Description: In this very old, incomplete log, Camille happens upon Rust as he's setting up a fighting ring (a premise seen much later).
"Hello. Don't know who's talking, other than whatever picture you saw on the cover? It's okay. You might not know me very well. I don't think I know you, whoever you are." So says a voice out in the middle of the Athletics Field of Pacific High on a late Sunday evening. There's a mild chill in the air, an overcast sky with a chance of rain, and a possible expectation of snow tomorrow. The lights are off. Really, nobody is supposed to even /be/ here at all. But yet, the voice speaks. A sort of gruff, gravelly one. An older male.
"I'm Howard Rust. 37 years young," a pause, "or... not. You might've heard my name here in the Southtown branch of Pacific High, an international school dedicated to providing students an education that brings them onto a world stage, rather than a local. Don't mind the slogan, that's... that's an important detail in what I'm saying here."
Out in the center of the field is a fighting ring. Why would someone leave it out here in the grass, possibly in the way of football practice if someone like Roy decides he can't sleep and wants to throw a football around with some of his buddies to burn the midnight oil? Two boot-bearing feet poke out underneath the west-facing side. Someone's doing something under there.
"You might have heard a few things about me from the student body here. Or... I don't know, maybe something from the streets. Maybe you put a hit on me after we got into a disagreement about what you were doing with the waitresses over at one of Southtown's bars," this train of thought is interrupted by coughing. "No. No. That's terrible."
Someone pulls themselves out from under the mat. Kind of a stocky guy. Really old faded blue jeans. An undershirt that just barely manages to cover an overweight gut. Some safety vest that has seen much better days maybe fifteen years ago. A busted up toolbelt with a pipe sticking through the hole of one of the pockets. A dreadful combover that doesn't even manage to go all the way around his nearly bald head, the back of his head defying this fact with downward spikes in a shoddy attempt to emulate the local favorite style of 'hair spikes.' The rest of his face is completely unnotable beyond this terrible and horrible crime against reality.
"And this," he says as he steps back and stretches his arms out, joints popping and cracking in the effort, "is my story." Evidently, this man has spent the better part of the evening working on a fighting ring while narrating some plans for an autobiography out loud. It's far too cold a night to be out here without a jacket on, but this is about the only time of the week he ever has a chance to work on this on the side.
It's been a good evening for shameless self-narration and chasing dreams that may have escaped his grasp the moment he went into work again as an educator.
Though some of Camille's senses aren't particularly great, her hearing is very good -- and when she walks by Pacific High on her way to some shakedown or another, she definitely hears Rust's rambling to himself. Hm, she thinks to herself, sounds like some old chap has gotten up to writing his memoirs -- it might be worth checking out, at least in passing, she tells herself.
So, naturally, she starts to walk toward the source of the noise. It isn't long until she sees the fighting ring -- and that gets her interest even higher. So this fellow is probably some sort of fighting aficionado, if not a former accomplished fighter himself, she guesses -- probably out of her league, in fact almost /definitely/ out of her league, though she could probably learn something if she spent a few minutes.
She keeps on walking, seeing Rust pop out from underneath the ring. He definitely looks like one of the older fighters on the circuit -- most people don't stay past 35, and he looks like he's closer to 40. She can't put a name to the face, which bothers her a little given her love of the sport, but at the same time... her curiosity still gets the best of her.
"Excuse me!" she calls, her voice carrying fairly well. "That's a lovely ring you've got there!" A shame it doesn't match your hairstyle, she thinks to herself, though she doesn't dare say it. "Did you build it yourself? Usually a ring crew has a good ten men or so..."
[OOC] Rust might be sluggish for a bit, big semi-spammy scene over at M3 but he'll try and keep things moving.
[OOC] Camille says, "It's cool."
Howard Rust, or just 'Rust' given how names tend to go on this side of the Pacific (har har), may ring a bell if Camille bothered to follow the really small-time dockside fights Elle hosts (or has hosted previously, with Seventh Circle and all being their big project now). Howard was a bit of a pest for a while for some of the less scrupulous dock workers. Not from wanting to engage in vigilante action, he just liked to practice his techniques there and sometimes there was just little disagreements over it. Someone finally convinced him to try his luck over at an underground ring there. He took on Elle and, somehow, nearly took her out. He hadn't since returned to the docks, nor has even appeared to visit the Seventh Circle. He probably had his reasons. He's never actually fought on the pro circuit before.
He almost jumps when Camille calls out to him, another loud pop in his shoulder as his neck lowers. Ah! Spotted. It's a kind of young voice, but not one he recognizes as she goes on to compliment his fighting ring. "Uh. Uh... thanks." It's slightly embarrassing, his left hand coming up against the back of his head as he turns around to face the owner of the voice. He looks kind of sheepish, with a sort of 'I'm probably in trouble for this' kind of face. "Yeah, by hand. Took me a good long time to get the materials. Don't get a lot of spare time, now, and..."
He stops rubbing the back of his head. The sheepish look in his face turns to confusion, followed by suspicion. "You... you don't go here, do you." She sure looks a bit too old to be a student, for one. And the style of dress, and the... what's that thing on her back? His head tilts a little as if to get a better look here in the dark. He has to squint. His eyesight's gotten a little worse over the years.
