Match of the Millennium

Description: Gatlinburg - Downtown. But you can't forget about AMERICA can you? Right at the Gateway of the Great Smoky Mountains, there was a question pressing the minds of all the fans: which was more important? Speed? Or Weight? While some fighters can boast both, very few can provide either. To test this out, we are pitting two of the best examples of both against each other_ without lacking in the either of course. In one corner, the ideal of speed, Rust Howard Jr, the recently usurped world champion. And in the other? The ideal of weight, the gloriously plump and prim Robert Richards. The stakes are high (as well as the bets) as the question is asked in the ring: Which is stronger? Speed or Weight? (WINNER: Weight)

[BOB]
GATLINBURG, TN, USA

The sweltering mid-July Tennessee heat has done little to curb the crowds of tourists gathering for today's SNF event. The crowds are diverse and varied: foreign tourists snapping photos of just one of America's scenic locations, weekending Americans dressed in SEC attire and airbrushed t-shirts, and even the occasional local taking a day off. All of them have gathered one of many of Gatlinburgs three-way intersections, though this particular one is cordoned off with street barricades and police rerouting traffic. The Gatlinburg Space Needle looms just slightly up the hill, and the patio and balcony seating of a few nearby restaurants are packed with onlookers enjoying a (slightly overpriced) meal. A few visitors have even occupied their hotel balconies for a good view of the action. This sort of spectacle is exactly what draws people to Gatlinburg, and today? They won't be disappointed.

"No, really, I'm the guy," says Bob to a uniformed policeman giving him a skeptical eyeballing. Bob digs in the pocket of his pants, pulling out his wallet to show an ID. The cop takes and scrutinizes it at an angle.

"I'm supposed to be fighting today. Surely you've seen me on TV before? I'm kind of hard to mistake, you know?"

A man in camoflage and a Confederate flag ballcap hollers out, "He's a biggun, ain't he?"

[RUST]
Not too far off, there is little mistaking when one Howard Rust, Jr. is present, because his presence tends to preclude something stupid or silly happening in his vicinity.
%In this instance, officials have had to pat down Rust Jr. for any and all illegal doughnut munitions as to not have a repeat over what happened at the very old Noh Theater. The jam bunker buster is probably on its way to becoming banned globally by the United Nations as a baked good of mass desecration. It will have the bizarre distinction of being the first and only instance of its kind in human history, ever, which will prove just another item on the list of weird marks this man left upon human history.
This is apparently a Thing(tm). Latex gloves were involved.
Moving on.
The guy that Bob is supposed to be fighting has a bit of a funny, uncoordinated walk as he staggers onto the concrete arena with an impolite ushering onto the grounds with a rough shove by an officer who seems satisfied enough with the lack of a contraband doughnut. His hair has been done up in a decidedly feminine style, with long braids on either side of his head tied with frilly-looking bows running down the front which is incongruous with the rest of this guy's appearance - one part tourist, one part carpenter going by the fully-stocked (even overstocked) toolbelt, one part mechanic.
"Oh, hi there!" He waves a hand over to the big fella who can't quite seem to catch a break with the local security detail. "Ahh, sorry I'm late. Did you know they're banning jam busters on city limits? Yep... uhh, I can't say that, y'know, it's not... entirely... my mistake, but," he babbles on and on, rubbing the back of his head.
This is your former World Champion. Someone who was supposed to have been largely retired from most active fighting competition. Officially entering their late 40s in October, in not the best physical shape by appearances, and seemingly only half-aware of his immediate surroundings at best. This guy is said to be representing the 'speed' half of the 'Speed and Weight' exhibition.
Is he really a worthy stepping stone for Bob's great big comeback experiment...?

[BOB]
Bob adjusts his overalls slightly when the officer finishes looking over his license. The barricade is moved slightly, but only slightly, forcing Bob to turn sideways to try and squeeze through the gap. The whole contraption rocks a little bit when Bob bumps it into slightly, but he steadies it with a free hand. And then Rust makes his way in.

"Jam buster?" Bob asks with curious inflection, stroking his beard slightly. "Oh, well, if you can't talk about it, I suppose it's best to leave it at that." Bob lumbers on forward, extending a gloved hand for Rust Jr. to shake. For a moment, he looks Rust over, silently appraising the older man. He raises an eyebrow slightly.

"You've got quite a reputation from what I've heard. I'm Bob. It's a pleasure."

[RUST]
"Oh, I'd love to, yep. You'd probably like it with." Like it with? Sometimes it sounds like he's finishing a different sentence than the one he's presently speaking. "Just got a patent pending," why do you need a patent for a doughnut? This line of questioning probably leads only to madness.
As Bob approaches with an extended hand, the smaller of the two reaches out with his to grip it. His handshake is spritely! A bit on the cartoonish side, but the weirdo looks to be in good enough cheer. Okay, so he's together enough to understand he's talking to someone and saying 'hello,' that's... a good thing?
"It's Howard! Unless you're my wife, then," nervous laughter as his free hand goes behind his head, rubbing at the back of it gingerly, "it's a buncha other names in. Yep!" Howard Rust, Jr. was famous in his younger years as an explorer, an inventor, and a prize fighter in his younger, stronger years. The man today has not aged well. Still, his cheery and upbeat mood seems to transcend notice of the intense scrutiny of the arched eyebrow of the freestyle karate genius, as he steps back and disengages.
"Y'know, I do contracting if you got something you need fixed in. Windows, gutters--"

[BOB]
Bob still seems to be quietly appraising Rust, but despite the eccentricities, he never comes across as judgmental. Bob's gaze is a respectful sort of look over that seems to indicate respect--if curious respect. He /does/ have a reputation, but is this really the same man? Should he still be fighting at all? Then again, people sometimes say the same thing about Robert Richards when they see he isn't the handsome, chiseled karate prodigy they remember.

