NFG Season One - O Otaku! My Otaku

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Description: It is a meeting writ by the fates as an attempt to attend to Buford's failings and training has forced Abigail's hand. He must now use his resources. Summon aid. He must now bring forth: KATANA. Will the meeting of these two ostentatious samurai pave the way to bushido glory or has Abigail just added the needed plutonium to create the ultimate ticking timebomb for the tournament. CONEITCHYWAH!

Buford, at least, could walk away from his last fight.

And yet, in a way, his spirit was even more broken than his body was after falling from the bus in his fight with Brian Storm. The Tanuki Maiden had so savagely humiliated him, utterly destroyed not only his morale, but also his hat. ANd his sword. And possibly some bones, yes, Buford limped back into the borrowed Team Frost bunker, his heart aching, his fedora in tatters around his neck.

But at least his borrowed wife-beater shirt and snappy vest and suspenders were intact.

The towering round Canadian limps into the garage's antechamber, and does as he did at the Maclanky Manor when misfortunate descended upon his head: Moan. Buford loudly moans and groans, making the loudest moaning and groaning he could. Hopefully, mayhaps, the tsundere Korean teacher would stop being so mean and heartless, and make him some tendies and pour him a dewy, and tenderly revive him as like a mother would. You know, instead of using him as a soccer ball. Again. Or perhaps Abigail would be present, working diligently on his car, with one of his cuties like Roxy around to baby him and feel sorry, and maybe let him lay his head on her lap while she cleaned his ears. Just as long as he didn't have to deal with Goldlewis.

Buford could barely tolerate encounter yet another fat American, after all.

Alas no. No to all of that.

The various reformed Mad Gearites have scattered to the four winds. A result of being terrified by Juri and simply not wanting to deal with Buford. It's questionable if they're even still in Sunshine City. They might have flown the coop, so to speak, and made a break for it in an attempt to return to Metro City and the safety of rapid respawn rates and street meat turkeys.

Or they could still be wandering around out there somewhere. Just not here. Roxy had simply had enough and upon watching the match and seeing the...less then fortunante results she simply stated: "I'm out." and Axl, Two-P and J weren't far behind.

It was a well planned and timed get-away as well. Abigail had left the keys to his truck on a bench outside of the warehouse hangout. He was nowhere to be seen. His recently repaired truck was sitting unattended. Before long Axl had started it and they had roared off. Escaping just as the moaning and blubbering began. Normally this sort of act would be a sentance worthy of encountering Haggar in the good ol'days. But it seems that some things are simply worth risking.

It is that - the sound of his truck starting - that alerts the far away Abigail from whatever task he was focusing on. When the moaning begins to raise in volume he comes, the pounding of his footfalls a rumbling quake that reveals his bare chested oil and grease stained frame emerging from the depths of the warehouse like some sort of kaiju turned monster-mechanic. He's even got his welding mask down over his face and a massive tired slung under an arm.

He sees his truck is gone. He sees Buford blubbering with rising intensity.

The visor on his welding mask cracks.

Oh, were they leaving already?

Buford watches the truck drive off, wiping his nose. Oh, they must be out to get some of food. It was well known already with the team that Buford had a healthy appetite, and needed what was more like an Abigail portion of tendies just for himself. So when they escape, he seems to be relatively okay with it. Even better, Abigail was thundering in. It was about time, Buford was moaning for almost 30 seconds, he had expected Abigail or Juri to have responded even faster to his complaints. So when he sees that towering greased up figure with the massive tire and the mask cracking?

He just idly scratches his neckbeard.

"Oh, you stayed behind!" Buford states loudly, looking up at his sponsor, trying briefly to recognize any emotions behind the mask. Seeing that now was just as good of a time as any to bring it up. "I lost my fight against the fat raccoon girl." Buford states matter of factly. "I guess they are going to get some food so I can eat." Buford looks out wher\e the truck drove off. %
"I hope they don't get into an accident like you did." He adds, empathatically.

Abigail sets the tire down up against the side of a wall as Buford speaks. He does so with such calmness and intention that it actually means he's boiling furious. It's that sort of deliberate calm movement one takes before exploding like a nuclear bomb. The lazy floaty fall of said weapon so to speak.

So he says nothing, trying to, instead, figure out to which direction he would send his ire. After the Mad Gear employees who took his truck without his permission? At the New Generation fighter who lost his match in such an embarssing way? The world in general?

