Description: Your guess is as good as mine.
One of Pacific High's more prolific donors, in recent times, comes from a research group down in Antarctica. For being located in one of the very harshest environments of the entire globe, they have been awful generous with sparing funds in between research - especially with Global Warming being at the forefront of scientific debate.
And so it went, several teachers were going to get to visit them. On the plus side, they get the whole week off for a scenic trip down in Antarctica. Surely, a breathtaking proposition among the wealthy and over-educated! The shop teacher isn't even sure why he's a part of the selected, but, maybe he could use a week off. Perhaps try and grill something outdoors, it's been a while.
Coincidentally, most of the station engineers and maintenance guys are departing from the continent due to some paperwork/scheduling snarl. Guess who they look at to do a whole week's worth of maintenance with? That's right! So much for a grand week off!!
...At least there are no busted benches in sight.
Fortunately, this part of Antarctica isn't unbearable at this time of year. It is just past the warmest point in time for it, but the wind chill isn't pushing the current temperature that much below zero degrees Fahrenheit. The standard cold protections do just fine.
Mr. Rust, being Mr. Rust, has on a lighter jacket than he ought to as he is in the middle of tightening a few screws here and there to some amazing-looking dome outside to an audience of very curious Adelie penguins that have decided to travel further into the continent for whatever reason.
Sometimes people can be extremely naïve. They say that a sucker is born every day, and that a fool and his money are easily parted. This is just the newest in consumer gullibility.
Ingrid was known to be fairly wealthy due to her parents relative fortune, never seen without a well tailored outfit and solid gold hairpieces no matter how many she seemed to damage or lose. With expenditures like that one really hast to wonder how they can afford it. The truth is that for the longest time the family simply lived off of interest. Old Money, the term is, for the landed rich. Put in more perspective is the fact that Ingrid spent far more than her parents, easily the most extravagant member of the family, the rest preferring to enjoy their native homeland of Norway in their cozy hometown.
But with the world economy sending stocks and interest rates on bonds alike plummeting there was a need for additional income, if only to secure the future. And so the family made a large investment and purchased a majority stock in a quaint little company based in, you guessed it, Antarctica. What kind of company you ask? This is where the foolish consumers come in.
Bottled water was long considered one of the greatest sales success stories. You could literally put tap water in a plastic bottle and sell it for thousands of times it's real worth. Even better was the sale of high quality, 'premium' water retrieved from natural springs.
But now there was a new gimmick, and it was assured to be a success. Premium ice.
Yes, you saw that right. A whole new market was opening up world wide in the sale of fresh, nature created ice directly from the sheets of Antarctica. This millennia old ice was indisputably pure (a technical term implying it's natural origin and ignoring the fact it contained far more dirt than found in your average freezer), and could only be retrieved through painstaking 'expeditions' to the polar south, carved fresh from the ice.
Global warming made this new commodity even higher in fashion; everyone believed it would soon be gone from the face of the Earth. Who wouldn't want to say they'd done something their grandchildren will never have the chance to do, and savored the rich flavor of the Ice Caps?
Despite this being an obvious scam aimed at the foolish masses business was booming, and there was no doubt that the ice was indeed authentic. Not two miles away from the research station was the small 'factory' where fresh ice was cut from the ground in limitless supply, carved into manageable sizes and then shipped off for further processing in Norway itself in large freezer ships.
As the most prolific traveler in the Holmann family the task of inspecting their new acquisition naturally fell to Ingrid, who was more than happy to step foot on one of two continents she had never before been too, the final being Australia. Being on good terms with the local researchers she was allowed to come over to see the station for herself, quite able to hike the distance in her surprisingly warm outfit- she could handle the cold on her legs, and it wasn't too bad this time of year.
It's just her luck as well that there'd be students from Pacific here, and the white haired teenager begins milling with the crowd, talking to some and looking for familiar faces.
Interestingly, one of the pitches they made to Howard here was that the ice indeed had a really interesting taste in drinks. Too bad he hasn't had a chance to sample (or spend way too much cash on) this supposed luxury, because most of the teachers that came with him are basically having a cozy time inside while he's stuck doing extra work he's not even being paid for.
Such is life. It's really more good fortune that he actually knows what he's doing, given he doesn't work here to begin with. If nothing else, Howard Rust is very good at what he does.
"Remember, you guys," he clears his throat, his gravelly voice interrupted by a fairly loud breeze, "y'don't want to... to be out here too long, okay?" So says /him/, who has already been out longer than he ought to in dress that is a bit too light for this kind of weather. Working through bad weather in your youth kind of hardens you up to that sort of thing. "Frostburn is, is some really serious stuff!"
