Description: Vince stumbles upon a Southtown Syndicate operation headed by none other than the Sultan of Southtown, Mister Big! And being the hero that he is, he steps up to the plate. But will he hit a homerun?! tl;dr? [OOC] Yamazaki says, "what's important here Vince looked good and Big played with dildos."
It's late! And all good children should be safely in their expensive dorm rooms, sleeping the sleep of heirs and rich kids. But not everybody has a silver spoon firmly tucked into their mouths. Some people, they have to work for a living.
Like the Sultan of Southtown. His bald head shines in the moonlight from above, although the cloud cover keeps casting odd shadows on the sides of the warehouse, and the alleyways that run down either side. It's a recipe that adds a little bit of unease to the back of Mister Big's mind, but he chalks it up to simple paranoia.
After all, who would dare cross the Southtown Syndicate?
Their operation this night seems to be flowing smoothly. Four men in black are loading cargo from the warehouse and into a large truck. They're even operating a forklift. A black, tinted SUV idles to one side, as well as a rather fancy looking sports car; an Aston Martin DBS. The only lookout appears to be Mister Big himself, and he's presently smoothing one hand along the fur-lined lapel of his coat, while the other busies itself with a cigar firmly tucked into the corner of his mouth.
It's just another night for the Syndicate.
The youth of LaRose would certainly qualify for 'spoiled rich kids', most assuredly with a silver spoon jammed in their mouth. Vince, however, is not like most others of his family. He relies less on convenience, more on himself and training. And this is how he's conducted himself in his pilgrimage, of sorts. From Egypt, to India, and all the way to Germany. It's been a long road for the vagabond rogue, and it finally seems time to return.
But not to home. That would be France. Instead, Vince has returned to Southtown, where he's allegedly -supposed- to be. Despite... reservations.
So Vince is taking his sweet time getting there. The young captain of the fencing team has wandered by the water, icy blue gaze affixed on the rippling reflection on the moon. The gentle breeze plays with the feather situated jauntily in his hat, and teases lazily along the hem of his cape. The young noble is off in his own world of self-reflection, weighing the scales of 'do or don't' - 'to be, or not to be'. That really is the question.
It's only the sounds of a forklift that draws his attention from the water, remarkably close now to what appears to be... a shipping procedure? Rather late for one of those. Moreover, their foreman, as he appears to be, seems more akin to a bouncer, what with the clothes. The glinting balf head doesn't help the image much, either. So Vince stands, frozen, attempting to figure out what's going on exactly.
"Speed it up, boys," a rather deep voice comes out of that would-be bouncer, the Sultan of Southtown directing his troops with simple ease. Despite the time and the weather, he still wears a set of shades, his eyes unseen as he offers encouragement. "Get the truck loaded in the next ten minutes, or I'm dockin' half your pay for the night."
Now if the threat of losing money doesn't speed the boys up, what will? They double their efforts, grumbling quietly under their breaths about the shady, illegal activities they're doing this night.
With a shake of his head, Mister Big puffs contentedly at his cigar as he steps over to one of the big crates near the truck, casually sliding it open to peer down into the contents within. A significantly broad grin appears on his face. "Oooh yeah, this is gonna sell well on the market," he informs no one in particularly. Are enough cards there for the young LaRose to piece together what this foreman and his workers are doing this evening? Just how many crews work this late, and with such fancy cars present?
Oh, it's most certainly evident. What Vince picks up from the orders, the demeanor of the workers, the vehicles... it's all very reminiscent of something he stumbled upon just before leaving Japan. But in that situation, it was some woman trying to convince him that illegal activities weren't bad.
But apparently, security has upgraded from a strange woman to a hulking man in sunglasses. Magnifique.
Nevertheless, Vince acts in the same capacity as he would have before. Interloping do-gooder. Only.. he's not masked this time. Ahwell. The caped crusader dashes forth, springing up to land atop the closest vehicle. Once there, he quickly draws the rapier sheathed at his hip into his right hand, giving it a single whisk through the air.
"Gentlemen! I beg your pardon for crashing your little party, but I'm afraid you've had quite enough fun for the evening! Run along and leave the little trinkets behind, and maybe the authorities won't catch you!," declares the rakish swashbuckler, confident smile bright on his face.
In this case, the closest vehicle that the Frenchman leaps upon is... the most expensive vehicle there, the Aston Martin, the keys to which reside within the pocket of the Sultan of Southtown. The men spare a glance at the newcomer, before they look at their boss. Seeing the expression on the bald man's face, they ... continue working, despite the swashbuckler's declaration.
Pocketing two of the items from the crate, Mister Big eases the lid back on the crate before stepping around it, walking up towards the car and the boy atop it. "The authorities, huh?" he echoes the words in that deep voice of his. He puffs at the cigar as he steps up to the side of his own car -- and then blows smoke right up at Vince, heedless of the brandished weapon.
