Description: That is the humble request of the wandering fighter, Katthalla, in his bid to build a combat style from the ground up. To learn from some of the more famous names, the established, the powerful... his quest takes him to the Kyokugen Dojo, where the brown belt Howard Rust is able to oblige. Does he have any interesting hairstyling tips to impart upon the inquisitive soul? (Let this be known, dear reader: no, Howard will never have any business teaching hairstyling to anyone, ever.)
"I-I'm not saying anything 'bout... god damn it, Marco!" Shouts the voice of a middle-aged American man who has spent the better part of the morning shouting at people, gravelly voice hoarse and tired as the man seems frustrated, throwing up his arms as he walks past a couple of white belts going about the basic stance training under the watchful eye of Ryo Sakazaki.
"I'm... I'm just saying," he keeps shouting back, "I've... I've never dealt with, with th-those folks before, and yet... and yet, they, they, they just keep askin'... they keep askin' /me/, 'cause they think - I mean, everyone does - that I /know where all their god damn machines are/--" his tone suddenly shifts to something more sedate as he pulls a kid up by the back of his gi, "--straighten your back," and then back to shouting as he continues by.
"Marco! Marco. I'm... I'm just sayin', all right, if /you know/... if you know, you, you gotta tell 'em! Not me! I. Don't. Know. Where. Their. Ball. Went! When's the... when's the last time I even... after the last one, they, they don't even let me rent 'em out any more..."
It's a humid but temperate day here in Southtown, where the only thunder to be found is in a distant shouting match between two men out on the concrete lot over some grievance or another. Howard Rust, probably the most famous brown belt in Kyokugen the school has ever had, exudes equal parts stress, aggravation, and accusatory behavior over what is probably an incident that matters overly little in the long run. Taking his left hand to his jaw, he wipes away some blood trickling out the side as his shouting dulls down to incoherent, consonant-filled muttering.
"Jesus," he grumbles, "it's... it's always /me/," he complains aloud to no one in particular, "like I'm, I'm some kinda... quartermaster, or somethin'. Like I gotta keep track of, of all the... the rentals, the receipts... what 'bout the time with the previous, the previous... friggin' lumber guys. I don't... I don't," shaking his head, an unattended busted punching bag that's set to be thrown out is given a roundhouse kick with such frustration that now it's not a matter of throwing out a torn bag.
It's now more a matter of who's going to clean up the sand and stuffing that spills all over the place as its battered container flies in the breeze to slap itself up against the back of his parked truck.
"...Did I, did I just break one of my truck windows again," Rust's shoulders slump. There's no breaking noise to suggest this, and it's unlikely an empty husk of bag has enough force behind it to do such a thing, but... weirder has happened, and at this point he's just ready to expect the worst after a stressful morning.
Stepping barefoot onto the Dojo's moderately hot cement lot, Katt is just in time to witness Rust taking his frustrations out on a defenseless punching bag. Maybe it was actually a kicking bag? Well, whatever it was, it's now scattered across the ground between Rust and his truck.
Katt glances away from the trashed bag and over the lot full of white-belts as he waits to be noticed by one person or another. He would have knocked at the gate, but there wasn't a gate to knock at. Thus, he has decided to stand at the edge of the lot with his hands clasped before him. A normal person might have walked right over and introduced himself. Then again, a normal person probably would have driven to the dojo, rather than walked. A normal person, come to think about it, wouldn't have such oddly patterned skin.
Normal people are boring.
More muttering comes from the aging man as he treks across his spot on the lot over to the parked truck, raising and rotating his right shoulder to work out a distressingly loud kink in that particular joint - he has them pretty much everywhere, but right now, it's his right shoulder that's giving him the greatest amount of grief.
Well, that and whatever he spent the morning being so wrapped up in with the senior instructor Marco Rodriguez, in any case, but as is immediately relevant? Totally the shoulder that sours his mood. Murmurs and grumbles continue en route to make sure he didn't somehow magically destroy one of his vehicle windows with an empty, torn rag of a ruined bag.
Without even turning to look towards Katt, the man suddenly speaks up.
"Hey, sorry, I'll be... I'll be with you right in a, a minute," he raises his left hand and shakes a finger as he comes up to his own truck to inspect for damages. For pretty much any ordinary person, there's no chance that they could inflict damage with such an unlikely thing - but this sort of thing changes when you are a highly skilled martial artist.
"...No, doesn't... doesn't look like I, I broke anything... bit of a, a, scuff... down there," he narrates the humorously superficial damages to himself with all the straightforward observations of someone who probably wouldn't do too badly as an insurance agent.
"I can help to remove the sand." Katt calls back, having to lift his slightly hoarse voice to be heard across the moderate distance.
Despite the offer, the rather short fighter remains standing calmly at the edge of the lot. His long dreads sag down his back in the muggy air, but he otherwise seems unaffected by the weather.
As he waits for Rust to finish appraising the old truck, Katt takes a moment to get a good look at the man. (Heavy) is what immediately springs to mind. When you have dedicated your life to learning the best way to lift and throw a person, you tend to focus quite a bit on their mass and build.
Katt's second thought?
(That is a very purple hairpiece.)
Despite these thoughts, the wandering martial artist remains quiet and respectful. He seems not to share Rust's habit of talking to himself.
That hairpiece goes above and beyond 'very purple.' It is... an abomination of all good taste. To see it on TV does not quite reflect just how ill-suited it is towards the intended purpose of it being a substitute for hair. One could be here for hours running down a dictionary or thesaurus for all the applicable definitions and comparisons of just how... terrible... it is.
Even the person who wrote that Grinch song would be stumped.
"Huh? Ah, actually, ah... thanks, that's... that's kind, but," Howard clears his throat as he starts coughing a few times, "'scuse me." Heavy chest patting. The usual, when one needs to get crud out of their windpipe. How does so much dust and grime find their way into there, anyway? Turning around to face Katthalla, he rests his right elbow up against the truck.
"Hey there, ah... I'm, I'm Howard, brown belt at the, at the Kyokugen dojo here... assisting, every so often with, ah, with the lessons and such." For being still at, technically, an initiate rank, that does imply at least some level of overall trust on behalf of those who instruct. To say nothing of, well, quite a few storied events of recent years. Vega's ambitions, land wars in the greater part of the Asian continent and even a bit back over in the United States...
