Description: There's always a time and place for everything. A frequent, oft uninvited visitor believes this is the time and place. A broken, injured team captain believes it is not. Regardless, there remains important matters to be discussed (or attempted to be discussed about) in regards to the little things that have happened leading up to King of Fighters - and yet, both of them aren't about to budge in their positions.
It's not too long after that little misunderstanding between Howard and Quon, and... let's put it lightly, very little could have possibly changed unless someone really, really, really must know how the wrinkle patterns on the sheets have changed, along with any other number of changes of aches and pains to one Howard Rust's being as he lays in the lodge bed without anything resembling proper medical care.
...One change, one supposes, is that he's trying to sleep at this point, to the extent he can ever really get any rest given he aches all over and that he's likely under the exact same roof as that angry madman of a dad that more or less beat him within a good six or seven inches of his life as the night grows darker and a light rain goes about the lodge. It's a little chilly inside the lodge - not just from the social tensions, but a freak cold front.
The only light to be had is from whatever digital readout is by a nearby clock.
Cammy has a reputation for showing up at the oddest of times. And who is she to go against force of expectation like that? On the other hand, she's supposed to be reformed now, at least as far as Rust and Quon and the other non-Shadaloo types she interacts with are concerned, so this is a bit of a dilemma.
The Doll does a quick circuit of the log house which Rust is lying in, noting all the lights out, noting the cold, which makes her want to be inside it ASAP. It's not 3am at least but it does look rather quiet. Stepping up to the front door, army boots clunking as she is not trying to be subtle, she searches for doorbells, but such a thing seems to be lacking from the rather rustic design. So she bangs on the door with a gloved fist, giving the occupants a chance to answer.
If they don't, well. There's always a window.
Mr. Rust here sure as hell isn't getting up to answer the door! Not after what Zach and Takuma put him through. He acknowledges the idea of someone being at the door at this hour with a low grunt. Who knows, for all he cares it's local police looking to ask some very specific questions - or at least return his cell and wallet.
As the case is, nobody answers within the next couple of seconds for whatever reason.
Hmm. Cammy does realise that poor Rust is probably bedridden, still. A guy whose knee pops that much probably doesn't have amazing recuperative abilities, even if he is a fighter. She pauses, paralysed by indecision! The urge to break in almost overwhelming. Stupid doors.
After a few seconds, she decides on a course of action. The lock doesn't look too complicated for an assassin of her calibre, reaching into one pocket of her red cloak she fishes out a long hairpin she keeps handy just for this sort of thing, and starts fiddling with the lock. However, she also calls out through the door, "Don't worry Mr Rust, you don't need to get up. I will let myself in.". Thus warned, she's not really breaking and entering anymore, is she, this is just a house call, a visit. She even brought grapes.
The door does not long resist the Killer Bee, the lock clicking undone, and she steps inside, closing it behind her again.
He's not easy to break - but getting back together is just a little harder for him. It's these little moments of weakness that he wants to fall back to old habits of ignoring his body's many tired aches, straining to reach one of his hands out for Ol' Rusty that rests just against a nightstand.
But what he really hopes is that any one of Zach, Ryo, Yuri, Quon, and/or Takuma will be able to stop this very familiar, unwanted voice's owner from coming in and not coincidentally be in the middle of doing things that would prevent them from popping up and beating the ever living piss out of an unwelcome guest.
(Sadly, for those of you watching from home, the reason is that they are not logged in! Ha ha.)
The door does not resist Cammy's lockpick expertise, though she may hear the sound of some rusted length of pipe falling over and hitting the wooden floor in one of the side rooms and the quiet whimpers of a curseword as, over in his bed, Mr. Rust accidentally knocks the pipe over, his arm dangling off the side of the bed in a futile attempt to reach out and get it while awaiting the inevitable Cammy appearance.
