Description: When a man wants a sausage, he wants a sausage. When he doesn't want a sausage, he may have a repressed desire for a sausage. Sausage is in the air. And Rolf Gammelskog, Norwegian pig prince, has a plan. It will not end well for anyone.
ONE WEEK AGO
The owner of Sunshine City's only drive-in theater has a problem. "Nobody comeses here anymore. Everybodies just goes to the normals movie show. Whats can I dos?" There is nobody for him to talk to because he is crazy, norwegian, and unloved, which explains why, twenty years ago, he built Sunshine City's first and only drive-in theater.
"I knows!" He pounds a fist into his palm happily, his long blonde mustache swaying in the gentle breeze of his tiny space heater. "Datings website are popular, I will do the matchmakings! Oooh, and I can gives free snacks for anybody who does the carpoolings and bring a friends! People /loves/ the snacks!" Feeling that this plan is foolproof, he happily goes to fetch one of his pigs.
NOW
Dr. Tran pulls up into the theater with one hand on his motorcycle's handlebars, the other clenching a slightly crumpled flyer in his fist, the promise of free sausage all night the only thing keeping him from dumping his passenger and popping a wheelie so hard it makes the man's face explode.
Coming to a slow halt, Tran's gaze sweeps over the drive-in, scanning the crowd for potential targets and coming up sadly short. As far as the eye can see there are men in tight pants eating bratwurst.
"Damn it...! I knew there was something off about this." The doctor clenches his fist around the flyer, crushing it into a tiny wadded ball. Eyes narrow. The camera zooms in dramatically on his face.
"It's a total sausage fest."
Tran is not alone in his confusion. Angel (of NESTS fame!) saunters onto the scene, presumably lured here by the promises a gaggle of chattering, laughing people present. Somebody's getting high, drunk, or killed, and pretty much any of that's fine by her. She's got a thumb slung through whatever scanty fabric passes for her belt, and is about halfway finished sucking down a Mega Gulp she's acquired from a nearby gas station. It's easy to hear her because she's the type of girl that will purposely make everything she does as loud as fucking possible - there's always a personal best to beat.
"Aw, nuts..." Back to the confusion. Slate grey eyes sharply narrow, and Angel slinks past a couple of burly men halfway through a bratwurst-stuffing competition. It's about as thrilling as it sounds. Her expression is increasingly concerned as more and more beef is witnessed; the men here are hunky, sure, and the tight clothes do great things for a girl's imagination, but Angel, despite her best efforts, remains -baffled-. It's not that she doesn't get that there's some kind of a meat celebration happening today.
It's that -nobody is looking at her-.
"...I didn't even bring any money! How the hell is a girl supposed to pay for anything if nobody wants to buy it for her? Auuuuuuuuuuh!" Glumly, she moves from the concession stand to the drive-in tickets booth. Immediately, she notices that there's no line, per-se -- there is a booth, and there is a gate, and it's obviously intended for cars. She perks and begins to approach the stand... but stops when she's damned near run-over on the approach.
"Yikes!" A hop back has her leather outfit saved - muddy water splashes where her feet had just been. Again, she frowns.
"This is the worst place in the world." Angel glances left, then right, then to the distant, paused motorcycle. The one with the bros. She sticks a hand out, thumb upraised. It serves well to highlight the theater's marquee:
"OPERATION: DR. TRAN"
Yashiro is having the worst day of his life.
ONE WEEK AGO
The hulking star is quietly strumming his guitar, minding his own business, when a mysterious figure throws well-manicured hands over his eyes, and less-mysterious breasts press against his back. "Shermie," he says sedately, "what do you need this time?"
he red-haired vixen wastes no time. "I have heard there is a competition taking place in Sunshine City, in Japan, where many contenders for King of Fighters will be gathered. You still haven't found a way to get us invitations, have you? I know you had some... difficulties with the computer."
TWO WEEKS AGO
Yashiro plunges his fist through the monitor, pauses, and screams.
ONE WEEK AGO
He glances down at the bandages still wrapped around his hand and furrows his brow. "I kept getting these... pop-ups. These... disturbing pop-ups."
"Do you need me to be the boy again tonight, and make it better?"
"I /told/ you I don't like it when you do that!"
SIX DAYS AGO
Yashiro is still sulking. Justin 'Chris' Beiber approaches, a joyful smile on his face. Happy and innocent. Playful and free. Once upon a time, one might have called this expression--
"Hey, Yashiro!"
The white-haired giant's eyebrow twitches.
"Look, look! You're going to Sunshine City, right? Well, I was doing some research, since it was too late for you to get in on the fights, and it looks like there's this big party at the theater there! I bet lots of great fighters will show up! And there's free sausages!"