He doesn't think anyone's listening. Maybe they're caught up with the novelty and beauty of it all. Or they're enjoying the curious penguins just kind of visiting. With a pop in his knee, the aging teacher turns his head over to the gossiping crowd. Some of them probably do know of Ingrid, some might be wondering why she's wearing so little around her legs in this weather.
He squints a bit. She doesn't look like a student, but he can't help but think he's... maybe seen her before on TV or something? Huh. Might as well ask while he's still able to speak.
"H-Hey," he coughs once, "can I, can I help you?"
Ingrid might have brought plenty of free samples if it weren't for the fact anyone with a vaguely blunt object could obtain as much as they wanted while they were here just by beating the ground with it. Besides, specialized ice is more of a hot weather thing.
She ends up running into a girl she'd seen before, chatting her up for a while in a most friendly and familiar fashion despite this being only their second meeting, playing down whatever celebrity status she might have achieved through fighting- she probably had classes with people better known than her. Ever so slowly the empath wanders in the direction of Rust, making her way towards him in a very roundabout fashion.
The need for such movements are quickly made unnecessary, however, as the man speaks to her directly, her head turning slowly in his direction with a pleasant smile on her face. "Perhaps you might. I'm afraid I might be mistake, but are you not Rust Howard, of Neo League fame? I must say, I've been very impressed by your skill and ability." She tilts her head slightly, looking somewhat puzzled. "Though perhaps I am wrong. You don't have much of a family resemblance to Rock."
Oh, she heard him, good! Because, uhh, not only does she not look like she's one of the students, but... she's not wearing that much on her legs in this cold, seriously? It boggles the mind just a bit, in a week presently marked with the haze the familiar and repetitive maintenance checks here and there.
"That's, uh, that's me. Er, thanks." He says as a large bit of fog escapes his mouth. Fame? He only had four matches. They were nail-biters, sure. But then that war happened and... well, it's never been the same since, has it? "Actually, 'Rust' is my family name. First name's Howard." He gets that a lot, he keeps signing forms with 'Rust Howard' because that's how they do it in Japan.
"I'm not, not related to either of 'em, Rock or... Geese." That name's a pretty weighty one to say in the aftermath of all that, but it does ring true that he has no resemblance to either one of them physically.
"So," he clears his throat yet again, his throat already feels so dry out here, "what can I help you with?" Autographs? That'd be kinda novel, wouldn't it.
"Oh, well that makes much more sense then. You don't really fight like them either, but I am glad for that- too many and it would begin to get very old. And besides, it's quite exciting not truly knowing what to expect before going up against an opponent." Ingrid makes a soft, pleasant laugh before adding, "When I first entered the professional circuit I intentionally refused to study my opponents beforehand so I could enjoy the thrill of not knowing what to expect. Can you imagine? It can be foolish to be intentionally naïve, but also quite fun."
Yes, he very well could have seen her on the TV, and being in fighting condition might go a long way to explaining how she can survive the cold so easily. Then again, it isn't as if she's wreathed in flames to stave it off- some fighters could actually do just that if they wished. "Well now, let's see," she hums a bit to herself, "If you wouldn't mind, could you indulge me a little on how you became a fighter? I'm sure I've never met anyone quite like you, and though I don't quite collect personal histories I'm always very curious about why people have decided to fight for a living." She pauses, "Though I see you do keep an honest day job on the side. That is also very admirable, I'm not sure many fighters would."
The middle-aged man scratches the side of his head with his left hand as she chortles about not knowing what to expect when going up against an opponent. Is this about to be a formal challenge or some such, all the way down here for him? He's not sure what to think (even if it is, ultimately, a misconception on his part).
"Huh?" He raises a brow at the request to talk about how he became a fighter. "Oh, I, uh, sure, one sec," he looks back to what he was just working with. Ehh... he's been out here for next to no benefit other than possible brownie points (or preventing the possible loss thereof), it is kind of a dull day otherwise. At least the kids aren't getting into hilarious misadventures. He doesn't know what his day would've been like if that troublemaker Luc was around throwing that blackish-blue stuff everywhere.
