Description: Still sore from his loss against Carlos, Rust works out his trick knee at the Kyokugen Dojo, using an entire wrecking ball as a mere sparring partner. His training is interrupted by a local landscaper, hired for sinister purposes, and soon Rust finds himself with an opportunity for vengeance... and an opportunity for mercy. Especially when he realizes that it is no mere gardener that has approached the grounds, but the Fallen Emperor of Muay Thai himself.
It's evening time at the home of Kyokugen might. Loud echoes of determined flesh strike against unfeeling - but steadily yielding - metal affixed to a borrowed piece of construction equipment. The handful of slightly more advanced Kyokugen students that remain enrolled are filtering in for their usual lessons with senior instructor Marco Rodriguez a ways deeply into the concrete lot out front. It's vicious. It's intense. It's one of the most strenuous and demanding displays of martial arts prowess - some would say brutality - of Kyokugen.
Towards the parking lots, one man's own intensity alone might be a match for that display a ways away. The sunset casts a reddish orange hue that shines against the chrome of the various vehicles strewn nearby, as well as reflecting brightly off cleanly sliced bottlenecks.
A wrecking ball on a chain sways violently with every bone-crunching blow, a certain stocky man with a dark purple, uh, thing on their scalp clenching his teeth with every strike. The vast majority of them are with his feet and even his knees in surprisingly rapid succession. His knees creak, shoulders going slack every so often with a twinge of pain begging for him to stop.
He keeps going, switching his striking legs every so often until one last, final kick completely destroys the chain holding the wrecking ball to send it hurtling a respectable number of yards away. It craters into the concrete lot, spraying asphalt and dust everywhere. The unaware might think that it was a mortar shell that went off.
"Son of a bitch," the older man mutters as he resigns himself to ambling to the back of his pickup truck for another industrial-strength chain, "'s the fifth one."
Ol' Rusty remains sheathed at his left hip as he leans into the back to pull the next chain out.
This was beneath him.
Those were the thoughts that burned into the tall man that pulls into the parking lot in the rusted blue '98 Corolla. Sputtering bleakly, it comes to a park between two spaces, the driver clearly not caring. And why should he. This was befitting of a slave, not a master like himself. Emerging from the car, the flash of red hair emerges first, a bowed head lowered in anguish. The aging, middle-aged man approach the dojo, a familiar dojo to him. The Kyokugen Family was well renowned, and even someone like himself had passed a glance to them in one form or another. This was insulting. This was a parade of his own failures.
But Adon deserved no less, for his crimes as a fallen king.
Fame dried up. Money soon followed. His reputation of violence brought allure to the underground fighting ring. He should have been fighting in Southshore, building his reputation, building his core. But the problem with making too many enemies in the fighting world, is that people are willing to pay money to see you crawl on your belly. To make you writhe and squirm. To make you bleed. The man, jaw terse in anger, in frustration, in helplessness, was treated like garbage. He had to pay rents. He had to pay bills. Such was obscene to what was once a physical god. These thoughts spun around that filthy head as he strides from his car, ignoring the noise, ignoring the crunches, ignoring the distant ki shouts. He had only one focus.
The ornamental gardens beside the parking lot.
Small bushes, used to outline the parking lot from the grass, was the target of the fallen king. Out of his car, it was clear that Adon was no longer expected by society to wear only boxers. He was dressed in loose shorts and a stained, faded T-shirt shirt, old leather shoes, and in his right hand, a hunched over, a small beige satchel. Both the shirt and the satchel contain the title of the one foolish, desperate soul that saw Adon, ignore his crimes, and gave him a job. Bearing it in bright red letters was the title of Himaruya Landscaping. Walking astride the asphalt, he walks past a pickup, ignoring the man fiddling around it. Why should he care? All that matter was his job. It was clear now, And Adon, representative of the 4 man company, lowers himself on the mulch earth near a small bush. Placing the satchel by his side, he draws out a trowel, and digs around. Face twisted into a sneer, he pulls away the small, mulch, and draws out a piece of green from the same bag.
And deftly, he plants the single sprig of crabgrass amongst the bush's base.
Withdrawing the new chain from the back of his pickup, the older man ambles towards the borrowed construction vehicle while working out a crick in his neck. He mutters about something inaudible as he tugs at the remainder of the busted chain with his right hand, dropping the fresher chain to reach up with his left and start the delicate process of unfastening--
The entire thing gives out despite the weaker grip in his right hand, an entire afternoon's worth of wrecking ball hitting-related stresses having finally done the craning mechanism's grip in. The fastener and its closely-related machinery snaps clean off, clattering onto the lot with such a fuss that it drowns out a four letter word.