Yashiro's eyes, surrounded by dark circles, narrow.
"You /love/ sausages, don't you?"
EARLIER TODAY
Yashiro stands by the side of the road, his face buried in his hands, shoulders quivering, next to a smoking, expensive rental car. Weakly, he holds up a sign. His piece of paper was not big enough to fully explain his intentions: he has learned that sausage are only free if one carpools.
'TAKE ME FOR FREE SAUSAGE'
He looks like he might cry.
RIGHT NOW
Yashiro is actually crying.
Hunched over like a clown in a clown car, somehow the enormous pop star has positioned himself so that Tran's motorcycle has stayed upright, but his face is planted directly into Tran's back, and his lab coat is quickly growing damp as, shuddering, the muscular man sobs quietly onto Tran, his eyes squeezed shut to avoid looking at all the men around him.
"I want to go home... I want to go home..."
He continues chanting this, failing to notice anything else.
INSIDE HIS SECRET SAUSAGE BUNKER
Rolf Gammelskog, entrepreneur, giggles quietly to himself, overjoyed at the turnout for his big event, unaware of impact his machinations have had on 'The Yash'.
That's Yashiro's new nickname among a small but dedicated portion of his fanbase and it's canon now and it's too late for anybody to do anything about it.
MEANWHILE, ON DR. TRAN'S MOTORCYCLE
The doctor grits his teeth and silently vows to never pick up another hitchhiker as long as he lives.
TWENTY SECONDS AND 75 FEET LATER
Tran's motorcycle skids to a halt in front of Angel, spinning around a full 360 degrees in an attempt to rudely discharge his passenger (if he would just stop holding on so tightly!) before finally coming to a rest. "Hey, sexy, need a lift?"
He pauses a beat.
"Also I don't know who this other guy is and I'm not gay." Just to get that out there.
A girl doesn't get as far as Angel has with just looks, brains, sexy accents, and superhuman attributes alone - no, you've gotta have a positve attitude, be able to pull the winning lottery tickets of happiness from the strewn chaff of, uh, adversity, while gritting your eyes and setting your jaw in the face of the stifling winds of shame and Krizalid's weird looks and requests to play Santa at the NESTS Christmas Dinner. Get in Uncle Krizzy's lap, Angel. What do you want for Christmas this year? I've got all SORT-
Preemptively, Angel shivers, stirred back to reality by the sight - holy shit is it a sight - of Dr. Tran whirling past, face contorted into a furious mask, with the hulking, sobbing Yashiro on his back, enormous shoulders heaving like chortling mountaintops.
Chortling, explosively gay mountaintops.
Angel is kind of puking in her throat right now. Is that a heart choker? A fucking heart choker? Tran stops, prompting the NESTS bombshell's eyes to widen. "...-really? You two, of all people?"
Already, a leatherbound couple are eyeing Tran appreciatively, respectfully. ~What the hell~, they are wondering, ~Did that small Indian man do to make The Yash cry so hard~? Yashiro is well-known in these circles.
Nonetheless, Angel is walking forward, eyes rolling skywards while Tran explains that he's not gay at all. She looks to Tran, then to Yashiro; her lips twist in a dismal little sneer. "...Iii think I get it now. Sure you're not." She slips around back, settling behind Yashiro, and loops hands around his waist. It might remind him of hanging out with Shermie a week ago, except the breasts are unfamiliar, and Angel quite frankly reeks of smoke and alcohol. She smiles against his back, and pats his hip.
"It's alright, honey. He'll come around sooner or later, right? I hear emotions can run pretty high in these kinds of relationships. On the bright side, free sausages! And I'm sure to run into some -STRAIGHT- guys somewhere in here, right? God."
Angel swears in Spanish.
"I -HAVE- to. This can't actually be Hell, can it?"
There is hope.
Yashiro lifts his head from Tran's back, still latched limpet-like onto the man and his motorcycle and thoroughly unflung even after the mad doctor's wild spin. His eyes are shining -- wet and shining. He snuffles loudly, and turns his head slowly to regard his new companion, the world-famous musician's eyes flickering like twin candlelights.
"You are," he whispers, "an angel."
He can hear a chorus in the distance.
In a single smooth motion, the Yash will attempt the following acts. First, he will slide neatly from Tran's motorcycle, ideally just letting the small man drive away without him. Second, he will twist as he does so to take Angel, who is still holding onto him, up in his arms, scooping her up with a stoic expression and fiery eyes. Third, he will stand like a chiseled statue, proud and unyielding, in the middle of the drive-in theater's parking lot, ignoring the hubbub about him, and slowly tilt his head down to bore into the secret agent with eyes tremulous with a desperation that belies his manly posture.