"Of course," Bob chuckles at the joke. "Just so long as she doesn't call you late for dinner, huh?" the heavier fighter smiles. "And I'll keep that in mind when I'm looking for a place again. Good contracting is hard to find sometimes."

Bob slips into a fighting stance. He spreads his feet wider than usual, draws one hand up and back like it's ready to spring, and raises the other in front of him with his thumb and two fingers extended.

"So shall we get this show on the road?"

COMBATSYS: Rust has started a fight here on the left meter side.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Rust             0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Bob has joined the fight here on the right meter side.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Rust             0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
Bob's keen eye could glean a fair bit. The man looks to be left-handed, has amazing hair thought genetically forbidden to the human male, and really likes to rub the back of his head as some kind of idle gesture. I don't know, maybe with hair like that, anyone would want to run their hand over there. It must feel very, very nice to the touch...
"Ahh, funny you should mention dinner," there's the nervous laughter again, "yep, you s--"
"FIGHTERS, TAKE POSITIONS." Someone calls from a poorly-tuned megaphone. It's more like SCREEEETERS, SCREEEKE POSREEEEEEEKONS. This same someone does not care to repeat their words, as that someone wanders off to stand where someone like them might stand in the company of more readily named someones, interested in moving things along for the sake of other someones in suits that make them more someone someones to someone.
"Uhhhh yeah, we should with," the older of the two looks over to the scowling frown of the someone with the megaphone. They can't blame that guy for his sour expression. It's been so hot, this summer. This day, not as bad as it has been, but still warmer than is considered comfortable.
Rust Jr. takes a short hop back where he doesn't stick the landing, staggering back two steps on those ridiculous sandals that should inhibit his footwork as his left hand moves to draw the length of pipe from the pocket of his toolbelt around his left hit.
"READY," more like RESCREEEEY.
"FISCREEEEEE." No, more like fig-- no wait that's correct.
And so, both men spring to action in their own way, as one Rust Jr. deftly draws the pipe--
Nope, the pipe is being resistant to being pulled out if the makeshift sheath that is the toolbelt pocket. He tugs at it, he pulls, he purses his lips together a bit more tightly than seems anatomically probable as he lifts one leg and starts to hop around in a stupid circle to try and get the pipe drawn.
...The guy did say 'fight,' so that's a good early opportunity for Bob to set the pace of the match.

COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Rust             0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0              Bob

[BOB]
Bob's stance tenses when Rust reaches for the pipe. Perhaps Bob knows the inherent difficulties in squaring off against a weapon fighter but leaves them unsaid. He brushes hair back--golly it's hot out here on the street--and resumes his fighting stance. He winces just a little at the megaphone, shooting the announcer a look, but his focus stays primarily on Rust Jr. Before he can linger on it though, the call to fight comes!

And Bob springs forward with deceptive speed. Some of the bystanders are surprising when the slow gait from before is replaced by a sudden lunge that closes the gap between the two men. The pipe doesn't come out when called, but Bob doesn't hesitate as he tries to seize the advantage. His eyes narrow, and he swings in with a testy palm strike, gauging the reaction of the more experienced fighter. The hit itself almost even seems to ask if it's all a ruse!

COMBATSYS: Rust manages to escape Bob's Quick Punch!

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Rust             0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
Hop hop hop hop hop. It's kind of shameful, but with an older man who has so extensively styled his hair in a way culturally inappropriate to both age and gender, maybe he doesn't quite grasp the meaning of the word 'shame.'
Bob's opening is the opposite of this. It is smooth, sure, strong, and swift. A man truly serious and dedicated to his craft, who has gone for an amazing (and, health-wise, risky) body transformation in order to elevate his craft to the next level. Even hundreds of pounds heftier, there is no loss of technique - and a whole lot more weight to pack behind that simple palm strike.
Rust Jr.'s free hand rises up, curling a few fingers inward and resting a thumb across them as the remaining fingers go straight, and he yanks at the pipe with such desperation that he leaps into the air.
Head-first, his entire upper body artfully curves and twists about the air just above the encroaching palm, allowing the two a split-second look into each others' eyes.
Rust Jr. is either winking, or has one eye shut from whatever amount of exertion it's taking to dislodge his weapon of choice. It's hard to tell, as the overweight has-been of a so-called ninja continues soaring about the space above the heftier warrior, passing largely harmlessly above...
...and then Bob stands to get clipped by the heel of the sandal, because this is not a tightly choreographed dance between two professionals who have carefully practiced every maneuver for a public demonstration. This is live! This is dangerous!
This is also silly.

COMBATSYS: Bob just-defends Rust's Weakened Light Kick!

