Description: LUC: "Oh these are lovely teacups..." *bump* TER: "Oh pardon me, my good fellow, I did not see you there." LUC: "It's quite alright dear chap, but you have made me drop this tea set I was about to purchase, and so I must demand satisfaction." TER: "Very well, have at ye, sir!"
Crazy Zhin's China House is just one of many stores that the self-proclaimed 'Crazy' Zhin has set up throughout Southtown. His propensity for holding stores with fragile antiques and hosting fights within them without fail, the elderly man has taken an extended break from allowing Saturday Night Fight to wreck his poor stores in order to play clean up.
This was three weeks ago.
This self-imposed exodus to polish his freshly-destroyed shops have all come to a head today. The weather outside is crisp. Warm. Pleasant. The skies are clear, the sun shines brightly, and a nice breeze flows through the city streets. It's serene. And the wizzened Zhin? He stands amidst his oh-so very fragile china, adjusting the last batch of shipments that hand precariously on a series of wooden, hand-crafted shelves. Gnarled old fingers delicately adjust a small cup, worth more than the shelf that supports it. Eyes squint, thick brows twist. And slowly, slowly... Zhin backs away to look at his handiwork.
"Aaaah. It perfect n--"
"DIE, YOU FAT, OLD, DRUNKEN DIPSHIT!!"
*BOOM*
Like a serene lake disturbed by a grenade, the glass pane of Zhin's front window EXPLODES in a shattering rain of fractured, glittering glass. Zhin is forced to stare on in horror as two young men barrel through his window, airborne in mid-flight and mid-fight as a sign reading 'CRAZY ZHIN'S HOUSE OF CHINA NOW OPEN FOR BUSINESS -- CRAZY DEALS FOR YOU!!' flutters just beyond the disbelieving face of the aged man.
"... not again!!"
Zhin goes ignored as the two assailants go barreling through the air. The first? An angry, black-haired German boy, green eyes ablaze with fury. "I'M GOING TO FUCKING SHOVE MY FUCKING SHOE SO FUCKING FAR UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!!" Eloquent as ever, Luc Schroedinger seems entirely focused on his mystery opponent. But why? For what reason? The world may never know.
But Luc Schroedinger is assuredly going to shove his fucking shoe so fucking far up his fucking ass.
Whoever he may be.
COMBATSYS: Ter has started a fight here.
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Ter 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Luc has joined the fight here.
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Luc 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Ter
Regardless of his identity, that's bound to be a tight fit.
"WA LAU," cries an equally loud voice, a piercing shriek that sends more glass in the besieged shop shattering into tragic shards, "WHY! YOU GOT FOOT FETISH IS IT?!!"
That terrible and baseless slur against the young German's sexuality comes from an older man, an unshaven Chinese punk in a ratty Hawaiian shirt, BDU pants, and duct-taped sneakers. Wood splinters from the remains of a shelving unit slough off his shoulders as he pushes Luc /right back/. The two brawlers spill into a rather tasteful display of Bohemian crystal and Royal Selangor pewter. The musical sound of breaking merchandise fills the little shop.
Arthur "Ah Ter" Tian growls at Luc, as he lifts a hand. A crimson blast -erupts- from his fingers, travelling up his palm, consuming his arm, and scorching the trailing edge of his shirt sleeve. The end of the flame spirals skyward, sending the shop's fire alarm shrieking in ear-piercing warning. But Ter ignores this.
His primary concern being the slamming of a flaming blast into Luc Schroedinger's face.
"YOU -GAY- BOY IS IT," Ter roars, his breath laced with the rancid smell of beer fumes, "I PUNCH YOUR FACE THEN YOU KNOW!"
COMBATSYS: Luc Toughs Out Ter's China White!!
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Luc 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Ter
**/ONE HOUR AGO...\**
Crazy Zhin wipes sweat off his brow as he strains carving pieces of wood into exquisitely designed shelves. He's working on his last one now, carving figures of butterflies with such detail that one would think he were crafting it with his very soul. He leans back, smiles, looks upon his work. "This draw in many customer!" he decides.
