LLK Act I.War - War : Poisoning the Pacific (High)

Description: Rusty finds himself contemplating his lot in life as he does some repairs at Pacific. Vyle tries to be opportunistic in attacking the school either for ransom, or for Neo League Points. What he finds ends up being something even the Rudo isn't prepared for.

Pacific High is really on edge. What part of Southtown isn't? The students remain mostly holed up on campus, a fair number of the student body already having evacuated Southtown entirely through their private jets and helicopters or what have you. Rich kids. If the attacks keep up, there's already talks about closing down the Southtown Pacific High branch 'in the interest of keeping our kids safe.' At least, in the interests of the rich people with kids in this school pouring a lot of money into it.
All this, and the shop teacher Howard is already in a fair bit of trouble from having gone out to Gedo in the first place. He's the only grown-up on staff with any sort of fighting talent at all. But even now, he's shaken to the very core. He might lose his job if they /do/ go about shutting down the school, and he was damned lucky to have his life after that encounter with Ojike no Oni... and that crazy kid with the skateboard who was screaming about how he hated this town and didn't care about who was hurt by the war... for a man whom values some kind of stability in his life, all this is making him wonder. Is all this really worth it, now? Is all of this really wroth it?
It's late in the evening, mere hours after a nearby skirmish between opposing forces set off a few explosives on Pacific property. Guess who gets shoved out to survey the damages in the aftermath? That's right! Mr. Rust, because 'he can fix whatever,' 'he's the strong one,' and 'all the local construction crews aren't doing shit because it's war out there.' At least his wounds have more or less recovered. The physical ones.
And there he is, Ol' Rusty sheathed in the toolbelt pocket on his left hip and a large rusted blue toolbox in his right hand, walking out across scorched lawn and scowling at the smell. They must've hit a sewage pipeline or something... great, now he's a sewer worker too? The rest is a mangled mess of wood, bricks, machinery, and... it's really hard to tell what this mess was supposed to be. It's something that should take more than one man, one night to properly survey, clean, and recover. And Howard Rust, there, is all on his own... or is he?
"God damn maniacs," he curses as he once again feels the worst about his lot in life. He's good at what he does, sure. He may be able to lay claim to being one of the best there is today. But there's hardly any pride in it to be found on this night. Nothing more than fear, irritation, and an encroaching feeling of hopelessness about it all.

YOu know what they say about maniacs: they only come out at night. Or is that freaks? Either way....it seems like the calm after the storm. Which...should be a warning sign actually, considering it SHOULD be the other way around. It means that something might be coming down the pipe again (and not just the backwash from the gym's shower rooms).

This is especially problematic with Pacific's reputation. While most people would normally be insane to attack the school in any baldfaced way, in this kind of environment....well, it might just be the perfect time to make one's fortunes. So is that why someone has set out a camera, rec light blinking as it peers through the courtyard of the school?

*Click....Clack. Click.....clack* And just what is that strange clacking sound echoing in the evening?

The noises don't go unheard. The shop teacher's head turns every so often at the little noises that suggest there might be something bad afoot. C'mon, he thinks. Don't let that get the best of you. Just little noises... not someone about to jump out and kill him. He sets the toolbox down, its contents rattling the container loud enough to be heard for a good block or two as he comes to a kneel before a pile of debris.
"What a mess," he groans out as his left knee pops at being bent so. He just wants to go rest up and cross his fingers that something won't happen overnight, but nope, looks like he's going to be pulling an all-nighter. A couple of low grunts later, he runs a gloved hand through a couple jagged edges, picking up the piece and simply tossing it over his shoulder. "And they expect me... they expect me to do this by morning? And all the other servants said they had other... other shit to do." He spits, shaking his head in sheer disbelief at replaying the last twenty minutes or so of his life through his head. "What a load of... aaaaah."
A long drawn sigh later, he's looking at yet another piece of scrap without any sort of idea as to where he'd begin. "Okay... okay... I don't know what this pile of shit is, it's late at night... people are killing one another left and right... I got to fix this in one night, everyone else is sitting on their ass... laughing about what to do with their severance pay when, when they either close this school down or just get their asses out of here..."
And all this, there is only one question that Howard can ask himself as he rubs some soot off of a plaque or another with his right thumb. "What would Mike Haggar do?"

