Description: Lee Ho Fook's is a minor London institution, having provided generations of Englishmen and Englishwomen with delicious food throughout the 20th century. Now they have cross-promoted with Saturday Night Fight, and an international friendship event will take place in the street in front of the restaurant, with complementary delicacies for all. With Dudley as the home-team and the kung-fu monk Gallon as the representative of the East, the only thing that could get in the way is a sudden rainstorm. (Winner: Gallon)
Dudley's green Jaguar SS 100 cruises across the London Bridge towards its destination in SoHo, the famous Chinese restaraunt Lee Ho Fook's. The foldable top is up and the headlamps shine, due to the rain pouring down tonight on this chill winter's day. Behind the wheel, Dudley is already sporting his boxing gloves, which do not seem to hamper his driving ability at all. He's eager to get this next street fight started.
Of course, Mr. Gotch doesn't like Dudley fighting in such conditions - always fretting about the young master catching pneumonia. But no environmental conditions give the champion boxer pause. As long as there are but two fighters giving their all, he will fight anywhere. That is his pride as a boxer.
The car slows down upon approaching the restaraunt. Dudley parks it off to the side and emerges, wearing his green jacket as he approaches the front of the restaraunt. Not many people out tonight due to the winter weather. The streetlamps pierce the darkness of the cloudy night. The boxer scans the area for his opponent.
Rain. A cold full moon. Gallon returns to London in the face of constant harassment by these so called fight promotors. No small part of this is the young charge that sought him as a teacher. The realization that this girl he had nearly killed, the vicious thing that burned his forest home, seemed in all too many ways earnest about learning from him has pushed Gallon toward facing the everpresent intrusions on his privacy from the SNF head on. Tonight is simply the first night to face such things.
He stands, a wolf man in the rain, rivulets of water run along his tufted fur, roll along his lupine muzzle, and drip to the paving stones of London Town. His claws hang at the end of his long arms, they catch the moonlight as much as the glow to his eye. He did not expect an Englishman to be his opponent, it was a pleasant surprise compared to the boorish Americans he has so far had to make yield.
He steps forward, into the yellow light of the streetlamps and the warm glow coming from the facade of the venerable restaurant. He licks his teeth. There is no need for a hunt, but the full moon's light makes Gallon's blood soar. His heart drums a beat in his chest. He closes his eyes and exhales warm breath into the cold night air. "You are to be my opponent?" he questions the man in green. "Let us be on it with it."
COMBATSYS: Gallon has started a fight here.
Dudley gets a full view of his opponent, and despite his generally unflappable demeanor, his eyes do noticeably widen at the sight. As a true werewolf, Gallon may detect the boxer's heart start to quicken and other subtle biological signs that, indeed, the primitive response to 'fight or flight' remains in all men no matter how sophisticated. In this case, a brief moment of the body telling Dudley to get away from a dangerous predator.
But this passes quickly and the boxer is collected again. He takes his jacket and flings it off, revealing his muscled body tight against his old fashioned shirt and bowtie. He raises his fists and adopts a boxer's stance, moving his feet rhythmically in place. Dudley wants to say this man is merely in an elaborate cosplay for the event. But having heard of the existence of Darkstalkers, well...he will just have to find out himself how real his lupine opponent is. For above all, a gentleman remains composed even in the face of danger.
"I am. Let us make a good show of it, eh? You may take the first move, sir. Let's fight, like gentlemen."
COMBATSYS: Dudley has joined the fight here.
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Dudley 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Gallon
Flight or fight. Nature of animals and man. It's a matter of fact for fighters whether or not they were Darkstalker or human. Gallon is indeed a true werewolf, he can sense things beyond human. But the man that Gallon faces down is a true fighter, that is more apparent than anything else. And a fight here should be worth his while.
Gallon lowers against his opponent. His hair raises, his thick tail flicks left and right. He scratches the pavement with his claws, idle scritch-scratch scraping. Deciding in the steady moment to ready his opponent.
A fighter does not give a first attack lightly, to gauge this man a gentlemen would be to undercut the advantage a readied boxer has against an attacker. A long exhale. Gallon leaps forward, up toward the moonlight. His silhouette dark against the backdrop of the moon as he arcs back down toward Dudley. Avoid the hands, grab the back on his way down, and aiming to hurl Dudley bodily away and against the hard, rain soaked streets of London. Fighting against a striker with a bestial grapple.
COMBATSYS: Dudley blocks Gallon's Beast Roll.
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Dudley 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Gallon
Dudley watches Gallon leap into the air, then come back down. The sight of the werewolf is something Dudley certainly won't be forgetting anytime soon. He can feel his shirt being grabbed from the back. In response, Dudley curls into a ball protectively, arms still guarding his chest and face as he's thrown. He lands hard on the pavement, rolling until he leaps back to his feet promptly. His back has taken the brunt of the impact, but he's ready for the counterattack.
