Description: The famed shop teacher of Pacific High School. Considering Haru Izanami's interests in metalwork and fighting, is it any surprise that he'd want to meet Howard Rust? When he does, he makes his first overture at using fighting to get to know someone. The results end up being a little surprising on both sides of the fence.
Pacific High. The famous international school. The especially famous Southtown branch. Class has come to an end. It's a rather cloudy and overcast day, 15 degrees Celsius. Or 59 degrees Fahrenheit. Truthfully, the shop teacher Howard Rust has been so used to using Fahrenheit all his life he is sometimes reminded that he should be describing the temperature in units of C.
This has little bearing on what he's doing! A rented delivery truck is parked out front, where he is pushing a few heavy pieces of furniture up a ramp by a recently constructed furniture dolly after having personally given up on ever finding where the people here keep leaving them. This dolly has banners plastered over them with loud and demanding warnings that they go back to a very specific place when they're not being used, because damn it, it's enough to somehow find people misplacing /all/ the dollies but it becomes that much more aggravating when it's something you made yourself.
A large desk of metal make is one of the last to be packed. Wiping his brow with an agreeing pop from his elbow, the teacher has himself a seat by the curb and has himself a drink of some cheap bottled water. Man, of all the days to not have anyone in detention to use as a helping hand.
The last time Haru came to Pacific High's campus, it was a gamble. One that ultimately paid off, mind; his conversation with Marisol was well worth the risk, but it *was* a risk. However unpopular the yoyo-using young fighter might be at his home school, there are much larger lines of class and bad blood that make venturing into one of Southtown's more prestigious campuses sort of like a game of Russian Roulette, only the gun is an entire school and the bullets are everyone there who can throw a punch... a number significantly greater than '1'.
But return there he must, because while Marisol may have sated his curiosity (or at least his concerns) about the Guardian Kings and their way of doing things, it didn't give him an opportunity to meet Pacific's *other* anomaly, the person about whom he had heard and was interested in but could never approach. At Gedo, Izanami's friendship with the Shop teacher is well known; most of Haru's off hours not spent studying are often spent in Gedo's (surprisingly well-equipped) shop room, either fine-tuning his unique weapons or indulging in the fine metalwork he does as a bit of a hobby. It seems odd, perhaps, that someone like Haru, with his distinctly un-Gedo-like scholarly mien and sarcasm, would be involved in something so hands on... but he enjoys working with his hands.
To find out that Pacific's shop teacher is not only a unique and interesting individual (or so his reputation among the schools goes) but also a fighter? The opportunity to meet him seems too good to pass up. Thus Haru bides his time until he feels confident that approaching Pacific's campus without being accosted by anyone with delusions of bouncer-style grandeur, and it is this very afternoon that he approaches the grounds, finding Rust in evidence by sheer, stupid luck.
Despite the warming weather, he is attired per normal: in black and denim, and with full body coverage... even his hands. His Gedo class jacket flutters out behind him as he walks, throwing up a hand and waving at the Pacific teacher-slash-groundsman, apparently. "Afternoon."
The teacher is easy to identify. He works up enough of a sweat that his usual in class teaching uniform's top, one not unlike a mechanic's service outfit, is often removed in favor of just the undershirt. He gets away with this a lot more often than he should. The once orange safety vest that may not confer much of the safety any more? Who knows. That ratty toolbelt with some length of pipe all but stabbed through a pocket, that could be anybody. But it's the hair - the slowly decreasing amount of, anyway - that he seems intent on fooling the entire world that he isn't in fact going bald. The combover fails at this spectacularly. And he attempts to go for the hair spikes with what little he has left. Midlife crisis at its finest, folks.
He's never been in any sanctioned, televised combat events. But he's been in scraps, all right. Word on the street is he got into a fight over in the Duck Pond recently. It's not really notable given this is Southtown. This is following some other stories about occasional encounters with strangers meaning significant harm against the student body, and he was seen at the docks a few times several months back. Little incidental stories here and there. Yet, he's never bothered to go pro. Maybe that's one of the more alluring qualities of all the rumors. The question, 'why?'
Moving on from the theoretical to the actual present, the greeting is interrupted by a cough as the teacher, almost at the most inopportune time possible, nearly chokes on what he is drinking. This is probably not related to being greeted at all. The throat buzzes with an unpleasant clearing noise at the end of the coughs, patting his chest loudly with his left hand into a fist several times before any sort of eye contact is met with the owner of those black sneakers that happens to be approaching him.
"Agh. Ahhh... sorry." Lifting himself up off the curb with his knee making a loud, vocal protest of a pop at standing himself up, he scratches absent-mindedly at his jaw which has decided to be very itchy today. "Hey. Visiting somebody?"
There's something about this kid that's vaguely familiar. Maybe he'll put a finger on it when his chin isn't so itchy. Itchy chins often require the majority of one's fingers.
Taking it all in, Haru does falter a bit in surprise. As a list of qualities from various sources, or a gathering of information clouding around a general concept of a man, Rust is one way. Sitting right in front of you, all of those qualities and rumors compressed into a single living body, it's another. The Gedo senior is struck at once by the man's appearance as being both rumpled and vital, a spark burning under the fatigue of his recent activity. After all, Haru himself cultivates an air of harmlessness in order to get a certain response from people who might do him harm. While Rust may not 'look' like much, Haru rarely works on first impression alone.
"Yes, actually," he says evenly, smiling somewhat. His face isn't really built for smiling; he has the beginnings of frown lines even at the age of 17, and even honest smiles on Haru's face have a trace of sardonic amusement. "If my guess is right, I'm visiting... you." How could it be anyone else? Even with a massively multicultural city like Southtown, and a mostly foreign-populated school like Pacific, there's only so many Americans in the city, and only so many on Pacific's campus... and only so many with that legendary combover.
Rather curiously, he doesn't extend his hand, or in fact many overt physical gesture of greeting, other than a nod and tilt of the head toward the looming buildings of Pacific's campus. "You're... Howard Rust, I hope," he says evenly. "Pacific High's shop teacher. Right?"
The scratching slows the tiniest bit when it is mentioned that the visitor is, indeed, himself. Most of the kids here would rather meet with the other kids, and really, that's fine and encouraged, this being a school that prides itself on bringing children before an 'international community.'
"Yeah... I'd be him," he clears his throat again and brings his hand away from his chin and the stubble that just won't quit. He's even tried a table saw. (Truth!) Regardless, he straightens up a little more as to better appear like someone of a professional capacity rather than look like just some dude that works here. Back straight, shoulders back (with another shoulder creaking for good measure). The lack of offer of a handshake is noted but perfectly fine, that's not how people greet throughout the world. He bows his head forward briefly.