Buford solves the problem for him when he implies that Abigail simply 'got into an accident'. He 'calmly' turns and walks away from the wall and towards the bench Buford is laying on--

And then his body roars into a burning red hue, sinew cranking up in size and muscles bulging in a horrifically huge display as he seems like he's literally inflating in some sort of feverish act of bulking up as he engages Max-Power. His leg raises and then stomps down onto the far end o the bench Buford is on, literally crushing the legs of the bench to comically tilt the entire thing upwards like some sort of epic seesaw, fully intending to hurtle Buford up into the air into a flip to try and get the semi-towering samurai-wannabee to be knocked from prone into a standing position after his airborn flight.

Or he could hit the ground. He can take it, based on Abigail's perceptions.

"GET UP!" he roars, neck flaring out so hugely it snaps the straps on welding mask though it still manages to hang onto his face somehow.

"I've had enough of you! It's time for you to get some NITRO in your engine. And I didn't HAVE AN ACCIDENT! I swerved my truck to keep from HITTING YOU after you FELL OFF THE BUS!"

For a brief moment, Buford realizes that Abigail is actually at least a little mad.

As he lays flopped on the bench, his eyes go wide. "N-no-" He begins, before Buford is promptly launched from the bench he planted himself on (standing is hard work), and is sent flipping in the air. With a plop, he lands on his two feet... face down on the ground in a sickening slap of a bellyflop. As he is ordered to get up, he scrambles up to attention, nose bleeding a bit, lip busted, as he looks up at Abigail. And then, something comes over his face. A frown? A quivering lip? And then, a snort.

And Buford's eyes begin to water.

"I'm sorry, Mister Abigail, it wasn't my fault though. I- I-" He starts to sob, tears flowing down his flabby smooth cheeks. "Wh-what's the point. Nobody likes me. Even though I'm trying to be nice to everyone, they just hate me. You've had enough of me, even the cutie just is a meanie who kicks me around with her bare feet, and-and-and I lost and-and-"

"Mister Abigail, my sword is broken!"

He holds up the vaping hilt and the blade attachment, which seems to be broken in two parts. "I can't fight if my sword doesn't work Mister Abigail! I'll never be a samurai without my sword! And I spent all my money investing in Hitcoin and Non-Fungible Tekkens, Mister Abigail, I can't buy a new one! And it has to have the mist vapor, if I don't have my mist vapor, I'm just a big fat dumb nobody! Oh Mister Abigail, I've screwed everything up. All my internet training has been worthless, all my sponsors hate me! Even your cool friends can't stand being around me!" Buford was in full blubbering mode, weeping and wailing as he sputters and chokes.

"I should have just stayed home in Edmonton instead of wasted everyone's time!"

There is a confused pause..and then Abigail groans inwardly. It's starting to happen. He feared that it would. He put up barriers to stop it from happening. He acted as much out of spite as he did seeing potential but even pure spite isn't powrful enough.

He's stargint to see himself in Buford. No.

He too is Canadian. They are close to the same age and both of them were akward not-so-little flowers whose appearences and size worked against them at first. In Abigail's case it created a slow ticking timebomb that ended up sending him into Belger's hands after he left home. In Buford's case it..created another type of time bomb that's just taking a little longer to go off but go off it will.

"uuuugh.>" he rumbles, groaning in agony as once this realization sets in he can't get rid of it. Abigail may play the buffoonish gigachad but he's smarter then all give him credit for and now once seen this can't be un seen.
"Uuuuggggh.." he rumbles again. Then.

"For god's sake, man! I'm just a few years older then you and we're both from the same country! What's wrong with you! Stop that!"

He's retrieved a towel tqat's at least semi clean and he tosses it at Buford roughly. "I said I"m -tired- of you not that I -hate- you! .. Maybe Juri does..but she hates everybody! Crank that engine back up! It's stalled but it's not dead! But you aint fixing it! You're just constantly turning the key and wondering why it won't crank! Get it together!"

Buford catches the towel, and promptly blows his nose into it.

"I cannot understand all these car words! Your salt of the earth poetry eludes even my well developed vocabulary. And yet, I understand your kokoro in mine, oh master. But nothing has gone as I imagined it. When I joined this tournament, I had imagined that I would be trained by a wise swordsman, groomed into being a proper samurai. And with it, I would be a kind of big brother mentor to a beautiful white haired maiden with bare feet and a need for a strong onisan to mentor her into behaving properly, instead of acting like a brat! But I checked online to see how people were writing about me, and they aren't! Why, I'm not even being shipped with anybody! Not Chevy, not Ichika, not even with any of the sponsors! The only exception in one where I practically get eaten by you, and well, that hardly counts. You are practically the baradonis of the sponsors, the well-muscled champion that everyone falls for!" Buford wipes his tears with the towel, drying off his cheeks and neck. Shipping must mean something involving moving fighters into brackets probably.

