Description: Kyokugen Karate is one of the fiercest fighting styles the world's ever known. Forceful, powerful. Its students are exposed to one of the very harshest training regimens to be found. Most don't last long due to injury or, simply put, not having the stuff. A man realizes that in order to aspire to true competition quality - his lifelong dream - he needs instruction. He needs direction. To make that lifelong dream come true, he reaches out to Takuma Sakazaki and - after a chat - becomes his newest student. Has life's hardships adequately prepared him for the pain and suffering that awaits him in pursuit of this dream? One supposes that's for the future to decide.
For all his time in Southtown - a good three years plus change - Howard Rust never had the pleasure of getting caught up in dojo politics. It seems the city's national pastime appears to be dojo trashing even in a post-invasion Southtown, these days, kind of a scary thought. It's one thing to establish the greatest school, sure, but holy hell he's still not sure what to make of old man Gen's visit to this place some time back.
The left side of his face, most of all, still stings something mighty after that kick. He never got to ask Gen if his theory about compacting some huge wad of metal in his foot somehow is true or not, but, luck willing after getting out of work, today he's not going to walk in on another crazy-ass raid. That Gen guy must have a lot of cash on him if he can so casually bust Neo League recording equipment and get away with it.
But maybe tonight will be different, one Howard Rust thinks as he gets out of his truck and rolls his shoulder. He's got a brochure to cash in and a master to meet. Ol' Rusty, his partner in fighting, still rests through a toolbelt pocket on his left hip. His right hand falls upon it instinctively when a part of him, that little excitable part, thinks there might be something stirring up there yet again.
Ah, who knows at this point. Probably shouldn't keep his hand on it unless he gets taken for an invader outright. Taking a loud breath as excitement and nervousness alike somehow finds their way through a slightly jaded 40-year-old exterior, he approaches the dojo. Who knows if they've fixed the busted down doors yet or not from when he was last here, but regardless, he doesn't pause at the door and wait. Head held high, he goes inside with the brochure Yuri gave him in his left hand.
His right knee pops loudly as if to announce his presence. Even he winces at it this time, despite it being a sound and sensation he is very familiar with.
First of all, Howard Rust, the Kyokugen Dojo boasts a very, -very- strict zero-tolerance with regards to ass-raids. Secondly, a stern Takuma might continue to lecture, there is absolutely no kind of excitement at the Sakazaki clan's home on this particular occasion. Instead of chaos and destruction, several "groups" of students fill the Dojo's practice grounds. Bulk-bought lumber is manually (karate) chopped into appropriately sized pieces, (manually) ground into the proper curvature for doors and doorframes, and (tediously) painted and waxed to an appropriate color and sheen. Sweat is as much a component of the wood's luster as is varnish.
Of course it's impossible to miss Sakazaki himself -- for one, he's the only gi-clad person able to boast sitting down. The elder reclines in a summer chair on the porch of the Dojo proper, and holds a beverage of some kind in his right hand. Closer inspection might reveal that it is absolutely a beer. Despite this cush situation, he's hardly in better straits than his toiling pupils - the man's right foot bears a tight, athletic bandage, fully coated, while various burn bandages dress his arms, shoulder, and face. He doesn't look like he's needed to visit a hospital, but it's certain that he's been up to no good recently.
The official story is that he's been lost in the nearest Costco for the last 3 weeks, but nobody really believes it. (CHECK OUT THIS UNRELATED LOG: http://motm.kicks-ass.net/logs/idx/0006633.shtml)
In any case, regarding Rust: Before he's even set foot on the training grounds, a student has run to Sakazaki's place at the porch, made his master aware of the intruder. Sakazaki leans forward, eyes narrowed, a vain attempt to get better detail on exactly -who- seems to have wandered in. Eventually, Rust steps close enough to be well within Takuma's nearsight.
"...Aren't you that janitor? We're taking care of the door situation pretty well on our own."
It's quite the sight, the way the lumber is being handled right by hand. Hell, he could do that himself if he weren't so... shall we say, forced to be proper in teaching his students at Pacific how one should cut would. For the joyless, tedious, hard work the students are doing, it has the entirely opposite effect on this man.