Not that he... especially looks the part, given the fatigue in his movements, his mannerisms. He looks like a man about ready to crumble apart almost at a moment's notice, like some sort of large, unwieldy machine build years and years ago that barely anyone knows how to maintain any more. A machine that by all standards ought to have been replaced, and yet...
"What can I, ah, do for you?"
"My name is Katthalla. It can be shortened to Katt if you prefer." States said individual in his mildly hoarse voice. It is the voice of a soft spoken man who rarely finds occasion to speak.
Introductions having been made, Katt bows to Rust from his place at the edge of the lot. The gesture is shallow, but smooth and polite none-the-less.
After straightening back to his rather unimpressive height, the wandering martial artist tilts his dappled chin to indicate the white belts standing around training. His hands remain clasped before him, posture relaxed.
"I have come to learn." Katt continues, adding with a nodding of his head down toward the stretch of cement that separates him from the much larger man, "You will allow me entry?"
The brown-clad man seems unwilling to move any further onto the lot until that little matter is cleared up.
"Katthalla... Katt, well... nice to meet you, ah, here to learn, huh." The aging man runs his left hand through his... ugh, why would anyone want to touch that /thing/ on his head even with gloves on?! Pushing himself off against his truck, he stands straight up to stretch both his arms out, shoulders rolling back in a stretch.
It's unpleasant to the ears, to put it lightly. Like almost every bone in his body objects to being bent, a low hiss coming from the larger man's lips as he eases the tensions of his body best he's able. Or... maybe speaking at length clearly is a laborious exercise that requires a good stretch before going about it. Either would be a good reason, as it is.
"Lessons.... ah, they run 'bout... 200 US dollars a week, thereabouts," he gestures uselessly with his left hand - what on earth is he communicating by waving his hand and fingers so? He seems slightly unsure of the price - it may have been quite some time since anyone's come by expressing interest in learning the craft that he hasn't checked with the master to see if the rates are still the same as they were a few years ago.
"But," he claps his hands together, "usually, ah, before we start, we.... we do an evaluation. To, to see where you're at, I mean... if you're trainin' here, you're probably gonna be, well, startin' from scratch. But it's good to, well, get an idea of where you're at, lemme see if..."
He turns his head over to the lot.
Ryo... nah, he's already teaching a class.
Robert... dragged out of town for some meeting or something, the details aren't so clear.
Takuma, the master of the school... probably raising hell at Cosco again with the head of that other school people keep cursing the name of, who he's not even sure he's ever actually seen with his own eyes.
Marco... well, he's probably not in the mood after the earlier shouting match.
"I, ah... I guess I'd... be the only one available to, to help with that," Howard says as he looks back over to Katthalla, stepping away from the truck. "Normally I'd, I'd get one of the, ah, the senior instructors over but I don't think... uh, any of 'em are able. If you wanna wait 'till they are..."
Katthalla smiles a bit as Rust stretches and stammers his way through the requirements for entry into the Dojo. For a shoeless man with dreadlocks his teeth are oddly white and shiny.
"I am not interested in learning to fight using Kyokugen Karate. It is much too, aggressive, for my taste." Katt explains hoarsely. As Rust approaches he continues to speak, volume lowering to match the distance between them, "This style. It has produced many capable fighters. I would like to learn along side you for a time, to witness what sets this Karati apart from others I have studied."
Katt does not move further into the lot as he makes the rather odd request. He has not been given permission to enter the Dojo grounds, so he remains standing at their edge with his hands folded neatly against his middle. There is a certain contentment that radiates from the younger man. An acceptance of things that gives the impression he is unlikely to throw a fit and kick someone in the head if turned away.
"If a spar is all you are willing to give, I will gladly take it." States the brown-robed martial artist quietly. The statement is given a sense of solemn dignity by the slight inclination of Katt's head, smile fading.
Katt is right about one thing - the Kyokugen school is highly reputable for one thing. Er, one thing other than the gigantic drop-out rate, and their continued struggles with the school's financial health. Beyond these foibles, it is one of the most physically demanding schools out there - perhaps befitting of its name. Exercise routines looking in from the outside come off as cartoonishly obscene, going through fights with significant injuries is common... the detractors would say it walks a fine line between strict and (comically, in a dark sort of way) savage.
"The, ah, the master's been kind of, uh... pointed, 'bout people training on grounds that, that aren't students," the older man rubs the back of his head as he considers the far shorter man before him. It's not a dismissive look - no, it's more the look of a man whose eyes wander in a way that suggests trying to think of some way to make it work. He remembers the last time Takuma got on his case about being a little too generous with lessons. Well, Takuma and three of his best Haohshokokens, to be much, much more precise. Takuma is pretty persuasive in his own right. His Haohshokokens... definitely, undeniably masters of the craft of debate, conversation, and coercion.
"A spar, though, yeah... that's, that's not gonna be a problem. C'mon, ah, c'mon in," he gestures inwards with one arm as he walks further into the lot, clearing his throat to guide Katthalla further inward, towards a crowd of students who are working down planks of wood by hand.
That's right, by hand! With smooth, decisive movements, wood is sheared and smoothed down into more workable boards and planks. In the distance, it's plain and visible to see that the dojo has a very significant section of wall... well, it's no longer anything resembling a wall, let's put it that way. It seems like being an unorthodox carpenter on the side ends up being a very large part of the teachings and not at all a way for Takuma to be stingy and not have to pay actual professionals real money to fix up the constant damages to the structure.
"H-Hey." Howard clears his throat again. "Hey! 'm just gonna, gonna interrupt you guys for a bit. This man here," he gestures to Katthalla, "'s name's Katthalla. He's... ah, he's come to experience the Kyokugen way. So," he claps his hands together, "we just, ah, bid him the usual warm welcome... I mean, ah, sit 'round and watch, if you're 'bout done with the, ah, the work there for now."
The students are largely wordless, aside from brief hellos and greetings as many sit cross-legged to watch.
