Description: Mr. Jones is back in town baby! After his movie career crashed completely, the Groovy Dancer returns to the streets where it all began to get himself reacquaint with the gangs that now overrun the place. Instead of finding glory however, he learns that he shouldn't judge a book by it's cover. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Jones runs into Frank who he mistakes for a gang banger. Fists fly, blood spills on the streets ending with a bitter taste for both, and not just because they got punched in the mouth. (First time logging, the meters are lost forever sadly but it's still a good fight.)
( The meters are going to be messed up for this fight, manually fixing logs always leaves them less than pretty. :( )
Metro City.
It's said that if the universe was a giant bath tub, this city would be the sink where all the scum would get stuck on. You'll never find a place more infested with low lives criminal wretches of any kind. Smugglers, drug traffickers, underground fights, if it's illegal you can probably find it here.
Alright, that's may be a pretty harsh rep for this place, but Mr. Jones likes to dramatize stuff a bit so it looks that much cooler when he comes to help out. It's not uncommon to hear that the major of this town remains tough on crime on the most outstanding manner possible, getting out of his office and wrestling these punks into submission! Now that is a hand on approach and Mr. Jones seeks to do his citizen duty and get a piece of that action.
A heavy beat of disco music can be heard down the highway as a really old school 80's car speeds down the streets heading in the direction of one of its districts. Parking with a bit of a swerve, out comes Johnny Jones, coming his afro before closing the door to his car and starts 'patroling' the streets. He's done this before, sooner or later he's ought to round down a corner and meet a group of unsavory characters that need to be reintroduced to the inner funk.
Frank felt all this was unnecessary, all this business in Metro City. Here he was, walking down to the docks to ask about work, and a bunch of hoodlem punks jumped out, demanding money. When Frank shrugged and handed over the 80 cents in the pocket of his jeans, nobody there believed it was all he had, and now look at them, trashcans molded around them, quite a few of them with what looked like lumps growing out of their heads, and Frank sat there rubbing his knuckles, shaking his massive head at what just happened. "Yer buncha fruit loops outta stick ter askin' nice, yeh."
His eyes hidden by that dark gray, almost black dock worker's cap, massive six foot nine, three hundred pound body lumbering away, the almost freakishly built, modern day Samson passed the afro-wearing Mr. Jones, completely ignorant of what the black man had been fixing to do. Muttering with a voice that sounded like cigarrette butts and rocks in a blender, Frank muttered out. "Scuze me, yeh."
Now to Jones' credit he's not going to jump on the first guy that looks at him the wrong way and start swinging. He's supposed to be a good guy after all, it ain't his style to stage a fight with a random punk just because he looked like he was no good. That would be quite hypocritical of his mentality considering how he looks like, a tall, lanky, African American, afro wearing man in a yellow jump suit is just the sort of person you'd expect to be up to no good. No, Jones is a bit more philosophical like that, he knows that he shouldn't judge a book by it's cover.
Thus, where lesser men would cross the street to the other side when seeing the giant of a man like Frank approaching them, Mistah Jones walks right past him, even brushing his shoulder a little. "Go ahead bro." He grins at him in the direction of the docks and then just....stops. "Yikes! They weren't kidding about this place." The disco maniac raises his shades to admire Frank's handiwork. About a dozen or so thug looking men littering the streets, bruised, broken, utterly pummeled. Mr. Jones is no slouch when it comes to judging fighting styles, even if the fighting style is just street and he deduces by the way they are positioned that whoever did this to them was large and stood in a single spot due to the circle like form the men are strewn about. He looks down and then behind him to the man that just passed; no doubt about it, he was the one that beat these guys into a pulp.
"Ayyo!" Jones calls over to the large man slowly walking away. "Quite the number you pulled on those poor suckas. Does it make ya feel tough to beat on guys smaller than ya!?"
