Description: Fei Long arranges to donate shop equipment to several Southtown schools. He also meets and spars with Howard Rust, who learns that Fei Long is quite accustomed to being attacked with a blunt object.
Well, this is a wholly productive day of 'being giddy about an invite' and 'not actually being terribly productive on things you're paid to do.' One Howard Rust's ear sure feels ready to clock in for the night after eating lecture after lecture from locals and the principal about how important some of these upcoming festivals are for the school's participation, and how it's important he actually buckles down and gets to work on the things they need him to do (read: everything) for it.
Yet, every sign points elsewhere, even inside what is technically his classroom despite regularly bringing his class to other parts of the posh campus for daily lectures. At least, when they aren't going over pointless filler the standard curriculum forces him to teach. This week's been full of that. On one side of his desk, a stack of papers he should be grading. On the other... the open letter which does not warrant the seven hundred forty-seventh read he is giving it. The previous seven hundred and forty-six times should have been enough. This is not the case. He's even neglected to have a single drop of coffee from his thermos today. This would be the first day in years he has not had a single drop.
The local halls are relatively quiet in the after-school hours, most of the students gathering for an American-style football game going on this afternoon in which Roy Bromwell, once more, will likely be dealing the visitor team a sound defeat. (Guess who forgot about a few of the flickering lights for the board? If one can't guess, they'll know by the time one of the coaches come yelling.)
With a loud exhale, one Mr. Rust brings the paper closer to his face despite not having any particular problems with his eyesight. It is as though he is trying to commit every single fiber of this paper and its contents to memory down to the millimeter.
Without having to look after any problem students in his own classroom, he is perhaps due for some other sort of distraction as the clock ticks on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon.
The unremarkable afternoon is broken by the sounds of a number of people in a group walking down the halls and talking. The footfalls of the man in the middle of the group fall softly, but the rest do not. Rust would recognize several district-level administrators for several areas of Southtown, coalitions public and private. There's also one of Pacific's overseers. Rust might also recognize the man striding smoothly with the group: international action and physical fitness star Fei Long. He's dressed in a slightly more flamboyant suit than the professionals with him: his is a dark, navy blue suit jacket and slacks, his shirt a blaze of vibrant red. Naturally, there's no tie. Simple, Italian-looking black leather shoes slip onto each of Fei Long's feet.
The little convoy doesn't seem to be headed for Rust, per se, but rather his classroom. The shop machines and facilities. The quiet talk is mostly from the school employees, discussing various new devices and deficiencies. Fei Long nods along with it, the powerfully muscled, if not precisely /tall/ Chinese film star and Hiten-ryu expert speaking in a quietly intense, yet rather warm voice, "All of that will be for you to decide. Just be certain it is wisely, these schools are especially important."
It's rather easy to conclude from the banter that there's a sizable donation expanding the shop departments of many Southtown schools recently hit by economic hardship. Even the opulent Pacific could use some new machines, when the funds are - apparently - entirely focused towards the various shop classes, go figure.
At least one of those voices of people talking, that's a voice that strikes fear in the entire Pacific staff. If you hear them in earshot, there's an inspection going on - and the chance that someone might be losing their job. The voice of that particular Pacific overseer. Rust knows that voice so very well.
In a fit of complete paranoia about his job security that tsunamis up against his general excitement and (should one dare declare) unhealthy obsession with that letter, he slaps it down on the desk and tries to figure out how to look busy.
An instinctual part of himself fears it's too late when the talk draws ever closer. It feels like they're about to walk into the door and take up the rest of his evening going over his current job security. He grunts silently at the thought of Mr. Marshall having his way with words around them. How much he /loathes/ that man. How much he loathes that...
He looks up when the talk is a bit clearer about donations. There's hardly any mention of complaints or angry shouting in that mob of voices. Anxiety takes a slow turn into curiosity when he sits up, subconsciously taking the letter in his hands and folding it somewhat nervously. Standing up takes a bit more of an effort, a stiff knee crackling in protest. He should get with Nataya about that yoga class thing again sometime, he thinks.
By the time they're in the classroom or just around it, Mr. Rust's standing straight up and keeping his hands (and the letter) respectfully folded in front of himself. He bows his head as is generally proper around these parts to the gathered.