[OOC] Camille says, "May be a little slow this round m'self."
[OOC] Rust says, "No worries."
Now that she's a little closer, she at least vaguely recognizes the man as one of the poor bastards in the underground circles that Elle runs -- not much more recognition than that comes, but that's something, at least. She doesn't mention it, not wanting to draw any attention to who her various employers may be, instead focusing her discussion still on the ring. "Wow, you paid for it too? This is bloody /gorgeous/," she says, walking over toward the ring. "You've definitely got a talent for construction. Shop instructor? ... I suppose /that/ tells you that, no, I don't go here."
Laughing a little and pulling that sword out to set it down at the side of the ring, the young woman says, "I'm Camille Irvine -- from out of Blackpool. I've only been in Southtown half a year or so now... maybe a little longer -- I lost track somewhere along the way." She pauses, looking at the ring yet again -- she really does seem fairly enamored of that thing. "You know, come to think of it... you look like you can handle yourself in that ring, for that matter -- is construction your /only/ love, or do you climb in there every now and again, too?"
She thinks back to what little she knows of Elle's underground fighting operations -- was he a grappler? A brawler? He's built big, but some of the guys who are built big are monsters with that crazy energy bollocks... She elects to let him run his mouth a little, see if he answers the question for her.
[OOC] Rust says, "Whoops, sorry for the delay."
The basic framework, almost all that was his. But he did have to shell out for some of the things that he really couldn't fashion himself with what was readily available. Stuff like the actual canvas. And the ropes. The turnbuckle covers, that was more a choice of design. Even then, the stuff he could make himself he had to pay for the materials. He wasn't going to even dare to have any of this considered an educational expense. This was /his/ project alone. Especially after the number of student groups whose booths were not up to snuff around the time of Shichigosan. He wouldn't have dreamed of leaving it to his class as it was.
"Thanks, and, yeah, that's..." This is quickly getting very uncomfortable for the teacher here. The way she confidently speaks and strides her way onto the field, the way she addresses him. It's sort of like she knows just enough about him to ask all the right questions. So much that he lets her stride up to the side of the ring and set down that... wow, she doesn't have any problems lifting that?! He's got a strong arm (or two) on himself but even he has to give pause at the ease she handles it. In putting it down.
She still shouldn't be here, but before he can interject she introduces herself. "Listen, all right, I mean," he has to clear out his throat in his shoddy attempt to speak up. Damn, why does his throat keep getting so dry? He brings up his left hand to his neck and massages it lightly, a tiny, almost silent creak from a finger at every massage. He doesn't have this much trouble trying to talk to any of the more troublesome students.
"Ms. Irvine. Miss, right, not Mistress? Glad you like my ring, but this... this isn't your place to be. Not at this hour." Even if he works here, he probably shouldn't /be/ out here at this hour either. He leans up against the ring, grabbing one of the ropes since he hasn't had a chance to really test its firmness again. "Just something I did on the side."
Just something? C'mon, why do you like to yourself like that, Howard? His right hand makes a few circular gestures. Kind of like grabbing at the air? Looking for a way to describe it? He ends up settling on a subject change. "What're you even here for?"
[OOC] Rust says, "*Madam"
Sometimes, Camille's intuititions are actually fairly good. Usually she doesn't 'get' people, but she knows how to ask questions when she wants information -- it's one of her only real strengths socially. It probably makes her a fairly decent shakedown agent -- plus the fact that Rust is so nervous seems to make it fairly easy. "Please, just call me Camille -- there's probably some long title I could ask for that starts with 'Honorable' and ends with some Scottish word that /I/ can't pronounce, but neither of us wants to deal with that and I'm not sure I actually know it."
When she's asked why she's here, she's a little embarassed -- though she does tell him precisely why. "I actually heard you narrating to yourself," she says, seeming not to pay /too/ much attention to the teacher's awkwardness. "You've got a way around words -- not great, but you've got a good command of the language. It's a little -- formulaic, though..."
She moves over to the ring when he does, taking a seat on the edge of it. "I was just passing by on business, but I have until the end of the week to get it done anyway. I don't know my way around town too well, either, so sometimes I take the long routes around on foot rather than in a car -- it lets me feel like I'm making headway on getting to know the city." It's her turn to look particularly embarassed now, admitting, "I don't have a particularly smashing sense of direction..."
Rust has had to deal with a number of trespassers lately. One was someone that he should've known was far too old to be a kid that kept mumbling about getting a bike or something fixed before he chased her off. Another was a kid who had more weapons on her than he still believes to be possible. Yet another was someone that was involved in the relatively recent Thailand invasion that wanted to knock some children's heads around for getting 'involved.' Camille is clearly a trespasser. One that appears to have zero trouble lugging around a sword but yet doesn't seem to be going out of her way to cause any real trouble.
His right wrist makes another creak when he stops making that gesture. Followed by his shoulder. Man must have some killer arthritis problems, or something. He nods his head in a way that's like 'okay, I get what you're saying about what you want to be called but...'
Oh, she heard him. His face goes a little red, a grimace. Should've brought that notepad along with him! But he left it in his truck. By the time he pushed the ring out onto the field to work on it out in the great outdoors, he didn't care to go get it. Embarrassment delays his attempt to repeat what he's trying to convey. Especially when she takes a seat on the edge of the ring like she's entitled to.