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Rust             0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0              Bob

[BOB]
Bob powers forward, his palm strike driven by both his rapid forward momentum and tremendous weight. As Rust spins deftly (?) out of the way, Bob slides beneath him and briefly their eyes meet in passing. Rust's spin continues and brings his sandal-clad foot around toward Bob's head, but the large fighter pivots on his heel and brings up his palm to lift and push the heel away from his head. The end result likely sends Rust around for another spin before stopping; meanwhile, Bob continues his own spin and lands on his heels in a brief slide that turns him 180 degrees and puts him face to face with Rust once more.

"Speedy," Bob comments before rolling his neck, "but how about this one?" The blond steps forward again, striking out with a gut punch with the left. His right comes around for Rust's chin. Barely after that's finished Bob then steps forward into a knee that carries him forward and sets him up to spin around into a sweeping roundhouse kick!

Were Bob's form not so practiced, the whole combination would seem silly. In truth it still does, as the spinning roundhouse looks almost like the hippopotamus ballet from Fantasia.

COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Bob's Combination Bitter.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////// ]
Rust             0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
The deflection of the sandal tip coming in a touch low to properly clear Bob's head is cleanly deflected in an excellent show of technique, sending Rust Jr. spinning and sprawling until he fails to stick the landing against the concrete floor as he lands on his back, legs sprawled upward.
"Ow." The cry of pain is soft, even underplayed. Maybe he's the kind of guy who takes hard falls on concrete a lot?
He doesn't linger on this bad landing for too long, standing up with his back turned to Bob as he continues to pull fruitlessly against the pipe. Without even looking at Bob directly, his right elbow seems to move effortlessly(?) to intercept the got punch. The right comes in clean, having to make due with striking the back of his left shoulder which brings him down to a kneeling bow that scrapes his shin against the concrete with a few inches of push.
"Weight!" (Are we sure that's what's being said, and not 'wait?' The subtitlers will debate about this for the next decade.)
The knee presses into the guy's upper back to shove him forward still, setting him up for that final roundhouse kick that should really give this guy something to go 'ow' about--
SHING! No, more 'swish,' but, let's argue about appropriate sound effects of pipes being drawn against ratty old fabric later.
The roundhouse kick strikes against the newly drawn pipe, oriented in such a way that the intercepted leg hooks Rust Jr. to spin about-face and come face-to-face with the man who appears to have virtually zero issue moving and carrying such an incredible amount of weight.
Rust takes a small leap up, swinging one kinda stringy-looking leg - relative to his body mass - in a wide circle before thrusting forward with the second that, against accepted models of physics, stands to push Rust Jr. backwards.
...It could just be because Bob is just too heavy to move with simple kicks like that, if that second makes contact, but that doesn't excuse every instance of this phenomena before this very match!

COMBATSYS: Bob endures Rust's Girder Sway.

[   \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////////////     ]
Rust             0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0              Bob

[BOB]
When the first punch thumps against an elbow block, Bob quirks an eyebrow. As the second one hits a shoulder, he remains able to write it off with luck. The knee even lands clearly, and Bob seems certain to bring home the bacon with that roundhouse. It instead meets the pipe in a clash of wills, but Bob lingers on one leg only briefly, standing like a statue despite the inherent difficulty in one leg supporting that much weight. Just how strong /is/ Bob beneath that trademark weight?

"Hmmm," Bob says, smiling as if he's amused at some unspoken joke. "It seems that reputation of yours isn't unmerited, Howard."

Thump! Rust's leg swings around into Bob's shoulder, then the second collides heavily with his stomach, provoking an "Oof!" from the bigger man--and yet Bob seems to have taken the blow in stride, suffering for his craft as he keeps close and sets up another manuever. In fact, rather than tumble over despite standing on one leg he rides the backward momentum from the kick into another spin, twirling completely around before reaching out and trying to grab Rust's leg and swing him around for a full-body toss.

COMBATSYS: Rust avoids Bob's Medium Throw.

[   \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////    ]
Rust             0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
It all seems to happen so quick, as one of Rust Jr.'s hands make that same sign again seen at the very beginning. There's no stopping Bob's encroaching grasp. No matter how much surprising force the 40-something oddball can bring to bear when least expected, Bob enjoys the advantage in weight. All that padding, all that mass - what could stop him, as Rust Jr. finds himself unable to outpace Bob's approach with his aerial momentum?
The pipe gets planted into a large gap in the concrete, either by chance or sheer resourcefulness of the guy's surroundings. (They didn't do a great job of readying the venue for prime time, probably too busy giving up infrastructure money for rich people tax cuts or something.) It provides a handy point of leverage as Bob gets a gloved and around the exposed ankle in the karateka's krasp-- grasp. Sorry. Grasp. Karateka's grasp.
The toes wiggle playfully, squirming in a fashion that seems more fitting for a musical cartoon of antiquity rather than a real life breathing person who just yanks his leg right out of Bob's grasp. For the proportions of his spindly legs to his larger feet, their withdrawal shouldn't be nearly as smooth as they turn out to be.
For a flash second, Howard Rust Jr. kind of looks like a man who knows what he's doing! A handstand, like his dad used to famously do as one of his own techniques, shifting his weight so that he faces Bob as one hand is raised in that same ninja seal with a goofy-looking smile on his face.
It softens. "Eh? Which rep-- whoop!"
The pipe doesn't stay upright in the gap, its balance lost as Rust Jr. loses - or gains? - a valuable surprise attack followup opportunity that seems to begin and end on the premise of 'abruptly bodily falling atop Bob in botched act of acrobatics.'
Whump?!

COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Bob with Power Strike.

[   \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Rust             0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0              Bob

[BOB]
Bob lets out a surprised "Oooh" when Rust Jr. nimbly slips out of his grasp. The karateka likewise falls forward slightly, having lost his intended target. He's in the middle of repositioning when he addresses Rust in turn.

"The reputation of the former world champion. You've got quite a--" And it is here, unfortunately in mid-sentence, that Rust loses his balance. It is also here, unfortunately for Bob, that the larger man is positioned slightly beneath Rust. When the ninja drops he drops right down on the karateka, likely flopping unceremoniously onto the bigger man and sending them both crashing to the ground with a heavy thump against the concrete.

Landing heavily on his belly (and keeping the wind knocked out of him), Bob fails to finish his sentence. Instead, he tries to first buck Rust back off before handspringing back onto his feet--and somehow, in defiance of all expectations, curling into a ball and flipping through the air before landing on his feet. After that display of acrobatics, Bob dusts himself off.

"As I was saying, quite a reputation. Accident or not, your moves get the job done." Bob slides back into his fighting stance before bringing his arms around in a tai chi style concentration circle. Rust, if he is aware of such things, may notice the focusing of chi as Bob concentrates. Even if Rust Jr. is not aware of such things, he will almost certainly notice Bob surge forward with that deceptive speed again--right before he launches a powerful high kick!

Or maybe he won't notice? Who can predict the movements of Howard Rust Jr.?!

COMBATSYS: Bob successfully hits Rust with Sucre Tile.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////////         ]
Rust             0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1              Bob

[RUST]
Rust bounces off of Bob's body in the collision, tumbling onto the concrete in a heap and landing on his back in yet another exchange that could be considered, charitably, a botched routine as fortune has its fun with the two of them.
For being designated as the 'speed' of the 'Speed vs. Weight' match-up here, Rust Jr. does seem the slower of the two in the matter of getting back up on his feet. Differences in their weights and ages aside, among with the raging debates on what it actually would mean to be healthy for someone like Bob, Bob's recovery comes off as making him look to be in better shape. More alert, more capable of recovering from sudden setbacks and surprises.
Bob gets off his compliments and the very beginnings of his tai chi-style channeling by the time one can even consider Rust Jr. remotely back in a standing position. He puts on a convincingly content face, rubbing the back of his head as he staggers to a stand. Bob recovered through amazing acrobatics. Rust Jr. displays, in that moment, all the agility of a tired, busted old dad tired after a long day's work.
A striking contrast to the bluster and craziness from moments before.
"Th--" He has his free hand, his right, raised, stance lowering as though he were preparing to duck. Instead, there's a colorful explosion of unexplainable origin to solidly confirm a hit to his jaw as saliva gushes out the older man's maw with a vibrating tongue like he were giving the heavens above raspberries.
His feet take leave of the concrete underneath, the angle in which he's launched providing an invitation - an opportunity! - for Bob to move in there and juggle this guy to high heaven. A freestyling opportunity, if one wi--
Until Rust Jr. flips backwards, going inverted to toss what looks like a single hammer down at a sharp angle towards the upper thigh.
Surprise!

COMBATSYS: Bob just-defends Rust's Quick Fix!

[          \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////       ]
Rust             0/-------/-======|=======\=------\1              Bob

[BOB]
Bob seems almost apologetic when he manages to catch Rust mid-sentence with that kick. As he takes a heavy backstep, he raises a hand in apology. Before he can say anything, however, a hammer snaps out like a kunai and sips toward Bob's thigh. The hand rising in apology instead snaps to the side in a forearm block that catches the hammer from the side and sends it spinning through the air away from Bob. Next he's sidestepping after it, reaching out to catch it mid-spin before it clocks a bystander in the noggin. At least he's considerate! The audience member remains wide-eyed from the near-miss.

"Sorry about that," he says tossing the hammer to the side. "I was always told to respect my elders. Feels rude to interrupt a man when he's talking." Bob raises his fists again, rocking on his heels with one foot slightly lifted off the ground. "You give a new definition to handyman, huh? Never seen someone use a hammer quite like /that/."

Bob advances back toward the center of the street, putting himself back away from the crowd. "So how long have you been at the fighting game, Howard?"

COMBATSYS: Bob takes no action.

