Picture Perfect

"Perfection! Right, let's snap one with you in the seiza and we’ll try to keep the kanji in the background. Look, say, thirty degrees that way. Cross your legs and just relax your arms in front with-just like that hold it yes! Fantastic!"

Of course, it was. Far be it from Annette Weber to toot her own horn, but this did use to be her job. One that she was quite good at last she heard. Though it didn’t appear as though Sebastian was interested in her opinion on things. Like proper dojo etiquette.

It was the last place that she expected to have a photoshoot done, but she supposed it made sense. Annette had experienced a much greater amount of success than she had been expecting since her debut. Her victory over Chloe Mason had propelled her into social media stardom and with that, her BJJ background had started to gain some attention. Then her new outfit had finally made it out of commissions as if the timing couldn’t be any better. Public Relations saw the chance to jump on it, but if anyone asked for Annette’s opinion, they could have been more subtle.

Having the photoshoot done in a dojo in her gi was one thing. Having it done during sessions with students coming and going was making for a somewhat awkward experience. While the Japanese men and women entered the sparring and stepped onto the mats, greeting one another and stretching before engaging in their spars under the supervision of their sensei, Annette was stuck on the other side of the room in front of an official backdrop...with Sebastian.

AFW didn't seem to care for that, and neither did the photographers they'd hired. Sebastian was a Swiss big wig from Argentina of all places that made his way by the camera. He was a gifted photographer. One that Annette knew well. He worked with some of the most recognized fashionistas in glamour. He was a man with a plan and the talent to execute them flawlessly every time. It was an honor to work with him once more. An honest pleasure. Even if he was a little ‘eccentric’.

Annette Weber:

"Oh, yes! You are Divine! Truly. I’d forgotten how spectacular it was to work with ‘La Luna’. The Full Moon Over Norway. Honestly, Ann-dear, where have the days gone? Do you remember how many hours we spent perfecting that photo?”

“Well-”

“Fourteen. Just fourteen measly hours of diligent work, unwavering persistence, and in one night I made Annette Weber the face of Oslo! The next beauty of Scandinavia! And here you are on the cusp of international stardom, and I am once more unto the breach.” Sebastian had to take a moment. It was all so much. His hand came to his forehead as though he were about to faint. “Oh, damn my gifts! Is it possible?! Is it possible to improve on perfection?!”

Annette just offered him the most sincere smile she could muster at the moment. “I know you will do your best, either way, Sebastian.”

“You humble me, my dear. Never do that again. Now let's try one where...where you…" The bewildered photographer kept thumbing through the packet in his hand. He looked back to his spotter. "Juju? Aren't we missing a few pages? I swear we left the meeting with more notes than this."

"It’s, uh, Jin. And don’t ask me. I just move the lights, man."

Sebastian snapped his finger without looking back at his model. "Take five, Annette dearie. Jasper and I are going to take stock.”

“Wow.” The two of them turned off to the side as Sebastian whipped out his phone and began stirring through his contacts to find the right person to yell at. The Norwegian straightened up and took the opportunity to get some stretches in, raising her arms high above her head and pushing her chest out to relieve all that built-up tension in her spine.

Annette stepped off the canvas and onto the smooth linoleum of the dojo floor. As she walked along the edge of the mats, she seemed to have caught the eye of a pair of students in the middle of their spar that stopped to catch the briefest glance in their huddle. The model waved to them as she passed before she came to her gym bag by the wall. She knelt down and rummaged her water bottle out from underneath a pair of jeans. After a few much-needed gulps, she turned with her back to the wall and returned her gaze to the action on the dojo floor. It was a bit of a shame, she thought to herself. This place was too lovely just to take a few pictures.

Streetlamps stand tall, capped with soft orange blobs. Cars trundle up the road, soft black shapes with blazing red tail-lights. Across the street, a little green man hovers in mid-air, occasionally turning red. Everything that isn’t luminous is ill-defined, impossible to discern. Pierre had had his fair share of experience in the cold and sometimes miserable weather in his Canadian home. Those days reminded him of better times when he first got into university, taking a sledge down the hill when the snow blanketed the city. The many family moments taken in snaps have them in a winter setting; his father would insist on wearing those ugly family sweaters each Christmas. Since he has been practically barred from coming back home to Quebec, Pierre found himself reminiscing about the good times there. Something much better, something more simple, when things actually went his way.