"So... uh, how can I help you," There's still a few more things to load up and drive off to who knows where, but he tries not to let this kind of urgency show too much in his voice as he gestures a little with his hand in a somewhat circular motion, "Mister...?"
"Izanami," is the even-toned response. "Haru Izanami. Gedo High School, third year." There's a good pause, after that; Haru is all too aware of his school's reputation among the other schools in the city, let alone the student body's reputation across the people of Southtown in general. Though he himself doesn't exactly fit the stereotype, there's no guarantee that the audience is going to consider that. Thus he's got a practiced fight or flight response there, body tensing just enough to defend himself.
When the moment passes, he seems to relax a little bit, his gaze turning to the side and the truck full of equipment. An eyebrow goes up, and the inherent worker's rights type buried in Haru flashes a fin. "They've got you... loading trucks?" He sounds incredulous, and indeed he is; one eyebrow goes up to prove it, and his next statement is colored with a tone of disbelief. "That hardly seems fair... especially a school like Pacific. They've got more money than they know what to do with, and a teacher's hauling freight..."
Shaking his head sadly, Haru sighs. Whether that might insult poor Rust, is beyond the young fighter's current mode of thought. He turns back to Rust with a weary smile. "I'm hoping you volunteered, which is nice of you, all things considered." He pauses a moment, and then mmms in the back of his throat for a moment. "I... had been told about you, and I felt like I wanted to meet this unique shop teacher for myself."
The teacher nods a bit when given the name, opening his mouth slightly to speak when the full name is then given. Then he just keeps nodding. Strangely, the front gates appear relatively light on student population today for some reason. He looks behind himself, even, to make sure none of the Pacific Resistance sorts start screaming out of nowhere and making a big fuss about it. They like making big fusses about things when their greatest rivals are some of Gedo's absolute best.
His attention returns to Haru's after that moment passes. Any opinion easily conveyed by body language doesn't seem to change much. There's not much of anything in the teacher's eyes - there really isn't, they're just brown and kind of blank. Maybe being an adult means having your entire soul sucked out so you can't pin fun acronyms to your eyes any more. "Pl-" he's slow to the speaking draw again as Haru asks him the question. Exhaling a quiet breath to let him finish, he turns on a heel (his ankle doesn't like being the center of rotation if that next in a series of many pops thus far is any indication) to go back up the ramp and into the truck largely to retrieve the dolly for the next item. That dolly is one of his last bastions of a good mood this day.
"Sometimes... things just have to get done," the teacher speaks in that gravelly voice from the pile of nondescript furniture of mysterious origin. Class projects? Donations? He pats that metal desk he just placed with a sort of sadness, as though there were some attachment to it, his head lowering slightly. "And sometimes... bunch of officials from all the Pacific High branches come out of nowhere for a meeting, tie up all the free hands, some yelling over budgets... ah, it happens." As much as he would have loved catching Fuchi smoking in the bathroom /again/, it's a good day when nobody's misbehaving.
The dolly is thusly retrieved, held at his right side for it probably would not live in peaceful coexistence with that pipe he probably picked up off the ground on a whim shoved through a pocket near the opposite hip, re-establishing eye contact again, a brief wince at something that shoots through his neck which makes him tilt his head at a weird angle. "Ahh, 'unique,' I'm just a working man, ah..." he lifts his free hand up while stepping back down the ramp, "do you prefer going by your family name or your given?" It should be obvious given the culture but Southtown being as it is with cultural standards and ideas, he keeps running into kids who prefer different ways of being referred to (and then he subsequently forgets about a third of the time).
Barely perceptible, Haru's face quirks a bit at the idea of being referred to by his family name. After all, though nobody but he knows it, 'Haru Izanami' doesn't technically exist. It is, after all, a pseudonym he adopted on arriving in the city... an arrival precipitated by his abandonment of his 'family name'. "Haru is fine," he finally says, in his typically neutral, somewhat emotionless tone. That's right... just 'Haru' is fine. "And as for your point about things getting done... you're right about that. Absolutely."
Not exactly a social butterfly himself, it's easy for the Gedo senior to sense that there's an awkwardness to Rust, or at least that's how he perceives the teacher's somewhat halting and to-the-point speech. Of course, Haru is probably interrupting, and it's more than likely that Rust would rather get back to what he was doing. Still, he came here for a reason, and he's not leaving without SOME sort of answer to his questions.
"If you were just a working man," Haru says, again with the ghost of a smile that he doesn't mean to seem wry or mocking, but which his features make inevitably so, "then I don't think anybody in this city would know your name, and it would have never filtered back to me. But they do and it did... about Pacific's fighting teacher, someone a little different than that..." He pauses, trying to think of a word that conveys his opinion of Hayato Nekketsu without disparaging the man, who he admittedly doesn't know, and settles on "...enthusiastic individual over at Taiyo. More down to earth. I'm interested in that."
"All right. Haru. Nice to meet you." Ha! The teacher squeezes this in after the acceptance of the point and gets an edge on the conversation, albeit a small one where nobody is keeping score! It's not as big a deal as it would be were he in class, where /having/ to talk above kids is important. But it really wears his throat out, and then you get someone who coughs and sometimes has to repeat himself a bit on realization he may be speaking too quietly or otherwise tries not to speak very long lengths before his voice trails off from strain.
Regardless of any circumstances behind his voice, it's kind of a practiced response, but he is a part of the school staff and should be a role model in speaking with locals and the like - but there is sincerity at least. So far, he hasn't jumped on him like a number of mysterious teenage girls of equally mysterious origin have.
The teacher touches back down on the streets (and the sidewalk) to other items of interest that need to be put on the truck, shrugging his shoulders backward to stretch them out with accompanying groans of joints so terribly overworked from his youth that maybe he really should just listen to them for once. The popping stops at a rather opportune time for him to hear very clearly. Known name? Word travels fast about you if you can hold your own, doesn't it.
Maybe this is a fan? That's... that's kind of cool, Mr. Rust thinks inwardly without letting daydreaming drift him from the real world because he's still more or less on the job here. And talking with someone. "Interested? Well... uh, that's great!" He's not sure how to word it himself. The tone speaks of being somewhat elated at the thought. He doesn't bother to think much about the Taiyo comparison, everyone knows they're a crazy hive mind of boundless enthusiasm that turn even the most innocuous pursuits into ways to kill someone. He turns back around to face Haru as is necessary to re-establish face-to-face discussion in the instance he is already not doing so in his personal quest of the day to get these all loaded up and driven off somewhere, "so, uh, what is it that interests you? A," a small cough, "sorry there, dry throat. An autograph? Don't think I got anything with me to write," his free hand pats his toolbelt. Surely he stuffed a pen in there today at some point knowing the ones on his desk would be stolen at some point...?!
