Description: Shortly after Zach's and Guile's Saturday Night Fight set in post-war China, Guile has himself a drink. The one and only Howard Rust decides to coincidentally stop by the same bar on the way to some last business with some military figures, where the two have a chat... but wait! Ken Masters certainly has some offers to make. There's more! Zach Glen has a whole lot of ruminating about what he wants to do with his life after all's said and done. It's strange how quickly life seems to be going back to normal for many, but can it really ever for these people?
In a not half-bad bar found in Guandong, one of the ones which sprouted up around the Olympic Games, one can find a flat-toped, blond beer guzzler sitting in front of one of the TVs playing soccer. He appears to be absolutely oblivious to the comings and goings of the bar itself, and the din of Chinese speakers enjoying their own drinks is not completely washed out by the music playing.
He is approached by a curious young man with a beer in his hand, under the guise of talking to the bartender about his drink. It is no secret that he is craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the beer guzzler's face. When he does, his eyes widen and a grin spreads across his face. He begins talking excitedly to the bartender in Chinese, not asking for another drink but for a pen. The bartender returns with one, and sets it in front of the young man, which is then slid to Guile.
The flat-topped man seems surprised for a moment, turning his head slowly towards the young autograph seeker. He pulls a bar napkin over, picks up the pen and signs 'Guile' in big scrawling text. He slides the napkin back over to the young man and returns the pen to the bartender, motioning to his beer and asking, "Umm... Zai yi gai... le?" He stumbles through asking the bartender for one more in chinese.
It's kind of uncanny how things seem to be going back to... being what they are. How quickly China is willing to reverse its political stance even in the face of overwhelming defeat by the combined forces of the world and a number of concerned individuals with incredible personal power, something not lost on a certain man who had been asked by some other military types to stop by China before he headed back.
Howard is, in fact, visibly unsettled by the general cheer he sees among the streets of a nation that was descended upon by a vindictive world that resisted occupation. Did the people themselves have opinions contrary to the government's stated stance all along? The chatter of languages he does not understand sounds spirited enough as two young men walk out the bar just past the stout American man. They don't even bat much of an eyelash at him.
It smells like alcohol from just out the door, and the man of the horrid hairpiece decides... yeah, it's time for a drink. One wouldn't hurt along the way, even if a part of him feels like he should have... four. Maybe more. With that, Howard lets himself into the bar with the only announcement being a pop of a knee. The place actually doesn't even look too bad on the inside.
He squints once at a very certain distinctive hairstyle, confirmed when the light of that TV shows that American flag tattoo. Is that really him...?
It sure is. Imagine, of all the odds, given how big a place China is.
"Guile?" Howard asks as he moves towards the bar, though his tone of voice is mumbly enough it's probably easy to miss.
While the flattopped beer guzzler seems to be mostly oblivious to the comings and goings from the bar, the sound of his name does attract his attention. He turns towards the murmer of his name, expecting to see another fan but instead catching sight of Rust. He pulls his eyebrows together at the sight of Rust and then grins broadly, "Mr. Rust!" He gestures the man over, putting a boot on the barstool next to him and pushing it out in an offer. He looks back to the bartender, and attempts to speak Chinese once again, "Zai ye gai high five whatever. Bring a beer for my buddy." He gets frustrated with languages outside the Romance family tree.
He turns on his barstool to face Rust, raising an eyebrow, "What brings you to China? I thought you'd be half-way to Metro City or all the way to Japan by now."
Where Guile is a man of good cheer, Howard still sort of looks like the sort of guy who hasn't really had enough sleep (...or enough to drink, either or). He accepts the barstool in relative silence, though one of his elbows certainly sounds elated. If the popping of a stiff joint can really be considered elation. That elbow must have an opinion about the situation either way!
"Some of your, uh, your military buddies," he gestures emptily with his left hand to nothing in particular as he looks over his shoulder to face Guile, "wanted me to meet with... with them 'n some Chinese brass. Something 'bout, ah, 'bout identifying people involved in war crimes." The man just shakes his head. He's sure seen a lot as a mere civilian - not just /here/, but even back in 2009 with the Southtown Invasion.
"But... believe me, sooner I get back to Sout-- oh, thanks," he says to the bartender as a beer of some make is placed near him, "sooner I get back to Southtown, the better." He exhales loudly. "Probably got... got a whole bunch of people worried."
