Description: It's getting on towards summer in the Southern Hemisphere. On the banks of the West Alligator River, perennial SNF star CRACKER JACK can count on it being hot and humid. His opponent, HOWARD RUST, JR, hasn't headlined a fight since the nonsense in Metro City a few months back. Suffice to say, it's a bit quieter here! Shh, don't tell anyone, but there aren't any alligators in the West Alligator River. It's full of crocodiles. Who named this thing, anyway?! As long as the fighters stay out of the water they should be able to avoid the sneaky crocodiles. However, the ground isn't all that solid! Jack and Rust may have to contend with their feet sinking into the sandy riverbanks from time to time. If they get their feet stuck... well, -then- they might have more to fear from the lumbering crocodiles...! (WINNER: Cracker Jack)
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack has started a fight here.
Cracker Jack 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Rust has joined the fight here.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
Nothing like treating the family to an outing in the outback. Lots of fun to be had. Most of it simple, silly fun that's the stuff of a good family dinner table discussion reminiscing over times of old. Howard Rust, Jr., his wife, and three children have all had a good time of things up in the Northern Territory.
You know, up until his youngest child, despite - or perhaps especially - being five years old and somehow racking up a massive room service bill came into play. No one will ever be certain as to how the five year old managed in any capacity, beyond any reasonable safeguard against this sort of behavior, to order at least four bottles of expensive spirits and eight different rented movies of very difficult-to-name titles.
At least the patriarch had a good idea of things.
For... a given value of a good idea, given he's inappropriately dressed in sandals and pretty much nothing on his legs aside from a pair of shorts and a rather hefty-looking set of tools adorning said belt, which is especially problematic when one sees where he's goi--
"Ah, nuts! I was looking forward to seeing the uranium mine," the aging well-traveled fool of a craftsman ninja seems disappointed with the arrangement as he's usherd into the mucky swamps. He doesn't seem to pay the crocodile warnings all that much heed within the humid heat of the Southern Hemisphere summer, or just how difficult it is to keep his steps going.
It's more a wonder he manages to keep his sandals on at all for how much much he must be tracking through the sand, even as he occasionally struggles with a deeper spot here and there.
His so-black-it-is-probably-purple-maybe hair is let loose, akin to a glam rocker that has decided incredibly long waist-length hair that would lend to a sense of androgynous identity betrayed by the obvious facial features of a middle-aged of good cheer and less self-awareness about how his appearance communicates himself to others.
"When's the last time I got to do something like this, eh?" He seems to ask of no one in particular as he pulls the pipe out of his toolbelt, as though oblivious to the nature of who he may be standing against. (Circumstances as they are, he likely didn't look at the fight card too closely...)
Fighting in a swamp with crocodiles isn't exactly Cracker Jack's thing, being a city slicker, but if it gets him television time to support him as a belt holder (and get him more endorsements for his various ventures), Jack is down for it. Wearing only a pair of jean shorts, he mucks into the swamp, carrying his baseball bat. He's not even wearing his trademark hat, venturing into the heat with his tanned muscles bare. He looks at Rust, seeing the older man and raising his eyebrow, hidden by his mane of long and crazy hair. He grins crookedly, patting his bat in his hand. "You fight with tools, huh? Well, I have an old porch that could use some work, maybe that would be a better use of your time. Eh, gramps?" He doesn't take up a fighting stance, just standing there with his bat, before he mucks forward at Rust, bat in hand. Time to mess up this old timer. "Come to daddy," he mutters as his bare feet make obscene sounds in the ooze, covered in wet dirt nearly up to his knees.
Rust Jr. isn't much to look at. (Aside from the hair, which is also its own level of not being much to want to look at - what sort of grown man at his age lets his hair get styled like that?) He's clearly seen better days maybe a decade ago. Past his prime, generally not under public notice in spite of a fairly storied set of younger years.
"Porch, eh?" He rubs at his chin with his right hand, the pipe held in his left. Is he taking the taunt at face value with absolute sincerity. "Sorry about that, if I knew you had a need, I'd have gotten to that for you right quick! Seems like it's construction season the whole year 'round these parts."
Ah, if only, if only.
The call to the fight starting is done quietly, if only to minimize the attraction of potentially dangerous elements beyond those that the fighters are already exposing themselves to. A few finger points, a silent countdown... bam.