"Ah, hey... gentlemen." He collects himself best he's able, his voice gravelly and tired from a long day of talking and occasional yelling. He should carry bottles of water around him more often for situations like this. "I, uh, if I'm not mistaken I heard something about a... a donation?"
There's something really familiar about that well-built Chinese man, he's sure it'll come to him when he realizes it's him - the movies admittedly make him seem a fair bit taller than he does in real life! It'd be hard to imagine someone like him strolling along here.
Apparently a bit tired of the business end of the explanation, Fei Long waves one strong hand, "I'll send over the contracts and details tomorrow, you can get back to us. I'm just going to take a look around, if you don't mind." There's a few nervous glances, but it's unlikely anyone's going to /object/ to him. Rust gets a couple nods, and a brief introduction, though it's addressed to tell Fei Long who Howard Rust is, rather than the other way around. Still, they do address the action star by name before moving to take their leave.
"There are many fighters in this city. Many grow up here." Fei Long observes, moving over towards Rust, and apparently deeming not to answer his question. ... or is he? "They need to learn to create, as well. Your department, I believe, Mr. Rust?" There's a wry sort of smile that may not quite fit the situation, or the words. Like he knows a secret.
There is always going to be a bit of nervousness under the collar whenever Howard Rust is in the company of that particular overseer. Nonetheless, the basic pleasantries go by with the usual nods and such, good, so far nobody's yelling at him. There's that pause when they drop that name. Fei Long... /that/ Fei Long, oh wow, that's the movie star! Holy crap, he's in the presence of a celebrity here.
Sure, the parents of many of the kids here are people like politicians, business owners, and a few magnates but when you have a big name movie star roaming around that's something that draws raised eyebrows.
"Uh... yes, yes sir, yes it is." Mr. Rust clears his throat. "I've been... running this department for a few years. It's not one of the focus subjects of Pacific, but," he gestures humbly with his right hand out towards the equipment put off towards the side of the classroom, "I'd say it's been put to, to good use."
"I've heard a little bit." Fei Long admits, passing over the nervousness rather gracefully, his own demeanor somewhat restrained, despite the friendly notes. "These things, outside the mainstream thinking on education... they are important, I think. And these districts, hah. Quite unusual, hmm? From what I understand, even the teachers are often far more than they appear. You have the spirit of a warrior, Mr. Rust - like many of your fellows, hmm? Though how you put up with that..." A jerk of his head indicates the vacancy recently made by the departing suits, "Is the real mystery."
Fei Long shifts relaxedly, freeing one arm, which telegraphs a testing strike towards Howard Rust, falling far short of landing despite its bullet-quick launch, "Show me something, and tell me more about Southtown!" The Chinese star is rather curious, and hey... it's a lot less boring than talking about what equipment they're going to get with the grant.
COMBATSYS: Feilong has started a fight here.
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Feilong 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Rust has joined the fight here.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Feilong
The teacher in question follows along with Fei Long's statements with a nod at the start, rolling his left shoulder a little to get some of the tension out of it. All that worrying about his job being on the line really does not do good things for his joint health. Or... any specific part of his health, for that matter, but especially the joints. The way he seizes up is something of an ingrained reflex in times of great distress, physical harm, and - more often than not - a combination of both.
"Spirit of a warrior, huh, w-well, I, er," he'd like to humbly pass it off as a side thing even though his right hand - a little numb as it is - clutches that letter as tightly as he possibly can, unsure of how to really respond to that almost roundabout, dramatic way of talking when all of a sudden there is a fist in front of his face.
It is very telling that, even when telegraphed, he doesn't flinch. It is not for superior nerves. He just literally only notices it in front of him a fraction of a second later, blinking at least once as he tries to parse the wording.
"Show you 'round? Well, I could," he offers politely as he mistakenly takes the gesture as a strangely bizarre invitation to a handshake, transposing the letter over to his left hand and reaching up to grip the man's fist with his right in what is the intended beginning of a modest handshake at a seriously curiously close range, "I'm, I'm not a native but I've been a lot of places 'round here last couple of years, uh, where'd you like to start?"