Howard, frustrated, throws his hands up. He's not getting his deposit back. It's another mishap and frustration in a long day's (...two or three days') worth of the little problems and issues of life that like to pile up.
"'m gonna have to call," he mutters aloud as he moves towards the direction of the dojo proper. He starts to pass by the ornamental garden as he takes note of some rustling around. A pop in his knee betrays any sort of stealthy approach he might make. His vantage point towards the bush and a certain someone in that faded T-shirt hides a very distinguishing feature that would render the entire following query meaningless.
"H-Hey," the man in the abominable toupee grunts out, his voice tinged with equal parts exhaustion and irritation as he wipes some sweat from the side of his face, "what're you..."
Caught.
Before he can even pat away the edges of the planted weed, he heard the voice behind him. His mind immediately jumped to this being a set up. His thoughts flashes back as he stood by the side of the street, yelling at people, demanding that because he had no job, they had to give him money. And yet, through that fruitless panhandling, he remembered all too clearly. Mr. Himaruya in an argument across the street, the strange but familiar mustached man opposing him, arms crossed, glaring at the man. The yard that was almost flawless.. And yet, when Mr. Himaruya cast his eyes upon Adon, the fallen Emperor should have known the danger.
He should have known from that smile.
The mustached man stated the offer. Mr. Himaruya agreed. Adon was shown the money, and he soon was on board. Plant the crabgrass in the Kyokugen lawn, show the crabgrass-free yard of the Todoh-Ryuu Dojo, and offer a contract for a full yard service. This was all part of the plan. But he wasn't supposed to be caught in the setup. Adon's mind was spinning. He expected something like this. And as he is called out, the fallen king moves like a Jaguar, standing up, leaving the trowel amongst the dirt as he faces the balding fool with a shrill cry.
“Hello there SIR!”
Adon puts on a smile so corn-fed, you can almost see the kernels dribbling out. There have been crocodiles more charming than the facade that the fallen emperor had thrown out. Forcing out a hand for a handshake, the twisted grimace taut as his eyes focus wildly into Rust's own. “I! ADON! The FORMER EMPEROR of MUAY THAI!” Was the shrill announcement. No anger, at least out in the open. After all, Adon didn't quite recognize this man. There was something familiar about it, but what? Still, the Emperor continues his scripted pitch. “Was JUST in the NEIGHBORHOOD to CHECK OUT the DIFFERENT LAWNS of the MANY FINE HOUSEHOLDS, and could not HELP but NOTICE, with my CHAMPIONSHIP WINNING EYES, that you all have the SIGNS of a SERIOUS WEED INFESTATION!” Adon holds there, hand out, eyes staring fiercely into Rust. “ALSO HELLO MY NAME IS ADON! PLEASE TO MEET YOU. SIR.” Jaw tightening, the Emperor begins to tremble with the restrained fury. His voice was screaming pleasantries, but his mind was screaming something else.
Shake my hand, dammit.
It's difficult, in some ways, to recognize the face of the man who has decided that the thing on top of his head is something able to be considered hair. The years that have passed, the challenges thrust at him. The wear and tear on a man already battered from life's harsh realities and demands, from the scars of machinations of truly evil and powerful men. Former construction worker, somewhat more recently former high school teacher, current martial artist, even more current hero of both recent wars in the Asian continent. He may not live the decadent life of a celebrity, but for all intents and purposes... both may well be looking into a reflection of one another.
Whether either one seems to recognize that there is a reflection is another thing entirely.
Rust's eyes narrow, undecipherable as to how much of it is fatigue or itching agitation in his eyes to the shrill yelling. A hand is thrust at him, which he doesn't look down at. It takes him a few seconds to really say - or do - much of anything, as though the entire sight were difficult for him to process. Adon's fierce eyes meet one of a man who has weathered far more than most men in a turbulent series of world-shattering events over the last few years.
"Adon," he murmurs at long last, "like at... at the airport, and..." he's hesitant to say the other name aloud, given the painful turn of events at the end of a certain friend's life. Incidentally, despite recognition of the airport, he appears to have forgotten a very important, fine detail about this 'airport' meeting as he takes his hand in his right hand. His grip with his right hand is not as strong as one might expect for his build, as has been the case for years by now.
He clears his throat, but doesn't say anything.
The airport.
