Description: The schools of Southtown. So infamous, so powerful that they were considered a major target in the invasion. The shop teacher Howard Rust decides to ask student Vince LaRose for a friendly spar in an attempt to start picking up more fighting experience. Is a fight between someone who practices their craft every day and someone who hasn't been in a proper battle in a while a foregone conclusion...?
Pacific High. What can be said about it that hasn't already been said? It took months upon months of work, but the campus is more or less as good as fixed. It was an opportunity to improve a bit on the facilities. What can be said? Mr. Rust is a really busy man these days. Even as a schoolteacher he's pretty much a working man, going eight to six where others go nine to five.
Just recently coming back home from a class trip to a research station in Antarctica alongside a number of other staffers as some elaborate scheme to get him to fix some things on the cheap, it's easy to tell when the man's been gone.
It's because there's always, always, always something that needs fixing or cleaning or what have you, and hell, the actual hired groundskeeper has basically been on paid vacation ever since Howard Rust joined the Southtown chapter of Pacific High. (Something this shop teacher particularly resents!!)
It's a somewhat cold day at just under 50 degrees Fahrenheit, overcast with the promise of rain over the next few days. Most of the outdoor athletics clubs are wrapping up for the day, getting ready for a huge game not long from now against Taiyo in some unspecified sport. But when they say 'BIG GAME' they mean 'BIG GAME,' it's probably all people are talking about.
The shop teacher is currently sitting down on a recently repaired bench with a sports drink of a bright color that suggests toxic or maybe even outright radioactive food coloring agents that Americans just can't seem to get enough of. (Fun fact, this one glows in the dark!)
Highschool is all about the social life. Groups and cliques. Fortunately, Vince has a few to bounce amidst. Today, it's the drama club people, gathered to watch the end of practice. Or, that is, a few of the boys insisted on oogling the cheerleaders practice, so the rest of the group was roped along.
Vince? Vince is all about the arts. Not the eyecandy.
The young noble lingers towards the back of the group shuffling along the grass, chatting with a particularly tall male about whether or not Hamlet is a boring play.
"It centers on a prince whose driving action is inaction," Vince purports.
"What about those duel scenes?"
"Peripheral. They-"
Vince spies Rust over on a bench not too far off to the side. "..One moment." He starts to break away from the group to meander towards Rust.
The shop teacher doesn't seem to be doing a whole lot of watching or much of anything... just chillin' in somewhat chilly weather, taking a good sip of that dangerous-looking sports drink every so often. He's a man that's already done a lot work today, probably has a bit more before he can pass out somewhere, maybe channel surf a bit before passing out on a couch. Or another bench.
He does see Vince doing that whole meandering thing towards him. He lazily raises his left hand but doesn't say a whole lot otherwise, assuming he's probably in transit to somewhere else around the field.
But he's not. This kid is heading straight for Rust. "Bonjour!," he greets, unsurprisingly chirpy. "I heard you've been out for a while!" So Vince is on friendly terms with his teacher. It doesn't make him a teacher's pet! ..Does it? ..Probably.
But the rest of the drama kids peer for a moment, then start shuffling on.
"Ahh, just a week... 'n some change." Mr. Rust responds, clearing his throat. There's a certain tiredness to his voice - certainly not hostility! It's a good day in general when he doesn't have to think too much about some crazy-ass criminal organizations trying to kill off entire student bodies or what have you. He's a man who likes having that bit of stability in his life. That routine. Wake up, work, lunch, work, rest, repeat.
He pops his left shoulder a little where he sits. Same creaking and cracking as always. Maybe one day someone should inject mechanical grease into his bloodstream or something and see if it takes care of that.
"How've you been doing?" He asks, as it has been at least a week since he's last seen him out and about.
"Oh, fine, fine," trails Vince. "I merely saw you here, and thought I might check up on you." Though now that he says it out loud, he feels a bit weird about it. So he starts to retreat a little. "But I see you're doing fine."
"Ahh, y'know me. Y'know me, by now." The teacher says as he has himself another swig of that toxic waste. (They probably did give things flavor names like 'toxic waste' back in the 90's, and if the real deal tasted anything like lemon-lime one would wonder why storage of such is a big deal, you could probably get those American people to drink it all.)
"How'd the sub treat you?" He asks, as apparently said substitute teacher went right out the door the moment his plane touched down on the airport.