Cammy is, in fact, not foolish, and doesn't wander in on Rust when the place is busy and filled with enemies. Assassins are not known for their fair fights after all, it's always best to catch people off guard.
The sounds of a pipe being grabbed is sort of like the sounds of a shotgun being cocked as far as her entry into this house is concerned, but the Killer Bee is unfazed. Especially as it sounds like he dropped it. It does, however, tell the Doll just where Rust is, so she follows the sound, until she finds where Rust is interred with his war wounds.
"Good evening." she says, putting on her best smile as soon as she hoves into view. Even though she's sure that it's futile, trying costs nothing. 'When you have to kill a man it costs nothing to be polite', as Winston Churchill once said. "I brought you some grapes." she says, holding them up. "According to some articles I read online, these are the traditional gift to give to people who are sick.".
It's just past another door that Cammy will find an injured, tired, stressed and largely upset Rust pathetically dangling his right arm off the side of his bed while staring down at the toppled pipe - pretty much his only lifeline to defending himself, if he were actually capable of such a concept. For all intents and purposes, if Cammy were intending outright murder, this is the best possible time for her to do so - he's not a match for her even at his best, imagine how easy it would be now!
"Go away," he wheezes out, unable to really punctuate these weak words with much as he tries to turn his head away, "tryin'... tryin' to... rest. Don't, don't want to... see your, y-your face."
Not that it appears he'll be having much choice in the matter.
"Come on Mr Rust. There's no need to be like that.". Cammy walks over to him where he's bedridden, and leaves the grapes on the blanket, and reaches down, to pick his pipe up off the ground, and pass it to him. "Maybe this will make you feel better. Really. I try so hard, and get so much animosity. I think you do not realise how lucky you are... You are a very judgmental man, Howard Rust.".
She finds a chair to sit down, draws it up so she's alongside the bed, and promptly settles down, shrugging off her red cloak so it drapes over the back of the chair, legs crossed, making herself at home, and apparently not shy about Shadaloo uniforms in Rust's presence anymore. "It is early. You have plenty of time to rest. In any case. I have given up trying to persuade you, you are clearly too annoying and too judgmental and too stupid, rather like Zangief. I try anyway given I am here. With the grapes. But that is not why I am here.".
For being something so important to him when, by all appearances, it is a piece of garbage that has long been needed to be disposed, there is legitimate hesitance given how Cammy so casually gives him the only means he has for protection in his current state, if... not much.
A moment of hesitance that passes as he clenches his teeth and makes a loud popping noise as his right hand reaches out and tries to snatch it clean of Cammy's grip, an agonized yelp as he puts pressure on a part of his body that really, really doesn't want any put on it (read: /all of it/) just for the sake of bringing the pipe closer to his person like some sort of tetanus-filled teddy bear to cradle to sleep.
"I said, I said... go away," he reiterates simply to Cammy's analysis of his stubbornness and her insistence of how lucky he is. "You don't... you don't, you don't know what I've, I've been through." He grumbles as he chances further injury to one of his sides just to be sure he can break free of eye contact.
The way his weight shifts, the grapes on the blanket slip off.
"I've been beaten up before." the Doll points out to him. "By people far crueller than those who attacked you, as well. I do not think you should talk about pain and my lack of understanding of it. I understand pain very well indeed.". It sounds a bit ominous with her flat voice and glassy blue eyes, even though she's only trying to be matter of fact.
"Anyway, to business. Quon said that I should attempt to find out who robbed you.". She lets out a somewhat pained sigh. "I did tell him it was a pointless waste of time. But he insisted. So, very well, I do what Quon asks. It would not be the first time that I have had a job which was a pointless waste of time. From what little information you revealed, an address book was stolen, and given that they did not steal anything of actual value, it seems likely that whoever robbed you had a well defined and perhaps complex motive, as you yourself have surmised. Given that fact, it seems that it is important to know what was in that address book exactly, given the guilty party seems to think it so important. You answer my questions on this subject now, and then, if you like, I will go away.". 'If you like', even now the Doll apparently harbours some vague hope of reconciliation.