**/ONE HOUR LATER...\**
Crazy Zhin looks upon the splintered wood of his shelves now decorating the floors. His lips twist. He sheds a single, futile tear. One could almost swear the shattered remains of those little butterfly designs look... -sad-.
"N-no... more customer..."
Meanwhile, Luc Schroedinger is looking at his newfound nemesis as if he just proclaimed himself to be Jesus Christ, descended upon Earth in a spaceship built on Pluto. Squinted eyes, disbelieving knot of brows, frown of lips. "I... what?" He struggles to understand what Ter is saying, green eyes straining as if, if he looked more closely, he might be able to understand the words better. "Start speaking more clearly, you thick-headed shit!! Man, you're so dumb!! 'You got foot fetish is it'?? What the hell does that even mean! Stop speaking like a reta--"
'YOU -GAY- BOY IS IT?'
"... -WHAT-?!"
Luc reacts entirely on instinct, and entirely on homophobic rage. He at least knows what 'gay' means in that sentence, and so-- "WHO ARE YOU CALLING GAY, YOU DUMBASS ASSHOLE!!" Those flames of superheated chi roar to life... and Luc Schroedinger SLAMS himself into them before they can even fully form into something. He just -CRASHES- into the fire, disregarding the burning pain as he lances forward, attempting to plant his head into Ter's forehead with one mighty headbutt, accompanied with a sudden, searing EXPLOSION of black-blue fire.
"I'LL SHOW YOU GAY!!!"
... Is Luc's Comeback of the Year.
COMBATSYS: Luc successfully hits Ter with Fierce Punch.
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Luc 0/-------/---====|======-\-------\0 Ter
Yes, it's very clear that these two gentlemen have reached new rarified heights of intellectual debate.
Ter's stunned body slams into a wall across the room, hard enough to crater the surface. Bits of paint and plaster shower his form in a white coat of dust, adding insult to the wisps of smoke rising from his skull. His dirty blonde-streaked hair is singed, charred by contact with Luc's flaming headbutt - an impact so hard that the Chinese man's eyes are concussed and glassy.
Well.
At least they would be glassy.
If they weren't already so vacant.
By his side, his own right arm still blazes with flickers of red chi, tongues of flame continuing to lick up his hand even though the man himself is bordering on unconsciousness.
For now, anyway. Amazingly, it's only a couple seconds before he staggers to his feet, leaning for support against the nearest display cabinet. An amazingly fast recovery. Then again, he clearly isn't using his brain that much anyway.
Soon as he's back on solid footing, he shoves off...a motion that causes the entire selection of decorative English gilded plates to fall off their mountings and onto the floor. Ter steps over the fresh shards of painted country scene, the sound of crumbling stoneware accompanied by a low moan of agony from one Crazy Zhin, store proprietor.
The fighter called Ter snarls, his lips pulling back in a rictus.
"Use your /head/ har?"
He taps his skull with his non-flaming hand.
"Try using your BLAIN, lah!"
Her slurs the word, apparently unable to properly phrase the 'R'. And ignoring the fact it's a rather ironic claim for him to make.
Stumbling forward, he lifts his burning arm, the plume of chi flame spiking higher into crimson intensity. With an audible ROAR he punches forward, driving red-hot knuckles right back at Luc's midsection.
COMBATSYS: Luc interrupts Strong Punch from Ter with Tyrant Strike.
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Luc 0/-------/---====|=======\=------\1 Ter
"Yeah," Luc says after a long moment. Black-blue flames still rise up from his scalp and forehead.
Were anyone corny in this place at this time, it would the perfect opportunity for a horrifically bad pun.
"Take that.
"... Gayfer."
Cracking his neck, Luc looks pointedly towards where Ter lands, snorting out in disdain as he squints in the direction of the fallen Chinese man... ... who recovers himself sooner rather than later. "... Jeeeeez... make this fun, huh?! That's the least you can do, you lousy sack of crap!"
