Description: After a friend of his was gunned down in a recent news story, Howard Rust decides to go help out at a tea house owned by one of their relatives that had a bit of a collateral damage incident. Meanwhile, Makoto Rindou stops by for equally helpful if entirely unrelated reasons. The two do not fight crime.
It's been a turbulent time in Southtown with the sudden talk of heightened gang violence - well, it may be a bit early to call it truly heightened, but the last incident with a shootout on Fujita Street over downtown is casting a pretty big net of worry for everyone involved.
And sadness, for those friends and relatives of the bystanders that were reported to be gunned down. Mr. Rust knew one of them - he's made a fair number of friends in Southtown through the years. Given the somber moment with their family, he's elected to spend the better part of his day helping fix up a part of the teahouse that had a particularly nasty (though unrelated to the shootings) fight that had broken out.
This is still Southtown. Even in times of relative peace, it's largely the fighting mecca of the world. What day passes where there isn't some disagreement between two or more individuals of heightened physical capabilities?
"Yeah," Rust murmurs out loud underneath the mid-day sun, "gonna need to, uh, replace some of the wires here," he says as he pokes at a wall. It's times like these he kind of wishes they'd find a specialized electrician to do this part as he kneels down to sift through a rusted toolbox. He's glad he's got his gloves on! (When doesn't he?)
"What a mess," he mutters.
The back gate swings wide open as she applies pressure by leaning against it, Ever so carefully manoeuvring the wooden yoke through the gateway Makoto guides the buckets slowly to any spillage while stepping though the narrow opening.
"Old laaaady, water."
The call is informal announcement as she expects the owner to have been waiting for her to arrive at some point close to now. The sun felt a little lower than usual maybe she had cut a little time off her personal best! That thought buoyed her spirits; grinning broadly and pleased with her progress she advanced on the tea house. It had been no small hike, maybe seven miles here and then back. It was also a practical use of Rindoukan's power! Helping the elderly and providing for a local business, building community spirt! The question of whether this was actually her community since she lived miles away does give her pause in thought. ... All Japanese are brothers! Of course it is, there was no point thinking otherwise.
"Water"
There is a wooden clunk as makoto sets down both buckets and slips the yoke form her shoulder. Her head with its tousled black hair slips out from underneath it and she sets the entire rig down back door. Poking her head in the back door she turns one way and the other looking for the owner, then cautiously entering.
"Please forgive the intrustionc"
Her patched white European cut gi making the crisp swish and slap noises as well as her less than stealthy entrance is far from stealthy, Makoto emerges from the rear of the store still quizzically looking left and right.
he owner might not have appeared already but the only other persona here seems to be a professional of some kind. Her eyes linger on the toolbox as well as the fact he is obviously working on a damaged portion of the wall.
"Oh, will that be expensive to fix?"
The state of the wall, repairing anything in general was foreign to her but there is a real note of concern. How much might it be costing the old lady to get this damage constantly fixed up. There can't be much money in tea.
"Did a real number there," mutters Rust out loud. It is like the various structural damages are having themselves a nice game of poker, and Howard Rust is the guest commentator who actually does not understand the game and is spouting complete non-sequiturs.
Except, in this case, one supposes such an observation is truly spot-on. They really did give this wall a working. It's kind of a wonder someone didn't get themselves a nasty shock.
A younger female voice speaks up in apology about an intrusion. He doesn't think it to be addressed to him at first as he digs around his box. Didn't I have some extra bit of wiring here, he wonders. With all the time Kyokugen training has been strictly enforcing him to use his hands, he hasn't really had much of a chance to break out the old tools... or keep good mental stock of what he's got in there, apparently. It's when he's asked directly that it'll be expensive to fix that he deigns to respond.
"Not gonna, not gonna charge for... well," it's kind of a sore subject to bring up that guy's name after the shooting, voice trailing off to a low hum as he stands up. Makoto will probably see it immediately. That unnatural tinge of dark purple atop a mass of... whatever the hell that is on that guy's scalp! (Fancy hat of some kind? No, that's an insult to hats.) His voice trails off into complete incomprehensibility. "That, and, and, well, my work visa won't, ah, won't let me do that."
He doesn't turn to face Makoto as he rubs the side of his head, an unseen frown on his face. He's not quite on top of his game of his old forte either, but a bit of grief probably plays a solid hand in there (matched suit of 10s, that's solid).
