Description: This is not a dramatic preview of the worst cinematic team-up in history. It is instead the worries of a spectacle of a man as he decides to check up on how the various heroes of the war are doing over by the hospital at the Myanmar-China border.
Though things have been picking up since the seeming defeat of Vega and Shadaloo, the camp is still full of people recovering in various states of injury. Rust's been about ready to go and try to make his way back to Japan despite the whole passport issue - he's been more or less passing the time catching up on the typical Kyokugen exercises (metric buttloads of sit-ups and the like). Really, for being at relative peace, a lot of things still hang overhead. Everything has not become magically better following Vega's apparent fall.
In the case of one Howard Rust... there hasn't been any word about Quon's condition yet from over in Russia. His cellphone's busted, most likely causing a panic from those who have been attempting to call him. His abdomen in particular has been pretty raw - maybe he's pushing himself too hard in a place that could have been a fatal wound back in North Korea. It's fairly early in the day, and unless interrupted, he'll probably be at the whole 'exercising like crazy' thing the entire day besides a check-in with Guile and some other loose ends before he sets out.
Okay, enough fooling around. The war may have been won, but there's still a lot of things to be accounted for. Mister Jones had been living large as he usually does, hitting the clubs, signing autographs, dancing with pretty ladies... getting into fights at bars (although those he kind of didn't plan) yet, as he started to get back into the groove of things and look at signing up to SNF again, the thought suddenly hit him... what happened to Rust?
Uh oh.
And what happened to May Lee?
Double Uh oh!
And Qoun!!
Make the Triple!!
Hitting himself in the head repeatedly for overlooking these simple things, Jonesy makes a few calls to find the whereabouts of his old allies and see what had befallen them, cursing loudly when his fears are proven true and he finds that Rust is hospitalized. It matters not that the hospital where Rust is being treated is on another continent, Mister Jones makes his way there one way or another, which may at least account for being horribly late, and steps out of his rented car taking a brisk walk en route to the hospital. His shade covered eyes scanning the area in search for any clue of one Mister Howard's whereabouts.
Eyes are not always needed to find one Howard Rust. It might not be doing Mr. Jones much good - he can see a couple camps out in front of the hospital. A couple of military people doing training drills in case of a sudden guerilla attack or invasion again. They're sure there's Shadaloo pockets out there, perhaps waiting to try and renew an offensive when their pants are down. They sure aren't having it - it's almost like stepping back into a proper war zone, never mind that the Myanmar-China border area has been one of the best secured of the last weeks. Nobody that Mr. Jones looks out and sees has any resemblance to one Howard Rust.
His ears may help, instead, when odd popping noises come from... somewhere. Behind?
Above.
The familiar form of Mr. Rust (totally un-funky 'hair' and all) who is, apparently, attempting to do chin-ups off a street light. He's not wrapped up in a bunch of bandages or what have you - if anything, he looks particularly un-hospitalized in the big picture. Why is he even still here, one may wonder?
Something beyond the chin-ups, anyway. He doesn't seem to take much notice of what's going on below himself as he pulls himself up for something like the umpteenth-hundred time already today.
One thing that differentiates Mister Johnny Jones from other creatures of Hollywood (other than he being an actual bonna fide martial artist that is) it's that he unlike many of the more privileged bunch, he didn't grow up in luxury. Johnny Jones is very much a self made man, growing up in the inhospitable streets of Metro City to raise from hapless poverty to the world of stardom, at least for a while anyway. It is why he's not exactly unused to the gruesome picture painted before him, he had participated in the war effort as an actual combatant, but whenever he did so there was even a light heartiness to it meant more to inspire those around him than truly beat the enemy, though beat them he did and beat them well.
Where other actors would cringe and turn their noses up away from such riff raff, Johnny Jones tightens his lips smelling the familiar scent of dried blood and rescue squads. It reminds him of home. And thus the washed up actor goes forth.
Turning his head up when he hears those cracking bones, Jonesy both cringes and grins when he sees that Rust looks alive and well despite his usual health problems. He wastes no time to go greet him waving his hands up to try and get his attention. "Ayyo! My brotha' Rust! Look real good, pimpin'!"
