Description: Quon, at last, has posted his own bail and let himself out of the relative safety that being imprisoned has offered. In this, he is at the mercy of the whims of Shadaloo in regards to the strange affections of their strongest Doll, Cammy. Yet, he will not be facing the challenges, both involving the evil organization and the mundane troubles that come with an underage drunk driving incident, all by himself...
With the King of Fighters tournament closing in, Quon has realized he needed to get out of prison soon. He made out a check to cover bail, and various fines. He gritted his teeth as he wrote it out seeing as it dipped deeply into his emergency funds but it was a necessary evil.
After paying off the fines he was ushered off to the area where his things were confiscated but there was a notable void. A void that Quon was more than relieved to see. A distinct lack of crate. As far as driving, he will have to pick up his car at a later time.
With posessions in his bag, he steps outside of the prison and breathes the air of freedom made all the more constricting knowing that Vega could pop up on him at any moment.
"Ah, son of a bitch," comes a voice that might be familiar to one Quon, almost as familiar as the popping noise of a knee as the stout frame of a man just under six feet tall steps out of the prison a ways behind Quon. There is a palpable aura of irritation. The look on this man's face speaks entirely of having a bad day.
And we're not just talking about his hair.
"They make me... make me wait all god damned afternoon," the man complains out loud, bandages visible above one eye and on the bridge of his nose, "after over... over what, a week, of complete bullshit," he continues to grumble, "and now... now it turns out you just got done payin' off all your fines, just like that."
There's a quiet snap of the fingers from his right hand. It's very quiet, but the point remains to be said there.
"Ahh," he throws down a hand as he draws closer, "it's, it's not your fault, shouldn't make you have to hear... hear any of it. So... you're out, right?"
The Asian fighter turns around upon hearing the mutterings of a familiar voice. He can't help but raise an eyebrow at both that and the bandages on the man's face.
"Yeah, Mr. Rust. I'm out. I can't really participate in the King of Fighters if I'm in there. Of course, one of my conditions for participation is community service." He tilts his head as he looks at Rust's bandages again. "Are you ok? You look like you got into a fight with an 18 wheeler."
If that was anyone else, it would've looked like they just got into a fight. Quon, having seen Howard Rust's toughness first hand, knows some intense stuff must've happened for him to look like that.
The Pacific teacher nods along, although deep down he really just wants to walk back into that prison compound and scream at the receptionist and the person he was visiting to handle Quon's bail, after all the runaround he'd been given. Nobody ever wants to seem to make things any easier for him.
Well... there was one guy, but... he supposes he shouldn't be talking about that.""Just... just some big tall guy, callin' himself, uh... Santa." He replies at the mention about getting in a fight with an 18 wheeler. He's not sure if that's actually a given name or the guy was making a joke at his expense, but at this point he doesn't particularly care to dwell much more on that as he rubs one of his aching sides while drawing near. "I'm, uh... I'm okay. Bit tender. You wouldn't believe how hard, how hard that guy punches." He could compare that to Zach, perhaps, in sheer force.
"But, uh, enough about me, okay, so," he clears his throat as he walks along up to Quon's side, "do we... do we have to get you checked out for infections? Need a fast food stop, or... uh, what're you gonna do without a license?"
He's assuming Quon's license is suspended, if not outright revoked for the time being. "We gonna have to work out some, some kinda carpool thing for you, or..."
"Jeeze." Quon just leaves it at that after all, Rust, doesn't seem inclined to dwell on it. All he could say if he were so inclined is 'Santa' must be a bad ass.
"I'm ok as far as health. I gained a bit of weight but other than that nothing much has changed." Although Quon probably could flex and show off what work he has put into his body while locked up, he doesn't do so. It's not appropriate and it wasn't something he feels like doing. "I do feel a bit hungry though."
He then shrugs. "Well my license has been suspended for the time being so I could take public transportation and if worse comes to worse a cab to where ever I need to go. The school is currently trying to figure out what they want to do with me. If I can stay, then I probably won't need to shell out as much money to travel around the city."