"I will," he pronounces darkly, "never eat another sausage again."
A... a sudden convert!?
On the other hand, he hasn't taken off that choker.
In what is perhaps the greatest twist to ever grace the Sunshine City Drive-in Movie Theater, Dr. Tran only grows more angry when a hot chick gets on his motorcycle. He is not sure what has gone wrong here. He just /told/ her that he's not gay, so that shouldn't be a problem anymore, AND YET.
"No, see, I only picked him up because he looked so pathetic and we were going to the same place and I needed a warm body so that I could get sausage without paying for it. It's simple, but you get it now, right? I don't know this guy, I don't even know his name for crying out loud, and I am not 'into him' or whatever the lingo is, I don't condone the way he dresses or acts and if I'd known he was going to be such a huge baby about everything I would've just left him there." Dr. Tran pulls up to the snack hut, ready to get his sausage and be done with the mess. "Also I'm not gay."
It's about then he realizes that he's alone on his bike.
TEN SECONDS LATER
"....ffffffFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF"
Dr. Tran rides a motorcycle into the Yash, fury written plain over his features. "FUUUUUUUUUUUCKER!"
COMBATSYS: Tran has started a fight here.
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Tran 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Angel has joined the fight here.
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Tran 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Yashiro has joined the fight here.
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Tran 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Angel interrupts Huge Random Weapon from Tran with Cosmic Futen Swing.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Tran 0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/-------|
Against all odds, Yashiro turns out to be some kind of a knight in sequined armor. Angel's certainly taken aback, angry little men on bicycles forgotten in the face of this shimmering, sparkling giant of a man, ostensibly the gayest man in Sunshine City - say that out loud, it's hilarious. There's no debating the heart choker, and yet... and yet... he's boring into her with those eyes.
There's something powerful there; it scares Angel. Not in the quivery, deep in your stomach, butterflies and physical domination sort of way, but more in the... well, Angel's not sure. Yashiro promises to never eat a sausage again, and Angel's brought back to her senses.
She settles a hand on his broad chest, and curls into him, beaming. Turning a gay guy straight? For her? Hell yes, Angel, you've done it again! She'll add another notch to her belt at home.
-----
Tran screams. Holy shit he screams. Angel's snapped out of her reverie, sitting up in Yashiro's arms, squinting so HARD at the rapidly approaching Napoleonic sadomaso dom doctor. Fury bubbles up from deep inside, and she's obviously having trouble restraining herself. Tran zooms closer, and Yashiro will find Angel worming out of his arms, standing up, easily on either of his palms like some kind of freak Cirque du Soleil thing.
"Mother fucker!!" Gasp!, goes the audience. Ladies do not say this! "I don't care how jealous you are, he's done eating your sausage!!"
Angel leaps from Yashiro's hands, spread-eagled in her approach to the speeding Tran. She looks kind of like Gandalf, or Braveheart, except Mexican and at a gay drive-through. It's inspiring.
"WE'RE GOING OUT FOR MEXICAN AFTER TH-HGLUMF--??!" She collides with him hip-first, thighs wrapped around his head. The wind is expelled from her -entire body- by Dr. Tran's technology aided nuclear headbutt, what experienced BDSM wielders (or whatever) might term an Ovarian Delight.
She barely manages to get two fistfuls of hair in time for momentum to *RIP* his head beneath her hips and between her legs; her weight proves to be enough to drag the Doctor off of his bike anyway. Angel's skilled enough to pull this into a somersault, fling him overhead and into a picnic table filled with bratwurst. She lands on her knees, panting.
"Ai.. fuck."
This is completely obscene.
All through it, his heart as flint, the Yash stands with a steely gaze and an impassive mien, having reverted entirely to his rock-like emotionless stature with which, in his magnificient indifference, he has won the heart of countless women, and usually promptly broken them. Without a shift in expression or the smallest comment, the white-haired star presents his palms to be stood upon by Angel, giving her all the leverage she needs to perform-- uh.
Yashiro seems to be the only person not completely shocked and bewildered by what occurs. This is important, because he is also the only person who remains in the path of the rolling motorcycle that is now thoroughly driverless. The mighty man, without batting an eyelash, proceeds to magnificently stop said spun-out vehicle with a single outstretched hand, an act so tremendous and stylish that it leaves an enormous dent in the side of the bike. There's a moment of silence as he extracts his palm, and then glances at the dent without a hint of unrest.