"Get the fuck off my car before I end you, kid," he states it as plainly as he can, the cigar lifted from his mouth to point up at Vince. These fighting words are fighting words, and they act as Mister Big's opening salvo.
Confident smile faulters at the resumed work. "Gh.." That's.. not the reaction he was expecting! But it's sort've the reaction he's gotten used to in Southtown. He puffs himself back up, despite, and gives the narrow blade another whisk through the air, creating a dazzling flash of moonlight over its mirror-polished surface.
"But of course! If you linger, I-"
And there goes the threat, blunt like a cudgel blow to the skull. In fact, it kind'a looks that way. Vince's posture slouches again, silv'ry feather even bobbing low.
"E-end me..?," Vince asks. "Nonsense. It is your criminal activities that shall come to an end, Monsieur." The blade is whisked over a third time, though with this movement, the tip of the blade points down towards Mr. Big's face. "If you wish to learn of Rose Dansant the hard way, so be it! You'll be the first example I make with my return to Southtown!"
Suddenly, Vince springs from the vehicle into the air, twisting over upside-down and turning about to land facing Mr. Big again - but on his opposite side. When he lands, his blade is slashed through the air in a wide arc from left to right, aimed to slice across Mr. Big's torso. In its wake, a paper thin crescent of sharp smoky gray energy fans out, expanding to further lacerate. Along with this maneuver, Vince lets out a confident, "HA!," in true swashbuckler fashion.
COMBATSYS: Vince has started a fight here.
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Vince 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big has joined the fight here.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Vince
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big blocks Vince's Sweeping Breeze.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Vince
Indeed, it would seem that the heroics of Vince are destined to fall on deaf ears. The workers continue, and with Mister Big close to being in the boy's face... well, it's only a matter of time before things turn violent. There's a put-upon sigh from the esteemed henchman as the boy takes to the air.
Rather casually, the Sultan turns to face Vince, right in time for the assault. The slash comes, only to be met by a lone forearm -- and a rather wobbly-looking black stick -- in an effective block. The coat doesn't even appear injured in the wake of the energetic strike, which may prove alarming; just who has LaRose run into this evening?
"How about I make you an example when we ship you back to France in a pine box, kid?" that deep voice questions rhetorically, before a second of those black sticks emerges. "You really picked the wrong night to play hero." They don't seem like the usual sticks that Mister Big fights with.
In fact, they almost seem like something out of the sex industry.
With a smirk on his face and a cigar clenched between his teeth, the Syndicate's third-in-command lets loose with an unrelenting barrage of overhead vertical strikes, aiming to clobber the hell out of Vince at close range! It's like playing the drums. Vince is the drum.
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big successfully hits Vince with Crazy Drum Dram.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Vince
The slash was.. intended to do more than that. A lot more. A Hell of a lot more. Vince is most definitely not used to his refined steel doing pretty much nothing against a foe. Not even the clothes they're wearing! Vince is left aghast, eyes widened, a brief look of hopeless shock on his face...
Before he's struck soundly with the object. Then a second time. Then a third. Vince is bashed and beaten around heavily, the final strike drawing a few specks of blood from his brow before spilling him to the ground.
Vince pushes himself to arms and legs, rapier clutched tightly in right hand still. The bewildered look remains on his face, struggling to understand what just happened... and failing. The icy blues narrow again, and he pushes himself back to his feet, forcing a composed air about himself again. He doesn't say anything, though. Certainly not. Vince is now stoic, entirely serious and concentrated.
With a trail of blood edging down his temple.
Swiftly, Vince draws his rapier into play again. The weapon is whirled in a smooth circle, completing a vertical moulinet and ending with a crisp inwards slice meant to draw the rapier's edge from left hip to right shoulder on his target.
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big endures Vince's Medium Strike.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/----===|=====--\-------\0 Vince
It would seem that LaRose has unwittingly stumbled into something he really, really shouldn't have. Mister Big proves relentless in these early, defining moments, exacting a heavy toll for the interference with those mysterious objects he wields.
And whatever they were, he casually discards them as Vince falls to the ground before the biggest man of them all. "Are you happy now?" he questions, hands still poised in a seemingly helpless shrug, as if to suggest that the boy brought this upon himself. And isn't it just the sheer truth?
"What's wrong?" the man questions further, following it with the typical addition, "cat got your tongue?"
As the boy regains his footing, Mister Big does not back away. He remains right there, up close and personal, seemingly weaponless save for that cigar. And he can see it in the boy's face that this just stopped being some heroic adventure and became something a little more serious. "Ahh, those are the eyes I wanted to see," he quietly notes, before spreading his arms wide.