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Feilong
Wait, hasn't Rust been on like... SNF, yes. And involved in other fights! Maybe the teacher's just hung over. Fei Long looks initially confused by Rust's reaction, though he does relax slightly into a handshake, inclining his head politely as when he first noticed the shop teacher's approach. "I'm more interested in impressions, than views, really." Fei Long admits, "At least, at the moment. Whatever's on your mind - oh, and. A spar, if you feel able to oblige."
The action star in the finely tailored suit releases the handshake after a firm reciprocation, and steps back a single step, grinning a bit to himself. "I admit, the setup here is like it's out of a movie, or a game series. You teachers, the talent of the students."
COMBATSYS: Feilong takes no action.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Feilong
It was a good while back. Four fights, and a record split evenly between wins and losses... only for the whole thing to be cut short by the invasion of Southtown. He considers himself truly lucky to be alive... and that much luckier to still have his job even now! He thought those days may have been behind him for good, up until recently.
"Whatever's on my mind, uh... about..." He's trying to fish for subjects when Fei Long asks for them - and a spar? He gives a glance to the desks. He really should have started to move them off to the side about an hour ago instead of staring at that letter. But then he wouldn't be reading the letter, which... is a significant con for that course of action.
The handshake released, Mr. Rust puts up a finger as if to say 'wait a second' as he goes behind the desk at a steady pace. "Out of a movie... game series? If I could, if I could speak off the record for a sec, Mr. Fei Long," he starts as he crouches down with another bit of protest from one of his knees, pocketing the letter at long last as he picks up... a sheath? Nope, it's a toolbelt. A toolbelt with a perfectly fine pocket that just had to be ripped out from underneath to fit a rusted length of pipe through.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm teachin' at... at some kinda spy academy. What with all these kids runnin' around doing that... that flashy fire and stuff. Hell if I know, maybe it's some kinda... military institution for all I know." He turns back as he slowly draws the weapon like one would a shining, well-cared for sword from an ornate sheath. Of which this length of pipe is, obviously, nowhere near that level of shining eye candy you'd use for a dramatic shot. It is downright ugly.
Almost as bad as that combover on his head.
"Yeah, uh, the day's 'bout over, I guess... I got time to spare." Time he should be spending grading but with King of Fighters in mind and the fact HE HAS AN INVITE OH MY GOD I CAN NOT BELIEVE I HAVE AN INVITE TO THE KING OF FIGHTERS he just can't keep that part of him down any more. He just can't. He always loved a good fight, and this man's a celebrity, and god damn it he is going to really hate it in retrospect if they break a desk or tool or something.
"You mind the desks, I'll, I'll mind the suit." He replies as he lowers into a more battle ready stance, Ol' Rusty pointed outwards and away in his right arm as he tries to tighten his grip a little. It's good enough to keep hold of the weapon, the injury to that hand aside, although it's not the steadiest.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Feilong
"Could be." Fei Long admits, after hearing Rust's conspiracy theories. "To carry out the missions no one knows exist..." he manages an overly dramatic, trailer voiceover technique rather easily. "So what does that make you guys? Just the chaperones?" The teasing is good-natured, casual despite Fei Long's lack of familiarity with the shop teacher. He doesn't seem particularly worried over the possibility. Or to buy it at all, for that matter. "Wouldn't want to take you away from your grading." A nod is offered to the stack of papers on Howard's desk, though again... Fei Long doesn't seem genuinely concerned. It's a better pursuit to get a bit of a workout, right?
In answer to Rust's terms, Fei Long tenses, flexes, focuses an immense amount of chi internally. "Hwaaaaaahhhhhhhyyyyyy!!!" He intones, rather loudly, as desks near him lurch outwards in a circular wave. Not hard enough to smash or dent anything, though quite a range goes sliding a bit under the rush of localized wind. "So how many times have you and your team saved the world?" The words, still conversational, come more deeply now, focused with power behind them that was not quite present before.
COMBATSYS: Feilong gathers his will.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|====---\-------\0 Feilong
Those desks aren't the only things that shudder. Sure, he's familiar with how loud Fei Long's shouts can get, he's heard them all the time on TV! But that feeling that rushes through the entire classroom is really something. The thought that the supervisor is going to come back and see what's about to happen is not at the forefront. (It sure ought to be!)
