the side and he stands up to his feet. "I enjoyed our conversation, Katsumi. I really hope that you use wisdom with your choices. And remember, always stick up for what you think is right. Duty calls." and with that, Superman is making his way out of the meeting room, where a 'VOOSH' is heard, like he just took off in flight in the classic 'up, up, and away.'

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro can only give a dazed nod in the timeframe she has. She isn't really sure what to make of this. She doesn't want to be alone, but she is. So what can she do? Where can she go? She can refuse to go home, but won't the American government take a beef with that?

At least gat'dang Superman thinks she can still have a wrestling career. That, by itself, does her heart a tremendous amount of good. Maybe she can hide her powers. She has no idea how she'll explain what's happened to her boss, but that's a bridge for tomorrow. Tonight, she needs to go back to the hotel and have a good, proper freaking-the-Hell-out.

She'll just hide in here for a little longer and let more people clear out.

She talked to Superman. Holy crap.

And somewhere in California, a cargo freighter has docked. Amidst the unloading process, an excessively woolly calico cat darts down the boarding ramp and into the city.

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