What a Baradonis is, however, is a mystery of the ages.

Buford tightens up the towel, as he glowers into the air. "Do you think the people organizing the tournament are doing this... on purpose?" Buford inquires. "Isn't it suspicious that our team is having such a hard time, and I am being forced to fight some of the strongest and hardest -female- opponents there are? And the only non-female I faced was Brian Storm, an -American!-" "Perhaps we are having trouble we are merely being sacrificed in order to make the female fighters look better than they actually are. Certainly I am a feminist and everything, but non-traditional females like Juri and Ayala seem to becoming humiliated! Where the more 'modern' kinds of females, you know the kind, seem to be winning an unusual amount in order to show them as the -right- kind of strong female, you know, instead of the normal appropriate kind. Isn't it strange that the girliest of girls are dominating strong fighters like myself!?" Buford nods his head seriously at his sponsor.

"I am just asking questions, Mister Abigail!"

There are a few ways to handle this. One might be just planting his fist into Buford's face or stomach. He might have even considered that option more seriously if he understood the references. Buford is probably saved by the fact that Juri or Roxy aren't here to explain things to Abigail more clearly on that front so well played, well played.

"Man.." Abigail grumbles, rubbinb the back of his head, "..You're a real idiot. LIsten, alright. Maybe you don't get the..uh....metaphors. Lemme be plain.."

He takes a second to compose himself and leans forward, peering at Buford. Staring him in his eyes.. which is probably quite hard given he's never taken his visor completely off. Yet Buford can somehow no doubt sense Abigail's glaring bulldog like pinprick eyes boring into him with all the intensity of a tool working to pull a part a car engine.

"..You're losin' cause ya suck."

He lets that sit in the air for a second and then explains further, "Other guys are beating girls. That aint got nothing to do with it. Ayala lost pretty hard to Hawksley but you know what? She came back here and started training. She didn't come in here and start bluberin' about folk rigging things. Okay sure she also lost again but you know what? She's trying to find her weaknesses. She aint tryin' to live out some anime dream."

So he did get -some- of those references. He knows what shipping is...

"Yer a loser, Buford, but I picked you because I think I can make you -not- be a loser but I think maybe I been going about this wrong. So I got some help on the way.. if he'd stop getting side tracked himself.."

He leaves who this mysterious guest-sponsor may be in the air for now and instead straightens back up.

" got potential. Look at you! You're on your feet even though you've been taking a pounding. You're a fighter! You can do this! You think some...clerk at Eat and Meat can do what yer doing?? Look at me! How many times do you think I've lost matches! Lots! I lost my Champion Belt even! But I'm gonna get that back as soon as this whole thing is over..."

He snatches the towel back and then tosses it away towards the broken bench. "As soon as you stop blamin' everybody else and start tryin' to be -better- then you'll start winning! Do I gotta remind you that you did put Brian Storm down? You just unlucky at the end. But you gotta stop bein' so sloppy and blaming everybody but yerself and start -actually training- . You start -winning-..or -losing- with class..and you'll start gettin' the fame you're obviously after."

That's it. That's the speech. He taps out. He doesn't see himself as a motivator even if ...he kinda is.

"Now lemme see that sword of yers. Where is it?"

Blaming others?

As Abigail builds up to the point that, yes, while he is a loser, he had the potential to improve himself, Buford focuses the most on that point. How could Abigail think he was blaming others> Certianly, he thought he was taking credit for all of his own mistakes, even though it was other people who was actually causing those mistakes to happen in the first place. While he is responsible for Ichika to fail to idolize him, it was almost certainly because the young girl was getting confused rather. And yet, Buford really -did- feel like right now, even as he explains quite rationally to Abigail, that it doesn't actually make things easier. If there was a conspiracy going on, what could he do about it? Abigail shows him the light, and taking in the rich meaning he gives to him, he responds back.

"I like to think myself much more qualified than someone working at the Eat and Meat."

"My mother's current boyfriend happens to be the assistant manager at the Eat and Meat." Buford says with a huff. "He said that if I could grow up and actually tried to help out in the household, I could work part time there." And that, along with everything Abigail had said, steels his soul. "But imagine how proud my mother will be when she finds out that you don't have to be some dead end loser who does a normal day job, but a real street samurai!" Buford wipes away his tears, and brings over the remains of his sword. "I... I know this isn't a car, but you are really smart, Abigail, much smarter than even I! Especially on matters of mechanical importance. But as you can see with something of this quality of craftsmenship..."