"Thanks," he adds to the bit about him keeping an honest day job 'on the side' when, arguably, the short time he fought in the Neo League was more 'on the side.' Of course this thanks is ironic when he's now consciously choosing to slack just a tad, shoot the (Antarctic) breeze, that sort of thing. He clears his throat again as he turns to face Ingrid once more, reclining against the thing he was just working on. "Uhh... well, I've kind of, kind of always wanted to in my youth, pretty much. Used to get into a lot of trouble in school with the, the other kids." And what did he do to them? It's probably easily implied. He rubs his forehead with his left hand a little. "Lots of stuff happened along the way, uh, some of it's kinda... kinda faint now. I haven't done any of it since... since that invasion." He's pretty sure anyone would know which one he's talking about!
"I see," She responds with a smile, holding one arm across her stomach and gripping onto her opposite elbow, the hand of that arm twirling a lock of hair idly around a gloved finger, "So it was a childhood fantasy come true. I'm happy to see you were able to follow your dreams, Mr. Rust. There are very few people who can claim to have done so, especially when it comes to any measure of success in the fighting world. You must be very passionate to have come so far."
The mention of the invasion sobers her some, and it's with a grave nod of her head and a slight loss of that smile that she speaks again, "Yes, I admit that I have been quite absent since then myself. But if you care to take the advice of a girl half your age, I would suggest returning to your dream. Now is the perfect time. Things are starting to return to normal, and though it might seem crass, what the people need now is something to help them forget. They need entertainment and excitement, things to return their lives to how they were before that horrible event." She smiles again, enigmatically, "I can't claim to be completely altruistic in my intentions, but fighting is the worlds chosen sport, and if I can ease the suffering of those who have lost from what has happened even a little I will embrace it as fully as I can."
Come so far? He was kind of a middling success, if even that - his first real victory was against a young girl who had just entered organized fighting proper. The one after that, Cherry, was certainly established - but he still had close to twenty years on her. His very first bout against the energetic bomb Zach Glen was a real nailbiter, but he had a rough time with a real life Mossad agent. To say nothing about the stuff he encountered during the invasion... he's not even sure why he's still alive!
Nonetheless, he nods along through that, unsure what to make of her really forwardly friendly nature out in the middle of the least hospitable climate he's ever been in, and trust him there, he's been in meetings with some seriously stuffy suits. That's an unhealthy climate for anyone!
"Hrn." He grunts as she goes across the suggestion to return to his dream, casting an eye at the various students still outside. A few of them have started to head inside. He watches them to ensure they're not just heading off to parts unknown while Ingrid discusses this, holding up a finger for a brief moment. It's not long before he can give her his full attention again.
"Well, that's... that's uh, noble of you." He says, more than a little floored at this suggestion following her praise of he lives his life. Who is she, anyway? Maybe he will never truly know~
"You've, you've heard of how I hurt my hand, right?" He raises his right hand. It's in a glove that's a little thin for the weather.
"It got messed up somethin' fierce. My grip's not that, uh, not that good any more. It's kinda hard to hold onto Ol' Rusty," he pats the inexplicable rusted length of pipe that he has decided to bring out and along with him even now, which resides through a perfectly good toolbelt pocket on his left hip that had to be torn out from the bottom to fit it.
A small frown and another grunt. "Not gonna deny that, that I... y'know, miss it, but the stuff that happened, it's, it's given me a good... what's the word, uh," he snaps his left hand, "appreciation for what I got, I mean. I got my job, the kids're okay. Life's been... life's been pretty good since. Been tryin' to, to keep in better shape than I have, and," cough, "'scuse me there, sorry, uh, where was I."
Ingrid turns an eye to his hand, looking at it a little and observing it as best she can through that glove. "I see, so you were injured in the fighting," she responds, not meaning the League combat. She considers this quietly for a moment, "I believe, and I appologize if I am being overly familiar, that you, Mr. Rust, are the sort of person who would do best overcoming such an obstacle. You don't seem like the type who has made it to where he is by having things easy. You have the sort of character that takes years of struggle and adversity to create."
The blonde looks back to the students as well, giving a friendly wave to the girl she spoke to earlier as she heads inside the research station for warmer, less breezy places. A moment later she returns her red-eyed gaze to Rust. "Pardon me for saying so," she begins, her lips curling into a humored smile, "but you're not from around here, are you?" Her head shakes gently from side to side, "No, you are like me. You moved across the world from your home to pursue something, didn't you? And as nice a man as you seem, I cannot imagine that was equipment maintenance for students." She motions her hands towards what he was working on before they began to speak, the lock of hair twisting free as she does.
