Description: Howard Rust decides to spend a leisurely Sunday afternoon on the beach in cold weather for MYSTERIOUS PURPOSES. Vince LaRose stumbles upon this by chance, and discussions are had about the goings on around Pacific.
It's too cold to even really be at the Sound Beach in the capacity most like to visit it for. The temperature hasn't climbed any higher than 7 degrees Celsius, and if people are going to go around and do anything out here, they'd best put on some kind of coat. Something that local Pacific High teacher Howard Rust continues to fail to do. Maybe he had a bad run-in with a jacket when he was a little kid.
It just may be how he'd prefer to spend a rare free moment during the weekend. It's barely even past noon, and he's got a whole day ahead of him. Standing before a large wooden stake driven deep down into the sand where the cold seawater threatens to nip at his heels, the teacher contemplates its every quality. Height. Balance. The diameter of its top flat end.
Ol' Rusty, that old rusted length of pipe that really could have come from just about anywhere and doesn't even look like it could have lasted so many years (...it hasn't), finds itself gently placed on one end on top of the stake. Its wielder lowers his head, several deep breaths each laced with its own level of focus and contemplation before he leaps off the sand and, despite all reason against doing so, attempts to balance his weight on top of it in a handstand against a stiff sea breeze.
How long will he last before the cold gets him?
Chivalry comes at a price. You skewer and cut a girl to pieces, to patch her wounds. Well, if you didn't do it because you hate her, anyway. But he had nothing to patch Arika Fade with, so he tore up his cape to fashion makeshift bandages. Better than letting her bleed to death, right? Of course it is! But now he's freezing. Or he would be, if he were wearing the type of clothes he'd -prefer- to be in. Instead, he has to wander around in his school uniform. Because it has a jacket. How very droll.
But what is Vince doing out here? Why... he wouldn't even be able to tell you, were you to ask. He had been letting his mind wander aimlessly, which drew him out to this end of Southtown. For absolutely no reason. But as he realizes where he's wound up, he sees Rust leap into the air. And handstand.
Sweet Jaysus!
Vince just stands there, icy blue eyes taking up the majority of his face, mouth hung slightly. What.. the.. Hell. It's like walking in on your Mom defeating a shogun megalord with superior kung-fu might.
Superior kung-fu might? Or just good upper body strength? The teacher's face contorts from that calm focus moments before leaping up into the handstand into that of grit and effort. So many famous fighters make such a feat look easy - Yashiro of that band that people sometimes don't see for a good long while might be the best example to put a point on. And that guy does it one-handed!
Which Mr. Rust starts to try, parting his left hand away from Ol' Rusty slowly... steadily... his grip seems shaky, liable to tumble over at any given moment. Somehow the man manages to work up a sweat even in this cold weather, a cold bead dripping off of his all but bald head. This could be one of his finest moments in many years.
At least, until the pipe slips out from under him in a fashion akin to Lucy's tendency to pull away the football right before it's kicked, sending the teacher plummeting down on top of the stake with such force that most normal men would end up breaking their necks on the impact.
The stake just splinters every which way underneath him upon landing, leaving the teacher some cold comfort against the sand and jagged wooden splinters that would have to make an epic endeavor to even embed themselves inside his flesh. His left hand, balled into a fist, strikes against the almost frosted over sheet of wet sand.
"Ah dammit!!" The waves would hear Howard Rust loud and clear on that one as he stays on his back to soak in the results of his latest attempt.
Vince looks like a fish.
No, seriously, he looks like a fish.
Vince is all eyes as this unfolds, mouth hung open. The mouth moves, as if attempting to communicate something, but each time, it falls short. He just can't find the words -or- his voice.
So the fishy french noble swims- I mean walks over to where Rust has wound up cautiously, as if alerting him to his presence might prompt beration. A little odd, considering it's his very intention to stop just a few paces away, head cocked to the side and staring down at him.
"Uh... Sir?," Vince asks, sounding almost timid, likely for the first time since Rust has known him as a student. "Are you well? Did you hurt yourself?"
One could compare the shop teacher to that of a whale, if one had to really compare anybody here to aquatic marine life. A beached whale somehow capable of sitting up moments before Vince pops the polite question. Seems like a particularly large splinter found its way into the upper back, maybe just below his right shoulderblade. He doesn't seem to notice or care about that particular detail. No blood is drawn, if the lack of any red appearing on his undershirt (...his only shirt) says anything.
"Uh." Maybe it's because he's too busy being embarrassed to care about his potential wounds? His voice reflects that based on just that one little enunciation. "Yeah... yeah. I'm fine, uh... what're, what're you doing out here? It's pretty cold."
