Description: Rust is old. Like Really Old. So there he is doing his Bucket list and one of the things on that list is surely to join Strongest! Team. That or get lunch around Howard Arena. Either way he's sure to get that one scratched off his list.
It's a quiet enough Monday. This means the day itself is being quiet for a day that almost the entirety of the working world dreads. Come to think of it, days themselves never make noise. It's what the people around them do.
The talking about deals over cellphones, the loud streets as people with expensive cars go to and fro, a couple of street vendors are trying their luck after having obtained expensive permits to even do business in the richest part of town as opposed to Downtown...
And local high school teacher Howard Rust has decided to exploit a long lunch period to get out of Pacific to head towards Howard Arena for perhaps the only reason anybody would bother to go to it on a Monday, as opposed to spending any time on having lunch to begin with. (He'll regret it.) He's about a good four streets away from getting into the gates proper, as he simply assumed parking anywhere closer would have been nearly impossible to get and didn't want to waste precious minutes circling around only to find there isn't one!
The rest is walking. For a guy that hardly stands out aside from that awful combover that deserves no further description, there is a stark contrast between him and most of the busy salarymen going wherever they will at this hour, head turned to keep the massive structure of the Arena in sight. It's beautiful. Intimidating. What he could be looking at may be, in time, the first step towards finally setting out to what he wanted to do deep down. Even with as good a job as he holds over at Pacific High... including the occasional incidents that only end in violence.
He treks along at a brisk enough pace for a guy who seems to have arthritis of the absolutely everything, especially one of his knees after a scrap with Zach on Sound Beach, only occasionally stopping to rub it gingerly with his left hand. Maybe he shouldn't be doing so much walking, but he's on tight time here.
Howard Arena. A coliseum of the modern age. Very similar in some ways to the ancient versions, inside would be blood sports, but no one usually died here. This reason (and the vendors(and the amount of food thrown out)) brings Naerose to this location. She is a journalist by trade at least once in a while and this helps in finding whose who in the fighting world. Though luckily or unluckily for some, even their names escape her notice. Soap boxes are hard to come by these days, but luckily technology has afforded an alternative to stand on, the milk crate. How often do these things actually get used for milk? Naerose doesn't wonder, she just stands up there with a megaphone and a cardboard box acting as a sign. Team Try outs. So far there haven't been any takers, in the parking lot near the arena few fighters come and even fewer who wish to sign up too quickly for the nitrous witch's team, even if it technically belongs to Li Xiangfei.
"Step right up, I'm looking for individuals to join team Strongest! The best team there ever was!" exclaims the witch as she tries to draw in the passing crowds which are actually fairly scant given her chosen location.. So far, no takers.
There likely will not be any other takers today. Yet, what defines a 'taker' may very well be put to the test as Mr. Rust goes around a corner on today's pilgrimage towards fighting stardom and accolades and everything, his eyes so neatly on the prize that by the time he heads around the corner...
His ear gets blasted.
A loud enough wince that may grab the witch's attention sounds as the teacher half-crouches and brings his right hand up to his own ear, because damn, being nearly point blank to a megaphone is not a pleasant thing to be. And that's a more than good reminder for /himself/ to watch where he's going on the streets, imagine if he bumped into someone big, mean, and with a bad temper just now. Hoo-whee.
A hand is raised. Nevermind that it might be going to an ear that is being abused by yours truly or that the hand is only being raised to protect those ears and definately never mind that continued shouting into the megaphone is sure to cause further harm and more hand raising, but hey, it's a volunteer right? Close enough.
"Alright, we have a taker, why don't you step right up and tell us your name." Naerose blares at Rust.
Respite is found, short but sweet from the noise as the megaphone is offered to Rust in which for him to offer his name. The smile on the witches face is so innocent and careless that the childlike air is hard to miss. She is clearly oblivious to any rudeness she might be visiting on the man. Meanwhile she offers him a hand up and starts to step off her milk carton. . . onto another! Also some onlookers stop, of course when it's a witch ranting like a park preacher that's one thing, but when someone actually gets involved, someone fairly normal looking well. Something interesting is sure to happen at someone's expense, right?
"Ah!" Now have a vocal, quotable component to the generic grimace from the rusty man himself! Granted, if you made a pitch for his screen time being consistently the target of being yelled at by a megaphone from nearly point blank, he'd walk out the door right then and there.
Said ear rings as he turns to face who it is yelling. That face! It's... kind of familiar, where did he see it... had to be somewhere. The mystique of deja vu is what binds him here for a moment or two as opposed to politely declining and walking away right on the spot, mouth slightly agape in the union of surprise and uncertainty.
"Uh... listen, I," he starts as the megaphone is put to his face, as if now trying to find some polite way to excuse himself now that he has officially entered conversation, which is then suddenly interrupted by a few coughs, raising up his hand out of politeness to not cough onto the witch's feet or general air that she would be breathing, which she could probably use to snatch him up onto the soap box in place of him reaching out for that hand of hers himself.