Which makes the next stupid thing to fall out of the aging man's mouth all the more poignant and, as already described, stupid when he stares off to the side.
"Wonder when my opponent's going to be here... hope he's not running late." Has he even acknowledged the drawn bat, the threatening advance of a man comfortable with the level of violence he perpetrates? ...Is he just trying to lower his guard by putting on an air of oblivio--
No, we all know the real answer to that one...
"He's coming, man," Cracker Jack says, as he gets closer, still stomping through the mud. "Oh, there he is!" Jack exclaims, pointing behind Rust with his left hand. Then, as he gets close enough, he grabs at Rust's hair to grasp him and yank him off balance. "Hey, Cracker Jack, watch this!" he shouts at his imaginary friend, looking over Rust's shoulder, before he begins to repeatedly beat at Rust's legs with his bat. "So, do you know Dee Snider?" he asks conversationally, arrogant as Hell that this is his opponent. Jack is expecting an easy fight at this point, despite his research with Shadaloo resources indicating that Rust was a decent fighter early in his career. At least he has the drop on him.
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack successfully hit Rust with Cracker Blitz.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Rust
"Is he? Friend of your--" Cracker Jack makes with the preschool battle tactics that prove effective even to this day, as he makes with the kneecappin'. Good bit of shincappin' and thighcappin' for decent measure. Probably a bit of hipcappin' the once with the way he ends up staggering forward in the latter half of the beating, so one could say that for his ignorance the aging man totally gets spanked.
"Snider?" He somehow finds it to ask as his pipe - his sole means of physical support as he struggles for balance and the fact said pipe is now sinking further enough that he might go off-balance just by pulling it out of the sand as he kicks out a leg ostensibly to flex out a new set of well-deserved bruises and numb (and simultaneously provoke further amounts of, somehow) pain as he less-than-gracefully approaches something resembling standing upright.
"Might've... might've heard the name, maybe." Beat. "That the guy I'm supposed to fight? Well, I could... I could use a warm-up like as." Like as what? For suffering a savage opening, he doesn't seem to begrudge much?
Not before he flops down low again, tripping over his own injured legs into the sand comically as if to show the audiences at home that he no longer has that much of a leg to stand on, that he'd go down this easy to--
Oh, no, he apparently did intend to dive down like that, swinging outward and back from down low as he hits the ground and probably manages to further embed himself in the ground.
...Just another thing he clearly did not think through!
...He still has his sandals on?!
COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Cracker Jack with Foundation Layer.
- CRAZY Hit! -
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 Rust
The pipe swings in from the side, smashing Cracker Jack's knee at an angle, Jack screaming as he falls backwards into the sand, landing on his ass and sinking in. Hissing through his teeth to breath, he shoves his hand into the muck and stands back up unsteadily, thankful that he decided to dress today just in his old shorts. This is going to be a messy fight, and it's damned hot out here. No more conversation. Limping slightly, he stares at Rust through his bangs, flexing his leg a few times to get the pain to abate.
Jack shoves his bat into the ground, before he lurches forward. His hands reach out at Rust's shoulders, attempting to grab him. Then, he squats low to drive his shoulder into Rust and pull him forward as Jack goes backwards, lifting Rust off his feet. With a bellow of anger, comes a spin, before Jack hurls Rust away. But there are many failure points in this attack, so it's particularly risky for him, with Jack counting on Rust being stuck in the sand from his low attack.
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack successfully hit Rust with Cyclone Toss.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Rust
Fortunately for Cracker Jack, he can indeed count on Rust being stuck in the sand from going down low. It's a curious failure of logistics on this man's part. In addition for being reputed for being, well, hismelf, he was famous for his own particular brand of ninjitsu. Surprising ability with his form being as it is, swifter in movement than he may let on, and this latest bit where he's pulled up by the shoulder, spun around, and tossed aside as he lands on his back with his legs bent inward is... not doing his more storied history justice.
There isn't all that much distance put between the two of them thanks to the gathering sand that seems to resist one skimming across it. His backside remains exposed for further assault, should Cracker Jack find it in him to keep pressing it. He doesn't seem like he might be recovering from that too quickly - head partially buried in sand, he might be gagging or choking on sand in sile--
Rust Jr. suddenly kicks out his feet forward, thrusting himself up to a stand with an equally forceful forward movement.
