Description:
Ah, the great state of Texas. Large, open, free. It's an awesome place to live, if you're a cactus. Or a hick. Luckily, the man known as Brian Battler is, in fact, a hick. A redneck, if you will. Born here in Texas, the man has lived in the state all his life and is quite happy to continue to live here until he dies.
Yesterday was the 4th of July, the date that the Declaration of Independence was signed back in 1776. Independence Day has since been a great excuse to drink a heck of a lot of beer, eat a lot of red meat charred over red-hot coals, and blow shit up. The former NFL linebacker engaged in quite a bit of that yesterday, and his late night antics had made him wake up around two in the afternoon. Now, as the sun's heat started to die off, he had stepped out of his large ranchhouse and into the center of his large, paved driveway, where he was currently washing a 1969 Z-28 Camaro tenderly.
The joys of being American.
Alan R. B. hates Texas. If you asked him why, he wouldn't really be able to put an answer to it, but something about the attitude of the state just puts him in a bad mood. Like most things, though, Alan doesn't care enough about it to let him get in the way. He just looks a bit unhappy as he flies toward Brian's house, seated as he is in one of "R"'s signature black helicopters, the logo on the side.
The vehicle sure is quiet for a helicopter. It sounds like its still at least several hundred feet off by the time it really looms into view above Brian's driveway, throwing a shadow over his car and throwing a huge backwind everywhere. A zipline drops from the helicopter.
What the hell...?
Brian's used to seeing black helicopters crossing over his house, thanks to both the drug trade and the US military. What he's not used to is the helicopters hovering directly over his driveway. The Texan stares up at the helicopter as it hangs in the air, before looking back down at all the dust that is now being kicked onto his just-cleaned car. A scowl crosses his face as he looks at the scene, even before his hat is wrenched from his head and sent flying from the backwind.
"This had better be damn important," he mutters, reaching out to grab the zipline before it can come in contact with his classic muscle car.
The zipline ends just above the car, a small concession to the fact that Brian obviously cares about the vehicle. Granted, if the pilot and the passenger cared that much, they probably wouldn't have decided to throw dust all over it. C'est la vie.
Yawning, the boxer sits up, the chi crackling around his hands and face diminishing as he comes out of the relaxation of travel. Alan takes his sweet goddamn time slipping on a pair of gloves, taking hold of the zipline, and sliding down without something convenient like a harness. His legs swing halfway down, and he does a flip out and onto the grass, landing easily on his feet on the other side of the car from Brian. The helicopter pulls up and away, landing nearby in the road and totally freaking out one motorist - who shakes a shotgun out of his window at it. Alan hates Texas.
Still going at his own pace, every move designed to test Brian's patience, Alan digs a cigarette from his pocket, snapping his fingers to light it with a spark. He takes one deep drag. "Brian Battler, huh?"
Well, whatever concession is given is somewhat appreciated. He'd have to pick both the pilot and the passenger up by the throats and introduce their heads to one another at high velocity if they'd scratched the car with the zipline. As it stands, he's just irritated that he'll have to rewash the car after he finds out what this is all about.
This guy seems to want to taunt the Texan, and if not for the fact that the man is nursing the slightest of hangoverss, it might work. As it stands, the former linebacker simply turns his head and spits, a giant mass of brown hitting the pavement with an undignified splat. "That's right," Brian answers, looking over the visitor from R. "What can I do for ya, scooter?"
Alan gives Brian a bland look. If 'scooter' is the best this guy can do, he's about to have a very boring night. "Alan." He glances around boredly, looking upon everything - except the car - with a practised look of cocky disdain. "Is this seriously the best you can do? Weren't you a football player, for shit's sake?" He flicks the ash brazenly on the lawn. "And in a King of Fighters tournament once, at that. Damn waste." Wait for it... wait for it... and /there's/ the sneer, already gaining fame in the fighting circuit as the most punchable expression in the world.
Hmph.
