Description: Getting back to Pacific at last, Howard Rust is just in time to watch a press conference by Geese Howard to address the ailing city as he attempts to gather all his thoughts into cohesive form, to figure out the theories and possible truths both thought by and suggested to the Pacific schoolteacher. But when infamous young boxer Marisol O'Connell stops by for a little chat to discuss the goings on and her own little plans, the teacher is a little tongue-tied in figuring out how to explain this rollercoaster of events and likely facts to her. Not to mention, the spectacle that plays out right in front of them...
It's still pretty bad out here in Southtown. Late in the evening, Pacific teacher Howard Rust - thought for possibly dead after Igniz hit the school a short while back - has returned to the school of his employ to a veritable bouquet of shock, anger, and maybe only the faintest hint of relief among his peers. To put it mildly in so far as how his relations with some of his co-workers go, it's enough to make him wonder if he was better off slinking along to parts unknown and simply pretending he was dead. But no, some sort of duty, some kind of tugging purpose keeps him tethered here through the abuse of some students and faculty alike. He didn't get a hero's welcome back, that's for certain.
In response, he has grabbed a working TV in a moment of self-entitlement and has decided to camp out in the main hall as some kind of makeshift security in case shady persons try to head in through the (nearly destroyed) front entrance again. It is one of the only sources of illumination in this nearly deathly still facility. Classes haven't been happening for a little over a month. Most of the kids - those that are still here, anyway - are huddled along in their dorms or somewhere within the building, along with a number of other people who had been taken in for shelter. While opulent in appearance, Pacific's only a few steps shy of becoming something of a ghost house. As it stands right now, it's Mr. Rust, his pal Ol' Rusty the badly rusted length of pipe, two empty bags of Doritos of a rather obscure flavor with a third on its way, and the horked big screen TV set up on a table in front of some expensive couch cushions for visitors.
He's got a lot to think about, and not a whole lot of time to do it with... hot on the heels of helping to defend Justice High and a surprise visit from someone he only got to know so very briefly from around when he first came to Southtown. Exhausted physically, mentally, and spiritually, he's watching the news for some word from the biggest name in the entire city - and possibly well beyond that. Geese Howard, who is setting up some kind of press conference or another. Even through the TV, the black suit-clad man has a very intimidating presence.
"I've always felt that the city of Southtown was a city of the strong." So the man on the TV says. The Man, as it would be - Geese Howard himself. "It saddens me to see what this city has become thanks to the attacks of a group of mad men out to inflict their blight of rage and insanity upon the world. To see homes torn asunder, to see loved ones be killed. For what? For the games of some tyrants? To appease the boredom of the megalomaniacal? To what end does it all serve?"
The shop teacher grumbles. That's what he'd like to know. That's what everyone would like to know, beyond the press' inherent interest in flashing shit tons of pictures at him while he's trying to speak.
Meanwhile, across campus, Marisol has been absently dozing in her room, killing time in-between taking it upon herself to patrol the school grounds or wander off campus in SEARCH of na'er do wells to punch in the mouth. It's a full-time job at this rate, what with the increase of violence all across the city and a desire to...well, protect the school she's come to love. More importantly, defend and help the people who cannot help themselves and, of course, her friends.
But spending time alone in her dorm room gets boring quickly with little to do and Pás out and about doing...whatever it is the Brazilian girl does when she's not hanging around campus. So, bored and restless, the half-Spaniard girl has opted instead to take a bit of a stroll around the school grounds on yet another little patrol and, perhaps, find some people to kill time with.
Around campus, two areas have been turned into designated areas of 'hanging around': the dorms, obviously, and the main hall. However, with it being later in the evening hours and all, the main hall is not precisely the most popular place to hang around--most students (and faculty) are too frightened by the chance of yet another enemy attack that they more or less hide out in the relative safety of their dorm rooms.
But that doesn't stop Marisol from poking her head in anyway--especially when she notes the dim glow of a television bathing the walls through the half-destroyed front entrance. She steps through it, blinking once with muted surprise at the sight of a comfortably lounging security guard known as Howard Rust.
"Huh," she sounds, tilting her head a bit as she approaches. "I wondered where you got off to."
Smiling a bit, the redhead lets her gray eyes hood a touch as she comes to a stop a few feet away from where the shop teacher has set up his lounge area. "I'd heard you ran into some trouble, and a few people even said you were dead." A sly grin cuts over her mouth. "Buuuut I'm not dumb, so I didn't believe that garbage.
"It's good to see you're okay," she adds, the smirk giving way to a mildly relieved grin.
"How're you holding up?"
