Description: Marisol O'Connell has a nasty penchant for behaving a bit irrationally when confronted with a problem. Normally, most faculty just ignore her outbursts, for good reason: she might punch them! But when the new shop teacher at Pacific actually makes a stand against her brash behavior, it comes as quite a surprise. But will it be enough to quell her fists..?
With noon just freshly passed and numerous bellies of the student population satisfied with nourishment from lunch, school resumes as normal, with students milling the hallways and courtyards alike. They drift from lunch to their respective classrooms, to carry on the school day as intended.
Well...almost everyone, at least.
As expected, there are a handful of students who loiter and lag behind, some of which who do not actually ATTEND class. Some linger behind campus, some drift toward the nearby beach, while others haunt the rooftops or other, various places scattered about. It's not truancy if they're still on campus!
One such student is Marisol. Currently, the half-Spaniard is in the school lobby, looking positively upset as she argues with another student. An older chap, he stands a few inches higher than herself, dressed in school uniform while she, on the other hand, is clad in a skirt and blouse of her own choosing.
"You ass!" she barks, thrusting a finger at his chest, but not directly touching him. He scoffs, turning his head in annoyance and arrogantly.
"How dare you! You better apologize, you stupid bastard! I know you did it!" The guy smugly smirks and helplessly shrugs his shoulders. Sure, he's guilty! But he won't admit to it. The look on his face says everything.
Marisol scowls harshly.
"You apologize NOW, you dumb shit! Apologize for making me drop my lunch!"
In response, the guy just leans forward and flicks her forehead with a cocky smirk.
Marisol, in kind, slugs him harshly across the face and sends him sprawling on the floor. Nearby, faculty look on in a mix of disbelief and horror. Then they look to one another. Should they step in?
The redhead just cackles and thrusts a finger toward the guy as he angrily gets up and wipes his mouth of blood and face red with anger.
"Oh, you want to fight?? Good! I was hoping to get some practice on the Gedo tards, but you'll have to do!"
Marisol O'Connell is a legend among the school and staff. It might be a slight exaggeration, but it would be difficult to pick another word that'd fit her reputation around the school. She's one of the best fighters of her up and coming generation. Only a handful of students from various schools around Southtown match or surpass her prowess. With the world glorifying - and even celebrating! - the sport of street fighting, it really should've come as no surprise to educational facilities around the world that a few of their students may harbor a whole lot of fighting talent with the unfortunate combination of a hot temper and poor self control.
And then, there's one of the faculty members on campus. Howard Rust, age 37. A former worker at a construction firm. Ten years ago, he might've made it into the limelight. He was never sponsored, and never competed professionally. At 29, he left his job and disappeared under the radar. He never really was on the radar to begin with. Years later, he had the credentials for an opening here. He was hired.
For something that would be so tertiary to his qualifications, it's something some members of the faculty have been curious about for situations like this when his footsteps echo through the commotion. Someone does dare to intervene, after all.
"That's enough!" So says a gruff voice that gets broken up with the clearing of a throat. It belongs to a man just under six feet in height - someone who would be easy to look over in place of, say, Preston, who'd dwarf the guy. He's not wearing the official Pacific High uniform either - if only on the virtue that he's been out working with his class for the better half of the morning. It's starting to get a little chilly but it doesn't stop him from working up enough of a sweat to need to air out his arms. For some strange reason, he's shoved a pipe that's a bit shorter than the length of a US major league baseball bat through one of the pockets on his toolbelt. Something reminiscent of a swordsman... maybe? But, most of all, or maybe even least of all, that awful combover. An abomination among hairstyles in his attempt to hide his very early baldness. If one is fortunate, attention will never be called to it again in light of the present situation.
"I don't know what the hell happened here, but whatever it is it stops now," he gestures with a thick, gloved hand pointed downwards. Is he really confident enough to want to step up to a brewing fight involving /the/ Marisol O'Connell?! It would seem so, yes.