"Like a foreigner," sighs Vince, coming to a full stop. "Admittedly I am, but I was starting to notice it less." After a beat, he lifts his palms upwards in a modest little shrug. "But alas, some things never change."
"Yeah?" The guy was probably one of those prissy engineering school guys who did next to no real heavy lifting of their own or something, knowing what usual stuff Pacific High brings on board.
"When I was a kid, I got... I got quite a few bad subs in class." Some of them were pretty funny, though. Clearly second-stringers in the educational world, or too old to notice much of anything any more.
"Ah, well..." Vince trails, allowing his gaze to shift off towards his rapidly disappearing group. This gets a small frown from the Frenchman. His eyes zip back to Rust, brow quirked. "Did you work today? I didn't expect to see you out here..."
The teacher gives a nod of his head at the query. When isn't he working?! He's one of the hardest working men on campus, always getting something or another done even in the face of random attacks by irate school-aged girls or what have you.
"'s the life of a, a working man." He says.
Welcome to Southtown.
"Then what are you doing out here? Isn't it a bit cold?" Vince, however, has grown a bit more used to the weather. Besides, he likes the colder breezes. Wind's his thing.
"Worked through worse... rainstorms, stuff like that." There was a lot of that where he grew up. You still came to work even when the weather was bad, where he lived. Both Vince and himself are of entirely separate upbringings, the teacher acknowledges inwardly. The idea of doing so much manual labor and the like is probably unthinkable.
"Actually, uh, I was thinkin' while I was, was down in Antarctica, and... uh, there was somethin' I wanted to ask, trying to remember... one sec."
Vince tilts his head slightly to the side, giving him an expectant look. "Oui? Something I could help with?"
"Yyyyeah." The teacher confirms as he has himself another sip of that disgusting-looking drink. What was it he was going to ask him? Something like... something like.
Oh, yeah!
"Oh. Right, right, right, yeah. Thought 'bout it on the way back here, uh. How've you been doin' with your fencing?"
"Daily training. I cannot allow myself to relax with something so important." He pulls the right side of his jacket back to bring the hilt of his sheathed weapon more into view. Always on him, it is. "What about it?"
Just like how Mr. Rust is always carting around that length of rusted pipe everywhere even though it's been many months since anyone's seen or heard of him hitting someone with it.
"You see, uh." The teacher coughs. "'scuse me. Sorry. What I was gonna say... 's been a while since I've really done any actual... sparring, and stuff."
From his seat, the teacher leans back and stretches back his arms, popping a few bones at a really obnoxious (and somewhat grisly) volume. "That shit that happened a ways back... y'know, I'm keepin' in shape, and, and I'm better about not just... just hitting all the junk food. But if something like that happened again, hell, I dunno what I'd do."
"Aren't you in better condition for it?," Vince asks. But he's gotten the hint. "..Are you sure you want to spar, Monsieur?"
"I've been... y'know, thinkin'. Got a bit ahead of myself here, what I'm sayin' is, I'm thinkin'." The teacher starts to stand back up. "While I was down there, somebody was all... was all, just tryin' to butter me up to hit the Neo League again." It's been quite some time since then, obviously, having to bow out due to injury.
"I hurt my hand during the... the invasion. The grip in my right hand, it ain't what it used to be now." Mr. Rust adds a bit solemnly as he tries to clench his fist without much real effect. "I mean... it's all kinda calmed down. I'm thinkin', maybe I ought to give it another go, but. It's been a while. Like... I gotta stay at the top of my game if something like that, all that happens again. Y'know?"
Vince nods slowly, a little absently. "I suppose. And you wish to test yourself here?" Pause. "Now? I can grant your wish, but only if you're certain about it." Though he's quickly trying to decide whether or not to keep the rapier in its sheath to avoid doing any -real- damage.
Consider what Mr. Rust went through, only in the end suffering a damanged hand along with the usual psychological traumas of experiencing war first-hand. It took grasping molten metal after attempting to grab Igniz's chain-blade thing to deal lasting injury to him. Most knives can't even break his skin. It'd probably take a hell of an effort on Vince's part to even draw more than a minor scratch.
"Yeah." The teacher nods as he rests his right hand on the makeshift hilt of the length of pipe. "I don't want to push to, to a knockout or what have you. Last thing either of us wanna do is put one another in the hospital."