If these were happier times. If these were happier times, there would be yelling to get out of the main building and head to the dorms. The curfew rules tightened up since the crisis began, although the enforcement has been loose and inconsistent in the chaos. You can't easily tell the Pacific Resistance 'no' even in the best of times. That's how most of them have always been.
The teacher is a little bit more alert than he usually appears to be at what he thinks might have been a footstep. He's had a few false starts already since he started camping out here, turning his head off to the side as Geese is tapping a finger on the podium, leaning forward to address his audience. He grunts again as Marisol approaches him. Don't scare me like that, he'd scold. He'd scold if his energy levels were any higher than they are now. His head is this giant, swirling cloud of thoughts over things he's heard and been told this night. The rest of him has gone really lax to compensate. But you know, she's still smiling. Not a lot of people today really can. That's got to say something. God damn hooligan.
"Yeah... yeah, I, I did," he wheezes out, the gravely quality of his voice nearly muting out his words in its... graveliness, so to speak. Or mumble. He lazily raises his left hand up. It's good to see that /someone/ is happy enough to see him back, letting the raised hand eventually rest against the top of the couch as he sits up in his seat a little.
"You know... I wish... uh, I wish I knew how to answer that," he tilts his head back a little. He starts edging off to the right if she wants to sit down. As much as he dislikes the thought of Marisol, her friends, or really any kid having to go out and fight, might as well let her stay here in case some jackass jumps at them from the shadows. No way they'd be able to take the two of them... maybe.
Geese, on the TV, gives a self-assuring smile. It is brimming with confidence as he speaks to the crowds at large while he spreads his arms out. "But this will not break us. They may bend us, stretch us to our very limits -- but I believed this city was strong. And I still believe it. I believe we can triumph over these odds. And that is why I have made this place into a shelter -- not a haven, not a last resort. A place of safety, for those who desire a temporary reprieve before this storm has passed -- no, been /forced/ out. This is not a place of desperation. It is a bastion of /hope./ A testament to our strength of will. The people of Southtown, the /proud/ people of Southtown, will not falter beneath the heel of monsters. We will persevere. And this place -- this /bastion/ -- will serve as a testament to that." With narrowing eyes, the man on TV lets this next line be the set of words that truly gives confidence to the people of Southtown - if this man is insincere, he hides it so incredibly well. "We must not let evil seep through the streets of our city any longer!"
It's all different when you are one of the few people who knows the true story behind the man, as the shop teacher's right hand rustles around the bag of chips for another handful to stuff in that mouth of his. He's missed that taste. He's missed that taste so much.
"Well," the girl begins, still offering a smile to the shop teacher. He's been through a lot--she knows, because gossip travels fast here, especially in times of crisis and boredom. She can sympathize more for Rust, however; the poor guy has been through more shit than a teacher should have to, especially with his age and relatively "recent" comeback into the fighting scene. Still, she knows he's not a pushover--he's proven that.
When the man scoots over and offers her space she takes it, the half-Spaniard girl more or less flopping lazily onto the sofa and leaning immediately back. Folding her arms over her chest, she crosses a leg idly over the other, getting comfortable and cozy while essentially ignoring the public announcement from the city's supposed savior. That doesn't concern her too much--her thoughts are more invested on just seeing the likes of NESTS and Shadaloo and whoever the hell else is here gone.
"Why do you say that?" she asks, sounding genuinely puzzled by his lack of answer. The speech drags on, Geese Howard's image bathed in bright flashbulb lighting as press practically devour the public address to the war-torn city.
"I mean...you're alive and healthy. That has to count for something, right?"
Where could he begin with the shit he's had to take since the war began? There's been a whole lot of things that have gone completely wrong. That he's even alive after several incidents where he may very well have been dead to rights, well... maybe that does get to count for something, as Marisol asks him why. Why, indeed. He crunches on some chips, a few crumbs falling out of his mouth. They put taste where Geese is removing it through the magical thin screen of the future in its high definition and millions of colors. Something only a copious amount of sodium and ground up particles of funnily-colored spices can return the taste to, if only for mere seconds at a time.
"Tonight, uh... you know." She doesn't, yet, as he speaks moments after swallowing the latest handful of delicious snacky foods. "I heard a lot of things... got a whole lot to... to think about," he clears his throat. "'scuse me. It's... well. I really, I really don't know." He raises his left hand up from the top of the couch behind him in something of a shrug, unsure of really how he'd want to say any of this to another person - let alone to a /student/.
This coincides neatly with the lights suddenly going out at that press conference as Geese starts to speak again. Murmuring kicks up. Unfortunately, the cameraman of the respective studio whose broadcast he's watching seems to get the worst end of the noise from the crowds. The camera moves around a little. It seems to catch someone or something moving in from the side wearing... white?