Frank whirled around, the big ape-like man lumbering back toward the afro'd man, sneering and instantly sizing the man up. His face
was the sort where, even though it wasn't handsome or attractive, one could still stare at for hours, and that was the face staring right at the man right now. Mr Jones' remark cut him, bringing back the events of his life, and what he had done. Sneering, Frank spoke in a careful, measured manner.
"Ner' does. Not even when it needs doin'. It needed doin' here, and yer don't need ter be throwin' round implications like that."
With a face like that, looking like if it was cut from stone, most men would run or at least assume a defensive stance preparing to fight for their lives. Jones? He just grins, his shades flashing in the sun light as he meets Frank's cold, shaded glare with a sunny look. "I calls 'em as I see 'em dude." He shrugs popping the collar of his jump suit and starts walking right towards the massive man fearlessly, that ever present manic grin still on his lips.
"Those guys never had a chance against ya. You knew that, they knew that, I knew that, everybody knew that. But ya still went off and cracked their skulls in, I'm all about self defense man, but you gotta learn how to control that strength of yours. Didn't they teach you that at your dojo??" Silly Mr. Jones, he thinks that everyone that can fight has learned their style at a school.
Frank simply gave a snarl, swaggering toward the guy in a slower, more deliberate fashion until(unless Jones prevented this somehow) they were standing toe-to-toe, eye to eye...well, kind of, considering the shades and the cap. But the equivalent, for sure. Frank clenched his fists in frustation. This guy was already bothering him, his flash and pizazz that really rubbed Frank the wrong way.
"Dojo? What ther heck are ya talking about? Yer mean dem fight schools? Never set a foot in them places, and now yer makin' me a little mad. Yer weren't here t'see what happened, so drop it."
Mr. Jones is not one to get in the way of making a show, even if it's quite clearly dangerous for his health. Like the crazed martial artist that he is, he keeps right on walking until he's almost touching chests with Frank staring right into those hidden eyes of his cap, going for the balls to the wall maneuver right off the bat. Despite the aggressive stance in which the two men find themselves, Jones still grins, though his eyebrows are furrowed making him look hella cocky, even if he has to look up to meet that glare.
"Aaah, see. That's you're problem m'man. You haven't been taught the way of the groove properly, ain't no wonder you're like a bull in a china shop." Jones snorts and stands back, not giving way to Frank but only to put some space between them. "Well Imma about to make you a whole lot more mad, 'cause I don't think I can let a guy like ya loose if you got no sense of control." Jones rubs his nose and motions Frank to get closer with his hand. "Put 'em up, son. You ain't big enough to not get knocked down on yo' ass!"
COMBATSYS: MrJones has started a fight here.
COMBATSYS: Frank has joined the fight here.
Frank just shook his head, standing his ground, and rolled his massive neck, the crackling bouncing off the echo-enducing concrete and filling the alley, a few thugs just now coming to, choosing to crawl away from the impending conflict. Frank for his part, merely bringing up his massive fists, swaying to and fro calmly, eyeing his opponent. "Alright then, yer daft fool...let's get dis over with."
He was recently trying to break into the world of professional fighting. But something like this was just...meaningless to him.
Oh, if only Frank knew. Hasn't he watched TV lately? This ain't no average hooligan, that's Mr. Johnny Jones that's challenging him to fight, a regular of SNF and quite the celebrity to those on the know! But if he doesn't know Jones isn't going to tell him, last thing he needs is people pulling their punches the moment they find out they are fighting a movie actor, not that a guy like Frank looks like he'd care about something as petty as that.
Jones shakes his head and takes a Jeet Kune Do stance. "Gonna put you on yo' place boy, yeh!" Another thing why Frank should really watch TV lately is because he would know that Mr. Jones has a very peculiar way of fighting. Sure, his martial skill is supreme, but most of his wins have been because one reason only; he is freaking annoying! It's not unheard of for his opponents to lose all sense of themselves and rush him to try and shut him up leaving themselves exposed for quick counters. If Frank isn't careful Jones is likely going to try and pull the same trick on him.