"I got what I need, scooter," the Texan says, bluntly. And it's true. A good fifty acres of land, a large collection of cars and horses, and a nice home that's perfectly large enough for his needs. It's not like the homes of some of the flashier players, but Brian was just a defensive player... The big money went to the offense. Besides, it's been a while since he was in KoF or the NFL, so he's been conserving his money a bit. Kinda.
"So, did y' come all the way on out here t' just insult me, or ya got other business?" Brian asks, voice tinged with the building irritation with the smug little shit. "Cuz if ya just wanted to blow air outta yer ass, ya coulda phoned it in and saved us all some trouble."
"Don't know your number." Alan R. B. flicks the half-smoked cigarette behind him, knowing things are about to come to a head, and subtly hooks his hands into his belt - fingers slipping through the iron rings. Brian's insistence on calling him 'scooter' just rolls on by, the boxer way too much of a sassbucket to be affected by sass himself. It's like trying to drown a water elemental.
Truth be told, Alan doesn't think it's that bad of a place, but he'll go whatever route he needs to to rile Brian up, get him thinking about how much he'd probably like a healthier income. "How long's it been since you had a good job, anyway? Man like you can't go wrappin' burgers or bagging groceries. Be a damn circus. So I've got a little proposition for you." The sneer turns into a sharklike grin, a dangerous expression. Alan slips his sunglasses off, wipes them down on the hem of his vest, and slides them back on. "Ever hear of 'R'?"
If money was just mentioned right off the bat, Brian'd sniff it and follow like a dog. Beating people for money was a sweet deal, and it was a shame when he had to leave for a while due to contractural obligations and the halfassetude of his two teammates. As of "R", yeah, he's heard of it. Rugal was the host of the 2001 King of Fighters tournament, and the initial was on his invitation. "It's been a coupla years" Brian says, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "Not since I left the rodeo. But what's that gotta do with 'R'? Last I heard about 'R' was that it was the group runnin' the tournament in '01. Y'all lookin' t' sponsor a car on th' NASCAR circuit, or are you thinkin' a little more 'hands on'?"
Brown eyes flick on over to the helicopter. He's been meaning to get his pilot's license. It'd be a good way of goin' fast.
Yeah, sure, Alan could go about this the /easy/ way, but then that wouldn't be any fun for him. Rugal didn't say anything about getting in a fight with the former linebacker, but he didn't say /not/ to. So when Brian mentions NASCAR (Alan hates Texas so much) the leaner blonde just laughs and laughs. Not maniacally, but like Brian told a hilarious joke. "Hahahaha! "R" sponsoring a car... that's a good one, countyboy. No, "R"'s got a bit of a more personal interest... so when I do this, know that it's just business. Gotta make sure you're not going to slouch on the job."
Alan's hands come out of his belt now, electricity spiralling up his right arm as a small, crackling ball of chi is formed between his thumb and middle finger. He swings the arm up, and snaps his fingers. "Strike!" With a crack of thunder, a bolt of lightning chi arcs up safely over the car to drive down at Brian. His hand snaps across again, throwing another bolt right behind it. "Twice!"
COMBATSYS: Alan has started a fight here.
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Alan 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Brian has joined the fight here.
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Brian 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Alan
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Brian with Lightning Strikes Twice.
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Brian 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Alan
Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, the Texan shakes his head and lets out a grunt of dissatisfaction. It's when he closes his eyes for a moment while doing this that he suddenly smells the ozone in the air... and then gets seriously zotted. "Agh!" he grunts, steam coming off of his head from where the chi lightning struck him. Eyes immediately snapping open, the linebacker turns his full attention to the irritating intruder. He's gonna haveta choke a bitch, isn't he.
In fact, this is what Brian decides he needs to do. Leaping over his car, the man's massive hands aim to grab Alan by the throat and pin him to the ground. How dare he come to his house and start this shit. This guy needs to learn some manners.
COMBATSYS: Alan dodges Brian's Medium Throw.