A brief smile at that, but Haru shakes his head. Despite the situation the Gedo student feels comfortable around this man, and indeed there is something in Rust that reminds Haru of his mentor back in Gedo, a man who encouraged him to take the things he loved and actually do something with them. Perhaps it's the clash of Rust's diplomatic intentions with his everyday, working man's way of speaking and acting. Either way, though, an autograph wasn't exactly on Haru's agenda, and he says so: "That's... that's alright. That's not really why I'm here."
How do they do it at Gedo? That was what he fought the Guardian Kings to find out, why he asked Marisol about the way they do things at Pacific. In short, how does the culture of the fighting world work? Putting aside the small and biased sample, Haru's beginning to feel like he has a handle on how it's done, at last. He opens his mouth to speak and then shuts it again, mentally damming the explanation that was coming. It's in his nature to give a big, long rationale for things because that's how Haru operates: get the facts, weigh the situation, develop a plan.
"To hell with it," he actually mutters.
Taking a few steps back from Rust, Haru reaches into his pocket and produces, of all things, a yoyo... gunmetal grey and black, nondescript except for its lack of lustre and the string, which glints faintly in the sun in a way that actual string shouldn't. It drops toward the ground, spinning, and then back into Haru's waiting palm. "I wanted to see what kind of style that kind of guy might have... so I was hoping you'd give me a match. If you have the time."
"Then what?" The teacher asks, moving from some kind of 'yay' to 'huh' demeanor in voice. Maybe he'd like to help out with these last few things. Sure, he could handle them himself just fine, but after the last three he had to take a short break. Today's been a long day. His hand pats at another well polished metal desk as if he needed a reminder just by tapping something in an unnecessary gesture before getting around to standing it up underneath the dolly. "Hell with what?"
He doesn't really quite get around to that.
The yo-yo glints in the little sunlight given, reflecting off of the desk's frame despite any lack of lustre or brilliance. This is likely more reflective of the polishing job and also a bad pun. The teacher's left eye narrows in a scrutinizing manner. This is going to be one of those types of people, isn't it. He's getting too old for this. "Just--"
He holds a hand up, index finger pointed upward. The knuckle makes a really low snap as the finger is held rigid in the time it gets him to think. Marisol, in their 'fated' weekend fight on the athletics field, said there's really a bunch of kids out there who are dead serious about fighting - that holding back at all, even constantly denying them, would be a disservice. He, himself, still hasn't forgotten his dreams... but in recent months, he's been almost all but resigned to the fact that he's got a good job. A very demanding one. But a very good job, he doesn't want to give up for anything. A will vying against a dream that he just can't let go.
A low, barely audible grunt follows. He's pretty sure he must have seen this kid before... maybe it was on TV on that one Saturday night a while back. "A match," he echoes the request. He drums a finger on the desk again, mentally going over the time. Time may not... really be an immediate issue. Maybe there was something else he wanted to do later today that is conveniently brushed aside pondering what is a really weighted request to him.
"I won't... I won't deny you one. Sure. A match." The teacher straightens up again, rolling his neck about once for yet /another/ chorus of unpleasant bone popping noises that marks his presence just about anywhere. His right hand rests on top of the makeshift 'hilt' of Ol' Rusty, decided largely by which end is poking up above through the toolbelt as opposed to below. It's almost samurai-esque, in a weird sense, taking a few steps away from the desk in the process. Yo-yo versus length of pipe. Young versus one who wishes he was ten years younger already. Student vs. teacher, albeit not of the same schools. But that is why they call them rival schools, sometimes.
There's an almost palpable sense of relief from Haru when Rust accepts; a little ironically, his body *relaxes* rather than tensing back up, and he does indeed exhale a little breath. It's not so much the idea that Rust might have refused him -- after all, "not here/not now" was what he expected to be told -- but rather, that he could pull off asking in the first place. Asking other students for random bouts in random places... that's almost an accepted part of Southtown school life. Teachers? Not so much. "Thanks," the Gedo senior says, evenly.
He then steps back a bit from the truck, not wanting to crowd Rust and to give them both some room to work with. The dual-colored gaze is drawn to the movement of Rust's hand to his hip, and Haru's eyes narrow just a bit at that piece of information. Being smacked with a lead pipe... not on top of his list of ways he wanted to spend his day today, but a part of him is actually amused at that, pleasantly so... the idea that someone else took something a little everyday and ran with it. "This is... an experiment, I guess. In a lot of things. But thanks for indulging me," he adds.
Yoyo goes up. Yoyo goes down. Yoyo goes up again.
"Ready?" Haru asks, suddenly, and provided that Rust doesn't suddenly call for him to wait or change his mind, Haru plants his foot and pivots, whipping his right arm around and extending. The yoyo flicks out, horizontal instead of vertical, looking to smack Rust in the stomach, the Gedo senior having decided to take the opening shot.
COMBATSYS: Haru has started a fight here.
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Haru 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Rust has joined the fight here.
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Haru 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
COMBATSYS: Haru successfully hits Rust with Medium Fling.
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Haru 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Rust
The teacher just leans forward, nodding his head. He hasn't done a lot of smiling or frowning or anything of the sort from their conversation. It's not from any trained lack of emotion. You should've seen his frown when someone found a way to break one of the table saws. It'd wear anyone's mouth out.
The encounter isn't tense. There's an odd... ease, in the air, in which the two seem to take their place. The teacher himself may not be really aware of the difference once he casts at least a little caution to the wind.
As a rarity, the draw goes well enough. Ol' Rusty gets drawn out of the toolbelt-turned-sheath without the usual fuss it gets. There's a certain acceptance in seeing the arm movement - don't confuse readiness with split second reflexes. He advances into it, one step at a time.
The yo-yo misses his stomach when he tries to go to a stance roughly perpendicular to Haru's and instead beans him on the hip. Not long ago he plowed through a bar counter and several tables. Do you want to know how sore they were after he woke up at a nearby hospital with Duck Pond management yelling at him? Very.
"Agh!" A hiss, comically exaggerated as it may be, as his advance stops to rub his hip a bit with his free hand - his left. He's right-handed, if the hand he's holding Ol' Rusty with is any indication. Another fine reminder to never ram through /anything/ that way ever again even a number of days after the fact.
"...Don't mind me," he adds as he straightens his stance a bit, legs apart, weapon held downward and pointed away from the fight, coughing twice because his lungs sometimes like to spite him so.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Haru 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Rust
There's a certain amount of flourish on the recoil from Haru's strike, the handmade weapons-grade yoyo curling a tight ellipse in the air as it sails back toward his waiting hand, finally yanked back with a curious sound that's 50% snap of metal against a surface, and 50% slap, like someone clapping very slowly. However, hawk-eyed Haru is watching Rust very closely, lips pursing at the hiss of pain and the decision to take a moment. An old injury, perhaps? Or something more recent...