'Jeeze' is right, a part of him isn't entirely sure how he pulled off what he did, but... he did, and all is, well, more or less fine for the moment. If only just for the moment. Nothing ever seems to stay just fine for long.
He nods at mention about health and food and such, rolling out one of his shoulders to get out the kinks. Ever since he took that punch to that shoulder it's felt a bit stiff. Maybe he needs to rest it a bit longer.
"Yeah... I admit, I was, I was really worried about the school bit." Drunk driving, especially when you're underage, is a really serious deal almost no matter where you go. The man walks alongside Quo, if the two are walking along anyway. Presumably he's going to be taking Quon for a ride to some food place or another as it is.
"In case cabs and stuff get, get too dangerous, guess I could, y'know, cart you 'bout." The man offers as he rubs that numbed shoulder. "We'll... we'll work something out."
"And yet the school athletes get away with that shit all the time. I think a few of them think that getting pulled over for a DUI is a badge of honor." Let's ignore the fact as a fighter, he's considered an athlete although it's not the type of thing that one could get a scholarship for.
Quon takes a moment to consider the teacher's offer before he shakes his head. "I don't want to be a bur... more of a burden to you. You're already working two jobs and you don't need to add one more job to the list."
Most of 'em right now, he's sure, aren't looking at much in the way of lucrative careers. Hell, in some ways Mr. Rust himself is extremely lucky he has his job. The first one. The second one, having to take that up in order to pull off the ability to afford Kyokugen lessons and such... that part is not so much lucky.
"Ahh, it's no big." In fact, it probably would be, considering how strict his daily schedule tends to be. The older man might be letting bravado getting the better part of him in that regard, having at least some sort of relief that Quon is, more or less, okay and now out of jail.
More or less okay outside of at least one loose end that needs tying up, something that the teacher isn't already aware is made of a nasty tangled knot that violates the confines of the third dimension and adds even further layers of emotional complexity to the entire mix.
"Anyway... uh, before I forget," the man says as he stops in his tracks and turns to look towards Quon, idly waving a finger from his left hand while addressing him. "The girl, y'know... that one. You told her you wanted... you wanted nothing more to do with her, at all. Right?"
Please say yes, the older man is hoping very strongly.
"I..." He looks down and sighs. "I can't..." If an empath was around they would detect anger, sadness, and frustration each in high quantities. "I can't tell her that... Because of the conditions placed upon me by 'him.'"
There's a long silence from Quon as he grits his teeth and clenches his fist so tightly that his nails dig into his skin drawing blood. "While I know that she's absolutely no good for me, I can't tell her to leave. If I hurt her, even emotionally, I'm practically guaranteed that I will die. Truth be told, my only hope is that she realizes that her presence in my life is doing more harm than good."
The older man's mouth mimes the motions to say 'you what' as he waits for Quon to put together something beyond 'I.'
He now kind of wishes he didn't, given what follows 'I' is 'can't,' and the anger, sadness, and frustration is met with the simple gesture of the shop teacher's right hand being placed atop his balding scalp, posture slumping to the point that even the aches in his side cannot overcome that heavy feeling of 'well, shit' as that silence passes between them.
"She broke into my apartment," he starts with a quiet voice, "middle of the night... while I was tryin' to sleep, and... I told her, I told her what she was doin', and... agh!" He just throws his hands up, lowering his head and shaking it. His neck pops lightly. "The hell are we gonna do?!"
He slaps one hand against the corner of a brick of a nearby building hard enough to leave a decent chip in said brick, shaking his head a couple more times in clear frustration of the concept of it all.
"I don't know." He lowers his head into his hands. It's not until he feels a warm, wet sensation on his face that he looks at his hand realizes that his hand is bleeding and by then there's a small bloody smear on his face. He sighs. "I don't think anything short of me getting beaten within an inch of my life by the those she associates with is going convince her that she will be doing me more harm than good. And based on my run-in with them, I don't think they'll stop with just beating me within an inch of my life. The rank and file soldiers sacrificed themselves just to hold me in place so we /all/ could get filled with bullets."