Indeed--Marisol has a reputation of considerable note among her peers and faculty alike here at Pacific High, along with the other three ragtag members of her team. On numerous occasions she has gotten into fights on campus, having given a number of black eyes to various "idiots" she's encountered. Idiots, or people she's believed to be a worthy opponent and someone worth her time.
Today, this guy, this fool, is of the former category.
Until today, Marisol wasn't aware that Pacific High HAD a shop class, or a teacher FOR the shop class. Blissfully (??) aware as always, the girl operates with a relatively narrow-minded point of view where school is concerned. Howard Rust is a person she has never met before. Frankly, if not for her brash and rowdy attitude, she may not have met him.
But today, things will change.
Just as the half-Spaniard has a hand curled into a fist, and the young man easing himself into what seems to be a poorly-constructed martial arts stance, a voice booms through the lobby. Both sets of eyes drift from looking at one another toward the swiftly-approaching "old man." Both seem stunned.
A faculty member is...intervening?
Suffice to say, the arrival of mister Rust very nearly drops jaws. He's unassuming. He's carrying a pipe. And, perhaps atrocity of atrocities, he has a combover for his haristyle of choice. Who IS this guy - that's what either student's face seems to beg. And why, oh why, has he the nerve to intervene here?
Rather suddenly, a broad grin melts across the girl's face. Without looking at the clearly-distracted boy in front of her, she throws a straight punch, immediately causing him to cry out and grab his eye as he staggers and stumbles back. She just became less interested in him, and more interested in the bold faculty member.
"And who might you be?" she asks, sounding almost too confident. "And this problem is mine to handle. I don't need a teacher telling me what I can and cannot do!" Stepping forward, the girl boldly puffs her chestup and outwards at Rust.
"So why don't you politely step back to...wherever it is you came from and let me handle my problems like an adult, huh??"
Meanwhile, the other student is getting increasingly mad as he recovers from his second black eye, courtesy of O'Connell.
The man's face turns briefly in the direction of the latest black eye delivery by Marisol. He didn't even really need to turn his head to see it when it's already straight in front of him. Maybe it's just a knee-jerk reaction to focus on the latest afflicted injury on a site. There were quite a few of those back in his day.
Unlike Marisol, he is /quite/ aware of her existence - and that of her ragtag bunch of teenage ruffians who, according to other faculty members, appear to bully and berate virtually every other kid on campus that they can get away with. At least, according to their own point of view.
He doesn't seem to care so much about that in the sheer intimidation department. "I'm Howard Rust, I teach Shop as of last month," he motions with his thumb behind him in some vague direction that doesn't even really say much as to where one would find his classroom as he continues explaining the matter, well, matter-of-factly, "and that kid over there doesn't need another point that you're being a god damn hooligan."
He quickly motions to the quickly angering, presently nameless true instigator of the scene. "You, go see the nurse and wait by the principal's office. We're going to sort this out and get on with our lives, all right?" This man must be of the gravely mistaken faith that this whole scenario involving a kid who thinks he has a leg up on an extremely well-trained fighter on basis of his sex and height alone, and one of the fiercest and flippant children this modern era will ever come to know.
He says all this without hesitance. Maybe, just maybe, he hasn't been shown the true ropes of the school's pecking order yet. Or is he here to finally enforce it? Some may continue to wonder this point well after the day's done. "Not like you could give the kid another black eye," he adds with a shrug of one shoulder.
It's quite a shiner; already, the eye has swollen, the skin red and angry, complimenting the other black eye the boy has to show the world. Marisol is sure proud of the mark she's left on the bastard - that'll keep him from doing THAT again. The smile on the redhead's lips broadens as he bares teeth at her.
Marisol responds by puffing her chest back at him.
But when she actually confronts the new teacher on campus and he does NOT relent, this mildly bemuses her. Is he unaware of her reputation - and the rest of Pacific Resistance's - on campus, because he is new? Or is he just THAT bold and confident?