Peering towards Rust over a gulp of the beer in the bottle, Guile puckers his face as if the beer was sour, but the way that it came as a reaction to something Rust says intimates that the beer is just fine, "Really..." He looks towards the bartender, holding up two fingers. Dutifully, the bartender does indeed set two beers down in front of Rust.
Guile looks back to Rust at this point and then nods his head, "You're doing important work. Don't forget that. The problem in a situation like this is we need to identify, locate, and detain so they can't incite more hostility."
He considers it for a long moment and then nods, "I can't really wait to get back stateside either. I've been given leave to fight on the circuits as a way of boosting morale worldwide. I'd like to just go home too, but..." He cuts off his own sentence with another chug of the beer.
The light sounds of contact of glasses full of beer against the counter are initially missed by Howard as he has himself a good gulp of that beer. It's not quite the best beer he's ever had, but it's alcohol and he is for the moment pretty okay with just that. It's certainly not flat.
"Yeah," he says with no real enthusiasm, "I remember Nepal like it's... like it's yesterday, watching them gun down... gun down people. People stabbing me full of, of needles." Something he will tastefully leave out when speaking with his medical insurance providers because fighter health insurance is pricey these days. "Rockets," he grumbles without adding any real context - but it can probably be safe to assume he was shot at by rockets. Who wasn't?
He sets the glass down and finds his forearm rubbing up against some glasses nearby. He actually does a double-take to look over his other shoulder to make sure he didn't just accidentally put his elbow into someone else's space. With nobody on the opposite side of his seat, he looks to Guile and points at them once as if for confirmation that they're his.
"Saw your fight with Zach, too," he adds. "On TV."
Guile tilts his head slightly, "Did you? How was it?" He takes another gulp of his beer, then gestures for another one. Apparently, he's ripping through them pretty quickly. He looks back towards Rust and nods his head, "Zach filled in for an opponent who dropped out for some reason. Destroying a TSA see-me-nakey machine, if rumor is to be believed. Good guy..."
He chuckles, shaking his head as another beer arrives, "How long have you known Zach? I think you're both based out of Southtown, right?"
"Few years." Howard replies somewhat tersely - not out of aggravation, he just wants to down another one of these beers. "He and I have been through, ah, a lot." He shakes his head at just thinking about one of the most colorful bits of it all, the King of Fighters 2011. An ill-fated journey into fighting superstardom turning into, of all things, an adventure to more or less save the world from eldritch evil.
Isn't everything, nowadays?
"I, I don't want you to take this the, uh, the wrong way," Howard says as he sets the half-finished second beer down, turning his head over to look to Guile directly, "but... I mean, both you and him, hell of a show, but... all the cheering. All the, all the... how do I put it," he wonders how he's going to explain it as it suddenly comes to mind, "all the love of fighting. It's like, it's like... the moment Vega left the picture," he motions with a finger upward as though flicking a metaphorical switch, "it's almost like... like they made a, a total 180 about us, and... and it's made me think."
He gulps down the rest of beer #2 in a hurry. He is not in a drink nursing mood, that's for sure.
"Y'think they're... they're humoring us because they're afraid?" He clears his throat immediately after asking the question, "'scuse me. I mean, I've... I've pushed through a whole lotta soldiers, and... seen others just, just punch through... jeeps, trucks, tanks. Like they're paper. I saw the fear in, in the eyes of a bunch of 'em when I got close."
He slumps forward a bit on the bar as he looks out and about. Sure, they all seem happy now, ready to chat it up and everything. "You think that... that they're just afraid now, Guile? Just smiling at us, in hopes we don't all just... do what we did to, to their armies?"
There have been a lot of phonecalls involved in hunting down one of the two middle aged men sitting in the bar, guzzling beer like its going out of style. Unfortunately, Ken Masters would have an easier time if he had just called Charlie. If anyone knows where the worlds greatest American Broom would be located, it's Charlie. Of course, there's business for Ken in China now that the after effects of Vega's war have finally started to come to a halt, and a friendly call to one of the few American Military bases in China have given a general idea of where Mister Broom would be.
There's a bit of confusion from some of the patrons as Ken wanders into the bar, wearing one of his more 'formal' suits, having just come from a meeting with the local government. He wanders over towards Guile and Rust, catching tidbits of some of the current coversation.
"One beer, put it on this guy's tab." Ken jerks a finger towards Guile, grinning at his broom-headed brother-in-law. "You don't mind if I join you two, do you?"