His index finger on his left hand goes up as his head leans back forward. Whoa. Whoa. What's this? "Hey, Marisol. TV. Somethin' is up."
When he replies, the young woman's attentions fix on the teacher, lips pulled in a tight, thoughtful line across her tanned face. She waits to hear him out, and what he confesses to brings a slight frown to her full lips. Right now, she concerns herself less with politics and posturing from the city's richest man--partially because she's somewhat young and this doesn't really bother her, and partially because she's more concerned with the more immediate threats facing the city. The television continues to go ignored. The teacher has her full attention, amazingly enough.
"You don't know? But you've heard things?" the girl asks, though her tanned features promptly shift into a look of mild disappointment. "How can you not know? What have you heard?" Thin red brows furrow over her eyes. "Surely it's not--
"What?"
When the teacher shifts gears and points to the television, Rust is momentarily reprieved from Marisol's prodding questions. Glancing aside, she offers a half-attentive look to the shift of commotion, the sudden appearance of the man in white making her muse aloud, "Isn't that that Kain guy? I fought him once in SNF."
"Kain? No, that looks more like... Ri--" A single spotlight comes on the mysterious figure. The teacher's raised left hand rests back on the couch as he is corrected. "Wait... yeah, you're right, that's Kain." He leans a little forward as the mysterious entry to the press conference starts to say something, but it is drowned out by the crowd's uneasy murmuring. Even words that should be clear coming from Geese at his podium are partially lost in the noise. This cameraman's got the worst luck today. Billy, Geese's faithful bodyguard and right-hand man, has already stepped up to the challenge by putting himself between Geese and Kain.
A sign of trouble brewing, indeed, as Mr. Rust declines to refresh his right hand full of delicious corn chips, resting the respective forearm on his lap with a little creak in his elbow. He neglects to blink over the passage of these next few seconds. What he's seeing here, what's going on here, that might change the face of just about everything he knows - or adds in another layer of complexity altogether.
"He's involved too?!" Howard, as in, the balding one, not the one on TV blurts out almost foolishly as his eyes are locked on the upcoming spectacle that threatens to turn what may be a token press conference into a scene of absolute chaos.
"I know that face," the half-Spaniard remarks. "I can't really forget it. That guy is way too strong." Marisol can't help but smirk a little. "That made the fight a bit more /fun/."
But now's not the time to recall "fond" memories of fights long since passed. Instead, her gray eyes hood a touch on the screen as the mysterious arrival of Heinlein draws a hush over the crowd, save for the collective uneasiness that's all but palpable. Soon enough, another player enters the game. "What is wrong with this city?" she muses aloud, sounding a touch annoyed.
A sharp exhale follows as her back buries a bit further into the couch. Even Howard Rust's outburst does little to really draw reaction from the redhead. Damn it. Can't the city just stop being a hellhole already? She misses the normalcy of life prior to.
Now?
"Wonder if things will ever be the same..."
Fighting was almost fun again, after so long. A part of Rust here is too horrified at what's looking to happen, given all that's already going on in his head about the politicking between the evil powers that have teamed up to bring Southtown to its knees. So far, it's done a pretty good job of it. Everyone's shaken. Mr. Rust, himself, is aware of the number of scared kids who (once) went here choosing to go home when their parents decided it was time to get them the hell out of dodge... well, until the attacking forces apparently managed to prevent people from getting in or out of Southtown.
There's something about Marisol that teacher has always envied. She's energetic, she's happy, she has a whole lot of free time to do whatever she wanted, and really... for the first time, for the first time ever, something is amiss enough to bring his eyes away from the television as Kain coolly addresses Geese and Kain, the spotlights around Howard Arena coming back on full swing.
This is the first time he's ever really seen her resolve begin to crack under pressure. At least, on the surface.
He turns to face her, leaning back on the couch a few moments after she does, with another exhaling noise to match in sharpness, those plain ol' brown eyes just wandering around the space near Marisol before eventually settling upon Marisol. You know, you work here, Mr. Rust. One of the kids who goes to this school needs some kind of reassurance. So what does he come up with for this purpose? He finally remembers to blink at least in the process of another internal deliberation.
"...I... I don't know if they ever will." He shakes his head. Saying it would might be an outright bold lie. His mouth hangs open for a little while as words try to dangle off his jaw. What can he really tell her? After learning what he has, he needed to be choosy about revealing what he knew. Unfortunately, he revealed /everything/ he knew to just about everyone he's come across on the way back to Pacific, which would be Raizo and that shady woman who jacked his old truck (and, as a matter of fact, still has his truck). The people he works with weren't interested in hearing what he had to say, they just yelled at him for seemingly abandoning Pacific during or after that attack by Igniz. Nobody's sure what happened in that battle exactly, only at the end of it, Mr. Rust wasn't there any more.