For a moment, the girl just stares at Rust, her expression uncertain. Slowly, brows knit upon her brow, full lips pulling into a thin line across her tanned features. But then, eventually, she comes down from her confusion.
So, he's the shop teacher? That explains things, why he's an unfamiliar face to the likes of O'Connell. Lips twitch slightly, daring to tug into a grin, as gray eyes hood in delight. He called her a hooligan? He's coming in here, ordering people around now?
At her side, her hand curls into a fist. The pipe at his side is noted briefly, before those eyes drift right back onto Rust's gaze. "Tell me something," Her words are frighteningly calm, despite the way her jaw tenses briefly.
"What's the pipe for?" she asks, knuckles popping. If ever there was a visible threat, this would be one. The nerve of this hooligan..!
The teacher eyes the other student Marisol was just having a fond chat with briefly. He's been quiet, quiet kids can be sneaky, and if that kid doesn't do as he just told him he can see this getting even more out of hand than it already is. Even /then/ he can't discount the fact that Marisol isn't backing down in the least. It's a delicate situation.
One that might be way over his combover.
Both gazes meet. Rust's eyes are a typical brown. A completely generic, uninteresting brown. There isn't much a fire in his eyes - but not much that would indicate fear. Wisdom? Understanding? Snorted some narcotics? Could be any of those. Maybe... patience, might be best, if one absolutely has to search for a descriptor for it.
"Friend of mine," he replies before he breaks away from the staring contest and, very foolishly, turns around. He gestures forward with his right hand. "C'mon. Let's go." Does he think that he is not under a significant amount of personal danger before the might of O'Connell? "Both of you. Either side of the hallway, let's go."
Quiet kids CAN get sneaky. In fact, this entire time, the youth has been plotting and planning. He won't get detention with O'Connell - oh hell no! He'd rather risk it all than endure a few hours after school with the brash and brazen half-Spaniard. The girl that's currently and boldly standing up to "established authority" here at Pacific High.
Somewhere, the principal is probably sighing in frustration. Pacific Resistance has been quite a burden!
But that's beside the point. Meanwhile, as the girl is standing up to Rust and acting defiant, the young man is slowly but surely edging his way toward the nearest exit. As long as the girl has this guy's attention, why bother sticking around? Especially when he can get out of...well, getting INTO trouble.
Those gray eyes meet those browns of Rust, never once leaving as she gazes up with that confident smirk. There's no worry or concern there - which is a lot, considering most, if not all of Pacific faculty are deathly afraid of any student capable of raising a fist at them. Fortunately, a very small, select few of the student body are dumb enough to do precisely that.
When Rust turns around, the other student looks horrified, caught in the midst of his escape. He frowns harshly, eyes clearly angered as he glares at the new Shop teacher. How uncool - what a downer!
Marisol, on the other hand, remains defiant. So much so, she suddenly barges PAST the guy, thrusting an elbow into his side as she attempts to escape down the hallway. Chaos breaks loose, the silence of the lobby broken by a sudden and almost cheerful laugh.
"Ha ha, you'll never take me alive!"
COMBATSYS: Marisol has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Marisol 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Rust has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Marisol 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
COMBATSYS: Marisol successfully hits Rust with Light Punch.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Rust
With one hand, Rust points a thumb to one of the walls. He expects the other kid to comply as he's already got a head start. He's had a good look at him - if he runs off now, he'd probably be able to identify him later. Unless there's more kids running around here with blinkers than he last saw, then there might be some complications.
None greater than what just occurs. He makes no visible motion to prepare for Marisol's defiance. If Marisol is of the type to be able to look into body language a bit more closely, there is absolutely none. He seems to think nothing of her coming close behind him. He almost feels that this will actually end without incident. He really, truly, honestly does. His next class is happening in a few minutes and doesn't want to have to spend it wrestling with an overly aggressive kid.