Guile peers towards Rust for a long moment, his mood considerably dampened but this most serious of questions. He turns up his beer, finishing the contents in one large gulp before he looks towards Rust, "I think they always have been." He falls silent for a bit, then continues, "Look at the Romans. Their most viscious warriors, criminals and least fortunate were all enslaved and forced to fight to the death or die like cowards. They contained that unsavory element of their culture and let them vent their aggressive natures out in a controlled fashion for the entertainment of the masses." He is in the process of beckoning the bartender when Ken does it for him.
There's a moment when Guile's eyes widen, and he turns back to examine Ken with a raised eyebrow, "What the heck are you doing here?" It's asked more in confusion than an unfriendly way. He looks back to the bartender, shrugging his shoulders and adding, "One more for my buddy and I, too." He looks to Rust, then adds, "You two meet, yet?" He turns on the barstool to lean his back against the bar and not force him to endanger his old neck anymore than neccesary, "Ken Masters, meet Howard Rust. Howard Rust, Ken Masters. You may have heard of each other."
Howard nods along with Guile's description of their fear. It is something of a scary thing to really take to mind, that he may have gone from the butt of many jokes to some sort of incredibly scary person through the course of a month. He's almost unsure as to what to expect the moment he heads back to Southtown to get working again. He has himself the third (and, to his mind, last) beer as Ken's voice reaches above the ambient sound of chatter and occasional cheering at the soccer game.
"Who's what doing here?" Howard asks as he turns his head while setting the third beer away from his lips just in time to be asked about whether or not the two have met. He doesn't quite have a good look at Ken, so he reflexively shakes his head until the names start being bandied about.
"Oh! Oh. Y-Yeah, we have. Ken." Howard sets the beer down. He himself is not in the best of spirits, but he manages something of a friendly wave as he leans to get a better look at him. Yeah. That's Ken. "Hey. Uh, fancy... fancy meeting you here."
He's going to cross his fingers and hope Robert Garcia comes by next with the tapes he borrowed from him and hasn't yet returned.
"I've been signing new contracts with the Chinese Government. Which reminds me.." Ken grins slightly as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a sealed envelope bearing the emblem of the Pentagon which he then sets on the counter for Guile. "I figured since I was here in town, I'd take the liberty of delivering that for you." If there were ever any animosity with his relationship is with Guile, that's not so apparent right now.
A slight wave is given towards Rust, as Ken moves to sit next to him. "I know Howard already, Guile." The Ansatsuken expert places a hand on Rust's shoulder, patting it slightly. "I've been hearing a lot of things Howard, how're you holding up?" There is true sympathy in Ken's voice, as he moves to grab his own beer now, taking a slow drink from it. "If you need anything Howard, I'm more then willing to help you in any way I can. Everything that happened was..."
Taking the envelope with a finger and a thumb, as if it will bite him, Guile turns it over to look at the seal of the Pentagon. He raises an eyebrow lightly, and then breaks the seal with a finger. As he is retrieving the letter within the envelope, he continues speaking with Rust after a nod of thanks to Ken, "The thing is... Ironically, humanity has a history of forgetting its own history. Just wait... Everything will be back to normal before you know it. The question is, will you be? I want you to seriously consider that question, because it's an important one."
He opens the letter, reading its contents by the look of his eyes scanning the page. He then starts over, re-reading it. He folds it back up calmly, looking towards Ken with curiousity, "Did you have anything to do with this? This looks like it has Eliza's backing all over it."
Beer number three needs to become empty glass number three, as far as Howard is concerned. Gulping down the rest of it just as Guile addresses him again, the question he asks is just as weighted as the words he himself was saying not too long before. Is he going to forget the history of what happened out here in mainland Asia and a short ways beyond? He gives Guile a look, but no real answer. Perhaps it does honor the whole serious consideration bit.
A distraction comes from Ken moving to put a hand on his shoulder. There's a bit of a shrug, almost a defensive reflex, but it relaxes a bit. "Ahh, well... still, y'know, just... letting it all sink in, Ken," he more or less accidentally interrupts as he realizes he has a fourth beer now. This one should be the last, period, remembering he's got some weighty talks not too long from now.