Why can't he get /his/ kids to do stuff like this?! Even with tools half of them hardly have much an idea what to do despite his best efforts. The wealthy rarely choose to get their hands dirty and it often reflects - poorly - off the kids that take up his class at Pacific.
Takuma's voice is loud enough to be heard from over here. It takes the man a couple moments to realize he's the one being talked to, at which point he's snapped out of his partially-formed daydream about his students actually being able to work wood like clockwork without having to ask him time and time again how to turn a machine on or how to hold something or how to read the measuring tapes. It'd be great fun to get them to do this with their own bare goddamn hands and never have to worry about someone cutting off their fingers ever again.
Not that that's happened on his watch. Yet.
"Uh? Oh, uh." The man clears his throat It's been a while since he's had to pull this out. Southtown's an English-friendly town and it's only gotten friendlier with it as time has gone on, that his skill in the language he had to learn before coming here has gone, shall we say, rusty.
<< "Sakazaki-san," >> Rust starts in his best Japanese voice which sounds entirely different from his English voice as he holds up the brochure from this distance away, << "I have come to seek your official instruction in the ways of Kyokugen Karate." >>
The tone speaks entirely of the extremely polite tone that is instructed, and very little of the dialects and more casual manners of speaking that natives around the area would use.
It's not all fun and games when a bunch of (pre)teens are cutting wood. In fact, just as Rust begins his endearingly official treatise to the reclining Takuma, disaster strikes not even ten feet behind the Pacific High instructor! Billy Winters fails to appropriately intercept a thrown plank, driving an estimated six-inch splinter (more like a wood shiv) deep into his forearm. His sparringmate catches him before he hits the ground, and pulls him to the side.
If Takuma's noticed this, he doesn't make much mention of it. In fact, at the moment, Rust holds the entirety of Sakazaki's attention. Something about the teacher's delivery brings an increasingly broad smile to Takuma's face, and this remains there even as the older man's getting to his feet, setting his beverage to the side. His gait is a bit of a limping one, and he's certainly favoring one shoulder, but it's still only a good half-minute before he's gotten within arm's reach of his guest.
"Takuma Sakazaki," he introduces himself, one large, work-battered hand thrust Rust's direction. It should be noted Takuma's speaking English - he understands when a person has a preference, and truthfully can't be bothered to speak much Japanese these days. It's just not practical in the international circuit.
"Welcome to the school. When do you want to start, son? What kind of things did you want to learn - anything in specific you're working on?"
Not more than ten feet from the corner of his eye, the telltale signs of an accident - something he's all too familiar with from his days as a construction worker - captures his attention within that span of thirty seconds it takes for Takuma to get there. He thinks to go over and help with extracting that splinter, but, it seems things are in hand.
He's had something lodged just above his eye before, oh man, he thought he'd never see out of that eye again. Sigh, memories, and regrets at missed attempts at frivolous moneymaking lawsuits (the true American pastime).
His eyes are back on Takuma as he gets in handshake range. It is a weird feeling to be called 'kid' again after becoming old enough to call a significant portion of the population 'kid' himself. He takes mental note of those injuries. That limp. That man's gone through a hell of a lot. Whether they're recent or accumulated over a lifetime of fighting, he's not so sure. He's got plenty to share on his own end if they ever make that a conversation piece.
"Howard Rust," the shop teacher with the bad combover speaks as he extends his gloved right hand to meet Takuma's for the shake. Takuma may find his end of the handshake lacking. His grip is not as strong as someone of Rust's stature and build suggests it ought to be - it may as well instill a poor first opinion of his physical strength.
"I'm, uh," he clears his throat and pats his chest with a closed left fist a bit harder than ought to be comfortable, "'scuse me, dry throat. I... y'know, wondering if you got any opening in the week, after 'bout... 'bout four, five in the afternoon. Maybe weekends, I teach shop over at Pacific."
As if the toolbelt doesn't give away he's a handyman of some sort. Or maybe an especially ugly porno film actor. Both are entirely possible outcomes.
"Truth be told, uh, where would I start," maybe he should've though specifically about places he'd have liked to improve before coming here!! He purses his lips a bit in thought. "Ahh, I've got some fighting experience, been... been doing it as a hobby most my young adult life. Recently, too." He does have four televised fights under his belt in the Neo League straight from before the invasion. The invasion that, technically, ended his fighting career just as it began with the injury to his right hand.