It rushes back to Adon. The airport. Alma. The fight. This very man, a mere construction worker, a mere victim of his brutality. He was to be forgotten in the past, like so many acts of wanton indulgence. And yet, here he was. Dimly, awareness surges back to him. The sound of shattering. The broken construction equipment, that Adon's own gaze was beginning to cast upon the surroundings. Truly, this was just a construction site? He had nothing to fear. This man was not actually a student here. As Rust takes his hands, his gaze snaps straight to the hand. Just like before. Just like the airport.
But this time, not a knee.
Adon shakes it vigorously, shit-eating grin still full of shit. But through that grin, that a mockery hangs that was similar to before, but with a marked difference. "Oh, you mean -QUON!?-" Adon spits out quickly, that grin unbreaking as he shakes the hand firmly. "Yes, I remember Quon. TRULY it was a SHAME with what HAPPENED to him. But I always THOUGHT he had a sick mind. TRULY people like that should RECIEVE HELP from his friends, rather than be APPLAUDED for their PUBLIC PSYCHOTIC EPISODES." The Jaguar's tightens his grin for a moment, a spur of joy overcoming him in his bleak straits, before drowning in a glimmer of guilt. He remembered the entire cupcake incident. Before, there was a sense of fear, of pettiness. But now, as he was in poverty, he was envious. Why would Ken lift up someone like Quon, and leave a man like himself to wallow in the mud.
Truly, there was no justice in the world.
"But I did not come here to speak of what's best forgotten. I! ADON! The FORMER NEO-LEAGUE CHAMPION, and MASTER of MUAY THAI, have come because this DOJO has a SERIOUS CRABGRASS PROBLEM. Your AVERAGE MAN may not notice this, but this INFESTATION is VERY SERIOUS. HERE. GOOD. SIR." He forces out, face contorted in utter forced glee. "Perhaps I could CAST YOUR GAZE upon this here BUSH! PERHAPS you may NOTICE a SMALL SPOUT of GRASS, with IRREGULARLY PLACED LEAVES upon it's STEM!?"
Adon attempts to release the grip and step aside, to point to the sprig he had just planted.
Given he wears a white gi top nowadays and has a brown martial arts belt tied near a similarly-hued toolbelt, the thought that there might be nothing to fear could be premature... but then again, way back when, it didn't take much for Adon to cast this man aside. Given his grip is not noticeably greater, could the same hold true today?
Adon certainly seems to win what could be seen as a tug of war in the art of vigorous handshaking between men of not terribly friendly terms, but perhaps Howard just sees it fit to let Adon do most of the shaking.
There is a sudden surge of strength in the man's grip as he mentions Quon, if only briefly. It fades a little as he mentions how Quon should have received help from his friends, how... the man's shoulders slump ever-so-slightly, though his gaze doesn't break. There's a soft hum, almost a mumble, as though something were at the tip of the balding man's tongue that he almost lets rip. Something that the boiling aggravation of a number of days' disappointments and issues - a nice catch-up with Momoko notwithstanding - wants to just steam through the surface.
"Y-Yeah, I kn--" he raises his left hand in vague protest of Adon's narrative about his past accomplishments, but his voice is drowned out entirely as he continues with the very reason why he's here. Adon will be able to release his grip within two tugs as Rust cranes his neck ever so slowly to where he points down. Howard, unable to see where Adon's pointing, takes two steps inwards and kneels down with an audible creak in one of his knees as he sets his eyes down to the little sprig of crabgrass.
"Huh." The purple-'haired' Howard grunts. "So, so, uh, hold on, lemme... lemme get this straight," he says as he stands back up to face the former Emperor of Muay Thai, the former Neo League champion, waving a pointing finger with his left hand as though the very gears grinding in his mind are taking their sweet time to put the words together. "You're a gardener now. Land... landscaping, and, and all that." Disbelieving, or stating it straight to someone who already knows? He coughs once, patting his chest with his left hand balled up into a fist. "'scuse me. That what you do these days?"
Wrenching the hand free, Adon twitches again.
