Description: The Jock Strip. The seediest bar, short of the Watermelon Patch. Here, Daniel Jack is pushing for questions. Yes, questions. There were rumors of an old gang returning, an old gang that he has a history. A deep history. A dark history. Unfortunately, rattling the locals by beating up an obnoxious takes a rough turn when the drunk is local rake Roland, and provides more than what Daniel can chew. <Winner: Roland>
The Jock Strip. Just getting here is dangerous. Southtown has bad neighborhoods, yet this takes the cake; shells of stripped cars line the streets, almost every window is barred, and there seems to be nothing but pawn and liquor shops fortified as if expecting a full assault. Trashbags line the streets. It's a small fringe overlooked by the city, maybe only a few blocks, but more then enough. The bar itself is a squat, ugly building. One might get the impression the front window is tinted, but that's merely dirt. Within, the air hangs heavy with smoke, almost more then is possible for only the residents inside to generate. Three naked bulbs dangle, one dim and another flickering. Torn up booths line the wall, cast in shadows so deep it's difficult to see even outlines. Three tables, legs wobbly, are surrounded by piecemail chairs that are a similar roller coaster. A dart board with no darts is on a wall, and a horribly dented and scratched pool table with only half the balls and one pocket missing a net fills a corner. The counter itself is heavy and shows years of wear. Dusty bottles fill counters behind, a gloomy mirror reflecting the shadowy interior. A man with white hair and an angry squint constantly scrubs a dirty cloth on the same glass, giving everyone present the evil eye. The floor is warped hardwood, and has disturbing damp spots intermittant.
There are eight people. Four in the booths, known by the occasional ember of cigars. Three others play a hunched game of cards, betting drugs openly instead of money. The pot is a few joints, three white lumps, and a baggy of powder. At the counter is only a man in a large trenchcoat and cowboy hat, nursing from a half empty bottle and looking quite despondant. He actually looks the least scumy and villainous of the lot; which really says more about the grade of this place then can ever be summed up in words. But he's very, very drunk at least!
The Jock Strip. Even the path to the location reeked of the the usual hive of villainy. The low-life scum, the whores of every metaphorical shape and color. These men... women... were all reflections of what lay underneath the nature of humankind. Self-Absorbed. Rotted. Covered with a thick line of filth and garbage that those who wallow in it no longer keep their shame. Their slime is our slime, and damned be anyone who shines a light on the dank nook and crannies of their carnal, writhing ways.
Well, Daniel never was much of a saint.
What was left of the door swung open, bringing the total number up to nine. A light tinkle cuts through the room as the caustic atmosphere recoils to a fresh new wave of... clean. The man is clad in a very common combination for outsiders; the trenchcoat. But there was something wrong, something... alien. The African-American was hiding something beneath the coat. Unlike many strangers with similar fashion senses, he was wearing clothing under the coat. Worse yet, from the flashes of orange, he was wearing... loud clothing underneath the dull grey overcoat.
But nothing read flamboyant on this man's composure. Erect. Unflinching. Behind a pair of rose-colored glasses, the man stared coldly out at the crowd. Drug dealing. Drunks. Cigars. This was the place to start. The man took in a long breath through his nose, as if he was taking in the scent of the entire place. He shakes his head in disgust, and looks squarely at the bartender, barely containing a darker rage. With a slow, almost raspy level of seething, he burns out, advancing to the counter at a brisk pace. "Scotch. Makes it SOLID, O-FAY.... dig it?" He begins, firmly bringing his hand to the grimy counter.
He doesn't break eye contact with the bartender.
Roland's eyes lift to glance at the newcomer, and were already returning to the comforts of his bottle. But they snap back, staring openly at the other man. Taking in his suit more then anything, the eyes hard and open, not trying to conceal such. Only intermittant glances, but more then enough to get his drunken attention. Few others are sparing him the same look, but then. A sound. Short and sharp. It was a snort. That snort becomes a snicker, Roland applying the back of his hand to his spread lips. But he can't take it, and he's never had self control. "Is... haha... is that an ORANGE SUIT?" His eyes are beginning to water, apparently anticipating the mirth to come. "Are you some kind of idiot?" He throws the insult like a *slap* towards the other man, a casual disdain. The expression turns sour, Roland twisting drunkenly and leaning forward so far his free hand has to slam upon the counter to keep him upright. The bottle is jabbed at the other person, although two stool are between so the flung droplets have little risk of getting on his coat. "I. Don't. Like. You." he enunciates, but whether it's to underline it or because he's so damn drunk he can't talk proper is anyone's guess. "This isn't the kinda bar... for orange julius freaks... to be..." He waves the bottle, but loses his train of thought. "Orange Julius." Again that grin, and a snicker. "I'm gonna call you that. Orange Julius!"