"But I've never... never actually gotten formal schooling, so I was hoping for... y'know, dressing down from top to bottom, 'n go from there."
Rust's handshake is not commented on, nor is the man's awkward bearing, considerable wear-and-tear, or otherwise 'bloodied-by-life' countenance. Students and those familiar with Sakazaki would certainly realize that he's giving Rust -considerable- politeness, all things considered, but it is exceedingly rare, especially in these days, to encounter a pupil that actually reads the damn brochure all the way through.
So, Rust gets a broad grin. "Yeah? I've got quite a few openings, all week. Most of the work you'd be doing is with younger, more advanced pupils, but I try to get down to the mats for the advanced lessons and remedial work. When I can. Busy life, you know." With one (explosive) roll of his neck, Takuma indicates the half-intact KYOKUGEN DOJO Signboard.
He looks back to Rust, and listens to the rest of the man's statements. Encouraging nods here, a satisfied closing of the eyes there, a thoughtful "Hrn," there. It's right about the time Rust mentions 'Dressed down' that Takuma just blithely interrupts the younger man.
"Dressed down, absolutely right. You're lucky I should be recovering my strength right now!" He moves -while- he's speaking, and indeed, Takuma's taking a step back. Hands ball into fists, Sakazaki -lunges- forwads, and throws a brutal (yet standard) straight-chop to Rust's chest!
The students have been quiet for the past forty-five seconds - a look around reveals that they have assembled, quietly, into a broad circle around the two "combatants". These sparring matches are as much instructional as they are inspirational.
COMBATSYS: Takuma has started a fight here.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Rust has joined the fight here.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Takuma's Weakened Medium Punch.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Rust
Mr. Rust nods all the same about busy life. Oh, he'd know, day in, day out with not only the kids, but having his co-workers heap on a bunch of other work because the people who run Pacific cannot be assed to hire a new groundskeeper to actually do the things a groundskeeper does. He's not even paid extra for the overtime.
Still pays a fair bit better than the average educator's salary, though, which may very well be one of the primary reasons he sticks on despite the alarmingly toxic environment.
Most of these kids do seem pretty good. Hell, some of them probably could give that crazy-ass Pacific Resistance guys a run for their money. Probably would be going a round or two with them every time he showed up here, but, most of the kids these days, they can take it. Something he learned the hard way.
"Yeah," he agrees with the interruption around 'absolutely right,' starting to talk as Takuma suddenly moves forward and gives a textbook, powerful blow to the chest. Even pulling that punch, that's a straight chop that could splinter maybe one or two of those logs consecutively.
"Ghk," the man's teeth clench as chop strikes chest but surprisingly little gives way aside from the sudden spreading apart of legs to prevent him from being knocked back more than an inch, heels digging slightly against the ground.
The arm just right there and with enough breath to act, it's somewhat instinctual when he tries to take the extended arm and just whip Takuma behind him. Assuming Takuma even lets him get both his arms on that single arm, the grip on his left hand is noticeably stronger than his right. Maybe the guy before Takuma is actually left-handed? Yet, he still has that rusted length of pipe sticking out of a pocket on the left hip, which is a pretty bad place for it if he is.
COMBATSYS: Takuma blocks Rust's Medium Throw.
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Takuma 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Rust
It's a solid hold that Rust gets, and briefly, Takuma's meeting gazes with the other man. There's a question there - really, more an unspoken statement, and then Rust is working his momentum. Students notably gasp - they don't often see supplicants able to ground their master - but Rust will find his opponent hardly as surprised. Sakazaki hits the ground shoulder-first, rolling effortlessly to a position at Rust's right side, landing in a kneel. A wince is his only outward side of pain, and even then it's all tangled up in Sakazaki's apparent mirth.
"Modest, then!! You're pretty good! Are you sure you need this training at all..?" If Takuma's trying to make a point, he's not obvious about it. Then again, he never really -has- been... karate mastership is a profession that allows and even -endorses- eccentricity in its employees. Takuma's not about to go against the grain there.