Unhooking his toolbelt, Howard holds it up as though regarding that rusted length of pipe that goes through a ripped pocket next to his left hip. Obviously, for purposes of demonstration it's probably better to stick to the more orthodox Kyokugen movements and techniques. He nods once, as though choosing to reassure a completely inanimate object with no feelings or thoughts that it'll be okay as he drapes the belt across a finished plank of wood.
"So, ah, if you'd like, Mister... Mister Katthalla," Howard says as he turns back towards him, "feel free to, to share 'bout yourself to the rest of us."
Katthalla is finally able to step across the invisible line his toes have been pressing against for the duration of the conversation.
Padding forward on bare feet, the robed fighter wanders along in Rust's wake. He seems unconcerned about stepping into a circle of psychopathic masochistic killing machines.
"I am here to learn what I am able of your art." Katt tells the group, head bowing slightly as he moves among them. Coming to a halt near the center of the gathering he turns a slow circle, hands clasped loosely against his stomach. AT such close range it is easy to see the enumerable scars that cover his hands and forearms. Mostly old slash wounds. It is very likely everyone in the group knows what it feels like to parry a blade with their flesh.
"From the age of eleven I have wandered the land," Katt continues hoarsely, "and from the age of sixteen I have walked alone. It is my life's work to develop, and teach, an art of my own design. I have spoke with many masters about this. I will speak with many more."
Pausing, the brown-robed man offers the group one of his quiet smiles. He seems completely at peace, though in a quiet, satisfied sort of way. Unclasping his hands he waves them out to either side as if to indicate the area around them in a vague explanatory gesture. The motion is punctuated by a slight lift of his shoulders into a relaxed shrug. What else is there to say?
Howard nods along with the explanation, the narrative of it all. It reminds him a lot of a friend who's largely doing the same with their life - wandering, perfecting their art through constant battle and testing. Wandering from age eleven, going solo at sixteen...? That's a guy who's been at it for a while, if those (at this point, more) visible scars on their arms says plenty about it.
"I, I can get behind that." Howard nods along. Maybe it's a little bit of envy - he's a man that, for years, had himself wrapped up in the work force with little time to ever really develop his fighting skills up until some years back. For all intents and purposes... a late bloomer. It's easy to romanticize the life of a wandering warrior who only lives for self-improvement in fighting. It's easier yet to yearn for it... to live it, though, that's... another thing entirely.
"I, I wouldn't call myself a, a master... by any stretch," Howard humbly - and truthfully - admits with a nod. Some would say from his actions in times of great need that he's certainly some quality of 'good,' maybe even 'great,' but 'master?' He is but a brown belt in Kyokugen, after all.
"But, y'know. That's a hell of a dream... and, well, that's, that's a dream I'll be happy to contribute to." Stretching out one of his legs again to work out another kink that has developed in that short span of time between his last stretch and now, he goes into the more traditional respectful bowing motion after using awful vague body language that had previously seemed ambiguous in terms of interest or willingness not long before.
"I'll give ya a good taste of it, though," he motions as he spaces his legs apart slightly and raises his arms in a proper stance.
"Feel free to use your pipe, if you prefer." Katt offers calmly as he turns about to face the larger man. His bare soles scuff across the pavement as he shifts into a stance of his own. His feet just a bit more than shoulder width apart, the younger fighter lifts both arms up defensively in front of him, elbows pointed toward the ground and palms forward.
"I am sure that I will fight another from this Dojo, but you are the only I know of who uses a pipe. I feel the benefit to my education outweighs the potential risk to my health." Katt says quietly. As he speaks another of those faint smiles reveals his brilliantly white teeth.
"However," The smaller martial artist adds gently, "Let us avoid attempting to seriously harm the other. I am under no illusions as to how this fight is likely to go." The offer ends with a respectful bow of Katt's dread locked head.
Howard is pretty famous for, among other things, that pipe. Ol' Rusty, it's named. It is just a rusted, battered length of pipe - literally something picked up off the ground and called his own. Hardly any noble, amazing origins. Though, perhaps the same could be said of its wielder.
"If... if that's what you'd like," the aging man says as he turns back to take the toolbelt in one hand and pipe in the other. It takes several tugs to get the pipe free from the makeshift torn pocket-sheath thing he has going for it.
"I, I gotta make one thing clear," Howard continues after a single cough as he turns back towards the barefoot, dreadlocked man, "in this school... we throw real punches. Every fight, every spar, every... fight, er, every spar, I mean," he stammers as he realizes he just repeated the same thing twice, "that's, that's how we operate. It ain't just 'bout throwing some of the hardest hits, here. A lot of it's also 'bout being able to take it."
"The human body," Howard continues as he rolls his right shoulder for probably the umpteenth time since the two started talking, "'s a lot tougher than it lets on. We try and push it a whole lot further 'n just... y'know, tough."
For all the tired tone of voice, for all the frustration that flies straight out of his mouth - heck, for pretty much every little thing that just generally goes wrong around here and his life in general, there is pride behind those words. Genuine, whole-hearted pride.
"'n I'll be honored to share as much of that... as much of that as you're willing to take. All right?" Howard asks as he lowers back down into a ready stance, Ol' Rusty now held in his right hand and pointed low and away, leaning forward with a raised left forearm, and a nod - into a second respectful bow, considering that momentary interruption to get that pipe out of the toolbelt.
COMBATSYS: Rust has started a fight here.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Katthalla has joined the fight here.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Katthalla
"I understand." Katt replies quietly, head lifting from it's respectful bow.
There is apparently nothing else to say. Calm and quiet, Katt remains in his loose defensive stance, palms up and dark eyes wandering idly over Rust's form. Judging by his posture, whatever Art the younger man is creating must be a defensive one. or else he's trying to lure Rust into a false sense of security.
Fighters. Always scheming.
COMBATSYS: Katthalla focuses on his next action.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Katthalla
It's not the first time Howard's had to deal with a defensive specialist - the posture is highly indicative of one, but you can never take anyone's appearance for granted. Katthalla's much smaller frame also speaks of a potential other weakness that is much too soon to really truly gauge. The human body is capable of surprising things, if one is able to dedicate incredible training towards those specific ends. One never knows.