Of course, things are far from going his way ever since he left his home country, but Pierre has come too far to head back. He will have to fend for himself entirely on his own. Most likely, the mother would be worried sick about her son, but Pierre’s father was a hard old bastard. When he comes to punishments, he’s never lenient. Disciplined to the very end, even if it came at the cost of compassion. Though Pierre figured you need to be ruthless in the world of business and stocks. Since then, the French-Canadian really saw his world being so…vague. Even more so than university, where he would first be away from his parents.

Even his parents knew that he could be capable of defending himself; that is why they enlisted him into Judo in the first place. But Pierre found himself practising less when he had stepped into the land of the rising sun. Training days were just as frequent as his matches, which is few and far between. The deteriorating mental state only compounded things, finding himself constantly haunted from past trauma. The Quebecoise figured that the best thing for him is to get back into the swing of things. And that meant finding a dojo.

That required him to walk downtown, enduring the chill outside. He found it ironic for it to be next to a kebab shop, but the whole thing made his stomach rumble. Perhaps it was nerves? Or it could just be that the body is craving for food, to which Pierre had denied it. He didn’t want to feel bloated on his induction day, Pierre knowing about the horrors of food-related accidents when grappling. Pierre could always treat himself on a day well done, the enormous tube of meat rolls on a spit while a large Turkish man with a moustache gleefully hacks from it. Matches the letters cheerfully painted on the glass (Best Turkish Kebab, the letters insist so optimistically), he made the decision for tonight’s meal.

Passing into the entrance, the strange, chintzy-yet-enchanting music plays from a radio behind the shop counter would fade away into the calmer ambience of the dojo. Well, Pierre would have expected as such; instead, he was greeted with the sight of what appears to be a photo shoot happening. During a session. Although one seemed to be coming to a close, the next class was about to start. Pierre wouldn’t have minded the inconvenience if the photographer didn’t come off as annoying. A bit too much from what he could surmise. Whatever, Pierre will have to block out the white noise for the time being.

He had since changed into his white dougi, one that had since lost the pristine brightness and showing some wear. It’s not beige like some worn-out gis that Pierre has seen, but parts were evidence that he had definitely worn it during sessions. By no means did it had an unpleasant smell either. On his left chest, the Canadian Maple Leaf would be the only indication that he’s not from these parts if his western looks didn’t give off the vibe already. It felt…weird wearing this again, ever since that…incident in France. The Quebecoise figured he’d throw it in the bin, burnt it, ripped it with scissors, just completely destroy it by now. But this still had something precious to him. The achievement that he was once considered to represent his country in the Olympics. One too many mistakes crushed that dream. It was still a past honour that he wasn’t yet willing to move on.

The door of the changing room would be opened, and it didn’t take long for him to see the same model on the edge of the mats. Perhaps they’re taking a break or something; Pierre didn’t care much, so long as they wouldn’t interfere with the class. He kicked off his sneakers, tugging on the ends of his belt. From the looks of it, he was walking in the direction of the mats, but in truth, he had a different idea. “Must be feeling like you’re out of place, huh?” A slight smirk crept upon his lips as he approached the periwinkle-haired model kneeling down. It might have been a risk to start off speaking in English, but that’s a risk he’ll take. “Bit silly to be doing a photoshoot when the real stuff is going on if you ask me.”

Ann tilted her head back and sighed with the last wash of water escaping down the back of her throat. It was hard to ignore the feeling that almost every eye in the room was looking at her. Public shoots were never her favorite. It wasn't as if she hated being the center of attention but she liked to have a reason for it. It inspired moments from her childhood, standing by herself in timeout while everyone else enjoyed not being her at that moment.