Fortune does not smile on Howard Rust today. Marisol gets a clean, perfect shot on his side. Enough that, despite his bulk relative to his height, he is actually shoved a ways off to the side. This is a good sign of just how much Marisol can put into her punches.
"HEY!" The teacher yells out as she starts to run away. If she manages to even /get/ a good enough head start, there's a good chance he's not going to be able to catch up. He doesn't motion for the pipe, instead trying to simply reach forward and grab her by that offending arm before she can get too far ahead of him and then yank her back.
Will he underestimate her physical strength, speed, moxie, or any combination thereof in his attempts to just simply do his damn job?
COMBATSYS: Marisol blocks Rust's Medium Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Rust
Clearly Rust has for himself quite a handful. Will the old Shop teacher be able to efficiently handle the situation, or will it prove to be far too much for him to handle?
Whatever the outcome, it would seem that Marisol has one intention in mind for the moment. Barreling past the teacher, her elbow plants harshly into his side as she blazes past him. Though briefly stunned by this "assault," he seems swift enough to recover. Idly, the redhead notes this, in the midst of a cheerful cackle.
Obviously, Rust is tougher than most teachers here. This will be FUN.
The yell just causes another laugh to bubble from the girl, her head pitched back as she jogs along. But just when things seem to be going well for her, that arm is suddenly snared out of midair, causing her to elicit a strange "hrrk" sound before she stumbles. Yanked back, it would seem he has her in his sure grasp!
But in the midst of being yanked, the half-Spaniard girl twirls around, a fluid motion as she seems to pivot to face Rust directly. On her face, a massive, clearly-pleased expression lingers on her sunkissed face, eyes wide with delight.
"Ha ha, can you dodge THIS?"
And with that warning, the half-Spaniard suddenly swings a fist up, straight for Rust's face without a SHRED of hesitation. Damn authority! Damn the man!
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Marisol's Medium Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Rust
Right as he makes the successful grab, a thought runs through him. He could've probably drawn his weapon and taken her down with one well-timed blow to the back of the head. He visibly shakes his head at this very thought. No. She might know how to throw a punch but that doesn't mean he should send her to the hospital.
Interestingly, at that point she turns right around and asks a very good question. Can he dodge it? He doesn't move his head in the slightest as the fist connects solidly into his nose. There is no cracking sound behind it, though blood starts to trickle out of the left nostril. He appears rather stoic about it.
"Feel good knowing the answer to that?" He asks as he tries to reassert his grip around her arm with a brief, jolting shake if she doesn't manage to resist or slip out of it by some means. "You settle down now, I'll let that slide." Any illusion of him not having really felt the sting behind that is torn aside as he takes his free hand and rubs his upper lip free of the blood that runs down it.
How long will this kind of patience last in the face of overwhelming animosity to any and all kinds of authority by principle? He can't be that saintly of a man. He doesn't think much of anything about the potential of being 'the man to defeat the Pacific Resistance' despite all the stories about them. He just wants to get this shit done and over with before half the school already goes to hell over student anarchy.
Last thing he needs is for a friend back home to say to him, 'you're just a glorified babysitter.'
COMBATSYS: Marisol endures Rust's Quick Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 Rust
Likely, the principal of Pacific would be glad to know that, in the recesses of Rust's mind, he doesn't want to send the girl to the hospital. That's less explaining he has to do, both on his behalf, as well as the new teacher's. Fate smiles upon Pacific High today!
...right?
Reckless and brazen, the girl pivots and, with one harsh gesture, swings a fist cruelly right into Rust's face. Much to her surprise, the teacher doesn't avoid it. Instead, he lets the blow connect to the side of his face, drawing the briefest look of disbelief before the young woman just grins.
"A little," she responds. The grip on her arm is held, the girl standing there and flinching lightly in response. That's the grip of a fighter - it has to be. He has to be one, right? There's no way anyone else would tolerate this behavior without calling the cops. Let it slide, he offers.
Her smile blossoms. It appears that Marisol hopes to test his patience.