Sometimes when things go bump in the night, the best thing is to ignore them and get on with your life, as it's usually nothing that will hurt you.

This is not one of those times.

The click clack continues, clickity clackity clack, louder and louder, louder and louder....until.....

&WHOOM!!! A brick flies out! Not at Rusty himself, but the mass of mangled brick and metal he's trying to work on. Just what the hell is that? Wait....is that a note wrapped about it? It is! And it says...:

"You've been chosen as the next victim for the next Neo League Champion. - The Neo League Front Office" Now....it's obvious it's not really from them...but just who would send a message like that?

WHOOM turns into 'WHAM!' real quick as the brick makes a whole lot of the debris shuffle and scatter. By instinct alone, the ex-construction worker's left hand clenches into a fist tightly in anticipation of something sort of danger or another, one eye widening as his right hand falls upon the makeshift hilt of Ol' Rusty.
Several moments pass. He remains frozen in a near-permanent state of tension as his eyes try to look about for who - or what - might be around. He comes up blank. Someone is there, but there's no shadow to track or anything of the sort. Just someone out there, throwing something at him. Some kid's prank?! Or...
...oh, a letter? His left shoulder creaks loudly as he reaches down to pick up the brick with the note wrapped around it, opening the thing that wraps the note around the brick with his teeth before unfurling it in his hand. The loosened brick bounces off his knee and back into the dirt. He doesn't notice.
"You've been chosen as the next victim for the next Neo League Champi-- what?!" Their front office? He's never known them to deliver messages like that. The representatives he spoke to were formal, professional... he crumples the note into a ball and tosses it over his shoulder. It's still stiff from that brief scare. Stiff, and none too willing to move.
"Mrrrrrrrr... feh." He grumbles into a short sigh. A challenge for sometime later? Maybe when we're not in the middle of a damn war zone, he thinks as he tries to bring his focus - divided it may be between the sounds of the night, the brick's message, and the task at hand - back to what he's really out here for. After all, if he wasn't strong enough to help Raizo and himself inside Gedo in order to help the kids... maybe there's nothing worthwhile in him being a part of a premiere fighting league, is there.
That's just how it is, he's beginning to think. Howard Rust, shop teacher of Pacific High. He might not even /be/ one for much longer if things continue getting worse and worse.

The camera from earlier continues to watch and blink, apparently overlooked by the poor beleagured Rusty. Recording his secret angst and vulnerability as the war over Southtown frays the poo rman's nerves. He really didn't need a scare for no reason, after all. But hey, that clacking sound is gone now, so...that's a good thing, right? Right?

Or maybe not, as suddenly a voice calls out. "READY! FIGHT!!" What? Now? Who? Huh? Such confusion might reign...but Rusty better not get caught up in it, as a brick suddenly flies through the air again...this time aimed straight for the teacher himself!

COMBATSYS: Vyle has started a fight here.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Rust has joined the fight here.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0             Rust

COMBATSYS: Vyle successfully hits Rust with Thrown Object.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0             Rust

The brick flies out viciously in the night...and a violent, ugly, bright green and purple figure emerges from the shadows near the parking lot, wild hair done up in a mohawk. "Girls and boys, gather 'round, the man known as Vyle's in town," the wrestler crows, showing himself with a rather vicious smirk.

'READY! FIGHT!!' Huh hey what?! The teacher lifts his head up again, left elbow raised as the brick slides juuuuust underneath and nails him in the (comparatively) tender armpit. Said elbow goes down moments after as Howard winces at this particular development. "What the f--"
And then they go on to introduce themselves. The man known as Vyle, which gets a plenty sour look on the older man's face, but... hey, you know what, he knows this guy. He has a cousin who is - or was - a huge fan of him from his tag-team days on Volatile. His cousin always insisted that the whole 'spraying another wrestler with a real poisonous mist' thing was just some outro they cooked up so Vyle could exit the ring a heel.
He doesn't spend very long contemplating this familiarity, teeth clenched as he picks up the hurled brick. "What the hell do you want?!" He sneers as the brick goes from his left hand to his right. "Look... look, all right, I don't want any trouble, just... I'm busy, okay, look, I'm busy. I'm working!"
He throws the brick back from whence it came as he tries to bring his attention all the way back towards what he needs to get done, thinking that maybe, just maybe, that guy might be reasonable enough in real life to let him be. The bad news is, he himself forgets how good his throwing arm is as the returned brick, originally intended to just be merely removed from the pile, goes flying into the parking lot with enough force that it skips against the asphalt once and stands a frighteningly realistic chance of bouncing into the mohawked heel's shin.
Such is Mr. Rust's luck, sometimes.

