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Melt my Gentle Soul: Warriors	By : Seiferre Category: +S through Z > Xiaolin Showdown Views: 2200 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I, of course, don't own Xiaolin Showdown or the Original Cast. All non-canon characters belong to me, and I'm not making profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Love Could Be True
- 1
MELT MY GENTLE SOUL
Warriors
By: Seiferre Quintesce // 2oo9
RATING: T
PAIRING(S): Clim (Clay/Kimiko), possibly some others
GENRE(S): Romance, Action/Adventure
WARNING(S): Some gore, abuse, and possibly sexual themes
COMMENTS?: Yes, please. R&R to your heart’s desire. I’ll love you for it.
DISCLAIMER: ‘Xiaolin Showdown’ is © Christy Hui and Warner Bros. I do not own it, or the characters, and only claim any non-canon characters as my own. This piece of fiction was created for entertainment purposes only, bearing no intent for profit or gain.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Well, this is my not-so-triumphant return to fanfiction writing. I’m equally excited and apprehensive to see how my writing pans out against my favorite authors. This story was mostly written for ‘Charity’ work, since there are little to no intelligible Clim fanfics out there, and that disappointed me (Even as big of a Kimundo fan I am). Hence, here it is.
One thing I’d like you all to note is that I’m going to need some prodding. I’m not asking you all to flood me with reviews, but those of you who enjoy the way this is going are going to need to shamelessly plug me for more, either by e-mail, IM, whatever. Otherwise, I’ll never finish this story – and that’d be kind of pathetic, being as I’ve mapped it all out already. Anyway, onward!

A… D... G... D – A#! One broad finger slipped past a thin, metal string, then drew away and tapped impatiently at the wooden neck.
Aw, this’s ‘bout as hopeless as a cow winnin’ a fight against a butcher knife...
The strains of a wayward guitar string faded as a large hand stilled its movement, allowing the ambience of the Xiaolin Temple’s gardens to overtake his ears once more. Normally, he’d sit out here for perhaps an hour playing non-stop (Or, until Master Fung decided that work needed to be done), but today… Today, he felt uninspired.
Clay Bailey set his guitar aside and leaned back against a Cherry Blossom tree – one of his favorite trees in the gardens, and his personal resting place of choice in the morning.
He cast a cursory glance around the grounds, out of habit. Early in the morning, not even Master Fung was around to bother the birds sifting in the grass for an early morning snack. He watched a mother bird fly up into her nest and feed her chicks with a serene smile, continuing his slow perusal. Squirrels – The bane of Omi’s existence – flitted in and out of trees to greet him, picking at the nuts that he’d brought out with him in case his stomach couldn’t wait for breakfast. He didn’t mind. His horse did the exact same thing at home. Clay watched them as they streaked through the dewy grass, droplets of moisture shining against their fur and making them stand out against the tentative light of dawn.
He hadn’t left much in Texas – his waking hours hadn’t changed much.
Real nice out this mornin’. As he pulled the brim of his signature ten-gallon hat down over his sky blue eyes, the boy fixated once more on his guitar. Nothing, not even a scale, had been played since yesterday morning. If he was anyone else, he would have been irked. But he had all the time in the world for playing, so long as he didn’t get himself knocked down by people like Jack Spicer or Chase Young. Maybe listening to the radio would help speed things along.
Bailey regarded the small device with a fond look. It was a cute little thing, given to him by Kimiko on the Chinese New Year ‘so maybe he could drown out his loud-ass snoring’. A chuckle parted his lips as he depressed the ‘POWER’ button and set it down by his knee. Ah, Kimiko.
Sharp, that girl. She’d gotten it programmed so that he could listen to the radio all the way over to the States and then some. He kicked one boot over the other, relaxing under the tree as the familiar pitch of salesmen and commercials played. Content to wait for inspiration to strike, Clay only opened his eyes to stare at the radio when an unfamiliar – but attention-grabbing – man’s voice began to sing.
“A… d in the m… rrni…, I lay… do… n, by yo… side.”
The cowboy hurried to readjust the tuner and sighed. Sometimes his bulk happened to knock the radio around a little too much, and he’d have to fiddle with it a bit, but it was his, after all. The Xiaolin Dragon of Fire had thought of most everything – hell, it was even colored like Texan flag. Now how could he forsake such a thoughtful gift? Delighted, Clay set down the device and strummed along to the song. He could do that – was good at that. Listening had always been one of his strengths.
“…I lay me down, I lay me down, I lay me down.
My days, my nights, my life…”
Sharp, canine teeth meant for tearing apart steak chewed instead on a tender lower lip as he continued to strum at a leisurely pace, no longer listening to the radio. Yes, this was what he had needed. Inspiration in the form of a song. A touching, relatable song. One that, perhaps not so strangely, reminded him of Kimiko.
