maskormenacelogs | What did the tennis ball say when it got hit?

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What did the tennis ball say when it got hit?

WHO: Light Yagami and Yuri Petrov
WHERE: Tennis court(s) within the public park
WHEN: August 14...ish.
WHAT: Tennis injuries are the worst.
WARNINGS: None, will add if needed.

[By now it's no secret that Light enjoys spending time at the tennis court; he's made it something of a habit to play whenever he finds himself burdened with idle time, and today is no exception to that rule. It's later in the afternoon -- the sun isn't beating down on him with quite the same amount of intensity -- and the teen has currently pitted himself against a friendly match with a tennis ball machine.

The tennis ball machine.

There is, naturally, more than one. But as Light found out shortly after he began to visit this particular court, one proved a bit more erratic than the others. (He would sometimes muse to himself that it had a personality of its own.) There were moments when it would fire relentlessly, as if thinking it were a gatling gun instead than a device with a rather simple purpose; other times, he'd have to wait a full minute before it decided to half-heartedly spit out a tennis ball.

But he enjoyed the inconsistency. There was something much more gratifying about playing against a malfunctioning machine, sporadic and unpredictable, than a "working" one. It was a challenge, required more skill. (Gave him a better opportunity to show off.)

And he's doing quite well, for now. The telltale thwack of his racquet making contact with its target is loud and satisfying, and at the moment Light is having no trouble at all keeping up the pace. It's enough to give himself the confidence to push himself harder, perhaps more so than he would normally.]

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[To look at him, one might not immediately gauge that Yuri is a man who enjoys sports on any level, but he does. With particular leanings towards athletics that challenge one in the areas of agility, speed, dexterity, and marksmanship, it is no wonder that he often takes time out of his busy work schedule to frequent the park tennis courts and watch the local players engage each other in one-on-one matches or practice exchanges with the ball machines.

Today, it is pure coincidence that Yuri finds himself at the courts at the same time as Light Yagami, though he does not mean to let the opportunity to observe the young man go to waste. After all, while only a teenager, Light has proven himself to be an intelligent and ardent individual, two formidable characteristics which Yuri knows better than to underestimate when they have been combined, and when the one possessing them has made it a point to want to arrest his alter-ego.

From behind the boundary, the former judge can be seen making a few notes in a notebook that rests atop an attache case in his lap, occasionally glancing in Light's direction. Really, the teen is a very skilled player. Would that he could allow himself to challenge the young man to a friendly game, but to do so would illuminate physical abilities of his own that he would be much better off not drawing attention to.

Better to remain quiet and inconspicuous for now...or that is what he thinks, but his phone rings but a moment later, the shrill sound echoing from the sidelines and drawing more than a few stares from a group of young girls that have gathered to watch Light.

So much for quiet...]

[Light's concentration isn't easily shaken, but the shrill noise of a phone ringing, ringing, ringing is enough for him to turn his head ever so slightly in the direction the sound originates from. It's a sidelong, curious sort of glance at best, the kind that had no intention of immediately dwelling on the owner of said phone. That slight moment of hesitation is all it takes.

The machine shoots out another tennis ball, mercilessly and with dangerous velocity, the exact moment Light's attention is elsewhere. He hears it, and inwardly the boy curses. Twisting his body, his arm lashes out to hit the ball with his racquet, but he misses-

-and it hits him square on the head.

He curses outwardly this time, in Japanese, though the translating tech within every imPort's mental uplink would make it easy to discern what he's said. To say that Light was "seeing stars" would be accurate, if not slightly exaggerated, as the force of the hit not only hurts, but is momentarily disorienting. Irritation flares up in him, hand-in-hand with a now pounding head, as he staggers back and places his free hand over the offending area. That's going to leave a bruise.

The Evil Tennis Ball Machine fires off one more at Light, as if indulging itself in one final hurrah; ironically, unprepared and annoyed and one hand still on his head, Light swats it away with his racquet quite easily, the same way one would swat at an irritating fly. It flies away at a skewed angle, landing out of bounds. The machine leaves him alone after that, but whether because it's out of ammunition or it's simply decided that it's done enough damage is up for debate.

The girls who were watching, some who had muttered amongst themselves, a few even giggling, decide to leave not long after the spectacle. The teen doesn't appear to care or notice.]

Damn it.

[He needs an ice pack.]

[By the time Yuri finishes making a note and answers the ringing phone, it is too late. Light is struck, his expletive filling the dead silence left by the ball machine until one last ball is fired, and then chased away with an irritating slap. The group of young women giggle to themselves before moving on, but Yuri is not so eager to take his leave. He arranges to call back his work a little later before hanging up the cell phone and tucking it into his attache along with his notebook. But before closing the case, he pulls from within a stainless steel water bottle.

A few moments later he takes his belongings with him and leaves his seat, heading for the fenced gate leading onto the tennis courts. It is unlocked, easily opened, and he enters without so much as a word, approaching Light Yagami. Now and then he spares glances in the direction of the unpredictable ball machine. He is familiar with sports equipment of all types and sizes, and all working orders. Oftentimes, he saw to their repairs back home for the sake of the Heroes and their training. Such experience may prove unexpectedly useful today, he thinks.]