Dudley rushes Gallon, ducking as he does for any high hits and to make himself a smaller target. His non-leading fist rears back and plows forward to Gallon's chest as he attempts to close the distance - where he excels.
COMBATSYS: Gallon blocks Dudley's Ducking Straight.
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Dudley 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Gallon
A well trained, practiced blow. Nothing special or standout, simply well done. Gallon should expect no less from a refined British boxer and though his lips curl back to reveal his fangs, he's showcasing a dim look of approval in the way that only another British man(or in this case wolf) is capable of.
Two claws, held close, clap against Dudley's glove, a sharp exhale leaving the wolf's lungs when Dudley moves in close and careful. Up close and personal, Gallon lets loose a wild howl. The cry splits the light and the wolf himself bursts into a glowing spiral rocketing toward Dudley. Spinning, claws open in front of him, he drives himself against the boxer with the vicious fury of a wolf unleashed. To pressure and drive back the assault brought against him.
COMBATSYS: Gallon successfully hits Dudley with Beast Cannon.
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Dudley 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Gallon
Dudley struggles against the wolf's block. There was a frightening strength he could feel behind it. The sudden howl startles him, enough so that the sudden rocket by Gallon plows through his attempt to block. Dudley is slammed by the beast square in the chest, knocking him off his feet and backwards as he gasps out a startled cry, landing hard on the sidewalk. His shirt has been torn by the contact of Gallon's claws against his chest, some scratches there starting to bleed, the blood mixing with the rain. The boxer slowly gets back up. His chest burns, but he ignores the pain as he sets up his next move. He seems to croush, as if studying his opponent.
But then he does something physics defying. Dudley leaps straight up into the air. At the peak of his jump, he turns upside down, coming straight down on Gallon with one fist extended. He aims to slam his opponent onto the ground, spinning around like a drill.
COMBATSYS: Gallon interrupts Thunder Bolt from Dudley with Rising Beast Cannon.
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Dudley 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\0 Gallon
Gallon, known as Jon Talbain a lifetime ago, slows to a stop on the paving stones some distance away from where he begin his violent lunge. The rain patters down on him, a barrage that sends steam rising from his back. His shadow cast by the glow of the streetlamps long and hunched. A beast. But within the beast is a calm heart and a steady mind. His claws are sharp as his mind in the aftermath of his strike.
His nostrils flare, he smells the water, the running grime of the city, the distant ozone of a lightning strike far away. And he smells the start of blood. The iron and copper tang of life. The feel of it sends a ripple down his spine. The thrill of the combat burns in his heart. The beast and the man rejoice in their moment.
His ear twitches, the scent shifts and the sound of fine shoes scraping on pavement. He looks up. Dudley is airborne. The wolf snarls a challenge up to his drilling opponent.
With a howl and a counter spiraling leap, Gallon rises to meet the challenge brought to him by his pugilistic opponent. A rapturous cry of a warrior, a burning rage of a beast cannons up and through the attack from Dudley. No concern for health or well being, simply raging through the falling man as a streak of lightning splits the sky.
And Gallon lands atop a street lamp, clinging tightly to the top and the lamp, crouching with a supernatural lightness, to look at his opponent, and to lick his fangs, and to wait and see what fight remains in the man.
Dudley becomes aware that the werewolf is now leaping UP to meet him. For a split second, in his upside down position, he only sees teeth, fur and canine eyes, before the feeling of being hit by a truck overcomes him and blurs his vision. He tumbles down through the air and lands hard on his side, pain shooting up his arm and his ribs from the impact. His vision eventually clears, his head throbbing. Yet, he stands again, wiping the water off his face with the back of one arm, more of it dripping from his hair. He looks up grimly at his opponent, taking a moment to marvel at the spectacle. "Your strength is not like any I've experienced, sir."
He must step up his game. Dudley's breathing slows as he focuses, clearing his mind as he decides the best way to get the wolfman off his perch. He crouches, then dashes for the base of the lamppost. Quickly, he jumps, fist throwing out an uppercut as he rises high in the air once more, aimed to smack Gallon in the jaw with the punch. "ONE!" he shouts.
Of course, Dudley isn't finished. Should his hit succeed, he will jump into the air as soon as he touches the ground, landing another uppercut into Gallon in mid air. "TWO!" Last, as soon as Dudley's feet touch the wet pavement, he rises higher even still, spinning about in place as glove meets fur, to deal one last blow in the combination. "THE END!"
COMBATSYS: Gallon blocks Dudley's Rocket Upper EX.
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Dudley 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Gallon
Gallon was human, once, or at least something that passed for it. Now where he perches, he clearly is not anymore. The strike was true and the damage done. And now he waits in the rain and is, curiously enough, complemented on his technique.
A snort from the wolfman, half dismissing. He speaks, "There are many more challenges ahead of me before I can call myself a master, but I appreciate your words. He lifts his head to feel the rain fall against his face. "You are rare for a human," he states, but does not go into the reasons why.