Alive and well but certainly not pretty! Not from... wounds, or bandaging, those seem to be more or less taken care of, but... well, he still reeks of a certain amount of tiredness and /age/ in just about everything he does, holding his chin up above the bar at his name being called out (instead of letting his arms slack), head turning in the vague direction of Mr. Jones' voice. He lets his arms slack anyway when he can't really see the guy speaking to him, at which point he exhales loudly.
"Hey... Jones." His voice is very tired, but based on the amount of sweat stains he's been at this for a while. Unlike most people who would carefully climb down from wherever they've decided to hang themselves, Howard just simply lets go and plummets a ways down into a skilled forward tumble that ends in a crouch and a popping knee. If anything, this obscures him behind Mr. Jones' rental car before he stands back up into plain view, wiping his brow.
His brow is suspiciously dry to begin with, as though not even his sweat wants to touch that thing he has on his head.
"Sounds like, uh, that... that you're okay, huh," Howard mumbles out as he steps around the back of the car to see Mr. Jones face to face, "I broke my phone, so, uh... if you were tryin' to, ah, to call me, well."
He sounds a bit perturbed over it. To have something like that endure how many battles? And then have it break into pieces the moment he drops it. It's funny but really annoying and inconvenient when he is technically still stuck in war-torn mainland Asia.
Such a walking contradiction Mister Rust Howard is. Jonesy ain't one of those folks that can claim they can stare into other's souls, or read their minds and creepy stuff like that, he's just a people person and thus he can notice certain things about others when he analyses them. It's incredibly how Rust can sound so tired when physically he seems to be perfectly alright, well other than the obvious old wounds he sports that is, but this little exercise he's doing and the way he tumbles expertly down from the light post tells Jones that what ails Rust is a spiritual wound.
"I don't think I even /got/ your number, dawg." Jonesy cheerfully walks around his rented car to face his one time ally. "Yeah, don't you worry none 'bout me." He shrugs casually when Rust asks for his own well being, there are some wounds on his cheeks, but these ones seem rather recent and from a scuffle, not at all from gun shots or things that one could encounter in a war zone. "I'm glad to see you're alright too! When I heard you were at the hospital I rushed as soon as I could!" Which is apparently about two weeks late, but still.
"Where are the others bro? We should totally get MayLee and Quon together and do a partay! I could even reserve the Duck Pond all for ourselves!"
Jones the ever cheerful.
Oh man, the Duck Pond, Howard visibly sinks a bit at mention of it. He remembers that time with that guy after he had a bit too many beers - sure, it's been years since then, but that caused him no shortage of trouble back while he was working at Pacific. And that feeling in his hips for busting through a counter. Hoo whee. Memories.
"Actually, uh, I," he clears his throat again as he rounds past Jones' rental car to see him more face to face, "haven't... seen May Lee. Quon, I... I dunno. Didn't hear anything today. Yet." It is coming up time to go try and bother the lot of them who were looking after him - maybe he's gotten better (or might have been discharged without much of a word, either or). This could just, ultimately, be wishful thinking.
"Might be a li'l early for a party yet, I mean... with everything." Howard mumbles out, thinking to roll one of his shoulders to get out a kink. It's a pretty noisy, nasty-sounding kink. A viable candidate for Kink of the Month, for sure.
Jonesy is certain that Rust has been far and wide, it should come to no surprise that his travels had brought him to the Duck Pond before way before Mister Johnny Jones had worked up the back bone to put his shades back on and rejoin the world of fighting. By such deduction, tha' Jones recognizes that look Rust gives him and he's unable to smirk slightly knowing all too well what that motion means. It's the unmistakable 'had too many crazy parties at the Pond' sinking look, and thus Johnny Jones doesn't push the issue.
Besides he's far more preoccupied about the well being of war time allies. "Aite, let's just say we'll put it on hold." Dude like Jones can get a reservation at the Pond anytime he wants anyway. Leaning on his rented car with arms crossed, a look of concern crosses Jonesy's ever shaded face once Rust confesses he doesn't know the whereabouts of either MayLee or Quon
"Fudgecicles. But they're okay right? I mean...you've seen them. Right? Hehe..or they're with you back there?" The question is left unsaid, but it's clear what Mister Jones is trying to get at even if he doesn't say it directly to the mumbling Rust.