The thing about adults. They're kind of petty. Largely set in their ways. Stuck right in the system, working themselves into and out of debts to society as largely the big chain that keeps them tethered to responsibility. He doesn't know who a lot of these people belong to. The influence of the target these people are seemingly after is wide. It's everywhere in this city.
There is, however, largely one demographic they haven't been able to completely get a hold of yet. And that... is the children. The teacher grunts yet again. This firecracker of a young lady... yeah. He's going to have to tell her. He'd have to tell /someone/ here, anyway, what's up.
"Marisol. Listen to me." His left index finger from the side of the couch points up again. "These last few days. I've... I've come across a lot of things I'm, I'm not supposed to know. About certain people, and... and what they have to do with all this."
On TV, Kain reaches into his pocket for something. Mr. Rust misses out on this detail as he sucks in some breath and tries to gather his courage - yet again. "I'm the only grown-up here who can fight. I gotta say... after, after that blonde haired guy showed up, damn near killed me. I was scared. Scared shitless, thinking about what you kids'd be going through."
Meanwhile, Marisol's gray eyes are fixed on the events transpiring on the fancy television display. While Howard Rust may envy her energy and seemingly carefree nature, the girl has her moments. This is one of them, where she questions the fate of the city. There's been so much damage and pain; won't things just go back to the way they were?
Even she knows that's a long shot.
When the teacher turns to face her the girl's attention shifts, her gaze sliding sidelong toward the man nearby. When he actually speaks she turns to look at him, quietly regarding the Pacific teacher as he explains. Initially, a small, disappointed exhale leaves the girl's lips. He admits to the obvious. "Seems so hopeless to want things to immediately go back to being normal, huh?"
He tells her to listen, which promptly seems to cut her moping thoughts short. Blinking her eyes, she watches as he lifts an index finger. Is he going to confess? The look on her face suggests she's all ears now, curious to hear.
The television continues to go ignored.
"About people? What people?" the girl inquires, her curiosity piqued. The latter, however, draws a small sympathetic smile on her face as she speaks further. "You are, and it's actually kind of nice there's a teacher here who isn't some lame-ass pushover. It was pretty boring 'round her, I'll tell you that much. But," But. Marisol's eyes narrow a touch with resolve.
"You're not alone here. We can fight too--and we will. I know you're older and a teacher and all, and feel that it's your responsibility to care and look out for us...but don't let that get in the way of YOUR well being. I know I'm kind of a bitch and all, but...I don't take kindly when jackasses like NESTS or Shadaloo come traipsing in here threatening to kill people--even teachers." Smirking, the girl glances aside toward the television.
"I have no intentions of just getting my ass killed here--and I know you don't either. That's why I've stayed here. I want to help protect this place, because it, and this city, have too many things going for it." Friends, acquaintances, strong people--she can't lose that. "So I won't let you go and get killed either, teach."
There's old Marisol again. That flame of unquenchable youth's more or less long left Howard by now, largely resigned to what life has been throwing him even after he started getting into the professional fighting circuits of the Neo League. He wasn't doing that horribly, either, even if commentators were joking that he seemed only to be able to beat up young women - owing to his losses to the explosive Zach and the mysterious Spider. Things were really looking up for him at last.
And now, here we are. Sitting in an almost empty lobby, watching the television where something seems to be going wrong. Here when this could be his last night in Pacific before things start really going into full swing once again. With Marisol's newfound resolve from scooping herself up from a moment of weakness, the teacher cracks an increasingly rare smile and a little bit of a nod.
"Probably already got my career killed. Uh... fighting career." He holds up his right hand. While clad in working gloves - which he seems to wear /everywhere/, for some reason - there is some significant discoloration brought by incredibly severe burns going down his wrist, going a short ways into his forearm. Rolento told him he already lost some use of it. He wouldn't be surprised if some doctors - people he could actually /trust/ - would tell him the same for only a few hundred dollars he can't readily afford.
"Fucked my hand up pretty badly. Got torn up... grabbed molten metal." An eye is cast down to Ol' Rusty by his hip, poking outward towards the TV. He could've sworn that thing melted in his hand as he slammed it in the back of Ojike no Oni's head, but, no, there it is. "But, uh... that's not what you need to hear."
/Someone/ in the audience over on the TV has decided they don't want to hear whatever's going on either as whoever's holding the camera finds themselves shoved aside by somebody who seems to have blonde hair as they storm their way up forward.