IN ANOTHER TIME, IN ANOTHER PLACE~~
Crazy Zhin looks on with delight as his new shipment of china arrives. He picks up a gilded plate, looking at the decorative dishware as light reflects off the surface.
"You be careful!!" he snarls at one of the men bringing in the shipments. "This very valuable! Belong to English nobles -- royal family!" The balding man rolls his eyes.
~~ BACK TO REALITY
"OH NO!! YOU BE CAREFUL, THAT VERY--" The plates fall, some with an unfortunate and damning shatter. Luc looks towards Zhin with clear disdain.
"Man, shut up! Who ARE you anyway?! Get outta here, we're trying to have a fight!! Stop being so rude, you tiny old geezer!!"
The German is snapped back into focus as Ter snarls out his insults, looking back just in time to see the crazy Chinese man barreling towards him. "... Blain? What the HELL is a BLAIN?! Are you... are you MAKING FUN OF ME?! I'M NOT GONNA TAKE THAT FROM SOME WEAK PIECE OF CRAP!! YOU USE YOUR BLAIN, OR I'LL SMASH YOUR BRAIN IN!! RAAAAAGH!!"
Luc leaps. A corkscrew of chi swirls delightfully around his leg as he slams forward towards Ter; the burning fist CRASHES into Schroedinger's midsection, but just as it does, Luc's polished shoe introduces itself forcefully to Ter's jaw. The two are LAUNCHED upwards as crimson and black-blue flames tangle and clash in a sudden, vibrant explosion of sheer, unrefined power that rips across the china shop in a ripple of heat as Luc roars incoherently against the impact:
"AND DON'T CALL ME A LAH, DOUCHEBAG!!!"
Broken glass showers from up above, along with a painful electrical -shriek- of cracking circuits and florescent tubes. Ter falls back down from the ceiling, having impacted painfully into the light fixtures courtesy of a one-way trip on Air Schroedinger, Germany's leading budget carrier.
Fares available from $0.00 onwards!
Ter /slams/ onto the floor, a painful belly-flop that shatters flooring clear through the concrete. He groans painfully, before levering himself upright on his hands and knees. The flame enshrouding his right hand continues to burn, his palm and fingers leaving scorch marks on the ground as he claws to his feet.
A line of blood-flecked spittle falls from his lips, running down a stubbled chin. Ter turns a baleful bloodshot gaze on the younger fighter.
"I CALL YOU WHAT I WANT, AH," he bellows back, voice going hoarse with the strain.
As he screams, the red flame travelling up his arm spikes to new levels, blasting up the limb in a wave of furious heat. Overhead, the high-pitched wail of the fire alarm rises in volume. Forcing Ter to scream even louder to be heard over the ringing.
"YOU GOT PROBLEM WITH MY /ENGLAND/ IS IT?!"
As his cry reaches its natural apex, he swings his arm forward. The immense flame building in it explodes outward in a massive torrent of furnace energies, a storm of power that scorches the walls on either side, blows a nice display of floral-patterned teacups to smithereens...
...and finally sets off the building's sprinker system.
Water begins to fall, hissing into steam.
COMBATSYS: Luc blocks Ter's Die Die Die.
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Luc 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Ter
There are no words. There are no words for what's occuring here. If someone were to wander in and look at an angry Chinese man and German brawling and exclaming things simply beyond ignorant into categories all their own, they would be awed. 'Awed' is a good word for it.
'Stupified' might be more accurate.
Flames broil into a crescendo of fury as they simply -explode- forward in an attempt to engulf Luc in their righteous fury. Black fire sparks into life around Luc's hands as he observes this phenomenon. Hist response?
"What bullshit..." his hand curls into a fist.
"YOU'RE NOT FROM ENGLAND, YOU'RE FULL OF SHIIIIIIIIIIIT!!"