Regardless, Haru doesn't attack. Instead he lets his hand drop to his side, once again letting the yoyo rise and fall like a nervous gesture, giving him something to do with the slowly surging adrenaline rush that accompanies fighting. Attacking now seems... off, to him, just as pelting Kenji or that insane Russian job when they were on their last legs would have been in his latest SNF adventure. "Sorry," Haru says carefully, "if I hit you in a tender spot. Take all the time you want."
COMBATSYS: Haru takes no action.
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Haru 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Rust
Howard Rust needs to suck in a good breath after the collection of recent sore plus coughing fit. He's not even forty and he's carrying himself like he's sixty, but that's really what he gets for turning 9 to 5 into 6 to 8 for about a decade.
"I'll... I'll walk it off." It probably won't be much of an issue in another week or so. "Don't wait on me." Deep breath, deep exhale, head in the game, man, head in the game. It's probably plainly obvious that at the range between the two, the shop teacher can't easily fight back. His approach if he were to just walk forward would be easily halted with a constant barrage of yo-yo strikes if that last strike were to mean anything.
That's when the teacher seems to dive right for the ground not quite in an instant, but perhaps with a bit more spring in his step than anyone of his age or apparent slowness /should/, ramming up against the ground on his left side before going flat, swinging his body weight along with his weapon arm as the pipe is swung across the ground so parallel but yet so very very very close against it that he may very well be laying the very foundation of a new offensive, its reach hopefully offsetting the usual vulnerability of any given number of sliding or advancing maneuvers one may see in the fighting world punctuated with a grunt that masks no effort made in a simple movement against the area where Haru stands - and their feet, by extension.
COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Haru with Foundation Layer.
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Haru 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Rust
Doubt begins to cross Haru's face as, despite his statement not to wait, Rust's need to recover is a little longer than the few seconds he'd have gotten if Haru had chosen to strike. Part of it is simply trying not to be a jerk; if the man's injured, this could go on some other day. The other is a purely selfish reason: he's interested in seeing this fighting style first hand, and a weakened fighter isn't going to be performing at the top of his game. "If you're sure..." Haru says carefully, drawing it out, giving the teacher time to object or change his mind.
The sudden sliding attack, however, appears to be all the answer that's required. Grimacing, Haru attempts to spring up and then back in a quick, defensive hop over the strike. Sadly, he underestimates the reach of the pipe just as Rust predicted he might, and the hop is quickly turned into a tumble as the low-swinging attack slams into Haru's foot just as he's about to jump up. His weight already mostly in the air, he drops unceremoniously backwards, landing on the (thankfully mostly empty) pavement of the school's main drive with a loud *whump*.
Getting to his feet, Haru grins a little, at least reassured that nobody's going to suddenly need to be medevac'ed out of here for a hip replacement. "Interesting." Beyond that, he has nothing more to say; instead he drives forward, getting considerably closer than he did before, and snaps out the same hand again to fling the yoyo forward. This time, however, Haru attempts to catch Rust around the arm in a snare and, if he can keep the grip, suddenly whips his arm back, using the 'throw' like a slingshot to shove the shop teacher to the ground in one quick motion.
COMBATSYS: Rust fails to interrupt Medium Throw from Haru with Wrecking Ball Swing.
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Haru 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Rust
The additional reason Rust puts a lot of faith in the added reach is so he doesn't have to lean into it nearly as much. This is what gives him his own personal tactical edge over many such maneuvers. He's not young and he's certifiably out of shape in comparison, but the idea of fighting is not entirely new to him at all. Haru might see little touches pointing in that direction.
In fact, to any viewer one would assume that ol' Howard Rust might in fact have the upper hand in the next exchange when he catches the yo-yo around the pipe instead. In theory, this sets Haru up right into one of /his/ own techniques easily. Already ensnared, the teacher is interrupted briefly by a cramp running up his arm from how far he has to bend it back for that catch to begin with. He doesn't let it wear on his face as he just tries to sit up a little, leaning a ways into Haru.
That moment of not actively resisting being thrown means that he is, in fact, hurled off the ground and right into the air. His jaw hangs open like a fish's would at realizing the bait's on a hook and they're on it! And this is when he's already in the air, where it is too late to do much of anything other than take the fall.
Fall, he does, tumbling into a roll on his side with a loud grunt before coming to a full stop largely the same distance they were at when they started, pushing up with the arm that is /still/ cramping up after the fact. It pops in mockery. Stupid shoulder. "That... that was pretty good," Mr. Rust says while giving the shoulder all the time it wants to stop pissing him off. And letting Haru continue to press an attack.
"Thank you for the compliment," Haru says evenly as he yanks the yoyo back to his hand once again. It almost immediately falls back into that rhythm of up and down again, Haru's body swaying in barely perceptible time, giving him some small outlet for keeping his level of energy up. It's as if his entire fighting style is dependent on that sense of tempo, and the yoyo is just a symbolic metronome, ticking away the beats. "That last attack of yours caught me by surprise... you hit pretty hard, Mister Rust," he adds, saying all of the word 'Mister' rather than jamming the syllables together per typical fashion.
He doesn't seem inclined to follow up his attack with another, but he does watch Rust carefully. The older man's seeming bouts with sudden sharp pain or discomfort are starting to unnerve him slightly, though if that tripping technique he used before is any indicator, the Gedo senior has no desire to see what truly impressive slow but powerful attacks the shop teacher might bring to bear. Of course, filling the gap with conversation seems like a smart plan, and he does so. "I'm sorry I've been kinda forward... I'm still adjusting to this whole fighter-culture thing."
COMBATSYS: Haru focuses on his next action.
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Haru 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Rust
Howard Rust didn't land lightly, but momentary delays aside, he's not that worse off for the wear, the constant ambience of aching joints scrying for relief and the aura that one casts of someone who worked themselves almost into old age early. He straightens up in the scope of time of Haru's return dialogue, shrugging his shoulders back. The teacher, despite perhaps being the superior on a number of subjects through life, may not have easily picked up the rhythm to Haru's style. But few people can instantly read how a fighter's style ticks easily. All he can surmise at present is the importance of closing the distance - somehow.
"Well... little secret. You and me both," he says as he turns to face Haru proper, "so many crazy kids these days, jumping me like I'm a damn seesaw... but, uh, one thing," and up comes the raised pointer finger on his free hand, "last thing I want to see is you having to leave here on a stretcher," he gestures with a thumb, "so if I'm going too hard," which is kind of funny to say when he's the one at the disadvantage, "you just tell me." Of course, this probably violates the point Marisol was trying to make to him a while back.