"If you had truly felt that your new career was at an end, would you not already be back at your home? Surely you can recognized that you have accomplished much- but is that enough? That you are here, suffering this landscape, assures me that isn't the case." She turns her head slightly, watching down to the rusted pipe he's known for. "No, I don't think an injury is enough to hold you back. You are made of stronger stuff than that, you just need to admit it to yourself. Has this time away from the enjoyable fighting not reinvigorated the drive that brought you to the fighting circuit in the first place, now more than ever? You truly are better than throwing in the towel now, Mr. Rust. It is my opinion that you owe it to yourself, even more than those who seek entertainment, to continue to fulfill your dream. All you must do, even if it may hurt, is to grasp it." Is she just full of shit, or does she somehow understand something deeper..?
Overly familiar? Almost too familiar, it kinda sorta reminds him of Ms. Kovit, wherever she's been these last few months. She was the kind of person who was really good at finishing his sentences or speaking the general idea of what was on his mind (little does he realize, the human male is kind of a predictable creature).
Ingrid's pause to wave to one of her friends gives him a moment to roll his left shoulder a bit with a small frown. There's a disconcerting 'crack' noise that comes from it, already feeling like the great cold here really wants to make him stiffen up like some kind of corpse. Or wax statue. Or some other metaphor.
He shakes his head at mention of not being from around here, who the hell would want to live out here? There's nothing but... ice, and penguins, maybe a couple of them seals. Also that fungus-plant stuff, what did they call it again, lichens? None of which are relevant to his interests. (Ice aside, ice is nice.)
Before he can speak up about where he's from, she continues about moving from home to pursue something. (Men are predictable!) He follows where she's pointing... yeah, that thing he was working on, to say his time as a part of Pacific High /hasn't/ been full of incidental 'oh hey go fix this Mr. Rust' episodes would be a flat out lie. This one would probably take the cake, though, all something like 'hey dad, they invited me to Antarctica so I could maintain some stuff at no cost to them because my co-workers are assholes and pin the blame on me if something happened to any of the students down here.'
However, being a schoolteacher for a really wealthy international private school is also a very well-paying job. It may be the most he'll ever make by legitimate means - he's probably not what you would call the smartest man to walk the Earth, and the global recession has been particularly nasty. He'd have a hard time finding another unless he did... freelance construction stuff, and one man can only do so much!!
"Ehh." He's kind of at a loss for words when she's throwing inspirational speech at him, actively encouraging him to come back. Someone he might have only ever seen in passing while channel surfing! She admitted her reasons are not completely altruistic. His head bows a tad, if because there is a penguin that has suddenly found Ol' Rusty fascinating. He moves from his spot to try and dissuade it from reaching out and trying to grasp the hollow battered cylinder full of tetanus and rot.
"Well, uh, hey, stop," he tries to command the penguin. "That's not a fish." He looks back up to Ingrid - well, to the extent a guy just short of six feet on roughly the same elevation level as a small girl of five feet can really 'look back up' to someone. "I'm, I'm gettin' up there in years, gonna be forty some months away, and, agh, if you're hungry why're you even... even all the way..."
Tired of the penguin's heckling, his right hand struggles to grasp the makeshift hilt of Ol' Rusty (defined by whatever side is pointing up top at the particular moment) and draws it clean out of the toolbelt to hold it high above the penguin's reach, as though making a triumphant posture.
The subconscious gesture probably could speak more volumes than whatever sorts of things might come out of his mouth next.
"There you go!" Ingrid responds enthusiastically, pointedly ignoring the penguin that had been trying to snatch the tube away. "My, I must be a better orator than I'd imagine myself to be," she responds with false hubris. "Edvard would certainly be proud." The blonde casually flips her hair back over her shoulder, which had begun to creep inexorably once she began toying with that first lock. "Forty is the new Thirty, Mr. Rust, and Thirty is the new Twenty-Five. If you can grasp your dreams as firmly as you grasp your rod now then you will surely have many years of athleticism ahead of you." A vague teasing smile forms on her lips, "And though I am no doctor, I imagine things would look up even further as you got into better fighting condition."
Now looking down to the penguin, she crouches down low, maintaining one arm on her knees for balance, and reaches a hand out to the wild bird. The creature turns to face her and takes a pair of timid steps closer- and then suddenly bolts forward, causing her to shout with surprise and fall backwards onto the snow covered ice, the penguin boldly dipping it's head into one of her pockets and thieving a plastic wrapped chocolate protein bar before running away, squawking loudly. The small teenager blinks widely while sitting on the ground, her tailored clothing and hair jumbled in dignified disarray.
Mr. Rust isn't even sure what the penguins are doing this far into the continent, unless there's been a bunch of people giving it handouts lately - something there was very strict instructions not to do. But it does beg the question as to why Ol' Rusty would even look like food to begin with!