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Brian 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Alan
Brian comes at him like a bat out hell - which is good. Though Alan's not really here to judge Brian's fighting, he just wants to keep this intereting. When the big man comes right at him, Alan /moves,/ lightning crackling around his feet as he swerves around to the right, leaving a trail where his fists move. "Slow! Come on, man, pick it up, if you want to be worthwhile!" He darts in, snapping both fists out in quick blows to the bigger man's jaw. That electricity just doesn't let up for an instant.
COMBATSYS: Brian endures Alan's Light Punch.
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Brian 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 Alan
Grunt. He missed. This guy's one of those squirrely motherfuckers, isn't he.
Righting himself, the Texan steps forward, allowing the punches from Alan to strike him firmly in the chin without flinching, despite the crackle he feels on his mouth from the extra electricity the other man seems to have surging through his system.
"Fine," Brian mutters, ducking low. With great alacrity, the giant rockets upward at an angle, attempting to throw his shoulder into the 'R' member's face, and maybe even take it off in the meantime. A great bellow flies from his mouth as he leaps, like the report of a cannon on the battlefield.
COMBATSYS: Alan blocks Brian's Rocket Tackle.
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Brian 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Alan
Alan pulls his fists together and crouches a bit, blunting Brian's blow. It still hits hard, twisting his upper body and forcing him to lighten up his stance and allow himself to skid backward, boots tearing grooves in the grass. "See? Better!" The man hits hard... but not fast. In Alan's experience, the fast guy usually wins out.
So with that in mind, he sets to moving again, a series of fast crackling steps covering the distance Brian sent him. He doesn't come right at Brian, though, in an unconventional move for a boxer - he leaps to make up for the foot+ in height difference, arm snapping out to wrap aroung Brian's thick neck. His other hand comes forward to complete the headlock, and he jerks back, electricity crackling around his entire body with the motion.
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Brian with Dynamo Grip.
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Brian 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Alan
Again, Brian finds himself on the short end of the stick when it comes to this kid's attacks... Man, he's rusty something fierce. Getting used to punching only drunken college students instead of capable fighters has put a hamper on the former linebacker's skills. It's a fateful mistake that's gotten him in trouble the last couple of fights, and it's getting him in trouble again.
Grimacing, the large man reaches up towards his throat with one hand, and back behind him with the other, attempting to grab Alan by both the arms and the shoulder. Should he grab him, the plan is to pull the boxer over his head before spiking him into the pavement like a football... and then falling on top of him for good measure. Brian's not a light man, after all, and the boxer will likely feel it.
COMBATSYS: Brian successfully hits Alan with Samurai Bomb.
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Brian 1/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Alan
Alan is a boxer. His father was a boxer. He was never trained to deal with getting picked up and thrown around, and he sure as hell takes hits poorly when he can't blunt them with his fists. His arms wheel about madly as Brian turns the tables on him, trying to break his way out of the hold, but it doesn't work at all. Brian slams him to the ground, and then falls on top of him like a /huge douchebag./ "Ahunghh! Fat ass!"
At this point, Brian may notice that Alan has done what few do when they have a giant football player twice their weight on him - he relaxes. Relaxing his body relaxes the control Alan keeps on the energy flowing through him, and so lightning starts to crackle around him at an incredible rate - especially his right hand. He clenches his fist, pushing up and driving his hand into Brian's stomach/chest/whatever's right there, lightning bolts snapping all around him. "OVERCHARGE!"
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Brian with Overcharge.
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Brian 1/----===/=======|====---\-------\0 Alan
Bzzt.
An electrical fist flung into his gut, Brian does what most people would do... he gets the hell out of dodge. Rolling off of his opponent, the former NASCAR racer and NFL linebacker hops onto his feet, holding his stomach. Little does he know that his hair is now standing on end from all the electricity that's been sent coursing though his system.
His teeth feel fuzzy.