It's about time Rust Jr. got crackin' on that coutner-cracking business, but as it so happens, Cracker Jack is a tough nut to crack. Crack wise about it all you want. The exchange of blows is nothing to crack up over if one isn't adept at taking a punch themselves.
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack deflects Strong Kick from Rust with Batting Hero.
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Cracker Jack 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Rust
With Rust tossed away, Jack grabs his back and yanks it out of the sludge. Grinning, now that he has a marked advantage over Rust, he watcehs him closely. As the legs come kicking up, Jack is ready, swinging his bat and slamming Rust's legs with a low golf swing, both hands gripping the bat, as he slams Rust into another spin. He lets out a shout of triumph, lifting his bat over his head with both hands. About fifty yards away, a crocodile's arm swivels to face them.
"C'mon, old man! Is that all you got? YOU JUST GOOOOOT JACKED!" he says triumphantly, turning towards a camera and giving it a grin and thumbs up, potentially distracted from his opponent.
That's a good run batted in by any measure, as Rust Jr. gets to be the ball. This exchange could have awakened the inner baseball player in him if he so chose to embark on such a path this far into his colorful and interesting life.
Over by the crocodile catching view of this latest play, a magpie geese drags over a bag of popcorn to share, perhaps as an offering to not be eaten by its fellow spectator.
A large splash of water actually /sees/ another crocodile fleeing from the river as Rust Jr. touches down right at the edge of it. Is it a ring out? Can they count him out? A few officials off to the side are casting sideglances as though debating counting the man out.
A small gleam of light may catch the view of one cameraman taking in Cracker Jack's mug. Enough that they peek their head out to the side, which could betray whatever stealth that crazy-haired man in the distance might be planning.
It's hard to read what's going on with the man's expression or mood given how distant he is from any of the cameras now, and how the incredibly wet, muddy hair drapes all around his face. (Can he even see past it?) He only approaches so far as to get out of the water and back into the sand.
From the hefty toolbelt, a handful of tools are taken in the man's right hand. Hammers? What is someone doing with that many hammers?
With a deft, outward swing of their hand, the hammers start to fly a rather respectable distance considering how much space there is between the two fighters now. Each one flies a straight line with precision, a strength that allows them to defy the reaches of gravity for as long as they may need to hammer themselves upon Cracker Jack.
Maybe such is just a trick of the flick of the wrist, just one of many gestures being a veritable tool of his trade.
His trade of making particularly interesting informed choices and actions, on top of, ell, that.
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack blocks Rust's Tools For The Job.
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Cracker Jack 1/------=/=======|=======\=------\1 Rust
"Remember, folks at home, smoke Marlboros, and take a trip to flavor country!" Jack announces to the camera. "And drink Jim Beam - casket age for..." He sees the camera man's look, and turns to look at Rust, before he sees a hammer flying at him. It strikes him right in the forehead, leaving a shocked look on his face as his head snaps back. Growling, he begins marching through the mud at Rust, ready now, swinging his bat to knock the continuing flying hammers away. "You rat bastard!" he shouts, grunting with every swing from the right and left as he counters the hammers.
As Jack gets close to Rust, he grabs the last hammer thrown out of the air, looking at Rust now that his hammer holding hand is empty. He raises his eyebrows twice as he shuffles the bat to his left hand, wiggling the hammer in the right hand. "Who's the boss now, Howie?" He raises the hammer over his head behind him, and hurls it forward with a forceful toss, much less practiced and precise than Rust's technique. But still, somewhat effective. "Cracker Jack's the boss, that's who!" he answers before Rust can, as he points the bat at Rust with authority.
COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Cracker Jack's Thrown Object.
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Cracker Jack 1/-----==/=======|=======\==-----\1 Rust
"Did you need screwdrivers too?" He seems to be asking this question with genuine concern. "Sure I got more if you need it."
That's about all the quip he can really get in as Jack comes in with much more pertinent questions about the immediate relationship between one another. The thrown hammer is caugh-- no. No, it's not caught. In fairness it's a very good, deft movement of the hand that stops the flying hammer from making an eggshell out of his skull.
Less deft is how his left foot - finding a rare solid patch of ground to stand on - catches it. With the velocity of the thrown hammer greatly dampened, the end result is far more comical than painful.