"Why, I bet you would like to learn the story of this blade."

"It's name is Suchimusodo," Buford begins, as he explains the sword, holding up the blade in one hand, and the hilt in the other. "It is a katana blade I acquired from a master craftsman at the House Of Knives within the West Edmonton Mall. It is a unique custom-forged weapon with an vaporizer built into the hilt. The blade is tempered and welded with pure electricity; it forged with austenitic chrome steel, a corrosion resistant metal that allows it to resist the rusting of the mist. The traditional blade is kept secured in a lacquered bamboo sheath," Buford turns his hips arounding, wiggling his butt a bit as she shows the sheath, presenting to Abigail. "And then you have the hilt. The hilt itself is bound in black leather, and functions as an electronic vaporizer. Powered by a lithium battery and able to load six different e-liquids, he can activate it both for personal use and for dramatic effect in battle. The hilt is detachable from the blade," Buford shows how the hilt and the blade can be met together, "And it's supposed to be locking in. But the hilt stopped working, it also doesn't vape anymore, and it makes a clicking buzz sound. I have a whole bunch of backup blades, but they are only compatable with the hilt." He pauses a moment. "I think the hilt was made in Japan, too."

"Or like, one of the asian countries."

"No that's okay.k" begins Abigail, far to late, as Buford is off to the races. He groans abit and reaches up to finally pull his damaged welding mask from his head in order to get a better look at the blade as Buford goes on.

And on.

And on.

"Listen.." he tries to interject but is then forced to pause as he does process some of what's being said, "Huh, Lithium? What?"

The way Buford explains and then explains and thene explains somore sinks in slowly and Abigail finally grunts you didn't just pick this up from some catelog.....did you? Say you didn't.."

The thought is truly troubling. For a variety of reasons.

"Listen a guy that can survive being knocked through the botto of a moving bus don't need to be working in some fast food joint. It sounds like yer Ma's boyfriend don't unerstand or appreciate the fighting world t'be him, it's only one of, if not the biggest sport on the planet. The fact that you got this far should be something worth celebratin'. If they can't understand that then well..wouldn't be the first time. But you gotta get it together. Yer Right now yer a battered pick up truck just grabbed from the local acution with foreign parts forced in tryin' to turn it into something its not. We gotta figure out a way to get you running with max horsepower. You wanna be popular? You gotta start winnin'. People like a good heel as much as they like a good face You aint gotta be chummy and likable you just gotta be 'good'..."

He reaches forward to try and take the blade. "..Maybe I can figure something out.... Probably with Katana's help..."

And he actually blushes at Abigail's compliments.

Buford feels his chest swell. Not like one of those animations he sometimes watches on the computer, and neither like some of his animes when the character reveals she is actually thousands of years old. No, it swells in pride. Pride that someone confirmed what he had always believed. That maybe someone like Abigial would make a good boyfriend for his mom, or even. The fact they were almost the same age wasn't a big deal.

Why, one of his mom's ex-boyfriends used to bully Buford in high school!

And yet, while Abigail uses a wall of car terms, understand somehow manages to squeeze its way into Buford's skull. People like a good heel? Why, Buford hadn't thought of himself like that. Why, when people actually hate him, they are merely loving to hate him? Buford begins to feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was one thing to imagine individuals being tsundere for him. But the entire fighting community being tsundere? Why, it made him feel big. Real big. Almost bigger than Abigail. All he had to be was good. In his daze of his imagination of being a Bad Boy Buford, The Rogue Reaping Ronin, Abigail suddenly says something, as Abigail takes the blade and vaping hilt from him. "Katana?" Buford asks aloud.

"What Katana?"

As if on cue, Buford's question is punctuated with a loud, shrill beep. Another follows, then another comes after that one. A steady, cacophonous beep, beep, beep echoes through Abigail's garage as it steadily grows louder, closer perhaps. The offensive beeping reveals itself soon enough as a large box truck makes its way through the garage doors in reverse.

But it is not until the truck gets well into the garage that it's most distinctive feature reveals itself. Across the side of the box is an elaborate mural portraying an imitation of "The Great Wave" by Katsushika Hokusai---though one with a few added features. Across from the crest of the way stands a man in elaborate red and blue samurai armor wielding a massive daikatana. Flanking him on each side are two ladies with oversized eyes and sets of much more oversized features between the face and waist. One is dressed in somewhat scandalous kimono while the other seems to be a lady ninja from a style of film Buford has in his most private collection.