She then leans forward to grab the grapes that have fallen off the bed, exposing her blonde head a bit as she leans. Perhaps not the wisest of moves given Rust has a metal pipe to beat her with. On the other hand, maybe she doesn't care, or figures Rust isn't in a fit state to do anything at all, pipe or not. Assuming Rust doesn't do anything violent first, she returns the grapes to his blanket. "I would feed Quon grapes, perhaps, if he was injured like this. You can pick them yourself though." she informs him somewhat haughtily. Even if she is being nice, there are limits.
"It ain't just... just... bein', bein' beaten /up/," he tries to put forth some intensity in his voice when there is nothing in his body that can support anything involving the very concept of intensity, in a futile attempt to overcome Cammy's droning on and on and on about the hows and whys of what she's doing.
"The hell... the hell you mean, what's... what's in an, in an... address book," he snorts, as if he has to actually explain what the hell is /in/ that address book, "it's, it's full of... addresses, phone numbers, that's... that's why we call it a, a god damn address book."
She can't be playing stupid /this/ stupidly, can she, he wonders to himself as he pulls a blanket over his own head in the vain hopes of not really wanting to see or hear her despite her (genuine) attempts to want to help him figure out who did it, why they did it, and to clear her name of the matter.
"Can you just... can you just... go? Just. Go. Go. Just, just go." He stubbornly repeats, another wince and corresponding grunts as he realizes he's once again putting much too much stress on his body laying the way he is - and, sadly, forcing himself to go onto his back so that he can't really look all the way away from Cammy any more as the blanket recedes a bit from his face.
Cammy shakes her head, seeing that her assessment is apparently correct. "I am not as stupid as you apparently are, Mr Rust." the Doll tells him while rolling her eyes. "Addresses and names and phone numbers, yes. Do you think that whoever stole that is concerned about any old address, name or phone number? If thats all they wanted they could've gone to a telephone book, not had to rob you." she points out somewhat scornfully. "Who was in it? Since the book disappeared has anything happened to those people?".
In truth she's not so much interested in clearing her name as she is of doing what she agreed to do, and as evidence of that, she reaches out, to prod Rust through the blanket rather painfully. Answers are her priority, more so than forgiveness. "I am not going, until I get what I want.".
"Do you... do you even," the man growls, "expect me to... to remember every god damn... name in there? Every person, off... off the top of my head? That's... that's why, we, we /have those/."
It might be humorous looking in from the outside, someone having to explain to someone who attempted to mastermind outright violence in politically turbulent Egypt as to the point of an address book.
"Well, I, I called everyone that, that I /did/ remember, and... well, I, I haven't heard much back." He doesn't feel like pointing out it's very likely because he currently lacks a friggin' cellphone, and that the only guy who is/was up and about with one is currently pissed off over the mention of the sheer possibility that Antoine might have been jailed or something out around here.
She prods. She prods painfully, and with every prod there's another new sore - enough that Ol' Rusty is, at last, lifted up from underneath his loving embrace and waved in Cammy's direction in a slow, limp, completely unthreatening manner prior to an equally feeble attempt to let it fall down onto her prodding hand.
If for some reason Cammy does not notice this highly predictable outcome from his body language, any contact he could possibly make couldn't make it past the force of a proper wrist slap.
"I had a dream /die/." He says clearly - well, more so than he has clearly said anything prior. "I don't, I don't need you... pokin' new bruises in me. Cammy. I'm, I'm a sad... I'm a sad, broken man, with... with /everything/ in my life 'bout, 'bout ready to, to fall apart and... and I ain't gonna stand for you, for you... y'know, makin'... fun of me, pokin' me..."
Not that he is in much of a position to /do/ anything about it.