"I agree." Somehow, being bashed repeatedly in the noggin with a length of pipe isn't terribly appealing. But c'est la vie! The swordsmen of his ancestry would just laugh at him if he declined a challenge, much less a -spar-. "Well.. if you're ready, Monsieur." He eases back a little and begins detaching the rapier from his belt, sheath and all. For courtesy's sake, he doesn't know how thick Rust's skin may be.
Mr. Rust eyes the sheathed sword. It's an act of courtesy to prevent injury. He'd be willing to suggest it's okay in this instance to draw it, it's not like he hasn't been... poked or shot at before, but, it's a gesture he might as well meet.
He removes his toolbelt entirely, shaking out all the excess tools and such with some noisy loud clatters before wrapping it around Ol' Rusty as thoroughly as he can. It still wouldn't be kosher as a boffer weapon in a LARP, but it's probably about as soft as it's going to get with what's on hand.
He struggles a little with keeping a hold of it, having opted to do the tying with his currently stronger hand that is still, in reality, his off-hand. Taking it in his off-hand for the moment, he whacks himself upside the head with it once. The wrapped toolbelt blunts the volume of the resulting 'thwack' a bit.
"...This sound good to you?" He asks of Vince with a small turn of his head.
An eyebrow raaaiises at this behavior, but he's delighted at it nonetheless. "Certainly. I appreciate the gesture."
The tip of his capped blade flicks upwards, then pans flat at Rust. "En garde then, Monsieur."
The teacher nods his hand. En garde, indeed! Granted, Mr. Rust here can't call himself an expert in fencing or anything of the sort as he takes the dolled-up Ol' Rusty in his right hand. The grip in his right hand is not very strong now - something that might be usable to Vince's advantage if he can catch the weapon in a clean parry.
The teacher moves away from the bench as to not tempt fate over having to fix it again, because this man hates broken benches with the utmost passion a man can find in absolute hatred, his steps careful, slow, and measured. His left knee does not make this sort of graceful circling any smoother, an obnoxious popping noise resounding somewhere along the way.
It's debilitating enough to stop him from making the first actual move - but, even without that particular handicap, Vince is almost undoubtedly possessed of superior reflexes to the larger, older man.
COMBATSYS: Rust has started a fight here.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Vince has joined the fight here.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Vince
"D'accord..."
Vince's eyes narrow slightly, then an impish grin touches his lips. Suddenly shifting forward, he lifts his left hand into the air in a sudden, sharp slash at.. nothing. It does, however, suddenly manifest that short distance ahead of himself at Rust's face in what might feel like three claws raking through the wind - which even appears to physically tear gray slashes through the air before him.
COMBATSYS: Vince successfully hits Rust with Aero.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Vince
The older guy can only really read this as testing their reach and distance. The two of them are very close to being the same height, with Howard only having an inch on him. Their reach is probably about the same, maybe the (sheathed) blade is a bit longer than his pipe.
To say he doesn't catch the cue of some sneaky underhanded trick is pretty much the truth as he leans forward into it, turning his head back and wincing as the wind blows something in his eye. Something... gray. He even swats his left hand at it ineffectually.
"Sorry, uh, something on my face." Since he /is/ in a fight, he doesn't turn around to see if it was some bird or something, unaware of its true origins as he more or less telegraphs his intent to draw closer as he stops his right foot in the grass, leaning forward and trying to jab Ol' Rusty past the sheathed blade into Vince's shoulder.
COMBATSYS: Vince blocks Rust's Weapon Jab.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Vince
But it's good enough for a snigger from Vince. Whether or not it was really a worthwhile attack makes little difference! It... amused him.
The jab of the pipe starts to slip through the rapier's defenses, only to find itself pushed aside with the base of the weapon to let it merely glance off his arm. Vince, in turn, pivots a smooth circle to bring himself more around the pipe's defenses, and thrusts the sheathed weapon's tip out towards his torso in what would equate to a firm jab.
COMBATSYS: Rust dodges Vince's Quick Strike.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Vince
That defensive push opens up a solid opportunity for Vince! The older teacher leans in the direction Vince tries to push the pipe off to in an overcompensating attempt to keep hold of his weapon when he thinks it might fall out of his hand, falling into a crouch.