So says a man NOT WEARING A PROPER COAT OR JACKET. For a man that's known to raise his voice for all the times that kids goof off in his class around dangerous things, this is the equivalent of being caught with his pants down, finally bringing a hand up against the remainder of the stake - sharp as that end is! - and pulling himself up unsteadily with a pop in his knee.
Vince cringes a little upon seeing the splinter, and decides to just... leave it there. Maybe that's Rust's idea of a trophy? Or more likely, Rust would swat at him for trying to fiddle with it. "I was just wandering," Vince admits. "...When I saw you... doing..." Pause. Furrowed brow. "..That." He isn't getting the proper words out. He's hardly even making sense, he thinks. "What were you doing, Sir?"
The man, at the climax of his rise from such an undignified fall of failure, stretches his arms out and back. A chorus of creaks announces proudly just how worked to the bone this man's joints are, the splinter popping out of the shoulder and somewhere close to Vince's feet.
And then, eye contact is finally made. The teacher pivots around, scooping up Ol' Rusty with his left hand while he clears his throat, his right hand closer to his mouth.
"You mean... the handstand. You saw me doing that." It is seemingly a big enough deal to the teacher that he was seen doing that, but why? Notably, if Vince were looking at the palm of his right hand, it's not cut or bleeding. He pressed down pretty hard on the sharp end of that now useless, fractured stump of a stake. The glove seems to have held intact, too. Maybe that wasn't so sharp at all.
There isn't a sour frown. His face is one of an 'oh great, how do I explain this' no matter how innocuous such a physical feat may seem to just about anyone. The eyes, still about as blank and boring and brown as ever - but he looks up again briefly as if to check and see if anybody else from the school might be following suit. He knows Vince has quite a few fans (...or stalkers) that like to follow him.
Vince would appear to be alone at this time. But the splinter popping out, and the total lack of blood -is- noted. And quite amazing, to say the least. "Oui..," Vicne says, distracted. He's now -searching- his teacher for injuries. Anything that might indicate he's human, breakable, or anything, really.
"You're not hurt...," the captain says finally. "That.. it looked like it would've at least cut you." Icy blues lift back to Rust's browns, confusion clearly evident on the wirey noble's face.
"What... that?" The teacher nudges at that stump with his foot. "Nah. That's nothing." In class, the teacher has had his hand accidentally hammered at least once without much ill effect. He starts to rotate his left arm to pop the socket a little, maybe get it to loosen up some. The bones respond in kind the way anybody would expect them to by now when it comes to Mr. Rust.
He does not appear terribly inconvenienced either way. "What's the matter? This... this about your grade on the last project?" He does appear eager to have the subject change, perhaps just as confused about Vince's presence as much as the fencer is about his teacher's ability to sustain what would be painful to an average man without so much as a blink.
Painful! Far more than that! He headbutted clean through a stake, by accident, and isn't even hurt! Not even an 'ow, aspirin please'! Vince is.. stumped. Yes, stumped is the best word for it. "Ah.. no.. that is really something. I've been cut more times than I can count, but even I don't have that much resistance to injury!" Yet he's scar-free. Isn't anime logic keen?
"Were you... training, Mr. Rust?"
Many things in life fail to make sense if one looks too deeply. Some tabloid crackpots say that time seems to have stopped entirely for some people. Nobody seems to care. It's easy to not pay attention to those sorts of things in the light of things like training and deadly persistent rivals and Saturday Night Fights.
"Well, that's--" Rust starts in a small voice in response to that exclamation, only to be cut off with the direct question of what it was he was doing to begin with. Caught red-handed, in the act. Vince's aging, slightly overweight shop teacher was out there on a cold day in Sound Beach, training. All this is acknowledged as one hand scratches at the side of his head, coveting what little hair still clings onto his head while the other end fails to actually even completely go across his scalp.
"What's it to you?" Said with an almost flustered tone that almost contrasts with how gravelly the man's voice is to begin with! This is a man caught in the middle of what he'd consider his rare personal 'me' time.
"A veritable gold mine of curiosity!," Vince replies instantly, eyes going huge again. "If that is the case, Sir, it was really something! Just the ability to withstand that kind of punishment without even a bruise or cut! That really says something!" Vince isn't gushing, per se. But he -is- rather astounded by this. Rather astounded indeed.
"Er... you see, ah, well." It's a really strange feeling that's going over the teacher here, easily seen when he starts to look away while still scratching at his head. Scratch scratch scratch pop scratch scratch crack scratch scratch. He really can't pass it off as 'nothing.' Why would he? This was the kind of thing he was proud of having years ago.