The truck rumbles to a stop, after which the engine's steady rumble ceases. Suddenly, the door of the truck thumps, then thumps again as it is forced open on the second try.

"CONEITCHYWAH, Abigail-san!"

A broad-shoulder man appears from the door, barely able to squeeze through it. He is dressed in a bright orange-red chestplate that says "football player" more than samurai, but the helmet on his head says otherwise. It is a dark blue, full face samurai helmet with yellow acoutrement atop it. His pants, by contrast, seem to be simple blue jeans---but ninja-style shinguards and tabi adorn his feet. A massive white kanji character is painted on his chestpiece. It is nonsense, but looks slightly like "Death" if one squints.

He leaps from the truck and lands in a crouch before rising up to his full 6'10 of height.

He has not yet realized Buford was just talking about him. A moment to introduce himself dramatically, like one of his favorite animations, is forever lost, like the sands of time.


Abigail lets out a low rumble that is somehow..a grunt of satisfaction at the arrival of his 'guest mentor' ..and a moan of dismay oas Katana's brazen arrival and thunderous greeting causes him to begin wondering if he's merely added plutonium into the mix needed to enable nuclear fusion.

Nevertheless, this seemed like a good idea at the time and at this particular point..he's willing to try anything. "FINALLY."

The giant Mad Gear Chief turns away from BUford, broken katana in hand as he looks towards the semi truck and the -actual- Katana with a deep set frown on his bullish features. He's glad the other towering figure has arrived. He's not pleased at what he perceives at the tardiness.

What -took- you so long! We're int round -three- of this thing and I wanted you to meet this guy while I still had him locked up in the basment back at my shop!

Abigail's methods of trainint buford have...been unique and paid in off in some ways but not others, so far as he can see it. "I thought I said not to stop at any of them anime-cons on the way here! I needed ya and need to get Juri off my back!"

He then seems to relax and pull it together slightly and he turns to gesture at Buford while rumbling, "This is..uh..the guy I told you about. One of our new-gen fighters. His name is Buford and he..uh..wants to be a samurai or something. We need him winning matches and I aint much for teaching swordplay. Just amping up with horsepower and nitro!"

Buford's expression is one of dawning awe.

At first, he wasn't sure if this was just going to be a local football washout dressed in a kabuki mask that Abigail hired to slap him around a bit. But layer by layer, drop by drop, the sheer magnificence of what had arrived sunk into his dew-and-dorito encrusted brain. The authentic character was quite easy for Buford to read: a bright rice paddy. Only a true samurai would have such an obscure mark of poetry on it. Buford imagines the beginning of a Haiku with those words, the artistry swirling in his head. Once he speaks with the elegant tongue of a true Samurai, using what certainly is the archaic use of the pronouns and honorifics, Buford actually squeals like a piglet, "UWU!?!"

Why he almost pees himself in excitement.

Thundering up along the towering Mad Gear boss, he tugs at ABigail's pants delicately. "Abigail, my most honorable senpai," Buford babbles out in awe. "I was uncertain if you were to be worthy of training me all this time. But you have gotten me... A REAL SAMURAI!?!? I promise I will not disappoint any more. This is a moment I had spent many years dreaming about. I cannot believe you are friends with a real STREET SAMURAI!" Buford scrambles to attention before Katana, and stares like a fat kid at a candy store. Looking him up and down, Buford's blubbery lips quiver, as he takes in the sheer majesty of a REAL AUTHENTIC SAMURAI to TRAIN HIM! He stammers, unable to form any other words in his awe.

"So... So Damn..."

Katana exhales deeply, which is punctuated by his mask to create a sort of brief Darth Vader effect. He considers for a long moment. The answer is long forced in his mouth, no, in his soul, like glorious Nippon steel folded two thousand times.

"Work in Metro City is crappy," Katana finally says, "Mayor Haggar's cowardly samurai have marked me with DISHONOR."

In other words, the Metro DMV took the shipping clearance from his truck again.

"So I was forced on a long journey to earn my treasure." (He had to do long-haul trucking to pay for his latest order from one of those specialty shops.)

Katana turns when Buford speaks up. Katana tilts his head, face featureless behind his helmet. He watches in silence, but then, slowly, he starts to chortle.

"Abigail-san! You did not tell me your student was also an admirer of glorious NIPPON!" (Abigail definitely told him this.) He nods once. "I am a wandering ronin, my die mayo cast down by nefarious brigands." He nods again.