"Doof!" He winces as he raises up his leg in what might be a real and genuine take on the classic martial arts crane pose.
The foot that's NOT on solid ground, however...
Gravity finally brings him back down into inept view of his ability. On the way down, Rust Jr. wasn't eyeing the ground below, wondering how to best take this landing. He's had a few nasty falls in his lifetime, he's got an okay track record on how to take a hard one. But this... this... may, actually, be the silliest he's fallen in some time. A grimace passes across his face around the point where upright ends and downward begins, little bits of blood from his mouth having dropped wherever they will.
He's slipping down fast, fast, fast. His right arm rears back as he tries to shift his weight towards his left, more so that he doesn't end up thrusting the side of his body into some unseen hard rock or something in some rare bit of self-caution in a grisly, fatal fate of that kind of hilarious Darwin award scenario. (Darwin is the capital of the Northern Territory!)
But, very luckily for him, Jack politely runs up to him as though ready to catch him.
Wait, strike 'politely' out of that statement. That's because he may well be looking at being accelerated into the drink or even further down, and what an impact that could make! One could only imagine what the decisive blow in this battle may leave upon the impact of one's body. The very earth could form for at least two yards in radius from how hard Cracker Jack has shown to be capable of hitting him, if he's standing in front of harder ground. At least, he's staving off being half-embedded into the pavement by his person for what would be a rather... decisive, impact if it defeated him.
The only hint at all that Cracker Jack gets as to whether or not there's an understanding of who the employer is in this relationship is when his right arm thrusts upwards from his awkward stance, barely able to keep himself upright with his one grounded foot imprinted into the sand. It's a simple path from where he is and what he intends by appearances.
Grab by the neck/head/collar with his free hand. Slam down head-first into the sand where a painful wedge would wait - if that Cracker Jack doesn't have anything to say about who has the upper hand in this business relationship.
...Actually, he really just might be using him to instead just stay standing as he loses his balance with that downward head-grab-slam thing.
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack blocks Rust's Brick Stacker.
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Cracker Jack 1/----===/=======|=======\=------\1 Rust
As Cracker Jack gets closer, watching Rust shift into a fall, he laughs at him, outright laughs, as if Rust was some sort of alcoholic circus clown brought here for his entertainment, and paid in Jack Daniels and cigarettes. Then, he watches with wider eyes, laugh dying as he's grabbed by his head. He's sent flying downwards into the sand, managing to get his right hand in front of him, finding the wedge and instead taking the blow to the palm of his hand, head bouncing off it. He busts upwards with a flex, his arms spread, and stares at Rust for a long moment.
Then, comes the punishment. Jack drops his bat and throws a left jab, before a right jab, right straight, and finally a right cross, all thrown with his muscles flexing and quite a bit of power behind it. With Rust on one foot, Jack is seeing how well this so-called 'ninja' can dodge. It's rare that you see a fighting style stranger than Rust's, and Cracker Jack certainly never has. "Eat it!" he grunts as he swings, both hands firmly planted in the ground, mud dripping down his face from getting slammed into the quicksand.
COMBATSYS: Rust auto-guards Cracker Jack's Lazy Buffalo.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/-----==|=======\=------\1 Rust
The ferocity of Cracker Jack, when he gets crackin', is not quite nigh-on unstoppable. Semistoppable? It's respectably high up on the list of things that are difficult to stop. Such is the way of a brawler, whose form tends to largely take in the desire to inflict harm on someone. What harm he can inflict! What harm he's about to inflict!
Rust Jr.'s middle son is already calling up the family dentist, the only family member who's bothering to watch the fight on TV on that live channel his little sister has somehow managed to get on the hotel stay bill. He knows the score with this sort of thing by now.
Left jab is met with his right hand, as if slapping it. Right jab comes up and hits empty air. This forward momentum is met with an equal match backwards, but it seems much less like adept defense and more like he's staggering correctly to the beat before he's stuck on one foot again as the right straight glances against his shoulder.
His right hand visibly tenses - it may be the most tense fist clench Cracker Jack has ever seen a man do in some time. The way bones crack, his body tenses - almost like a statue, at that point, as this stance seems to be going up to bat against that final right cross...