His mannerism and the way he phrases it reveals his true meaning.
They're alive, right? Is what he's trying to ask.
The older man is a bit quiet at the questions, as if anything he could say would be much different from what he just mentioned - as though a bit of subtext in Jones' question is left hanging for a bit.
"Well, uh... maybe? I mean... Quon had it pretty bad." That's putting it lightly!! Everyone did, no mistakes can be made there. He hasn't heard any bad news - but 'no news' is certainly not 'good news' in these times! Vega might have been routed, but yet so much still remains up in the air. Nations throughout the greater Asian area reel from the Shadaloo-directed brutality by the Chinese war machine left and right.
"May Lee, well... I mean, I heard she left. For home, I mean, but," he shrugs, "busted my phone so, if she, she left a message... I don't have it." Howard turns away. Is there something bad he's been holding back? Some bad news that might harsh the buzz of everyone and everything here? A parting shot by Vega of a tragedy among those who stood and fought, perhaps?!
The drama!
"Everything's just, just kinda... gone by quick, now. I dunno, I guess everyone's just... y'know, in a hurry to, to get back to what they were doin'." He's heard that the fighting scene is picking back up pretty quickly, which should be a joyous thing for him given that's where his living is coming from now - in theory.
MAYBE!??
Make no mistake, Jones, for all his excentric behavior is a pretty reasonable guy. In fact, he prides himself for how difficult it is to get him to lose his cool, he's the type of guy that can get along with anyone. From the craziest psychos to the most innocent of flowers, all without missing a bit, seemingly fluctuating from one side of the coin to the other with no problem, because he's just that. damn. groovy.
But if there's one thing that really messes up his funk, is getting incomplete information about someone he cares about. Life is not something that can be joked about, Jones knows this quite well, which is why that grin that is seemingly permanently plastered on his lips disappears quite quickly when Rust fails to give him a straight answer.
Maybe is not something he wants to hear he asks if someone is okay.
The panic in Mister Jones' voice rises. He can take Rust not know about MayLee. She left, he told him, left back home and is safe there with those that care of her. Okay, he can live with that, that's cool, he says himself. But what about Quon??
Why, Jonesy is about ready to jump and try to strangle Rust when he tries to change the subject, and in fact for a second it looks like he's just about to do that.
"Son!" In a flash, ol' Mista' Jay is right on Rust's face placing both hands on the man's shoulders, uncaring of which one is the one that clicks. "Don't. leave. me. hanging, bro." Despite the ghetto slang, Mister Jones' tone is serious, the grin returns to his mouth but it's a long shot from the carefree cool smile from before. His lips are quivering with worry and it's a forced grin he sets on himself to keep him to look too nervous.
Rust isn't telling him something, and he doesn't like that. It forces him to assume the worse.
"Where is Quon?" He asks again, much to his own displeasure, the Groove Master in the verge of whispering now "You can tell me, come on."
Howard doesn't anticipate Jones' sudden pounce of panicked hands upon his shoulders. It perhaps speaks strongly of Jones' concern and the panic upon the man whose soul appears to have been captured by the seventies just by how much one of his shoulders start to go numb - it's not the one that had the kink to work out! The forced grin is a little unsettling to the stouter man.
"H-Hey. Whoa." Howard takes his left hand atop Mr. Jones' right shoulder, somewhere half-way between 'calm down' and 'please take a step back' as he shakes his head once. "Y-You're not the only one bein' left... being left hanging. All right?" He steps away towards the war-torn turf of the reclaimed hospital of the Myanmar-China border. "He's... he's over in Russia. Every time I called, it's," his mumbling grows increasingly frustrated, "they say he ain't dead, but, but they never say much more than that. It's... look." He turns back to face Mr. Jones proper.
"I, I feel I failed him, on some level. I knew the guy who taught 'em... him and, and Antoine." The name is fairly obscure - Antoine was a part of the ill-fated King of Fighters team, but they are known to have the same fighting style as Quon. Though, 'knowing' the guy who taught them is probably a slight exaggeration - they met once back when Rust was younger and he hoped to face him again down the line.