And with this mighty warcry, Luc -launches- himself forward... and just PUNCHES that sudden gout of crimson fire. A blossoming flare of black chi clashes against it, raging against the powers that Ter manifests. The crimson chi flares across Luc's arms and body in painful overflow. Lesser people might stagger. Luc... just keeps punching. And punching. And punching. Until the rest of the torrent of flames are dispersed. The sprinklers ignite in a sheen of waterfall, soaking Luc's white shirt and slapping now-wettened black hair against his forehead. His eyebrow twitches.
"... That's it. I'm gonna beat you... AND that stupid, glowy fist of yours... RIGHT BACK TO ENGLAND!!" Luc swipes out, gripping a large, porcelein statue. Zhing's eyes widen. "NO!! That very precious, you no break!!" The Chinese salesman lashes out, grips onto the porcelein. Luc swings.
And, in one blurry flurry, that large statue is swung at Ter like a bat.
With Crazy Zhin attached like some sort of makeshift flail.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
COMBATSYS: Ter dodges Luc's Random Weapon.
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Luc 0/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0 Ter
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA," Ter yells right back, surrounded by clouds of steam as water sizzles into vapour upon contact with his ever-burning arm. Nonetheless, the sprinklers soak his colourful shirt and plaster his black-and-blond hair to his skull. Bits of the cheap yellow dye even start to run, pouring in rivulets down his skin.
And with an amazing amount of skill, he evades the attack.
Well, actually that's not precisely true. More like he starts to backpedal...but slips on a soaked tablecloth fallen on the floor from what was Crazy Zhin's elegant dining display. Tripping, the Chinese man falls ass over teakettle.
Indeed, he falls over a teakettle and partially into more kitchenware.
He stumbles amidst the implements, his foot smashing halfway through an old-fashioned coffee percolator. Of course, he's still better off than Crazy Zhen, the battered propriator strewn on the floor in front of Luc.
"Aiyyyaaa," Ter groans, rubbing his head with his regular hand, "you call me SHIT ah?"
He regards Luc with one open eye.
"YOU HIT ME, AH," he continues, building up steam as he glares at the statue in the German's grasp.
"I BEAT -SHIT- OUT OF -YOU- THEN YOU KNOW!!!"
With that proclamation, Ter lunges, grabbing the nearest heavy object with his chi-enhanced arm and swinging it right back at Luc, intent on clubbing him in just the same way.
Unfortunately, the nearest object of suitable size was...
...Mister Zhin.
And Ter just grabbed the man's leg with his burning hand.
The sound of even more screaming fills the shop, rising over the patter of the sprinklers.
COMBATSYS: Luc interrupts Random Weapon from Ter with Thrown Object.
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Luc 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Ter
Swinging his makeshift bludgeon through the air, Luc frowns as he finds it strikes nothing -but- that. Zhin crashes a small distance away in an unfortunate heap. Idly, he looks down at the statue. Then back at Ter. Then he frowns.
"Maaaan, why was this thing so -heavy-?"
Oblivious to Zhin's sad fate, Luc just chucks the statue aside, letting it shatter against a nearby wall. Zhin groans in lamentation. Also, pain.
"Yeah I call you SHIT ah. What're you gonna do about it, you stinky Chinaman?!" Ter's response comes post haste with a loud roar and a sad bludgeon of a Zhin. Luc's eyes widen for a second. And then... he grins.
"What is this..."
Suddenly, Luc dips. He moves -forward-, gripping up a beautifully crafted beer stein. He doesn't even ruminate at the cultural significance.
He just beans Ter with it.
"... DON'T COME AT ME WITH THIS PATHETIC OLD GEEZER CRAP!! GRAAA--WHOOF!!"
Luc throws that stein forward just as Zhin crashes into his side, the impact sending him vaulting and crashing into the nearby register. Money flies through the air, soaked instantly by the sprinklers.
Distantly, Crazy Zhin weeps Crazy Zhin Tears.
Poor Zhin.