"I, uh, I just work here." He answers quietly and not at all stylishly to the quip about how many times he's saved the world. Sure, he's had his fair share of excitement, hell, he... somehow ended up in the forward base of the invading force, something he'd rather not bring up as he starts to quietly pace around the gaps in the desks.
This is not a man who you'd put in a trailer quipping witty one-liners. He might just be good enough for an ad for... shaving cream, or something. Shaving cream is a good thing to not be terribly excitable over.
For the quietness, the tension is there. Mr. Rust is, noticeably, a bit more alert in comparison to that original greeting, pointing Ol' Rusty forward with his right hand while trying to size up Fei Long's limber, fluid movements even with that suit on.
There may be many differences between these two men, but there should be one immediately visible right on the onset - the sheer fluidity and flexibility of their movements, the difference between a highly celebrated fighter and a stubborn hobbyist about as clear as night as day.
But would that alone be a decisive advantage on Fei Long's part? Mr. Rust would probably come to know within the next few moments as he circles a bit awkwardly around the classroom with two narrowed eyes and at least enough sense to put his back to something that is not expensive.
...Okay, whatever they use to make the walls is probably expensive. Less expensive than the stuff that almost certainly /is/ expensive, though.
COMBATSYS: Rust focuses on his next action.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|====---\-------\0 Feilong
They'll just have to be careful. ... to an extent, at least! Sure, Fei Long's efforts are much like in his movies and shows - he does his own stunts, you know - but nothing quite compares to the home cinema experience of actually facing off against someone. As far as media role, well. Rust probably wouldn't be the best image for any product that has to do with hair. Of course, he could turn that pipe into one hell of a trademark with the right agent. It's never too late!
The tense alertness presence in the Pacific teacher's frame is carefully watched by the similarly taut Fei Long, bushy brows slipping closer as his brow furrows and his eyes narrow. Interrupting Rust's preparations, now, the Hiten-ryu originator slips in on the shop teacher, tense fists moving from his sides to their destination in the barest flicker of a second. Once, twice, thrice he jabs alarmingly quick strokes for Rust. Two to the chest, one for the face. "Yaah! Yaaah! Yaaaah!"
COMBATSYS: Feilong successfully hits Rust with Medium Punch.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Feilong
It's not even the speed, it's the shrill calls Fei Long can bring to muster that makes it just a touch more difficult to focus a defense with. Even if you're familiar with the trademarks, just /hearing/ that in person is enough to startle. The speed in which Fei Long approaches in itself is just a bonus for the Hiten-ryu inventor.
The two shots to the chest are hardly of notice by themselves, beyond delaying what Rust believes an effective defense as he gets his left forearm around chest level to try and ward off that third blow that's surely coming for--
Nope, that one went for the face - getting a much more satisfying reaction of his head moving back with the blow and a loud grunt made a bit worse as he hits his left elbow up against the wall. It doesn't sting so much as cause his left elbow to make a disconcerting popping noise as he flexes it again.
He still has control of his balance, but opts to let himself hit the floor. Being towards this part of the classroom affords him a certain flexibility as he hits it on his back. It may not be a terribly convincing feint fall.
"Hryah!" The balding man grunts as Ol' Rusty, that rusted length of pipe, sweeps across the floor around Fei Long's ankle level. The blow attempts to be spaced so that he strikes more at the extreme end of its reach rather than forward.
COMBATSYS: Feilong blocks Rust's Foundation Layer.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Feilong
The testing series probes Rust's resilience as much as his defenses, getting a measure for his opponent early. Fei Long's been up against a myriad of opponents, and while not as worldly as some, he's familiar with a range of physical styles - and defenses. The suited Hiten-ryu warrior drops low as Rust realigns to sweep his weapon in. Fei Long descends quickly, forcefully, driving the metal pipe away - towards the floor. His right knee seeking to brace the Pacific teacher's arms for just a moment, the left foot seems to swing around almost of its own accord.
Drawing a forceful crescent through the air, those shiny leather shoes whip in for Howard Rust's striking frame, a sudden drop bringing the kick right down on Rust in an abrupt, vertical strike which sees its momentum redouble. "Kyaaaah!!" Throwing his whole self behind even the simple, friendly spar - that's Fei Long. The action star is hardly an overchoreographed poseur. No, the man who created the Hiten-ryu /lifestyle/ fights like a man possessed, fire in his dark eyes.