Then he bends his knees down as though he were to squat, spreading his legs apart a bit. Both arms go to his side, pointing forward only from the elbow on, clasping the pipe in both hands. What could this possibly be? Suddenly, he shakes in place. Not side to side. More like he were riding on a bumpy vehicle. Some low, strange vibrating noise escapes his lips.
Then he glides forward. Just like that, in a semi-crouch. Simply /gliding/, or maybe like some road vehicle, intending to all but plow into Haru - if caught, he doesn't even stop from an immediate success. This would go on for a while until he would suddenly fall backwards, scooping up Haru with his legs to hoist him upward like a scoop.
Unless the wily yo-yo fighter has different plans other than suffering the latest in a string of strangely themed attacks from random strangely themed people.
COMBATSYS: Haru fails to counter Bulldozer from Rust with Melancholy Sapphire.
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Haru 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Rust
Getting in close? A wise plan, and it shows in Haru's response to the attack. Unusual though it is, it's obvious that Rust's plan is to just ram the Gedo student... and the rest of it is just icing on the cake. Haru does Not Like being touched, at all. One might think that would keep him from ever being a fighter, but in his case it just made him all the more aware of ways of fighting that don't involve grabbing your opponent by the face and shaking him until candy falls out. He developed... other ways. Some are technique based, while others...
...others are instictive. The strike is fast, so there's no room for anything fancy. Instead the yoyo suddenly stops, the noise and motion of it conspicuously absent as Haru's face locks up, gaze trained on Rust. If he's perceptive, or simply looks his way, for a moment Haru's left eye, the green one, suddenly goes the same bright blue as his right, and in a roughly circular perimeter around Haru's body the air is faint with light of the same cobalt blue. Sadly, whatever it was he was about to do is too little, too late; he's slammed into by the tackle and then sent sprawling the followup, landing on the very curb Rust just vacated, face-down.
However, when he gets up, wiping a hand across his mouth and gathering himself, he shakes his head at Rust. "Believe me," he says carefully, in an even tone, "I don't think you can hurt me quite that badly. The only fight I haven't left under my own power, even if I've lost, was on the slopes of Mount Everest... and I think there I can blame extenuating circumstances."
The world according to Howard Rust in the entire maneuver is one rapidly shaking up and down like it's an earthquake. The glowing eye is a pretty easy detail to miss when things are going up and down too quickly to take tiny details - a bulldozer only needs to move forward, and that's the whole philosophy behind the attack. But that doesn't change how stupid it may look from the outside. (Mr. Rust is not on the cutting edge of fighting fashion!)
It's only a wash of blue energy that he pretty much wills himself past that he doesn't pay it much additional mind. Nowhere near as much as his knees both revolting at the same time about everything from the leg down suddenly jabbing up into them like jackhammers. Rust can't hide being at least a little winded after that, spiting the knees once more as he swings himself up to a standing position. Haru sheds a bit of light on why he'd be familiar...
"That was you? Saturday Night Fight?" He sure sounds surprised at not having figured this out for himself sooner! He was half-asleep on the couch right when it started. He didn't see it through to the end not from boredom - he just cherished his freedom of being able to sleep soundly on most weekend evenings for almost as long as he likes. Something he didn't have the luxury of back then!
"That thing where you spun that girl," he motions once with his free hand to try and match the motion he kinda-sorta remembers, "back and forth after she kicked you, that wasn't too bad." Watch that hand, though! While Haru may not like being touched, that seems to be roughly the intent as the teacher simply just tries to grab Haru by the arm and swing him right back away from where the dolly and furniture still wait to be utilized once all is said and done.
It's not a fancy throw - at its core, it's a relatively fast but hard tug of an arm. But does the man tug as hard as he can strike?
COMBATSYS: Haru dodges Rust's Medium Throw.
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Haru 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Rust
Thankfully for Haru, not liking being touched didn't just mean learning to redirect and counter strikes. He's also cultivated his reflexes and reaction time... perhaps not as high as some fighters of similarly light constitution, but enough so that when he needs to get out of the way, he can do it without diving for cover like a complete fool. Case in point: even as he responds conversationally to Rust's compliment, he kicks off the ground in another defensive hop, much like the one Rust interrupted before, but this one sends him in a low arc backwards across the ground, causing him to land in a crouch that he quickly stands from.
"That was..." He pauses, thinking of the fight in question. The sickly girl with the sleeves and the irrational need to cause him actual, lasting harm... that hadn't been pleasant, and apparently it was the attack Rust is giving him praise for that set her off. "It could have been better, but thanks for the meaning, anyhow." He's not exactly winded, not just yet, but his joints and muscles are starting to feel the ache that comes from getting smacked around a few times in the course of the fight. "I'd return the favor, but I don't think I've ever seen you on TV..."
Wasting no time, Haru rushes back in at a low run, almost as if he was going to bull charge Rust... but instead, he's keeping low to the ground while one yoyo makes improbable circles around his body, building up speed and being kept from Haru's dashing feet with precise movements until he gets close and, unceremoniously, stands up and swings the yoyo with *both* hands, the elliptical orbit decaying until the small metal object looks to impact the side of the teacher's cheek with crushing force. It's a bit like a right cross... for the new millennium.
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Haru's Fierce Strike.
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Haru 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Rust
The grab goes wide, the teacher having put enough stock into it that he leans a little too much into it that Haru's concentrated practice in not getting touched to begin with is given that chance to shine... and once more puts distance between the two that the yo-yo enthusiast's opponent can't always easily cover. There's a curb in the way this time, so that weird crouchy-vibraty-rushy thing is right out.
He steadies himself after the thought that maybe leaning further into the air where your opponent once was is not contributive towards actually throwing them around, drawing the arm back and the pipe back even further. He doesn't have much to say about not appearing on TV - he likes to think his lot in life as it is speaks for itself, even with the likes of Hideo Shimazu who does not seem to have any issue at all balancing strict lecturing and prize fighting. He just shrugs his shoulders slightly, maybe almost playfully so. Playfully. Using that adjective in a fight. Heh.
Haru closes the very distance for them, running in low and fast. The older of the two spreads his legs a bit further apart and leans forward, preparing a swing anew regardless of what skill in swirling the yo-yo like so may dissuade in the attempt...
Haru's swing beats the teacher's original intent almost the very moment he formulates it, striking him against the left side of his face with what is pretty crushing force. His left eye shuts itself tight with a little tear. Saliva flies from his mouth. His jaw clenches on the right side of his cheek (dammit). The force is as such that it succeeds in twisting his upper body in the direction of the blow - a sure sign of a solid hit.