"Quon, he... he was willing to give up his future just to... shit." The older man shakes his head, bringing a hand to his forehead for a moment as he looks to regard Mr. Jones. He remembers setting Quon off shortly after that round one loss in King of Fighters, and how everything just got worse and worse for him.
The older man takes in a deep breath as he raises his head and moves his hand from his face (his hand probably appreciates being as far away from that toupee as possible). "He... he deserves better. He just... he just does. He's young. Y'know, he's... talented, I saw that. Sagat... saw that. We tried to, to make it all work, but."
He just shakes his head again. "What Vega did to him, he... he just, that's the most scary thing 'bout it. The most scary thing."
It's the eighties actually, but it doesn't matter, not in light of the current situation.
Jones can't be all fun and games, and that's coming from the guy who honestly when into battle dressed as a Power Ranger. The way Rust was avoiding the subject was making his heart cringe with worry, he couldn't help it really, the thought of letting Quon's fate be decided by his overactive imagination was just too much. He would much rather Rust tell the ultimate fate of the boy rather and deal with it than keep it a mystery.
Rust doesn't need to do much to get Mister Jones to back off. The pounce was just a way to let Mister Rust know he wasn't messing around and that he wouldn't leave until he got a straight answer. Once his curiosity is satisfied, Johnny releases those broad shoulders and takes a step back listening how Rust relates the circumstances that led Quon to where he is now.
Breath is exhaled, causing the Groove Master's own shoulders to deflate, loosening up the stiffness that had plagued him ever since he asked Rust about the Chinese boy. So he's in Russia, and he ain't dead. The two words that Johnny wanted to hear. It may not be much, but at least it brings some manner of relief to the martial artist.
His gaze lower as he still listens to Rust, getting the gist of Quon's tragic past. Silence overcoming him, something that it isn't common for the jive talking retro maniac.
"I was gonna sign him an autograph." He says at last, a sad smile creeping to his lips. "Heh, I didn't know him very well. But when you got a dude's back in a combat situation like that, ya might as well be blood brothers."
The smile turns into a scowl at the mention of Vega, his gaze now averted to the side so as to not let his emotions consume him. Hands going to his pockets, he decides to keep his cool despite the turmoil of questions and worries that flow inside of him.
"Does Sagat know?" Wonders he out loud, remembering the Muay Thai boxer that beat him to a pulp on his own turf. "And does he have any friends and family? Besides you I mean."
It is true that a lot of friendships may well have been forged in blood in the month or so that the world was caught in the throes of war. To say nothing of the individual adventures everyone themselves had in getting embroiled within the drama of a nation who felt a world without fighters (and, of course, under their - or rather, Vega's - control) was a better one.
Rust's certainly made a lot of friends - and enemies - on his own end.
"Sagat? I'm... I'm not sure." Sagat always does seem on top of things, but Rust knows he's headed back home. He's kind of stuck in the exact same situation as with May Lee - if Sagat left him a message on his cellphone, he doesn't have it on grounds of it being busted.
"Antoine's probably his... his best friend, but, he wanders." Kind of like a few other famous wandering fighters! "Haven't... haven't heard from Antoine in a while." He's not sure about Quon's family situation, but he knows the fact China outlawed his kind is definitely a sore point. A very tragic point, on top of it all.
Does Quon really have anything to look forward to? Howard starts to pace for a small while, until something comes to him. He sinks again - maybe, maybe not. It's been an uphill battle for everyone... not just Quon! An uphill battle for everyone to really get their bearings. Sagat, to put his days of anger behind himself. Quon, who goes without saying. Rust... who is finally able to pursue his lifelong dream, even though so many difficulties still pop up.
But maybe, just maybe, he thinks as he turns to face Mr. Jones again, lifting up a hand and waving a finger without vocal accompaniment until maybe the third or fourth shake.
"Y'know," he speaks up after clearing his throat, "'scuse me. Y'know... actually. Jones?" He lifts his head up. "Don't you, uh, don't you... have some contacts in, ah, in showbusiness?"