Taking a moment to breathe, and letting the boxer have the same, the giant spits another ball of brown liquid onto the ground to his right. "You enjoyin' this, scooter?" he asks, his features frozen with a cold anger. "Because I don't see what th' hell this is gonna accomplish. We ain't gettin' paid for this shit." Well, maybe Alan is, but Brian isn't. And if Brian's not gettin' paid to fight, he figures he better be enjoying it.
COMBATSYS: Brian focuses on his next action.
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Brian 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|====---\-------\0 Alan
Inhaling a desperate breath when Brian finally gets the hell off him, Alan rolls several times back and smoothly moves to his feet. He swings his right hand to the side, throwing off an arc of excess chi, and starts forming another crackling orb. He's grinning despite the pain - it's a good fight.
"It's simple, countryboy. We can't have you working for "R" if you're no good in a fight!" He whips his hand out, snapping his fingers just once this time, releasing a crazy-fast bolt of chi. "Strike!"
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Brian with Lightning Strike.
[ \\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Brian 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=====--\-------\0 Alan
So, this is a job application. Fine, then.
Getting hit with another lightning bolt causes the Texan to rear back for a moment before falling over onto all fours, his head down. It looks like the former linebacker is out of it... But when the man snaps hs head up to look at Alan, the image is very much different. He snorts, the plume of hot air visible from a distance before quickly dissipating. The phantom image of longhorns flicker from the side of his head, before his shoulders begin to glow in a yellowish-white chi. Shoulderpads. Pawing the ground with his read foot, Brian Battler charges out of the four-point stance, dropping his shoulder before he reaches where Alan stands. As he reaches his target, he slams his forearm up, attempting to take Alan off his feet and send him airborne. Turning tightly in a cloverleaf pattern, Brian repeats the shoulder assault, knowing his timing is perfect to keep his opponent from hitting the Texas dirt before being sent into the sky once again. A total of four passes comes to bear before he slides to a stop, turning around quickly to ensure that he still can defend himself should he fail, or should Alan be fast on the draw with a new attack.
COMBATSYS: Brian successfully hits Alan with Big Bang Tackle.
[ \\\\\\ < > // ]
Brian 0/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Alan
See, now that's just not cool at all. All that glowing nonsense? This guy's not supposed to have that! Alan bounces on the balls of his feet a few times, getting ready... and Brian comes flying at him. "Not toda-howarghgh!" The first hit only really clips him, and he remains on the ground, barely. Brian's /second/ pass, however, he can't even react to, and he goes into the air. And again! And again!
But he never hits the ground. The reason for this is that "R" has very awesome technology, and it's clear to the helicopter pilot that the oft-beleaguered Alan has lost another fight. Quickly pulling up something that looks like a bazooka, he fires a wide net at Alan, catching his wildly-spinning body and reeling him in. He looks like a damn fool, but at least a damn fool that isn't busting himself open on the ground.
The boxer manages to twist himself around and get enough of a hold of himself to shout down over the helicopter, "Another chopper will be coming to pick you up at noon tomorrow! Make your choice, countryboy!" He rubs his head. That really hurt.
COMBATSYS: Alan takes no action.
[ \\\\\\ <
Brian 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Alan can no longer fight.
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Brian 0/-------/=======|
Hmph. As the helicopter takes flight, Brian finally lowers his guard, looking up at the chopper with a deep frown on his face. Looks like he got away.
No matter. Watching the helicopter fade into the distance, the linebacker nods quietly to himself. Tomorrow, there's a helicopter coming that he should be on. And in the meantime? He has a car he needs to rewash. Turning back to his Camaro, he reaches into the bucket for the sponge... only to have a shock discharge into his hand as he touches the water. "Augh!" he grunts, rubbing his hand, brow furrowed. Apparently Alan left him with a little gift before leaving. Hmph. Bastard.
COMBATSYS: Brian has ended the fight here.
Log created on 20:16:57 07/05/2007 by Alan, and last modified on 00:54:31 07/06/2007.