Except, his left hand is his free hand, and in swinging to the momentum of the blow, so does his arm, trying to grab right for Haru's head and slam it straight downwards like a brick that's got to hit the stack to one day be made into an old house out by the country, neglecting to take in a breath in the exchange that will no doubt continue to put him that further behind in terms of pacing.
COMBATSYS: Haru blocks Rust's Brick Stacker.
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Haru 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Rust
Given that Rust has shown more than once in this fight that he's feeling pain in places where Haru hasn't always hit him, it comes as a bit of a surprise to the Gedo senior that the shop teacher would all but walk into his strike, and he even winces a bit at the impact because of that. It's a tactical surprise, though Rust may not have intended it to be so, and rather than staging a more complex defense Haru is forced to make do: he snaps the yoyo back toward him as Rust turns, and suddenly grips the actual yoyo with one hand and pulls the string taut with the other, letting the 'grab' push through the sudden resistance rather than going right for broke.
As a result, rather than being slammed to the ground Haru is shoved roughly to the side; it still hurts, but not nearly as bad as it might have given Rust's impressive physical strength. "Not bad," Haru admits, scuttling back a step or two and taking a breath as he gets back into 'stance'. "You walked right into that looking to surprise me." In a way, Haru's jealous of that; after all, he's far too physically fragile to do the same thing reliably, and that says something about Rust's feelings about his own hardiness.
"Instructive, sensei," he adds, letting the yoyo fall back into its metronome-style rhythm of up and down. "But, I'm not sure it's always the smartest idea!" With a move of the arm almost like an underhand softball toss, Haru lashes out with the yoyo again, the whirling weapon swinging out very, very low, almost towards Rust's ankles. However, at the last second Haru twists his wrist and pulls his arm up; the yoyo follows, looking to smack the shop teacher under the chin like an uppercut, before Haru twists his wrist a second time and swings the yoyo out in a perpendicular horizontal arc to slam into Rust's chest as well.
COMBATSYS: Haru successfully hits Rust with Obsidian Serenity.
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Haru 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Rust
There's a small trickle of blood going down the side of the mouth where the teacher bit his cheek - perhaps the most debilitating effect of getting smacked in the face. Not to say taking it on the other cheek was that soft a hit. The shop teacher stumbles a few steps forward and nearly trips over the curb, Haru's maneuver having given him a bit of a push on top of Rust's attempt to drive himself downward with the target. He exhales loudly, sweat running down the brow. One would bet the sweat beads are trying to plot the optimal course that gives them the least amount of time present within the confines of a terrible hairdo. Ugh.
"Sometimes... ah, no," the latter half said quickly with an agreeing shake of the head, pointing the pipe downward against the ground again, leaning forward with one hand on his knee. He's still in the fight yet. Maybe he ran himself tired a little too soon, given he's been moving things for the better part of the day while blankly staring at the yo-yo going up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, it seems like a perfect rhythm.
It goes low. At that last second, this is perhaps a sheer accident, the teacher steps forward and that initial upwards smack misses entirely. He confuses this for vulnerability, drawing his weapon arm up and back over his shoulder... but Haru spins around again and hits him in the chest at angle with just enough force that his upper body indeed bends backwards uncomfortably, his back crackin' and asking its owner what the hell they're doing bending back so far, ouch, ouch, ouch, see the man wince and bite his cheek on the other side (double dammit)!
Ol' Rusty is not stopped, but the extra inch or two of distance may make all the difference for Haru as the pipe's business end goes from above the teacher's left shoulder, swung outwards in a backhand-like motion downwards, the most likely point of contact being Haru's ribcage if there /is/ any contact to be made with a loud exhaling sound. Winded but not wounded, the teacher tries to press that offense anew.
COMBATSYS: Haru counters Fierce Strike from Rust with Emerald Vivacity.
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Haru 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Rust
For Haru, there is a brief moment of thrill that, on reviewing this fight alone at home later, he questions the ethical ramifications of. But for him this fight is as much a test as anything else. Can he deal with a fighter of such great physical power? With Kenji the answer was no, but Haru's learned a thing or two since then. He picked this fight to meet Rust, but also to test himself because of the teacher's slight but distinct reputation... a reputation that might make the Shop teacher blush if he heard the details, as he seems a modest man.
But the only way for Haru to deal with fighters who will crush his relatively slight frame in no time flat is to use all the tactical knowledge at his disposal, and in this case it's all the necessary. Atypically, once the yoyo finishes the first strike Haru doesn't retract it, or at least not as quickly; he lets it lie, pulling it slowly back. Thus when Rust charges him, samurai-style, he has a recourse... and the sure to be crushing strike is suddenly interrupted by Haru's eyes sparking with sudden drive, and his capitalizing on his opponent's body being in JUST the right place, and the knowledge that he has to move JUST the right way and do it *now*...
The yoyo is suddenly yanked back, snagging Rust around the ankle and in one broad, swinging loop, it snaps him up and into the air link a slingshot. "Ei... ya!" With a barely-articulate kiai, Haru snaps out his *other* hand, which has a second yoyo all ready to go... and using Rust's airborne body as a sort of midair grappling point, he snags Rust with the second yoyo and all but drags *himself* into the air, Bionic Commando-style, before sending Rust right back to the ground with a second full-circle, slingshot-like motion.
Landing heavily in a crouch afterwards, Haru takes big deep breaths; he can't even stand up just yet, the maneuver having taken not only the reserves he had at the time, but drawing on reserves he *didn't*. He doesn't say anything, not yet; instead he waits to see how Rust reacts.
Probably should've kept an eye on the yo-yo. This is something he'd have chalked up to the latest 'could've,' 'would've,' and 'should've' files. If he were capable of those split-second deep thoughts and had an intimate familiarity with the way Haru fights, there might be something to appreciate about the genius of being in the very right place at the right time for one of Haru's top techniques.
"Hoowah!!" A gravelly grumbly growl of surprise as he is thrown up into the air into a spin. By instinct - no, rather, experience - he's already trying to lean in a way to ready himself for an inevitable fall, only to find that Haru isn't quite done with him yet. One wide swing later despite an obvious struggle to throw his body weight the way he would rather hit the ground with, he is hurled into the ground with a certain spin that leaves him completely at the mercy of gravity as opposed to being able to negotiate his own way with the landing.
The teacher is let go in an angle, right into the dolly. It knocks a metal desk over before coming to a particularly noteworthy glass table that is sloped like a dome rather than any proper table. Or a 360 degree playground slide. Some kind of artsy piece.