Those dreads might actually be able to eat him, for one.
Flights of fancy in writing aren't quite what's going on in the Kyokugen pipe fighter's head as he briefly circles Katthalla to gauge whether or not he's approaching or waiting. It's difficult to discern if it's waiting or hesitation, on either end.
Howard eventually chooses to move in to strike first, as decisively and swiftly as he can really manage. Closing in with a forward movement, he leads in with his right elbow around Katt's head (which is hard not to do, given their height) and immediately follow it up with an outward swing of his pipe, as though in an attempt to try and intercept - or at least put pressure upon - whatever defense he might muster against that initial elbow strike.
COMBATSYS: Katthalla fails to counter Random Piping from Rust with Sand Wall.
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Rust 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Katthalla
Katthalla turns to track Rust as the larger man circles, patiently waiting for him to start the fight.
When the larger man moves in, Katt take's a half step forward to meet him. Both of his hands lift as if to halt the leading elbow strike,scarred fingers closing around the upper and lower arm. There is not enough power behind the upward push he applies, however, and the elbow impacts solidly with the side of his head. Stumbling and off balance, there isn't much he can do as Ol' Rusty swings around and cracks into his shoulder, sending him stumbling off to his right.
The bigger man stays completely on the offensive in the wake of the successful one-two, taking none of the momentum he has taken for granted, the grip on his weapon slipping slightly upwards after the impact as he lowers Ol' Rusty slightly to try and correct this shift in this hold of his weapon. It is proof of one of the rumors of a serious injury to his right hand - he might still hit well with it, but the grip on his right hand is not the best.
Which is why the next stage of his offensive goes to his off hand - his left, reaching quickly for one of Katt's arms in an attempt to yank him forward, over one of his outstretched legs in an attempt to keep the latest visitor to the Kyokugen dojo completely off-balance, to minimize the chance he has to suddenly turn around and take back the momentum of a friendly fight.
A friendly fight, of course, where real strikes are being thrown in the friendliest of manners possible for such a thing. Or, in this case, real tripping throw motions, one would suppose.
COMBATSYS: Katthalla blocks Rust's Medium Throw.
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Rust 0/-------/------=|====---\-------\0 Katthalla
still staggering sideways from the crack to his shoulder, Katt is all too willing to reach out and grasp hands with Rust as the bigger man presses his advantage.
Tugging hard on the hand even as he is dragged toward the tripping leg, the smaller martial artist hits Rust's leg and flips forward over it.
Not having released Rust's Hand, Katt finishes his flip by trying to twist the larger man's arm hard up behind him, turning with a sweep of his heel to hook the leg he was just thrown over and toss his aging opponent face-first to the ground. All the jerking around has thrown his center of balance off a bit, but maybe he can reverse the momentum of this exchange.
COMBATSYS: Rust dodges Katthalla's Combo Throw.
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Rust 0/-------/------=|====---\-------\0 Katthalla
Rust catches on to the idea he might be about to be played remarkably fast, a harsh outward swing of his left arm throwing himself out of Katt's grip as he himself goes into a sideways rolling motion - something of a half-flip - to work with the movement his smaller opponent is trying to put him through.
To Katt's credit, Rust's landing and recovery from his very own evasive maneuver is not entirely smooth, ending up on the ground on his back. He may have largely avoided the twist and flip, but the fact of the matter is that he's not exactly in the most flattering position to be in. Nobody should consider lying relatively prone on the lot to be a tactical advantage.
The man with that terrible hairpiece works with it anyway, an outward swing of Ol' Rusty across the ground with a slightly upward bent to try and tag Katt's legs as they land from their comparatively fancier show of acrobatics than his own, banking on the length of the pipe to cover for however far Katt might have moved with his maneuver.
COMBATSYS: Katthalla fails to counter Foundation Layer from Rust with Shifting Sands.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|======-\-------\0 Katthalla
Katthalla takes two steps sideways to keep his balance after Rust flings him away, dreadlocks whipping out behind him as he spins to track the big man's roll.
Noting the pipe swinging around toward him he ducks forward and down. Though his scarred right hand snaps out in an attempt to intercept the swing, he is a fraction too slow and the strike swishes past just beneath his grip. The pipe smacks solidly into his right calf with a meaty 'thunk', the force behind it knocking his bare heals together. %Luckily, Katt's right hand is still out from trying to catch the pipe. Stopping his fall with it, he throws himself back upright with a hard shove not unlike a sideways push up. This is followed by a quick hop back while he kicks out his right leg to force the stiffness from it. That done, he falls easily back into his starting stants.Feet apart, palms up. Despite the fact he hasn't landed a blow his expression is calm and focused.
For making - ultimately - the right defensive call, there is a clear league of difference in overall agility between the two men. Katt actually has himself a moment, however brief, to catch himself and get back to a proper stance while Rust has to pull himself back up to a standing position after the successful swing.
It's an admirable quality to behold on Katt's end, keeping himself psychologically together and rolling with the blows as well as he has. The students that are watching almost certainly might be impressed with the smaller man's entire sense of composure!
Howard, for his part, thinks he might have seen a hole in Katt's defensive technique - though this observation was made from an angle not quite straight on to really see. While the two are back to a neutral position for a short while, it's the man with the pipe and the sudden creak in one of his knees that goes to initiate the next encounter between the two of them again, swinging in with a low left kick.
Not just one low left kick. Rapidly bending his leg at the knee, it is suddenly covered in a flickering, washed-out energy (it's hard to tell if it's supposed to be... white, blue, or green, it is that lacking in any real color saturation but just isn't bright enough to be pure white if it /is/) in a series of repeated low kicks at leg-level. Each time the chi-laden foot hits the concrete lot, a piece of it sprays everywhere - and each strike loud enough that, in succession, one could confuse the ruckus for that of an actual jackhammer.
If it does that much damage to concrete, it's probably not pleasant to human bone.
COMBATSYS: Katthalla counters Jackhammer Kick from Rust with Last Clap.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|======-\-------\0 Katthalla
There is a stillness gathering around Katt while Rust is pulling himself to his feet. Falling utterly still aside from his relaxed breathing, the younger fighter watches and waits while winding himself ever tighter inside..