"I know who they're really after. It's... it's that guy on the TV." He points towards the screen with his right hand, wincing a little as he does so. And also for the embarrassment that the camera guy is trying to get a good view on what the hell's going on here again after he's gotten shoved.
"Geese!" The teacher raises his voice as if to clarify. "They're after Geese. One of the... one of the people I fought at Justice, they spilled that. All this shit's over Geese, him and... ah, look," he shakes his head, as though he still can't believe that a man who has done so much to bring street fighting into the mainstream would be apparently involved, "I got a few guys saying that he's the top kingpin in the local mob... no, syndicate, and for whatever god damn reason, attacking the schools, you, me, and anybody else in the way, is a part of bringing him down, hell if I know!"
There's something almost...relieving to the smile that Rust display, his nod noted. The smile on Marisol's face grows a bit further in response, the gesture contagious. It's good to see someone who was so down on himself and so hesitant to seemingly believe in himself finally offer a smile. It brings a bit of relief to the girl on the couch.
"Don't say that," the girl replies as she shifts her weight on the couch. The words are cut off, her smile fading as he lifts his arm and displays his burns. Immediately, a sharp frown replaces the mirth that once lingered on her sunkissed features. "Wh-what..?" Wide-eyed, the girl just stares at the burns as he speaks. He GRABBED MOLTEN METAL?
"WHY did you DO that?" she all but barks in surprise.
Immediately, however, she calms a bit, gray eyes drawing shut as she exhales. Surely he has his reasons. "No, I needed to," the girl states calmly, offering a tiny smirk. "It reminds me of how people are out there getting hurt, ...and how I need to just work toward helping to end this all the /more/."
Opening her eyes, she lets her smile bloom a bit further, the smirk dissipating into a sincere smile. "Seeing as how this place is still here and unoccupied, I would dare say you did your very best and succeeded." Pause. "Thanks. I mean it." She sounds sincere.
But when he singles out Howard on the television, her features falter a little. "What? Really?" she asks, her words genuinely puzzled. But why..?"
Soon enough, clarity comes. He's... "The leader of the Syndicate?" The girl pauses briefly.
Then she smirks.
"No way. Him? Really? He's a good guy. Why would people try to attack the guy who has donated millions into public projects and stuff? A guy like that, running a crime ring?" Glancing aside, she peers thoughtfully at Rust. "Are you /sure/ you can believe what you hear?"
Why /did/ he grab molten metal, an action he is to surely regret for the rest of his life? He never does offer much of an answer for it. A lot of parts of that battle between him and NESTS are kind of blurry. Rush of the moment, maybe, in an act of desperation between standing his ground or trying to get the kids to safety in the instance they couldn't hold Igniz back. A miracle must have happened for Igniz to have failed to overtake the school that day, for many days after the fact, they're back here. Talking. Speaking occasionally in disbelief and worry, but here they are.
The given thanks gets back that hint of a smile again. But, he only really wishes he's done much of anything in the defense of, well, anything. The closest to a success he can think of was when his attacker over at Justice was ordered to retreat after Raizo all but mauled FREAKING SAGAT. If their fight took any longer, he wouldn't be sure that he'd still be standing here even now. Somehow or another, though... one way or another.
Someone young on TV screams "NO!" A trenchcoat goes flying - surprise, surprise - in front of the camera, all but landing on it. Some more angry yelling that's hard to hear above the crowds and the loud sound of something hitting another. There is chaos going on at that press conference. It's gone to hell really quickly.
Marisol's smirking doesn't disarm him. His left hand opens wide, displaying the palm as he shakes his head as she brings to bear something he once honestly believed - something he honestly believed like the rest of the populace. "You know what. Listen. Okay? Listen." He clears his throat again, the dryness in his throat threatening to drown out what he understands to be the truth - half from hearsay, half from being caught well in the middle of the war. "I got this shady girl... got into a fight with her once, real, real early on in my stay here, she told me that, that powerful people didn't want to see this school fall, and... and she gave me a number to call when this, this school got attacked." And attacked, it did. "I got freaking... freaking Rolento. Metro! Rolento! Next thing I know... I'm sore, flat on my ass in some bed somewhere, knife to my throat, and..." He shakes his head yet again, as though operating on a highly limited set of animations for this particular set of interaction. "He threw me at Justice to stave off some invasion somewhere, and /that/, that is when someone slipped up and said they're after Geese and... you know what."
He relaxes his left hand on the couch. "Marisol. I don't know. I ain't so quick. I, I'm getting older. But I've been smack dab... smack dab in the middle of some kind of crazy, crazy-ass bullshit," emphasis on the 'bull,' "and believe /me/, all I got are... are a bunch of facts, and you know, I'm putting it all together - and even if Geese isn't some kind of, some kind of don, well, that doesn't change what /I/ see!"