The teacher's still trying to get his head back into whatever the hell just happened, too dazed by the landing to realize that the dolly didn't clear the table slope, sitting up with a moan and two differently sized trickles of blood going out either side of the mouth...
And then the dolly rolls forward. "Huuuh. Huh." The wind whips about his face as he rolls forward at a not entirely catastrophic speed but wouldn't be a nice one to be bumped into. The combover blows equally dramatically while the world starts trying to sharpen back into focus. "Uhh."
His eyes widen when it jumps the curb and towards the street where Haru's crouching. By then, it might be too late! The teacher winces as he strikes Ol' Rusty into the ground, sparks grinding as he tries to halt the happy-go-fun furniture dolly ride from a full-up collision against a kid who, in an instant of taking it all in, doesn't look like he'd want much more of this.
Hilarity ensues...?
COMBATSYS: Haru dodges Rust's Random Strike.
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Haru 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Rust
The margin of error by which Haru (and perhaps Rust by extension) appear to avert disaster is razor thin; Haru isn't even totally up from the crouch yet when he sees the oncoming rush of both dolly and rider barreling at him at an impressive velocity. There isn't any time for something fancy; he simply kicks off the ground and dives to the right, not caring about how he lands... which is for the best, because he tumbles awkwardly, only just barely escaping the dolly as it races by. There's a wince as he cracks his knee on the pavement rolling back into a crouch, watching Rust speed away...
Thinking quickly, however, he snaps out one hand with the yoyo one last time, before Rust gets too far away. He's not aiming for the teacher; he's aiming for the dolly's sides, trying to snare them and aid Rust's pipe-braking maneuver. If he can get that grip, the dolly will most likely stop with a jerk. Will Rust stop with it? Well, that's up to Rust...
COMBATSYS: Haru successfully hits Rust with Quick Throw.
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Haru 0/-------/------=|=======\==-----\1 Rust
This furniture dolly may have a future as a go-kart given the speed it gained after jumping the curb. Or maybe Pacific High's very own shop teacher has somehow angered the furniture dolly gods and they have cursed him with 7 years of bad luck with any and all matters related to their use... or their location, as the case may be.
The dolly is brought to a halt not just from a pretty spartan attempt at forcing a break, but because of Haru's timely snag, halting the dolly in its tracks. But not the teacher with it. He does, indeed, tumble forward off of it into a roll that belies any weaknesses in flexibility he may appear to have (and those he truly does), coming to a sitting position in the middle of the road after the fact, breathing in and out while pushing against the trusty Ol' Rusty for support in... well, sitting up. The other hand, again, brandishes the index finger and waves about even though his back is turned to Haru. Winded, pretty banged up, and well countered. It's been a good battle so far.
The recollection of whatever it is that happened moments before he snapped back into focus on the dolly plays back in his head. "And that... that's why you're on Saturday Night Fight. Right?" The voice trails off pretty sharply while he tries to pull himself up again despite significant injury. It's not the hardest hit he's ever taken, not by a long shot - but not taking a fall correctly tends to make the difference. Dollies are not safety trampolines.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Haru 0/-------/------=|=======\==-----\1 Rust
For a moment, Haru watches Rust carefully, trying to puzzle the man out. On the one hand, he tries to gracefully accept the compliment as it was intended. On the other, he's trying to hear the words that are behind the words that got spoken... a skill Haru himself is actually quite adept at... and thus hears pretty well. The yoyo snaps back into his hand, and then goes back into his pocket, as does the other he was holding on to and not using. His hands are empty, and visible, out of his pockets. A weird gesture, but one he feels is necessary.
"I'm not sure," he responds honestly, making eye contact with Rust as best he can. He seems, for the first time, a little unsure, somewhat insecure. "Actually, since that trick worked I'd say it's exactly why I'm *not* on SNF." It's true, after all; he's been on the show a scant few times, and in almost every case he's had failures equalling or exceeding his successes in battle. Students at Gedo think of him as an embarassment; who knows what the public thinks. "I'm on that show because they'll let me, and because... I have a reason to sign up, an important one. That's it, though."
Stepping a bit to the left, he tries to clear himself of the furniture truck, not wanting to make Rust's life any harder by getting him in trouble at work. "But thank you for the compliment. Really. But... do you mean that you couldn't be on the show? Because... I don't think that's true."
COMBATSYS: Haru takes no action.
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Haru 0/-------/------=|=======\==-----\1 Rust
"Agh! Ktttth," goes the Rust who lives up to his namesake in such an ironic way that he may not have actually existed up until he was old enough in spirit to fit the namesake, or something. It's rather unsteady, and more akin to something already fallen to pieces trying to fully pick themselves up without the assistance of glue or any physical manipulation that would otherwise be necessary for such to happen, stumbling into the truck as soon as one could consider him on his feet to begin with.
That's the point where Haru makes eye contact with the teacher, the one where he turns his head in spite of the protests of his neck from bending that way. Words are said while he tries to stand tall, deciding to lean more on his right leg. His knee doesn't appreciate having to be the one to hold him up all the time either, as it pops along in protest. "You're still young! I mean... back when I was your age, about... about, maybe a year or two older, well... wasn't really the workplace MVP at first. If you know what I--" he's interrupted by coughing, brought on by a throat that is also tired of having to uphold the desire to communicate words and is presently conspiring with his knee to bring the man down. Maybe they can successfully petition his heart to do the same. Being tough doesn't mean you don't ache. It means you are typically able to continue /despite/ aching, but he's had a full day.
Chest patting. Pretty hard chest patting. "Sorry. Where was I... uh... well. Not really in my prime now, what can I say." He throws up a hand, maybe somewhat frustrated. It's... kind of odd how easy it is for him to kind of talk along these lines now. Maybe there's a certain thing between fighters that transcends the boundaries of age, experience, and social standing.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Haru 0/-------/------=|=======\==-----\1 Rust
Before he was concerned; now he's full-out worried. Sprains and aches are one thing, and the man was doing hard physical labor before Haru showed up to interrupt him. But coughing, chest-beating, complaints about not being in his prime... Haru is suddenly and unpleasantly reminded of an event in his past, of watching a family member's health decline and ultimately fail with old age...
He doesn't attack, and keeps his ready but relaxed stance, reminding himself that he came here to meet and fight Rust, not to beat him into the dirt. Indeed, he recalls the words of Kenji and Hakuya, their thoughts about fighting between friends... and the idea that he ultimately came here to make friends with this man. "You're right about that. I've failed a lot... I'm going to keep failing. That's just how life is, I suppose." He pauses, looking at his hands for a moment. Was he always so laid back? Is this the same person who came to Gedo three years ago, who forced himself to fight to protect himself and mostly so he could be left alone?