"Uh, now..." He kind of wants to get off the subject of what he was talking about. "You're lost... somehow stumbled your way here," Sound Beach is just that-a-way, maybe she came beachside? Not the first time someone's strayed onto school grounds from that way. Earlier in the day it'd be forgiven and, in fact, often encouraged. But it's late! His voice trails off to oblivion.
"You need to be somewhere else? I haven't been in town long, but I got to know this area pretty quick." He kind of has to, given Pacific's way of doing things, taking a part in a global society, etc, etc, etc. He takes a hand up against the rope that Camille might be laying against if she decides to lean back. "So you need directions somewhere, or, or what? You can't stay here." He shakes his head to put a fine point on this. This is a very awkward situation indeed.
[OOC] Rust says, "Man I'm spammy."
Rolling her eyes, Camille starts to get a little frustrated with this man. Maybe it's a question of culture shock, more than anything -- she just isn't used to having things so... regimented. So what if she comes around the athletic fields of Pacific High by accident when there's no one else around, in her mind -- it's not like she could really do anything.
She just doesn't get it -- nor, for that matter, does she get why Rust is so awkward around her. (Perhaps she has yet to realize that she has several adequate ways to manipulate people without being particularly intelligent about how she speaks.) "Look, I just wanted to see what you were rambling about and what you were up to -- and then I wanted to look at the ring," she says, as if this being problematic was something she couldn't even conceive of.
Standing up on the ring and grabbing one of the ropes, she slides through the middle rope and places herself more firmly in the ring, saying, "You know, I bet you haven't even tested this thing out. No watchers, all your tools already here if we find out the ring's broken -- what do you say we go a round or two?" In truth, her goal's not to help him out -- she just wants to test herself in the ring without the prying eyes of any number of people around. She's /still/ not confident in her fighting talents in front of a crowd, even though she's been having some pretty epic matches lately. "I'll go right after -- if you can tell me how to get where I'm going," she adds.
Howard Rust could be overreacting a little, sure. He's had some bad run-ins with people who don't belong on school grounds. Difficulty with a number of his students, many of whom were raised with an attitude that tend to differ quite a bit from his worldview. Being left a bruised, sometimes bloodied husk by those who come onto the school grounds who mean harm. Now, Camille, who means no real ill will so far as he can tell. Just a lost foreigner popping in on one of the little joys he looks forward to when he's not busy doing his best to actually teach some of these kids something that can be utilized, or at least appreciated, the world around.
He's not exactly an untroubled man.
His free hand rises up as she responds with that slightest hint of frustration. It's as if to say, 'hold on,' but then she goes and puts herself into his ring! Does she like it that much? A joint somewhere pops again, though the exact location is difficult to tell. His knee, maybe. "Hey!"
And there he is, facing her from the ground below, both hands on the ropes when she makes an offer. His brow takes on a funny shape as he looks off to the side and exhales, his neck making yet another of many creaks to come. A round or two, where nobody else is watching (hopefully), just to test the ring. That is a good point. A part of him earlier in the evening thought maybe he could've just presented this as something for the boxing club to test this on.
But that'd make it harder to do what he'd want to with it. The request appeals to him in that tugging way where a part of him goes 'c'mon, do it, do it, you've wanted a good fight, you've always wanted a good one, and she's not really doing anybody harm, right? And she could lift that thing!'
"All right. All right." The latter almost sounds enthusiastic, even! He pulls himself up and into the ring with a notable slouch, a grunt of effort, and the same sort of popping noise that happened not too long earlier. Definitely a knee joint.
"We'll give it a go," he concedes as his right hand falls upon the makeshift, ill-defined 'hilt' of that thing coming out of his toolbelt. A busted, rusty old length of pipe that he could've grabbed just about anywhere. It pales in comparison to the thing she lugged.
"Wait." Before he's fully in, he removes his hand from his weapon to try and pull in the claymore. "You want this?"
No one's untroubled. But then, the two of them seem to have wildly divergent troubles that don't overlap much -- which means that, in their interactions with one another thus far, they might as well be untroubled save for the one problem Rust seems to have with trespassers.
She glances down from the ring at him as he holds up the sword; it's not /that/ heavy, but it's definitely heavy enough that genuinely /wielding/ it would probably be problematic at best. It's got lovely balance, though -- definitely something that didn't come cheap, or if it did, has a lot of sentimental value anyway. "... tell you what. I'll start without it, and if I /really/ think I need it, I'll snag it then," she says, giving him the classic 'fifty-fifty' gesture with a wobbling hand.
"That's an... interesting weapon on your part, though -- that bit of piping you've got there," she notes, nodding. "Goes with your name. I like it -- it's got style, even if it's not the most elegant thing." She moves over to one end of the ring, leaning on the ropes with her arms out to either side. In spite of the fact that she /still/ isn't particularly confident in her ability as a fighter, she at least has to look the part. "By all means -- start us off. It's your ring!"
It may not be /that/ heavy, but it is still a decently sized weapon. Sure, he's seen some kids even shorter lug around bigger. Like... there was that short baseball player over at Taiyo who carried a bat almost bigger than him. He himself might be big and strong, but he's almost always thought that if you have to use something with two hands, it's not worth wielding.