The rigidness of his stance versus the give of the ground, technically does him in, in that he loses his balance and falls onto his backside. It just so happens that, in a quirk of chance, he falls over in such a way he works with the force and angle of the final cross where his form is far less hit with it, and more full-on working with it to completely dull out the forceful impact.
It's a moment that does both these men a great disservice to their respective abilities. A furious offense denied... a legendary defense worthy of a certain related someone undermined.
...It's something fight commentators will be having a laugh at in a blooper reel, where the terrain ends up getting the better of both in its own way.
"That... that was something, eh?" Rust Jr. asks as his joints all creak in unison in agreement, a brief wince-worthy chorus that seems all the more horrifying when he rolls up to a standing position with a touch more agility than the recent chorus of joint pops would speak against. Swishing his sand-and-mud-decorated hair with such grace that the wind temporarily gives it a glamorous (editor's note: going on strike for use of this adjective) flair.
"Looked you put quite a bit into that with. Sorry about that!" Is he apologizing for surviving that onslaught? With a slight crouch, he then takes off to a very short dash with a certain apparent comfort for the terrain, entire body mass making a mockery of gravity and physics with how low he can run.
With his free hand, he seeks to get a hold atop Cracker Jack as his feet leap up and climb his person, attempting to climb up Cracker Jack - each step more of a kick - before ending it with a kickflip that will make people question as to how he managed to keep his sandals on against an environment that seeks to entrap and entangle their every movement.
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack blocks Rust's Step Ladder.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Rust
Cracker Jack pants after the massive display of force is neatly turned aside, his fists clenched and upturned, veins sticking out of his body as his shoulders and chest slowly fall and rise. He's watching Rust in shock as he sits on his ass, neatly apologizing for easily turning aside one hell of a combination. He flexes his back with an arch, loosening up, before he takes a step backwards to check Rust's kicks. He drops into a kneel with his arms up as the climbing kicks come in, letting them bounce off his forearms and finally catching the kickflip with his hand as it twists the palm to face Rust, the toe impacting into his fingers as Jack grunts in pain. He bursts to his feet again, grabbing his bat from the swamp and spinning it into ready position.
Jack follows Rust as he flies through the air, stalking after him with the bat ready. He's starting to get a little winded, and is moving slower to get his energy back. Muttering incoherently in anger as he stares Rust down, he waits until Rust lands, then thrusts forward, holding the bat like a fencing saber. The blunt, round end is aimed at Rust's nose, as he attempts to bloody it. The bat is then withdrawn as quickly as it was extended, Jack's shoulders tensing as he holds it with both hands, across his lower ribs and upper abdomen, to prepare his defense against Rust's next attack.
COMBATSYS: Rust manages a miraculous escape from Cracker Jack's Aggressive Strike!
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Rust
Camera crews are certainly taking notice with how Howard Rust Jr. seems to select a hell of a time to show off what he was once (and sometimes, on occasion, still) famous for. He doesn't stop moving when he comes out of the backwards kick-flip. It is this moment that shows a dramatic tonal shift between the natures of their attacks, incredibly skilled offense and defense turned mockeries that somehow pick themselves up off the floor and once again show the competence of both in question.
Jr. manages to catch himself on his free hand, doing the opposite of facing Cracker Jack when the great swing for what would be nose-level if he were upright deftly avoided in the most showy of fashions as he springs again.
He gracefully, perfectly, awe-inspiringly clears the bat mid-swing. Any single give of his body at this point would have made for impact. The level of clearance he makes is of a microscopic distance. It even accounts for the multitude of tools, not a single collision between them or the bat. It could stand to be one of the most amazing defensive maneuvers Cracker Jack has ever had the honor to witness, as he goes to land against the sand that would not support the fighters' weight...
The moment his feet touch down, his body sinks as though there weren't even ground there, yanking him down until only his head and shoulders remain above the sandbanks. Of all the patches of sand he could've leapt to...
"Huh." The aging, strange man takes stock of his situation not with fear or anger in his now stolen offensive momentum. It seems almost more rife with amusement?! "Well, that's not the furthest I've fallen into a patch sand, let me tell you."
...A prepared defense against his next attack does not seem necessary when he's this vulnerable...?