COMBATSYS: Vyle overcomes Thrown Object from Rust with Venom Breath.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0             Rust

"Working? Funny, I'm working too!" the poisonous rudo sneers back, a vicious looking grin on his ugly mug as he looks Rusty over. A taunt's already on his tongue, before the brick ends up flying back at him. Brow sets, before he charges in. Fingers prod at his own throat, before a noxious looking, ugly green cloud is sprayed out from his lips in Rust's direction. THe mist may be originally just a heelish trick of the puro trade...but this cloud seems enough to blow aside the re-flung brick as it skips a little higher. The mist swirls out toward Rusty's face, bringing bad tidings with it.

"For someone who works with all these rich brats, you dress like crap, you know," he adds, just for a little extra cruel measure.

COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Vyle's Venom Breath.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0             Rust

It's quite the distance the poison cloud has to travel. By the time it reaches Rust, it is mostly dispersed - but the odd coloration coming into his vision is enough to get him waving his right arm like mad to clear what is left away, not to mention the nasty cough he develops from inhaling just even the tiniest concentration of it.
"Aah! Aaagh!" It makes his eyes itch too! His face is about the perfect look of pain, with a furrowed brow, shut eyes, and bared teeth... along with the hisses and yelps that Vyle would be familiar with for how much he's done this to other people. It's pretty much a classic reaction.
"God... damn, argh!" He rises from where he /was/ working, continuing to cough up a whole fit as his eyes tear over from the irritation within them, and he feels like he's holding back a hell of a sneeze too. What the hell was in that?! "Aaah... Jesus CHRIST, agh! Aaaaaargh!" Other utterances of this nature come in between juicy coughs.

COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0             Rust

Vyle tchs. He had hoped to get a BIT more distance on the cloud, working on pushing it longer out. But...hey, the reaction from the older man is good enough. Smirking, the wrestler walks up closer, savoring the pain and tearing up his mist causes Rusty.

"Geez, I thought you Southtown school guys were supposed to be all badass, ready for a fight anytime and all that crap. But I guess the richy rich schools are too haughty to get their hands dirty with real fighters, huh? Too bad...I was hoping for a bit more of a challenge," he says loudly...before his voice dips lower. Low enough he figures that the camera wouldn't catch it. "...not to mention maybe a ransom or three...being a bastard like this isn't cheap you know..."

COMBATSYS: Vyle takes no action.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0             Rust

As Vyle approaches, Rust's rubbing his right forearm all over his eyes. It doesn't work. He starts to pull up his own shirt to try and rub it out. It's ugly under there. Let's just leave the details at that, with the consolation that it is no worse than the combover on his head that tells nothing but falsehoods about how much hair he actually has left on that scalp of his.
'I thought you Southtown school guys were suppoed to be all badass, ready for a fight anytime and all that crap.' They do carry that reputation. From the beyond elite Justice High to the disciplined Gedo Hiigh, the scary cheery hivemind of Taiyo High, to the mysterious Ladies' Team of Seijyun High... Pacific's normal population does not lend itself well to this. But there is the legendary Roy Bromwell, the Champion of the People Tiffany Lords from that tournament a while back, and the ever-infamous Pacific Resistance... and, most notably, up-and-coming tourney fighter, the shop teacher himself. There is a reputation to uphold.
The man remains incapacitated long enough to hear words about a 'ransom or three.' "A... a ransom or three?!" One of his eyes open up, the other still being tenderly rubbed by his shirt-clad right hand. What a great time to have another would-be hostage taker. His right hand is about to dip down to draw Ol' Rusty in which to strike this guy down, because dammit, on his watch...
He stops. First and almost foremost, eye still itches.
"...Yeah, you're... you're not gonna get far there." This is not said with angry, heroic conviction. It is dismissive, as if almost apologetic. Except he isn't. "All the richest kids left. Hell if I know... if I know that," his train of thought is interrupted once more as he hisses under the sheer strength of that itch! "Argh, what the hell did you /spit/ at me?!"

COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0             Rust

Vyle hrmphs. He's not taking that kind of answer, especially from someone who probably has a vested interest in the safety of the kids. "Oh, I'm sure I can find something here worth my while. Kill 3 birds with two bricks, something along those lines," he insists, trying not to flit his eyes back to the camera he's set up to capture the whole fight.

"But...well, if there's no one here worth my while, I guess you'll have to do for now. Think of it as a fallback." And he does just that: fall back. Of course, that's just so he can try and thrust two feet out into Rust's face while the mist is wiped away.

COMBATSYS: Vyle successfully hits Rust with Light Kick.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0             Rust

Two feet thrust out to Howard's face. They both land spot-on to his face. No block, no evasion, a clean two-foot strike to the face. His head is pushed back a bit. His upper body hardly goes an inch against it. If it weren't for Vyle falling back, he'd be in a bad place right now.
There isn't any grunt of pain in which that typically accompanies a solidly landed two-foot kick to the face as the teacher gets himself up to a stand, cracking his neck as one of his eyes blink a few times in rapid succession upon the chilled air touching upon it for the first time.
"Hnnn." He grunts, he shakes his head and throws down his left hand in mocking dismissal. "If that's as hard as you can hit... nothing stops me from," he coughs once, argh, "stops me from just... walking on back. By the time I'm in the front door, maybe you might... might actually break something."
He really does kind of just want to walk back in too, he doesn't want to be bothered with any of this shit now. Vernon might want him some free Neo League points. Howard wants a good excuse to just go in and lie down and maybe not think about how bad things are for one good, solid night.
After all, if that's as hard as Vyle can hit without him really putting his back into making it hurt that much less... ah, what the hell is wrong with him, he should pound this man's face and be done with it, the Howard Rust of 'has always been' would do it!! Rather than show any confusion over this fact, he turns and starts to walk away. He's a slow walker, but if Vyle cares to work out the math in his head, at this pace that evaluation may not be too far off scale.

COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0             Rust

...wait. He just threatened ransom on the kids at the school, insulted his very existence, spat poison in his eye, and kicked him in the face...and he's just going to walk away? The hell? Wait, this isn't what Vyle planned, and further more...it means he's failed in one of his core missions in life: to piss off anyone who wasn't directly paying him. AND he insulted his strength! Watsupwidat?!

"...oh, you have no idea what I can do, little man," he hisses, ignoring the literal size differences. So when Rust turns around to walk away, Vyle doesn't do any math in his head. Oh no. He just charges, trying to tackle the man right in the back and lift him up into almost a sort of inverted spinebuster. Except rather than the spine, it'd be Rust's face that gets busted if the venemous heel succeeds.

COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Vyle's Medium Throw.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0             Rust