The threat of boredom was starting to rear its ugly head. Ann figured she should just try to detach herself. Empty her mind, not worry about the distractions or the people watching her. Let the minutes pass her by as she enjoyed the quiet of her mind.

She'd closed her eyes to do just that before a man's voice brought her to open them again in the same second. She looked down and noticed a man stretching next to her. He was dressed in a gi that looked well-worn and personally tailored like her own. Though unlike her, he was dressed for action. Annette was still keeping to the wall with her lips pursed.

The Norwegian didn't regard his question right away. She was still registering a few details about this mystery person that she couldn't help but notice. He was foreign, for one. His accent sounded French but it wasn't quite the same native vernacular Ann had the pleasure of knowing. Even while he was on the floor, Ann could tell that he was tall, well-built, and had some experience under his metaphorical belt to compliment the colored one tied around his waist. She supposed it was only natural that the two foreigners in the room would find the same corner to huddle in.

"A little bit maybe. I've gotten somewhat used to the feeling since I moved here. All of this tends to stick out." She flourished a hand around her periwinkle hair and her Nordic features. Her eyes lingered back towards the doorway and noticed her photographer waving his hands around on the other side of the glass door with his phone close to his ear. She didn't envy whoever was on the other end of that call. "It wouldn't have been my choice if I had a say in these kinds of things. It is a very beautiful place, but Sebastian likes to 'overthink' a lot of his projects."

Annette looked back down at the burly man beside her and tilted her head a bit to one side. He was honestly somewhat of a surprise. She hadn't expected to see any non-Japanese people this afternoon aside from Sebastian. "Are you a student here?"

Cheeky as it would be that their attention was all in on the newcomer that turned into their dojo, Pierre knows who the students were really looking at. Not that Pierre minded or even sought their attention in the first place. Part of that might have been to keep a low profile on his AFW career and just be considered as someone… normal. Or at least close to normal as one could be, the lack of Asian features was bound to make him stand out and be singled out from the rest of the pack. The Canadian branding of his dougi wasn’t helping matters to begin with. Despite that, those details weren’t as prominent compared to the woman sitting outside the tatami. Pink and black clothing, compared to the standard white that everyone is wearing, including Pierre, is bound to make you stick out like a sore thumb.

Which for a model in a photoshoot, works pretty well. In a public setting like this, it was clear that she wasn’t on the same page as Sebastian’s more eccentric enigma. Who among three seconds into seeing the photographer annoyed the French-Canadian. The Quebecoise didn’t know how long he’ll have to deal with his presence, but he hopes it would be a brief moment to coexist.

Pierre stood tall as he would turn his attention to the model below her, all the while passing the time before the next class was starting. Pierre could already ascertain that she was foreign, but hearing her speak gave him more insight than looks alone. The periwinkle hair was already a standout compared to Pierre’s military buzzcut, but her accent sounded European. The eyes trailed down from said hair to the top that she was wearing. It didn’t look cheap for a model, and Pierre has had a lot of experience seeing different types of them. It didn’t look thin, like Taekwondo doboks; it was woven and built for grappling. The quality of the gi looked legit. Which seemed pretty wasted if it was only made for photoshoots. Perhaps that could be brought up at one point.

“Well, I can’t say I get the choice, but perhaps that is why I’m not a photographer.” Pierre shrugged as he rolled his neck round, keeping himself loose for when he’s about to get into action. “Still, surely models should get a say. I mean, I don’t get this business, but I can’t say that this is comfortable. For everyone involved.” Pierre canted his head towards the direction of the students, who are probably bewitched by the Nordic beauty that they aren’t focused on honing their skills. He would lower himself down to the floor, sitting on his backside and crossing his legs. A bit more comfortable than the seiza. And it saved having the model look up at him all the time. He reckons Sebastian complaining about her neck problems is an issue he didn’t want to deal with. “Nah, new here. But a longtime student of Judo, though.” The French-Canadian wagged the end of his belt towards her direction. “I will say, in all my time training in this art, I never expected to step into a dojo when there’s a photoshoot. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that this is a common occurrence in Japan.” Pierre chuckled.

Japan was considered weird enough that many would believe that sort of thing.