"Your bike's damaged," he rumbles, eyes still crazed. "I'll fix it."
He then proceeds to wrench at the metal with his bare hands, eliciting a horrifying screeching sound as he attempts to reshape the body of the bike. He is, to say the least, thoroughly unsuccessful, at last ripping free the offending part.
"Whoops."
COMBATSYS: Yashiro assists Tran.
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Tran 0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/-------|
The trail of Tran's scream is cut off as he finds his mouth very thoroughly, uh. Let's just call it occupied and leave it at that. This is quickly followed by him being completely unable to tell what is happening, on account of how gravity doesn't make sense anymore and someone is pulling his hair and his neck feels like it's going to shatter into billions of pieces. Then things are alright for a second.
Then he lands.
Sausage goes flying everywhere, several men crying out in dismay as their prized leathers get meat juice spattered all over them with noisy splurts. One gets mustard on his prized ornamental Yugoslavian codpiece, screams, and faints.
Laying limp in a great big pile of sausage, Dr. Tran misses Yashiro break his bike. Slapping a stray brot off his face and sitting up, he is /just in time/ to see the Yash 'fix' it, presumably in the same way you fix a beloved family pet.
Falling to his knees, Tran holds his hands up in dismay, and positively SHRIEKS, "OH MAH BIKE!" He sheds a tear. Or is that grease? It doesn't matter.
What matters is that it takes Dr. Tran basically zero time to be on his feet and in a flat out run at the Yash, his grief giving him the power and speed required to overcome this alternative-friendly giant. The skill and luck are lacking as, right before he leaps up to deliver an awe-inspiringly powerful punch, Tran slips on a beef frank covered in motor oil, turning his perfect strike into a sort of awkward slide.
Angel's got her breath back by the time Yashiro takes a bite out of bicycles everywhere, and she's *barely* got the presence of mind to whip her head back, just as Tran goes zinging past on a well-oiled sausage. The situation's evolving from confused and confusing to all kinds of "just plain worse" - it's all the NESTS agent can do to keep up! She springs back to her feet, teeth grit - she KNOWS she's supposed to be mad about something, since everybody else seems pretty mad - and reaches for the closest available weapon.
Mercilessly, the Mexican rushes after Tran, a long streamer of freshly cooked sausages trailing behind her, casings connected. Briefly, she's inspired by Tran's resolve. Who attacks while they slip like that? What she doesn't really take into account is the length of the streamer of sausage she's carrying, or that this is no simple streamer of sausage - Angel holds, in fact, the Beef Links, a long-revered, ever-fresh, unbreakable chain of meat passed along from winner to winner of each Sunshine City meat celebration.
One end of this chain catches soundly beneath Tran's shoulder, while she leaps upward to loop the other around Tran's neck, catching her own midsection within its links in the process.
The result is an unhealthy amount of pressure pulling *everybody* - Tran, Angel, Yashiro, and Bike - together in a meat-mandated group hug.
COMBATSYS: Yashiro endures Angel's Random Weapon.
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Tran 0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/------=|
COMBATSYS: Yashiro fails to interrupt Strong Kick from Tran with Hatchet Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Tran 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/----===|
It's a disaster.
The plan was simple, instinctive, and easy. The Yash was simply going to pluck the hurtling Dr. Tran mid-mistaken kick and accept his offer for assistance with fixing the vehicle by stuffing him into the conspicuous hole make in the motorcycle. He /could/ have solved the problem. Yashiro Nanakase is a problem-solver.
But /nooooo./
The first problem is getting slapped in the face with a sausage. This is a minor problem in and of itself, But Yashiro's brief moment of manly stoicism starts to fray almost immediately as anything sausage-related enters his general proximity. That wet and meaty feel makes his whole body tremble all over. For a moment, he thinks he might start crying again. Squinting his eyes shut, he blindly reaches out.
As it turns out, Angel getting everyone all tangled up in her shenanigans has whipped both Tran and herself and the motorcycle all about. What Yashiro grabs ends up being the bike that used to be still on the ground before him, having been flipped up by a stray foot. He hefts it above his head, thinking it is oddly heavy for Tran, and gets kicked directly in the chest, send bowling head over heels. He attempts to use the bike as a kind of cushion.
This goes really poorly for him.
He lays on the ground for a moment, cradling that motorcycle to his chest, his eyes still clamped shut. "I want to go home," he whispers heatedly to the bike in his arms. "I want to go home."
COMBATSYS: Tran endures Angel's Random Weapon.