His point comes in a driving upwards palm-thrust, momentum coming with Takuma's rise from 'kneeling' to 'standing', and his thrust angled -right- towards Rust's right arm, at the middle of his bicep. This is, if anything, the single least accessible part of Rust's body so far as that left arm is concerned - those versed in the language of combat would realize that this is fully and absolutely a -question-.
Can you accomodate your weaknesses, Mr. Rust?
COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Takuma's Weakened Aggressive Strike.
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Takuma 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Rust
There's a momentary pause in Rust's movement after the throw as his body still soaks in the pain going through his chest, as that was no small blow in itself. It is in itself an almost fatal pause as he tries to bring his right hand down to the makeshift hilt of Ol' Rusty as he slowly turns to face Sakazaki.
It's high praise coming from one of the greatest martial artists of their time saying that a man well out of the typical physical prime is still pretty good. He has no immediate response to the compliment. Does he really need the training? He's sure he does. There's always been quite a bit of evidence to the contrary to him being considered one of the greats, but that's comparing himself to the cream of the crop - he hasn't been in a situation where he's been, say, mobbed by a bunch of well-trained soldiers lately and frankly he'd rather keep it that way. He still has nightmares about that fateful day.
Takuma spies one of his weaknesses right off the bat - he /is/ weak to being approached from the right. Howard is used to blocking with his left side, he doesn't wield Ol' Rusty left-handed - but worse yet, Takuma is keeping the pressure on.
He comes in too fast for him to actually go for the draw, the upward palm-thrust going straight for his right bicep. His right arm jerks away from Ol' Rusty as he clenches his left fist as tight as he can, raising his arm to elect to take the shot straight to the elbow instead.
The sound of palm on elbow is sickening, like a crack. People who don't know the man better may assume that the elbow's been shattered, broken. The problem is, the right arm remains rigid with that blow.
All of Howard Rust kind of does, the slightest movement in his joints met with crackling and rigidity like he's some sort of goddamned statue. Clenched teeth suggest that the shot does not come off as light as it really does, maybe riding high off the adrenaline from the chest shot that just makes him think it stings a bit more than it really does.
He's in a bind. Still hasn't drawn Ol' Rusty, right arm is stiff and rigid in taking Takuma's palm so he can't make that draw. His only shot is to get with the kicks, and even his legs are putting up a fight in trying to move to attack again.
His right leg closer, he grunts loudly as he tries to twist his right side that much closer to Takuma, and cocks his right leg up a little with the appropriate amount of crackling and stiffness from said right leg before he puts it to work, and put it to work he does.
There's a series of low thrusting kicks at the ground near Takuma's ankle, each strike against the ground loud and possibly even threatening to shatter it like this man were going to work with a jackhammer. It bears an uncanny resemblance to one of Kyokugen's trademark techniques. Maybe if it went out and got drunk, then slept with Kim Kaphwan's stomp. Whatever the story on its birth, this man's adopted it.
COMBATSYS: Takuma endures Rust's Jackhammer Kick.
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Takuma 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 Rust
Hit-CRUNKLGHTX
Immediately, Sakazaki's eyes narrow. This is not how the human body works. Years of practice hitting it have endowed Sakazaki with at least this much knowledge. Takuma is rather -very- obviously perturbed, and steps back into a standard Kyokugen posture with notable hesitance. Rust steps in to drop several bombs on Takuma's foremost knee and lower leg - perhaps to the applicant's surprise, Sakazaki simply -takes- the hits.
Every single one of them. Blow after blow rains down upon heavily muscled, calloused leg, and lesser men might crumble beneath its vigor. Sakazaki shows signs, certainly, of dropping to a knee - his leg buckles - but he does not move. He has a purpose and a point in doing what he does. His hands move shortly after Rust finishes that last attack...
Blindingly fast, Sakazaki's taking hold of Rust's extended leg, pulling at it - more to propel *himself* into *Rust* than anything. The master's broad back *SLAMS* to Rust's chest, as much a blow as it is a placement, and the shop teacher will find his left arm brought up and over Takuma's left shoulder in a rough, no-frills fashion. A quick jerk back should knock Rust off of his balance, and then -- well, then the entire world's spinning. Rust would land on his back, Takuma's face before his own, eyes narrowed.
"We're done here. Come inside."
COMBATSYS: Takuma successfully hits Rust with Weakened Ippon Seoi Nage.