"Yes yes, don't be shy, you want to join Strongest! Team and we're the least shy people ein the world. Do you know that one time our team took on such fighting greats as Rugal Bernstein? And won? We also participated in some tournament I think, We really our a real team. So of course you might feel shy but don't be shy," encourages the woman in red while smiling with growing eagerness. It's evident in the expression that the woman wears that she totally fails to notice the apparent apprehension in the face of the man she's snatched up off the street. Still the pauses are taken to mean something, perhaps nerves.
"I'm Naerose Delphine, as you must know, coming all this way to join the Strongest! team, but it's only polite that I introduce myself.."
Post-coughing, he balls up a fist and pats his chest hard enough that some people might think he'd be trying to smash his ribs in so he can be rushed to the hospital and not have to be in a conversation with the strange woman in red, a knuckle making a cracking noise that would indicate its desire to try out to be a stunt double for the megaphone. (Or not. Joints don't have ambitions!)
At least he's polite enough to listen. Truth of the matter is, every time he tries to open his mouth when he thinks the pitch is over, she speaks up again with another sentence about how great the 'Strongest!' team is. With the longest break he can find in the dialogue, he tries to speak again. "That's gr--"
Then the formal introduction of Naerose Delphine cuts him off again, at which point he raises his voice from around the word 'introduce.' "Hi, Miss... Mrs. Delphine, listen, all right, nice meeting you," well not really, he still can't shake the feeling he recognizes the face and name from something else, raising a hand open palm straight up, "I can't stay and chat, I can't stay, all right, just..."
"So you wish to just fill out an application? I have them here too," Naerose cuts in and infact does pull out a bunch of them. They arn't terrible, I mean who can't get on a computer and print out blank applications with Microsoft word? Or even Works, or some other program. Sure Naerose doesn't have a computer, printer, or even paper, but the library does. She's jsut the sort to totally take advantage of such services and come up with applications for her team, she even has the pens and the everything else and just when Rust looks likee maybe, just maybe he'll get a chance to speak again. . .
"So what did you say your name was? I'll even start you off."
Some of the crowd begins to question if this is a set up and others giggle.
"No," the raised hand stays where it is as he starts to head off. Politeness starts to fade towards irritation as he starts to walk the way he was meaning to go in the first place, the teacher already running over in his head how much room he has for error and delays between 'do what it is I wanted to do at Howard Arena' and 'get back to Pacific High before my lunch break is up' and also begins to regret on the inside that he didn't pursue a career in competitive speed eating because that would have fit very nicely with his little mission today. He likely won't get to eat at all!
He starts to slow again as his knee pops at the most opportune of times in a way that gets him making another pained hiss and requires the loving attention of a hand to rub down in place of doing something sensible such as 'not walking on it.'
Wow, he's old. Naerose is shocked that he seems to be hurt from walking away. Of course like a good hearted girl she'll have to go and help, hopping off her milk crate and rushing over to Rust the witch is totally like,
"Hey are you okay?" She seems good natured enough, you know, offer him help and all of that, but there is something 'wrong' with her suddenness to help. She's so nice all of a sudden, it's almost like.. Like she wants something and what could she possibly want with that application still in her hand, that crisp white application, shiney and new, still with the smell of pilfered ink from the library, waving it around as she talks, absent minded like. There couldn'y POSSIBLY be a trick going on here.
He's not even forty! But he sure worked his body to an early old age in his younger years, no fooling there. He will be miserable once he really /is/ of elderly age, certainly. When your body says 'rest,' you rest, lest you want the prime of your life to look more like Mr. Rust's! Nobody does. The hair, or the trend towards the lack of such, could scare anyone out of their present self-destructive courses of their lifestyles! (...Maybe.)
"Hurt my knee not long ago," he answers with a wince, failing completely to pick up the ulterior motives. Despite the uneasiness inherent of being near her given he is absolutely sure he has had to deal with her before in... some capacity, couldn't have been more than a year ago, but what was it? So much has happened over the last year some of the finer details of earlier encounters have already left him. "I'll be fine, thanks. I'll be fine." Irritation swings back towards almost being amiable, it's nice for her to care at least /that/ much.
The way she waves around the pen he has to bring up his left hand to prevent it from coming close to poking the respective eye, that eye's already been itchy over the last couple of days. "Could you not point that at me?"
"Oh Haha, right, that is so true, you know about the pen being mightier than the sword!" Cliche Naerose strikes again and then puts the application into her hat, looking like maybe no alterior motive? this is going to be great, he might get away, to enjoy his lunch break without anything. She couldn't be planning to slip a cheap business card into his pocket or anything right? She did just pull out of her hat after putting the applications away, she is still trying to help Rust yo uknoww, stand and not trying to slip said business card into his pocket even though he's already sort of waved her off right? It must be an accident that she is trying to slip that card anywhere on him.. which would read:
Naerose Delphine
Strongest! Team
*an address but no phone number*
Many fighters can claim superior attributes over the population that is not. Speed. Strength. Skill. And almost uncanny omnipresent awareness for whatever tricks someone may attempt to pull over them. Howard Rust is a fighter, at least one capable of fighting. He'd like to think he may still have what it takes to do well despite mundane life pushing him to the brink of defeat and resignation even though his mundane life is, incidents aside, pretty good.