"Huh? Whaddaya m-- oh, naw, it's," he stops when she continues on after the dramatic hairflip about how 'forty is the new thirty' and it really makes him wonder, just how old is she really to be speaking like that? She doesn't look like she's any older - if she is, not by much - than any of the other few students still milling about. It's somewhat mystifying. It kind of reminds him of Marisol's tone, too, trying to lecture him about life's lessons when he's twice their age. Maybe the two know one another?
"I dunno, I mean... I used to be into that whole 'chi for health' thing back when I was somewhere in my twenties, but--" The penguin scampers off towards Ingrid. He's about to form some sort of command over his superpower of Being A Responsible Adult(tm) about personally handling the birds when, all of a sudden, it just bowls her over and takes something out of her pockets. Sure, that might be amusing to a few passers-by but she's wearing very little considering the weather and raw contact of skin to ice in /this/ weather is no laughing matter!
"Whoa! Whoa... whoa." The older man is much too slow to really give chase to the penguin besides, taking a couple careful steps towards Ingrid as to not slip onto the ice himself. Whether she notices it or not, he kind of has a tough time keeping Ol' Rusty in his right hand when he tries to kneel down and pick her up, settling for sticking it under his armpit instead as he stretches a hand out to her.
"Can't have anybody sitting on that ice 'n snow," he comments. "You okay? Uh, probably should get you indoors, or somethin', don't want that to get frostbitten."
Ingrid shakes her head in agreement with him, "Oh no, especially not that!" she replies evenly with a straight face, emphasizing the last word of her sentence. She delicately reaches a hand out and places it in his as he offers her help, "Thank you, Mr. Rust. I see that you are as chivalrous as you are determined." She then pops up almost instantly back to her feet, seeming to be pulled up by his help but giving the only the tiniest tug upon his hand, as if all of her weighed no more than a pound.
Immediately upon returning to her feet she releases his hand with her gloved one and begins rearranging her hair and clothing, quickly putting it all back into order. "You are quite right. This cold is only a nuisance, but it would be a shame to let it get the best of me." She turns and begins to walk towards the entrance to the interior, pausing midway and turning back around, her crimson eyes settling upon the machinery he was working on before he spoke to her. She offers a pleasant smile, "It would also be a shame for it to get the best of you, would it not?"
A lot of people Ingrid's age probably weigh as a feather to this guy. He's not nearly as tall as some of the more infamous brutes but he's about as thick as any one of them. Or, well, as thick as any male fighter, nearly all of them seem to be humongous.
"Well," he clears his throat again, this is probably a sign he should head inside, warm up, maybe get something to drink, "it is... it is kinda... cold out here." What an understatement! Far from the worst Antarctica has to offer but still not the kind of temperature you'll want to be out here casually on. Maybe they should've done this trip thing about two months sooner, where it might've been above freezing for a time.
He casts a glance over to the other kids while Ingrid fusses with her appearance. The rest of them seem ready to head inside too. Given how numb his nose is starting to get... he's pretty much ready to agree with her when she talks about it not letting it get the best of her. Or himself, as she adds.
"Y, yeah, I get you." Would she even be really allowed inside? He is unaware of her relationship with the researchers here, but, he thinks he can make a case for letting her in to cool down on grounds of 'dressing like fucking summer below zero' and he would reiterate he's talking about Fahrenheit and not Celsius and... really, he knows he himself treats rain and stuff like triviality but this is one of those things you'd be swapping stories at a bar over.
"I'll be with you in a, in a second, all right?" He calls back, presuming she might run into difficulty getting inside as he starts fumbling about trying to get Ol' Rusty back into the proper toolbelt pocket the whole way back inside.
Ingrid laughs softly, "Yes, it certainly is. Extremely cold, but luckily not terribly worse than I grew up with in Norway. I imagine if I'd grown up anywhere much further south I would have rushed inside the moment I arrived." And despite her acclimation to the cold via an entire childhood of frigid winters, she's certainly not immune. A nuisance she may have called it, but should she give it much more time it's going to be a problem.
"Very well. I will see you inside, Mr. Rust, but do take care to be swift- not for my sake, but your own." The blonde smiles to him once more, and then as he begins to get his tube back into it's proper location. She walks over quickly enough to the one manning the entrance and after only a few words is admitted inside, giving the heavily dressed man a friendly thank you and smile as she steps past.
Log created on 14:56:46 03/11/2010 by Rust, and last modified on 23:12:12 03/11/2010.