COMBATSYS: Feilong successfully hits Rust with Medium Kick.
- Power hit! -
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Rust 0/-------/---====|=====--\-------\0 Feilong
"Gah!" That's the sound of a man expertly defended against as the blocking motion dislodges Howard's grip on Ol' Rusty, a loud clatter as it hits the floor and rolls up against a desk leg. The good news is, it's still in arm's reach.
The bad news is, is that Fei Long's not giving him a moment in time to stop and pick it up. The ear-piercing kiai makes the man tense up, clenching his left fist tightly as his body goes rigid in an attempt to halt the oncoming kick with his left hand.
Through a combination of momentum and power alike, the catch doesn't hold. It's more like the kick assists in helping him smack himself with his own left hand, the elbow popping ever so loudly as his own fist strikes his face - his tongue sticking out with one bugged-out eye at just how well he manages to strike himself with his own face and Fei Long's leg between the offending fist.
"Grk, grb. Hrm!" He doubts he'll have the means to pull himself up cleanly with Feilong effectively on top of him, electing to try and - even with the protests of his body about moving so quickly after growing so tense trying to stop the kick - simply shove up Feilong's leg and push him back. Knowing Feilong's incredible agility, this in itself may not prove a great inconvenience or deterrent.
But it should allow enough space for him to pull back Ol' Rusty and get up off the floor. This floor is somewhat dirty. He should yell at the custodian about that later.
COMBATSYS: Feilong interrupts Quick Throw from Rust with Shien Kyaku.
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Rust 1/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Feilong
Gah, indeed. Tied up in the breakneck, point-blank exchange fired rapidly between himself and Rust, Fei Long rides it out with, well, rather extreme enthusiasm - and skill. His leg drops sharply, and does provide a perfectly functional lever with which to shove the action star back. The Chinese martial artist doesn't exactly go quietly, however, "Hah! Not bad, but..." The shop teacher shoves the confident (over?) actor-slash-fighter back, but he leaps with the force.
Landing hard, Fei Long is already crouched, ready... and not nearly as far away as Howard may have wished. Instead, his forward momentum meets a rising, answering kick. Rust would suddenly find himself no longer low, and instead kicked high towards the classroom's ceiling. Knee snaps, foot collides with an alarming, hammerlike force... but the real show is the sudden surge of energy. "Hyaaaaaah!!" The chi roils like molten metal down his legs, licks off his foot like a roaring inferno. Pure flame, surging from nowhere, not touching Fei Long in the least. Rust, on the other hand... is not so lucky. The kick flows into a perfect, graceful backflip, Fei Long landing at the far end of the classroom, knocking a desk back against the wall with his hip and the screech of wood on floor.
"Ploogh!" Another funny exclamation for the loving audiences of the ever-expanding educational furniture demographic (desks love soap operas, by the way) spills out of Howard's bruising jaw as he is graciously lifted into the ceiling, his balding head and - with the leftover momentum - knees shaking the classroom above him.
Mr. Marshall's coffee spills over a very important report. Too bad the aging shop teacher a floor below would not come to appreciate the coincidental circumstance, as he's too busy being blinded by the chi fire that washes over him and - soon after - how his back slams into one desk that topples over with another loud clatter.
To say nothing about the kick that brought him ceiling-ward in the first place that could take the wind out of pretty much anyone by itself as a series of groans punctuates the teacher slamming his left hand down on the toppled desk, shaking his head as he helps himself up... ah, seriously, did I just get smacked around in like a few hits? C'mon, I can do better, he reasons to himself when a more reasonable thing to do would be to wonder what he ought to say to anyone who may come in and watch what all the commotion is about.
"I-I'm good!" He raises his still empty right hand as he sucks in some breath, idly walking the length of the classroom towards Ol' Rusty which is a bit further away now. "The, uh, the desk's not busted, I'd know."
He shakes his head again, trying to get that swimming feeling out of his mind. That guy's good, he's no movie fraud, holy shit, but I got a King of Fighters invite so I gotta be just as good, right, right, he hopes in vain.
COMBATSYS: Rust gains composure.