A momentary truce is that, the fight has far to go yet. The boxer surges forward with impressive speed. Striking with his quick fists, but Gallon is no mere beast. What Dudley finds is as Dudley climbs with each blow, they are deflected with well placed blocks. A forearm to the first, turning back block to the second, the crescendo caught and Gallon propels himself back to the ground to land among the falling rain with a graceful click of his claws on the cobbles.
When Gallon turns, he lashes back at Dudley with more trained technique rather than bestial ferocity. A sharp kick to the thigh, a striking heel palm toward his face, and a final leaping spin, aiming to lock the man's jaw and roll him violently to the ground by his head.
COMBATSYS: Gallon successfully hits Dudley with Fierce Combo.
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Dudley 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1 Gallon
Dudley has forgotten the fact that his opponent is learned in the Asian martial arts, caught up in the fact that he is facing a werewolf after all. So when Gallon displays his kung fu skill, Dudley attempts to bob and weave around the blows, but to no avail. He pivots around the thigh kick, but fails to do so for the palm to the face, causing his head to snap back as spit flies from the boxer's mouth. This leaves him open to be grabbed by the head and viciously flung to the steps of the restaraunt, where patrons are still watching the spectacle from the windows. Dudley groans. He is slower to rise this time, struggling to keep his balance. Already he can feel his jaw beginning to swell, and there's now a considerable cut on his forehead, the blood seeping down to his right eye. He wipes it away and shakes his head.
It was clear he was no match for the speed and strength of the wolfman, but he resumed his boxing stance all the same. He doesn't ask what Gallon meant by his last remark. Instead he only replies, "My father always said the next challenge is always around the corner. That it is a fighter's pride to meet it graciously." He tightens the lace of his right glove by pulling it with his teeth. "I'm not out yet."
Dudley dashes in once more, the rain swiftly displaced by his sudden movement. He comes in low, rising to deliver a swift punch to the kidneys - a well known pressure point - as he homes in on the wolf.
COMBATSYS: Gallon interrupts Body Blow from Dudley with Climb Razor.
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Dudley 1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1 Gallon
This fight was, technically, a display of Eastern versus Western styles. Even if both fighters were involved were Englishmen. But the attacks, though Japanese in origin, are peppered with the force and speed of the wild nature that howls in the heart of Gallon. This time, however, he hasn't slit a throat of a violent young woman. He's measured himself, and he moves with a steady, padded gait as the rain patters down around him, walking toward his fallen opponent.
A promise. That the boxer is yet giving up. A stiff resilience in the face of a threat. A proper British last stand. Gallon nods, he approves of his opponent's spirit. But he will not simply roll over for class and crown.
Dudley rushes in, the rain scatters, a rainbow glitters as the rain splits the light from streetlamp and restaurant. Gallon lowers like an animal, all fours, flattening to the ground. Dudley closes in, Gallon snaps up. The force of Gallon's backflip splashes the air with a cascade of droplets. He arcs backward with grace. His clawed paw strikes for Dudley's swelling chin. The wolf closes his eyes in the long lingering moments before he kicks himself into a rotation. Once more to alight up above and land on the hood of a particular Jaguar SS 100 with a soft metallic thump.
There, in the moonlight and the rain, Gallon holds his head back and howls deep into the London night.
For a moment, things slow for Dudley as he closes the distance. Water splashes off his glove from the power of his punch. He grits his teeth, eyes wide and alert in the hope to strike true. His pride won't allow him to quit, but the will and the body are two different things. Gallon backflips, and his footpaw smacks into the side of Dudley's face, with a loud WHUMP. The impact sends a small ripple through the flesh of his cheek, and water explodes outwards from the connection.
Dudley lets out a mix between a gasp of surprise and a resigned groan, as consciousness fades. His whole body swings forward, and for a few seconds he's horizontal in the air, before he falls back down to the concrete with a hard impact, bouncing once, then laying still with one arm splayed out, the other across his chest, jaw slack and eyes closed. He is, completely, down for the count.
COMBATSYS: Dudley takes no action.
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COMBATSYS: Dudley can no longer fight.
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The rain falls. A fighter falls. The streetlamps' glow cast tall shadows. A wolfman sits on the hood of a fine automobile; his howl fades into the night. Gallon looks down at the unmoving Dudley, he hops from the car and lands on the sidewalk. He stands tall and looks out toward the old London Bridge. He doesn't talk. Not a choice of the Beast, but one of the Man. Tonight, under the full moon, Gallon felt a disturbing calmness. And he recollects on it for a moment before he surges off into the dark and the night.
If a werewolf is meant to lose themselves to their darker side, then why is he finding a clarity in the pale light of a full moon?
COMBATSYS: Gallon has ended the fight here.
Log created on 15:03:14 01/20/2019 by Gallon, and last modified on 19:07:45 01/21/2019.