[          \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////       ]
Rust             0/-------/-======|=======\=------\1              Bob

[RUST]
The wide-eyed audience member brings their hands to their face and swoons. Wow, Bob is such a charmer~!
Rust Jr. lands in a controlled crouch that gets a fleeting wince from how much he has to bend one of his knees inward... before standing straight up, looking almost convincingly capable in comparison to his difficulties from moments before.
"Ahh, don't... worry 'bout it!" There's blood trickling out the side of his mouth, but you know, if anyone can really maintain good cheer out of being kicked in the face, it's probably him!
Bob asks just how long he's been in the fighting game. It's a question worth asking - this guy is, supposedly, largely retired from it all. Then he became (and, once a title defense could be organized, lost the mantle of) World Champion in unlikely and outright comical circumstances.
"On and off, for... I'd say twenty-ish years, give or take inside," about ten or so years ago he virtually dropped off the radar entirely to settle down and have a family, speaking casually as he rubs at his sore right chin to try and turn those addled brain-gears of his. "Yep! Time's kinda tough to put a finger on though, tell you what with... aaaaaanyway~!"
He takes a short hop back, lifting one leg up high like he were doing a yoga stretch. His free hand reaches down, two fingers 'marching' in place against the ground. The hand that holds the pipe turns inward, as though scratching at his back. He manages to curl his tongue far enough up out of his mouth to try and jam it into one of his nostrils, it's...
...
What the hell is even that?
That's one of his exceedingly stupid-looking weird poses that, on the outside, serves little to no purpose, but secretly, maybe...?!

COMBATSYS: Rust gathers his will.

[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////       ]
Rust             1/----===/=======|=======\=------\1              Bob

[BOB]
Bob gives said audience member a quick finger-gun as he walks off. Perhaps he lumbers off. When Bob isn't trying to move fast, the latter seems more accurate. He adjusts his suspenders, running his thumbs under them to snap them straight once more. He tugs on his gloves, tightening them as well. With the wardrobe handled, Bob slides back into a lower, more traditional karate stance. One arm is raised and bent slightly back and above and the other is raised before him with the fist open. He keeps his focus on Rust.

"Huh," Bob says, "with that kind of experience, I imagine you've got plenty of good stories to share." Probably plenty of bad, too, but Bob doesn't press that particular option. Even if he wanted to, Rust has shifted into an unorthodox meditative (?) pose. Bob raises an eyebrow.

"Best not to underestimate him," Bob says under his breath before sliding his sole along the concrete. "But two can play at that game..."

Bob breaks into a charge once more, barreling toward Rust like a Volkswagen. As he gets close, however, he falls forward--only to tuck into roll along the ground that further closes the gap. Bob finally springs out of it in a spin, practically pirouetting through the air once, twice, and then by the third he's raised his leg high into the air and went airborne, his foot bringing all that unorthodox momentum into a backwards spin kick!

COMBATSYS: Bob successfully hits Rust with Grater Langouste.
- CRAZY Hit! -

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////       ]
Rust             2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|-------\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
Bob has never seen anyone seriously attempt something like this, let alone a forty-something-old man who at this point should already be perfectly familiar with the way his body works and not be so curious to explore the furthest reaches of what flexibility he has like he's an eight-year-old. His honed technique and understanding of the human body gives a number of clues about this... posture.
1) The balance ought to be terrible, at best.
2) The man has set himself up in a way where he has virtually no means to deflect blows with his limbs, lest he trigger the first problem.
3) Seriously, what the fuck?
Rust Jr. is unmoving when Bob comes tumbling in a low roll. Bob could've made it work with just the low roll against the one leg. With all that weight, backed by that momentum, Rust Jr. could in no way physically halt any of that.
When Bob decides to take to the air instead like a graceful ballerina, the audience goes wild! Faces blush! A few less faces faint! Pictures are taken, beautiful lights glistening off of that beautiful face and wonderful gigantic body!
In slow-motion, he winds up the kick, as the pipe's orientation in the older man's grasp changes. For all the abject stupidity on display, Rust Jr. does show remarkable finger dexterity in working with something that's poorly weighted for traditional combat of any kind. The pipe looks ready to spike upwards from his awkward behind-the-back grasp, looking to catch the spin before it can come in for the wi--
"BFFFFPLGLDPSGhgglkrkrlbjlblrrr....!" The older man's eyes bulge out of his head, as his teeth clench (while he still has his tongue up one nostril? Ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch). The kick, in its wind-up, shoves the pipe further down his grasp as to effectively see Rust Jr. poke himself in the back with it. End result, the funny face and incomprehensible grunt of pain.
The kick continues unopposed, as it strikes at the side of his face. His entire jaw flaps, that side of his face compressing under all of Bob's channeled weight as he is sent tumbling across the concrete like a silly spinning log.
He finishes in a low crouch, clutching the pipe in both of his hands to keep himself from doubling over.
He stands back up. Okay, so he can still fight then, looks like.
"'ll do it after about," he murmurs to no one, clutching the back of his head with his free hand, gaze facing downward, "you bet."
He shakes his head. There's a little red on the gloved hand that went to the back of his head.
"I'm fine! Just fine. Exact amount of fine out!" He calls, stumbling one step to the left at their present distance. "Having a ball! Kind of ball the Brits would say, y'know, smashing! That kinda ball!" He coughs. He digs a hand into the toolbelt, retrieving a handful of... screwdrivers? He sure has a lot of those.
They get thrown.
Then another.
And another.
And another!
It's one handful right after the other. So many tools - the vast majority being screwdrivers - flying through the air like deadly ninja be-- hornets. Deadly ninja bees is a trademark owned by someone else. Ninja lawyers are not a pleasant experience for anyone.
The man's hands are a blur - blurrier than his own eyesight as he doesn't seem to have quiiiiiiiite fully gotten a grip after a one-two self-backstab-into-kicked-in-face combination.