You don't know?! That's what the teacher would like to yell as he turns around to face Quon properly, and damn putting the weight on that ankle that 'Santa' kicked out, this is a situation that goes above and beyond how much he himself is physically sore when this kid is - very understandably - afraid for his life. Enough so much that he was willing to soil his future with that drunk driving charge!
"Look," he tris to interrupt somewhere between 'based on my run-in,' but as the guy mentions the rank and file soldiers willing to get themselves killed holding Quon in place so that they could shoot him with bullets, he loses any desire to interrupt him mid-sentence. His jaw hangs open.
Sagat's words were, however, clear. He wanted to see Quon develop as a fighter. He'd do what he can, what little he had in his power, to see to this - and left a sizable amount of cash to help further Quon to this end.
More importantly, though, comes another question in this man's mind. What would Quon's master have done? Mr. Rust only knew him from one chance meeting back home in his twenties, that's it, but he knew he met a great man that day. A great man no longer with them - for all he knows, in a bizarre twist of fate, now he's about to play a center role in their continued maturation in the great wide world of fighting.
A great wide world he, himself, is hoping to step back into at last since the invasion stopped his short-lived career.
The man looks to Quon's face with the blood on it, pretty sure he wasn't cut moments before. Did he somehow hurt himself again while he wasn't looking? Can he really just sit there and let Quon live in fear, even knowing what he himself told Elle way back when when she gave him the option to either stay in the intrigue of the underworld, or get the hell out?
He still had something to do here. Here in the nice, shiny open world, free of the underworld intrigue. He was a teacher, after all.
"Look," he starts again as he draws closer to Quon, reaching out with his right hand to try and place it on Quon's shoulder, "I can't... I can't say I'm a superhero, okay? I'd... I'd rather not have anything, anything further to do with 'em." Is that it? Is he going to be leaving Quon to his own devices, to be picked apart by the toxic friendship with the Shadaloo assassin and those who feel he is a complete liability to her continued ability to be such?
"But I'm not gonna let them watch you... watch you just piss away your life," he gestures broadly with his free hand towards a dark, dank alley. "The man who taught you... I don't think, I don't think he'd want you to either."
He clears his throat, and gets his other hand on Quon's shoulder if he lets him. "We're gonna do the carpooling thing. Once we, we figure out your daily routine, I'll... I'll just deal. I'll just deal, all right?"
"That's /if/ I still have a daily routine." Those words were spat out with enough bitterness to ruin the flavor of a strawberry frosted poundcake. Even though he believes that decision was the best option he had, he has a lot of resentment towards Shadaloo for forcing him into that situation.
He glances down at his hand, the blood quite visible in the palm and on his finger nails. "Dammit."
He then turns to Rust, looking for something, anything to distract him from emotion induced self inflicted pain which now has set in the moment he was made aware of it. "Why? Why are you doing all of this?"
As if a day doesn't go by that the older man doesn't worry about job security here and there. It's stressful enough being an adult in a job - two jobs - that ask a hell of a lot out of you, sometimes more than can actually be humanly possible to provide. The frustration on that kid's face is loud and clear. It's almost reminiscent of himself roughly about ten years ago, when he met that frustration that he might not have gotten what he exactly wanted out of life.
"I think I got some, some napkins in my truck we can use for the bleeding," he says as he starts to look off to where he's parked, at which point Quon drops the great bombshell of a question.
Why, why is he doing all of this?
Sagat does not want him to say that Sagat is effectively being a patron to Quon's continued growth, if through this older man himself. Yet, for the pause that might come in which to consider this, it doesn't happen. The answer comes almost immediately as he releases his hold on Quon's shoulder.
"You're too young to give it up." Is what he says. "I don't want to see you, don't want to hear you throw in any towel 'bout it." He exhales quietly as he signals for Quon to follow him to the truck, starting to walk off towards it. "Let's... let's just get something to eat 'n work it out when we aren't hungry."
Log created on 21:47:50 12/27/2010 by Rust, and last modified on 00:39:08 12/28/2010.