Every fiber of his being wanted to punch everything in his radius. But then he wouldn't get paid. Then he wouldn't make rent. Then he will have to punch the landlady, the police will be involved, and since he isn't rich anymore, he has to actually PAY for assault strangers. A second, more violent twitch comes to that thought. But having been released, he points to the plant, focusing now on Rust's hair piece."That's CRAB GRASS! It will TAKE OVER your ENTIRE LAWN!" Adon cracks his head to the side as he doesn't break a glare at the toupee, bending down to his bag. Lifting it up, he violently sifts through it, drawing out several photographs. "It is IMPORTANT that you tell the OWNER of this ESTABLISHMENT about the DANGERS of CRAB GRASS! Look at THIS LAWN that was ONCE the VICTIM of CRABGRASS-" Adon's speil stops dead cold. The fallen Emperor's eyes go bloodshot, his pupil coming into pinpricks. He trembles with rage as Rust coughs, and pats his chest. The question. A gardener now?
"-LANDSCAPING-"
There is a sharp inhale.
"=PROFESSIONAL="
That was the response after Rust's delicate approach to the subject. Adon's smile intensifies as he screams through his teeth on the proper title. "A -GARDENER- is a WOEFUL, LOW-BROW POSITION for MERE MORTALS like yourself that poke their NOSES in the DIRT like the PIGS they ARE! A LANDSCAPING PROFESSIONAL is a JOB- NO! IT IS A CAREER." Adon pauses a moment, eyes shifting back and forth as he continues to smile. "HOBBY. IT IS A HOBBY I AM HELPING PEOPLE AS A HOBBY IN WHICH I AM PAID. As you WELL should KNOW, as I! ADON! The FORMER EMPEROR of MUAY THAI! Not only EAT and DRINK the FLAWLESS MARTIAL ART of MUAY THAI, but TRULY LIVE IT in my EVERY DAY LIFE."
"NOW LOOK AT THESE PICTURES!"
Drawing out a fistful of photographs, he reveals the image of the Todoh-Ryuu Dojo but a few years ago, consumed by not only the most nightmarish of crabgrass, but seemingly in wreckage by the Southshore Crisis. "LOOK AT THIS! Now, look at what happens when my fine business- HOBBY BUSINESS FIXES IT" Adon draws out another photograph, of the most recent state of the Todoh-Ryuu Dojo; still somewhat in disrepair, but free of crabgrass. "Think to yourself, do you want YOUR dojo to be WORSE than THIS DOJO!?" Adon pauses a moment, face still locked in a grin.
"Why am I asking you? WHERE IS THE PROPERTY OWNER?!"
Of those victims of Adon's bullying, backstage deals, contractual rule-skirting antics... of those who would closely follow the Emperor of Muay Thai's surprising rise and tumultuous fall, what would they say of the man before them now? To see him stoop so low as to menial labor with the same gusto, pitch, and volume as he expressed when he was once the darling center of the ring. The man to beat, the one who seemingly stood atop it all? Adon, lowly gard-- landscaper. Even the way he speaks down to a man who is his equal in physical height.
Rust raises his hand again, saying something that gets entirely lost to Adon's continued screaming. Nowhere near gifted as Adon in sheer /projection/, he struggles to really find a way to vocalize what he's thinking, a pointer finger lifting and drooping within a second's span as harsh comparisons about gardeners and landscapers dripping with emotional venom between every stressed syllable, into being career... versus hobby.
"-Hey," this is actually the fourth 'hey' in a string of similar, less-heard and ultimately drown-out 'heys' as photographs are all but thrust in his face. He recognizes the building immediately. The comparison between then and now... his eyes narrow, taking that second photograph of the most recent state of the rival dojo. Crabgrass-free.
Adon's fast-talking goes much faster than Rust's train of thought as he visibly scratches the side of his head. This Adon, the one who caused so much trouble for him years ago, not to mention... his friend. Everything. Reduced to what he claims to be his hobby to make ends meet, from the sound of things.
"The owner, you mean..." He stops to think. Takuma's probably out terrorizing Cosco again. He's never known him to hire a landscaper - Rust himself is probably the closest thing to a regular handyman the grounds gets, and even he doesn't really do anything with the gardens.
Mostly because of allergies, as his lungs are about to remind him as he fights back the urge to cough. "Uh, actually, Adon. Adon." He raises his voice again pre-emptively, hoping to cut off the tirade of slung aggrandizing words, "y'know," he deigns to put his right hand on Adon's shoulder, "I think... I think it's, uh, it's great you're doing an honest days work."
From one man who has had to do it for years, to another who just might be starting. The visible tension of dealing with such an infuriating man who has caused so much strife - directly and/or indirectly to himself and some of his friends and acquaintances - fading away as he takes in a breath. Maybe it's to reassure himself. "It's, it's not always... y'know, glorious, or, or the sort of thing everyone's all... all ready to celebrate," and would he ever know, as he looks away to consider what other things he's going to have to deal with. Like losing the deposit on borrowing that construction vehicle, "but... but take it from me, there's just, there's... nothing like a, a job well done. Y'know? Long hours, despite... heat, or, or people makin' your life worse, so, uh..."