He doesn't notice the business card getting slipped in his pocket. This is a milder expression of a failed awareness check compared to the time he couldn't determine from the get go that a tallish woman was not a senior student at Pacific High. Remember that? That was great. But not for Howard. No, that was terrible after the fact.
"Who hasn't heard of that," he replies while still nursing the knee that could be considered the latest of Zach's conquests in the fighting world. Given a couple more days it'll be back to normal, for a given measure of 'normal.' It's always going to be somewhat sore, stiff, and prone to complaining about having to flex by giving a slight stinging sensation that the teacher's more than used to. It's when it passes that threshold of 'I am a man, this is nothing' that it gets problematic. Like it is now.
"Oh well, I dunno I kinda thought it was clever, " admits Naerose. The cliche still in her heart as a strong and clever remark. She'll just file this away for now and continue to play 'nice'.
"So umm, I still didn't get your name," Naerose persists and if that sense in the back of your neck, the one that makes hairs stand up (if rust has anymore) and makes you worry something is afoot... Listen to that sense. After all, who is to say that there is not some sinister fake witch craft she knows that in finding out your name she can draw up your deepest darkest secrets and use them to create her next scheme. Not that Naerose would scheme.
Meanwhile the crowds are already dispersing and soon they lose interest entirely. This is okay with her as she makes no attempt to get any of them abck and soon it's business as usual, only with an eccentrically dressed witch.
The only 'hair standing on back of neck' feeling the teacher is getting is that he /recognizes/ her, he is absolutely sure of this, and not from television. Something else, and he just can't put a finger on it partially because his mind is almost wholly set to 'how fast can I get out of here and do what I need to do' to dedicate much mental faculty towards figuring out why she strikes him that very odd way. It's that mindset that makes a lot of people miss the more beautiful little details in life, and Mr. Rust here is an unwitting contributor to that crisis that strikes all of society. After all, it's not like she's threatening him with a knife. Yet.
"It's Howard, and I... I really, don't have time for this," the ellipses is there more as a sharper upswing towards urgency through that gravelly, rough voice. To put a point on this urgency he deems the knee's pains to have settled down enough to return to being his bitch (as opposed to being a bitch of his own pains), leans back to stretch out his back a little with an accompanying pop or two, and starts to take a couple steps forward. "I'm going, all right, just go have a good afternoon," he tries to wave her off with his right hand, one eye now shut because it is starting to itch again, damn it.
This time he might get away, because when his name is given Naerose is instantly busy, whipping out the applications again and writing something on the first line that looks suspiciously like Howard. Worse yet, she stats to fill in the other lines as well, mostly with stuff she makes up off the top of her head. Sure by the end the application won't make any sense at all, but that wouldn't make much of a differnce to someone who was well versed in non-sense to begin with. Could Rust escape with his knee intact, his lunchbreak not entirely spent and his dignity? At least as much as he came with, well lets hope he doesn't turn around and notice that she's writing stuff down, lets really hope he isn't then inclined to find out what she is writing and then say something about it.
First names probably won't mean a lot! 'Howard' is a common first name. Maybe slightly less common in Southtown, but there's a healthy English speaking population who probably have English names to begin with. Having left no contact information of his own, he'd probably be safe. But this is Naerose. Nobody is ever safe from Naerose. NOBODY.
Nothing really draws his attention back towards Naerose's furious scribbling. After rubbing his eye with his left hand, he sets it down on the makeshift hilt of Ol' Rusty with a gentle pat like one would give a beloved pet dog, which has gone unnoted quite a bit lately. Does its presence now go without saying on its old toolbelt pocket it is thrust through, or has life gone for him as such that it sees less and less relevance to how he goes about his days? Either way, Howard Arena's not far from here. His recently injured knee more or less complies.
His other hand suddenly points out at thin air, shaking as if scolding someone. Maybe he'll remember /why/ her and the name are so familiar once he gets to where he's going.
Once opun a time, a very popular and powerful ninja once said, 'Naerose could never find me if I didn't want her to' and of course he didn't want her to find him. Later that day someone informed him, much to his dismay that he should be careful, Naerose could stumble literally anywhere. That ninja slept with a shotgun under his bed every night until he died of old age.. Meanwhile the present, Naerose watches Rust leave, holding his application with only his first name accurate, the rest made up. You might think - this time she couldn't possibly find him again, but you'd be wrong, for surely if he is in enough fights and televised ones, even as the strawman for Jiro to knock down, she, as a fight commenttor will surely find him again. Oh yes, this day would live in infamy.
Log created on 11:33:10 08/25/2008 by Naerose, and last modified on 11:46:29 08/26/2008.