It's more than a little awkward when the actual attack comes, Vince showing off his smooth fencing movements while the older man is busy getting grass stains on his pants from that clumsy slip - when he said he hadn't fought in a while, he wasn't kidding!
He balls up his left hand in a fist and swings his body a bit to the right as the sheathed sword just barely brushes by his shoulder. Were the blade free, it might've gotten off with a cut on his shirt.
Since he's already crouching and Vince's shot just went wide over him, he does the only logical thing he can think of - demonstrate what you really need in pitched weapon versus weapon battles! And the answer to that, is a good kick.
It's not much of a kick that the shop teacher has to spare when he's crouched low, but he's able to put at least an appreciable amount of force behind a short-ranged sweep against the heel closer to him.
COMBATSYS: Vince parries Rust's Light Kick!
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Vince
The kick comes out, and Vince is honestly taken by surprise! At least at first! But fencing is all about the footwork. He means to prove this, as he turns his foot down to catch the sweep kick on his ankle and snap it into a broad crescent to clear his entire body and ultimately end with what will probably be an awkwardly-seated Howard Rust.
The sheathed blade is drawn back with a quick whirl and chambered at shoulder level. A swirling wreath of gray energy wraps around the length of the sheathed weapon before it's thrust out.
The tip of the sword is aimed to drive against Rust's chest. But in this case, that won't be the most of the damage done here. It'll be from the funneling energy that shapes itself into a lance to pierce through the chest cavity and blast out the back as well.
COMBATSYS: Vince successfully hits Rust with Venteuse EX.
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Rust 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Vince
"Kth!" Goes the older man as the sweep is stopped and, indeed, he's awkwardly seated. His other leg presses against the soft field in an attempt to push himself up, Ol' Rusty and his right hand pressed against the ground as he instead tries to lead his stand - and meet the oncoming assault - head on.
His body tenses in mid-rise, catching the tip of the sheathed sword against his forearm. This should be enough. It would've been, were it just the sword - but the gray energy lances through his forearm and blows out the other side, giving him an unpleasant blast of wind against his face that feels an awful lot like the 'something in my eye.'
It seems a simple block can't stop the young LaRose's most practiced technique, as the older Rust is now being made aware of.
"Gah." He puts on a sour face, coughing once as he tries to suck in oxygen that isn't colored gray and sharp to the touch. His joints are fighting the good fight against his sudden movement, seeing him seemingly frozen in mid-rise as he struggles to look like he might still be able to stand despite suffering only minor injury.
He hates the stiffness.
"Yeah, you've, you've been on your A-Game, all right." Howard concedes as he tries to gather his thoughts and work out his next plan of attack from this awkward position from a somewhat distant adversary.
COMBATSYS: Rust focuses on his next action.
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Rust 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Vince
Vince withdraws from the extended attack into a more defendable position, and his head inclines. "I must. For the honor of LaRose, I must not allow my art to degenerate." The sword is waved from side to side briefly in a, 'no-no-no,' manner.
He opts to lead in with a different attack, however, rather than 'recover' from what some might consider a taunt. His forward heel turns outwards and the young swordsman's body pivots over, thrusting the heel of his other foot out at Rust's torso in a sidekick. "Yah!"
COMBATSYS: Vince successfully hits Rust with Light Kick.
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Rust 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Vince
Well said. A man's gotta have pride in what they do, after all, and this is something Vince easily takes significant pride in - which shows as he keeps his shop teacher on the defensive. Reeling a bit, even.
He fights the tiredness in his joints to get to a standing, ready, and ultimately defensible position when Vince comes moving in swiftly with a potent kick to the side. Mr. Rust lowers his left elbow a bit to try and meet it. It misses the train (but not the pain, maybe it is a pain train).
It gets a little wind out of the man with another oddly stated syllable for its relatively low yield. He himself might be jogging more, trying out some of that yoga, otherwise do stuff to keep him in shape. But fighting, that takes a whole new mindset on top of that! It takes a certain kind of focus.
A focus he needs to get back in touch with.
Leaning forward, Mr. Rust takes the dolled-up Ol' Rusty in both hands and suddenly thrusts with a loud shout - but it's not a direct, striking attack. He tries to get a hold of it around Vince's belt, in a very delicate display of technique to try and wedge it there enough to get a grasp without breaking it.
If he can get that hook in, so to speak, he tries to (gently) hurl Vince off to the side behind him.