More enemies than friends in Mister Jones' case. He'll be sure to return the favor to Balrog some day, and also ensure that Ming the Bloody is put down of his freaking misery. It didn't look like it at the time, but it's a good thing that Ming had retreated that time in Iran because that time was perhaps the one and only time where Johnny Jones was really fighting to kill. Should he encounter that guy again down the line, Jones might not be as merciful.
Nevertheless, Jones grimaces. Sagat not knowing of Quon's fate kind of horrifies him as he can't help but imagine how will the guy react when he hears the news. He's certainly not going to tell him either! Dude struck him as one that had anger problems. Jones reckons he'll probably just let Ken Masters handle that affair.
"Dunno 'im." Pouts Johnny Jones at the mention of Antoine, or even heard about him in fact. Dude must have kept himself in his own circles for a busy body like Mister Jones to not have heard of him. With no friends or family to speak of, it looks like it was a dud trying to ask of such things and Johnny sighs in despair, his gaze still down in thought, an utter loss of what to do in that kind of situation. He can't help but feel sorry for the boy, but feeling sorry ain't gonna do him much good!
"
"Hmm?" Johnny perks up at Rust's question. Misplaced as it may be, the entertainment business is Jonesy's specialty and he reacts far too quickly, almost like a trained gesture. "Oh fo sho'! Tha' Jones knows anybody that's anybody in the show bizz. Shoo'" He looks through the breast pockets of his yellow jumpsuit. "My boy Kang. He'll hook ya up with any kinda jig ya want, baby. Lemme see if I still got his digits" That is when realization hits Jones like a ton of bricks causing him to freeze up. His shades lower almost as if they had a mind of their own to show the horrified look on the afro'd man eyes as he stares at Rust. "Err..no offense, but why are ya asking me that? You're not planning on trying to be an actor are ya Rusty?" Mister Jones doesn't think the world could survive that toupee appearing in the big screens. Hundreds of Millions would suffer!
Who knows what this man is thinking? He's not exactly star power! Between the mumbling tone of voice, the unpleasant creaking noises that comes from his joints - especially after overexerting himself - to say nothing of whatever the hell it is that man has put on his head. Even with his uncontestable climb in talent and ability, he's generally not considered anywhere /near/ star quality.
Is he looking to make connections overcome everything against him?!
The look through Jones' eyes gets him wondering for a moment if he may have said something wrong. "Uh... me? Act? N-No. No! No." He shakes his hand. "Not me. I mean..."
He remembers very clearly how Quon was all right with his choices on who to take to their first (and last) battle in King of Fighters. The confidence in which he felt he'd be able to make a name for himself, get in front of the cameras, somehow. Maybe, just maybe... maybe Mr. Jones here might be someone's fairy grandmother.
This thoughtfulness for others may have saved the world several hundred heart attacks, because let's face it, Howard is not a man meant for movies.
"Quon... Quon always wanted to make it big, far as... far as I remember." Rust explains as he steps a bit closer to Mr. Jones. One of his knees pop loudly. "If he's, if he's still able, after... all this." It's hard to say, given how little he's getting from attempted calls to Russia through someone else's phone. He himself has had a lot to think about. Everyone has... it's hard to imagine how Quon might be feeling after such a vicious one-two assault from Vega himself.
He makes sure to reach a hand out onto Mr. Jones' shoulder here for emphasis, "I think... I think you'd really make his day. Really, really make it." Rust shakes his head. "He's, he's probably, ah, thinkin' the fact he got a drunk driving record's gonna lock him out for... forever. Shit. Back in the US... we get drowned in news of, y'know, actors doin' drugs and stuff left 'n right, right?"
Granted, Quon doesn't really have that lively spring in his step like he used to. He's a very different young man from when the two first met, that's for sure. "It's just... I know what it's like to... to get your dream taken from you. He's young. He's... he's too young to give up. If, if there's anything you can do for him, just to... just to help him stand back up 'n take it, if, if he can..."
It's that or he can send random people to encourage him over a couple years out of nowhere. Seemed to work for him, maybe.
"I'd... I'd really appreciate it."