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Takuma 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Rust
For a stranger to come out of nowhere and show interest in learning a style, and then appear to be able to hold his own against Takuma - even with pulled punches - may speak as true mocking sarcasm, but there is an honesty with every kick Rust delivers. As a weapon wielder, he damn well knows the importance of a great kick. When you're stuck in a lock, the better, faster kick typically wins. That's his take on the better, faster kick despite his usually sluggish, deliberate movements.
He's only thinking of starting to slow down when Takuma snatches him clean out of it, his left ankle is quick to complain about the sudden twist. Its whining gets to go secondary to Takuma's back as it works where the chop started, the wind rushing out of Howard's mouth with a loud, rather weird scramble of consonants. It dazes him long enough to get the left arm around Takuma's back with another crackling sound from the shoulder, wheezing loudly as he's entirely at Takuma's mercy. He's off his feet, and he spins.
Rust is no stranger to good, hard falls. The problem is that even landing on his back, he lands against the side Ol' Rusty is still sheathed in, making the sting just a touch worse. The straight slam doesn't give him any real momentum to roll to cancel out some of the force and momentum.
All the better to meet Takuma's narrowed eyes. He says they're done here. Initially, he's not sure what to make of it, his own expression blank as he pulls himself up off the ground. His left hand rubs gingerly at his side.
If he was starting to think he /was/ that good, that combination would be a solemn reminder of the difference in skill and ability between the two. Which is, of course, the entire reason he sought him out.
"Ahh... s-sure." Mr. Rust clears his throat as dust gets in his lungs. He passes a look at Ol' Rusty. Didn't even get you acquainted with him, he thinks. Good thing pipes don't have feelings, thoughts, or any need for social interaction with living beings, so this transgression is quickly forgiven. If pipes could forgive.
He follows Takuma inside from about a good ten feet away, catching up or slowing down depending on the aches. He is not a particularly fast walker even in the best of times.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Takuma 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 Rust
The crowd of students disperses, and quickly. Already, children are comparing notes - did you see how Takuma fought even with his foot burned from that Costco grill? What about the new guy? He kicks like Robert. Voices eventually fade, and leave the two older men to enter the Sakazaki household proper.
Inside, Takuma's home is a proper Japanese building, though a particularly worn-in couch is absolutely out-of-place amidst the tatami and rugging. A tousled blanket lay across it, while a "FATAL FURY" cap rests on the corner of the backrest. Sakazaki scowls at the couch, but says nothing - he's more intent on taking his guest further into the house.
Eventually both men might make there way to the back porch - two seats sit there, along with a large, dilapidated (but workable!) hot-tub. The porch has an excellent view of the forest surrounding Southtown, and is a bit more detached from the freeway than the front. Sakazaki indicates a seat - he takes one near it. This is a peaceful place.
"So," he begins. "Tell me what the hell's going on with that arm. Bodies don't sound like that."
COMBATSYS: Takuma has left the fight here.
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Rust 0/-------/=======|
The home sure looks a lot better than his place, that's for sure, the worn-in couch aside. Mr. Rust actually takes the time to get hits boots off before stepping on the tatami mats. The removal of those shoes brings to his attention how much the area below his right leg stings. Kicking Takuma like that, that's like kicking goddamned hard steel. He shakes it out a bit before catching up, not wanting to fall too far behind simply for observing politeness.
The back porch view is breathtaking. For all the time he's been here and around Southtown on various Pacific trips and interest, he can say almost without hesitation that this is the greatest view he's ever seen of the wilderness. It's really great. Relaxing, even.
He almost misses the cue to sit. He does so after a time as Takuma asks about 'that arm.' Mr. Rust assumes Takuma means his right hand. His right hand's got plenty a story to tell.
He pulls off the work glove on his right hand with his teeth, allowing a good view of the discolored flesh going across his palm. An extremely deep injury, and a burn wound. Even with the best care on behest of Rolento when conscripting his sorry ass after that assault on Pacific, that hand wasn't going to recover a hundred percent.
"Y'mean... this?" The first word is muffled due to glove in his mouth, but he lets it drop to his lap to make the second word clearer. "Or my arm? Uh... it is kinda loud." He nods a bit. "They're all really stiff, used to... used to work long hours every goddamned day, didn't, didn't stop when I should've for rest. But, uh... y'know, that other thing I did," he clenches and unclenches his left hand a bit, knuckles crackling.