As he knew it would.
Tohomiko Kimiko was far from his first crush – that, he’d gotten over and lived to see the next day. She was far from his first kiss, and, if he gave enough thought, far from his first, in general. The relationship that people often revered as the most magical moment of their lives had been, indeed, much less awe-inspiring for him, especially compared with his now everyday life. No, his friend and love interest was much more than a pretty face with some curly blonde hair. She could pack a punch. She could take a joke (Provided it wasn’t centered about her feminine wiles). She was utterly and completely passionate. She was… So much packed into one that it sometimes gave him a headache to think about, simple cowboy as he was. He didn’t mind, though. Clay rather enjoyed the way the girl made his head spin. It was a pleasant feeling that filled him from his spurs to the tip of his hat, and even after three years of seeing each other, it never seemed to fade.
He’d come to relate that all-consuming feeling to love.
Bailey had skimmed over the term ‘infatuation’ right off the bat. Of course, it had only started out as ‘like’, but he wasn’t stumbling over himself trying to please her. Least ways, not yet. Nope, his head was still level – though it would escape to the clouds every now and then – and so the definition of ‘infatuation’ had never struck a proper chord within him, and he was pleased with that. The way he saw it, that just linked them tighter together. Too bad he hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell her how he felt.
If someone had walked up to him and told him that he would fall in love with a small Japanese girl with an eye for strange fashion upon coming to the Xiaolin temple three years ago, he probably would have laughed in their face. Loudly. After all, he’d grown up thinking that he’d marry some Southern belle one day. China, two best friends and a girl with glass-colored eyes simply wouldn’t have fit into the picture. But now… Now this was his life, and he had spent endless nights attempting to figure out how to complete it.
It didn’t seem that hard. He’d been possessed by ancient demons, knocked out cold more times than he could count, and been involved in more life-threatening situations than most teenagers his age could handle. Still, the idea of telling Kim how he felt sent a shiver up his spine.
…Ah, but maybe he wouldn’t have to tell her.
His eyes slid down to regard his guitar thoughtfully. His father had always taught him that actions spoke louder than words, and last he checked, music had more components to it than good lyrics. Clay smiled to himself and strummed, not needing to dig through his memory before he replicated the song. It was clumsy and slow – definitely a work in progress – but he would figure it out. For her.
He would have continued his self-imposed guitar lesson if not for the commotion at the other end of the temple. Being so quiet, it wasn’t hard to distinguish the calm, though slightly raised voice of Master Fung. Bailey’s blonde eyebrows shot into his tousled hair as he packed up his instrument and radio and set them into his room before wandering to the front. Along the way, he encountered three bodies he was quite used to seeing – one in particular more than the others.
“I mean it, Fung! Those so-called ‘Dragons’ of yours --”
“They are quite capable of --”
“What in tarnation is goin’ on ‘round these parts?” Clay queried, stepping up behind Raimundo to peek around the same wall they were. He was automatically ‘shush’ed by three different voices.
“Not so loud! This guy just came up here and started ragging on Master Fung for nothing. They’ve been arguing ever since.”
“But, Kimiko, there are no rags --”
“Figure of speech, Omi.”
“…Oh.”
“Know what they’re arguin’ about?” Again he surveyed the scene before him. The man looked to be around the same age as Master Fung, though his scraggly gray hair and beard were long and seemingly unkempt. The man’s dull, brown eyes shot daggers through to the other elder standing before him. If he didn’t stand with such a stoop, he could perhaps have reached Clay’s shoulder in height.
“Nuh uh. But if I had to guess, it’d be about us.”
“Why? What’d we do?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem.” Raimundo folded his arms across his chest and grunted, still clad in his green smiley-face pajamas that he never could part with (Even if they only hung down to around his lower legs now he’d gotten taller). “But Master Fung isn’t doing anything about it. He’s just standing there and taking it.”
“Omi? Do you know who he is?”
“I have only ever seen him once,” the Dragon of Water replied. “when I was a child. He is, as you say, ‘Just another head in the mob’.”
“You mean ‘Another face in the crowd’?”
“That, too.”
“Right.” With a swift exchange of wry looks, the three other monks turned to look back at the argument unfolding before them. Master Fung seemed to be keeping his head rather well, especially in the face of the irate old man in front of him.
“Look here, you senile old monkey!” Clay watched his Master’s eyebrows slowly climb his forehead in mild amusement. “Your ‘Dragons’ are destroying public property everywhere they go! Need I remind you that they were caught on film not but two years ago?! Imagine what would happen if that was ever distributed! Everyone would be looking for Shen Gong Wu, and it would be their fault! My job is to make sure that the Shen Gong Wu stay out of the public eye, and I’m putting my foot down. I’m tired of having to cover your students’ tracks… If you can even call them students.”