Daniel Jack doesn't look over at the first few snorts. He doesn't even react to the comment about the Orange Suit. He simply watches the Bartender coldly as the man pours the glass. He knew about people like Roland. Alcohol did many things to a person. Granting them many gifts. Tolerance of the beauty of a woman. Confidence in one's ability. But wisdom... wisdom was another thing, Daniel considered. Picking a fight with a drunkard over personal insults was more than just retarded. It was something never done while sober.
Daniel clutches the glass brought to him skeptically, and downs it in one smooth motion. The first few droplets come down near him, and the detective puts his glass down carefully. Turning his head, he finally met his eyes down hard on the drunk. He glares, taking in every word without even breaking into a flinch. Just the cold, hard stare. And then, his visage gives way to a long, broad leer.
"Hey, scuzzy, you wound me. You really do." He deadpans in the same, seething tone, moving very elegantly towards the man. "You know why, cowboy? When I dropped in, you seemed real fine... real MELLOW." The detective positions himself behind Roland, hands dug deep into the pockets underneath the trench coat. He keeps grinning something, knuckles cracking in the depths of his outfit. "When I jumped in, there was real trouble, my droogie. I was walking into a couple of assholes with lips tighter than your sister's. And here was lil' old me, Orange Julius, too pillowed to crack 'em open. But here you are, cowboy, sucking foam, ready to help old Orangy out."
Daniel spits at the ground, clearing his throat. "You know what, scuzzy. I think I'll give you a nickel too. I'll call you Woody. You know why, scuzzy?" Daniel Jack holds there for a moment, and answers himself. "Because your face really matches well with the floor, Woody." Suddenly, his foot snaps out, attempting to hook the bottom of the stool and rip it out from underneath Roland.
Roland obviously barely knows what he's saying, but his rancor seems genuine enough. Through whatever filter the alcohol has placed over his eyes, past that lens of the fuzzy world, he definitely doesn't like Daniel. Maybe if there was any trace of racism it'd be easier to swallow, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Eyes meet eyes, and he scowls. Although a lean back is offered, resting an elbow on the counter and sipping at his bottle when he comes near. An unsteady sway accompanies him. "I was fine until some bad joke came in without a PUNCHLINE." he offers, attempting a firm and quite rude poke. The spit is watched. He looks daring. Wanting Daniel to do something to start a fight. And luckily, he gets his wish. Whoosh. This is no ninja man, or great and stylish protagonist. Arms pinwheel wildly, flinging his bottle into a corner of the bar as he crashes backwards in a whorish sprawl, whacking his head and losing all the breath in his chest. But Daniel was wrong. His face didn't hit the ground! For a few long seconds he writhes there in pain, then one hand jerkily snaps up, grasps the edge of the counter. Slooooowly he gets back to his feet, to stare eye to eye. Of course, he's a rather open book throughout all of this... he means to do something, probably, but by the time he does it he's liable to be right back on the floor.
Daniel Jack, of course, was using Roland as a tool. He wasn't here to cause trouble. He wasn't here to right wrongs and force justice. He was here to interrogate. There was a rumor on the streets. Mad Gear was back. He didn't know what to make of it. The Mad Gear were more than just a criminal organization to Daniel Jack. They were the most frightening gangs ever to face the earth. Even their mere presence meant that Southtown would be in the same straits as Metro City. So he went to where the bottom of the barrel, to scrape up information. Rumors. Naturally, these people had to get the truth beaten out of them, or at least threatened to.
Enter Roland.
The gumshoe watches Roland steadily rise up, and in response, he brought his right hand out of his pockets. Bringing it into the form of a flat palm, the man focused intensely. Roland was to be like a board. Ryuhaku Todoh trained him well on breaking boards, and this... this would be a reflection of this. "Punchline? Woody, let me send it straight. Here, there is only the WAY of TODOH." With a roar, he brought his single hand down, calling out the name of his strike.