Glorified babysitter or no, Marisol does not relent. Instead, the girl suddenly lunges forward, in an attempt to plant a headbutt right into the center of poor Rust's face! "HAH!"
COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Marisol's Hook Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Rust
The teacher gives a polite, single nod to Marisol's happy-grinny-response. She's difficult, a hard hitter, doesn't want to cooperate so readily. He didn't come to his job thinking it'd be a smooth way through - many of these kids are rich, spoiled, and are a few years away from experiencing the real world. And, god damn it, not every one of these problems require beatings.
Never mind that he has an equally strong, competing desire to rise to the top of the world's favorite pastime which involves beatings. He doesn't get much time to really ponder the very paradox of what he wants here as opposed to what else he wants when he feels Marisol try to break out of his grip to strike him in the face with her head! This is the first time she actually gets a less than favorable response (as opposed to 'taking it like a man') as he winces, tilts his head back, and brings his hand between both their heads.
"Whoa! Whoa." He manages to actively resist the full force of her headbutting, although she shoves his hand back into his already injured nose. That strings a bit.
In defending against that, his grip weakens enough that Marisol can break herself fully free without much effort. "I'm serious. Talk to me. What'd he do to you?" He makes another wincing sound again, popping his neck joints as he throws his own head to the side away from Marisol. The school day's not over yet and his body's already being all 'I'm getting old, c'mon, take a break.'
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Rust
As reluctant as ever, the girl continues to rebel, likely to the teacher's dismay - and the dismay of the entire faculty. Already, a few off-duty teachers are gathering, as well as stray students, to watch quietly. What will become of this encounter, they wonder. Will Marisol beat him up? Or will HE do the beating?
Though not every problem REQUIRES beatings, Marisol seems to enjoy them. So, when he grabs her arm and attempts to wrangle her once more, the girl just grins and lunges into him, forehead first. Fortunately, Rust is swifter than she may presume; his hand intercepts her cranium, preventing him from enduring the full brunt of her particularly savage (and unwomanly) strike at him.
Pushing back as he eases her away without resistance, the half-Spaniard just peers up at the teacher. Is he trying to talk? To confront her problem with words and advice? Briefly, the girl blinks, her expression vaguely bemused. Then, those gray eyes drift aside. Where DID that punk-ass go, anyway.
The kid is gone. Marisol scowls.
Immediately, those eyes go back onto Rust. "He got away!" she cries. "The stupid bastard got away! Now who will I punch?!" Pausing, the girl exhales, an irritable huff as she narrows her eyes up at the teacher. "The fucker made me drop my goddamned lunch!" she crudely barks.
If he's being sympathetic, it would appear it has no effect on the girl at the moment. Angry now, she thrusts a finger at Rust's face as she cries, "You didn't have to interrupt! But you did! Why can't you teachers mind your own business anyway!?"
If he's feeling old NOW, he might feel ancient after the day is over. It doesn't help this young whippersnapper is defying him and yelling at him. What makes it increasingly worse is the redhead just reaches out with one arm to grab the man while the opposite hand ignites with chi. Swinging it - if she gets a grip - she attempts to punch at his stomach, chi swelling considerably before it explodes and blasts him back and away from the irritable, clearly defiant redhead! "ARRGH!"
COMBATSYS: Marisol successfully hits Rust with Moon Sling.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Rust
"And he sure as hell won't get away with whatever he did either!" Or so Rust thinks, if there aren't a bunch of students of similar appearance with matching black eyes. Pacific High does not have a large student body. What would be the odds of that? But his attempt at explaining is dwarfed by the adolescent RAGE of Marisol who, quite frankly, outdoes him in the volume department and makes it impossible for him to really talk over her.
One hand raises towards the finger pointed in his face to try and move it away. This is a maneuver that works in Marisol's favor as she grabs him - and what a grab it is, he is actually surprised by how hard she's able to tug him despite how he has already previously acknowledged her ability to throw punches - and, really, doesn't move to guard where he should when he tries to push her off of him when she lands an ignited chi punch right in his gut.