That stillness holds as the larger fighter approaches. Not until the first chi-infused kick comes rushing in does Katt act.
In one smooth, explosive motion the brown-robed figure jerks forward and down, knee slamming into the concrete and torso twisting so that he faces the attack head on. A grunted 'HUH!' escapes his stomach as both scarred hands sweep in and meet on either side of Rust's foot, stopping the attack dead.
With a sudden show of strength the smaller man heaves upward on the foot caught between his palms, forcing it up over his head, then higher as he surges to his feet. The maneuver ends with Katt sweeping out to knock his much larger opponent's supporting foot out from beneath him, shoving forward and down on the leg he holds as if spiking a shovel into dirt in an attempt to send Rust crashing back to the ground.
Howard had a pretty good idea in that short span of time that maybe, just maybe, Katt had a bit of a problem with handling low strikes. Maybe it was the creak in his knee that gave himself away that time - or it just could have been making a dangerously presumptuous call after one single success. One is not a trend, merely a suggestion.
Leg yanked high, the older man expresses at least slightly better range of motion for his legs than first appears aside from the tell-tale wince of something getting pulled - all this before his other leg gets kicked out from underneath as he's guided back-first into the concrete with enough force that the current oxygen immigrants of his lungs leave for greener pastures elsewhere.
That's... probably not the best metaphor, but the motions of Katthalla's movements are so complete as to minimize attempts at redirecting force upon hitting the ground and, ultimately, suffer about as much of the intended impact as they were going for.
It should probably make it all the more surprising after the fact when Howard simply extends that same leg that was just caught moments after release, intending to try and shove Katt back as to give himself space to pull himself up - the whiplash and cramping from that sudden catch be damned as his leg muscles protest their owner's decision to just strike back so soon!
COMBATSYS: Katthalla auto-guards Rust's Light Kick!
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|======-\-------\0 Katthalla
Katthalla brings his right forearm sweeping across his body in a smooth block, left foot sliding back and body following so that he can guide Rust's thrusting kick past his chest.
Initial threat dealt with, the younger martial artist steps backward and falls back into his ready stance. He seems unwilling to strike the older man while he is down. Besides, he could use a breather. He has been getting smacked around fairly badly for most of the fight, though all of the bruises that could prove this fact are hiding beneath his clothing.
COMBATSYS: Katthalla gains composure.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Katthalla
With that skillful counterattack and that smooth defense, to the less trained eyes among those sitting about they'd think it's about an even matchup - the differences in matters of physical strength and overall resilience aren't always easy to tell at a glance. Howard might seem to hold the upper hand there so far - currently perfectly in line with what he's said moments before things came to respectful blows.
They throw real strikes, they take real strikes. Though Katt did a number on one of his legs, their older opponent puts it out of mind as he puts the majority of his weight upon it when standing back up. There is no staggering when he rights himself up. For all the aches and pains his limbs are happy to communicate to him... in the zone, he endures it.
Pointing Ol' Rusty out at Katt as he starts to circle again, he gauges the distance between them he'd have to cover in order to get in striking (or, perhaps, getting-caught-and-thrown) distance. Katt has himself enough time to catch in that breather by the time Howard commits to further action.
Action such as moving in with the makeshift hilt of Ol' Rusty in an uppercut-like backhand swing that - intentionally - comes up a bit short as his left hand goes to the top, a deliberate small delay as if to account for his current read of Katt's favored methods of blocking (from their exceedingly few exchanges) before forcefully palming the pipe downwards at such force that the air compresses around it hilt-end first into the general upper torso area of the smaller man if he's not fast enough on the draw.
Or catch.
COMBATSYS: Katthalla blocks Rust's Crushing Pipe.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Katthalla
Katthalla turns in a slow circle to track Rust's movements around him. His own motions are smooth and practiced, with his lead foot lifting, planting, body turning, then the rear foot sliding across the dirty cement into position. He remains as calm and composed as ever. In fact, that slight smile of his has returned.
As rust steps forward and swings his pipe at his chin, Katt does more or less as predicted. His left palm sweeps in to catch hold of the bigger fighter's right wrist. However, the smaller man's grip is loose and relaxed, making no effort to stop the blow. it is only when the pipe is rocketing down like a sternum-crushing missile of doom that Katt's grip tightens. Using his left hand to pull the attack a bit to one side, Katt pivots his hips and slams his right palm upward into the descending hilt of the pipe with a loud 'smack!'.
Having stopped the pipe's downward momentum, Katt ducks beneath the stalled strike and steps forward into grappling range. Using Rust's left thigh as a stepping stone he hops up onto it, then plants both scarred palms on the burly man's shoulders (the right of which probably has a couple of broken bones) And presses down, hard. As he presses down he curls his stomach muscles and jerks his right knee upward in an attempt to smash it square into Rust's chin, the knee carrying the momentum of his entire body behind it.
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Katthalla's Reverse Gravity.
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Rust 0/-------/---====|======-\-------\0 Katthalla
It's not just a smack that diverts the strike - it's also working the weaker grip of the right hand against Rust outright, the the pipe slips out of his right hand as his left awkwardly grips onto one end of it.
All this, while Katt works his individual magic in moving inwards to take advantage of the redirection and opening. It's amazing how fast he can turn a situation into an opening for a quick, complex, agile move. There is absolutely nothing that can stop him from connecting knee against chin, his infiltration of Rust's defenses so thorough and complete that this solid strike should leave its mark.
In a manner of speaking, it does. Teeth press against one another with great discomfort as the older man's jaw is clenched shut by force, head rising up by the momentum imparted upon by rapid knee strike!
And yet, his feet stay firmly planted on the ground, heels skidding against the concrete loudly as his body is carried a few inches just from the strength of that very strike. It's awe-worthy to watch in motion.
It's significantly less awe-worthy, visually, that Howard works with the fact his upper body's already wound back to overcompensate his balance into a potent return strike, thrusting his upper body head-first - no, let's say toupee-first - in a battle of dreads versus... whatever that thing on his head is, left fist clenching slightly as what backward movement that strike imparted upon him is quickly converted into forward momentum, hoping to catch a potentially over-committed Katthalla in turn with a simple, direct headbutt.
COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Katthalla with Hardhat Rush.
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Rust 0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Katthalla
As rust staggers back from the force of the knee strike, Katt braces his left knee against the temporarily stumbling man's chest and drops his right down to dangle, still holding himself above his opponent by his grip on the larger man's shoulders.
As Rust redirects his momentum into a forward charge Katt shoves forward and up on his shoulders to swing himself back down onto the ground. Bracing both bare feet he starts to twist, as if to throw the big man, but is too slow. Rust's forehead cracks hard against the top of Katt's head, his diminutive height saving him from the touch of the dreaded purple monstrosity his opponent calls hair.
Maintaining his grip on Rust's shoulders, Katt lets out a soft breath through his teeth and falls backward, attempting to turn Rust's bulky form into a projectile weapon against a large stack of boards behind some of the watching students.
COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Katthalla's Rising Dune.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Katthalla
As Rust's head levels, Katt can witness blood trickling down the side of his mouth. It may or may not just be the re-opening of a wound from earlier, but fear not - the Kyokugen dojo has itself a really good insurance plan (full dental!) for pretty much any fight-related injury one can think of.
Well, there are a few interesting exceptions, but they are neither here nor there.
His left fist clenches, and his body goes tense. This should mean absolutely nothing to Katthalla's well-honed understanding of the movement of the human body and physics. It shouldn't take more than a good, hard backwards tumble to turn his opponent into a projectile.
Somehow, he never even really gets too far into outright budging the man. His fingers dig into his shoulders with a seeming tenacity to onlookers that could make some of the more hardened men of the school cringe if they were able to see just how deep those hands appear to clench - going by the creases of the gi top alone, it's a wonder that Katt's fingers haven't bore a hole through cloth, or even flesh for that matter.
Whether by some incredibly subtle forceful lean that counteracts the momentum or something else, Howard remains standing with nary any harm other than just what Katt maintains by gripping him as tightly as he has over the last few moments. An incredibly disturbing series of joint pops erupt as Rust starts to show signs of movement again, less a man and almost more like a statue just coming to life as he works out the kinks that go across his body. Right hand forcefully taking the center of Ol' Rusty to yank it away from his left, his left hand rises upwards to firmly plant them upon Katt's head - assuming he hasn't gotten out of the way or otherwise turned the simplistic grabbing motion against Howard by some means - and thrusts straight downward as if to forecfully seat the smaller man against the ground with a loud grunt, his right arm popping loudly as Ol' Rusty is drawn back down and low in his right hand.
COMBATSYS: Katthalla blocks Rust's Brick Stacker.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-======|=======\==-----\1 Katthalla
Katthalla lets out another soft breath through his teeth as his backward drop fails to move Rust in any appreciable way. Luckily, his grip on the man's shoulders makes it incredibly easy to tug himself upright again, just in time for his head to be pressed down toward the ground by his opponent's palm.
Though clearly not as strong as Rust, the way Katt has been throwing his own body weight around with his arms proves he is no push over. In this case, he is no push down. Gritting his teeth, the smaller martial artist grinds his bare feet into the pavement and pushes up hard against Rust's hand, keeping his feet just long enough to allow him to lash out with a left elbow strike at the center of the large man's Chest.
If that first strike holds enough power to free him, he will swing his right shoulder around and step forward onto the offensive, driving another elbow into Rust's middle, followed by a left knee strike to the abdomen and a lunging head butt to the chest.
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Katthalla's Hail of Stones.
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Rust 1/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0 Katthalla
The tug o' war is not quite going as well as it ought to on Rust's end - the weight he's been putting on that foot that was cleanly caught in a counter earlier finally starts to push back at him. The stiffness of his entire body after adopting that trademark defensive gestur of his works against his ability to exert as much force as he typically can. He knows that Katt actually has the positioning advantage in here - Katt's shorter and got that center of gravity going for him. He's anticipating that he might go to fling him again, pulling slightly back as if to be ready to fight momentum with momentum.
He guesses wrong.
Katthalla goes to town with light, sure strikes that would add up quick. Between the two, if this were a match for points by blows landed, Katt would be leading the board. Howard's volume of strikes have typically always been comparatively conservative to some of his counterparts. That first blow to the chest with the left elbow is, in itself, disorienting.
Staggering to a kneel, the offensive continues with that second elbow. His left, free hand clenches again, going ever lower as he leans into the abdomen-seeking knee with a wheeze. It is pretty much as he told Katt at the beginning - oftentimes you take about as good as you give, and he's done a fair amount of taking from the tenacious challenger! With oxygen escaping his lungs, it's difficult to mount much of a striking counter-offensive. Howard decides to go with just a single punch, kneeling low in brief as the final headbutt threatens to shove him over with a finishing shot of the combo.
That single punch? He lets loose with an upward thrust - a famed maneuver seen in quite a few of the prominent martial arts schools around - the strength of the uppercut so strong that to throw it by itself is enough to carry its user up off the ground. For Howard, his is less the effect of leaping into the blow and letting the blow carry /him/.
If it connects cleanly with Katt, well, he's not going to be standing on terra firma...
COMBATSYS: Katthalla counters Crane Launch EX from Rust with Shifting Sands.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Katthalla
Katthalla is still bent forward after his final head butt to Rust's chest, which is probably what saves him from being launched into orbit by the massive fist ascending toward him.
Snapping upright with a soft 'huh', the much shorter man swings his bare left foot forward and plants it between rust's own. That being done he leans backward slightly and lets the uppercut 'woosh' past his face, carrying Rust's body along into the air behind it.
Once Rust's upward momentum starts to bleed off and he is hanging in the air, the smaller man reaches out and presses his scarred left hand to the floating man's right thigh, his right hand swinging up to smack against Rust's exposed rib cage. With effortless ease he flips the man in the air, then pushes down, speeding his shoulder-first descent toward the ground.