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Rust 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Feilong
"Fei Long. An honor to meet you, Good." He keeps a straight face and even offers another bow as Rust rights himself, holding position where he is at the far end of the room. There's a patient air to it, non-threatening while at the same time... hardly backing down, himself. The Chinese action star slips out of his stylish jacket, and tosses it to the side, where it rests evenly on the nearest windowsill. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, a deep breath is taken, and by the time he's ready anew.. so is Howard. More or less.
Once Rust finds his center, Fei Long observes, "Now. Let's step this up just for a minute." Because hey, Rust was just /wishing/ he'd say that, right? "You know how to use that pipe, I'll give you that. I've fought against people trying to whack me with a pipe.. god, I don't even remember how many scenes, not to mention the ones where a whole /gang/ had pipes, and knives, and... well, you're better than most any of them." Which is high praise indeed.
Even if Fei Long does punctuate it by all by teleporting the distance between them, it seems, for the sheer kinetic energy behind the charge. Both fists fly forward, one into another into another, lost to a blurring series of strikes that seem inclined to hit Rust approximately in his everything over a series of forceful instants.
COMBATSYS: Rust fails to interrupt Rekkaken from Feilong with Cement Upper EX.
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Rust 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Feilong
The joke gets lost on Mr. Rust. Maybe he'll remember it after all's said and done, still shaking his hand in a fashion that goes more 'I'm good' rather than 'wait.' The convenient time and spacing in which to pick up Ol' Rusty is subconsciously appreciated even with the suggestion - maybe more a playful threat - to 'step this up just for a minute' and the compliment that follows even when, by all appearances, he is hardly measuring up to Fei Long's skill, speed, and strength - if the pacing of the match shows properly. He just nods his head at it, as his head is still fighting off lightness.
What happens in an instant can only be described in an instant, a loud screech of Ol' Rusty scraping against the ground as it spins about briefly in his right hand. Though his grasp is no longer as good as it once was, for that brief instant, he shows a promise of being able to match trademark technique with trademark technique.
A promise that gets broken well after the instant is past, the strikes that go way faster than the eye successfully not only parrying the pipe out of his hand again in a dramatically appropriate fashion - Mr. Rust's lungs empty entirely in a sickening wheeze as each instant strike lands a sure-fire blow, knocking him up forcefully against a wall and his balance loosed completely with the back of his right heel hitting a desk leg, twisting it towards himself as he hits the ground.
One eye shuts itself as he winces. Fei Long's in the perfect position to keep pressing the offense - there's no easy, sure-fire way for Howard to pull himself together and push back before Fei Long does - if he so chooses.
The series of machinegunning punches are accented by a reverberating, repeating kiai, a warcry. Driving Rust back, the final strike is delivered with a violent flex that seems to carry through Fei Long's entire body as his stance squares, muscles tense and vibrate with energy and power. Aware he just narrowly missed eating Rust's pipe, the action star grins momentarily, watching Howard as the teacher seeks to right himself. Rather than pressing the off-kilter older fighter, the Chinese martial artist holds his ground.
"Not bad at all, Mr. Rust. You still have some fight in you, let's see if you can't show me a thing or two, now." The invitation is accompanied by a movement back to the center of the room, more clear of the collateral damage opportunities.
COMBATSYS: Feilong takes no action.
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Rust 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Feilong
"I'm, uh," he coughs, "workin' on that." He punches himself in the chest a bit harder than someone ought to in which to clear out their chest. Nothing feels... broken. Sore, sure. Broken... nah. Sure, this is a friendly spar in the sort of place he seriously should not be fighting /in/ as he pulls his leg out from the desk with a pop in his knee and another from his shoulder as he stands up. His slower recovery might be one of his more serious undoings in a fight.
Flexing his left arm once to make sure it still hasn't gone numb on him even after some of the earlier mishaps, he nods his head. Showing him a thing or two, then. He really should've thought about doing this... say, earlier in the day. Or on a weekend when he /isn't/ teaching so he could've gotten in some more stretches, but hell, that sure didn't seem to stop Fei Long.