With Camille's say, he doesn't bother lifting it up beyond touching the hilt. He does make sure it remains gently laying up against the side. His hand bobs up and down above it as though it were a superstition that such a gesture would be a way to check and see if it's okay there. Now, he gets himself in the ring and from his position as she comments on his weapon, more cracks from a shoulder and one from the neck. It's like his body wants to trade in articulation for something else this holiday season! (Don't buy anybody articulation, it's as bad a gift as fruitcake and is also nonsensical.)
He nods his head. Time to get in the zone. C'mon. Maybe he can enjoy fighting for once. The last time he came close at all to that was at the docks. She's not a little kid, she seems sure of herself, certainly doesn't mean anybody harm... let yourself go, Howard. Go for it.
Ol' Rusty is drawn without incident from its sheath. She likes the weapon too? But... if they're here to test out the ring. He can already think of one thing he was most worried about doing incorrectly. For a moment, he leans forward, Ol' Rusty pointed outward by the side from his end of the field. His back creaks.
That's when he steps forward to the center and, rather than press an offense with the weapon in question, his left hand snaps out for her arm. This is something that has seen use - and success - trying to grab at an escaping student/suspect/what have you, a simple yanking maneuver to try and throw her up against the ropes behind him about as hard as he can manage it. Got to see how well it holds up against someone of her weight, at least.
Or his, if it comes to it.
[OOC] Rust says, "Sorry for all the huge poses, they kinda come naturally to me."
COMBATSYS: Rust has started a fight here.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Camille has joined the fight here.
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Camille 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
[OOC] Camille says, "It's cool."
COMBATSYS: Camille interrupts Medium Throw from Rust with Frankensteiner.
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Camille 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Rust
The battle is joined, and Camille stops leaning on the ropes and gets her head in the game; he's old, he's experienced, Camille tells herself -- in a way he reminds her more than a little of her uncle. This will be a good test of if she's just been lucky lately or if she really has started to get it together enough to be a serious competitor and start earning the big bucks to get herself out of her intractable situation.
Rust comes in with a grab -- another grappler? she asks herself briefly, as he grabs her roughly and gives her what seems like a quick Irish Whip. She starts toward the ropes, arm still smarting from the rough grab -- but quickly flips up before she gets too far from Rust, snagging his head quickly with her shins. When she actually catches him, she's pleasantly surprised; fortunately, she still has the mental wherewithal to finish the maneuver.
Keeping her whirling momentum going, she carries Rust up with those powerful legs, bringing him all the way around and actually slamming him down /into/ the canvas with those legs. She quickly breaks the headscissors, however, not wanting to hurt him /too/ badly or stay in too close. "Not a bad maneuver -- I didn't figure you for a grappler at first," she notes, with a smile.
Rust's experience in throws tend to begin, contain, and end in straight slams rather than technical joint locks or anything of the sort. Physical strength is all that powers him in the realm of direct grappling. He could've been a good wrestler. Maybe he would've been, if he didn't pick up how natural it felt to beat someone's head about with a small blunt object.
Before he knows it, he's got his head in a place some men would like to be. One muffled grunt of surprise later, her momentum guides him down onto the canvas with the sort of slam all good fighting rings should. It's loud, crisp, clear, and the ring doesn't appear any less worse for the wear when he hits it.
He rolls with the impact the moment the headscissors are lifted, trying to get up and keep moving despite protest from his knee and that stinging feeling that comes with what the kids call being 'owned.' His right hand thrusts Ol' Rusty on the canvas, as though it were a walking stick, his neck cracking as she compliments him for the effort.
"Not... not really," he mouths out quietly. Wasn't a bad one. The other hand comes to where his other meets. Now to see if he can actually do something /else/ on this canvas with his weapon of choice. What's he going to do? Hobble over to her?
Somehow, the canvas proves stable enough even from his position that he's able to kick up off the ground and balance upon it. A man his size and weight, balancing on top of something slightly smaller than a baseball bat, on this?! Rather than let her bask in the novelty to do something about it, he guides his body weight with his legs thrust towards her, teeth clenched in this feat of upper body strength and uncanny balance before he falls where she is.
He's trying to opt for a little more distance off of it than he normally would in case she proves a very fast mover. She's already pretty flexible.
COMBATSYS: Camille just-defends Rust's Crashing Down!
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Camille 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Rust
[OOC] Rust says, "You get to have the most awesome blocking pose ever."
[OOC] Rust says, "You have to just-defend my ass."
[OOC] Camille says, "Man, I love it."
[OOC] Camille says, "It's a Fameasser."
[OOC] Rust says, "Falling on top of people is underrated."
Camille makes an excellent wrestler, but she's more of a technician than a brawler or a slammer -- she's no Raiden, that's for sure. She'd probably fit in just about perfect with Ramon, though; that sort of technical and high-flying action is right up her alley, as long as she's not occupying herself with a weapon.
When she sees Rust balance so perfectly on that pipe, she instantly knows that he's definitely a little bit out of her class -- she could never, say, balance on the hilt of her claymore. When he falls toward her, she brings up her arms and gets ready to take a nasty hit... but she knows how to roll with a punch extremely well. It was one of the first things her uncle taught her -- rolling with a body block isn't /that/ much different.