How long has Annette been in Japan? The exact number of months had escaped her. Perhaps long enough to learn how to move around properly and get a firm grasp of the cultural nuances. It was hard, though, to get a real sense of the right and wrong of things when only a small percentage of people in your neighborhood shared your language.

She had known Pierre no longer than a few minutes and she was already feeling slightly envious. Between AFW and familiarizing herself with the city, Annette had never quite gotten around to laying down roots. She’d come to this part of the world to escape work and her usual routine, yet here she was falling right back into her old habits. She had no way of telling how long the Canadian had been a resident of this country but she sincerely doubted a fresh arrival would have admission into a dojo at the top of their priorities. Ann couldn’t help but let her eyes linger on him a while longer as she listened to him in his warm-up.

Pierre cut quite the image for a martial artist. Tall, stocky, and strong-jawed, it wouldn’t have surprised Annette to learn he had been recently discharged or setting up his own instruction. Maybe he was a national competitor? Somewhat renowned? Her curiosity was starting to lead her mind

“I feel quite awkward regardless. I am from Norway. Martial arts is not something that is well established there, so places like these I find to be quite attractive." Though he was wearing a comfortably-sized gi, Annette could make out the burly form that filled its confines underneath. At the least, she might have found a way to kill some time.

"Perhaps you’ll have a chance to see how frustrating this all is someday. I know quite a long list of male models and I hope you wouldn’t doubt me when I say you would fit right in.” Ann flashed the Canadian a quick wink for good measure. Her eyes glanced back at Sebastian for a moment who was still jabbering his usual abuse into the phone when an idea came to her. Ann stepped onto the mats and gently tapped his shoulder with her elbow as she started to bounce on her heels. “I'm going to jog a quick lap around the mats. Try to stay active. Care to join me?”

Much as Annette would feel envious of the man she had just met, Pierre would be quick to explain why she shouldn’t. At least, if the question did come up, which seemed very unlikely. Pierre knew that this model had to be a part of AFW, but he was confident that the Norwegian doesn’t know about Tension affairs. Precisely where he wants to keep it if Pierre had his way.

It was slightly weird how there can be some parallel between him and Annette. The French-Canadian had taken months before seeking to lay down his roots. Trying to avoid his past proved to be a tricky endeavour, no matter which part of the earth he flees. Travelling to the Far East was supposed to be a fresh new start for the Quebecoise, where he could evade his sordid history and his failed Olympic tryout to rebuild. Instead, he found himself in worse situations than if he’d just stayed in Quebec. Thinking about that now, Pierre figured he’d be worse off than the ashen-haired woman doing a photo shoot. He’d gladly take having to deal with uncomfortable positions in front of the camera. Though the brief look at Sebastian throwing his notes in rage made him reconsider.

“Norway, huh? Makes sense.” Pierre would agree with Annette’s statement. The man is slightly aware of the world rankings regarding judo competitions, and even he could guess that Norway wasn’t within the top 100. Of course, this is only Judo and not other styles like Karate and Taekwondo, but that country isn’t mainly well known for its martial art prowess. Not to say there can’t be any athletes there. “I am from Canada. I’d say we’re better compared to your homeland.” Pierre chuckled. Meanwhile, Canada has been making strides and gaining success concerning the Olympics. A point that still stings for Pierre as he never could get the chance to represent. Not after what happened in Paris.

“Well, nice of you to recognise my fabulous looks….” The Quebecoise winked back at the Norwegian. “...And I appreciate the offer. But I don’t think I’ll last long in front of the camera without choking the dude.” He can’t say that Pierre holds the same patience for Sebastian as Annette does, probably why he isn’t a model in the first place.

“Quick lap? Better than waiting on the mats, so sure. I’ll join ya.” The French-Canadian grunted as he rose onto his feet, dusting off his thick dougi. He leans in towards the Nordic model once she’s stood up. “Gotta say, a bit peculiar that a model like you thinks this place is attractive. You don’t have to lie to me about how you really feel about here.”