Vince, essentially, gets a free shot. The rapier slashes down across the waistcoat that the Sultan adorns his body with, slicing the tan garment apart and lacerating the skin beneath. "Oooh, not bad," Mister Big notes, although there's a decidedly obvious sense that he's now simply toying with the Pacific High student, a predator toying with his meat before moving in for the kill. His mouth drops open into a rather unpleasant grin.
But this isn't a nice person that Vince has stumbled upon. This is Mister Big, and he's a ruthless man. He opts to prove it in the moment that follows, collecting the cigar from his mouth -- and with a sudden forward lunge, he seeks to extinguish the embers and snuff it out, right on Vince's face!
COMBATSYS: Vince just-defends Mr.Big's Weapon Jab!
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Mr.Big 0/-------/----===|=====--\-------\0 Vince
The taunting gets no response. Nor does the admission of wanting to see that burning drive in the teen's eyes get him to speak. Vince is focused on the situation - on seeing this through to victory. There is no break in his expression. Only more fire and ice.
The objects cast aside are noted, but not followed. They've left the threatened area. They're of no more use or consequence. But what -is-, is the sudden, jerking movement Mr. Big makes.
Cigar plunges towards Vince's face.
Swordsman retains his position, and his blade becomes an instant blur of motion in a second whirling moulinet. The movement ends as soon as it's begun, blade set back into its previous position as though it never moved. The cigar? Never made contact.
In fact, the lit half of the cigar is now on the ground, severed cleanly from what Mr. Big still holds.
Still no break in expression, Vince draws his rapier back suddenly. The length of steel becomes wreathed in a swirling mass of smoky energy in the process, which intensifies when the blade suddenly plunges for Mr. Big's chest. Just as the tip of the blade seeks to stab clean through the particularly large man, the swirling energy surges along the tip, becoming a lance-like point to similarly stab. Only that one is more likely to go erupting through the back as well.
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big dodges Vince's Venteuse.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Vince
Everything works so well in theory! In theory, Mister Big's cigar didn't just get sliced before it hits its target. In reality, it did, and the big man is left with a grunt of surprise as his attempt falls well short of the mark. But a man his size didn't get so big on size alone. When the retaliation moves forward, the linear strike hits nothing but the air that the bald man previously occupied.
The Sultan, facing that approaching blade, moves on to the defensive. With another of those sour exhales, he slides backwards, feet backpedaling with remarkable grace and speed as he evades the strike. His coat settles about him once more as he cracks his neck, that savage grin still present on his face.
"Oooh, you're faster than you look," he notes, having proven a similar, if not greater speed. He glances at the end of the cigar he holds, before casually littering. Reaching into the big pockets that adorn the outside of his coat, he pulls out two black fighting sticks.
"Maybe it's time I take you a little more seriously."
Whether he really will or not, Mister Big moves on the offensive, dashing forward with both of those sticks moving for Vince; one from above, one from below -- a classic chopstick maneuver!
COMBATSYS: Vince blocks Mr.Big's Medium Strike.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Vince
This time, the comment gets only the narrowing of one eye from the swordsman. He retains his stillness and silent determination, settled back into his stance after the failed strike. When Mr. Big closes in again, his stance deepens just a little. Skirting back, Vince's blade lifts quickly to catch the upwards stick along the edge, letting it glance off harmlessly. His body, in retreat, turns slightly aside to take the other blow to the hip - a significantly weaker shot than it would have been.
In the momentary lull in his attacker's maneuver, Vince attempts to turn the duel back around. The rapier draws back, then suddenly lunges forth, aiming to pierce Mr. Big directly and severely. It's really in hopes of ending the exchange before it can really take off.
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big interrupts Fierce Strike from Vince with California Romance.
*KNOCKED AWAY*
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Mr.Big 0/-------/--=====|=======\=======\1 Vince
It would seem that Vince has really stepped into the jaws of some kind of shark, or alligator, or pimp. Mister Big proves relentless in his assault; even as Vince's defense turns to offense, it would seem that the Biggest Man of All has other things in mind -- some rather horrific other things in mind.
The lull in his maneuver ceases to exist, seemingly nothing more than a lure to draw the Frenchman in for something truly tasty. "Haaa!" he exhales the laugh as the Sultan of Southtown goes from the offensive to the even more offensive, wrapping the tip of the thrusting rapier up in his coat. It flicks against his side, but no further damage seems to happen as he thoroughly nullifies the attack in favor of his own, sudden burst of speed and sheer power.
Those two sticks start off low, but they rapidly rise with the rest of Mister Big. Both held weapons rise up, clubbing Vince along the way, before the sheer momentum and weight of his body collides with the swashbuckler -- and sends them both flying up into the air as he completes his dazzling uppercut!
Landing lightly, the Glittering Chrome Dome spreads his arms helplessly once more, sticks loosely held. "Goodbye."
Vince thought there was an opening... and the instructors of Rose Dansant would be truly ashamed of his impatient, arrogant attempt. He realizes this the moment his blade is caught. A moment too late, in other words.