The second Rust makes impact, he'll notice how slight a touch he gets on Camille; he's barely grazing her, and this never gets much /better/. Moving out of the way of the attack as it falls down upon her, Ms. Irvine feels nothing more than a gentle brush from that high-impact fall, taking a deep breath as she does so and using that time to recover a bit. "Where did you learn to fight, anyway? Or are you another self-taught sort? I've noticed those have a surprising amount of success on the usual circuits," she notes, grinning.
Time to get back to some nice, assertive offense, Camille tells herself -- no dog ever peed on a moving car, but at the same time, the goal isn't /just/ to avoid being beaten on! The headscissors takedown was a good start, but she can't rest on her laurels from that one blow forever. Sitting to the prone Rust's side and locking her legs around his arm, she wraps both of /her/ arms around his face, leaning back and hopefully wrenching his neck and spine pretty harshly.
COMBATSYS: Rust dodges Camille's Strong Throw.
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Camille 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Rust
Howard Rust has picked up a few more techniques than a lot of people around his weight class have. Age probably plays a significant role in this. Age may not be fully to blame for the fact that he's packing on a few extra pounds he'd do well to work off. He's already got plenty of muscle to begin with, which may be why he doesn't appear any pudgier than he is.
His arms continue to crank out the creaks and cracks at the end of his fall, knowing he touched /something/, but she's not underneath him. Slick. But the canvas, it still holds the slams just fine. Some may argue that he'd need to drag someone like, say, Tizoc over here and see how well the ring holds up from his own weight striking at it. The landing doesn't prove very gentle, something falling out of his mouth when he hits it. He rolls a little onto his side with a little delay. "Got into a lot of fights... years ago," he's not sure where to put a fine point on it. He got into fights in school a lot. Ol' Rusty came into play some time after he got out of high school. "Learned as I went."
She's really enthusiastic. He should be, too! But he's really only getting warmed up. As Camille may have noticed, he's not really not the fastest or the most agile. It's perfect time to sit down and try to grab his arm. She is foiled completely by chance as he rolls a bit further off to the ropes to pull himself back up. He really should've stretched a bit more before he got into this. His shoulder agrees with its own pop.
He tries to size up her next move. Maybe he needs to direct her somewhere where she can't just push back like that? Not a lot of possibilities run through his head. Her attaire doesn't lend itself much to the immediate option he would have picked otherwise.
It comes to his head to try something else! He didn't get it to work against Elle the way he wanted it to, but that's because he didn't stretch his leg. He... didn't here either. He tries anyway, thrusting forward with a leg against the canvas. It makes a single, loud impact against whatever it hits with a sound similar to that of a jackhammer, canvas or Camille (body or otherwise, depending on whether she's still on the mat or standing up at the time), which is punctuated by Rust suddenly belting a wince.
Dammit! He really is that rusty, his leg taunts as pain shoots up through it.
[OOC] Rust says, "This pose was slow 'cause what I wanted to do was something I decided wasn't possible due to your desc, my bad."
COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Camille with Strong Kick.
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Camille 0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0 Rust
Unfortunately for Camille, she is indeed still on the mat when Rust comes down; that jackhammer-like kick pounds into her back, and she winces. Even if he isn't quite the most agile guy in the world, he's definitely got a /lot/ of power -- something she picks up on instantly. "... You're definitely quite the tough old bloke -- I can see how the years of experience are payin' off," she says, a slightly rougher, less affected accent coming out. Perhaps she tries to seem a little more exotic intentionally.
Whatever the case may be, she's definitely a little more on her guard now, popping back up to her feet fairly quickly in spite of the punishing assault -- she isn't fully sure how to go about her next strike, but her instincts are telling her to focus yet again on protecting herself. And so, of course, she does.
Rushing toward Rust, Camille tries for a move that /seems/ like it's all offense -- aiming a foot for his chest, she tries to steady herself just long enough to whip her /other/ foot up toward the back of his head, trying to strike him hard enough with that foot that /she/ can actually propel herself off and around to the other side of him, hoping to give herself a new angle and an extra second or two to figure out her own defenses. "There /has/ to be a story behind that pipe, too," she adds, in mid-kick.
COMBATSYS: Camille successfully hits Rust with En Passant.
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Camille 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Rust
[OOC] Camille says, "This reminds me, I think I need to ditch one of my moves other than En Passant."
[OOC] Rust says, "Yeah?"
[OOC] Camille started thinking about what her moves have in common, and with the exception of British Bulldog, /all/ of them are finishers or ex-finishers.
[OOC] Rust says, "There is a definite sense of flash among them, yes."
[OOC] Camille loves the step-up enzuigiri. It's one of my favorites even though it was a bad finisher for Jericho.
He does have a good measure of physical strength, even in comparison to his size. He's not as titanically tall as, say, Preston. But he makes good with what he has. His leg, though, does not. In a normal circumstance, there would've been a lot of kicks following that very first one. But, for some reason, the moment his foot hits the ground it just /stings/. Maybe he's just throwing it too hard? His leg draws back, knee propped up a bit so he doesn't put too much pressure on it after the fact.