Hilariously, right on the TV, the cameraman's finally got control back of what he's seeing. A familiar youth in red is being tossed into the spectators by a livid Billy, and that Kain fellow there looks none too pleased with Geese either. Their words cannot be heard over a crowd too panicked to be still, but yet not composed enough to figure out now's a good time to run the hell away. And Rust's eyes aren't even on the spectacle!
The NO briefly distracts Marisol, gray eyes shifting toward the television before, lacking any immediate interest in the goings-on elsewhere in the ravaged city. They're big people problems--not hers. Her concerns are the immediate and within her reasonable grasp.
Reclining a bit further in the couch, Marisol drops an arm onto the arm rest and lifts the other, quite comfortable to sprawl a bit in her given section of the couch. She is quite convinced Howard isn't some terrible person that people are apparently telling the teacher, and finds herself a bit skeptical- -like most anyone who lives in Southtown would be. But part of her can't help but maybe suspect...Rust's information may not be wrong.
Why WOULD people seemingly randomly attack Geese Howard, anyway?
She listens, hearing the man out as he explains himself. His words are heard, the girl's brows furrowing somewhat as she waits for him to finish. Then, when he's done, the girl frowns a bit.
"A shady woman has interest in this school and wants to help you? That crazy mercenary guy held you hostage with a /knife/ to your throat? Then threw you to the proverbial wolves?" The girl follows this with a heavy exhale, gray eyes drawing to a close as she frowns.
"I don't know. It just seems kind of odd that people like that are suddenly quick to throw out such facts. You sure they're just not trying to deceive you?" The television briefly earns her eye, but she immediately looks away, back to the man nearby.
"I'm not saying I don't believe /you/, sir," she explains. "I just have...doubts. Doubts in people I don't know or trust. This thing seems like it's been founded on a bunch of bullshit and lies. Who is to say this isn't some big excuse from NESTS or something to try and wrangle control of the city through fear by attacking a seemingly invincible guy like Geese?"
The really funny, or perhaps very sad thing about all this is that Howard - for the last time, that guy who seems to pretend he's some kind of samurai, not the mega-billionaire fighting superstar! - finds himself so focused in trying to clearly convey his thoughts, scattered as they are, when the TV right in front of him is showing absolute chaos and is full of witnesses across a few different networks who would be gladly transcribing the stuff they did hear. Kain's accusations, though missed by this cameraman due to unlucky positioning, will certainly be the highlight of the morning news come tomorrow.
The teacher tries to relax everything, letting his left hand rest back on the couch, leaning the rest of himself back, and bring his right hand back into the bag of chips. He frowns. It's empty. In frustration, he bats the bag over the side of the couch to join the rest of its drained, fallen brethren.
"I'm sorry." He bows his head and raises his left hand again. "If I got more time... if I got more time, I'd have, I'd have been able to... to think about how to talk about this to other people. All this really recent stuff, that... that came to light to me only, uh... four hours ago? I had a hell of a day... but, I need to tell you something important. Okay? One... one last important thing."
He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself in the face of scrambled reason and a girl who doesn't seem to get it - even if the points about planting false information are valid. It's funny to think that someone would compose himself before live broadcast footage of a certain kid in red trying to slam an elbow into the one and only Geese Howard, followed by a gathering mass of bright energy and even more angry shouting that almost comes by somewhat clearly enough to be picked up.
"Here's... here's what's goin' on. Rolento... he's got me and a Gedo kid in on, on trying to, to fight off... all those bad people. That's... Suigetsu, Hakuya, I forget if you know him." He's one of the Guardian Kings, the BITTER RIVALS of the Pacific Resistance. "All I know... Rolento is pointing us at, at places he knows are going to be under siege. He's with, with... I quote, 'someone powerful.' Someone powerful that, that supposedly, doesn't want the school to fall. I don't know how, how he falls into things. But."
He clears his throat yet again, shifting his weight a little where he sits as he stretches his left leg out. Cue the popping of joints that anyone who works or studies here at Pacific can tell you aaaaaall about. The Walking Terminal Case Of Arthritis. One of the treasured(?) wonders of Pacific's Southtown branch! "I ain't going to be here for a while after tonight. Tomorrow. Got to get to some place... he's gonna gather for another attack somewhere. Maybe against the, uh, NESTS guys," all these names are kind of new to him, he's not some super international spy, he's an overseas high school teacher after all, "maybe against... the Thailand guys... Shadaloo. I don't know what he's hoping to gain."