COMBATSYS: Bob endures Rust's Hard Day's Work.

[                \\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////             ]
Rust             0/-------/<<<<<<<|====---\-------\0              Bob

[BOB]
Bob finishes his spin and slips back into his more laidback stance. His fists are raised almost like a boxer and one boot is pointed up slightly as it rests on the heel.

"Yowch," Bob says, "maybe that was a little too much weight. This new body is taking some getting used to still. Sorry about that." But then, there are screwdrivers. Bob tries to power through them, bringing up his arms to guard his face.

But there are more screwdrivers. Countless screwdrivers barrage him like something legally distinct from deadly ninja bees. Some have left nasty gashes. One or two have managed to stick in clothing or otherwise adhere. Even so, Bob keeps advancing.

"Ah," Bob says, sweeping a hand through his hair. For a moment, even if it's accident, Bob seems posed like some kind of ... large model, his winning baby-face drawing a few more camera flashes from the crowd.

But then, Bob surges forward, wobbling a bit in the worse demonstration of jiggle physics as he bodyslams toward Rust with his considerable girth. The handyman ninja (ninja handyman?) may have been expecting a punch. He did not receive a punch.

COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Bob's Giga Jacker.

[                 \\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////              ]
Rust             1/-------/<<<<<<<|====---\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
Bob's an unstoppable moving object! Handful after handful, Bob is more than a handful. He is more than two handfuls. There is probably no single hand in the world that could hold back that much Bob.
Rust Jr. gets that pipe going back in both hands, holding it horizontally before him like a bar to try and catch the larger fella, with what counts only as a success in the loosest sense of the definition - a loud, meaty 'WHUMPF' in which even more ground is lost as Rust Jr. finds himself pushed towards the very edges of the sectioned-off concrete lot where he is gently caught by a pile of orange traffic cones.
His eyes get all googly-lookin' for a bit. A few officials consider calling him out right there, on verge of a technical ring out - but no, there he is, pulling back up with help of that pipe to a standing position.
"A-Anyway, uh, when I said 'smashing,' I forgot to, uh... sorry," he laughs, "right, yep, yep," he clears his throat, starts to circle around Bob...
When he goes in, there is a thrusting motion with the pipe. Finally! Took long enough, but now, Rust Jr. is going to directly wield that pipe against Bob, but there is a twist!
Bob might feel a bumping sensation. A weak thrust? No! An attempt to hook the tip into his overalls, lift, and...
...um...
...more like strain to lift Bob and maybe give him an uncomfortable wedgie in the attempt...?
...
Rust clearly did not think this plan through at all!!

COMBATSYS: Bob just-defends Rust's Weakened Wrecking Ball Swing!

[                  \\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////            ]
Rust             1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0              Bob

[BOB]
Bob staggers back, sliding into his stance once more on reflex. Rust rambles a bit more, and Bob raises an eyebrow in concern. Maybe he has stage fright? Bob didn't hit him /that/ hard, did he?
%But before Bob can ponder the possibility of a concussion any further, Rust circles like a shark, then brings that pipe to bear against him--with a lifting throw!? The pipe hooks into Bob's overalls and presses up, up!

Archimedes once said with a proper lever he could move the world. Unfortunately, this also requires a suitable fulcrum. Rust should also probably lift with his legs rather than his back, but his years of construction experience has likely taught him that much. Bob starts to leave the ground after considerable effort--but then he turns to swing a forearm block toward the pipe. It connects, but rather than dislodging the pipe entirely it hooks it differently. Rather than simply hooking a (straining) pocket, Bob's block knocks the pipe with enough force that it digs into the seat of his pants.

And then, with a ripping of cloth, Rust's pipe slides through and leaves a big gash, exposing white, boxers with pink hearts underneath Bob moves to cover the wardrobe malfunction.

"Hey," he protests, "I have to hit the big and tall store for these, you know?"

COMBATSYS: Bob takes no action.

[                  \\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////            ]
Rust             1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
"Hup!" Rust Jr. pulls upwards, for the moment feeling a great weight off of his joints, as though expecting Bob to be sailing through the air a ways away off of one of his stranger signature techniques. That ripping sound sees him lift a leg up, crossing an arm inward defensively as though he already knows what happened, averting his gaze under one of his forearms.
"Oooh... sorry, buddy." The past-his-prime pipe wielder idly starts fishing through his toolbelt, as he turns away. "Now where did I have it out, got to be there somewhere, didn't pack a haystack in there now did I about--"
He finds it!
A sewing needle! Which, for some reason, has already been tied with some thread.
"Okay, hold still," the overweight-but-less-so oaf rears back the needle like someone preparing to go for a deadly assassination attempt rather than... what comes next, as he braves the inadvertent indignity of his initiation, lunging in low to...
Sew?
That's right, sew! He has to place a hand firmly on Bob's upper back to make it happen, but if allowed, he... well. It's lightning-fast, given the circumstances. Ridiculous. Improbable! Speedy. But it's the polite thing to do, in this circumstance.
For a patch-up job that takes about as long as it does to read all this if he's able to do so, it's nice work - but now it might have made Bob's pants half a size too tight, which is a minor inconvenience in the big picture.
Unless it's a hidden ninja technique that involves assassination by restricting blood flow, but that's expecting too much of the friendly neighborhood omnidisciplinary handyman.
...Right?

COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Bob with Weakened Quick Throw.

[                  \\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////             ]
Rust             1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0              Bob

[BOB]
Bob starts to pivot to face Rust again, but the ninja is too fast. He's already slipped back behind Bob once more and has brandished a needle! For what terrible purpose, Bob surely wonders, before Rust starts to...sew Bob's pants back together.

"Oh uh," Bob pauses. "Thanks. ...you really do have a lot of skills there, huh? They're a little tight, but the stitching seems good enough." Bob turns once the work is finished. Bob takes a step back but doesn't attack immediately, instead giving Rust a warning via shifting back into his fighting stance.

"Not gonna lie," Bob says, "all this niceness makes it hard to keep fighting." Bob shakes his leg, getting used to the new fit. "Ready to go again when you are."

COMBATSYS: Bob focuses on his next action.

[                  \\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////             ]
Rust             1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
That is a very strange quality of the Canadian handyman ninja. Oftentimes, he just seems... too nice, in the heat of battle. It's weird. Could such conditioning be deliberate on his part, to disarm and disorient an opponent? He is supposedly a ninja. Masters of deception and trickery. This could all well be a front for something much more sinister...
Not that such a thing reflects on the dopey, kinda silly look on the guy's face even as blood is trickling out the side of his mouth as he steps back to allow Bob to inspect his sewing handiwork under duress.
"Ahh, don't worry about it," a hand waves as the pipe is brandished anew with a flourish of his left hand... where he drops it. Picks it back up. Flourishes again, and re-enters his own fighting stance, leaning forward.
Once more, Rust Jr. runs across the concrete with a comfort that should not be affoded by someone wearing sandals of that quality. Those sandals are for leisure at the beach, not running full-bore in battle, but somehow he makes that work as he draws in towards the freestyle karate genius...
And raises his right hand up, palming for the scalp to try and thrust Bob straight downwards in a faceplant against the concrete as he draws back the length of pipe!

COMBATSYS: Bob endures Rust's Brick Stacker.

[                   \\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////                ]
Rust             0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0              Bob

[BOB]
The fight resumes! Bob keeps a close eye on Rust, as if by this point he has come to understand that one can never be too careful with the Canadian ninja. What seems innocuous can be a sneaky trick in disguise, and what seems like an accident carries all the weight of intentionality--regardless of its real purpose.

But when Rust closes the gap once more, Bob meets him in the middle. The scalp grab is unexpected--and Bob has a messy mop of hair perfect for grabbing--and by the end of the technique Bob has been planted against the concrete. It practically puts a crack it on impact, but Bob seems to tank the impact remarkably well. It certainly looks like it stung, but at least he keeps his teeth and his brain functioning!

But Bob doesn't linger on the ground, and instead launches back up like a rocket. He moves into a powerful uppercut, spinning on liftoff into a second uppercut in mid-air--and in complete defiance of physics!

And yet, not to outdo himself, Bob transitions from the uppercut into a grab, trying to use the staggering power of his blow to open Rust up to a grab around the waist, turn an aerial flip, and toss Rust back down to earth!

COMBATSYS: Bob blitzes into action and acts again!

[                   \\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////                 ]
Rust             0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0              Bob

COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Bob's Spinach Upper.

[                     \\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////                ]
Rust             1/------=/=======|=======\-------\0              Bob

COMBATSYS: Bob successfully hits Rust with Strong Throw.
? Strange Hit! ?

[                         \\\\\  < >  //////////////                ]
Rust             1/---====/=======|=======\=------\1              Bob

[RUST]
There is a clash of fist on pipe, precluded by the screech of pipe against concrete. Bob's perseverence is rewarded thusly - that first hit deflects the pipe right out of the older man's hand, sending it high up into the air. It looks like the two of them had the same idea.
Bob just proves speedier on the draw.
Rust Jr. leaps straight up after the deflected pipe, his right hand making that seal gesture as he twirls and spins up to try and grasp the pipe as he rises parallel to the heavyweight karateka--
Uppercut number two! The pipe is taken in both hands moments before impact. With his feet not on the ground, Jr. lacks the traction and sense of positioning as the halted blow succeeds more on the merit of setting up the third and final act of this power play of speed and weight...
Bob's grasp of his waist means having to get a hold of him through all the tools stocked on his belt. One of them accidentally stabs a screwdriver into Jr.'s thigh, the guy's eyes bugging out as Bob flips, tosses, and looks absolutely fabulous in the air for the camera.
There is a humorous dust cloud as Rust Jr. crashes into the concrete below, all googly-eyed and twitchy for as long as it takes for him to swing his body weight up and back to something kinda-sorta a standing position. That fuzzy point between 'the referee might want to step in' and 'nah he's okay,' where you could make a good argument for either call.
The former tends to get more traction by post-match analysis. Look at the older guy! Unsteady on his feet, unfocused look on his face, taking three tries to get a hold of a handful of tools from the toolbelt. He might be going to a power crouch, or he might be trying to stop himself from falling over flat on his face. What's the call?
The referee doesn't step in yet.
"'m good, yep, juuuust," he coughs out as he flings a handful of tools - two screwdrivers, one pair of tongs? Why tongs? - that all at least fly parallel at the same velocity and angle, as though heedless of gravity itself.
That's... sort of convincing?