Makoto cranes her neck around to follow the handyman's vision as it roves over the wall and expresses some interest at glancing over the content of the tool belt and toolkit. So those were the kinds of things you needed for work like this, she most certainly could name some of them though perhaps not even as many of the non-specialized tools as she possibly should. There was real wear and tear and use on those tools and the man carried himself well. There was a seriousness and a sincerity that spoke volumes to the young woman as to his credentials. Why then does she feel a sense of unease, is there danger nearby.. a hidden agenda? Or could it be- /that./
That strange oily purple hat -- when he rubs the side of his head Makoto feels a strange upwelling of feeling desiring he perhaps wash his hands before continuing to work.
Distancing herself from the object both physically and mentally she stands with thumbs hooked behind the back belt at her waist and pointedly looks at the wall, side by side with him she feels compelled to do so rather than stare at the article of clothing deemed by many to be an affront to nature.
"I'm glad someone is helping Aunty with the repairs."
Truly thankful as her attempts at repair of walls, fixtures and even roofing was touch and go. Inexperience would not have stopped her from trying only made her fret more about the results. The old lady bore no real blood relationship to her but had still formed enough of a relationship with mutual kindnesses that Makoto cared. Makoto is grim while examining the scope of the damage; she scratches the back of her head near mimicking the neck rub of Rust. There is a splutter from an engine as the delivery cart rolls to a stop out front of the store, the tiny grandmotherly old woman at the helm along with the driver. The pair disengages from the vehicle and then the bearded and middle aged man in an apron lifts down some small crates and stacks them while joking heartily.
"Least... least I could do," a somber stutter from a strong man as he rolls one of his shoulders with an audible series of crackling noises, before bringing that hand up against that... thing on his head. How can anyone want to touch that thing, even with gloves on? Really? Such absolute /filth/.
"'m probably gonna have to, to step out and get some... some wiring," mumbles the man as he turns about face slowly to size up the source of the younger voice, only glancing once at his toolbox as to wonder if he ought to bring it with him or leave it here. He has not had a great track record with unattended toolboxes as of late, this being Southtown.
Well, that and Rust is famous, who wouldn't want to take a wrench or two and Ebay it off on claims that it's one he uses? (Incidentally, the tools within are a different brand than the ones he was sponsored by briefly in the last few months - curious, that.)
He points a finger in a waving as something lights up in his head about the girl before him. He knows he's seen her.
"Uh, hey," he speaks up, clearing his throat, "'scuse me. You're... you're," shit, what was her name? He falls back on /what/ she is, that comes to mind more readily. "Rin... Rinkou... no, no, the Rindoukan student? Sorry, name's not, not coming to me," he fumbles out, voice suggesting that of a man that has a lot on his mind while there's a little bit of laughter from outside.
The perpetual scowl the girl wears deepens at the prick of the barbs interlaced though a stumbling and innocent seeming. The current master of the Rindoukan style may be sixteen years old, but ... to call her a student? Her loose stance with her thumbs tucked behind her belt tenses as her colour begins to darken in embarrassment but also with a stab of anger. It's not his fault; she works to regain her composure. The dojo had fallen into a-bit of disarray and disrepair, they weren't as- GRAH!
"I am Rindo Makoto, and I am the current master of the Rindoukan dojo."
The current incarnation of Rindoukan Karate perhaps (A sore spot in the same way a landmine is a misstep.) There is great pride in her voice and fierce challenge her eyes and stance, as there should be for any levelled against any who dares or incautiously speaks ill of the school. If the eyes are the window to the soul then Makoto soul is alight with burning passion for her art.
She can't really think of anything to say to defuse the situation herself and for lack of anything better to say stands continuing to stare silently-'Oh it's good you're both still here. Makoto dear, could you give me hand?' A welcome intrusion as the owner totters into the store and heads for the Kitchen. The frail seeming little old woman smiles merrily while carrying one of the small wooden crates laden with tins and tea leaves but clearly at her limit with just the one crate.
The crates aren't really physically heavy or unwieldy and thusly Makoto being a healthy young teen picks up the short stack to carry inside with nary a pause. That cheery creaky little old voice emerges from the kitchen. 'You will both stay for a cup of tea won't you?'
It should never really come as a surprise to anyone who has lived in Southtown for any given period of time that there are young girls who display an absolutely fierce devotion for their family's martial arts, or those who radiate an absolute anger for any slight - real or perceived - against their school and standing. Howard's known plenty from his time.