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/---====|=======\==-----\1 Rust
Jack's eyes open wide at the incredible display of agility, dexterity, and conditioning, as he's summarily dodged by nothing. His jaw slowly moves slack in shock, before firming up again as he sees Rust fall into a deep patch. Smiling, he looks around, before he carefully walks over to Rust, trying not to fall in himself, and gingerly extends one leg, attempting to place it on Rust's shoulder and push him deeper. "Let me help you with that, buddy." Yeah, he's pretty much trying to kill someone on SNF (second time), in clear view of cameras. There's chatter from the announcers about stopping the fight as they see what Jack is doing, concerned for Rust's safety. But they're a ways away from anyone, and Jack already has his fighters insurance paid for and signed. Imagine that!
COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Cracker Jack's Light Kick.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/---====|=======\===----\1 Rust
The extended leg is entirely and completely misconstrued as a helpful gesture even as it presses down on the crazy haired man's shoulder.
"You sure you don't want to use your hands? Wouldn't want you to fall in," he flexes his right shoulder up and against the foot as he tries to bring his right hand - his one free hand - up around Cracker Jack's leg.
The only real threat Cracker Jack has to his own person is if he loses footing and gets his leg twisted or something of that nature, as this fight takes yet another strange turn in tone.
"Thanks for helping me up," in spite of the intent being THE EXACT OPPOSITE as he coughs once, the weight of his breath growing more apparent and obvious by the minute - he, too, seems to be growing more and more short of breath, "careful, now, wouldn't want to pull you in with..."
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack deflects Weakened Quick Throw from Rust with Batting Hero.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/-======|=======\======-\1 Rust
"Yeah, no problem, buddy, any time, glad to help," Jack says in a chummy manner to Rust, offering him a smile as Rust grabs his leg and begins to pull. Jack leans backwards, helping Rust out of the muck a little, as Howard gets closer. Then, Jack's smile is joined by a slow, nodding, encouraging stare, as Rust pulls himself up Jack's leg. And then, of course, out of nowhere...
Jack swings his bat around, smashing Rust right in the jaw. And then again, on the top of his head. And then, for a third time, swinging it like a pendulum at the side of Rust's neck.
Jack smirks. Sucker.
Jr.'s middle child resumes calling the dentist.
The impact is so nasty that there is a big job-ending taboo pulled when the cameraman jerks the camera upwards, almost losing the angle in which Rust Jr. is batted out of the sand trap like it's a game of golf to a violent spray of sand. His entire body rips itself free from the death-inviting embraces of the dusty earth to which all bodies eventually return to. All three strikes were necessary to uproot him by going that particular route of force.
Tumbling backwards across soft sand that thankfully has far more give than the pit he fell into, the handyman ninja sticks the pipe into the ground and breathes in deep while blood dribbles down the side of his head.
"Whoo! Thank you. Thank you," his speech is a little slurred as he stands up... er, it's hard to call this standing up, given he's still holding on against the pipe for support. The officials really want to call the match over, but, he's on his feet. The head official for this fight had been previously reprimanded for calling a fight earlier than other judging figures on rewatches felt comfortable with. Their job security seems to weigh more heavily than concern for the health of the fighters.
...Besides, it's Howard Rust, Jr., who will probably be fine given all he's been through. Right?
Coughing twice again, he straightens his back out a little to put on the air of someone a bit less bloodied, bruised, or anything - but that's the sort of front one crack of the bat will rightfully put an end to once and for all as Jr. lurches forth, just barely clearing the sandpit he fell into to lead in with a low left elbow strike into his right hand attempting to grasp Cracker Jack and toss him a ways away, with only the minimum discretion as to not toss him into the sandy abyss if he can get a hold of him.
He looks like one good hard shove might convince him to pack it in for the day.
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack dodges Rust's Armed Combo.
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Cracker Jack 0/-------/-======|=======\======-\1 Rust
Jack backpedals as Rush comes at him, moving slow in the sand as he stalks about, dirt covering his bare muscles. He reaches out for Rust as Rust attempts to grab and throw him, pushing him backwards, letting Rust's fingers slide over the mud that covers his muscles as he slides out of reach. "Getting slow, old man," is all Jack says, before he lashes out with his fist, aiming an uppercut directly at the jaw Jack just punished with his bat. "Going to need a smoke break?" he asks, mocking him, getting quite arrogant. "Maybe a Virginia Slim?" he adds, before chuckling like an utter dickhead. That's about as bad as the insults get to blue collar workers, in Jack's book. This guy looks like he's about to keel over, a Virginia Slim is probably all he could handle!