It's not the firmest gut she's ever punched. If he's a fighter, he's almost definitely 'off-season.' (This is a polite way of saying 'out of shape.') She puts plenty enough into it to send him off his feet, skidding on his butt and stopping only when he hits the nearby wall. There's a single, prolonged wheeze at the impact as he comes up, slowly, to a stand. He has to lean against that wall for a good long while, though. His knees creak.
"So he made you drop your lunch!" He grimaces along after the yell. A hand almost, almost, goes over what would be the makeshift hilt of a pipe that isn't even fashioned in any way into a sword. It is, very literally, some rusty old length of pipe he decided to cram down his toolbelt. His hand drops with a huff. He'll be late going to his own damn class all because an overly powerful scrapper is having a temper tantrum over something that, to be fair, was harassment (if her side of the story is the truth).
But, she talked. Is this any real victory in the big scope of things? Maybe. He can't stay polite over this forever - that /hurt/. But some pride is going to have to be swallowed, reason attempts to win over rage. She's a god damn punk kid and one day she's going to need to be stopped if she's going to continue to try and hospitalize every kid that slights her. What if he can't win a straight-up fight against her? Now that she's already landed a series of perfectly good blows on him.
You're the adult here, you're the one to set an example. That's what the principal would say. "Fine, I'll go find the little bastard!" He finally belts it out. He still can't pry himself off the wall yet as he continues to soak the residual pain still going throughout his lower back after that one. "I'll hear what he has to say and I'll /deal with it/."
...Isn't he already?
"And in the meantime, I'd like it if you stopped your god damn tantrums all over the school!" With that, he finally pushes a bit off the wall, though one hand still leans up against it as he tries to establish eye contact in some kind of deal which, he damn well hopes, will just stop this from escalating.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Rust
"Says you!" the girl cries, after poor Rust is sent flying from the girl's assault. Sadly, the girl is too stubborn to rationally associate with the teacher. To a degree, at least. She huffs after he comes to a pause against the wall. However, the fact he wheezes earns him a slightly confused look from the girl. Lightly, full lips pull into a line, and for the briefest of moments, she almost seems uncertain. Of what?
The hand by his "sheathed" pipe goes unnoticed. Instead, Marisol eases herself into full height, neck cracking softly as she holds her ground. She doesn't say a word - not immediately. No; Marisol instead chooses to observe the old (by her standards!) man from his place there against the wall, as he recuperates from her assault.
Softly, she scowls, eyes hooding in response as the teacher yells back at her. But his movements and demeanor, they tell her enough: he's not in any real shape right now to fight back. The fact he hasn't even really FOUGHT back is word enough. He isn't going to humor her?
Distantly, Marisol is disappointed. But those eyes do not leave his, even as he makes contact with those smoldering grays. "Tantrums? Is that what you call it?" she asks. "If he's perfectly capable of fighting back, I don't see it as being a TANTRUM!" Thrusting a finger at the teacher, those eyes widen before they sharply hood.
"And don't bother!" she adds. "You might break a hip trying!"
Half-turning, the redhead folds her arms over her chest and scoffs, lifting her chin in a nigh-arrogant fashion. But she doesn't hit him. Part of her feels too damn bad to continue pressing an attack against someone who has yet to truly lift a finger at her.
COMBATSYS: Marisol takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Rust
Ten years ago, girl, ten years ago, he would want to say. Ten years ago, he bets he would've been able to crack her head open and turn her into a vegetable in no time flat. After that last one, it is so exceptionally easy to want to entertain such thoughts against someone who really may well be just a bully that needs to be stopped.
The man still has a conscience and a sense of work ethic, at least. One eye drifts over to a board showing photographs of last year's graduates. They look pretty happy. He recognizes one of them from a recent magazine discussing foreign fashion trends. Successful, happy kids going into successful, happy adulthood. You're a teacher here, not a thug. It's a big difference.