No matter what, once you're off the ground - unless one has some serious chops with their midair acrobatics to counteract this fact to some (but not a complete) degree - you have no traction. When the rising fist whiffs, there's the matter of Katthalla being on the ground and in arm's length, and Rust not. Well, not on the ground. He is at arm's length.
Struck in his ribs and flung, the combination of the fact he'd already attempted to tough his way through a few debilitating blows destabilizes his focus, his sense of just how high up in the air he is... and his landing foregoes any of his abilities to really compensate for landing against concrete at--
Correction, landing against a wooden board that splits neatly in two that does not at all break or cushion his fall into the concrete. (With wood like that it's no wonder that the dojo walls over there have to be frequently replaced!!)
Tumbling across and against now-splintered wood, a few nasty ones embed themselves into his back - or maybe just his gi, given there's yet to be any visible blood stains there. Considering that Howard just groggily thrusts his left hand against the slanted end of the busted board and hoists himself up... well, he probably considers himself fine enough.
"Pretty... pretty good," the middle-aged man concedes that much as he sucks in air. One of the students starts to cry manly tears about an afternoon's work being wasted, but maintains a stoic composure aside from the tears. No sobs, no babbling, only tears. This is something they'll have to get used to - how often do they have to fix things in the dojo?!
Rolling his neck once and coughing twice, Howard points Ol' Rusty towards Katthalla's current position and starts to circle once more. He clears his throat once, as his eyes narrow and he gets used to the idea of taking in oxygen even with so much abuse taken by his torso and upper body in general. He got a good read on him at the start, just got to find the right page again, so to speak... what got him when he got him clean...?
COMBATSYS: Rust focuses on his next action.
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Katthalla
Katthalla bows his head respectfully in response to the praise. He has held his position while waiting for Rust to regain his feet, both palms lifted into a loose guard and feet just a bit further than shoulder width apart. When Rust starts to circle, however, Katt once again starts his slow step routine to keep his front toward his opponent.
Step, shift, scrape, then a break in the routine as Katt suddenly takes a quick step forward with his right foot and whips the left around in a wide outside sweep. The movement is quick and sure, Katt using his foot to tangle with Rust's ankle and attempting to yank him off balance. If that can be done he will lunge forward onto his now leading left foot and thump his shoulder into the bigger man's stomach . It isn't enough of a blow to send him to the ground, but it is enough to set him staggering and give Katt some momentum.
COMBATSYS: Rust interrupts Quicksand from Katthalla with Cement Upper.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////// ]
Rust 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Katthalla
It's the leg movements.
Howard adjusts his stance to put as much horizontal space between Katt and his pipe swingin' arm, as Ol' Rusty is pointed down and away. It's all specifically for purposes of spacing, to make sure they're at just the right distance to taste the proper weight of it all when Katt comes on in to sweep the man off his feet. Exhaling loudly once, Howard actually lets his ankle get snared, to let himself get pulled in.
This is to work with his most practiced, long-standing technique through the years. His right hand waves Ol' Rusty slightly in a circular motion, going for the actual swing as it starts down low. Sparks fly as the pipe scrapes against the cement, swinging it in an uppercut-style swing with such forward momentum that he all but outright intercepts the shoulder tackle before it can even get close, turning the attempt to put him off-balance into something just to give him that much more push behind it - a sharp kiai echoes through the entire lot as pipe impacts Katthalla however it will in the process.
He will be using this experience to relate to the rest as to why it's so rare for him to go for the more orthodox leaping uppercut when this forward pipe-swing uppercut's served him so well over the years.
Katthalla has taken most of the hits up until now with hardly a wince or grunt. But as Ol' Rusty ploughs into his left shoulder he lets out a quiet but no less audible groan of pain.
The attack drives up and to katt's right, his left shoulder cracking audibly. The joint is probably dislocated by Rust's blow as he lifts it at the last possible moment to protect his head. Regardless, the young fighter does not go down.
Grabbing Rust's left upper arm with his right hand he stops himself from falling face-first to the ground, giving a sharp downward tug to pull himself upright. His left arm hanging limp at his side, Katt loops his right through Rust's left, snaps up his right foot in an attempt to brace it against Rust's side, and heaves sideways. If all goes to plan he will fall directly onto his injured left shoulder, but Rust will be flipped over him in a neat arc and slammed back into the ground.
COMBATSYS: Rust interrupts Power Throw from Katthalla with Bulldozer.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > // ]
Rust 0/-------/----===|=======\=------\1 Katthalla
Ol' Rusty moves smoothly from the grip of just his right hand into being grabbed at either end by both hands. What could he be hoping to accomplish? Hope that Katt grabs the pipe and let go at a critical moment to take him off balance, and pummel him from there? If that's Howard's plan as he transitions from the first counter-offensive to... whatever he's doing...
Well, it doesn't seem like that is Howard's plan, as Katt takes a hold of his left upper arm. Just as Katt steadies himself, Howard seems to - somehow - sit in midair, with an especially strange and awkward-looking balance that would only make sense where he actually sitting on something, both fists clenched about as tight as he can get them to. Even the pipe squeals a little under the stress.
He's not sitting on an invisible make-believe chair.
His entire body shakes. His lips vibrate, as if reminiscent of an engine coming to life.
At least two students eyeroll. They've seen this. Even as their superior in the Kyokugen craft they continue to be bewildered beyond all rationality as to why he continues to let such a strange-looking maneuver stay as a serious technique of his hybrid pipe-fighting and Kyokugen arsenal.
They're about to see why. Just as Katt gets his right foot on Rust's side, he suddenly glides forward, feet sliding across the ground like he's riding some kind of make-believe vehicle, plowing into Katt and pushing him along with his own unmoving legs for a distance.
The students sitting in the way decide (wisely) to move out as Rust's distance exceeds the space allotted by the makeshift ring set by the Kyokugen initiates, but he doesn't quite go that far out of the way before he suddenly falls backwards, using his legs to scoop Katt up and toss him away.
Katthalla is bowled over, scraping and tumbling across the ground as Rust shoves him along. If he were at peak it is very likely he could have popped up with his usual Katt-like reflexes and done something awesome. With a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion? He simply tumbles along for a bit.