"I still got my job back at Southtown," maybe, "I mean, still... teaching martial arts. Maybe... maybe I can get in on that, on that Neo... something-or-another thing." As it stands, he is now a fighter for a living - even with his worries about how the world really sees people like himself, like Guile, like Ken, like many of his friends, he's going to have to step back into the ring. Life long dream, and all that, even with all the weighty things thrown about the nature of it all.
Of course, there might be a problem with him attempting to join the Neo Development Project, as a man in his 40s and what's soon to be some publicity over his involvements in the wars - but this doesn't come to mind as he decides to go about polishing off the final beer.
"And Julia's, and Amy's. I'm fairly certain it was a total agreement with all the lady folk." Ken sips his beer once more, staring down at the glass. "...This isn't as bad as the stuff that's normally served in bars.. That's for sure." He's not quite sure how to say it was his idea originally, but thats a matter for another time.
"It's the Neo Development Project, Howard. That's one thing I honestly was thinking about trying to talk you into being apart of. You're at the Kyokugen dojo teaching there.. Why not take it to a broader audience as well? This goes to the both of you. We're all respected in our own rights, and people want to be like us. And yes Howard, after what you did recently there's going to be a lot more people looking up to you, wanting to be just like you, just like I've been kicking around the idea of opening my own dojo.. but for now I'm doing this, trying to get everyone I can to be apart of it." Ken doesn't generally drink, and taking his time with this beer isn't a problem.
Reaching up, Guile rubs a hand across his face with a frown, "Guess there's no getting out of it. Hell with the General..." He holds up the envelope to indicate that the General who signed this order was the intended 'to hell with' victim, "My wife wants me to do it." He folds the envelope up, placing into an inside pocket of his bomber jacket before pounding the rest of his beer.
He peers towards Ken for a long while, listening until he chimes in, "You'd be boneheaded to open a dojo. Ansatsuken isn't an American dojo thing. It's something taught between master and student to learn right. It's the same reason I'd never open a dojo. Plus Charlie wouldn't approve."
Beer four is made no more while Ken makes the sales pitch. This isn't beer he'll miss having once he's back at Southtown, but for the time being, it hits the spot. He's not sure what to say about Ken opening his own dojo - certainly his fighting style is extremely famous. It's kind of a surprise there isn't one already, although the things Guile points out probably puts a fine point as to why that may be.
"I, I dunno 'bout opening my own dojo," Rust speaks up as he puts the mostly-finished beer number four down, "I mean, beyond just... just matters of getting the master's approval." It's a laborious effort on its own to get Takuma to sit down and help renew his work visa!
"Kyokugen's all about... all about physical fitness. Like, the very, very top of it." Hence, all those push-ups Guile had seen him do. "But, y'know, they teach... they teach something else there, like... working with your hands," he waves his free hand in another empty gesture other than perhaps to just wave his hand around, "'n, just... good, honest work. Carpentry. Hell, most of the time, any repairs to the dojo itself, we do. The students do. Everyone does, and... and I like that. Gives 'em something they can do other than just... y'know, bein' god damn hooligans."
he winces as he gets a sudden kink in one of his shoulders. "I, I like the idea of helping more kids with, with strength like that put themselves to... things like that, not just beating the crap out of one another. You know what I'm, I'm saying, right?" Granted, they don't really televise organized carpentry tournaments, do they? They certainly wouldn't invite Rust to them, it wouldn't be a competition.
Well, that's not true any more, since the injuries to his right hand slowing him down a bit.
"You'd, uh, you'd be surprised how many people keep thinkn' that... that it's a daycare." A misconception Takuma certainly loves, that's for sure.
"It doesn't matter what Charlie thinks, Guile. One of the very purposes of martial arts is to teach it to the next generation. You honestly think that I'm going to just let the stuff I've been taught fall to the wayside and die off? I mean, sure Sakura's learned off of Ryu, but really she taught it to herself mostly by watching him. Sometimes, it needs to be taught."
Ken pushes his beer away, glancing at Rust once more. "Of course, that's just what is needed. If people choose this as their 'life', then we kind of need to find a way to help them due the best they can. That's why I want the people who know both sides of the world we're so heavily entrenched in to help me with it."
Plunking down the money for the beer, Guile works his way up to his feet. He turns towards Rust, reaching out to clasp the man's shoulder if he doesn't shy away, "Listen... What you did during the war, you shouldn't have had to do, but you must know that it took fighters of our caliber to counter the threat facing the world, whether the world wanted to see that side of you or not. I say you, and not us, because this is exactly the kind of fight that I'm paid to handle. It was too much for one man, though. I want you to keep your chin up, and remember one thing... Peoples' opinion of you is none of your business, and it sure isn't your fault."