"Yeah, thanks." Last six years, he never even fought. All of that was spent studying. He even still has to do a few for sake of continued, renewed licenses and qualifications and that sort. Being an educator is hard. He hasn't even been one for terribly long. A part of him wants to believe he still has /it/, regardless. A few times, he does something that lets him hold this belief in earnest.
It's always short-lived.
He has no real way to read what of her is going to come next. She's not a dainty flower, she's a straight-up brawler. But, he's taken bigger hits. As she comes in with the chest punch, he visibly tenses, his free hand squeezing itself to tense up. Rather than try to block with Ol' Rusty, he rather tries to raise his forearm against her kick with another loud, crackly opinion of his elbow making itself known.
He doesn't catch it. She gently gets her foot on his chest, and really, he's too tense and rooted to want to grab that thing and throw it off. Then she whips herself around and gets him in the head, but his neck doesn't yield so much as she leaps off. It's when she leaps off that she manages to shove him onto his knees, preventing him from coyly trying to thrust his weapon backwards to where she leaps off to, but he doesn't appear much worse off for the wear for it.
Now he's actually about to enjoy it, difficulty getting his body to thrust itself back up into a standing position after the fact aside. It's a cacophony of cracking in the bones of Howard Rust. Making the cracks. Not being cracked.
"It's kind of," he clears his throat as he shakes out his right arm once to try and loosen it up, with mixed results, "kind of a long story," he goes as he swings up and backwards in a somewhat awkward manner. It's like an upperbackhandercut! His arm doesn't really want to move around so much after the way he tries to take the blow. Happens all the time when he gets into that sort of tension, unfortunately.
COMBATSYS: Camille blocks Rust's Medium Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Camille 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Rust
If Camille heard Rust thinking of her as a straight-up brawler, she'd be /faintly/ insulted; she's a /technician/! She's a scientific fighter, though perhaps not to the extent that a NESTS man or a guy like Charlie is. A lot of flash goes into it, but at the same time, a lot of flash goes into /everyone's/ fighting style these days. She's definitely more focused on maneuvering and precision than just pure force -- or at least, that's what she tells herself until the claymore comes out.
The awkward slash with the thick pipe comes up toward Camille, and she brings her hands up to defend against it; it's not enough to fully deflect the blow, but it's definitely enough to mitigate it. Shaking her arm out briefly, she says, "Oh, we've definitely got time for a story," still seeming pretty earnest and pleasant; if Rust knew about the other side of her life and her business, he'd probably be a little confused. On the other hand, maybe not /that/ confused; lots of people are poor fits for their work.
"Go ahead -- take it from the top," she implores, before mounting her next assault. This time, she seems to be going for a quicker attack rather than a more focused, powerful one -- she speeds in, raising her knee high before going for another kick to the chest. There's no step-up involved, though, unlike last time; this really is just a straight-on heel kick to the chest, so it /may/ catch Rust oh-so-slightly off guard.
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Camille's Light Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Camille 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Rust
If Howard Rust had heard about what Camille actually did for a living, he'd have probably demanded her to get out a lot more forcefully than he did prior. But, the less these two know about one another on some fronts, the better.
Either way, there isn't a lot of glamour in the way Rust throws his weight around when he has to. But it is probably not his actual fighting technique that ends up being his most notable trait. It is more how he ends up /taking/ what anybody else has to throw at him.
"From the top, eh, you know, know what," the pause in that statement comes from a small cough that has forced its way up his throat. She throws her knee up. He doesn't move back, he moves forwards. In fact, he all but throws himself right on top of the heel kick, which strikes his chest at about the most optimal angle and place it can, the pushing force behind it only halting the advance for a split second. Said split second might be all the allowance Camille needs to overcome what he tries next.
That, and how he doesn't grab the foot. Instead, he tries for the back of her arm in an awkward grasp, going to try and force her down to a sitting or leaning position while he makes his way behind. The butt end of Ol' Rusty (which is interchangable, so we'll just say the end his hand is closer to) is raised. But, what he tends to do here... a little too vicious for a friendly(?) spar. Maybe he can curb it back just a tad, as to not end up having to call an ambulance for Camille if something goes out of hand.
He'd have to explain what he was /doing/ out on the Athletics Field at this late an hour. He'd rather not. But that's an as yet undecided future.
If he goes that far in, he starts striking down at Camille's upper back a few times. The intent is to knock a bunch of wind out of her, wear down her stamina as much as actually land a few blows along the way... if she lets him.
[OOC] Camille says, "-- were you going to code the attack? ._."
Rust has disconnected.
COMBATSYS: Camille has saved the state of this fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Camille 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Rust
COMBATSYS: Camille has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 1/-------/=======|
ODROP::Camille heads OOC.
Rust has connected.
Camille has arrived.
Lazenca has arrived.
[OOC] Rust says, "Hey! Thanks."
[OOC] Lazenchristmas :D
[OOC] Lazenchristmas says, "Unjoin, Rusty."
[OOC] Rust says, "Oh!"
COMBATSYS: Rust has ended the fight here.
[OOC] Rust says, "My bad."