There was something. Not many Canadians took up residence in this part of the world. Americans were aplenty and more than her share of Europeans. She'd seen his country represented in martial arts all over the world.

"You're quite humble." Ann snickered. She didn't have any particularly patriotic defense of her home country. It was a lovely place filled with beautiful people. Anyone she ever met had nothing but pleasantries and fond memories to share with her. Even if Pierre was being serious, it was hard to feel defensive of land so universally loved. Peace was its own reward. "That can all change before you know it. I was thinking of starting my own dojo. A beachside terrace close enough to hear the waves. You can be my first student."

Annette gently leaned herself forward and brought her hands to her feet, giving her hamstrings a full stretch before she brought her upright, ready to go. She couldn’t help letting out a slight giggle over Pierre’s opinion of Sebastian. It was completely justified. “You wouldn’t be alone with that. Present company included.” Her head nodded off to the side. “Shall we?”

The Norwegian took the lead and started the jog by taking off to the side of the ring. She started at a slow and steady pace around the mat, being mindful of the students while not being too slow for the man behind her. Pierre seemed like an active competitor. The kind of person always dying for a challenge and ready to take on the world. He had the aura of boundless ambition about him. It was perhaps a rough assessment to make of someone she had known for no great length of time, but Ann had a talent for aura.

People were patterns, and Pierre was curiously familiar. She had to wonder what kind of competitions he had competed in. The AFW, maybe?

She was just about to ask when his words caught her off guard. Was Ann giving off some sort of impression? Arrogance, maybe? She couldn't understand the root of the question he threw her way, but it did earn him a curious look over the shoulder before she returned her gaze forward and rounded the next corner of the matted area. She spoke high enough for him and perhaps some prying ears to hear her. “And what do I really think?”

“What can I say? Humble is my middle name.” Pierre quipped as he shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t notice it before, but just now, the Quebecoise was having a normal conversation with someone of the opposite sex. Too many times, he felt like he lost his mojo when it came to the ladies, things going bad to worse within seconds. And yet, here he was, just sharing banter with a model he had just met. Mind you, this could have happened in someplace like a coffee shop, a shopping mall…a dojo was an unlikely place if you think about it too much. Maybe not so much, considering this is the land of the rising sun.

“A dojo on the beach…sounds like a dream.” In truth, it would be. Despite where he was born, Pierre was a fan of beaches. He may not have been raised there, but some of the best memories were by the beach. It took him to better times, where he didn’t have such expectations; Pierre just had fun. In a way, he would envy this Norwegian model. However, jealousy wasn’t the feeling he was experiencing at the moment as the man admired Ann while she was in a full stretch. As a man, Pierre learned just the right amount to ‘respectfully’ look at a lady before turning his attention elsewhere. “Shame that’s all that is.” Perhaps he’s been in fitness for a long time, but he could see how developed those hamstrings and glutes were. Pierre might not know the activities that the ashen-haired woman does, but one thing is for sure, she knows how to take care of her body.

“Ay. Ladies first.” Ever the gentleman. Annette took the lead, and Pierre followed, quickly adjusting to the pace that she’s set for a quick lap. It was standard when it came to this; it’s wise to keep yourself mobile and warm up to avoid injury. Ann definitely got that down, at least. Despite things going well, Pierre threw a question round Ann’s way. Which got the Norwegian’s attention, Pierre finding her gaze towards him. Not that it deterred him from saying what was on his mind.

“That you’d rather be anywhere else but here.” That could be interpreted in many ways if Pierre left it at that. The notable anxiety of disrupting a class while it’s going on would have been a plausible cause for that answer. Except Pierre was never one for ambiguity. “I’ve been with plenty of models that swear they wouldn’t be seen in a gi and have to be taught the bare minimum when it comes to shoots like this. They say they respect the art, but they don’t. It’s just another notch to their portfolio. You may look the part but wouldn’t be able to take out a white belt.”

Well, yes. She supposed it was a dream.

Annette’s thoughts tended not to linger far from the present. Her life was content, gratifying, and as peaceful as she could have hoped for. She was in no rush to leave even a morsel behind if it meant abandoning that precious pastime for even a moment. But still, she liked to be a dreamer. To think about how to make the impossible possible.