I am afraid I haven't anything else to offer...but the bottle is cold. It should help a little with the swelling.

[He comes to a stop a few feet from the teen, the bottle in question held out between them. An invitation for Light to close the distance. Polite and unassuming.]

It is the least I can do. I fear my call broke your concentration. You have my apologies.

[Light hears the faint squeak of hinges moving, the gate having been swung open, followed by steady footfalls. He turns his attention to the sound and spots a man he doesn't recognize, short of when he noticed Yuri to be the owner of the phone that distracted him, only moments before.

Immediately, Light straightens. Knees locked, shoulders back, his hand dropping to his side. While he isn't one prone to putting up faux brave faces (though he certainly could, should the occasion call for it), he doesn't like the idea of someone's first impression of him being hunched over, hand over his face, grumbling in annoyance. The place where he was struck -- just above his left temple -- is red and aches, now visible; it would almost be a comical sight, the way he immediately transitions from pained and annoyed to completely normal, unaffected. A natural sort of talent on his part.

He considers the man's offer, and a part of him doesn't wish to be an inconvenience. The other part, however, tells him that it might be rude to turn down such a kindness.]

I... [He begins, then pauses.] Thank you.

[He closes the few feet of distance between them, stepping forward to take the bottle with his free hand. The stainless steel feels cool against the palm of his hand, and even more so against his face when he presses it against his injury.]

And you really don't need to apologize. In the end, the only culprit was my lack of concentration. [However fleeting the moment was.] Sorry for the spectacle. [A small glance down at the case that Yuri is carrying in one hand.] I'm interrupting your work.

The only culprit? I do not think so.

[A sidelong glance is given the ball machine, Yuri's pale green eyes showing unabashed disapproval.

While he takes no real pleasure in the maintenance aspects of his job, he nevertheless takes pride in all areas of his work. The idea that anyone would allow a defective machine to continue being used by the general public (where players and spectators alike could be harmed) is abhorrent. Had Light chosen to use the machine knowing it was defective? Yuri is inclined to say yes, if only because the teen demonstrated a surplus of youthful arrogance during their first encounter. How easily such a thing can bleed into sports, which allows for a more effective channeling of one's aggression than a one-sided argument could ever hope to.]

I could not help noticing the irregularity with which your machine was firing. [He turns his attention back to Yagami.] It appeared to be malfunctioning. However, if it is properly seen to, I am certain accidents such as this can be avoided in the future. Speaking of which, it may be best if you sit down for a moment and rest. On average, players of your caliber adjust their machines to launch tennis balls at speeds of 80 miles per hour.

[He gestures to the stand where he'd been sitting before, but lets his hand fall a moment later, eyes following Light's gaze to his attache. Yuri allows himself to look minutely surprised before he shakes his head no, expression softening.]

It is nothing to worry about, I assure you. Besides, I was just finishing up.

[Light nods, having followed Yuri's gaze to the machine. For now, it sits idle and unassuming.]

That one is prone to malfunctioning -- it's not the first time I've noticed as much. I've mentioned it to those who supposedly oversee the maintenance of the courts, but I guess they haven't gotten around to fixing it yet.

[And yet that doesn't explain why Light continues to use that particular machine; though it can be implied -- and rightly so -- that it simply had presented more of a challenge, a more effective way to quell his restlessness, regardless of its dubiousness.

At the mention of 80 miles per hour, Light almost raises a brow; did this man know much about tennis, or perhaps rather about tennis equipment? But it's a passing thought, not worthy of noting in his mind for now; he has no real reason to be surprised by it.]

Yes, I know. Maybe more or maybe less, given how unpredictable that machine can be. But you're right; I think I will sit for now.

[With a polite nod, he begins to walk to the stand that Yuri had indicated to him. He'll sit, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and the bottle still pressed against his head. At least it's regressing slowly from a throbbing pain to a dull ache.]

That does not surprise me. [He sighs.] Too few people in the service of others take their jobs seriously enough.

[After they arrive at the sideline bench, Yuri takes a seat next to, but not too close to, Light. He places his attache in between them, and in doing so, takes a moment to visually assess the injury that the younger man incurred. The coolness of the bottle offered is helping some, he is pleased to note, but there is still a visible bruise forming.]

I am inclined to say more given the size of the welt on your temple.

[Personal feelings set aside, he decides to keep an eye on Light for any early indicators of a concussion. After all, the teen has not yet made an obstacle of himself, and Yuri has no reason to bear him any ill will in their present circumstances.]

Ah...where are my manners? I have not introduced myself. [He extends his hand.] Yuri Petrov, Registered Heroics advertising manager. It would not be impossible for me to have the ball machine's repair taken care of personally.

[At the introduction, a snippet of a recent conversation with Edgeworth replays in Light's mind, word for word:

"He's from Mr. Kaburagi's world. And there are only four people from his world present."

"Being whom?"

"Mr. Kaburagi, Mr. Brooks, Judge Petrov, and a man named Ryan Goldsmith."