COMBATSYS: Rust interrupts Fierce Punch from Cracker Jack with Complete Renovation.
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Cracker Jack 1/----===/=======|
COMBATSYS: Rust can no longer fight.
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Cracker Jack 1/----===/=======|
With the lack of Cracker Jack in his grasp, the aging man's grip on the concept of staying upright doesn't seem to grab the accepted idea of the appearance of still being good for a fight as he staggers down to a kneel. Curiously, he does not lean against the pipe. This may or may not be a telling sign. (If you can, read further down and get back to me, I'd like to know!)
Somewhere in the middle of the taunting, the pipe is raised up into the air. What's next is hard to catch with the naked eye, necessitating a spectator have the ability to replay what's next in slow motion. The uppercut's point of impact is cut from view as there is a sudden, violent eruption of sand and muck within an unlikely radius as the pipe slams down into the ground.
The nature of the soft ground should dampen any impact and prevent the spread of whatever the aging man does. It does not, whatever force in the strength of this blow there is managing to carry over and create a veritable, violent wall of sand leaving behind a thick cloud of haze in the wake of uprooted earth and dust once thought permanently attached to said grains loosened free - to say nothing of what it probably does to Cracker Jack's footing just by being in proximity of the incredible blow...
Well, was that him, or just the uppercut? The true moment of impact is lost to the obscurity of the sand. Rust Jr., himself, takes a time to even be able to be clearly seen what with all the loose clouds of sight-hampering dust still taking some time to disperse into the winds.
Oh, there he is.
Rust Jr. is... well... he's half-embedded into the newly formed sand crater in a way that, were it anybody else, might be fatal. He probably can't feel his face any more. He might profess he feels as though crushed from the jaw upwards. He... doesn't even really bother trying to get up at this point. When he feebly presses his right arm against the newest sand bed he's dug himself into, his body's already revolting. Probably a nicely worded apology from his human body that it really has to take a break, and wants to know if it can borrow the phone to tell Willis something (er... moving on). And then when the right reminder coems up it's more something like, 'if you could ask them for a good local sandwich that'd be nice, feel better soon.'
So Rust Jr. doesn't bother to pull himself up any more while Cracker Jack has himself the last laugh after Jr. may have cleanly demonstrated why that he is, indeed, someone who was quite the name some time ago. Or... maybe not. He might not be in the state to listen to any cries of mockery, or revenge, or anything. His free hand rests into a harder patch of sand one could conceivably clump into a workable projectile to throw.
...Ah, he's not that big on that sort of thing, is he. Jack's won, largely fair and square. By all accounts, the end of the fight should be logged and that'll be that. Hey, if Jack was able to match him... maybe, just maybe, he's got a chance against the next seemingly washed-up almost larger-than-life figure to barrel down the champion's road towards him.
Jr. mentally shrugs along with the rest of himself and relaxes his grasp on the sand, letting it shatter into a smaller pile of grains. Might as well take it easy after all he's done today.
With a sandwich, or perhaps one of the many expensive refreshments that were ordered by a tiny child.
With the family being on edge enough for the day and maybe the bill not being too badly off by whatever purse money there is. Yeah. A good feeling of accomplishment that overrides any harrying about covering the costs of the trip.
Sandwich would still be nice, though.
Cracker Jack is sent flying backwards, his wooden bat sent flying from his hands and up into the air, tipping end over end before landing some thirty yards away, sticking up handle first from the ground. Jack does a backwards somersault, not voluntarily, into the ground, rolling end over end several times, before he finally changes to a side roll. After a single revolution on his side, he comes to a halt, sitting up in the sand and shaking his head back and forth. Now covered head to toe in mud, dirt, sand, and water, he looks in Rust's direction foggily, seeing that he's been knocked out. Jack rises, shakily at first, before he begins trudging past the camera man, not saying anything, heading for the edge of the swamp where the his team is. Manager, medic, and a shower. That's all he needs. He idly looks to the side as he gets near a camera, spitting out some dirt, before muttering and moving past the prying eyes of SNF.
COMBATSYS: Cracker Jack has ended the fight here.
Log created on 17:20:42 11/14/2015 by Rust, and last modified on 00:28:43 11/15/2015.