"Just... when I do that? I get all... all rigid, stiff. Makes my knees, elbows, pretty much everything pop when I try 'n move 'em."
Still kind of stiff now. He flexes his left leg out some. "I take some meds for it every... every morning, night too."
COMBATSYS: Rust has ended the fight here.
Rust's story gets several nods from his companion - it's not the first time Takuma's heard of activity-related arthritis (though he damn sure doesn't know it by that name), and won't be the last. Even so, he winces, sympathetic to Rust's plight. Even so, those crackles hardly bring a wince to Sakazaki's face - in fact, anybody who's watched a video of the Kyokugen master's fights would notice a similar noise from his pre-match shoulder-roll.
"I hear you," he agrees. "Not sure you need the meds - you hit a point with fighting, understanding your body, and you learn to see through the pain. At least, in my experience - that hand looks pretty damned bad." Takuma's not about to dismiss Rust's situation entirely; he fully understands that some people are simply born with gifts, and is not nearly egotistical enough to gloat about his.
"I'm not sure you should fight professionally," he finishes, after some thought. His tone is hardly apologetic. "But I'd be a damned hypocrite if I planned on holding you to it. So long as you're willing to work on your difficulties and work to overcome them, I think you've got a lot of promise. Good control of your body, even if that pipe's telling me you're not fully reliant on it."
Takuma -would- go on to berate Rust for the pipe - really, he would. A burgeoning friendship with Mike Haggar, along with growing respect for the mayor, kind of repudiates that before it starts.
"You understand the training is going to be rough? Kyokugen isn't a 'hobby'. Hit any of the kids out front. They'll break something, but I promise you they'll be back on their feet, fists up, in less time than you can blink. We don't play around."
His doctor would surely disagree on the meds issue, although Rust likes the sound of giving up some of those. Between that and his insurance costs after he first signed up for the Neo League, he's being milked dry month by month. He is beginning to seriously think about finding a way to take up another part-time job, because between that and having to help pay for his dad's recent hospital stay, he's in a bit of a pinch.
The tone behind suggesting he not fight professionally is met with a look. His left hand is already trying to fish through his pockets for something else as Takuma talks. God damn it, he knows he still has it on him, how far down does that thing have to sink, it's already hard enough having to hold small screws and such somtimes with his /right/ hand, and that's difficult.
Even as Takuma compliments him, his mind is on one thing. Show this man why he's still going for it. Show this man why, after thinking it was time to hang up the towel and just enjoy the fact he still had his job and a living post-invasion, that he needs to make this last great grab for his lifelong dream.
He has but one response to Takuma's query about the training. The roughness. They don't play. They don't stop even when they break something. They'll be at you before you can even blink. Which... sounds a lot like some of the students he teaches.
At last, he gets it out. The King of Fighters invite. He's been carrying it everywhere and reading it over and over and over since he received it. He holds it in clear view of Takuma.
"When Southtown got invaded... nearly lost my right hand entirely. I can, I can still punch with it, I can hold Ol' Rusty, the, the pipe there on my hip. I can put a hole in the wall with it. But my grip... my grip's not as good any more. Kind of, kind of hard to hold some things while workin'."
He clears his throat again as he lowers the invite atop his work glove. "Doesn't matter if this training paralyzes me from the, from the whatever down. I had a dream back in my twenties... every day, practiced. All this, learned by myself. I got passed up for somebody else... he retired in his 30s. Thought I'd have to give it up too, went to college... and, and I became a teacher here."
He sits straight up against the chair. "I admit, y'know... kinda selfish goin' in, thinking... this is the city of fighters, might pick things back up? Struggled a lot with... with my job, being out of shape... made a couple of friends here 'n there... got in the League, had four fights before, before that invasion."
He shakes his head. "Y'know, I'm happy I'm alive. Happy I still got my job, got my life... was ready to just settle in, leave it at that. But then this thing came in the mail." He taps it with his right hand. "Someone, someone thinks I still got it, but."