Cammy sighs. "Why is everything so difficult. There must be some important people in that book who is of interest. People even you can remember. Fighters, probably.". Everything is all about fighters in Cammy's experience. "What fighters were in the book? You can remember their /names/, at least, right? I can contact them myself, given that.".
Though admittedly Rust's mewling is so pathetic that even Cammy's plastic doll heart is moved, a little bit. She stops poking at him, at least. "I thought you would be happy, given you got to compete in the tournament. You lost, but. That was always likely. I have been beaten by Zangief myself, you know. I know what it feels like. I hate Zangief. Not only does it hurt, but then you are covered with sweat and hair afterwards. And you stink of Russian strongman for a week. And he has that annoying pea brain as well, and that loud mouth of his. Ugh.".
She shrugs. "But I am not here to talk about Zangief. Or even your problems. I am just trying to find out who stole that book, and why they stole it, seems to be a good question to ask to begin any investigation. I will knock on doors later. That is boring. I will enlist some help.". Ibuki will help, no doubt.
"I don't, I don't... want, you... contactin' 'em," he tries to reiterate through clenched teeth, wheezing for air, "how many, how many... times... do, do I, have, to... say it?"
There's almost no point in adding any further descriptive emphasis onto his pains and aches that are virtually everywhere - every movement he makes is putting his recovery at risk after such a thorough beating to the body - to say nothing to the mind and the spirit.
"You, you don't get it," he says as his tension relaxes a little, if making way to further sadness, "I've, I've waited... years, years, and years for... for a shot, and... and... you wouldn't know what, what I had to... to juggle, to /put at risk/, for... for a chance, and...."
He manages to ball his left hand up into a fist, shaking it as though considering whether or not he should slam it into something. "And, and I blew it. I'm, I'm not going to... to have another chance. It's, it's over. The big thing that, that I wanted in life... over. It's all over. There's, there's never going to be... any other, any other chances just... lining up like, like that."
He finally does slam that fist into something - his mattress, wincing at the tension this balled up fist put on one of his elbows. "And, and to say nothin' 'bout... 'bout how I did as, as a /captain/," he growls, "over a family goin' nuts... a friend getting, getting reckless as, as all hell... one of 'em, they're missing, and... and the other, he, he wants nothin' more to do with me."
"I don't care what you want." Cammy tells him frankly. "Don't make me start prodding you again, I know it hurts you. Just tell me. You are so exasperating, how hard can it be?". She shakes her head, ugh, so tedious. "If you really don't want me contacting them, go talk to Quon, and get him to tell me to stop this investigation." she suggests. "It is him that is the real driving factor here, after all, not me. I am just a professional, doing a job.".
But this sounds interesting. "Do not be a fool, Rust. I thought you were a Kyokugen student now. All that rubbish from Ryo about not quitting. I suppose it's lucky that you are telling me this, and not him, or he would be disappointed. It's not over, you are not dead yet. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, it does not portray you in a good light, especially given your stoic reputation.".
And then she just shakes her head, with a sigh. "You tell me far more with your offhand comments than you do when I ask you straight out. This is why I find this task I have been set so tedious. Please, ask Quon to tell me to stop if you are not interested, I do not mind at all.".
Another deep sigh from the Doll, and then she speaks, slowly, enunciating every word carefully, as if speaking to a recalcitrant child, and despite her flat voice, she somehow manages to fill the words with boredom. "Someone is missing. Someone in your address book presumably is missing. Perhaps this is linked to who stole it? Tell me more about this. Who is missing.".
It's not /quitting/ so much as the facts of the matter as to the events that led up to this. Howard Rust is a guy who is working two jobs on the same campus, as a means of getting enough sick leave days to embark in Kyokugen training and expend said days recovering from particularly nasty lessons... as well as cover for however long he'd be out for the tournament. This is a man who gambled with his time and energy to get to be a part of King of Fighters - the ultimate culmination of what he could have described as a lifelong dream that he almost completely had to abort after various life circumstances.