Do I really want to do this? Rust seems to ask himself as he looks down, patting one of his pockets with his free hand. He's not really loaded with cash. Does Adon, a man who was found to do terrible things in his past, really deserve it?
With a loud exhale, Howard reaches into his pocket and picks out a few bills in US dollars, thumbing through them as he weighs in his head whatever other expenses are about to head his way.
"Go on ahead and give it a, a look over," he says as he thumbs out two twenties and a ten after withdrawing his hand from Adon's shoulder, blissfully unaware of... prior arrangements. "The sensei, uh, Mr. Sakazaki, he's... he's had it kind of rough too," he continues, "'m sure he'd, uh, he'd love to see his garden all clean and nice again."
He holds the money out to Adon expectantly. There wouldn't be any resistance if he takes it, even though Rust's eyes wander off to the garden as if perhaps second-guessing what he might be saying. This /is/ Adon. Still, Adon's putting on the airs of being a working man in a not terribly respected menial job.
That's a place he's been before. A place he was in even with his own dreams for something greater, like... being a star fighter, even if Adon seems to have tasted the fruits of success already - perhaps more than he deserves.
"'n I wish you luck with it all."
Adon was confused, and he had only himself to blame.
Only a few years ago, when he was Emperor, he wouldn't have bothered with this small talk. He would have punched this man, laughed it off, and throw him through the dojo. He would have incited all the dojo to fight his might. He would have torn through the students, torn through the dojo master, and through it all, he would be laughing. Then, Adon knew that he might not even win. But it was pure power, pure freedom. But he would not punch this man now. He would not declare war on the entire dojo. And why?
Because he had to pay the bills.
That phrase was a phrase that the former Emperor never had to think of. Amongst his wine, his women, his fights, and his indulgences, he grew fat on his lack of responsibilites outside of Muay Thai. Muay Thai kept him from the real world. And here he was now. Looking at this balding oaf with what seems like a purplish rat on his head, PRETENDING to be NICE. PRETENDING to LIKE HIM. PRETENDING to be polite. Adon wanted to punch this man more than anything else than before.
And it was his very last words that cut into him.
"Don't PITY me!" Came the cry that broke the smile. "I do not NEED your LUCK! I know you PITY me. Do not PITY ME! I need no SYMPATHY!" Was the shrill scream as he trembles in restrained fury. Fury he had only had to restrain in the face of the powerful, restrain in the face of the likes of Vega. And now, such restraint was given to a man like Rust? "I am NOT on your LEVEL. I am YOUR BETTER! I am no WORKING CLASS BUFFOON! I AM THE GREATEST FIGHTER THAT EVER LIVED! THE MOST POWERFUL... The most.... powerful..." The waves of anger send shudders through the middle-aged warrior. And yet, he was bound. And he swallows that anger. The restrained rage drowns in a visage of defeat. Of loss. Adon's tenseness grows limp.
And calmly, delicately, he takes the money.
"I will LOOK over the GROUNDS, and DO WHATEVER NEEDS to be DONE! THANK YOU. FOR. YOUR. BUSINESS." Was the howl as he picks up the bag. "You MAY in FACT keep those PICTURES! PLEASE show them to the PROPERTY OWNER. HE MAY NOT BELIEVE YOU. AFTER SEEING. HIS. NEW. LAWN." Within Adon was the beast that had always been let free, but now it was caged in the Adon of the real world. The Adon that was dethroned. The Adon that was helpless. The Adon forced to make ends meet. At least it seemed he would act out the scheme. Do a 'job' on the grounds, while planting the crabgrass. Once the crabgrass takes root... then he would get to return, to do more jobs. It was flawless. As he clutches the bag, he pauses. And turns back around. He sticks a hand out. He holds out. And he forces that smile again.
"THANK."
The fallen Emperor pauses, before vomitting out the words, body still loose.
"THANK YOU."
Even through Adon's protests and screams, Rust endures it all with the hesitant sincerity of his words and offer. All the vitrol, demaning words, and screaming. He's largely stone-faced through it all, though much of it perhaps could just be attributed to a rough series of events in recent history more than having a good poker face.