He doesn't contest her desire to have the last word in this argument as, by sheer grit with a pained expression on his face, he pushes himself off the wall and starts walking down the hallway away from Marisol, towards his indoor classroom. He's made of tough stuff, he can last the day no problem (...barring further problems). So long as she doesn't run off and start beating people upside the head when he turns his back, he considers it about as good as it can be given the circumstances of a teenage superweapon outclassing her peers and superiors alike.
He keeps his head as high as he can hold it on the crack about breaking his hip. He's not even forty yet and he's already feeling his age. But, he asks himself - is he really going to start giving into it now? Is he really? He once again has to wipe some blood away from his upper lip along the way. There isn't much of a spring in his step despite his upright posture.
Damn kids these days. Grumble grumble grumble.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Marisol 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Rust
Is she a bully?
Marisol would argue otherwise, and rightfully so. Sure, the girl is particularly known for getting herself into fights on a disturbingly regular basis, but her fights aren't just entirely random. She chooses her fights carefully, methodically.
She only fights those who will fight her back.
This may very well explain why, after a bit, the girl has otherwise stepped down from punching or flailing in Rust's general direction. And fortunately for her, he has about him considerable self-control. So much so he simply walks away from this mess, away from the fiery half-Spaniard, back to the classroom he's been forced to neglect. Likely, his students wonder where he is!
And it would seem Ms. O'Connell is to blame here.
As his back is turned, the girl faces him directly, arms folded over her back. She watches as he wanders away, her head slowly but surely leaning to one side as she ponders. She knows this guy can take a hit. That means something - she knows it! And part of this encounter frustrates her. Why?
Because she didn't get to see what he's capable of.
"HEY," the girl calls after Rust, eyes narrowed. Whether or not he obliges her, she points his direction, her other, free hand resting on her hip.
"You...sometime, I wanna see just what the heck you're actually capable of, teach. You and your friend!" and what is that supposed to mean? If he's not sure, the huge, wolfish grin that melts its way easily over her tanned features should be clue enough.
"Sorry ‘bout the sore hip," she adds. Really - this guy isn't so bad, when she considers the majority of Pacific High's faculty. He actually has GUTS, and she can respect that.
COMBATSYS: Marisol has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 1/-------/=======|
He exhales very quickly after a couple more steps down the hallway. One hand goes down to his lower back as he cracks it back a good one. Sore, stiff, whole nine yards. Of other applicable s-words. He curls his upper lip and just keeps moving on forward. He can only imagine the gossip that's going to start from here. Oh yeah, going to be a fun week right here. He might start with a drink off-campus tonight.
When Marisol calls at him, he's more interested in just walking. He's already late, doesn't want to get into another argument right now. Not when reason and willpower won a narrow victory over violence and bloodshed.
But what comes out of her mouth isn't what he expects. He stops his movement at the little invitation. She still really, really wants to fight. She's not even screaming at him over it. She really wants to fight him. What does he say to that?
"Sure." Inwardly he curses. Damn word slipped right out of his mouth! But reason won a hard, taxing fight against other impulses - it's too spent to object to a reflex based on that love for a good, solid, clean fight. But not before class. Definitely not now. If he forgets, his hip is going to remind him of it!
He raises one hand in something of a wave and continues downward. He wants to say, 'only if I don't see or hear you cause any more trouble,' or, 'only if you promise to behave' but at this point he doesn't really give a hoot about arguing a point or whatever. He's got to get to class.
He tilts his head back once and takes a deep breath and a sigh at something other than his miniscule aesthetic tastes disagreeing with what the ceiling looks like. Long, long week. He starts moving forward once more without another word.
These kids and other adults that're still watching know where they should be if they're going to be there.
COMBATSYS: Rust has ended the fight here.
Log created on 20:47:50 11/18/2007 by Marisol, and last modified on 15:57:45 11/19/2007.