Not gonna stop me either, the aging man thinks as he slams the tip of Ol' Rusty into the ground. There's no fancy chi wave projectile or shockwave or anything. It seems a pointless gesture entirely by itself, until he pulls a handstand while balancing on that busted up old pipe in a rare show of acrobatic potential. He's not going to be able to hold it for long, it's already looking to tip towards Fei Long.
That's the point! With a tiny small hop forward over a desk (barely), Mr. Rust leads with a forward kick that... threatens to come up a little shorter than he intends, but nonetheless lands with a successful - if not graceful - crouch if undeterred, pointing Ol' Rusty behind himself almost as if he were anticipating something more.
COMBATSYS: Feilong dodges Rust's Crashing Down.
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Rust 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\0 Feilong
"Hah!" Fei Long seems immediately pleased at the sudden display of acrobatics. ... even if he's not /about/ to stick around at Rust's landing site. Instead, the Dragon of Hiten-ryu bolts suddenly to the side, sprinting out of Rust's target zone, and then a little bit. It'll force the elder teacher to realign his focus as he does land, not quite as intended. "Definitely strength here." The action star intimates to himself more than anyone.
"Looks like you do have some tricks left, Rust. Whether it's a secret project or not, it's good that you're here with these kids. Even if it does take two or three of us to keep some of them in line, I bet." The actor cracks a grin, and then his face shifts back to more serious. Once again rejoining conflict with the Pacific teacher, Fei Long launches out in a quick triple strike series that seems to come all but all at once, once launched. A left, extended straight joined by a right cross and followed through with the left in a jaw-ringing uppercut.
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Feilong's Fierce Punch.
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Rust 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\0 Feilong
Oh man, don't remind him about keeping 'some of them' in line. When a surprising portion of the student body - or at least the ones he seems to keep running into - displays fighting superpowers, it's hard enough to intimidate them into compliance beyond the promises of detention and bad grades.
It's even worse when you are probably the only adult on campus truly capable of putting up something that may be considered a decent fight. But, somehow, he's endured these last few years. Still here, still has a job... still occasionally dealing with angry rich parents who are wondering why their child flunked his class.
His day job is not an easy one.
What's also not easy is reacting to how Feilong decides to dodge to the side and not any further back, forcing him to try and turn to face his sparring opponent with that little cracked, knowing grin of theirs. It's too late to put up an effective defense by the time Feilong comes on moving in.
Teeth clench. The straight left finds purchase around his shoulder, it doesn't move back. The cross makes him turn his head and release a bit of spittle, but he doesn't go down. The uppercut comes.
He bears his own chin down on it. Has anyone ever blocked with their chin before in Fei Long's presence? (Hint: It's not really a block, and don't do it, seriously one could crush a lot of their teeth in that single gesture - these two are trained professionals!)
Ol' Rusty is not pointed back behind himself for long as he bears the pain running through his entire jaw (his dentist is going to ream him for thinking that was a good idea the next time on his next appointment, by the by), a quick swirl of his right wrist to reassert his grip.
It's a necessary step nowadays before he simply thrusts it forward in one single blow in stark comparison to Fei Long's series of lightning-fast strikes. Howard Rust, in comparison, prefers to put it all into one single blow - a lunge eerily similar to that of the classic samurai cliche of a swordsman dashing by and taking down an enemy in one stroke that cleaves them in two.
Except, in this instance, it's a blunt object - a blunt object that, if it strikes, leaves a resounding /thoom/ like a whole wrecking ball against a building scheduled for demolition, Howard Rust's single thrusting momentum enough to see him all but gliding against the classroom floor (and knocking over two desks) if he is not halted right at the point of impact. And yet...
COMBATSYS: Feilong just-defends Rust's Condemned!
[ \\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=======\-------\0 Feilong
Sometimes, the hardest job in the world can be made better with a little bit of welcome distraction. Sometimes, some jackass shows up and keeps you from getting your work done then beats on you in your own office. Life is unfair. Rust's papers don't get immediate attention, because the rod-wielding router-operating instructor's cooking up something rather spectacular indeed. The surge of inner chi, Fei Long feels that. Eyes widen momentarily as Rust puts all that force behind the single stroke. It does indeed resound like a church bell, like a temple gong.