But those years, he's all but resigned, are past him now. Then there's that little part of him that disagrees, which convinced him that coming out here and trying to balance himself on a wooden stake was a good step in reclaiming all that.
And all this praise is coming from a young man who Rust thought was so enamored into his family's fighting style that he might not even take much note of anybody else's own strengths in comparison!
"Well, thanks." This ends with him clearing his throat again, face a little redder for it. Got to get that nervous tone out, c'mon, you're an adult, Rust, say something with uncompromising authority, this is really embarrassing and wow when did it get this cold?
Vince continues to eyeball his teacher, as if awaiting more information. But when it seems that it isn't forthcoming, Vince turns aside and lifts his right hand slightly, as if to wave it off. "It's good to see that you're training yourself, Sir. You still intend to fight Marisol, don't you?," he asks. He then suddenly turns to face him again, blinking those large eyes. "Or have you already fought her? Did I miss it?"
"Marisol?" The question isn't asked as if though he didn't know who she was, of course he does! It's been talked about among a bunch of students even this many weeks later. But, either one has proven elusive to the other, for a variety of reasons and circumstances. The Wellington incidents, namely, might be the thing to blame.
"Haven't even seen her around." The teacher shrugs, a shoulder once again giving consideration to getting a side job in being some upcoming rap freestyler's beatboxing vocalist. His joints are probably among the most qualified for such an artistic endeavor! "I'm in no rush."
He looks back towards the direction of the Athletics Field in case more are in fact coming, breaking away from those frosty icy chilling glacier-like arctic sub-zero temperature blue eyes which make the day seem like a hot summer one in comparison.
"That reminds me." He points a finger up. "You fought in the Neo League, didn't you? Against that girl in pink."
Vince does have some super-cool eyes, doesn't he? Take that, Mr. Freeze.
Vince gives a slow nod. "I actually met her earlier. She's.. interesting. She has a strong personality, but I didn't think she was overt or rude. I.." Vince pauses, left hand lifting to touch a finger delicately to his lips. "I think I like her, in fact. But I'm sure her reputation didn't come from slander alone..."
But then things shift over to Vince's debut. The young noble beams and nods once. "Oh, I did. Hurricane Hime was her name. A student of Taiyo High." He pauses and grins wryly. "I like to think I gave Pacific High a little boost with the victory." Even if he did dedicate the fight to a girl who used to go to Taiyo.
It was pretty late at night when Howard Rust caught the fight on TV. Truth be told, he was up a lot later than he'd normally be and he was about ready to nod off towards the end. He knew it'd be a centerpiece of discussion and decided to stay up. He paid for it when he forgot to bring some of the important tools for a project the morning after. Oh man, was he berated upon by the principal for that.
"That's all I hear out of the kids these days," the teacher nods his head. Vince made his big debut, and he came out on top - a real boost to an up-and-coming fighting star. The thought makes him exhale loudly. This is also known as a sigh. The composition teacher, were they to quiz Mr. Rust, would remind him of this. But for now, it is best described as a loud exhale while his vocabulary struggles to pick up on the word 'sigh.'
And just when it seems like he wasn't going to comment about Marisol... "I heard she got damn near sent to the hospital. Her and one of her friends. Was she okay last you saw her?" He did hear that she was up to her usual 'beat the crap out of just about anybody that looks like they can fight back' antics very very recently off-hand, but he was well away from the alleged scene.
Vince has to smirk at that. "Did you hear the resistance I received from the crowd? It was worth it, proving to them Pacific High is clearly superior." So the kids have school spirit. What's wrong with that? If you can't be proud of your schooling, what can you be proud of?
Don't answer that.
"She seemed fine when I met her. A little.. edgy.. but I suspect that is how she is normally," Vince submits. "Almost sent to the hospital..?" He should try to find her, then.
The Pacific and Taiyo rivalry, that's pretty serious business. Even the teacher got dragged into a petty competition here or there. He hasn't been caught in the middle of a street fight outright between students of both schools yet, though. It's only a matter of time...
"It was something fierce," the teacher remarks as he decides that it actually is kind of cold out here and maybe he should start heading back in the direction of wherever he leaves his teaching outfit when he's not wearing it (not to mention find a new wooden stake to put in place of the old one, it wasn't his to break like he did), that same knee continuing to give its own commentary to the whole encounter.
"That was several weeks back. One of the kids here got withdrawn by his father. Said father," he makes a couple of strange gestures and movements with his left arm, "just goes and beats the shit out of some of the kids here." His head shakes. This is something he is apparently very sore and edgy about, even if he never had the chance to meet the guilty man outright. "I don't have the full story, can't find anybody to actually tell me about it because I've been held up by a bunch of concerned parents that want to know if their kids are actually safe here."