This'll be good for him, he thinks to himself even as it's hard to hear his own thoughts from Adon's sher screaming and demeaning statements. There's a thought in him that he'd like to lay Adon completely flat in the dirt for all the troubles he's caused for everyone involved, surrendered only to an act of good will.
Perhaps on some level he already really understands where he stands compared to Adon nowadays, but such thoughts he never really lets boil to the surface. Not as his mind moves to other, pressing matters befitting of 'lowly working-class men with his own financial challenges to meet as he takes the pictures and pockets them absentmindedly with the rest of the money he had on hand. Taking in another breath, he just nods along. His ears are unpleasantly ringing. Being near Adon in any capacity does not do eardrums already ravaged by years of exposure to loud machinery any favors.
When Adon extends his hand, this time, he gets Rust's left. The hand is firmly, powerfully grabbed and shaken with a vigor matching such displayed by Adon at the beginning of his little sales pitch. It's a very big step up in comparison to his right.
"Y-You're welcome," Rust clears his throat as he coughs once, "'scuse me, I gotta, gotta make a call." Several good, strong shakes later, he parts his grip from Adon and moves towards the dojo itself. His cellphone just doesn't really get reception out on the lot, and he's sure not going to want to hear Adon work (assuming he screams his way through everything he does) while explaining to the rental company that he just accidentally broke something.
As he moves to walk, a thought comes to him. Sure, his last paid fight went out poorly on a bizarre live 3 AM slot local time, but...
"Hey," he says as he looks back while waving a finger, "I know, it's, uh, it's been rough getting into, uh, organized fights nowadays," and it sure has been, "but, some time down the line... wouldn't mind a match." Fallen as Adon may be now, Adon is a two-time Neo League champion. Rust never got his chance to really challenge it prior - even if such a lofty title wouldn't be at stake in a match, this many years later the fighter in him wants to know how he measures up.
Even if his performance against Carlos Miyamoto was not... really awe-inspiring.
One of his knees pop in seeming agreement (for once) as he walks off, barring any calls for attention back.
And thus, Adon is defeated.
Not in the ring. But in wills. The world had always challenged his claim to be the King of Muay Thai. And what was he without his throne? A gardener. A nobody. Obscurity. The King on the throne now was already transforming the movement in her image. And Adon's image? Oblivion. He begins to drag himself off to 'work.' A long day out in the sun? Nothing for the Emperor. He could run 20 miles in the hot jungle, without even growing exhausted. And yet, to see Adon right now, you would see him as an old man. Broken. Worn out. Resenting everything and the world. A loser in mindset. A loser in life.
But then, an invitation of a match.
Adon perks up. All the inner turmoil melts away as he turns around. Not the fake smile. Not the twisted grimace. But that sneer, that infamous sneer from the Jaguar of Muay Thai. Adon, in the best of spirits, is of the worst nature. But as Rust offers the chance for a taste of the thrill, a chance for the taste of the fight, he licks his lips with hunger. Rust might shrug off a 3 AM time slot. But Adon would kill just to be on television again. To fight again on a national stage. Or even a local UHF stage. People hated Adon, and wanted to see him squirm. But someone like Rust was beloved by dumb people. If Adon had to perform, then it didn't matter the audience at this point. But he couldn't look too eager. He might make him beg. So almost immediately after his drools at the chance for his piece of fighting steak, the jaguar turns up his nose, crossing his arms.
"FEH!"
"You TRULY think that just because you SEE me WORK, that I am OF your STANDING?" He states, eyes shut as he looks up at the sky. "What an PRESUMPTIOUS CLAIM! I am ADON! The GREATEST CHAMPION that ANY MAN could CLAIM to face! I have FACED OFF against the GREATEST of WARRIORS! I have even challenge MORTAL GODS! And yet, you THINK that you are WILLING to FACE ME in a FIGHT!?" Sneering still, he simply shrugs. "Well, I SUPPOSE that if you TRULY think you have IMPROVED since I last CRUSHED YOU with my MUAY THAI MIGHT, then MAYBE I could SEE if KYOKUGEN is MORE than just a FAMILY SPORT! I'll GIVE YOU my CARD!" Adon picks out what seems to be a small business card made from printer paper, with only the vaguest of misspelled information. "But DO NOT THINK that because I ACCEPT your CHALLENGE, that I CONSIDER YOU a WORTHY FOE!"
But with the high spirits that were flowing in Adon, it was clear that he didn't care anymore.
Log created on 21:34:54 04/19/2013 by Adon, and last modified on 01:46:30 04/20/2013.