I mean, the man never asked for any of this. He was just minding his own business, seeing to the reopening of his store...when BLAM, broken glass, damage decidedly not covered by his insurance policy, massive financial ruin and personal injury. And you just know that whatever happens, nobody's going to hold the damn fighters accountable for this. They get away with ANYTHING in Southtown.
While the little guy like Zhen just gets abused. Whatever has he done to deserve this? Oh, sure, he's cheated on his taxes a little, conned a few tourists, but this isn't karma, this is a gross cosmic injustice.
Of course, Luc Schroedinger and Ter Tian aren't ordinary fighters.
Oh, no.
They're stupider.
And angrier.
Ter stomps forward, splashing through puddles forming on the floor from the sprinklers overhead. Beside him, a battered beer stein clatters to the ground, its pewter surface bearing a fresh indentation that looks remarkably like Ter's face, aside from a flattened nose.
Well, actually -exactly- like Ter's face, given the trail of blood running from one nostril and the fact his left eye is clenched shut.
"Shaaaaadap LAH," he spits, hacking up a glob of phlegm. As he approaches the broken store counter where Luc and Crazy Zhin lie sprawled, Ter accelerates into a run. He lifts his right fist, the trademark plume of spirit-forged flame jacking up once again, a trail of fiery particles exploding down the length of Ter's forearm and out from his elbow - a jet of fire that actually /rockets him forward/ in an almost uncontrolled spin towards Luc.
"YOU THINK YOU SMART IS IT??!!!"
COMBATSYS: Ter successfully hits Luc with 888.
- Power hit! -
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Luc 1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0 Ter
Luc Schroedinger doesn't care about karma or cosmic injustice.
He doesn't even know what those things mean.
Which might liken him to a force of sheer, stupid nature.
For example, Luc doesn't even stop as he is bludgeoned by poor Zhin. Luc is up on his feet soon enough, kicking aside sopping wet money. A five dollar bill is plastered to his forehead. He doesn't seem to notice. Instead, the German focuses his attention on Ter...
... Who is launching himself at Luc like a human rocket.
"Oh, fuck THAT--"
WHAM.
BOOM.
It almost happens in slow motion. Ter's glowing 'Godhand' impacts the side of Luc's face like a wrecking ball. Flesh compacts, bones make distinct cracking sounds -- Luc doesn't even have time to respond as the sudden explosion of angry flame launches him -straight- through the air in a brutal spiral. But, as he is flung through the air, Luc's eyes snap open. And he roars.
"WHAT THE FUCK DOES LAH EVEN MEAN?!!?"
With one swipe of his hand, Luc launches -something- at the ground. A small lance of burning chi, crackling with black-blue power. It strikes, harmlessly, at the ground just before Ter's feet.
Luc lands into an intricately carved cabinet filled with china just as that burning lance reintroduces itself to Ter in the form of a MASSIVE black-blue chi-born inferno.
"SMARTER THAN YOU, YOU 'LAH' SPOUTING PANSY-ASS!! WHAT KIND OF FREAK FAIRY SAYS 'LAH'?!"
COMBATSYS: Ter blocks Luc's Uberlastung Lanze.
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Luc 0/-------/-----==|=======\=------\1 Ter
Pottery. Crystal. Glassware. Porcelain.
Gilded ornaments of fine expensive craftsmanship, imported from the furthest corners of the world.
Well, and a fair bit imported across the border from China, but that's not the sort of thing you admit on the manufacturer's label, or the sort of thing you tell the customers.
Ter, though, is clearly of Chinese descent. Very low descent, actually. You can't descend much lower before you start scraping out the bottom of the genetic barrel and end up deep into monkey territory.
There is, though, something vaguely ape-like about Ter's battered and unshaven visage as he crawls from the remains of what was once a proud assortment of artistic decorations. The broken head of a clay songbird teeters on one of his shoulders as he rises in a half-crouch, other colourful fragments littering his soaked and blood-drenched shirt. He seems to have weathered that assault more or less in one piece. It flung him back, and he's definitely injured. But he's still just barely conscious. That arm still burns angrily with a constant red glow.