He then turns towards Ken, "We'll talk about it more later, but if you want these orders to go into effect the right way, I want to put a few league fights under my olive-drab green karate belt before we get started." He pauses for a moment, narrowing his eyes as if seeming to increase the dramatic tension, "I hope you brought your gi." With that, he plunks some money down for all of their beer and turns towards the door to make his exit.
Rust's shoulders end up being a very popular place for hands today, as Guile gets his bit in. The differences in perspective are staggering - though Rust is no complete novice to all-out war, it's still something to be said from a man whose participation (and continual readiness to participate) in such ugly business to be reassuring.
There is still that feeling within that stout man of... incredible denial in the health of his scalp as he just nods blankly while regarding how many beers he's had. Four beers... sure, he can hold it, but given what he's about to do.... well, it's easy to worry about the little things when your own life tends to be full of the little things trying to nip you in the bud.
"Th-thanks for the drinks," he utters that out maybe a second or two too late, as he looks along over to Ken. "I mean... what do you make of it all, these days? Looking from, from the top," he murmurs. "I imagine it's... a lot to just, look down at, look to the side at, just... lookin' at all of it."
The past few months have seen a lot of firsts for Zach, cheif among them the first tonight.
He's never set foot in a bar before. He had been wandering the town after the fight with Guile. Holy /hell/ did that shit hurt. However, he had hear a familiar basso rumbling from inside this one. So Zach pokes his head in, taking in the scene.
Sure enough, there is Howard Rust, with that monstrosity of hairloss denial on his head. There is another person, one familiar to Zach from other meetings. Ken Masters. Zach grins a bit; this represents a chance to move on something.
Zach eases on up to the bar, and orders a soda. The psion has never had alcohol before, in fact he has actively shied away from the stuff.
"Howard. I'm going to make something clear to you. It's somethin' that most people don't ever really realize. I'm not at the top of it all. When it truly comes down to it, I'm at the bottom of it all, just like you are." There's a slight smile on Ken's face as he says this, making sure now to put a large dent on that beer infront of him, leaving the glass almost empty.
"We all just.." A long sigh escapes Ken's lips as he tries to find the right words to even say. "I honestly don't know what to say about what Vega did. He murdered people just to get my attention, solely to declare war. Everything I've heard though.. You yourself are a true hero Howard.. It's not a comfort at all when it comes down to it. It's kind of a.. wound in itself that you'll never get over I guess. All we can ever do is just try and.. We can just try and return to some form of normal.."
Who ever will understand the true depths of Vega's ambitions and madness, if they could ever be understandable by anyone else? Howard fought Vega directly and still isn't even sure - Vega seemed entirely confident of his superior position all the way to the very end. He silently contemplates the glasses in front of him, unaware of Zach's presence while Ken goes through the throes of self-humility and praise for his choices and actions otherwise.
"'s not gonna be easy," Howard admits outright cutting off Ken towards the end, "much as, as we all seem to." The local citizens here, based on the general bright mood, certainly seems to have adjusted back to 'the norm' alarmingly fast.
War hero or not, he's still got plenty going on in life he's not going to be able to easily get over just because of that. Hell, he's pretty sure Nickelback has sent multiple court summons at this point.
%"Tends to be the case when it's worth doing," Zach finally says, a bit tiredly after sipping his cola. "Hey guys," he says by way of greeting. "I miss anything?"
Damn, Howard grunts, he was hoping it'd be Robert next with those borrowed tapes! ...Not that it's bad that Zach is there, but, you know, hopes and dreams, as he turns his head back over to Zach.
"Hey... was just... drinkin' with Guile, Ken." He clears his throat. "'scuse me. You... you put up a good fight against him, I gotta say, but... didn't all the cheering just, kind of... throw you off, I mean, uh, given... the attitude of the place before."
"Drinkin', and discussin' how everything's been lately." Ken slowly gets to his feet, nodding to Rust. "Howard, I'm going to be in town for a bit longer. Call me if you need anything. Same to you Mister Glen. Right now... I have no idea how the public's going to treat us anymore, and I'd prefer that people who are affiliated with me remain safe."