Despite the pounding he has taken there is still some fight left in Katt. As He is scooped up in preparation for the final throw, the smaller fighter's right hand locks tight around Rust's left calf. The throw flings him through the air, but his grip on Rust's leg allows him to turn the fling into a totally sweet back flip.
Releasing Rust's leg once he has some rotation, Katt flips twice backward through the air before his right hand is able to reach down and smack the pavement. His bare feet follow, landing with a soft scrape of grit under his soles.
"I yield." Katt gasps in his quiet, hoarse voice. He does not seem to have the energy to rise from his crouch, and his left arm is still dangling uselessly at his side. AT least he didn't land on his head. The world is spinning around him and he has to take deep, slow breaths to keep from vomiting. Was it the head butt that scrambled his brains? He can't remember.
Rocking back and forth on his, well, back (and not his forth - what the hell is someone's 'forth?'), Howard's body goes through those series of loud, grimace-inducing pops as he fights against a body content to lock up. The locking up part is entirely necessary for pulling off that technique to begin with. Compounding it with the little aches and injuries accumulated from Katthalla getting plenty of well-placed hits whenever he got too far inside...
Well, he'll largely shrug it off, even if his body doesn't like it. He rocks to one side and places his left hand down on the now cracked pavement to bring himself up, fighting knees that don't want to flex any further as Katthalla voices his surrender.
Exhaling loudly, the ex-construction worker nods a few times - this non-verbal communication may not be well seen (and certainly isn't being heard), and thankfully he's got the presence of mind to say something vocally about it, as he rests Ol' Rusty against his shoulder after embarrassingly attempting to instinctively sheathe it when his toolbelt is all the way over there.
"All right," he finally thinks to say after thinking of saying something, grunting as he stretches out one of his legs to work out some of the last of his kinks as he walks over to the barefoot man with an outstretched left hand to help him up, "can you, ah, can you get up? Here." He wiggles his fingers helpfully, in case for whatever reason Katthalla's vision has been impaired over the last series of blows.
"'s... pretty solid. Quick. Ah, decisive. When you, when you got in, you didn't let up." He's had his fair share of interesting challengers over the years - few that ultimately came off as skilled as this guy! Next time that friend of his he was thinking about shows up, maybe he's got to get the two of them together.
But that sort of thought of fighter friend matchmaking can wait, as the other students around them continue their vigilant watch. Some seem a bit smug at proving Kyokugen's superiority once again (albeit, Rust's particular... interpretation of it). There's that one white belt in thick spectacles that seems awful worried, but he's always been like that.
"I came here to learn." Katt responds hoarsely, scarred right hand lifting to take hold of Rust's offered wrist and pull himself tiredly to his feet.
Wait.
Isn't that the hand Katt used to deflect Rust's sternum-crushing pipe strike?
Well, if it is, he seems to be ignoring the fact that it's broken. Once he has gained his feet Katt releases Rust's wrist and flexes his fingers, glancing down at the back of his hand to check for signs of swelling.
"I am glad to hear that you were challenged. I had not tested myself against any fighters of your caliber." Flashing a quiet grin down at his own hand, the smaller fighter seems oddly content with getting himself beat half to death with a pipe.
"Perhaps we can try again some time?" Katt questions, glancing up toward Rust as he drops his hand down to his side. The left arm continues to dangle uselessly. it is definitely dislocated.
There isn't much better place to learn about a fighting style than to fight against it, is there? Coughing twice for no readily discernible reason other than his lungs somehow being a magnet for all the particles of dust and grime that have been kicked into the surrounding air over the last fight (...so that is a readily discernible reason), Howard regards the busted hand, the dangling arm... might he have gone a little too far, even with the warning that they don't pull punches in this school?
He winces on the inside at the pains the smaller, younger man must be feeling, how he's able to wear a smile after getting worked over like that. Well, it takes all kinds - a good fight's a good fight, sure, but for a man who really struggled over the last few years when it came to health insurance when he became a prize fighter... well.
"There's... there's a lot out there," Howard says as he moves to try and wrap his free arm around Katt's back to help him walk, if he needs it, "I mean, you want to fight, ah, some of the best, this is the place. I mean, I... I ain't exactly at the top of it. You wouldn't believe... I mean, really. I could, ah, could go on all day 'bout some of 'em." Southtown. How excited was he when he realized that his (at that time) new job overseas was going to land him here, after he thought he'd have given up his fighting dream so many years ago?
His nostrils flare as he nods his head again, maybe mostly out of habit as he gently moves to help guide Katt along. The students get back up to do their thing, like... work up a new plank or two in the wake of that little fight.
"Any time you, ah, you want to spar, sure, just... yeah," he bobs his head, "maybe if, if we're lucky, you can catch one of the, uh, the senior instructor guys next time." Or... maybe Yuri, she's always enthusiastic to show off Kyokugen's stuff. Looking out ahead, he turns his head back over to Katt, "y'sure that I don't need to... need to dial an ambulance, or..."
Katthalla seems relaxed enough when Rust loops an arm about his shoulders to guide him along. Perhaps he needs it, seeing as his first few steps are slow and cautious . Every couple of steps he glances down toward the ground as if expecting it to be somewhere else. For a man suffering a concussion he hides it very well. It would probably be a good way to show off his sense of balance if anyone figured out why he was moving so carefully.
Lifting his right hand yet again Katt rests it against Rust's elbow, then steps forward and shrugs the bigger man off. Casting a faint grin back over his shoulder he continues to walk slowly across the pavement toward the Dojo's driveway.
"If they wish to face me I will be happy to do so. However, I do not wish you to get the wrong idea. I am here to learn, not to fight." Waving his injured hand through the air he glances down toward the ground to check his balance, adding easily, "I can learn some things by fighting, yes, but it is not the only way. it is simply the easiest. There is more to my quest than self defense."
With that being said, the dreadlocked fighter lifts his attention back toward the driveway leading up toward the highway and increases his pace, starting on his leisurely walk back to the city. He will have to find the hospital and ask them to set his arm. He could pop it back into place himself, but having a professional do it will probably result in less permanent harm to the joint.
Log created on 00:04:41 03/26/2014 by Rust, and last modified on 19:43:29 03/31/2014.