He looks to Takuma again. "I'm forty. I don't got much time left if I'm, if I'm gonna do it. Go for that one last shot... might not know it looking at me, Mr. Sakazaki, but, but you're the last hope I got."
He leans a bit forward again. "I've, I've rolled with a whole lot of... punches. Bullets. That chi stuff. I can take just... just 'bout everything. That's the thing I do. Age, though... that's the only thing. I don't got much time left. This invite, 's my last shot at makin' my mark."
That's all the man ever wanted in life, through it all. That dream of being a great fighter, all the makings of it... and all the stumbling blocks in life to get in his way. "I'll take, I'll take every punch ya guys throw to take that shot."
Sakazaki is not a man given to listening to others blither on about their hopes and dreams, being a man's man like he is. This is personal, private stuff - at the end of the day, people settle matters with their fists, and if they don't, the matter clearly wasn't important enough. Even so, something in Rust's tone touches Takuma, and wins the old master's attention, at least for now.
That attention is won over, completely, at the flash of the King of Fighters invitation. Initially Sakazaki's eyebrows spike into his hairline, but he's quick to hide his surprise. The question 'Who would invite -this- guy?' is thusly politely hidden. The story goes on, and Takuma makes a point of watching the forest, reclining in his seat. He doesn't like making eye contact during these times. It's a bit too... exposed for him.
"This isn't your last chance. Stop talking like that - it's complete garbage. Any man is capable of taking what he wants from his life. Stand up to your hardships, and beat them. Anybody following -my- philosophies will need to understand this by the time he's done." Takuma looks to Rust, now, expression stern, set.
"That arm? It's a problem, but it's a problem you're going to beat. This tournament? Might end you, but you won't let it. The world might be a little too big for you, but you're going to get bigger, and you're going to show it what it's missed. This is -not- a time I want to hear a man accepting his limits and pretending that he's washed up. That's not my way, and it's not going to be yours."
He's angry, but only in the slightest. It's more a warning than a rebuke.
"Talk to your boss about what kind of paid time-off you have. Failing that, figure out if you've got any extended leave. You're going to be in a lot of pain these next few weeks - we're starting with that damn arm."
Who the hell would invite that man, indeed? He's a nobody. Four matches. He lost to Zach Glen, explosive regular who tends to finish fights fast in a nailbitingly close match. He got his ass kicked by the enigmatic Spider. His two wins were against people who, visibly, appeared less experienced. It was Kaida Inoue's debut match when he beat her. Cherry Aguirre had some experience under her belt, but still - he was a big man of some age. Not much prestige could be given off of two wins from those people.
Yet, someone noticed. Someone noticed, and printed that man's name on that invite right there. Someone thinks this man sitting next to Takuma has a legitimate shot at being the King of Fighters despite every reason to believe otherwise.
The stern expression Takuma makes, that is solid. It grabs the eyeballs. His ears, a bit damaged as they are from some hearing loss working in especially loud conditions earlier on, hear them clearly. Rust thinks this is close to the end of the line for him, beaten down soundly by the world and its continuing demands of him. It's hard to be a working man, it's even harder when you are held to very strict standards you may or may not have been fully qualified by educational background to take. It's arguably a stroke of goddamned stupid luck that this guy got hired in the first place.
Takuma claims otherwise. It's not the first time someone said it - the problem is, almost everyone else who said it has been younger than him, not in the same position as he. They haven't been through the same disappointments and twists and turns through his forty year life.
Now it's Takuma's turn, at least a full decade or more past Rust, who's got his own view as one of his increasingly rarer seniors in age and experience. A man who has emerged as one of the greatest of this time, and here, he puts his foot down in the metaphorical sense.
Rust wonders for a moment if Takuma actually /did/ step on his foot there. He wiggles his toes on his left foot... no, it's just stiffness. When he sits around long enough it gets hard enough to get back out, sometimes.
It makes a great further metaphor for what Takuma is saying. Mr. Rust merely nods. Then comes up a new challenge, a great one - talking to his boss about what kind of paid time off he has. His mouth opens a little as he tries to mentally count it in his head. Oh, shit. Could he really...
He holds a finger up to Takuma for a moment and lowers his head a bit. Then he raises it again.
"If I, if I make my pitch right, Mr. Sakazaki... ah, I don't think that's going to be a problem." If he makes his pitch just right, and it's just come to him talking with this guy. The world may be a bit too big, but he's got to be bigger.