Goodness Gracious, it's like Rust is a walking breathing living cringe worthy machine. Even now, as Mister Jones stands petrified at the thought of Rust ever making it near a camera ensuring many a gruesome death, he himself grimaces when Rust approaches him forcing him to hear all those sickening kriks of shifting bones. Others may look at Rust and just feel sorry for the guy and all his health problems, however Jones has far too much empathy which causes him to mentally place himself in Rust's situation. The Groove Master down right shudders at the thought of having to fight with a clearly previously broken shoulder, knee and whatever else Rust has had surgery in the past.
Shaking it off as best he can, Mista' Jay is brought forcefully back to his senses when he feels that sturdy hand on his equally broad shoulder. His stance is shaky though, which makes him stagger somewhat when he's grabbed. "Huh...fo' real?"
"Quon did mention he was a fan of my movies when I talked to him." Says the admittedly failed actor, it may be odd to ask Jones if he can help Quon achieve stardom considering his own shortcomings on the field. Although to be honest if Mister Jones really wished to he could get back into the movie industry easy, he just prefers not to because he has found the fighting scene to be far more profitable.
A scoff is given when Rust mentions Quon's supposed hindrances in pursuing a movie career, merely shrugging it off. "Sheeyit, drunk driving? They don't even keep that in the record. Hell, one time I got busted for---eeh.." He coughs quickly moving the conversation along. "Anyways, I'm sure I can do something...yeah..yeah! I totally can." Rubbing his chin, his mind is already formulating ideas on how to bring fame to the poor boy who was robbed of so many things.
"You know what? I'll do it, if Quon really wants to I'll make him the most famous cat in Hollywood. Just just leave it all to me." And Kang if he can get a hold of him.
Who woulda thunk it? Mister Jones on a 'Make a Wish' sorta jig. He guesses that's what ultimately makes someone a true star.
Howard totally had ground to sue his employers for a bunch of things back when he was a construction worker, for sure! But even with every little physical malady on his person, he's still ticking, and... as of a few moments ago, was doing chin-ups with a lamp post.
But there's something of an understanding between these two men that in America, aside from finger waggling... in the long run, a man with drive and talent can still more or less get ahead. Right? Maybe? Possibly? The economy is still kind of troublesome over there.
"Will you?" That's not the sound of someone doubting, that's the sound of someone accidentally letting himself count chickens before they hatch. The older man releases Mr. Jones, though there's a wince as he feels a bit of a twinge in one of his legs. His body feels like it's just going to shut down if he doesn't keep moving in some form or another. He's been running more and more on momentum than anything lately - it's harder to just start and stop and start and stop and start and stop.
"Thanks. Really. Thanks." His voice starts to trail off. "I mean... I'm talkin' best case scenario, here, that he's able to, to get on his feet." It's kind of hard to get any answers out of Russia for now. It's not going to be as easy as snapping a finger and making everything okay - not just for Quon, for pretty much everyone. But every step should help, right?
Mister Jones may not have had it quite as bad as Rust. There never was an injury that he didn't fully recover from, nor did he have to endure the hard life for very long. Lucky for him he had a natural talent for acting earning him his ticket out of Metro city and into the star light. However, he never forgot his humble beginnings, always reminding himself that anyone with the proper determination can achieve the same great heights he did. It's why he doesn't allow anyone to give up, because hell, if a goofy scatter brained guy like he did it, anybody can.
This also includes Rust, who draws a frown from Mister Jones when he begins to sound unsure of himself. Didn't he already give him his word? What else could a dude need than Tha' Jones assurance that everything would be alright? "Hey!" Jonesy places his shades back in place once he's released. "I said, I got it bro!"
"Peeps are always telling me that stuff doesn't happen like it does in the movies. But just look at us now, the good guys won, the bad guys are on the run and the only thing stopping us from achieving our goals is ourselves." Jonesy gives Rust a reassuring grin, his Groove back on.
"Just you watch brudda. When this whole mess started I said to myself that I had gotten plenty of practice saving in the world for the cameras. It was high time I started doing it fo' real."
It's true, it may not be as fast as snapping a finger. The road ahead will still be difficult and filled with perils. But in Mister Jones' experience that ain't nothing a kickass training montage with 'Eye of the Tiger' playing on the background can't fix.
Log created on 20:41:53 03/27/2012 by Rust, and last modified on 08:27:55 04/04/2012.