It has, thus far, been all completely for naught in that very specific, narrow-minded, selfish regard. The regard in which he is, unfortunately, fixated upon.
"Do you, do you really think... Cammy," he speaks up half-way through her deduction about someone being missing, "that... that you're the one with... with the high ground?"
Ol' Rusty is slowly and shakily raised with his right hand. As may have already been established, individually he is of absolutely no personal threat to Cammy - any gesture to threaten to strike her would be, in brief, completely pointless.
"I said... I said go away. You're, you're a god damn... terrorist, not, not my therapist," he hisses, the pipe still raised... but to what end is he even really hoping to accomplish?
Cammy glances down at Rust, and shrugs. "Regarding you and Quon... yes. But right now, I do not care.". She leans forward, to stare at him, gaze intense. "I was happy enough with you as a friend of sorts. Someone to talk to every so often, about simple things, like lawnmowers, and your life, which is so much less complicated and more straightforward than mine. But whatever, that is in the past now, you insulted me, very much, with your casual accusations and dismissal of my most valued friendships. I am sure you know what this feels like, given how Quon misunderstood your words in the hospital, and took offence. It is not very pleasant, is it.". She sniffs, and stretches back out in her chair again.
"But I am not here for that. It is the past now. Maybe its for the best, I know you never really liked me anyway, I am not stupid, and you are with those Kyokugen fools now anyway, uncompromising and simple minded fools whose company you will find most suitable, I am sure. I am here, for those answers, because that is what Quon asked me to do. Now, tell me the name of this person who disappeared, tell me the names of other fighters in that book, and I will be on my way, and unless my future mission objectives happen to cross your path again - which I suspect is unlikely, unless Quon for some reason persuades me to indulge in another wild goose chase - we need never meet each other ever again.".
Quon insisted pretty heavily that Cammy almost assuredly had no hand, at all, in stealing that address book. Maybe, maybe not. She has been so very intent to go seek names out - presumably if Shadaloo was indeed the guilty party, this entire thing would be completely and utterly unnecessary by any sort of logical stretch.
This is not a man, currently, driven so much by logic given his aches, his pains, and the way a young lady is telling him about how pathetic he is, how stupid he is, how everything is this, everything is that, laying down terms as to why she's entitled to this and that. His right arm shakes as she brings out what he may have to admit is the first truly valid point she's had - his misconceptions hurt him as much as his hurt her.
Maybe it's that point where the final piece of furniture that breaks the furniture dolly's back as Cammy continues with her demands of him, as though still certain of her position of superiority in asking him all this. As though there is absolutely nothing at all stopping her other than her whimsy and boredom.
"I said... go," he says as he gathers up the fullest extent of his willpower in the face of further physical harm and spiritual anguish, and swings Ol' Rusty... not in Cammy's direction.
He pitches it at the window, the loud sound of pipe against breaking glass that shatters into a million pieces of rain-soaked glass. It's a loud enough sound that should serve as an alert for the rest of the lodge and its inhabitants. Many of them are injured, and individually it's doubtful a single one of them could stand to Cammy in her current state.
Now there is, however, a legitimate risk to Cammy for her continued presence.
"If, if you want," he sneers, "get the, get the hell out that window," he growls as the cold air whips against his weak, injured body uncomfortably.
Cammy shakes her head at him, face twisting into a frown, an annoyed look, her normal doll imperturbability dented. "You fool. Why is cooperation so difficult for you, when I have done nothing to you, nothing at all! I am not going this time emptyhanded, Mr Rust, to fail a mission yet again. I hoped I would not have to hurt you, for old times sake, and as I hoped that perhaps those times could return in the future, but I will, as needs must. And now I have no more time to be reasonable. You will tell me what I need to know. And I will then go. It is so simple, even a child, even Zangief, could understand. List the names of fighters, and tell me who is missing." .