COMBATSYS: Vince blocks Rust's Weakened Wrecking Ball Swing.
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Rust 0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0 Vince
Rust has hooked Vince, which gets a surprised little squeakish noise from him. Eyes widened, he peers at it in nothing short of absolute confusion.
Then he's chucked. Whoosh!
But utilizing some acrobatic training, he twists through the air to hit the ground on his feet in a crouch, sliding a foot or two back.
"Well! That was unexpected! But how about -this-!?"
Vince lunges forward from his crouched position, springing through the air in a remarkably graceful poise, only to land in a deep forward stance just before Rust, with his sheathed rapier driving full-force towards the center of Rust's torso. Normally a brutally skewering maneuver, but with a cap on, it's more likely to have some solid bludgeoning force.
COMBATSYS: Rust fails to interrupt Balestra from Vince with Bulldozer.
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Rust 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Vince
Maybe if he put a bit more 'oomph' behind it there'd be less mused commentary and more groaning, but hell - even if he's doing the sort of thing now he wouldn't have been willing to do when he first got here, he's still taking some semblance of care not to put Vince in the hospital. He does distinctly recall the young man saying he has no real talent with 'Judo,' as he referred to it. It's a measured skill, being able to know how to take a fall.
Turning to face Vince on his challenge, the youth springs from his crouched position towards his teacher of all things shop. What happens next may prove... curious, possibly amusing, in retrospect.
With the gritting of teeth, the teacher seems to... sit down in thin air? Ol' Rusty is held in front of him, something like a bar, or steering wheel. What the hell kind of a block is this? His lips vibrate a little as he tries to envision just driving a bulldozer, actually managing to glide forward a little in his makeshift 'seat'.
The rapier meets Ol' Rusty, pushing the pipe and Mr. Rust's arms back as it is pressed into his chest, the momentum displayed of the mighty Balestra overcoming the bizarre Bulldozer as such that the older man falls out of his (air) seat.
Humorously, he rocks back and forth on his back, still in a position as though he were seated, his body tense enough to not want to break out of this posture. It's much like watching a turtle on their back struggling to right themselves up.
There's a loud exhaling noise later as one leg breaks free of the seated posture and just stretches out against the ground while Mr. Rust tries to catch a glimpse of wherever Vince might be post-knockdown.
"That was, uh, that was... pretty good." He concedes, at a loss of interesting things to say to hide that little hint of shame inside.
Vince rises to his full height and whisks his capped blade briskly through the air. Normally, he might be scattering blood droplets. But as it is? He's just whisking a sword. "Merci. A lifetime of training. But keep alert, Monsieur!"
Turning aside, his left hand lifts to the sky.
"Not all of my training involves my blade..."
An avian shriek pierces the air. The overcast sky splits with a tiny pinhole, allowing a clear shaft of light to shine down over Vince. A gray image begins streaking down from the sky at a rapidly increasing speed until it finally comes into view: a slate gray falcon with eyes of onyx. The avian entity swoops in over Vince's hand and arcs in towards Rust, talons extended to ravage him quickly before making another swoop towards the air.
COMBATSYS: Rust fails to slow Spirit Falcon from Vince with Small Thrown Object.
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Rust 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\0 Vince
The world of street fighting is home to many very interesting wonders of technique. People choose such interesting focuses (foci?) for their chosen arts. Even if some never move past that level of mastery or effectiveness that really marks the all-time greats, you can see some really great stuff.
Mr. Rust just watches a boy manage to /part the freaking clouds/ under his own will, or maybe it's just a happy coincidence of Vince reaching up to the sky, and... all of a sudden there is this gray bird thing racing down from the skies with freaky black eyes and holy hell if you told this guy this was made of chi he'd have a hard time believing it.
Fortunately, he spies a screwdriver he dumped out of his toolbelt within arm's reach! He chucks it at the thing in a hasty decision that might've gotten stern looks from the facility as to the cruel and inhumane treatment of animals (that are made of chi).
It comes a little short without any horrifying or humorous consequences other than a clear miss and a nasty gray falcon thing moving just past Vince's hand and then all of a sudden having his way with his face.
"G-Get this thing off of-- gah!" His eyes shut tight with another loud hiss and grunt as he's still laid out on the ground. Man, imagine if this were all on TV. Think about how humorous a headline and/or recap this would be at the teacher's expense.