Was this the same Judge Petrov, perhaps, or someone who happens to carry the same surname? Unlikely that it would be the latter, given the limited number of imPorts present at any given time. He could always clarify this with Edgeworth later.

But for now, not a moment of hesitation passes through Light, not through his expression nor his body language. It's with a fluid ease that he temporarily sets the bottle down and reaches over to shake Yuri's hand.]

It's nice to meet you, Mr. Petrov. My name is Light Yagami. [His expression is polite, red welt and all, shoving aside any inclination to show pain.] I take it with a title like that, you must be an imPort like myself?

[The teen's hand is cool from the bottle, a contrast to Yuri's own, warmed by the heat of Florida's blazing sun. Of course, Yuri keeps contact only briefly, not wanting the introduction to come across as unnatural or even uncomfortable, and he withdraws his hand a moment later to allow Light to resume nursing his injury.]

Yes, that is correct.

[He folds his hands atop his lap, fingers laced together, legs crossed.]

Admittedly, I have not been here for very long. There is still so much to learn, but with my work I am at least familiar. While on the topic...do you mind my asking how you are feeling? The maintenance of training equipment is not my only responsibility here, nor was it back home. Seeing to the needs of the registered is something I have been tasked with...though I prefer to extend my services to imPorts as a whole.

[When Yuri retracts his hand, Light grabs the bottle once more and places it against the bruised area of his face. While Yuri speaks, he listens, but also indulges himself in a considering glance, taking in both his expression and demeanor. He seems like a very professional sort of man. Calm, collected, rational. Possesses an interesting taste in ties.

It's all a very brief, cursory sort of look, however; when he's asked a question, his full focus returns to the conversation at hand.]

Other than my throbbing head? I believe I'll be fine. If you're worried that I have a concussion, I don't think that's the case; currently, I don't feel dizzy or confused, and my vision is just fine.

[He gives the man a slightly lopsided smile, as if to illustrate this fact.]

But really, I do appreciate your concern. It's probably all for the best that this happened, else I wouldn't be aware of an imPort among us with such an important task assigned to them. If you don't mind me asking, what was it you did at home?

Am I so transparent? [Yuri chuckles.] No, more importantly, I am pleased to hear you are feeling alright otherwise. You do not look nauseated or tired, either...apart from what is natural given your rigorous playing a few minutes ago.

[Some resiliency, there. It is impressive, but can it save Light from fire? With any luck Yuri will never need to find out the answer to that question, but it is a fact he will nevertheless store away for a time when its consideration becomes necessary.

Sweeping a lock of hair away from his face, Yuri turns his gaze upon the courts, though he is no less focused on Light or the youth's question. Though it takes but a heartbeat to decide, he considers carefully his current predicament: whether or not to tell Light he was a judge in Sternbild. If the young man knows already (and there is a very real possibility of that given his association with Edgeworth, who insists on referring to him by his title) then neglecting to inform Light would be suspicious. However, admitting he was a judge is also liable to cast some suspicion upon him if the teen isn't already aware of the fact. It is lose/lose, though one option is not as bad as the other...]

I believe there are other ways in which you could have been made aware...several of which would not have resulted in your injury. But perhaps that is a sign I must be more thorough in my field in the future. [His brows furrow and he looks apologetically at Light.] This could have all been avoided if I had perhaps made some kind of announcement as opposed to focusing my attention primarily on the swearing-in ceremonies.

Ah...but I digress. Your question...I am a curator for Heroes back home as well as a judge for the Justice Bureau.

[He has always believed it is better to hide in plain sight.]

[A judge, then. That confirms what Light had initially thought, that this man is the same that Edgeworth had mentioned, in the list of people who hail from Kaburagi's world. It's not a victory, not really -- it doesn't tell him much more than that.]

Some thing are unavoidable. Unexpected phone calls are universally unavoidable, I would say, so don't blame yourself for this.

[He returns his gaze to the courts as well. The machine that had been quiet up until this point fires off another ball, which flies through the air hits the chain-link fence surrounding the area. It rattles harmlessly, and it takes all of Light's self-control to not roll his eyes at the sight.

He keeps his attention on Yuri's words, responding when he's finished explaining.]

Justice Bureau? [Curator for Heroes? The former seems like something a judge would be suited for (though he isn't sure what it completely entails), but the latter a title that he has no context for, with the exception of his experience with "heroes" here.] Do you have superheroes where you're from?

If you say so, Mr. Yagami.

[Respectfully, Yuri inclines his head, clearly in no hurry to argue over whether or not he is to blame for Light's injury. In truth, he does not think he is, but the polite thing was to nevertheless apologize.]

Yes...the Justice Bureau. [He'd been hoping for a similar assignment here, but had instead found himself tasked with managing Heroes again. Not ideal, but not entirely useless, either.] As a judge, I oversaw countless criminal cases and was responsible for the doling out of city damage fines; and as a curator for the Heroes, it was my responsibility to maintain the Heroes' equipment and see to their various personal needs, to take dispatch requests, and assign the Heroes various missions.

To put it quite simply...yes, there are super-powered people where I come from, however...I regret to inform you that not all of them are heroes. At least in that respect, adjusting to this world has been easy.

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What did the tennis ball say when it got hit?

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