Description: In this highly belated log submission, after the NESTS attack on Pacific High (and later one by Igniz himself within the school), local only teacher of narrative interest Howard Rust tries to get the skinny about what went on from Vince LaRose. There remain differing opinions on how to deal with the threat if it ever rises again. Peacefully differing... alas(?).
Pacific High. It's Pacific High, what do you expect? A few hundred of the international elite go to its various chapters around the world seeking an education with a focus on a world community as opposed to the local one. It holds its own academically and is really quite nice to go to. Everything's state of the art, clean, new... and the Athletics Field allows children that touch of relief from their highly structured and stressful lives these days.
It's very late in the afternoon, with practice going full swing in a wide variety of after-school activities. Sometimes it seems that there are more activities than there are actual students who go here. Southtown's Pacific chapter does not have a huge student body.
The shop teacher, Mr. Rust, is sitting on a bench he just recently needed to fix... again. Why do so many pricey things like to break so easily? Hell, next time he has some free time he should build some nice new wooden benches himself and show these people how it's done, but what with all the huge pushes for the world to go 'green' he's found it harder to actually express his love of woodworking without people giving him the stink eye. What's a man to do?
Enjoy a nice sandwich of innumerable contents with alternating funny and disgusting names alike on a rare day there isn't any after-school followup on some of his assignments and projects, mmhmm. (Never mind this is a late lunch to begin with!!)
Activities abound! For a small cluster of students, it's time to practice fencing. In any other school in Southtown, fencing is most likely either unheard of or rather different. The noble and artistic manipulation of a straightblade in a whirlwind of precision and grace seems lost on Asia for the most part. Instead, they either don't care about it, or instead use bokken or somesuch and just bash at each other. This is likely why the team isn't exactly huge, and consists of perhaps the most mis-matched individuals one might ever expect to find.
Still though, at least Vince prides himself on being a model of finesse. But what he -can't- pride himself on is being punctual. Not today, anyway. The team is already present, couch already barking orders at them to pair up and run drills. Vince has only just reached the field, mask under his left arm, foil hanging in its sheath still. Bah, last minute adjustments to his uniform were so not worth this! But as the youth dashes across the field, he spies the sammich-meiser Mr. Rust, and he offers a sheepish sort of wave with a gloved hand.
It is a delicious sandwich, made even more delicious by the fact it is an extremely late lunch and he's been starving for this and oh man it is good. Nonetheless, he does offer friendly waves for those students that do pass by or wave at him. He was in the hospital for a while following that first time a certain 'lovable' someone decided to pay Pacific a visit. Maybe some people feel the need to cut him some slack after the fact. The top brass sure don't.
When Vince waves at him, he waves back with his left hand, a little barely audible 'crack' from his wrist. He takes another bite of his sandwich, which is about all but finished until something clicks. A single eye widens. Wait! That's LaRose!! He's been looking all over for him!
"LaRose!" That same gravelly voice the student would be more than familiar with calls for him as he stands up off the bench and jogs towards him with a certain haste one does not see from him terribly often. If one can hear his knee from here, they'd know why - he's got no chance at this point in life of becoming a champion sprinter with a bad case of arthritis like that!
The gravelly voice does indeed penetrate Vince's concentration, and he skids to a halt. Turning, the young noble regards the approaching man with curiosity-lit eyes. "Oui?," he asks, apparently more French today than normal. Go figure. It's been a bit since he's seen Mr. Rust, what with his own little hospital visit and what-have-you. He's been busy, in a.. roundabouts way.
It may be of note that the two do, at least in theory, see one another on a regular basis - Howard Rust teaches shop, Vince LaRose is one of his better students. But despite this disparity of familiarity as opposed to recent times, there's a small factor of surprise for the teacher to at least see the fencing prodigy's in good health.
That, or there's been something he's been meaning to say but forgot to bring it up for whatever reason. Take your pick. The teacher's pace slows (...somehow this is possible) as he comes within regular conversational distance, coughing twice for good measure before patting his own chest with his free hand in a closed fist. Good, not choking on food. "Don't mean to keep you from practice, but... something, something I need to ask, ahhh... I've had my hands full lately," and one hand is full of sandwich so this present alibi is half-viable, "I never got the chance to check up with you. About... about those recent intruders you got in fights with."
In the case of delaying him from practice, the coach of the fencing team is simply waving Vince off. Either tardiness = absence, or he can understand a teacher needing to address a student. Fencing isn't like football or such other sports - it's a sport for civilized people. As for class.. well, it's not a far stretch to imagine Vince is so engrossed in whatever he's working on that the world could whiz past him time and time again with no notice.