"KASANE AAAAAAAATE!"
And in response, a limp, orange blob of energy formed in his palm, sort of arc through the air crudely as it dropped towards the ground, dissolving into the wooden floorboards. Unless, of course, they caught the body of Roland.
COMBATSYS: Daniel has started a fight here.
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Daniel 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Roland has joined the fight here.
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Roland 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Daniel
COMBATSYS: Daniel successfully hits Roland with Kasane Ate Mikansei.
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Roland 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Daniel
"Did you just say Ecstacy Crun-" Roland begins to ask, seeming to be more surprised at the translation of the attack then the fact energy has just woven itself into being. He's struck in the chest, stumbling backwards and managing to catch the edge of the counter this time. He doesn't look to be remarkably hurt at first, and his reaction backs this up. But feeling his shirt, and the somewhat burnt fabric beneath, as well as a realization that yes through the drunken haze he's likely worse off then prior... Oh. It's on. Fire erupts into his eyes, and he removes his hat to brush it upon the side of his jeans. "You just made a mistake, partner..." Yanking his hand, gleaming steel erupts from around the brim. Before he snaps up his hand, releasing said hat. It spirals through the air like a frisbee, the vorpal instrument intenting to smack right into the other man's chest! It's far heavier then one would be lead to believe, bringing into question just how he keeps his head up all the time. "HAAAA!" is exclaimed, too late to be of any real use in bolstering himself.
COMBATSYS: Roland successfully hits Daniel with Blackjack.
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Roland 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 Daniel
Daniel Jack lets the attack wind down, the energy raking across the chest of the drunk. "HOO! That's Todoh-Ryuu Kobojuuuuuuuutsu, Cowboy!" The man slithers, stomping forward to help keep the pacing up. When Roland snaps his hat out, Daniel doesn't even flinch. He charges through it, trying to ignore the drunk's obvious feint.
It wasn't a feint.
The steel rimjob smashes hard into the detective's chest, staggering backwards with a pained snarl. "Jim CROW you fish-sniffing poltrigeist! That's SMARTS!" He scowls, gripping his chest. A concealed weapon. This man was hiding a lot more than Daniel expected. With a glare, he hurls his trench coat to the floor, revealing in all it's glory the full zoot suit combination. With more orange than a Florida orchard, Daniel's left hand was still dug deep into his pocket. But not for long.
Bring both hands forward, he entered the combat stance the Todoh taught him ever more with. "Dimmer than a bulb, aintcha? Scuzzy, it looks like we are going to have to spin it rough. Prepare for the ULTIMATE of the TODOH techniques!" Spinning his arms in wide, slow spirals, the detective rumbled. "ULTIMAAAAAAAATE TOOOOOOOODOOOOOOOOH.... KAAAAAAAASAAAAAAANE....."
"... shootyouintheface!"
And then, he swiftly reaches into his jacket, and pulls out a small, snub-nosed pistol. With lightning reflexes, he squeezes the trigger, firing a single, rubber-tipped round straight at the forehead of the drunk.
COMBATSYS: Daniel successfully hits Roland with Wobbly Wobbly.
- Power hit! -
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Roland 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 Daniel
Roland's hand shifts through the air and yanks hard. The grounded hat leaps through the air on the nigh invisible wire, and is placed on his head anew with a rogueish tilt. He looks to be handling himself relatively well for his inebriation; he's mostly upright, assuming a loose and completely pointless stance that leaves him more open then a desperate whore. The moment the trenchcoat is pulled off, his eyes widen. Knowing it was there is one thing, but seeing it fully exposed. "Bahahahahah!!" Roland belts out, doubling over and pointing. "Oh... oh god... how can you wear that?!" He SMACKS his thigh so hard it cracks like a gunshot, eyes watering and clenched shut. The yell barely catches his notice, and he looks into the barrel of a gun. BANG. He was completely vulnerable, of course. It cracks him full on, head snapping back and sending the rest of him crashing against a stool, both thumping on the ground. "OW!" he snarls, rubbing furiously at the angry red spot. "You little... Try THIS!" He then shifts forward, attempting to boot Daniel right between the legs full force. With steel toed boots. So he can then whirl him around, and kick him right in the ass to swan dive over the counter. "SON OF A BITCH!!"