Shaking his head, Haru smiles at Rust, and now there is some awareness that he has to *work* to make them look genuine, and he's expending the effort. "Look. I came because I'd heard about you and wanted to meet you, to see what you were about, and I have. If you want to keep going, that's fine... if you want to stop, that's fine too. But it seems like kind of a shame to stop because you think you're past your prime. I've got the bruises to prove you're not."
COMBATSYS: Haru takes no action.
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Haru 0/-------/------=|=======\==-----\1 Rust
The middle-aged man who may very well be twenty years old than that from mindset alone pushes off the truck, deciding he's at least steady enough to keep his balance despite everything. To him, the fight's more or less over - he's conscious, perfectly so, but pretty beat. The pipe slides past the designated hole in the toolbelt as its makeshift sheath.
Then hits the asphalt. The teacher flinches pretty suddenly at this thought, patting at his left side... ah, dammit, no wonder, the flap tore right off. Should've known the toolbelt wouldn't let him go so light this time. It also coincides eerily with the concept that Haru will 'keep failing.' He grunts, and puts his foot on top of the pipe to prevent it from rolling anywhere humorous (or frustrating).
That's when he finds that he's still bleeding from one side of his mouth (the other having since stopped) and wipes at it absently before it can stain his undershirt, turning to face Haru around the point he starts off with why he came here.
"Guuuh," another low grunt, not one intended of irritated nature but more one of those vocal declarations that are common of a Man(tm). "Today... yeah... today. I'm done. Can't go much further if I'm gonna... gonna load it all up." He lazily points out towards the array of desks there. The one he rammed past when he got hurled onto the dolly, it's toppled but doesn't seem broken. He'd freak out if it was. Is he artfully dodging the idea of giving up and how he wouldn't amount to much in a real prize fight?
Back to rubbing his jaw a bit. Not a frown, not a smile. His mouth's pretty tired, too. His elbow continues to want in on the classification of 'tired.' His eyes, about as dull and without any other explanation other than 'brown' as before.
He gets off a little chortle or something of the sort towards the end. Or wait, a cough? No... chortle. He'd be patting himself if it were a cough. "Ahh. Hell if I know! But I still got something good going."
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Haru 0/-------/------=|=======\==-----\1 Rust
That gets a nod from Haru, who actually seems relieved that Rust doesn't want to do any more fighting today. His entire body relaxes, a combination of the adrenaline of the fight draining out of his body, and his growing unease about his opponent's physical condition being put slightly to rest by his begging off. "I hadn't meant to... ambush you, I guess," he says simply, glancing at the truck full of furniture. He'd expected him to be basically without serious trouble, coming off a day of classes and overseeing work... not a man being used as a pack animal.
There's something seriously wrong with the Pacific administration, Haru decides.
Putting his hands in his pockets, the Gedo senior studies Rust for a moment or two, appraising, considering; his gaze is clear and perceptive, perhaps his only dominant and obvious personal trait. Little escapes his notice, though he rarely says everything he sees. What he does wonder is if Rust has someone encouraging him to do something with what he has, just as the man in Rust's position at Gedo did for Haru however many years past, and still does to some extent even today. Did he have someone to tell him that whatever he was doing, was worth doing? To get him to develop that 'something good'?
With a shrug at his conclusion, seemingly at nothing to outside observers, the yoyo fighter decides that it's irrelevant. In some small way, he's going to be that encouragement for this man.
"I'm not exactly a heavy lifter," he explains, looking at the truck again. "But I took time out and wore you down, so I'll help with what you're doing, as much as I can anyway." His voice is direct, suggesting that he's not offering to help, he is helping, and argument is a waste of time. Looking back over his shoulder at Rust, he smiles again. "Maybe you should sign up for SNF some week. I want a chance to see what you've got when you're fresh and prepared. Alright?"
More often than not, it seems to be that the kids run into the teacher in his stranger or more strenuous outings by chance more than a real day-to-day pattern. But it is true that, sometimes, Howard Rust just doesn't get the most fair cut. Life doesn't always work out in one's way! But things just have to get done anyway.
His balance returns to him over a little more time, able to compensate and work with whatever pains and aches he may have gained - or reattained - throughout the battle just enough to finish up. He doesn't say much of anything. Maybe there's something about that gaze that just says, 'check out that kid's gaze, it's really clear and did I really just notice they aren't the same color, man I could use a night long sleep.'
He nudges the stopped dolly along with his foot until he reaches the curb, where he realizes that maybe he had a real brain fart in not actually putting everything right on the edge of the curb to push onto the dolly to begin with, visibly lowering his head and snapping his fingers... twice in one motion? Oh, no, that was one of the joints in the fingers themselves. Meh. Everyone has an off day. But he takes the tone of Haru's voice to heart. He wants to help, great, he knows a good role for someone who doesn't know how to lift.
"Well... can't give you a guarantee," so the teacher responds almost as evenly as Haru tends to speak, oh hell, now he's beginning to sound like him... oh, hey, the way he knocked the desk over, that's actually better for putting it on the dolly, just have to push it on top without having to fuss over pushing it the right way. He motions Haru over to the dolly as he moves up past the curb to shove the desk onto it. "Hold that there for a sec." He continues onto that other subject. "Next time you go on... next time, I'll be sure to watch. Start to finish. Maybe cheer loudly enough to wake up Mr. Marshall downstairs." Mr. Marshall deserves all the contempt Mr. Rust would project onto him, or so /he/ thinks.
Strong enough to do a lot of heavy lifting? No. But Haru has enough in him to hold the table in place as instructed without too much trouble. "Good enough for me, I suppose," he says, with an air of wounded magnanimity, almost entirely feigned. For now, that's enough... and for once, fighting actually proved useful to him without getting him or someone else uselessly knocked out. As far as Haru's concerned, that's a victory in and of itself.
The teacher coughs yet again, almost as ambience for the whole situation given how nonstandard this sort of discussion is for, well, both of them. "Thanks. Okay. I'll push. You just need to hold it steady. If we were indoors, see, that's so things don't bang into walls. If you don't got a dolly... a quilt can do. Big, thick one. Great for not scratching carpets."
Education! The teacher goes very slow and steady, just in case those bruises Haru's talking about are more debilitating than the Gedo student lets on. A part of him doesn't feel good about hitting kids. Few people like it. But he can't treat them all as fragile would-be accidents. Especially in a world where so /many/ youngsters are getting into fighting today. Is he really just holding himself back because of any perceptions of what his present age means to him?
Ask him when his knee isn't trying to be sneaky about popping on him again.
Log created on 13:37:28 04/19/2008 by Haru, and last modified on 23:28:22 04/19/2008.