He hasn't ever heard one state themselves an out and out master of their school, not with the boastful tone of a youngster who believes themselves invincible to the world around them, but one with a zealous gleam in their eye. Who couldn't see it from there?
"I'm, uh, I'm sorry," the older man droops his head, although at least he inwardly feels good that he remembered the actual name of the school from those fights he'd catch on TV. Makoto was an incredibly fierce fighter with amazing closing speed when delivering one of those decisive, quick punches.
Straightening himself out as he mentally files together what other things he ought to pick up when he steps out, he thinks to introduce himself in kind, "I'm Howard Rust, ah, brown belt in Kyokugen, former... high school teacher, former construction worker," he's not sure if he should count 'soldier' among them considering he was never conscripted by a recognized national entity.
Excluding Rolento's attempts back in 2009, anyway, if anyone would call that legitimate (no, they wouldn't).
He absent-mindedly extends his right hand for Makoto to shake. If she takes him up on it, she might find the strength of his grip relative to his appearance, well, below par.
He turns his head when the old woman speaks. "I'd, I'd love it, but, I gotta... gotta step out, get some wiring."
A accepts the spoken apology with a genial nod. It's enough that she can accept it was not an insult or slight intended to goad her --it was part of her nature to be prickly when it came to her family and Rindoukan but by no means did she consider herself ill-mannered. With that cleared up her mood lightens as does that harsh frown chiselled across into a stony face, the girl as a whole softens from steel to perhaps merely iron.
The hand that clasps and shakes Howard Rusts is callused and rough, much like the gloved hand she takes hold of. Large hands for a girl her size Makoto seizes and shakes firmly, it's not a contest of strength and nor is she squeezing or applying undue pressure but she can't help but feel the aberration between the older man's powerfully stocky physique and the strength he was using. One more pump and it's a mutual release, she isn't sure what to make of it but quietly tries to let it go. If she were being underestimated at all then sheepishly she would have to admit there were plenty of reasons people might do so. Absently Makoto wonders how strong a brown belt from that school could be. Conscious of the black belt around her own waist as she considers Howard's words deeply and perhaps for too long.
"A brown belt of Kyokugenc"
The tone is approving; she can taste something in the listing of those other two occupations even if she can't decipher the emotion behind it. A former teacher and a construction workerc those were very different career choices and evokes a little more of her curiosity. How do all those pieces fit together? Did they lead Mr Howard to martial arts somehow?
'Oh, I should have thought to get some, silly me. Thank you for your hard work young man.' Perhaps the old lady's eyesight was going or else she maybe was just that much older than even she looked. Disappointment. If he was leaving and coming back later then it was likely Makoto would be on her way back to the dojo, she wouldn't get to see how the wall.. or was it the wiring would be getting fixed.
The Kyokugen school is famed for the harshness of its training regimens (And its resulting high drop out rate) - for someone to be in the higher echelons of the trainee ranks may or may not be indicative of something, especially for his age.
"Y-Yeah, I am," he confirms with a slow nod as he eyes some of the other boxes left over from Makoto's initial assistance.
"Least I could do, uh, hey, I'll, I'll grab that for you," he speaks up as he bends down - one knee crackling - as he lifts up a fairly large box that really should be put on a dolly, hefting it up without much issue beyond whatever sort of ailment might be going on in his knee. Or both of them. Or all of him, really, come to think of it.
"It's, it's been a while since I had a chance to, to use my toolbox," he continues as he faces the old lady while carrying that big ol' crate box to wherever it needs to be put, "probably shoulda, shoulda figured that I needed to... to, uh, bring some," he coughs once, "'scuse me."
With a loud exhale, he lets the crate down near where all the other boxes are being put, rolling a shoulder. He probably should've done a bit more stretching today, he thinks, given how tense things generally are.
"I, uh, I hope this isn't a sensitive thing to, well, ask," he says as he brings his attention back to Makoto, "but... any luck getting gigs, 'cause, well," his eyes start to wander away, "last thing I got booked for... got a, a 3 AM time slot, it... it didn't pay well."
Stumped by the question the Rindokan Master purses her lips and cocks her head as she fumbles for answers. What was meant by a gig? Did it mean a job? Was she working somewhere? Makoto shakes her head and breathes out a weary sigh.
"I wish, it'd be nice to make some pocket money."