Metal pipe on iron muscle. Fei Long thrusts his forearm into an X-shaped interplay against the teacher's weapon. It rings out loud, washing over the classroom, energy coursing all around them. Outward. Through. That... may well not feel quite right to Rust, despite the sturdy impact. Fei Long's inner chi fluctuates and shifts, much of the force of Rust's stroke heaving into the walls, objects in the room shuddering lightly. The energy also surges within the international action star's tightly honed frame, "Your style... it still evolves." Fei Long observes of Rust's growing technique, slightly surprised.
But only slightly, as his next motion is skyward, leaping to graze the ceiling and then kicking abruptly into a downward-angled flying kick for Rust's face. "Kyaaaah!"
COMBATSYS: Feilong successfully hits Rust with Chokka Rakutei.
[ \\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\1 Feilong
It is a very strange feeling that goes through his right forearm. It's an impact. That much he's assured of, he can see this much even as he is distracted by his hip brushing up against the side of another desk. The way the whole classroom shudders as the force is shifted out evenly about the environment around them.
But there's something about it that doesn't quite measure as he holds the pose for a little too long, remembering briefly moments later that he doesn't have his toolbelt on him to sheath the pipe back on. He dares to cast a glance back with a crink in his neck as Fei Long makes the remark about his fighting style. Just in time to see Fei Long is not presently eye level. There's a small shadow drawing closer.
Why the hell he's gauging Fei Long coming at him by his /shadow/ rather than actually /looking up and seeing him coming down on him/ is a heat-of-the-moment mistake, little to no room to maneuver in the timeframe afforded by what would prove the single decisive strike in their more or less friendly spar.
The flying kick connects soundly with the teacher's face. This would be, were it on film, the perfect moment for a slow-motion shot as his upper body twists against the blow, one eye bulging out with the other shut as a tear escapes, losing his footing and going into a small corkscrew.
He is very helpfully caught by his own desk as the air rushes out of his lungs one last time, papers scattering about as he peers face-down over the edge with an increasing number of coughs. With what little fighting spirit he has left to muster, he pushes himself up off the desk with a certain purpose, pointing his hand at Fei Long for a couple moments as if to say, 'I'm coming back, I'm not done.'
His footing says otherwise, his knee cracking as his rear end falls into a chair and miraculously does not tip over given the speed at which he sets himself into it, doubling over as Ol' Rusty - somehow keeping a hold on it even through the corkcscrewing - is pointed down onto the ground. The teacher sucks in a bit more breath and raises his left hand in an open palm.
"Y-Yeah, that's... that's... yeah." He coughs. "You got me."
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Feilong 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Rust can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Feilong 1/-------/=======|
The wrong time to be looking down is when someone is flying down from above, foot first. That Rust still strives to endure speaks to his nature, that Fei Long kicks him anyway well, kind of speaks to his. The Chinese warrior leaps back, landing deftly out of the flying kick. Hands weave to a ready position as he faces the Pacific shop teacher, carefully watching the other fighter for his planned movements. ... or lack thereof.
There's a laugh and nod at Rust's acknowledgement, "Good workout." He offers, for his part, "I absolutely owe you a drink, when you're done here, Mr. Rust." Fei Long offers a bow to his momentary adversary, moving to retrieve his coat from the window, and slipping it back smoothly over his shoulders. "Do you need some help, er, straightening this back up? ...."
There's something to be said about being just someone's mere workout, but with blood beginning to dribble out the side of his mouth, his teeth aching, and the side of his face bruising up, well... there's not a whole lot of room for humor.
There isn't much room for anger or self-loathing, either, especially as he absentmindedly glides Ol' Rusty atop one of the assignment papers that got scattered in that final blow. Aw, shit, he still has to grade those. What's he going to say about the toppled desks?! Dag nabbit.
"Uh... nah." He shakes his head without making eye contact, rubbing the side of his face. "If you could, uh, do me, do me a favor real fast, um," think, think, what should he tell someone if they found out what just happened in here?
"Uh, if anyone asks what was going on here," he looks up, "we, we found the leafblower." He clears his throat. "It's, uh, it's got a history of stuff like that."
It worked the last couple of times through the years at least.
COMBATSYS: Feilong has ended the fight here.
Log created on 18:38:38 10/13/2010 by Feilong, and last modified on 00:35:47 10/14/2010.