COMBATSYS: Bob instinctively blocks Rust's Tools For The Job.

[                          \\\\  < >  /////////////                 ]
Rust             1/---====/=======|=======\==-----\1              Bob

[BOB]
Bob lands on his feet and palm with a hearty 'hup' and a movement of a large amount of powerful weight. He rises up again, resuming a fighting stance. By now he looks pretty bruised and scraped, but he seems to hold up well under punishment. He is, however, slowing down a good bit as well.

However, the level of that slowdown is put to the test when Rust unleashes a flurry of flying tools. Bob's eyes widen dramatically as he snaps to attention, moving to block. One screwdriver is parried away with a backfist, but another slices across his arm. (He does not, for the record, bleed gravy.) The tongs meanwhile zero-in on his face, but Bob thrusts up with a chop that catches between them and makes them spin wildly around his hand. They soon fly off and catch him on the side of the face, but it's much less severe than a direct hit. With the volley against Fort Bob repelled, the fluffy fighter turns his attention back toward offense.

With a surge of forward momentum, Bob's hand snaps out to try and seize Rust by the arm. With a tug, he tries to bring the older man forward--and right into his upward elbow strike to the chin! From there, Bob spins around, still holding the arm, and tries to put it over his broad shoulder in a quick joint-lock.

If Bob has managed to get behind Rust, by this point he swings up with a swift kick to the back, intended to lay Rust out flat as the finishing move of his combination throw.

COMBATSYS: Rust interrupts Cooler Shaker from Bob with Bulldozer.

                                  >  ////////                      ]
                                  |=====--\-------\0              Bob

COMBATSYS: Rust can no longer fight.

                                  >  ////////                      ]
                                  |=====--\-------\0              Bob

[RUST]
As Bob approaches, his opponent squats onto an invisible seat? That's weird. The way he crouches has virtually no merit in the wide and sometimes wacky world of martial arts, as he holds the pipe horizontally in front of him. It is an unbalanced stance that could be pushed over by the slightest breeze! What kind of final stand is that going to be?
Rust Jr. shakes in place, vibrating? He flicks his neck and allows his luxurious hair to flutter in the breeze, refreshingly. (Would-be photographers are repulsed by this.)
Then he... takes off. His feet glide forward, like he were in fact riding some kind of invisible vehicle, plowing into the elbow strike into the chin and pushing Bob over.
The infamous Bulldozer technique, incorporating elements of his father's most famed defensive techniques in one of the most ridiculous-looking stances and strikes ever conceived, using one's legs like an unmoving cow-catcher to push and roll a destabilized opponent across an arena before falling backwards, scooping them up and tossing them away, except...
This is Bob.
It proves a far more laborious effort than usual to push him around, which steps down the whiplash and tumbling into being a milder inconvenience involving being forced into sluggish somersaults.
Rust Jr. sweats down his brow. He's not sure how long he could keep that going, as he transitions into the second part and comes to think there was a problem with his brilliant plan all of five seconds too late. He falls back, scooping up Bob through his legs, and then...
"Uh oh." That sobering moment of impending doom.
The moment where he basically rolls Bob right on top of himself, unable to overpower Bob's superior weight to toss him.
It is the 'splat' heard the world 'round.
Okay, just the city block 'round. But it was a 'splat,' and it was heard, as Rust Jr. remains pinned underneath Bob for however long it takes for Bob to get off of him.
Why wait to declare victory for Weight?

[BOB]
There is a dramatic clash of SPEED and WEIGHT as Rust enters an unorthodox new stance. He bulldozes forward as Bob moves in for a powerful throw combination. The two meet in the middle in an epic clash that takes what seems like an eternity to resolve. (In reality, it's over in just a few moments.) Bob is pushed back, back by Rust into the beginnings of the Bulldozer.

But before the second stage begins, Bob rolls back forward, not unlike Sisphysus and that mythical boulder. Bob comes forward, forward....splat.

Bob lays there for a moment. The terrible rolling somersaults as he was pushed along by Rust have worn out even his mighty constitution. It takes him a moment to roll up and off of Rust, landing with an equally heavy 'thump' next to him. Bob takes labored breaths.

"Whew!" he finally says, "That was intense." A long pause.

"Hey uh, you okay?"

[RUST]
The concrete underneath where Rust Jr. lies is cracked, as the handyman ninja forms a nice and shapely mould of himself within the long-dried concrete. On his face is a comical, exaggerated grimace. His pipe is pressed into his chest, his arms bent back so far as to be flattening them outright. His legs simiilarly appear pressed into themselves.
A thumb twitches from his flattened hands, twitching and inflating slightly as his body comes to grips with the idea it is no longer being crushed. Crush syndrome is the worst.
His thumb points upward in the air, as the medical crew starts coming by with a hammer and chisel in order to get him out.

Log created on 14:06:41 07/16/2017 by Rust, and last modified on 19:04:29 07/23/2017.