The falcon quickly ascends off the man to sear back up into the air and towards the cloudy sky.
Vince's upturned hand clenches into a fist, and he then angles the sheathed weapon on Rust. Rather than lead with the covered blade, he pops a rosette loose from his belt into his left hand, and with a quick flick, sends it sailing blunt-end first towards Mr. Rust's noggin.
"Don't lose focus, Monsieur!"
COMBATSYS: Vince successfully hits Rust with Sudden Fling.
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Rust 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\0 Vince
"Focus? I don't got ba--" He is suddenly interrupted by something that lodges itself (blunt end, of course) in his throat, ignorant of the thing that was flying for his face in his attempt to pull himself to... well, something close to sitting up? Anything other than 'still flat on back!'
There is a whole lot of coughing and gagging to be had as he rolls onto his knees, facing down at the ground as he starts punching himself in the chest to dislodge it, the rosette finally being properly expelled into the ground with a surprising amount of force.
Since he technically spit on it, it's pretty much property of Howard Rust. Nobody's gonna want to touch that thing!
"Ah! Ahhh. Agh. Aaaaahhh." These kinds of noises go on for a short while before he forms anything that actually approaches proper communicative dialogue. "Y'know," he holds up his left hand, "I think, I think I can, uh, hand this one to... to you." He wheezes a little more.
COMBATSYS: Rust drops his guard to recover.
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Rust 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\0 Vince
"Very well! I hope this has been beneficial for you, Monsieur!" Vince turns a bit to reattach the sheath to his belt as per typical. "Oh, and you may keep the rosette. A souvenir of our spar, per'aps." A slight touch of a thicker French accent briefly alights on his voice, but he seems a bit too pre-occupied to notice.
COMBATSYS: Vince takes no action.
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Rust 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\0 Vince
COMBATSYS: Vince has left the fight here.
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Rust 1/-----==/=======|
"I, uhhh," cough, cough! "Yeah, I think, I, uh, I think I... I will." The one of the catastrophic combover mutters as he strains to pull himself back up, rubbing his face with his left hand. Sure a lot of things that went straight for his face... but, probably nothing too bad. He doesn't see any blood on his gloves for all that mess. But his chest, that stuff stung something fierce. Whether it's the result of Vince's superior training, or just a sign his advancing age is about to render him yesterday's news...
He hasn't much to say about whether or not it was truly beneficial outright other than anything more of a wake-up call as he lies on his back and stares dazedly at the cloudy skies. Great googly moogly he's not even sure how that one happened. That thing with the bird.
"Uh... hey, can I, uh, can I ask you another favor?" He wheezes while he lays prone.
COMBATSYS: Rust has ended the fight here.
Vince turns back to Rust, finding him on the ground still. "Mon Dieu! Are you all right?" He didn't think he went overboard or anything of that sort! He hurries to his side and peers down at him. "Would you like me to fetch a medic for you?" The question goes unanswered for the moment, but he at least has the youth's attention.
"Eeeehhhh," Howard's eyes wander back over to the bench, motioning towards it with the still wrapped-up Ol' Rusty. "Could I, uh, could I get you to... to bring me my drink?"
That bright toxic glowing mess in a plastic bottle with some really colorful packaging, right there.
"I'll be, uh, okay. Just need a, need a drink." He mimes the drinking motion with his left hand. He was probably a good fifteen minutes or so away from lying down to begin with.
Vince glances to the bench, then back to her. "Ah.. oui. Of course." He hops over to the bench and snatches up the bottle, then hops right back to Rust, offering it out. "Are you... going to stay down there...?"
"Thanks," The educator says in a low voice as he takes the dangerously colored drink and basically downs the bottle right there. If Vince chooses to squint, he might be able to make out some of the ingredients. If he has been up to par on his chemistry, some of those don't sound like good things to put in drinks!! (America is funny like that.)
"Until I, I, ah, get my wind back," he answers tiredly as he lies prone on the grass just for a little while more.
Vince nods slowly, furrowing his brow. "Well.. I suppose I should catch up with my friends.." He starts to ease back slowly. "I.. will see you in class later!" A bright, cheerful smile plasters to his face before he starts to head on across the field.
Log created on 18:40:23 03/14/2010 by Rust, and last modified on 17:02:36 03/15/2010.