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Tran 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/----===|
Despite being in what might easily be called 'the worst situation ever', Dr. Tran keeps his cool, because he is a /hero/ and a /superstar/ and other amazingly positive things. He's so cool that even when a Mexican hottie swings a sausage at him as he's skidding along the ground, one leg raised high and arms windmilling, he just /takes a big bite/.
What Dr. Tran didn't know is the history behind these magnificent links. Said to have been the last, ultimate creation forged by a master meatsmith and infused with his soul, it is said that nothing will so much as mar its perfection until the endtimes when it shall shatter against its equally untouchable counterpart, the Unsullied Sausage Patty.
Dr. Tran goes rigid when he bites it, a clever maneuver to keep it from strangling him to death. There's a small, sharp crack, and he goes completely rigid. Still wrapped in it and hopelessly entangled, he goes down with The Yash. When he recovers sufficiently to do anything, he decides to do his best to stare the bigger man in the eye despite how his face is mostly mashing into Yashiro's ribcage.
"You get your hands off her." His voice is deadly quiet, which probably means that nobody will hear him. Almost as if aware of this, Tran starts shouting again, fury building above and beyond his normal, near-superhuman levels of anger. "You get your hands off my bike, you...you...ROAD WRECKER!"
COMBATSYS: Tran focuses on his next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Tran 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: Angel successfully hits Angel with Random Weapon.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Tran 1/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/----===|
Angel is unaware of Tran's difficulties or Yashiro's unfortuante attempt at using a motorcycle as a pillow. She is, instead, concerned with the way the world has suddenly and violently upended itself, courtesy of momentum-reversing pressure of sausage pulling against her midsection. A strangled yelp leaves her mouth, distorted by the way she's spinning through the air. It is ultimately muffled when she collides head-first with Yashiro's shoulder, legs windmilling overtop her and his heads' to land violently, heel-first, on the ground below.
Her face is buried against Yashiro's hip, not even a full foot from Tran's own. Uselessly, she pounds a fist against Yashiro's lower back and rear, legs kicking behind her, hair whipping about in a turbulent, crazy-bitch sort of way. You'd think she's seizing or going some other, less-medical sort of crazy, but the truth of the issue is quite a bit simpler than that.
Her hand - the one gripping the Beef Links so *securely* - is beneath Yashiro's ass, crushed by his weight and the indestructibility of the meat it holds. Soon Angel's voice is joining Tran's, shriller, higher, but nonetheless alarmed, and even a little pain filled!
"Get... offa... my... HAAAAAAAAAAND!"
COMBATSYS: Angel focuses on her next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Tran 1/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/----===|
Yashiro stares blankly at the man cradled in his chest.
His dull eyes drift slowly over to the shouting Mexican thrashing about uselessly behind him, and regards her with an absent disinterest.
Then, slowly, his eyes begin to widen.
"G..."
He tries to speak, but no sound will emerge save an unintelligible croak. His eyes continue to grow, reddened from weeping and beneath them circles so dark as to seem tattooed. His huge, hulking body begins to vibrate intense, his abdominal muscles, bared by the absurd vest thing he always wears, powerfully clenching and unclenching, providing some sort of bizarre facial massage for the entrapped Dr. Tran.
"Ge..."
He looks like he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"GET THAT SAUSAGE--"
Yashiro does not stay on verges for long.
"--AWAY FROM MY ASS!!"
Screaming hoarsely, his consciousness shattering from the terrible burden of this quest placed upon him, Yash the Stampede goes buck-wild, lunging to his feet and proceeding to attempt to stamp the struggling Angel into oblivion, unknowingly keeping Tran tucked beneath one arm like a disobedient child.
"AAAAAHH!"
He has completely forgotten about the bike at this point.
Let's take a brief look at our players in this little situation. Angel is trapped by sausage, flailing about endlessly. Yashiro is trapped or perhaps panicked by sausage, and flailing about endlessly. Let it never be said that Dr. Tran isn't a man who appreciates the vigorous benefits of peer pressure.
The key difference here is that when Dr. Tran throws caution to the wind and lets it all hang out, flaingly about wildly, things that include but are not limited to the man himself begin to detonate.
"I...am not...LUGGAGE!" Dr. Tran explodes, case in point. Steam forcefully erupts out of every orifice, every single minute /pore/ of his body. Which Yashiro JUST SO HAPPENS to have a firm (yet gentle) grasp upon.
"AND GET RID OF THAT GODDAMN SAUSAGE!" Someone's gonna lose an eye.
COMBATSYS: Angel fails to interrupt Heavy Kick from Yashiro with Full Moon Evening.
