Description: Due to some kind of logistical malfunction, Ken Masters' car (well, one of them, anyway) ends up parked outside of a skate park in the slums of Metro City. He finds it just in time to catch Rocket taking a baseball bat to it, spurred on by her friends. Rocket gets a stern talking to from the U.S. Martial Arts Champ and learns a life lesson about peer pressure and forgiveness. ...Maybe.
The U.S. Martial Arts Champion, Ken Masters, is walking a bit more sorely this day. After an amazing 'bout with Mike Haggar in front of a huge Metro Square crowd, the walking dollar sign finds himself traversing the landscape of Metro City in search of his car. Maybe it had to do with the delivery person not understanding Metro City. Maybe there was a bad GPS signal. Or maybe the driver just wasn't a Ken Masters fan. Whatever the case may be, Ken's walking down a horribly littered up street and in the general direction of the way too expensive for this particular part of town sports car that has been left at the end of the block.
Ken has taken it upon himself to put on some street clothes, rocking a simple jeans and red hoodie combination. His gym bag is hanging off a single shoulder, which probably has his fighter gear inside of it. He tosses his hair just a bit and reaches up to adjust his sunglasses for coolability factor. With that done, he looks back down at his phone while he takes such a hike towards his car.
This started out as a simple dare between fellow delinquents. When the bright red sports car had turned up on the corner next to the inner city skate park that morning, there was a murmur amongst the skaters. Whose car was it? Was it some kind of bait? When closer inspection had revealed that the license plate reads 'PERFECT,' the speculation had really started. Could it really be that Ken Masters had parked his car out here?
And that was where it had begun to escalate.
It had started with one of Rina O'Reilly's cohorts daring one of the other skaters to find some eggs and add a splash of yellow to the hot rod red paint job. The other skater had chickened out, citing not wanting to anger the American Martial Arts Champion in case it really was Ken Masters' car. Then the idea of emptying one of the garbage cans into the seats had come up, followed by a suggestion of spray painting the car in rainbow colours...
And that's how it got to this point. Through a series of challenges and one-upmanships, Rina 'Rocket' O'Reilly, dressed in a black tank top and skating shorts and wearing her usual roller blades and backwards ballcap, happens to be the one brandishing an aluminum baseball bat in front of the now multi-coloured and trash-laden sports car.
"ROCK-ET! ROCK-ET! ROCK-ET!"
Just in case anyone had any question who the person responsible for the sound of the car's front right headlight shattering, her friends helpfully chant it loud enough to be heard down the block. The car alarm has long been cut, and this being the area it is, the authorities are nowhere to be seen.
Ken Masters doesn't really seem to be paying too much attention to anything that's going on right now. He's used to hearing things when he's walking through random neighborhoods. He's never really worried about whatever neighborhood he's in because of the fact that he's an amazing fighter and his reputation alone usually has people thinking twice about messing with him. The fact that he just got into it with Haggar has also probably been passed around the streets to keep others from stepping to him. Anybody that goes toe-to-toe with the Mayor has to have earned at least a little bit of Metro City clout, right?
"... The hell?!" It isn't really clear if it is the chanting or the sound of the headlight smashing or just instinct that pulls Ken's attention away from his phone and towards the car. Or what's left of it, anyway. His mouth opens up with some random moment of agape as he just gawks at the fact that his car has become a victim of, well, vandalism. "Hey! Hey, uncool!"
Ken's gym bag drops right next to him and he's immediately breaking off into a quick run towards the car and those gathered. He's got a fiery look in his eye, overplayed for dramatic effect, as he's clearly attempting to make these delinquents scatter. Like roaches.
This seemed like a good bit of harmless fun for the local kids when it was a victimless crime. Or, that is to say, when the victim wasn't an angry world-class martial artist bearing down on their position.
"Oh shit, guys! It's Ken Masters!" one youth sitting on an upturned skateboard yells when he catches sight of the blonde fighter up the street. "SCATTER!"
Unfortunately for Rocket, she's got her headphones blasting Zebrahead into her ears loud enough to drown out the alarm sounding amongst the rest of the group. Mistaking the instruction to 'scatter' for an instruction to 'shatter,' she winds up the bat and takes it to the other headlight. The girl's friends are only too happy to leave her as a sacrificial lamb as they take up bike, board and blades to roll down the block away from the car and its owner at full speed.
Stepping back to admire her handiwork and wiping the back of her arm across her forehead, Rocket nods approvingly and grins.
"Fuck yeah! If this really is Ken Masters' car, he's gonna be so friggin' pissed, huh, guys?"
Turning her head to see her comrades retreating in the distances, Rocket tilts her head a little to one side, arching an eyebrow. "Guys? What's up? I don't hear sirens..."
Ken Masters is not exactly in the mood to chase down an entire horde of kids. He was a kid once. He knows what it is like to try and get some harmless fun in. But then he also knows what it is like to do that and then get shipped off to train under a martial arts master and learn the finer points in discipline and whatever else comes along with such training. Right now, though, Ken is not exactly ready to take a trip down memory lane. He's more focused on the lamb that was left for his slaughter.