Ken sets down a card and nods towards the bartender, obviously letting the guy know to put anything else these two order on a bill and send it to him directly. "You both know how to get ahold of me." He gives a quick wave, and heads on out the door.
Viva la China!
Zach takes a pull of his coke before shrugging. "I didn't think much of it at the time," Zach answers honestly. "Was too busy trying not to get my ass kicked," he says with a small grin. Then he frowns a bit pensively, gathering his thoughts. The bar, despite its relative lack of crowd, seems /loud/ to Zach. Plenty of strong emotion here, perhaps. He wisely decides not to mention this aloud; they'd just worry and he's starting to get a handle on the odd... sensory inputs he's been getting since that fight with Vega.
"But now that I /am/ thinking about it," he says, "It's weird and not weird at the same time. I mean, on the one hand, I think people want to put this behind them as best they can." Zach takes another long pull, and looks at the bottles behind the bar consideringly. "On the other... I... ran across some things during this whole thing. I have to wonder just how behind the ban, and the war, the /people/ were. Or if they weren't at all, but the people /in charge/ were, you know?"
Howard waves Ken off with a hand - not out of unfriendliness, just a silent sort of confirmation of his feelings. Even though Vega's been taken care of, it may still yet be dangerous around these parts. Who knows who might still be waiting in the shadows to fill the vacuum, or to catch unwary heroes off guard, or what have you...
"...Maybe," Howard shrugs as he scratches the side of his head. "Reason I'm here, well... military guys over from, from the US and China want me to come talk to 'em and... and help weed out the, the war criminals in the ranks," Howard says. To this end, he probably should not have had a beer at all, but, here we are!
"Sure were a, a lot of forces to... to not be behind it on some level, I mean... we never heard anything 'bout... insurgents, or, or rebellions, did we?"
"Well, no," Zach answers, filing away the information. He hadn't been approached about such a hunt. Not that it matters. "Then again..." Zach thinks about this. "This place... it ain't like the States."
He doesn't expound on that, Rust will likely logic the statement out. Or he'll ask for an explanation.
This place isn't the States.
That does say a whole lot about the place that they're drinking carbonated beverages at. Howard brings an elbow to the bar and rests his head up against his hand as his gloved fingers scrape at that dark purple /thing/ on his head. He's always worn gloves for whatever reason, but maybe on some level his hands are thanking him profusely for wearing them in this very specific unpleasant scenario.
"Yeah, I... I get it," he nods, "still... well... maybe on, on some level, we'll never really know." Who knows, maybe there were some unsung hereos within China itself that helped weaken their war machine so that NATO and the rest could march in and put a stop to things. Then again, even so... many lost their lives just trying to stop /Vega/. It's scary to think about.
"Cripes. Just, so... so many things seem... off, 'bout it all, you know?"
"I know, right?" Zach says before finishing off his soda. "The truth'll will come out, or it won't." Zach considers. "It... it was freaking nuts." Zach orders another soda.
"Dude fired a /rocket/ at me," he says simply. "I punched it back at him." He pauses. "I'm still trying get my arms around that."
"Punched one... back?" The ex-shop teacher lifts up his head. "Shit, if, if you could've punched 'em back... hell." He starts to grouse, because this whole picture is not particularly a pleasant memory. "Wouldn't have had to, uh, get... blown up by 'em."
How many people in the world could say that they were blown up by rockets - not a rocket, rocket/s/ - and still live, let alone not be missing one or more limbs?
"Got a bomb dropped on me in, uh, North Korea, too," Howard says as he wonders as to whether or not maybe he should just go for that fifth beer, but reason wins out. Four's more than enough, at this point. "N-Not... a good day. Ugh."
Zach gives a snort. "Just reinforces my theory about you, man," Zach says. Zach's theory is that Rust could probably survive a freaking /nuke/ and find the heat comfortable enough for a nap.
"Yeah, I don't think I could do that again. I was riding the moment," he says, thinking about it. "So," he says finally. "Where you going from here?"
That's a theory Rust would never willingly test. Just because he /can/ survive rocket artilleries and even an air strike does not mean it is particularly enjoyable, but, then again, here he is anyway. Drinking. Still wearing that ridiculous toupee. In some ways, things are already well back to normal after the war's end.
"I, I don't want there to be a next time, but, if we do, just gonna... punch the missiles away." This is equally kind of worrying and insane even for him, but if it worked for Zach, it should work for him. Right? Maybe? Possibly? ...Sort of?