He turns his head back over towards the rest of the school behind them. "But he's as, as close to the truth as I or anyone else is going to get. I want to know... I got ideas, but, I want to know, why, why beating the shit out of our schools has, has /anything/ to do with Geese. I didn't mis-hear that name." He heard 'Howard.' He couldn't think of any other famous Howard, admittedly, one that would warrant so much attention as he rolls his head around his neck once to see if he can't get that kink out of his neck. It doesn't do the trick. Too bad.
"I'm gonna tell you something the staff doesn't want you to hear." The index finger on his left hand comes out again. The waggling! "If this shit keeps up. If parents keep pulling their kids out, or... or worse, any of 'em die. I wouldn't be surprised if they closed this place down. I know you're ready to fight, and... you know what, since I'm not going to be here these next couple of days, it's gonna, it's gonna be up to you, and Roy, and, and the rest."
He l
He lets that sink in over the next few moments, while Billy over on TV takes to the sky and Kain in his trademark flaming rush goes to give Geese the business. You'd think that'd be enough to pull a grown man away from Serious Adult Talk time with a younger student. You'd be wrong.
"I'm goin' out to put the pieces together while I'm thrown at some... target or another. You can't follow me. But what I'm going to do. I'm going to put it all together. I got a lot of pieces from a couple people. Some of it fits. Some of it fits together... maybe not all of it... maybe not right now. But what I'm gonna do, I'm putting it all together. Soon as I can be certain of that... you're with me, right?" The serious bowed head glare comes into play. "That's the sooner we'll put all this shit behind us and we can stop being scared of... of god damned terrorists." Mr. Rust is an American. Just about anyone should know the score between America and the term 'terrorism' by now.
"Ol' Rusty and I," he pats the makeshift hit with his left hand, sparing Marisol of any further finger-wagging for the moment, "are going to do what we can to get this done and over. Might be the last time we even see another. Hell if I know. But that's what's going down... I think, right now, in all this city, I might know more than any other man what's goin' on."
"Don't apologize," Marisol immediately insists. "There's nothing TO apologize for. Everything is so crazy there's hardly any time for anyone to even think." Pausing briefly, the redhead offers a slight smirk before it falters. "Especially if you've been busy up 'til recently. You're really pushing yourself, mister Rust." It's good to see that a teacher at this school is that willing to FIGHT for his school. It's a little inspiring, even.
But there's a catch, he makes as much clear. It's important.
Giving him time to think and compose himself, the girl sits by idly and listens, completely ignoring the television, even as events unfold on the television nearby. They're not important to her right now--it's stuff she can deal with later. Right now, Howard Rust wants her to listen. And, goddamned hooligan though she may be, she does so.
Eyes widen, however, as he mentions Hakuya. She says nothing--instead, her features darken a little. No way. What the HELL is that retard thinking, she wonders to herself. Tenma and Kenji and that Stasya girl would likely freak out if they heard. But...
Giving her head a shake, the redhead just listens more.
Wait--what??
"What?" the girl remarks aloud, wide-eyed. "You're...leaving? You're going to listen to that Rolento guy and go do as he commands??" All she knows is of his public reputation--of the reputation he has made for himself to the general eye. Whatever he may do outside of that is just a mystery. But. "Are you SURE you can trust that lunatic?? Goddamn," The redhead exhales and leans into the couch, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Just do one thing," she comments. "Don't get your ass killed. The last thing this school needs is to lose its only teacher with a damn spine.
"As for the truth...again, just /be careful/. Don't trust that guy completely for a second, and if he starts acting all weird or something, kick his ass or whatever; I don't know. Just don't /trust/ him." Whether it's sound advice to the teacher...well...
"And whatever else you do, don't get killed trying to find out the truth. It's not worth it. Not in a big goddamn mess like this."
The truth he shouldn't be telling her is met with a smirk. "That's why I'm going to fight, regardless. I'm not about ready to give this place up just yet, so...I refuse to back off or down. But I'm not going to get myself killed, either. I won't let that happen." Because she doesn't feel that she is strong enough yet. Not. Yet.
"I won't follow you," she replies, bluntly. "You're a grown man and a fighter. You can take care of yourself. I have plans, anyway." Glancing aside, the girl absently stares at the television, watching Kain and Billy and Geese have at it. Is he REALLY some Syndicate boss? It just can't be true.
"But like I said, all I ask is that you be careful and don't go getting yourself killed. This terrorism will end--I don't have any doubts about it, because there are too many strong people here who won't let that happen." A glance is spared, to look pointedly at Rust before she offers a small grin.
"It won't be the last time. I know it. I'm not afraid, because you're strong."