Ken's arms cross over his chest after he gives a little poke at the shoulder of Rocket. One strong enough to let her know that this is not some random kid deciding to play tap and run. No, this shoulder tapping is almost a damn shove. Strong enough to sure Rocket turns around to see the angry look on his face. His crossed arms are folded together tightly as he peers right at Rocket. He doesn't even fully wait for headphones to be removed or even for this delinquent to look fully in his direction before he starts with his commentary.
"You're gonna' need a raise in your allowance." Well, at least he's talking and not punching.
Rocket is reaching up to lower her headphones down to around her neck when she feels the prodding at her shoulder and freezes up a little, hunching her shoulders reflexively and clenching her teeth with a sharp intake of breath. She turns around slowly, expecting to see the blue uniform of a Metro police officer and running through potential diversions in her mind. She's dealt with cops before.
"If you want money, why don't you go write some parking tickets, you damn meter mai-"
What she doesn't expect is to see Ken Masters himself looming over her.
Rocket's eyes go a little wide, and she lets the baseball bat drop to the asphalt, backpedalling a bit as she starts to turn to try and skate off. The bravado has definitely deflated in the presence of the martial arts champion.
Ken Masters, the one and only, is not exactly nowhere near being a happy camper right now. In fact, his entire world is crashing down. Well, okay, not really. He has many cars. Many, many cars. But this one was kind of brand new. Bought just to drive out of Metro City with victory written all over his face. But alas, that means there have been two things that have not gone his way since he's been in this city.
When that bat hits the ground, Ken is moving with a little bit of speed. Just enough to make sure that this girl doesn't get away. She's on skates or whatever and that's not going to be good for bus personal business. The business that he's going to have to handle all upside her head if she doesn't have a good explanation for this. That hand of his darts out to snatch that those headphones, mainly because he's pretty sure that'll help slow her up, if they are around her neck and all. That should be enough to keep her from getting too far.
"Yeah. About that. First of all, watch your mouth." Ken doesn't care for these bad attitudes. Everybody should be happy all the time. Like he is! Not that he's happy right now. But whatever. "Second?" Ken reaches to whip out his cell phone. "We callin' your folks or the cops?"
The hand on her headphones is enough to make Rocket think twice about trying to skate away. For one thing, it might trip her up, but more importantly, those things cost her sixty bucks - on sale! - and she's almost as serious about her tunes as she is about rollerblading.
"Hey! Hands off the headphones! You might break them!"
There isn't the slightest hint of irony in her tone as she reaches back to try and secure the headset. She kicks her legs, not at the blond fighter, but at the air in front of herself, trying to pull free. When the man asks whether to call her parents or the cops, though, she freezes up again.
If cursing is 'colourful language,' what comes out of her mouth next could be called a rainbow.
"- suckin' son of a motherfugger - don't call the cops! They'll just call my grandparents anyway. Look, how much money are we talking? I've got twenty bucks in my bag if we can just call this a misunderstanding..."
Of course, it's probably too late for the girl to worry about keeping the incident under wraps. A few people have stopped to watch the accosted teen, including at least one of her ever-helpful friends down the street, who's helpfully catching the scene on his cell phone.
There really has to be something good coming in the direction of Ken Masters down the line because his luck is not faring so well in these recent days. He sighs as he realizes what he's about to do and proceeds to tuck his phone away into his pocket. It is a slow and hesitant action if there ever was one but Ken is trying his hardest not to be a complete and total jerk about this entire ordeal. This is what happens when poor people see things that cost more than their entire lives. They don't know how to act around them. They don't know how to treat expensive things. It comes with being a by product of Metro City.
"Look. I know you were just messing around. But you really shouldn't be taking a baseball bat to people's cars. Especially mine!" Ken doesn't loosen his grip on those headphones yet. "But I ain't gonna' hit you with too much When I Was Your Age because I hated that when I was your age." Finally, Ken lets go of the headphones, figuring this girl is going to get her skating self off somewhere. "Do your grandfolks a favor and turn this attitude around before you get yourself hurt. Or worse."
There. Ken Masters has done his civic duty for the day. He has passed along some advice to the next generation. And now he's going to have to go buy a new car. Because driving around Metro City in this one? Not going to happen. He's got a reputation to maintain!
The girl is still struggling as Ken launches into his speech, and at first the martial artist's words don't seem to reach her. Reaching down with one hand to the blue jean bag at her side, she keeps spouting once there's a lull in the advice-giving session.
"Look, I think I've got a Baby Ruth and some Double Bubble in here if you need me to sweeten the deal, and - wait, what?"
As she's released and her headphones are once again secured around her neck, she skates forward a bit, putting some distance between herself and Ken before whirling around to face him. Her expression is incredulous, one dark brow propped up higher than the other, a gloved hand scratching at the back of her neck.
"You're just gonna... let me go?"
She hesitates for a moment, as if considering the man's words. She seems almost uncomprehending of such a display of magnanimity. And then, as if a light has turned on behind her green eyes, she flashes a bright grin.
And almost instantly she's gone, her rollerblades clicking down the asphalt into the distance as she makes toward her companions down the block.
"Sucker," she mutters under her breath, well out of likely earshot. Still, she's humming a tune, a positive vibe about her. Maybe the life lesson isn't completely lost on her...
Log created on 14:23:00 11/09/2014 by Rocket, and last modified on 17:15:56 11/09/2014.