Instead she was seriously out of pocket after investing so much of her finances (Allowance) in both the dojo and paying for a flight to all the way to America. Not to mention the build-up in her homework and studies she had been forced to agree to for when she got back. But it had been worth it, people were starting to show up unexpectedly on her doorstep already. It was only a matter of time and patience until she could browbeat a few of them into being students at her dojo... And then, Their fees could help fix the place up. Her thoughts turn to how miserable her own bank balance is currently though as to ground her in reality. If she had enough she could maybe even have hired Mr Howard if he was hurting that much for work.
"I don't know too much about that. School always complicates things. If you are looking for something I can try and help out though."
Especially in not letting her actually HAVE a job. That was a pretty big complication to making any money. There is undue compassion and a sheen and watery quality to Makoto's eyes as she addresses Mr Howards. Profound empathy for a fellow struggling martial artist; A fellow human being!
Rust is still a member of a rival discipline - even if there's an underlying understanding and respect for the training, sacrifice, and dedication of other martial artists (...usually), who knows how he'd take an offer to try and pick up another discipline? He's already moving to help pick up another box to put down somewhere as Makoto speaks about not knowing much about it.
Rust kind of gathers what she means. He almost fails to gather the box as he stumbles to a sudden surge of pain in one of his knees, a wince as he careens dangerously around the teahouse before clumsily placing a box down near the rest of the moved stack.
"Gah! Sorry. Sorry. Knee. Fff. Ah." He winces as he gently massages it with his left hand. "I, I'm not in the market for a new job but," he doesn't need to go over his work visa issue again, does he, he wonders - everyone means very well when they offer employment but he's not a native of Japan, "Thanks, 's... Kyokugen's done me all right, I mean, it's... rough," very, "but... but it should pick up, right? I mean... we're not doomed to those, those weird timeslots, y'know, not within a friggin' year... just, nothin', like that," he snaps his fingers, "it's uncanny, like it's, it's all almost dried up."
Sharp vehement nods. Mr Howard would have a far better idea of what the economy and the job market was like at the moment. All she can do is nod along thinking back over all the other old timers and people griping about their jobs and occupations, it sounds pretty rough from all that complaining. Her brother did work long hours at the office as cooking for herself and her grandfather but that was all she knew of the working world off the top of her head and her own experience. But he never complained even a little.
"Is that so, things must be tough all over."
Makoto hefts two of the slightly smaller crates and settles them easily on her shoulders as she follows Rust. It wouldn't do to leave a job unfinished or to leave it to someone else after she started it. Completely ignorant of any possible faux pas she made she works happily if not quite whistling while she works. A steamroller trailing in the wake of a bulldozer the pair of them can make short work of most any task or obstacle. Excepting the little old lady now barring their passage with a plate bearing two earthenware cups of green tea.
"Yeah... yeah, they, they kind of are." Of course, as he thinks about this, he casts a glance back over to the old lady there - and why he's decided to stop by and help with the tea house. A friend of his was taken out with that recent violence. Considering everything that happened, lots of people have it here pretty rough. Southtown is still a rough place to live if you can't really physically stand up for yourself.
Reclining on some of the crates for temporary support as he flexes out one of his legs to get that kink out out of that knee. That was a pretty bad bit of pain there. Maybe it might rain pretty soon... that'd be really something, having to drive through these roads in rain to get the wiring supplies he needs to finish the work here.
These roads are hell to drive on when it's rainy.
Still... as it is, no real choice but to endure, tough it out with any number of exclamation marks, make it work. When the offer for a cup of green tea comes, Hoeard nods his head, bowing with it slightly. "Thanks, uh, just a, just a moment."
That's right, he's just gonna have to tough out kneeling and putting weight on that achy knee.
Makoto almost rushes to set the crates down and to take the one of the steaming cups. Obachans old hands steady a lot more without the weight of both cups. 'You two are both such hard workers, you deserve a rest and something to refresh yourselves.' Finding the tea surprisingly good Makoto sips and then immediately takes a gulp. Uahh, it was refreshing, she can see the appeal of drinking tea in a teahouse occasionally. Sitting cross legged as she sips her drink she receives a chilling glace grom the tea house owner, kids today. The young woman quickly corrects her posture and kneels more traditionally while drinking her tea; her inexperience shows though the old woman seems to find her more a source of amusement than anything else. It should be about enjoying the tea, not worrying about kneeling the right way.
Makoto wonders if the water really has much of an impact on the flavour of the tea. While the old woman bustles away after having served her visitors tea. If they were very lucky, it was actually on the house.
Log created on 03:47:09 04/25/2013 by Rust, and last modified on 13:08:45 05/12/2013.