...
"Well, gotta meet with thsoe, uh, those military guys," he waves a hand in some direction, "'bout figuring out who was, y'know, doing... really, really bad stuff through the war. After that..."
He still winces at his own carelessness in one particular circumstance, although he was being ushered pretty quickly over to India before he could collect it. What's it? "Gonna, gonna head to Nepal after that, 'n... just pray my passport's still where it was. Shit. That was pretty... dumb." Yeah, yeah it was. "Gotta get that back."
"Yeah, passports are good," Zach says noncommitally. "Though if you're on the government's dime, would that still be an issue?" Zach shakes his head after a moment.
"I think," he says, "That I just want to get this behind me. Move on." Zach takes a pull of cola. "Maybe find a student, start a school." Zach shrugs. "/Build/ something. I'm tired of knocking things down."
"Rather... make sure it's in my hands," grumbles one Howard Rust. No matter what, it's going to be a gigantic pain in the ass to really get back to normalcy unless he can secure it by some means or another. He knows it's in a place a looter might not have immediately looked, but the tension's there. Considering how long it's been there, the odds are slim that it'll /still/ be there, and yet...
He turns his head up a bit when Zach mentions building something, instead of knocking things down. The idea of taking in a student, or a school, or some such. No, you can't say 'or some such' to a goal like that.
"Y'know, I could get behind that," he says as he thinks maybe it's time to get up and stretch his limbs out and all that. Still have a good walk ahead of him, due to the roads being all torn up from war. "Pretty sure you, uh, just missed Ken and Guile talking 'bout... similar things."
More Guile's disagreement to Ken's enthusiasm for the idea of making a martial arts school for Ansatsuken. "I mean... hell, I kind of worry what's goin' on at the, the dojo without me. Before I got stuck here, I was... I was pretty close to the only guy handling the, the white belts."
He half-expects Takuma to have thrown the entirety of the white belt students across several lawn lengths already.
"Yeah?" Zach perks up when the matter of Guile and Ken talking about a similar idea. "I was..." Zach pauses. "I'm going to need help getting money," he finally says. "Maybe Ken'll help me out." He considers for a moment.
"Sounds like you want to get back," Zach says with certainty. It's not even a question.
"Yeah." He doesn't /want/ to get back. That undersells a sense of urgency - the urgency that he /must/ get back, once all this nasty war aftermath business is nice and tucked away. Nothing's ever going to be easy, as far as Howard's concerned, but one way or the other it's got to get done, or be fixed, or whatever thing in between.
"Well... Ken's, uh, he's offered me help if I needed it, I dunno, maybe... maybe I could just, pull some strings, or somethin'," he shrugs as he rolls his shoulders. There's a good pop or two there. Those shoulders are ready to go. They did not enjoy being locked in place for the most part while he was drinking.
"Can't make any guarantees, but," the older man takes in a deep breath as he eyes the atmosphere of the bar one more time. People do seem genuinely content right about now. It's unnerving. So unnerving... the better he walks out of here, the sooner.
No, the sooner he walks out of here, the better. Maybe four beers might not have been a good idea.
"For now, 's best I go," he says as he looks back to Zach. "Well, uh, if nothin' goes wrong, guess I'll... see you back in Southtown."
Zach notes Rust's underlying urgency, his unease at all of this. He looks around, rubbing a hand against the side of his head. He tugs at his ear almost too quickly to catch, a frown crossing his face as he looks back to the larger man.
"Yeah," he finally says, "I'm looking forward to it." He pulls out a bill and sets it on the bar for a tip. "Make sure you get back there, okay?" Something about this whole thing is starting to worry Zach greatly.
There's been very few guarantees one could make throughout the conflicts at hand. So very few guarantees... but, on some level, this is one Rust here stands assured of as he stretches out one of his legs. There's no pop.
He keeps stretching it out anyway, waiting for that pop. It's almost as though he is starting to take these uncomfortable sensations for granted, or perhaps his knee is still on a stool having a drink (no, it's not, but it may very well be).
"I will," he says to Zach with a nod and a rare thumbs up. "'ll get it sorted out. Be back as soon as I can." Before the entire Kyokugen Dojo devolves into complete and total anarchy in some form or another.
It may already be too late!
Log created on 13:38:08 04/11/2012 by Rust, and last modified on 21:24:39 04/11/2012.