And then he notices the sword. He looks at Buford, he looks at Abigail.

He doesn't seem to know what to say next.

Note to self. Do NOT tell Buford of Katana's actual nationality. Not that he has to worry about Katana spilling the beans given that the man has of inhaled his own narrative so much that to even suggest anything less then a true authentic samurai would be less then ideal. Abigail may be brutish and thuggish but he's not -that- crazy.

"Right." he rumbles. Just staring at Buford at the man being so awe struck in Katana's mere presence. "Right.." he repeats again, as if briefly broken before finally looking towards the other Mad Gear enforcer to attempt to decipher the plight that finally led to his journey here to Sunshine City. "Yeah, yeah. I got ya. And I still gotta deal with your request for your truck. I just been crazy busy...and I did tell you about him!"

He gestures for Buford to approach, probably having to practically shove him towards the towering 'Samurai'> "TLemme refresh you then. Buford is one of our New Generation FIghters. It's this crazy league where some of us are trying to prop up newcomers to the whole fighting tournament scene. I'm 'mentoring' him and a few others as they go through this tournament.. Alongside Juri and Goldlewis, the Secretary of Defense. Goldlewis has just been footin' our bills of late so Juri and I have been handling most of hte training..."

At least..well he assumes Goldlewis is.. Hence his frivilous spending on parts for upgrades to his truck...

"Buford 'ere is a bit of a swordsman with some potential but needs to be able to get outta his own way and get his skills up. He's taken some losses lately and we want 'im winning! I show him..the ropes on how to be a samurai.."

He can't believe he's saying this.

He then lifts the broken sword up, "This is some sorta..vaping-sword contraption he uses. It got broken in his last match. I -think- I canf ix it but he might need some other sword to use for his next match or to practice with...."

Buford hangs on every word like he was a babe sipping on his mother's milk.

As he talks about his struggles, the Canadian actually begins to blubber. He too had endured such insensitive monsters, such vile enemies who had long kept him from pursuing his dream of being a Street Samurai. "Wow, I don't know this Mayor Haggar is, but he sounds a lot like one of my mom's ex boyfriends. I hate him too! We don't have samurai in my hometown, but there were jerkops who would harass me at the West Edmonton Mall" He regains his composure, as he wipes away his tears.

"But Abigail-san is correct!"

Buford was now going to call him that, out of respect for his teacher. "I am a wandering ronin myself, though obviously much more of a neophyte compared to a master samurai yourself! I can barely even speak Japanese!" Buford admits, his cheeks blushing faintly. "And I have brought dishonor to my Maclanky Clan, by allowing my blade to be broken in the heat of battle. It was the finest in electro-cast steel, forged in the heart of the House of Knives itself. Truly not just a flawless act of Metallurgy, but if engineering. You can also use the hilt for vaping, and it can hold six flavors!" Buford brags for a moment, before deflating sadly. "However,the blade refuses to connect with the hilt, not until Abigail-san fixes it. And my mastery of the blade demands I have a weapon that can produce a fine mist!" Buford says, hands balled into fists. "Oh, wise Samurai teacher, what can I do? I am blind in what I must do next?" He pauses a moment, and then lights up, mossy teeth bared in wild intent.

"Do I attack those who besmirch your honor in honorable mortal Kombat?!"

The stoic expression of Katana reveals nothing of his mind's inner workings. Perhaps deep in that fortress he considers the virtues of bushido. He could be considering what it is like to raise up a young mind like a humble bonsai, carefully trimmed and preened into artful perfection. It is a subject worthy of a most artful haiku.

Or perhaps it's just difficult to read his expression behind the hardened features of the samurai mask.

"Wah carry must," Katana nods, confirming his understanding where his terrible pronunciation does not. "He is a student in need of a sensei." Katana crosses his arms. "And a new blade while his is reforged. He nods again at Buford's affirmation that Mike Haggar is indeed a jerkop. Buford's further affirmation that he is a small koi in the great pond of the way of bushido seems to be acceptable to Katana.

"I will train you, Buford-kun, in the true way of bushi-do. But first, we must get you a proper weapon with Abigail-san repairs your ... vape blade."

Katana considers. He looks at his truck, then at Abigail, then at his truck.

"And installs another turbocharger in my truck." Katana does not give Abigail time to respond. "Come, Buford-kun. We quest for glorious Nippon steel!"

Log created on 15:56:41 07/07/2023 by Abigail, and last modified on 04:57:16 07/21/2023.