But not at this precise instant though, he prefers to let his fists annoy him first! "WASHOOOO!!" The disco fighter suddenly explodes forward with his left fist extended, aiming to nail Frank right in the mouth!
Frank meant to shoot his boot into the stomach of Mr. Jones before that punch could rock him, but was a bit slow on the drawtime. That fist crashed right across the side of Frank's face, staggering him back, and causing saliva and a teensy bit of blood to spray across the ground. As he walked away, back turned to the opponent, and wiping his nose, Mr. Jones might find his fist COVERED in thick spittle...
Knuckles solidly collide with that mouth and much to his surprise Jones actually makes the much taller man whirl around and hold his face. Huh! Didn't mean to hit him that hard, perhaps it's he who should have a lesson in self restraint. However, it's not like he didn't notice that kick going to his stomach, had he been any slower he would have gotten his world rocked for sure! He's no fool, he knows that this guy is faaar from defeated. "Ew.." Jones makes a side comment about the spit on his knuckles, ignoring it as he is quite accustomed to that happening, before swinging a right hook right at Frank's kidneys to knock the air out of him. "WOOO!"
COMBATSYS: Frank blocks MrJones' Medium Punch.
You been in one fight, you've been in them all. With that fist doing it's best to fracture Frank's skull and scramble his brains like eggs, the big giant needed a moment to refocus himself, mentally chiding himself for going for blood just yet. Hearing the faint scruffling of an approaching foe, Frank knew instantly that his kidneys were the target. No, there was no science to this, Frank didn't have a 'technique' of predicting moves like some psychic, but when you scrapped with smaller guys who liked to cheat to bring a powerhouse like you down, you learned quick what they like to go for. He pivoted as 'quick' as he could, still feeling those knuckles tap his back, but he did his best to ignore that pain as he now faced the afro-rocking slugger. Lashing out with those big, meaty hands, Frank moved to grab that arm of Jones' that was now extended, trying to 'throw' him...it was almost like an Irish Whip, but while with an Irish Whip you were forced to run, this move Frank actually tried to lift Mr. Jones' feet off the ground, sort of 'tossing' him to the ground and hoping it really hurt the groovy guy. "HRAAAAAGH!"
Hey! That's the second time that calls out Mr. Jones on using cheap moves! Going for the kidneys is totally a legit move, even on a boxing match, never mind that they were in the streets duking it out. Does Jones really fight that dirty or maybe no one really appreciates the brutality that is Jeet Kune Do? Anyway, no time to think about that because suddenly he's caught and swung around "Woa baby!!" 190 pounds of funky retroness isn't going to help a lot when a 300 pound guy is trying to take you for a ride, that's what skill is for. Jones gets flung about easily enough, but rather than going flying forward and landing somewhere nasty, the retro fighter pulls free of the grip middway. Twisting his wrist inside of Frank's meaty fists, he slides his hand right between the big man's index and thumb finger, pulling out of the grapple before he can get tossed to the sun. It messes up his shoulder a little but no biggie! Oh and look, he's still right on Frank's side! "WATAAA!" The retro fighter capitalizes on this by swinging a rounhouse left kick at him aiming for the back of his knee, aiming for the joint there to cripple his mobility monetarily.
Frank sneered and just stood there, enough was enough! Feeling that foot smash into his throat, feeling the possible crushing of his vocal cords, he just stood there without a care in the world, and glaring at Mr. Jones with hidden eyes of fire, Frank yelled, bringing his own foot up, aiming right at Mr. Jones' groin! But launching the big black man into the air was only part of the plan. Frank was about to ensure that Mr. Jones had a really bad fucking day!
COMBATSYS: Frank successfully hits MrJones with Talk About A Bad Day.