Said students flinched and hung their heads. Over the past three years, they honestly had tried their hardest. It seemed, though, that their efforts were in vain – had they let Master Fung down?
“They are still learning.” reasoned the seasoned old monk clad in blue and white. He spread his arms in the universal symbol of oneness and acceptance. “Even you must admit, their progress is admirable. I would not expect many others to be able to stand up to the likes of Wuya, Chase Young, or even Jack Spicer so quickly.”
“You tell ‘em, Fung-o!” Raimundo cheered quietly from behind the barrier of the wall. The others grinned to each other in silent approval.
“Are you implying,” the bearded man griped, “that my students are less competent than yours?”
“Master Heng, never.” Fung’s blue eyes were twinkling slightly – it almost seemed as if he was enjoying himself. “I am merely guiding you in the proper direction. If not for Jack Spicer and the others, there would be nothing for you to be concerned over. And by the way… As it is your sacred duty to remove all Shen Gong Wu from the public eye…”
“Say no more!” Heng threw his frail hands in the air, warped wooden cane missing Fung’s nose by an inch. “I don’t need to hear it! I came here to deliver a message, and now you have it. If I see so much as one stylepebble out of place the next time a Shen Gong Wu appears, I’m relieving you of your responsibilities as their mentor. Those kids need to be taught properly, and since the years have made you soft, I expect I’m going to have to do it for you.”
This drew an audible gasp from behind an otherwise inconspicuous wall.
Master Fung watched his old comrade and fellow monk limp away, managing to still look regal and important even with his noticeable stoop. He just barely pursed his lips in disapproval, wiping his face of most emotion before he stepped behind the wall to the left of the doorway. Sure enough, four dismayed, tired faces looked up (Or down) at him.
“Master Fung, we never -- ”
“That old geezer’s ‘bout as pleasant as a -- ”
“You cannot allow us to simply be taken -- ”
The old caretaker of the Xiaolin Temple raised a hand for silence, pausing only to glance at Raimundo, who had fallen asleep standing up against a wall. He watched patiently as Clay shook him awake, studying the restless faces in front of him with a measure of compassion.
“What happened?” the Brazilian boy mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “We got some new Wu to chase?”
“Come.” Master Fung inclined his head toward the gardens as a gesture to follow. “Let us walk.”
His students dutifully followed him across the patches of grass and training equipment, curious but not content enough to wait for him to explain. Fung, however, took some time before he managed to explain as fully as possible.
“Master Heng and his… Warriors…” he used the term dubiously, for there was no other way to name them. “are located high up in the Eastern mountains. They are an elite group – it is an even higher honor to have been Chosen by him, than it is to have been here.”
“No way.” Denied Kimiko, an eyebrow cocked. “Better than being a Xiaolin Dragon?”
“Yes.” He inclined his head, feeling humble as he stopped and settled his charges under a tree as a father would his children. “Their duty is, too, a sacred one. The first of their ancestors were hand-picked by Dashi himself – acolytes and disciples of his chosen to preserve the secret of the Shen Gong Wu.”
Rai and Clay shared a skeptical look. “I thought that was Dojo’s job. Or ours.”
A wry smile curled Fung’s wrinkled lip. “Dojo can only handle so much work… He goes lax if given too much of a load. Master Heng was angry, as you have undoubtedly heard, because of the carnage we seem to have left behind in our quest to find the Shen Gong Wu.”
“But we can’t help that!”
“Yeah. It ain’t like we got the time ta pick up all’a Spicer’s ‘bot parts after he steals the loot.” Bailey folded his arms.
“At any rate,” he interjected, sensing an uproar in the ranks of four juvenile Dragons in Training. “we must take caution not to disturb any more of the natural balance of the world. One wrong move could land you all in a temple well-known by those of the Xiaolin as something akin to a penitentiary.”
“We will not let you down, Master.” Omi bowed low, his still small stature casting a long shadow in the new light of the day.
“Yeah. We can kick butt and be neat about it, right guys?” Kimiko tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled confidently.
“Definitely.”
“You got it, li’l lady.”
“Thank you, young ones.” Master Fung watched them, reminded once again why, exactly, he had chosen these fine young men and women as his students and comrades in arms. “Now, off to the kitchen with you. We must remember to prepare Dojo’s special eggrolls, as it is Monday today…”
FOOTNOTES: What did you guys think? I hope you enjoyed it. Once again, R&R is loved… And someone please remind me to update. ‘Til next time!
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Melt my Gentle Soul: Warriors