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Tran 0/-------/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/---====|
Angel tries to work her situation - a shitty one - into some kind of gain. As it is, Yashiro's leaping away from her clenched fist, leaving the sausage within held perpendicular to the ground, both triumphant and curiously warm. This is followed rather immediately by a fucking avalanche of stamps raining down upon the Mexican's abdomen and shoulders. It's a bad situation - what the hell do you do when Yashiro wants to treat you like you're a flaming garbage can??
You don't do what Angel does.
Paying no attention to Tran or his steamworks, she grips at Yashiro's foot long enough to get a hand through - she winds this back, building up strength for what's bound to be a badass, full-bodied punch of her own (and aimed straight for Yash's jewels). All around the fighters, onlookers preemptively wince...
And then Angel's hand slips, providing Yashiro a chance to SLAM his foot down where he'd like.
"Hblurk!" Angel's hand opens wide, and the links around it - those immortal, soul-imbued Beef Links - sail through the night sky, whirling in an almost divine pattern, aroma tracing their path in the most delectable sort of savory glow. Its trajectory diminishes, and that hallowed beef falls...
Squarely into the hands of Lord Morning Star(Sunshine Towers, Floor 44, Room 44-B, cantankerous on Thursday Nights), a man so sinister he practically glows with disingenuity and jealousy. A man who has been searching for the secret to meat's timeless scrumptiousness for his entire life. His laughter is initially a distant, annoying thing, but it builds and builds over time. Soon, it simply dominates the small gathering!
COMBATSYS: Yashiro fails to interrupt Dr. Tran Doesn't Take Your Shit from Tran with Dual Upper.
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Tran 1/------=/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 1/-------/=======|
Yashiro screams.
"Gyyaaahhh!"
Cowering from the sight of those sausages flying through the air, he at last seems relieved when they drift out of sight, his nemeses having left him in peace forevermore. Then, even as he thoughtlessly digs the sole of his shoe into Angel's abdomen, he screams again.
"Nuuuaaaaaaahhhh!"
For the man he has unconsciously cradled under his arm is now erupting into a cloud of scalding, terrible steam, sure to give the pop star an awful, terrible rash, which is really unacceptable, and his manager will lecture him and his manager is /Shermie/ so that is sure to involve more 'being the boy' and oh god anything but that--
Frantically, in panic mode and consumed with a fundamental yearning for petty vengeance that, under other circumstances, Yash and Tran might have bonded over -- and might yet do, in some bright future -- Yashiro staggers away from Angel, at last freeing her, and begins to punch frantically at the burning cloud that suffuses him. Still failing to realize that its source is beneath his arm, he punches with blind futility at the steam, roaring in progressively greater agony, before at last dropping Tran, still without realizing he was ever being carried, stumbling away, and falling on his face on the blessedly cool concrete.
"...all I wanted..." he mumbles, "...was..."
He drifts into a long silence.
"...oh, no..."
Yashiro groans loudly.
"...why did I... come here, again?"
Some really strange things happen, from Dr. Tran's point of view. No, no, ignore the overarching situation, it's weird but let's be honest here it's no worse than usual.
After Yashiro drops Tran, he pushes himself back up to his feet immediately, fury in his eyes. Fury and confusion. He didn't want to be carried anymore. And now he's not. And he said to get rid of that sausage. And Angel /did/.
The world itself is bending to Dr. Tran's will, and he is afraid.
Without an obvious target, an easy scapegoat to vent his eternal frustration on, the doctor finds himself at a loss. But...!
Whirling to Angel, Tran points dramatically, steam still rising thickly. "YOU! You...you..." He trails off, brow furrowed, as he tries to think of something. /Anything/. He fails.
"AGGGGGGGH I can't believe this!" He wails and gnashes his teeth, then begins to pace, his agitation plain. Abruptly he stops, whirls again, and points to...himself? An expression of triumph is writ plain across his face.
"I have it! HAH!" And then he punches himself right in the jaw.
Angel is down for the count, at least for right now. She's been throatstomped and left to gag on the cold dirt ground of the Drive-In, writhing around like a baitworm must every time the relatively enormous six-year old trying to hook it gets bored and wanders off to go punch at steamclouds and think about exactly what he came here to do. It gives her time to think about what she's done, everything happening here, everything that has really ever happened in her entire life to BRING her to this point. Eyes, made bleary by pain, narrow in thought and disgust. Angel coughs up some blood and rolls to the side, dimly focusing on whatever's in front of her face right now. Whatever she's holding in her HAND. The -sausage-, further investigation proves, that she is holding in her HAND.
Without much thought, Angel decides to chill out on the ground and stick the thing in her mouth. She chews, thoughtfully, while staring up at the stars.
"Guyf, thith thaufhage ith..." Swallow. "-REALLY good-."