Those eyes widen again, and that's all he's capable of doing. The weapons slam into him, along with Mr. Big's full-on charge, blasting him into the air. As he sails away from the giant, the blade is drawn from the coat to go with him. Fortunate ergonomic design for rapiers makes them difficult to keep ahold by the blade.. but it doesn't necessarily help Vince's situation.
Body numb before he even hits the ground, Vince lands heavily and utterly gracelessly, sprawled and quite possibly injured. But convictions still run through him. The young noble, hat now.. somewhere lost in the area, pushes himself up onto an elbow. One eye is squinted in pain, both fists clenched tight. With a dogged determination, Vince draws himself back up to his feet shakily.
One boot slides forward. Then the other. And it's through this repetition that Vince slowly, weakly brings himself into range with Mr. Big again, swordarm clearly weakened and slouched. But it isn't the swordarm that comes into play this time. It's the other hand, which lifts suddenly into the air.
Suddenly, a gout of massive, swirling smoky gray energy blasts up from beneath Mr. Big's position, spiraling into the air in a searing tornado intended to capture the bald behemoth and begin tearing him apart...
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big blocks Vince's LaRose Storm.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Vince
"Ooooh, it's not goodbye yet?"
That's the curiosity that plagues Mister Big as he watches Vince not only get back to his feet, but also begin that shamble back towards him. He simply waits, willing to give the boy a chance to see if he can muster up a final response to what has thus far been an overwhelming show of force by the Southtown Syndicate.
Even as these two have fought on, the workers have continued their work in the background, like all good background characters do for a fighting stage.
Then that hand of Vince lifts, and behind those shades the biggest eyes of all narrow. On sheer reflex, he leaps back, body coiling together to tense and weather out the sudden storm that lifts. Bald though he may be, but the tanning effect of the sun has yet to melt the brain that ticks within the shining slopes of the Sultan.
Landing paces back with his coat torn and a few scratches across his body, it seems that Mister Big has weathered the storm well. "Ahh, that was nearly creative," he insults, adding salt into the wounds he's inflicted so far.
Then, he figures he may as well add some further wounds. Tapping the sticks against one another, he dashes forward, his aim simple; grab Vince by that baldric and do something incredibly simple. With a show of strength, he seeks to throw the boy right over his shoulders, sending him tumbling into the very products that the Southtown Syndicate are "importing" this night!
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big successfully hits Vince with Medium Throw.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/-======|=======\=------\1 Vince
Vince's muscles tense, primed to take to flight with Mr. Big and deliver the full onslaught of the LaRose Storm. It just.. doesn't take Mr. Big up as it was intended to. The tornado fades out uselessly at that, and Vince's expression breaks into one of frustration. He begins to move forward--
--And suddenly, the noble is grabbed. Flung heavily, Vince sails through the air and smashes into the crates with such force that some of them lift into the air. Many burst and splinter, and Vince? Vince simply isn't moving afterwards, rapier at his side and limp amidst debris.
COMBATSYS: Vince takes no action.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Vince can no longer fight.
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Mr.Big 0/-------/-======|
If Vince really knew what he was up against this night, perhaps the frustration wouldn't be there. But that's the fate of a hero; you bite off more than you can chew, and then the villains chew you up. Those hands grasp the baldric, and it's over as soon as the biggest man of them all gets a solid hold.
"Goodnight," Mister Big intones as he hears the crash and scatter of body meeting crates, and crates meeting asphalt. With a sigh, he looks down at his ruined clothing, lifting up the lapels to get a proper look down at the ruination that Vince has wrought this night. "Well, that's gonna cost him," he notes to himself, before whistling sharply.
"Hey, boys, check that kid for his wallet, his watch, anything valuable. Knives, that sword, I don't care. Clean him out then push him into the bay."
It's not a peaceful night ahead for Vince, but the Rose Dansant fighter should survive to fight another day, unless he vanishes amidst that debris before the boys find him. As far as Mister Big is concerned, his night here is finished. He fishes the keys to his expensive car out of the coat, and gets inside to leave.
COMBATSYS: Mr.Big has ended the fight here.
The thugs, as they approach, find... well.. Vince still there. He's hurt, that's for certain, and bleeding from a few places now. But the moment a crate is disturbed, his eyes shoot open. The young swordsman can't see clearly, but he knows a hasty retreat is in order. So, graceless as can be, Vince pushes past the crates and makes a dash back the way he came, staggering and limping, limbs heavy with pain and exhaustion. The tip of his blade drags along the ground beside him, arm too weak to lift it and resheath it. But he's intent on escaping and finding somewhere to hide for the time being. He can't very well let himself -die-, after all, even though everything in him is screaming to simply give out...
Log created on 21:39:45 09/23/2008 by Mr.Big, and last modified on 01:56:53 09/24/2008.