The opportunity to share those dreams out loud became increasingly rare since she planted roots in Japan. Pierre was one of the few people she’d met outside of AFW who spoke a shared language. They were strangers in a strange land, doing strange things. Part of her mind couldn’t help but pace along with her feet, dwelling on what he was saying and the cadence with which he spoke. Ann caught bits and pieces of it here and there. She could derive a clear conclusion: he did have quite the mouth on him.

She could admire his honesty and candidness. What she didn’t admire were the insinuations. A white belt? Honestly? Annette would rather be here than in a million-dollar studio or the hair salon five blocks over with the nice room service. Why? Because she belonged here. She knew she did. The Norwegian felt at ease on these mats, unburdened beneath this uniform that had covered her shoulders for over three years now.

“Is that so?” She came to a stop at the far side of the matted area. Expecting Pierre to follow suit, she turned with her hands at her hips, flicking her hair to one side as she did for a clear view of the Canadian. As well as to give Pierre a clear view of the smile that was no longer on her face.

“Have I offended you in some way? Because I would sincerely like the third-degree to stop now.” Ann made sure to meet his eyes as she spoke. Her genteel tone was afflicted with a rare seriousness. She did not regard herself as a short-tempered individual; only when it came to blatant slaps to the face from people she hardly knew. “You know nothing about my martial arts, or myself for that matter. It’s not the least bit charming.”

...Yeah, that was a tad bit rude, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t as if being a dreamer was a bad thing. It certainly wasn’t a sin in Pierre’s eyes. In the business world, something tends to happen from their dream. Aviation came to them one day, and they had the motivation to act upon it. So long as it wasn’t ridiculous, then go for it, Pierre would believe.

But there was a reason why he did shut it down before it could take flight. The Quebecoise believed it was just to protect and not get in over the Norwegian’s head. She seemed like a nice girl. But it wouldn’t succeed, the thought coming from his previous experiences with other models and the fact that it’s to be done in a country with little passion for martial arts. Feeding their ego would be considered negligence in his mind, setting themselves to fail. It is what he felt when his friend pointed him towards AFW. A chance to rebuild his image. He was one of those starry-eyed hopefuls that ended up getting burned by dreams. Preyed upon by ambition to be churned inside the machine. It served him better to be honest, in the French-Canadian’s eyes.

However, such assumptions would end up having a negative effect. Pierre noticed Ann stopping and catching himself before he collided behind. The Quebecoise did get the hint to follow her where they’d come towards one far side of the mats. Further from prying ears, even further from Sebastian ranting on the phone. Which was good. Until he saw the once warm and radiant expression had since been gone.

Which is not good.

Pierre listened, already getting the hint that his words certainly touched a nerve or two. Being brutally honest certainly wasn’t going to be received well, and it was clear when Ann spoke with absolute seriousness. The kind that was sure about herself with every word that she said. Pierre stood with his thumbs hooked on the sides of his black belt. The black belt that Pierre earned through hard work and time. Regardless of what may have happened in the past, he deserved it. He had pride in it. He was proven, which is something Pierre can’t say as much for the ashen-haired model. So after she finished, the first thing that Pierre responded with wasn’t with a word. But a shrug of his shoulders.

“Sure, I don’t know a whole lot about you. But to be honest, as that is what I have been with you, I believe I don’t need to. Like I said, I’ve seen a lot of models like yourself. I’ve had so many experiences with them in the past. And that creates an expectation. One that I will carry until proven otherwise.” Pierre’s right hand reached down towards the right end of the belt, etched in golden embroidery, which shows its age upon first glance. “I worked hard for this. And I earned it through countless hours, days, months, and years to get where I am. And I just don’t see with you. I won’t lie to you; your body is impressive, sure. But certainly not trained for this.” His right hand let go of the end, quickly glancing at the general area where many students train. People like what he described. People like Pierre. “So if you’re that offended with what I said, then prove me wrong. Seeing that you have that much pride in yourself.”