COMBATSYS: Lazenca restarts a saved fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Camille 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Rust
[OOC] Lazenchristmas says, "No problem. Winner gets free fries!"
[OOC] Rust says, "Alrighty. A moment to revise that pose and we'll get 'er done."
[OOC] Rust says, "Ahem."
[OOC] Rust says, "Anyway. Above pose prior to pause, stricken from record! For future notice when it's log clean time. And now."
If Howard Rust had heard about what Camille actually did for a living, he'd have probably demanded her to get out a lot more forcefully than he did prior. But, the less these two know about one another on some fronts, the better.
Either way, there isn't a lot of glamour in the way Rust throws his weight around when he has to. But it is probably not his actual fighting technique that ends up being his most notable trait. It is more how he ends up /taking/ what anybody else has to throw at him.
"From the top, eh, you know, know what," the pause in that statement comes from a small cough that has forced its way up his throat. She throws her knee up. He doesn't move back, he moves forwards. In fact, he all but throws himself right on top of the heel kick, which strikes his chest at about the most optimal angle and place it can, the pushing force behind it only halting the advance for a split second. Said split second might be all the allowance Camille needs to overcome what he tries next.
"Give me a sec, figure out where to start." He has been slightly less eloquent going into the fight than he was when Camille dropped by him NARRATING BY HIMSELF, but really - multitasking between the joy of fighting with all you got, with a little concern towards the best ways to ensure this ring is perfectly good, and that tinge of common sense that says that this whole thing is not the best idea he's had. But then it gets bludgeoned to death by the part of him that yearns for this sort of thing. Figuratively speaking.
He doesn't grab the foot. Instead, he tries for the back of her arm in an awkward grasp, going to try and force her down to a sitting or leaning position while he makes his way behind. The butt end of Ol' Rusty (which is interchangable, so we'll just say the end his hand is closer to) is raised. But, what he tends to do here... a little too vicious for a friendly(?) spar. Maybe he can curb it back just a tad, as to not end up having to call an ambulance for Camille if something goes out of hand.
He'd have to explain what he was /doing/ out on the Athletics Field at this late an hour. He'd rather not. But that's an as yet undecided future.
If he goes that far in, he starts striking down at Camille's upper back a few times. The intent is to knock a bunch of wind out of her, wear down her stamina as much as actually land a few blows along the way... if she lets him. Might give him some time to start NARRATING all over again.
COMBATSYS: Camille auto-guards Rust's Hammering!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////// ]
Camille 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Rust
Perhaps faintly disappointed by Howard's sudden loss of eloquence (clearly not an excellent trait in a man who's verbally writing his autobiography), Camille focuses a little more on the fight when it's clear he isn't going to give an immediate answer. When he grabs that arm and starts wrenching her toward that sitting position, she does something entirely unheard of, something risky and downright stupid:
She goes with it.
Landing squarely on her butt, Camille instinctively senses the slams coming toward her back -- and as soon as the first one lands, leans all the way forward with it so that it doesn't actually /hurt/. Buying herself just enough time to roll away from subsequent strikes, Camille pops back up with a smile still on her face. She's definitely getting into this -- it's one of the first times she's felt really competent on defense.
"That's up to you, Mr. Verbal Memoirs," Ms. Irvine teases, coming at her opponent yet again. What it looks like she's coming for at first is a straightforward, fierce spear tackle... but a second later her opponent will probably realize that she's going /past/ him, bouncing off the ropes. Coming back toward Rust again after a quick bounce off the ropes, Camille puts an arm to one side and tries to snag his head -- only to leap forward, swing up her feet, and land sitting. Rust, meanwhile, will probably get to kiss that well-loved, well-designed mat.
COMBATSYS: Camille successfully hits Rust with British Bulldog.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Camille 1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Rust
[OOC] Rust says, "This is gonna be fun to pose."
[OOC] Camille says, "Suddenly I feel more motivated to keep this attack"
[OOC] Rust says, "You should."
[OOC] Rust has to make this special, critical hits are moments of epicness.
He doesn't get in a lot of licks. As fate may have it, Rust can't really throw down a bunch of hits the way he does without tiring himself out any. There's a certain force he tries to apply to make sure it actually hits hard enough. There are some people, like him, who can usually take a hit without much trouble. If he tried that against himself, his other self would have probably just thrown his head back into his face when all was said and done.
When she rolls forwards, he actually falls to a knee for how much he had to lean into it to strike her that way. She's got that smile on her face... that didn't hurt? Holy shit, maybe he should've taken a cue about the claymore. He already faced one unpleasant surprise about the strength of a man almost half a foot shorter and far slimmer than he is. (But hey, this /is/ Southtown - and one of the reasons he was happy to work here. ...Well, maybe not the 'unpleasant surprise' part.)
He falls for the spear tackle feint, leaning himself towards the side. Somehow, this works much in her favor because the return lines up so very well that she snags him in the head. He tries to throw his upper body to get her off. She lands on him sitting, as planned.
He resists it for long enough. "All right. See... I worked at a construction firm, and," he coughs. You know, trying to narrate while a girl is sitting on your head is pretty awkward. Almost as awkward as being caught narrating to himself, "and let's say that they had problems with the--"
He tries to stand up. Remember the leg he struck Camille with? It's still not a hundred percent. It gives out right before he's back up standing, which ends with what should've worked the moment she got on top of him at her velocity! Almost humorously, Howard Rust crumbles like a condemned building announced by a crack of his knee, face flat against the lovingly constructed mat.