Especially if he's doing the job of two people already at his one job. He knows exactly what he's going to say. A rare smirk forms on the left side of his mouth. Oh my God, why did I not think of this sooner. Being bigger for that world, that world's going to have to treat him as bigger on that small scale first.
"Other 'n that, you just... just lay down how much it cost and I'll go from there."
It's something that doesn't really leave you, the satisfaction that comes with making that kind of an impression on somebody. Sweeter still is the fact that Rust is -much- less naive than Takuma's standard customers - spoiled twelve year olds and city castaways are hardly savvy. The old master allows himself a small, appreciative smile, and then listens to Rust muse on.
'Listens', well -- is silent while the man has his internal dialogue. It's rote, anyway: People realize there are doors open, realize force of character means a great deal regardless of what commercialization might convince you, and their eyes light up. If Takuma had any knowledge of the man, he'd mention Oro as a spirit guide. He doesn't - he won't.
'Lay down the cost, and I'll go from there'.
EARLIER: A young Robert Garcia is dragged to the much-smaller Kyokugen Dojo's doorstep by one Alberto Garcia. Alberto Garcia's Rolls-Royce sits at the street fifty yards back. The older of the two Italians regards Sakazaki with weary eyes, and practically -thrusts- his child into the door; he is caught by a younger Ryo Sakazaki, and the two exit, stage left.
'Name your price. He must learn.'
NOW: That exact same smile - a dog's smile - pulls at Sakazaki's features. The Dojo could use a security camera near that damn signboard.
"Two hundred American dollars a week, nonrefundable, payable in monthly sums of eight hundred. If you're unable to pay up..." Sakazaki regards Rust with that same grin. His teeth may be gleaming in the setting sun's light. "We've got other ways you can make the difference. I could use a shed by the house."
That's a pretty steep price, right there, enough that gets the man thinking again in terms of carrying the ones in case his little clever idea doesn't pan out at work. It's very risky, but, he thinks he might have the grounds - no, he's absolutely certain now - he has the grounds to get off what he's thinking. That, and if he does decide to not get any more of those meds... though he has to consider medical bills, those bite your ass, those bite your ass so very hard.
It's a delicate number juggling act going on inside of his head. In fact, he almost misses the alternative offer of helping to make the whole difference. He only catches the word 'shed.'
"Shed? Uh... building one?" He scratches the side of his head, repeating almost exactly what Takuma said. "Yeah... yeah, that's not a problem, I do sheds. I do... tables. Pretty much anything."
A pause. "Please don't ask me to do... to do no more benches." He shakes his head. "Sick of 'em. Dunno what it is at Pacific, but... they always got to be fixed, always got to be replaced. Never want to have to, have to deal with another god damn bench for the next couple of years."
A firm nod from Sakazaki. "Good. You'll be doing it without tools, and if I see you shying away from using that right hand of yours, I'm going to come out personally and use your head to hammer a few nails in. Talk to me if the arm gets worse, and we'll see what else we can do, but I want to see what good, old-fashioned elbow-grease might get done. If you want to know -why- I'm coming down on you - I come down on everybody, Howard. Especially when I see a lot of myself in them. Stop crying about the weight of the world, and get back to work."
Takuma stands, stretching - again, bones crack, particularly his shoulders. "So -- absolutely, keep in touch. You're welcome to the couch if you need it - we've catered to all kinds of individuals here, and all I care about is whether or not you're getting work done, or paying me. Past that, I'll teach you what I can, and you've got free access to the grounds and living room. The kitchen, bedrooms, patio, and hot-tub are off-limits. -Especially- the hot-tub. Also, if any international villains or Todoh show up, make sure to write down what they say and put it on the fridge for me. That'll win you a soak in the tub." Firm nod.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then? We'll get you into that tournament, Howard. You've got a lot going for you." The unspoken 'I can tell' is evident - Sakazaki -did- fight Rust. The older man begins walking back towards his home, to the front porch, to his students. As always, and despite his attitude, they are his first priority.
Tomorrow, Rust will be one.
Log created on 19:22:34 11/09/2010 by Rust, and last modified on 01:00:49 11/10/2010.