He breathes heavily, inhaling and exhaling in heavy gasps.
Ter meets Luc's gaze.
His eyes lock on his German adversary, pupils shrinking to glazed-over pinpricks.
"Who," he gasps, "says 'lah'?"
Ter pauses. Then:
"I DO, LAAAAAH!"
Whether that means Ter /isn't/ a freak fairy, or whether he just /confirmed/ it is an exercise best left to the reader. It's probably not a good idea to think too hard, though.
Ter isn't.
His own chi gathers around his arm, swirling into a dangerous spiral. Red threads laced with orange and yellow, the colour of pure fire and molten wrath. The power builds and builds and builds and builds, reaching to a crescendo. Then with a wordless SCREAM he blasts forth, smashing through the sheets of water streaming down from the sprinklers, travelling on a wave of flame enveloping his arm - sheer overwhelming force so great that as he travels, his feet don't even touch the ground. He's just lifted bodily up and flung forward, charging like a human missile at Luc.
COMBATSYS: Ter successfully hits Luc with 999.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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Luc 0/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0 Ter
CRUNCH.
CRASH.
Those be the sounds of Luc as he is once more BLASTED with fiery pain. Luc lets out an incoherent roar that -almost- sounds sounds like a vague insult to Ter's ethnicity. But it's drowned out in the roar of crimson fire that powers over his own. SMASHING into a nearby wall with a spiderweb series of cracks. Luc lets out a groan. His head twitches in a slow roll. He looks towards Zhin, blearily. And then to Ter.
Slowly, the German pries himself from the wall... and frowns. That sudden and very unexpected burst of power seems to have done the deal. But...
"... GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!! I'LL SHOW YOU A FUCKING LAH!! YOU'RE DEAD!! STUPID FUCKING -DOUCHEBAG-!!"
With one last burst of effort, Luc Schroedinger EXPLODES with flames. Water sloshes and evaporates all around him as he BARRELS through shelf after shelf of porcelein. Zhin looks up. He faints.
This is not a good day to own an antiques store.
"GET BENT, YOU DUMB SHIT!!"
And then he lashes out. Like a snake strike, Luc attempts to snap up Ter by the head. He spins. He -slams- his hand into Ter's gut... and then he just unleashes one -massive- fiery expulsion of power to launch Ter through the air and out the window once more.
"Hate... the Japanese..."
Because Ter is quite clearly Japanese.
COMBATSYS: Luc can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\ <
Ter 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Ter endures Luc's Bursting Slam.
[ <
Ter 0/-------/--=====|
"Japanese?!"
Ter's eyes bug out, a look of pure indignation on his features.
"I JAPANE---"
And because he's busy /protesting/, he doesn't actually /move/ when Luc grabs him by the skull. In fact he keeps talking, trying to form syllables in spite of the hand mashing into his face. And he's cut off when the release of flame detonates round his abdomen, blasting his shirt into shreds. Trailing fire - both from Luc's black blast and his own red-tinged arm - Ter flies backwards, all the way out of what once once a proud plate-glass storefront and into the street beyond.
Like some kind of demented human comet.
There's a hideous crash from outside, followed by the sound of screeching brakes, a woman screaming, and then a chorus of car horns.
Then, finally, a weak but still audible voice:
"I CHINESE LAH, YOU STUPID ANG MOH!"
COMBATSYS: Ter takes no action.
COMBATSYS: Ter can no longer fight.
EPILOGUE:
Crazy Zhin looks up to see the wreckage. His eyes squint. He lifts a hand to the heavens.
"I will have revenge--"
And then a teacup crashes against his head in a shatter, and Zhin is once more introduced to a blissful lack of consciousness.
BAD END
Continue? Y/N
Log created on 23:49:30 03/19/2008 by Ter, and last modified on 05:48:50 03/20/2008.