COMBATSYS: Daniel counters Coyote Ugly from Roland with Mad Jack Crack.
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Roland 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Daniel
Daniel Jack squeezes the trigger, letting the bullet find it's home right between the eyes of the jeering drunk. Surprisingly, Daniel was keeping remarkably cool, despite the assaults on his tastes in fashion. Drawing the gun back, he was bringing his right arm forward as he discreetly tucked the gun back into his shirt. Yes, he brought a gun to a fist fight. Yes, it might not be legal. However, the man had some dignity when it came to firing at someone point blank. Hence the choice of less-than-lethal ammo.
Besides, it seemed to hurt more.
But Daniel wasn't a total fool. He knew what bringing a gun into a fist-fight meant. It meant that the victim was going to get apeshit on you. And when someone goes ape, it means to beat him to the shit. His right hand danced in front of D-Jack, his eyes focused on the delicate drunken struggles of Roland. His legs snaps forward, and Daniel grins. He had shown what Ryuhaku had taught. With a single, firm gesture, he snatches Roland's leg in his hand.
It was time for the Kasumi angle.
Feeling the momentum, Daniel snaps his now-unoccupied left to grip the same leg. With a grunt, the detective swings Roland and his leg across his body, hurling the both of them to the ground face-first. Positioned on top, Daniel immediately snapped his around Roland's neck, getting him into a chokehold. "Excellent form, Woody." The private eye began, squeezing tighter and tighter as he continued the pin. "But you might want hold back on the limp-wrist sissy, you dig?"
Well, Roland really isn't sure what just happened, other then the fact he seems to be losing yet again. He's got a lot of weight on his back, and would really like some more air in the bargain. "Hrhrrhrhhrrk." is his cogent reply, pulling feebly at the wrist for a moment before spreading his knees and managing to, with arduous effort, begin to rise. Before hurling himself backwards, pistoning towards the counter. Trying to slam the other man's back upon it, then begin repeated slamming headbutts for good measure. All the while, his elbow is going into overtime towards one rib. All combined, it's a remarkably effective dirty onslaught, more then anything hoping to get him some more space. He's terrible at fighting in this range, and rather then fix his issues he'll just desperately flail until he can pull out a better trick! "...Gonna kick your ass..." Oh damn, he's out of witty talk. Being drunk and being humiliated are not good buddies in that regard. But he won't give up!! Not until he's about to lose, then he's gonna run RIGHT OUT THAT DOOR.
COMBATSYS: Daniel blocks Roland's Power Strike.
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Roland 0/-------/---====|=====--\-------\0 Daniel
Daniel's pin gradually began to break, and drunk was rising up with a snatcher on his back. The man was trying to smash him into a wall, or a counter. Straight forward street fighting. Old School style. Daniel took a quick case, and immediately made a decision how to react.
Bail out.
Releasing Roland, the PI brought his arms up, smashing hard into the counter. "God, FLIP IT DROOGIE!" Was the cry, as the drunken headbutt bounced off his wrists. "That's a real hum-dinger" Daniel stated in about as deadpan a fashion as he could muster. "Maybe I should kick sharp to shut your face, Cowboy?"
With that, he suddenly rushed forward towards Roland. He began with a single right-handed knife-strike high, then a left-elbow jab, and then another knife-strike. Finally, he ends the flurry with a single uppercut, unleashing a loud hoot to echo amongst the bar-rats.
"FEEL THE MIGHT OF TOOOOOOODOH!"
COMBATSYS: Roland endures Daniel's Zoot Suit Riot!
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Roland 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Daniel
That's it. That's it! Roland is going to make this man hurt, and he knows just the way. He observes the approaching man, and digs his own hands within his jacket. This is going to hurt, but he'll rely on the shielding of his dulled mind. The blows belt into his torso, staggering him backwards yet he remains on his feet, actually pressing forward to keep within relatively close proximity. A green shimmer seems to be flowing through the air, and he becomes more fluid and sharp of attention. The last uppercut however is a glancing blow; he twisted with it, and then both his arms shoot up, trailing silhouettes behind him. "HA!!" Two thick knives trailing streamers are sent towards the other man's torso, intending to sink within. And a moment later they would detonate in a flash of emerald energy, with surprising force. Roland manages to get some distance to hopefully catch his breath in the intermittant time... Ow... He's even more woozy then he was before, and he didn't think that was possible!