He makes sniffing noises underneath. Hey - this really is a nice canvas. His neck and upper back would agree with this if it weren't thrust under by both a leg giving out and Camille sitting on top of him.
On the other hand, her thighs are caressing that terrible, awful, horrible, no good, very bad hair. What if it's a disease that spreads by contact?! Meanwhile, his free hand raises and points down to the canvas on the side. He kind of can't talk while she's sitting on him and his back pain is winning out in the war between 'spring up and let her have it' and 'ow, no, I need a moment.'
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Camille 1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Rust
Andy has arrived.
[OOC] Andy says, "I am not a highly suspicious man."
[OOC] Rust says, "Watching? Coming through?"
[OOC] Andy says, "I was thinking of watching?"
[OOC] Rust says, "Feel free."
That was far harsher than Camille intended it to be, really. Indeed, in some respects she'd call it a botched attempt -- she'd intended to land a little more to the side, not really landing /on/ him so much, and frankly she was looking more for some quick, efficient offense rather than... well, what she got. Maybe her jump was a little too much to the side, she thinks. Still, it's not like it's a particularly bad thing, she realizes -- he certainly seems worse off for it, and in the end, isn't that the point?
Staying atop him and keeping him pinned there (however weakly) for a little while, she listens to his story, or at least the beginning of it. When she hears that they were having 'problems' of some sort and that it ends in him having a pipe as a weapon, she feels like she knows where it's going -- but of course, she doesn't /say/ that. That might draw a few questions in and of itself.
Pulling herself off of him, Camille decides to lean against the ropes again, giving him time to continue recounting his story. She doesn't say anything at all yet, nothing that gives any indication of processing the story too much... but her expression at least says she's listening fairly intently, which is a good start.
COMBATSYS: Camille takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Camille 1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Rust
The same hand that gestured for her to move over there, although she moves to some other 'there,' is acknowledged and ends with a thumb up. Then he pushes up off against the canvas. Ooooh, feels good to the touch. Worth the money he dumped into it! Worth the frustrations in getting it tied down and applied throughout the last few weeks. Not worth getting your neck snapped. It's sheer luck that wasn't the case with how he fell.
He finally rolls on his back when he's done with the aches dictating what he should do with the rest of himself, and comes up to a sit. "Where was I," his hand makes circular recalling motions again. Followed by a shrug. "Guess it's, it's not that long a story. Bunch of no good hooligans. Tried to intimidate my coworkers," he says this as he stands. He taps that offending sore leg with Ol' Rusty. It's going to have to carry him no matter how many times his bones want to creak at the joints. They creak as they will! He has to rub the back of his head and neck at that moment. It wasn't a light impact. Not the worst impact he's suffered, but, a good jolt. That says a lot for him.
"I got fed up with it. Police didn't do a damn thing. Then they broke into an office, and... uh." How does he say this part about Ol' Rusty? Is it that complicated. Or can he just not think of a way to just say, 'a pipe we had to pull out of the ground earlier looked like the perfect thing for me to beat the hell out of them with.'
"A pipe we had to pull out of the ground earlier just looked right for the job." He could've gone for a hammer, might've found a shovel just as good, but nope. For all the dangerous tools that lie around a construction site, he had to pick the piece of crap busted up length of pipe.
He coughs again for good measure. Throat keeps going dry. This is why he doesn't like talking at length after a day of doing that. Like when Camille came across him. "You work out the rest," this trails off to a low mutter as he stretches his arms back with a whole lot of pops. It's sickening. No man should be able to get that much popping out of a bunch of joints all at once.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Camille 1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Rust
[OOC] Camille says, "hurgh, so tired"
[OOC] Rust says, "Spam and an hour of twitchy gaggy connection does that."
[OOC] Camille says, "Yeah, plus also my head cold"
[OOC] Rust says, "Ouch, I just got out of one of those."
[OOC] Rust says, "Hope you feel better soon."
[OOC] Camille says, "I do too. X)"
[OOC] Camille says, "Your turn to savestate!"
[OOC] Rust says, "Gah! Perfect time to forget how to again."
[OOC] Camille says, "state/save reason"
[OOC] Rust says, "Gah! That's why, I forget it starts with state."
COMBATSYS: Rust has saved the state of this fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Camille 1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Rust
[OOC] Rust says, "There!"
[OOC] Rust hopes it's been enjoyable so far.
[OOC] Camille says, "It has indeed!"
[OOC] Rust hates how long he goes without scenes on this guy, because every time I go 'hurgh, I think I'm being inconsistent.'
[OOC] Camille says, "It happens. You'll find a stride soon enough."
[OOC] Camille is faintly inconsistent with Camille by own admission.
[OOC] Rust says, "But anyway! When you're better, I'm game. I'm a deity of free time."
[OOC] Camille says, "Excellent."
Camille has disconnected.
[OOC] Rust says, "Take care 'till... oh."
Log created on 23:28:13 12/16/2007 by Rust, and last modified on 10:44:55 10/20/2014.