COMBATSYS: Angel takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Tran 1/------=/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/-======|
Slowly but surely, Yashiro drags himself to his knees.
There is a moment of prolonged silence, save perhaps for Angel's noisy chewing and Tran furiously punishing himself in masocistic glee. Sporting a contemplative expression, the scaldered and battered star begins to seriously wonder why this keeps happening to him. Sure, he's always been occasionally absent-minded. Easily distracted, definitely, when someone starts talking some smack. But these constant black-outs-- well, even Yashiro is getting a little nervous, and he's not easily disturbed. This is a guy who stood still and stoic while his alcoholic, sailor father-- no, let's not go there, Yash decides.
The thought does bring him into focus, though.
Briefly shaking off the darkness, Yashiro lurches to his feet. "King of Fighters," the pop star manages. "I'm Yashiro Nanakase, leader of CYS, and I'm here to fight someone for a King of Fighters invitation." His voice is surprisingly subdued, at least for the moment. He's forgotten all about sausages. He squints for a moment, then pulls himself to his considerable full height, tilting his head to /stare/ down at the frantic Tran.
"You seem pretty tough," he rumbles. "I bet /you/ have an invitation."
He pauses, and then furrows his brow.
"Why the hell /didn't/ I get an invitation, anyway?"
Somewhere, a postal worker is trying very hard.
COMBATSYS: Yashiro takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Tran 1/------=/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Tran successfully hits Tran with Jab Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Tran 1/----===/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/-======|
It's not masochism, it's COMPLETELY JUSTIFIED VENGEANCE that just happens to be against himself, and it works /fantastically/. There's a small explosion of steam as fist meets jaw, Tran's head violently snapping to one side. It seems to knock a modicum of sense in him, at the very least.
Stopping for a moment, the doctor reasses the situation and decides to take a very rational, reasonable, measured approach to things. First things first, he looks down at Angel because it makes him feel better while Yashiro is looking down at him.
"That is disgusting." CHECK, moving on. Tran looks up at Yashiro even though he really doesn't want to.
"I'm Doctor Richard Tran, and as a matter of fact, I don't." As he wonders at this, Tran's expression turns even darker, wondering who would dare exclude him, as if he wanted to go anyway which clearly he doesn't because it's stupid and see if he cares.
ONE MONTH AGO
Dr. Tran's doorbell rings. "NO SOLICITORS." It rings again. "I SAID NO." It rings again. Dr. Tran annihilates his front door and then jumps out the window, cackling.
NOW
"And you can eat a dick, you motorcycle-ruining goat whisperer!" Them's fighting words, so Dr. Tran /fights/, lurching forward to deliver a crushing headbutt to what is possibly the strongest part of Yashiro's body, his perfectly sculpted abs.
If it weren't for the explosion of chi, this would be a /terrible/ idea instead of a mildly bad one.
Angel has, much in the manner of a cat, absorbed herself entirely into eating this sausage. She's chilling out on her back, devouring the thing, when Yashiro mentions something about King of Fighters. Mouth full, she looks up from her meal to fix the tall, snow-haired fighter with a curious look. It operates on a level much like Tran's punch to his own fucking jaw...
NESTS' SECRET MOUNTAIN HEADQUARTERS, SECRET EASTERN MOUNTAIN RANGE, SECRET EASTERN US SEABOARD
"Angel," Igniz's voice glides across the NESTS meeting table much like a greased baby might glide over silk. "We need information on King of Fighters. Something has happened every single year, but we're going to be in control this time. We're going to hit the iron while the skillet is hot, and not even Caligula's ambition will keep us from seizing the day or finding that needle in the haystack. You are our Brutus, Angel. Be our Brutus."
BACK AT THE DRIVE-IN
Angel still does not understand what Igniz was trying to say. Krizalid threatened her, though, and that's why, at least for now, she's just going to stare at the two men fighting over invitations that neither of them got BUT ANGEL DOESN'T KNOW THAT.
Tran might catch that curiousity in the woman's eyes when he looks down at her to feel better about himself. He might just interpret it completely incorrectly -- as newly-won affection.
"...You're so -angry-." Is this a good thing? A bad thing? Is she impressed or disgusted, why are women so complicated??!
COMBATSYS: Angel takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Tran 1/----===/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Yashiro endures Tran's Medium Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Tran 1/---====/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 1/------=/=======|
Once again, Yashiro is looking down at Tran's head in his abs.
"I..."
Once again, his face is stony and impassive.
".../don't believe you./"
Of course, this time, he's also in incredible pain.