COMBATSYS: Daniel fails to interrupt House Rules from Roland with Kasane Ate Mikansei.
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Roland 0/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Daniel
Each of the blows hit, escalating faster and faster. The last uppercut falls short, however. Daniel Jack scowls, his eyes trailing across from behind his rose-shaded glasses at the rogue. And then came the knifes.
Ryuhaku Todoh had taught him many things. How to unleash waves of energy. How to stop a projectile. How to trim your garden. How to pleasure a woman. All of these techniques were actually one technique. The single move that could serve all your needs in life.
The Kasane Ate.
Daniel whipped his arms around high, and struggled hard to focus. He could not rely on a half-assed attack. He had to use a full-powered Kasane Ate. Despite all of Master Todoh's training, he was not an expert of this difficult, yet powerful move. Bringing his arms down, he attempted to catch the attack with the Pile Hitter...
But falls short, his chest erupting into an explosion of emerald energy.
Daniel launches back into the stools and counter, his hat staying by Roland. His hair swishes through the air until he collides, crushing with a moan. The Detective struggles up, catching his breath. That last strike took a great deal out of him. A little... too great of a deal.
Unrelenting! Roland refuses to back off now that he has the opponent on the defensive. He lets out a roar, and once more swirls in that peculiar green energy that turns him from a stumbling drunk into a disturbingly competent fighter for his tier. Bending forward, he does a standing frontflip; the room between the pair crumbling to naught, as his heel whistles through the air in a violent overhead arc, trailing green copies behind. The steel heel attempting to strike right atop the head with hopefully grounding force, throwing so much reckless effort into it that he might very well hurt himself as much as the opponent were it to land clean. "HAAA! WHAT NOW, BITCH!" He's still not doing any good dialogue, but at least he's getting some momentum! Surprisingly the rest of the people within the bar are paying little attention, some at the table watching and looking more annoyed at the prospect of the game being interrpted. The bartender is yelling something about damages, but really who could tell that things looked worse?
COMBATSYS: Roland successfully hits Daniel with Gold Rush.
? Strange Hit! ?
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Roland 1/------=/=======|=======\=====--\1 Daniel
Daniel's choice of taking a breath was a mistake. Somewhere in the room, Master Todoh must have been watching, looking with abject disapproval. The jumping strike-heel flip-green aftereffects combination sent Daniel reeling... and that was before it made contact. Daniel just had not seen that kind of action before in a bar. EVER. He clumsily brings his arms up to block, and it kinda works. Except when Roland smashes through his guard, bringing a steel bootie right down into the skull of the Daniel Jack.
Collapsing down to the ground, Daniel lays there, struggling. "Well, droogie, you think this is over?" The man begins, grabbing a stool. With a snarl, Danny Boy shoves himself upright, a trickle of blood flowing down his nose. "Scuzzy, tell you what. Go on. Hit me. Hit me HARD. I'll play it rockin'" The man moves himself back in form, positioning one arm in front of another. Leveling himself out, he just stares at Roland.
"Your move, bassie."
COMBATSYS: Daniel focuses on his next action.
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Roland 1/------=/=======|=======\=====--\1 Daniel
Roland looks more concerned with regaining his breath, rubbing blood from his lip and then smacking it matter of factly. He watches Daniel warily, but seems almost entranced by that orange suit anew. Oh, he wants to win. He'll show him a thing or two about drunken brawling. This particular man has a lot of experience in it, after all. "I'll hit you... hit you good..." he growls, and then pulls out... a yellow sticker with a smiley face. Before running forward, ducking himself low. He lashes out with his palm, attempting to slap it hard upon the other man's chest. At first, it might seem a joke. Until, much like those knives showcased earlier in the fight, it would explode with a fair amount of force, hopefully sending Daniel sprawling backwards anew. "Get bent!!"
COMBATSYS: Daniel blocks Roland's Roulette.
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Roland 1/------=/=======|=======\======-\1 Daniel
Daniel, now that he was actually pretending to adhere to his technique, could respond to this attack properly. As man approach, Daniel Jack brought his arms up. A sticker? He suspected more mischief, as the whole knifing and hat thing taught. As the sticker stuck hard into his arms, he felt the explosion tear open his sleeves, ruining his suit in a shower of blood.