Exhaling, the girl pushes back before she lunges forward, hopping off the couch and onto her sneakered feet. Giving her arms a swinging about, she lets her arms move about before she rests them on her hips. "So if you don't show back up here after all this is over and done, I'll find your corpse and beat you back from the dead so I can then beat you to death for not listening to my perfectly perfect advice, okay?" Grinning broadly, the girl seems to enjoy her little playful joke for the moment. Then? She begins to walk away.
But she calls out over her shoulder:
"So this isn't goodbye. It's just 'see you later,' okay? You still owe me more fights.
"Go get some rest, too. You're going to need it. See ya, mister Rust."
Her steps falter a bit, her footing stalled as she ponders something. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she smiles, adding, "Thanks...for the talk and taking my mind off of some of my concerns. It means something that someone else here cares as much for this school--this city--as I do."
That said Marisol leaves, giving him a wave from over her shoulder.
Marisol's pretty much always talked back to this particular teacher with a sort of confident clarity that the man himself seems to lack in moments of considerable pressure such as say... this one. Her sentiments echo the people he's discussed this about. 'Don't trust Rolento.' He doesn't. A number of facts - likely facts, anyway - line up very well with the thought that his efforts may not be well-intentioned. This is the man who laid siege on Metro City, after all. America does not tolerate that sort of tomfoolery!!
Nonetheless, he gets through his 'one last thing' which is a lot of one last things without flinching at Marisol's outbursts and own two cents. Which is kind of normal around these parts - even in arguments, it seems that people cordially wait for some certain perceived break in discussions to lay some point down. A piece of Southtown (and beyond) no terrorism could take away.
She's going to fight. He's going to fight. Inwardly, he's going all 'd'oh' at telling her what'll happen if any kid here gets killed and mentioning back-to-back that it's going to be up to her, her friends, and Roy's little clique to keep the school safe. As if she wouldn't anyway!! She's Marisol, her getting into a bunch of fights with powerful people is... typically, assured, whether Howard likes it or not. He doesn't, especially not in the face of this, but what choice do they have left - he's throwing his fate to the winds at this point in putting the last pieces of the puzzle together.
His eyes track her movement as she pushes off the couch. She's not afraid about him kicking the bucket because he's 'strong.' He'd better hope he is! His dominant hand is injured enough he may have to call his comeback over with, idly clenching his right hand as hard as he can until the pain tells him to stop. HE kind of wishes he didn't lose that foam ball Rolento gave him. Mr. Marshall yelled at him for trying to borrow his ARCH-NEMESIS' stress ball, and it was only his better nature that stopped him from flipping out, beating the shit out of him, and taking the ball for his own purposes anyway. (He took the TV from the lounge instead, which is ultimately no more mature and responsible an action, but some of the staff have already live in fear of a relapse of what happened when the national elections didn't go the way he hoped.)
He winces at the thought of her beating the crap out of his corpse until he comes back to life so she can beat him back to death for not listening to her, you know, that sounds like that would hurt. Being beaten so badly when you're dead that you come back to life.
This isn't goodbye. It's just 'see you later.' He's hoping it'll be 'see you later.' He knows the potential risks in all of this, but he is a man that's proven hard to put down. He's already cheated the prospect of outright death a few times throughout the war. Mr. Rust is not a fragile man, physically speaking! He offers a wave with his clenched right hand, still trying to fight against the little invisible boundaries set by the injury, his face just a little unpleasant in a grimace.
"Yeah... I'll need it, all right." It is getting late. He should turn in soon. As she continues to walk away, she adds her one piece just as he's about to start looking back to the TV. He clears his throat once more. He really should have gotten something to drink before he planted himself on the couch.
"It's... it's no problem," he respons quietly to her thanks. He'd be on edge if he never did see her again throughout. Someone like her, in a tough situation, not knowing what the hell the adults around her are thinking as they flail and panic over a multitude of adult issues. Nonetheless, they share something in common - they do care for this town. Southtown is the city of his would-be dreams. Those dreams might be shattered, but he, himself, is not.
At long last, he can bring his attention back to the telly, at which point he is greeted by the sight of Geese on the run as Billy and Kain go at it. "Whoa. Whoa. Holy shit, what'd I just mis
At long last, he can bring his attention back to the telly, at which point he is greeted by the sight of Geese on the run as Billy and Kain go at it. "Whoa. Whoa. Holy shit, what'd I just miss?!"
The first half of an outright brawl between some of the strongest powers in street fighting, that's what. A foolish choice, the shop teacher's eyes go wide as he spends what would have been one or two hours better spent sleeping when the morning news would have likely recapped whatever the hell just happened.
This would be the longest night of his life yet.
Log created on 19:23:53 04/22/2009 by Rust, and last modified on 02:48:44 04/25/2009.