Huh! He took the kick to the throat? And he's still standing? Well kneeling, but still. That's pretty weird. Mr. Jones thinks for a moment that Frank just went ahead and gave up either and then, an error that will cost him when he realizes that the only thing that kick did was piss Frank right off. "OOFF!!" Right in the jewels! Jones' shades go flying when he's struck and he is lifted in the air feeling the entire world flipping upside down before crashing right on his head "AAGGGH!!" Fortunately his afro acted as a bit of a cushion against that pile driver, but...damn! "Augh...ow....oh you MOTHA' FU---" Eeeh..now it's his turn to be pissed. "RAAAAAAAH!!" The retro fighter turns that pain into anger and he gets right the frigg up swinging an upper cut right for Frank's groin.
COMBATSYS: Frank blocks MrJones' Retro Knuckle.
Frank was breathing heavy from that assault, getting up slowly as his veins pumped and blood rushing through his body, his heart was pounding in his ears, and Mr. Jones there still came up, with a fist aimed at his groin. Frank swung a heavy limb the size of a tree trunk away, and though Mr. Jones wasn't exactly in prime position, Frank decided to use an improvised version of his big time move, The Faceplanter. Grabbing for the back of Jones' head, Frank would try to hoist the man up off the ground and off his feet quickly, before throwing him, face first, right into the pavement, the same spot where his head would land. This time, if it landed, that afro wouldn't do him a bit of good!
MrJones blocks Frank's Faceplanter.
Talk about balls of steel! Frank doesn't even seem to flinch when Jones, out of outrage, punches him in the nuts like a certain other martial artist movie actor. And they said that he was the cheap one, hah! No more Mister Nice Jonesy, he's not standing still for Frank to grab a hold of his face and slam him down again. At least not initially, because grab him he does, and he gets lifted up in the air looking falling his arms and legs about until Frank reaches the apex of his lift. *POP* There's a sound as Jones pries his face off the grip and wraps his entire body around Frank's arms, hands holding his wrists whilst legs wrap around his elbow. "I really didn't want to do this but---!!" Jones pulls down when Frank goes for the slam, but instead of getting his head jammed in, he forces Frank to go down with him so his flat on his belly with the retro fighter still clinging to his arm. In that downed position, Jones then gives a sharp twist to the side to dislocate the shoulder right out of it's socket!
COMBATSYS: MrJones successfully hits Frank with Way of the Groove Master.
Frank has no way out, and so, there's a 'pop' as his shoulder then looks horrific.
COMBATSYS: Frank takes no action
COMBATSYS: Frank can no longer fight.
So much for self control, snapping people's arms really isn't something that will earn Mr. Jones a lot of friends. "Woops..guess I got carried away there." Jones rolls out from under the heavy log of an arm and adjusts his shades looking at the fallen Frank. "Eh, that heals right off. Lemme tell ya, once I did it to this one other guy on /both/ his arms and then he got up and beat the living daylights out of me." Talking it off like it was nothing, Jones goes to slide himself under Frank's good arm and struggle to pull him up. "Here-lemme get ya to a doc...nnngggggh!! Great balls of fires you weight a ton! Really need to cut down on those burgers, son!"
Frank waited until Mr. Jones got up, then pressing his shoulder against the ground, grunted and popped his shoulder back into place with a twice as sickening crack. He got up, and glanced at the victor. "You don't know a damn thing about me." The voice contained malice and venom, something it previously didn't, the big giant foregoing any kind of subway, or bus. Tonight he was walking home, alone with the moon once again.
Eeek! Dude popped his shoulder back in place! That's like something right of a horror movie! Jones back pedals at that with his hands up as if surrendering. "Ay! Easy easy, I was just trying to help!" He rubs his nose, great, now he feels like an ass. "You don't need a ride or anything? No? Okay..umm..later?" Well this trip did nothing for him...
Log created on 19:59:11 10/25/2011 by MrJones, and last modified on 23:20:02 12/01/2011.