But Rust certainly has the young man's attention now. Vince stares a bit openly at Rust, head inclining. "Something I can assist with, Mr. Rust?," he asks. "An extra project?"
"Yeah... no, no, not an extra project," a quick head shake, "I've been all over the place since I got out the hospital." The teacher's head lifts up a little and holds up one finger to his free hand to the instructor as a quick way to say 'this won't be long.'
"I heard a lot about the beach and the lockers, hell, I'm glad you seem okay... but, the auditorium one, I can't get anybody to say anything about it. What happened?" His face is one of bewilderment and, to a small extent, fear. It is not a good thing when the children here are endangered. It's another thing when apparently what happened was so frightening that nobody else has answered his questions - a rather fine day to not be on campus!!
Vince's head tilts aside slightly. "Oh, I see.." And then the lockers ordeal is brought up. Vince is visibly pained by the memory, eyes darkening and lowering more to the ground. "I'm.. ashamed that I could not stop him. Him or-" Or the other one Rust mentions. Vince's head lifts, expression much more solemn. "I encountered -him- in the auditorium. ..The one the school has been notified most of all to be on the lookout for."
VALDEMORT.
..wait.
IGNIZ.
"I, along with Miss LaCoeur confronted him. I was unable to fell him, and..." Vince pauses a moment, icy blues lowering to the ground again. "..I had some hospital time as well. I at least stalled him long enough for Miss LaCoeur to reach safety and.. I think she brought enough back with her to convince him to leave."
The teacher's face visibly pales. He might've lost a strand of hair off of that abominable combover that will continue to fail to convince people that he hasn't gone bald. His hair loss is, perhaps, the furthest thing from his mind... for the first time in a good long time. His mouth hangs open for a short time before he brings his free hand onto Vince's shoulder. It is a hand full of proof of having had a day of hard work. It might make Vince not want to wear that shirt any more if he is picky about cleanliness.
"Listen... glad you're still with us. You might be disappointed that you couldn't fight him off, but... half the Pacific Resistance and I couldn't hold him back, and we had some help too... but I don't remember the guy's name." The details are kind of fuzzy. He suffered a really bad concussion when he got blasted down through concrete and asphalt at an angle that should have killed him on the spot. Maybe if he saw K' in a sanctioned combat event on TV again, he'd remember.
"I've seen some thugs, some goddamn lowlives who have nothing better to do than just pick on children." His head lowers as he looks back towards the way to the front for no real reason, maybe he's half-expecting Cracker Jack to come knocking again, or for that bus to roll up. "It's good you can take care of yourself... never against any of that. But next time you see him - or anybody else like that - you got to get help from the start." Where's Roy Bromwell and his flunkies when you need him most?!
The teacher draws back his arm. His shoulder makes that characteristic popping noise people hear from it all the time, as he wouldn't be Howard Rust without it, while grimacing and tilting his head to the side as thought to stretch out his neck. "I should've been here ten years younger."
Vince lifts his eyes to Rust again, and he actually frowns a little. Hearing how much opposition they had against Igniz last time, and considering it was just a swordsman and a witch this time.. that actually bolsters Vince a little. They at least made the man bleed and lose some composure. That has to mean something.
But the advice seems to prick Vince, head turning aside slightly. "Had I not confronted him when I did, he may have harmed someone else that ventured inside. I can't take the risk of delaying and allowing carnage to rend what is good. I must do what I can as a situation unfolds. I had only my blade and Alexis - I thought it would be enough."
It really wasn't.
Vince's head shakes adamantly. "If there are those capable of standing against villainy, and should they be nearby, I'm certain they'll come. But if good people, present and capable, do nothing in the face of evil, evil prevails. I cannot allow that." The conversation should likely sound familiar to Rust - much like one they've had when a certain father was rampaging through the school.
It's a clash of old values and modern sensibilities, and a somewhat complicated relationship between the duties and rules of adulthood as it concerns the youth and their continued growth and survival in a rapidly networked, industrious world. A theme that will be revisited countless times throughout the teacher's tenure here in Pacific High with superhuman fighting kids and those whose powers and abilities border on the absolutely divine with incomprehensible amounts of power at their disposal. A rather crazy world that the teacher can't really divorce himself from, so long as he has that itch...
And this is one of those instances that brings it all to a head - how to deal with a frightening recurring threat. Mr. Rust is quiet for a short while at Vince's declaration as to what the right thing to do in a situation like this is, should it ever arise once again. "Hell if I know what would've happened. That you're still with us, that's a good thing. But I think you, me," he gestures towards some other students with a thumb, "those kids over there, I think we can agree on one thing."