Being an adult is hard.
And this new information, Vince absorbs like a sponge. Were this an RPG - something Vince would flourish in~ - he'd have a new sub-quest dealie to tend to.
"I see.." That's all Vince says, in a somewhat distant, far more serious tone of voice.
He's got it in his head that he'll find out what he can about this guy, and put an end to his random beatings. He can't allow his fellow students to be bullied by some insane parent. Not gonna happen! ..That is, if Vince ever finds the guy. He's got to play hero, you know. That's the way he is.
"Don't do anything stupid." There we go! That 'adult authority' statement! Ol' Rusty, rather than being properly sheathed through a belt that is not even meant for that sort of thing, rests on his right shoulder. "I'm serious. Soon as I can get in a word with any of them, I'll deal with it - just stay out of trouble, all right?"
Little does the teacher realize that the victim(s) in question have already begun their own countermeasures to the problem at hand. It will undoubtedly come to a head at some point or another! He rolls his neck around a good three rotations to get off another pop now that he's actually starting to feel this cold. He couldn't even get off that stand the way he used to be able to do it so long ago... today just wasn't the day, it'd seem.
"I promise I'll do nothing stupid," Vince agrees, though he has a wry look on his face now. "But protecting people.. that is hardly stupid. Those who are capable should act in the defense of those who are not. That is the hallmark of a hero, don't you think?" And considering Vince's lineage and heritage, it shouldn't be hard to figure out why he thinks this way.
After a moment's consideration, he bows his head politely with a smile. "Thank you for your concern, Sir." But then Vince starts to edge back towards the school.
"Whoa. I'm not saying--- listen," the teacher's head turns over his left shoulder back towards Vince, a finger pointing up again. "You got skills. Nobody's going to say anything against that," and there's a fair chance Vince either matches or even exceeds his teacher in overall talent and ability despite the difference in years between them, "but there's a lot of goddamn hooligans out there that don't care if they leave you a bloody heap just for a thrill. Not everybody out there cares about honor, or rules, or whatever anybody else might go by. If you run into that guy or anybody else like that attacking... you go get help."
If only the teacher knew what was exactly transpiring! He turns his gaze back towards the school. "You believe me when I say I'm not going to let another kid get hurt by some damn psycho wanting to make themselves look big against a bunch of students, and last thing I want is for one of my better students to get withdrawn because their parents don't have confidence in our ability to take care of you on campus."
Then he decides that it really is time to properly sheathe the pipe through the belt. "I hope you understand what I'm getting at. It isn't always as simple as saving the day."
Vince pauses and turns back towards Rust with a confident smile. "On the contrary. It -is- that simple. That's the very pride of being a LaRose. We began by warding off foes who cared nothing for honor, chivalry, rules, right, or wrong. I believe that I would dishonor my family and my very heritage through inaction, knowing that something like this is going on. If good people capable of making a difference do nothing, they may as well be aiding the evil ones who harm the innocents. They're just as guilty."
Vince then pauses and frowns a little. "Again, I appreciate your concern, Sir. But it's my duty as a LaRose to see what I can do."
Sometimes a difference as large as a generation can be the size of a whole world's. One may wonder how the teacher was when he was a kid, even, in terms of an attitude towards something clearly of great danger. The feeling of invincibility of youth, in contrast to one who's been around the block a few times that sometimes finds he needs to be increasingly aware of his own limits as he ages.
Both arms go up in a perfectly visible shrug, pop-free. But then it goes into a short coughing fit, argh, when did his throat get so dry? Well, guess there's no stopping the fighters among the student body. Now that they've all gone on to big TV appearances even while still in class, the teacher resigns inwardly. One day, maybe he'll get a chance yet - but he's got a good job here now, a time- and energy-consuming one on a lot of fronts.
First he'd love it if he could just get that balance right again. Ten years ago he could do it by his teeth alone! (He made his dentist rich the day after.) It wouldn't be long before the two actually made it back into Pacific High territory at this rate, where he's back to being shop teacher Mr. Rust on a day where classes aren't being held.
"Just as much as it's my duty as your teacher," he adds at long last with a sincerity hard to mask from things like age and an uncooperatively dry throat.
"Then you understand," Vince concludes. And with that, he feels there's an understanding. Or at least he can hope there is. Vince feels obligated through his training and heritage to protect those close to him - school included - and Rust must feel that way for being the students' guardian, in a sense. Legal or otherwise.
But that having been said, the fencer begins to walk in full back to the athletics field to probe about for information.
Log created on 12:07:25 02/10/2008 by Rust, and last modified on 16:06:25 02/10/2008.