"My jacket..." The PI began, releasing his arms from their defensive stance. A new wave of energy overcame him. He took two, then three aggressive steps, advancing upon Roland at disturbing speed. "So that was a good hit? Well then, cowboy... I will show you... a GREAT hit!" Crossing his arms over, he slashed them outwards, attempting to shove aside any blocking that Roland might try. And then, he wound back his arm, roaring all the way. "FANTASTIC..... TODOH......" And with that, he shot his fist forward, ending in a single, powerful palm strike.
"PAAAAAAAAAAUNCH!"
COMBATSYS: Roland interrupts Fantastic Todoh Punch from Daniel with Cha-Ching.
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Roland 1/-----==/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Daniel
"YOU WISH!! I'LL END IT HERE!" Roland snarls, and twists his hand with a peculiar gesture. ...then a long blade erupts from his sleeve, having been hidden in the bulky garment. Slithering himself with emerald fire, as the open palm strikes for his chest, he rakes it upwards violently in the same motion. It cuts from hip to shoulder in a burning arc, but he's hit dead in the solar plexus for his trouble. Backwards goes Roland, skidding a moment before gravity wins and he crashes on his back, hat fluttering across his face to conceal his vision. But when he struggles into a position marginally less suicidal, he can see that ... he might win! That would be a hell of a twist, looking back across his last two fights! "Woo!!" He's really far too pleased with himself for it to be excusable. He should probably cheer less and spend more time getting off his ass!
Daniel's expression of what could be considered on an objective level most powerful technique in the whole universe strikes true. It had to. Failure to strike properly meant he was doing the similar Inferior Kyokugen Slap. However, just because it hit didn't mean it was over. Or rather, it might very well be over.
Daniel feels the energy rip across his body, rending flesh and his suit. Daniel felt his body weakening, his vision dimming. But in the haze of pain, he saw someone. The mustache. The glare. The crossed arms. Master Todoh was before him, nodding firmly. "Daniel..." He began, looking coldly at his student with mild disapproval. "Why aren't you doing your Kasane Ate?"
"Yes..." Daniel muttered, stomping forward at rapid speeds, picking his arm high. And then, he drops it down, letting loose a wave of energy.
"KASANE ATE!"
He thrusts his elbow forward, then swipes his arm down, bringing about another wave of energy.
"KASANE ATE!"
He swings wildly, bringing about three drunken hits as his orange jacket slips off. Finally, he raises both arms high up, and struggles, focusing hard. "Ka- I mean. Kaaaaaa.... KAAAAAASANE ATE!" He spits out, falling to his knees as a wave of orange energy collides with the ground, erupting up across the floors of the bar.
Daniel just hangs there a moment, before falling face down to the ground, a shower of pamphlets scattering across the bar from the depths of the tossed jacket.
COMBATSYS: Daniel can no longer fight.
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Roland 1/-----==/=======|
COMBATSYS: Daniel successfully hits Roland with Jazz Hands.
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Roland 1/--=====/=======|
"The hell?" As prior stated, Roland is in a terrible position. He's scrambling to gain his feet, and just about manages when the first wave of energy crashes into him. Arms fly up in a vain attempt to protect his face, the source of his living. Pummeled thoroughly, the last hit sends him clear off his feet, spiraling lightly and then crashing across a thankfully empty table, which shattered. It might of done so if an empty mug was set on it, but it certainly looked appropriately awesome. He's very still for a few moments, but through the fragmented wood he pushes to a crouch, hacking and coughing. Then he stands, before falling back on his ass. Adjusting his hat, the second try works. "...!!" Orange Julius is down. The unexpectedly dangerous fight, won by the skin of his teeth. He thrusts his fists to the heavens, feeling an increasingly rare surge of pride and contentment. Until the bartender levels a double barreled shotgun, still raving about damages. He makes it for the door, which is peppered with the buckshot intended for his ass.
...Daniel might have a fun time when he wakes up.
COMBATSYS: Roland has ended the fight here.
Log created on 17:48:32 11/15/2008 by Daniel, and last modified on 22:57:58 11/15/2008.