Masking the agony he is experiencing from all this scalding trauma, Yashiro's pent-up fury awakens as though from a dream, all his momentary tranquility vanishing like the dew. With a single aggressive motion he reaches with his left hand to grab Tran by the hair, hoist him up bodily, and furiously slam his right fist into the Doctor's body with such incredible explosive force that he seems truly determined to end the man utterly right then and there.
"Give me your invitation!" he roars.
And then, if he successfully ruptures Tran's organs, he will add, in an inspired moment that will be passed down from generation to generation:
"How do you like them sausages?"
He'll chuckle to himself, and maybe even pat himself on the back.
But then he'll reassume his narrow-eyed, steely gaze.
COMBATSYS: Tran blocks Yashiro's Final Impact.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Tran 1/-======/=======|=======\====---\1 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Yashiro 0/-------/-------|
Dr. Tran's brief glance at Angel is beyond such petty things as 'caring at all what she thinks' anymore. As another beautiful woman once told him, 'No time for love, Dr. Tran'. She broke his heart.
BUT NOW HEADBUTTS
Yashiro's final muscled abdomen feels like it's going to crush Tran's skull even though it's supposed to be doing all of the crushing here. It's like a brick wall made out of steel, a mountain made out of /two/ mountains. Tran's head rebounds back, but not quickly enough to prevent Yashiro from getting a good handful of hair and hoisting, which while not terribly damaging in itself is /incredibly painful/.
Even more incredibly painful is the MAGNETIC RAILGUN in fist form that Yashiro somehow has found himself in the possession of. It slams square into Dr. Tran's crossed arms, sending the tiny man flying backward, flipping end over end in comical wire-fu style. But he lands on his feet.
"Are you calling me a liar?!" Tran's still outraged, even at a distance. "Well, buddy!" He begins to jog lightly right back at the Yash, undaunted. "I've got a nuclear sausage for you right here!" He's undaunted by the fact that he just said that, too.
Sliding in low, Dr. Tran punches almost straight upward with a fist that is entirely concealed with a glowing white ball of chi that completely EXPLODES on impact, setting coats aflutter and sausages flying in every direction.
He pauses for a moment as power coalesces on the other fist. "You give me yours first!" It slams forward, a straight, simple, yet phenomonally powerful punch that blows Tran himself backward, his slight frame sent tumbling again.
Angel begins to consider, somewhere in the depths of her highly developed, genetically-enhanced mind, that her initial assessment of Tran and Yashiro was correct, despite Tran's frantic explanation to the opposite effect. Her look - which she understands to be at least sculpted towards ambiguity - crumbles when Tran looks away. She considers his appearance - Yashiro riding bitch, sobbing, hands wrapped around Tran's waist. Angel comes to a grim conclusion. It's upsettingly not very far from her initial assumption.
Yashiro and Tran may share the most deep-seated love present at this Drive-In Bratwurst fest. Angel's hardly paying attention at this point, though - she slumps back against the ground, eyes lidding, muscles relaxing. The sausage... is getting to her. Perhaps anywhere else in Southtown or Sunshine, Angel might feel a little vulnerable passing out surrounded by hundreds of strange men, but certainly not here.
She will wake up in the morning to find the Drive-In mysteriously vacant, not a sign, sausage link, or foreign codpiece around to betray the previous presence of Sunshine City's auspicious Meat Mafia. Angel will walk away, considering the entire affair little more than a dream.
COMBATSYS: Angel has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Tran 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Yashiro
COMBATSYS: Yashiro fails to interrupt Here Comes Dr. Tran! from Tran with Jet Counter.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ]
Tran 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Yashiro
COMBATSYS: Yashiro can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ <
Tran 0/-------/----===|
Yashiro roars in fury.
"I'm calling you a BITCH!"
But secretly, he's quite pleased, because he loves this part.
"I'm not interested in your tiny sausage!"
Until he says that.
Brow furrowing, Yashiro squints at nothing, even as Tran's furious punch comes raging toward him. "I mean," he amends, "I'm not interested in anyone's sausage. Because I hate sausages. I've always hated them, ever since I was a little boy--"
Cue dreamlike dissolve transition.
ONE DAY AGO
Yashiro eats a delicious sausage.
NOW
"Fu--"
The punch sends the both of them flying back, a cloud of steam exploding from where they've met. There is a general silence as Angel collapses and two fighting men are sent hurtling in opposite directions, flying into the crowd.
This lasts for about five seconds.
"Hans, try my sausage!"
Whereupon they are all soon forgotten, thank goodness.
Log created on 15:25:24 01/09/2011 by Yashiro, and last modified on 00:48:03 01/10/2011.