And she suddenly goes into action, leaping up onto Rust's bed adroitly, and promptly drives a booted foot into a kidney - hard enough to hurt, hard enough to really hurt in fact, but not hard enough to mean he's not going to be able to answer. She glances over at the window quickly while Rust is considering his position and his words, calculating how long she's got, before turning back to him, braids whipping around her.
She has a job to do! She's doing it.
"I said--"
It doesn't matter what he says - Cammy jumps on his bed and gives him a swift kick to the kidney - let's keep in mind he's still nursing shattered ribs.
A loud, prolonged cry of agony follows as he rolls off his bed and onto the cold, increasingly damper floor as his body makes contact with little shards of glass threatening to embed themselves in his flesh where, when in much stronger health, they would pose virtually no risk at all to his person.
He wheezes and breathes in and out, struggling not to shed tears outright at overwhelming pain - not to mention whatever else happened when he fell off the side of his bed. His teeth are clenched, any words that he could possibly form at this point being completely useless beyond half-formed curses.
Now was probably not the greatest time to attempt to use physical force.
Cammy didn't know about the ribs - damn. She wrinkles her nose herself as she looks down at him, rolling off the bed in pain, and recognising the slightly different character of impact between an intact and a not so intact rib cage. She is analytical after all. "Look what you made me do now." she mutters. "Why on earth do you think I come back to you, it is not through choice, these days, it's only ever a pain.".
Perhaps more pain for Rust, this time.
Then Cammy does a rather strange thing. "I did not mean for that to happen, unfortunately I could not properly see you under the bed." she tells Rust, reaching down to grip him with tiny girl hands far stronger than they appear, hauling him up and returning him to his bed. Then she hauls the blankets over him, tucking him in again to some semblance of comfort, aside from the ribs sliding around like broken glass after all, but at least he's in the warm bed, not on the cold, glass shard covered floor.
"Quon and his offhand, ill defined, ill advised and foolish mission parameters, gah. Against my advice, too. And your stubborn annoying self! I have just about had it. Even Juri is less of a pain to deal with.". She scrunches her face up, angry, but also sad, knowing that Quon isn't going to be happy, and it's not even her fault. Again. "Bah!". In fact, she's so angry, she actually has to take it out on something, not very like her. She still has enough self control to kick the chair to smithereens though, rather than kick Rust some more.
Seeing that Rust is going to need some recuperation time, and that she doesn't have time, it's pointless to linger any further. The Doll grabs her cloak from the floor, and then leaps out of the shattered window, into the cold and rainy night, to hare away from the lodge at full tilt until she has vanished into the great outdoors.
There really is no gentle way to lift this man and not have him be in excruciating pain with the total sum of his injuries between his ill-fated KoF bout, Zach's amped-up psychic outbursts, and Takuma. (Nobody needs to describe anything about Takuma, just say 'Takuma' and anything and everything is already properly implied to anyone and everyone who knows that name, which is to say a lot of people.)
There is something of an attempt on his part to fight back, if it can even be considered fighting back as he wraps an arm around Cammy while she makes the earnest attempt to get him on his bed - a grip that never really turns into anything else and might even be slightly helpful to that effort of being tucked in with minimal... um...
There's nothing minimal at all with the groaning and wheezing and other pathetic displays of weakness one Howard Rust puts up in his moment of extreme pain and injury - he is too broken to even process the idea of trying to ask who or what a 'Juri' is, eyes shut tight and wincing really in hopes that she'd just hurry up and go away. If he's lucky, /someone/ in this friggin' lodge will come and see what that commotion was.
If he's unlucky, they'll see him being a pathetic, simpering lump of flesh. He curls up ever more slightly when that chair gets kicked apart, and otherwise has precious little to say that constitutes 'communicative language' and not 'expressing pain.'
This day has officially rose up to being #2 of the worst days ever.
Log created on 13:52:26 02/23/2011 by Rust, and last modified on 17:12:38 02/23/2011.