He arcs his back out a little and stretches his arms back. Listen to those cracks! He could substitute for an entire section of the orchestra! And that extremely sour look on his face more than speaks the message that follows. "I'm pretty sick of psychos waltzing in and attacking our school! Hell with it if the answer is going to be sending kids to sacrifice themselves over it!"
Just as the teacher seems ready to throw up his hands and be done with the conversation, he straightens up. "Listen... I might not like how it was handled, all right, I wasn't there and who knows what I would've done," he'd have ended up doing the same thing most likely which would make such a conversation like this afterward all the more ironic and darkly humorous, "but... at heart, you did the right thing. Just, good to see you're still holding up okay after the fact."
The symphony of cracks and pops, this time around, gets a grimace from Vince. He can usually tune out the noises Rust's joints make when moved, but tht one was hellupon crazy. The expression is put into check the moment Rust looks back at him, though, plastering on a benign, neutral face.
The counter-declaration gets a puzzled blink from the swordsman. His mouth opens.. then shuts. It then opens again... only to shut. He looks a bit like a fish.
"I.. agree. I address intruders and assailants as they come. I-I'm far from incapable!," he asserts. "I've fended off two others besides the ones you heard of. Two... very strange women." His brow furrows slightly, right hand lifting to rub over his face slowly. When it lowers again, the swordsman looks pleasantly composed once more. "Your concern is very appreciated. It's good to know -someone- cares. But if it will put you at ease, know that while I'm daring and passionate about confronting evil, I am not suicidal. At least, I don't mean to be." He probably would have faced igniz head-on by himself, if no one else was around or willing. Mostly it's to put his teacher at ease.
The fighting world, whether on or off circuit, are full of people willing to take really big risks whether of fame, fortune, honor, a noble cause, or just for the hell of it. Who knows how much of what's being said would end up turning out to be lip service between the two of them when the chips are down, but Mr. Rust makes an effort to be genuine in his lectures even with the usual cynicism and world-weariness that comes with being all grown up.
"Yeah... I get what you're trying to say," the teacher's free hand now finding itself scratching the back of his head. It's almost like sandpaper, the noise it makes. Scratch scratch scratch. Maybe Mr. Rust is a sandpaper golem arisen from the heretical studies of a really bored construction worker-mage and that hair of his is part of a poor disguise to indicate he is human. (Or... not.)
"For now... better not hold you up from fencing any further. Thanks for giving me the skinny on the auditorium," and just as he's about to turn back to finish the sandwich in his hand, he points a finger upward again and pivots around slowly enough that, yes, his body complains about him bending again the only way it knows how. "Oh, one thing, your instructor. I know he's, uh, right over there and in earshot, but uh, could you tell him I'll get to what he needed me to do for him tomorrow morning? I got a lot of grading to do tonight."
Vince would speculate the hair folicles were a mandatory part of Rust's creator needed to give life to him.
But that's just hearsay.
Vince setts his right hand on his left shoulder, crossing his chest. "I'm glad," he says finally, sounding a little lost somehow. Truth be told, Vince already didn't know the extent of how far he'd go to protect good folk. When encountering Igniz, he certainly made a strong effort to keep her safe. One that could've been suicidal at that. Is Mr. Rust picking up on it?
Snapped out of his thoughts, Vince blinks rapidly. "O-oh. Of course. I figured you might be curious, what with the blood." Immediately after saying it, Vince blanches. Ugh. "..Ah, oui. I will tell him, as you've requested. Do be safe, Mr. Rust!" Not that he's necessarily worried about him - it's just polite to wish someone well.
As he walks away, the teacher waves back nicely with his free hand while cramming his face full of sandwich with the other. Food for thought... how are they going to defeat He Who Must Be One Day Scalped if he ever decides to pay the school a visit again? It's good that there are some kids that can stand up for themselves, but yet he doesn't want to run the risk of any of them getting killed over an encounter. And to say nothing about the rest who occasionally attack!
His free hand eventually falls onto the makeshift hilt of the equally makeshift sheath of Ol' Rusty. Sometimes it's like he forgets it even exists. Has he really drifted that far away from fighting that he himself can't make much of a difference in the defense of the school nowadays? Can he really not make the time, so deeply entrenched in lectures and grading and numerous student/teacher meetings and the latest Fuchi-related incident? Maybe it's time.
...
After this sandwich. Sandwich comes first. It tastes of an awesome power. It commands him to consume it.
Log created on 13:12:23 07/14/2008 by Rust, and last modified on 05:21:34 08/31/2008.