Do you know what happens when you all but break a man? From a deranged serial killer to his face deconstructing him so well that he gives someone a reason to lose any real confidence in his ability, even after thinking, at least for a moment, he was strong enough to still hold his ground to help save the kids - but yet fail, disappoint a powerful and influential man who had faith that the two of them could do it, and somehow be dumped somewhere as if to say he wasn't worth having his life taken?
And then to run across a completely psychotic kid who screamed about how much he didn't care that his peers and other people were being killed and wanted nothing more than to beat the crap out of him despite the state he was in, as though nothing mattered other than to attack him despite the shape he was in after barely having his life? Ryu spoke at length about how things could turn out, but how even in the worst case scenario, they can't stay that way. They won't stay that way even if evil wins.
But Howard can't look at that way. He just can't. What Vyle is accosting is a sad, mentally and spiritually battered man whom seems ready to accept the reality of these things. All these kids are psychotics with fighting powers greater than his own, maybe they aren't in danger whether or not he's there. And if he's missing? All they want is just some guy who does all the handiwork to stretch out how much they squeeze out of him for a buck, they'd just hire another guy. He's had it. He's really had it. Might as well just say he can't do tonight's job because of a psychotic wrestling guy with a mohawk skulking around. Maybe they'll fire him, throw him all the way out of Southtown, and let him live a miserable existence back home.
Vyle gets his arms around his back. His left fist clenches as he actively resists getting lifted. Any sort of harm incurred may just as well be in Vyle squeezing him around the waist. It'd take far more than squeezing him at the waist to get him to pass out. The schoolteacher hums yet another sigh as he, nonetheless, continues to take a step forward.
"So what's that... that Neo League note or whatever, that you?" He spits that out, joints cracking as his body feels much too stiff for him to continue at much of his pace. He digs his heels in the instance he keeps trying to lift him up off his feet, hardly making any motion in which to pry him off.
"In the middle of a, of a... god damn war zone, that what you... really... here for?!" He turns his head in which to try and make eye contact, a little bit of the tired, droopy stink-eye. Red, droopy stink-eye. That mist really made his eye red. "That whole... 'ready, fight' shit..."

COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0             Rust

Wow...the guy's pretty damn solid, like a damn rock. And Vyle's not exactly known for his bear hugs, so just having his arms around Rusty's body like that doesn't do much for the wrestler's advantage. "...nhh...the hell are you, bastard?" he asks, backing up as he shakes out his arms, backing up to prepare for another attack. However, when Rust just....keeps going, barely turning back to look at him, he frowns.

"...yeah. If I can't find my gold mine in all this crap going on, might as well have a fall back," he says...though his conviction fades, the more he looks at the guy. Somehow, that red-eyed look Rust gives him just takes away any motivation Vyle has for this planned fight.

After all, there's no fun in breaking a man when someone's already beat you to it. Talk about spoiling someone's fun...

COMBATSYS: Vyle takes no action.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0             Rust

From his four Neo League matches, if Vyle has watched them, Howard has demonstrated amazing resilience. He held up well against the sheer might of Zach. He didn't go down when Spider shattered his arm. He took Kaida's best shot without losing much of a beat. He survived the mighty chi explosion of Cherry and fought to a hard-earned win. If not for the sometimes whimsical appearance of his techniques and the apparent strength in which he wields Ol' Rusty, Howard Rust could be famous - maybe one day go all the way - for the fact that even if he's not seven feet tall or even /six/ (...just an inch off), the man is a rock that could weather just about anything someone could throw at him. Just when he found his stride at long last, he's pretty much lost it. Reduced to this, a man dreading what comes next in life.
"I'm a god damn working man!!" He calls as he turns around to face Vyle as he asks him what the hell he is, arms spread out as he starts to take several steps to him. For a moment, if there were any observers, it'd look like the tables would've turned perfectly, Howard a far more fearsome sight than the outlandishly colored Vyle.
"That all you want... that really all you want out of me, huh?" He draws closer. "Trying to get... to get some kind of rise of me, all for this." Drool starts to fall down one side of his lips. It may very well be foam, frowning going into bared, angry, clenched teeth and narrowed red eyes as he sniffs in some of that cool night air and the terrible smell of sewage.
"Jump me when I got better things to do, like... like all those sons of bitches I work alongside, looking for the smallest... tiniest, reason... some excuse to just make my day total /shit/, spare them effort... make me sweat, bleed, every god. Damn. Day." Every. God. Damn. Day. "While every... every last kid here /shits/ on me like I'm nothing more than some... some washed up, old, bald son of a bitch just wasting his time, thinking... thinking maybe, for once, he could... do something with his life, for them, that they... they don't... get some kind of idea... some respect for things they could do for themselves. Make a living! Reach a hand out to someone... instead of, of just sitting on their daddy's money."
He spits on the ground in front of Vyle's feet, approaching ever faster despite his bricked knee shooting pain up his thigh in which to try and convince him to slow down. It fails. "That I'd like to think... there's some human /decency/ left, that... that I don't get /jumped/ when trying to do my shit /job/," angrily pointing over at the wreck, "being all... 'oh, I'll kidnap some kids, oh, maybe this guy,' because they don't got the guts to admit they just want to work up... work up some kind of fight, for what..."
He thrusts his left finger angrily into his open left palm. "Money?" And two fingers. "Applause? I got a cousin who likes you, imagine what... what I tell him when I say who this son of a bitch in front of me is, or, or..." Three fingers as he clears his throat briefly, "Some kind of... some kind of easy path to the championship." Four fingers. "Some kind of... some kind of self-fulfillment of a god damned lie you've been telling yourself about this, or, or..."
He pounds his fist into his palm. It is loud. Like a wrecking ball against a building. "And finally..." He pauses. Stops. Grunts, lowers his posture and stops approaching Vyle. He raises his left hand again and just drops it downward. A sigh. "Forget it. All right? Just... go."

COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.

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Vyle             0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0             Rust

...there's nothing scarier than a man who's lost everything. That's how the old saying goes, isn't it?

So maybe it's a testament to just how callous Vyle really is when the genuine frustration, anger, and despair rust vents on the luchador seems to just...not phase him at all. Perhaps a little pity in the punk's eye, but little more than that. "...you done?" he asks, gesturing with one hand as all the pent up frustration disappates at the end of Rusty's rant. "Look...I don't give a crap about how bad your life is. You dont' like it, tough crap, I don't care. I'm making my life the way I'm doing it, I don't care if you see me as a bastard. Better than some washed up bitter old man like you."

"And you're no use to me any more as is. Talk about ruining someone's fun," the wrestler mutters, walking off, only stopping by a wall nearby to pick up the camera he had...'borowed' to tape the whole shebang. He stares at it as he walks off into the night, pausing only to punt the thing across the block. Hey...not like it was his to begin with.

COMBATSYS: Vyle has left the fight here.

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Rust             0/-------/----===|

The teacher holds his ground as Vyle takes his leave, nodding his head only once in affirmation that yeah, he's done. Make his life the way he's doing it, however it is. Better than some washed up bitter old man like him... he's not even forty yet. But he sure feels... sixty, sometimes. He overworked himself when he was young. He must've been a sight in those days. Hell, if he were young, he's sure his battle with Ojike no Oni wouldn't have ended the way it did.
...but he's not young like that any more, is he. Nope. Even if he did score two wins against legitimate fighters of equal or greater skill... if he can't lend his strength to protect these kids, what good is he here? That just leaves Howard Rust, the ex-construction worker slash high school teacher.
He exhales loudly as Vyle stalks off into the night. Well. He's gone. No threat to the kids, if he was actually sincere about it. What would Mike Haggar do? He looks over to his sheathed pipe on his toolbelt. Pipes don't talk. But Ol' Rusty, in its non-living, non-sapient glory, is all but screaming about how he could've bashed his head in. Should've, maybe. That's what Mike Haggar would've done, the mayor takes no guff and piledrives goddamn sharks on thugs and other such people who do that.
Well, he's not Mike Haggar.
"HEY!" Calls an obnoxious middle-aged voice. Mr. Marshall. "Who were you talking to?"
Howard growls under his breath. Marshall, that bastard heard everything. "Nobody," he replies.
"Well it was someone! Was it your shrink? Ha HAH, I gotta get me one of those that makes nighttime visits." Mr. Marshall all but slaps his knee. He should get himself a young, cute one. Maybe one of those Seijyun kids going into the field.
"Aren't you supposed to be at... at the phone or something?" Howard replies back.
"Aren't you supposed to be fixing that whatever it was that got bombed?" Mr. Marshall throws that noise right back at him.
"Yeah," Howard sighs as he rubs his forehead. "Yeah, still at it. Making... making progress."
"I saw that rerun of you and that Spider guy. He kicked your ass. He really kicked your a--"
"I'M GODDAMN BUSY MARSHALL!!" The shop teacher snaps.
"Yeah, sure you are, Howard. Sure you are. Why don't you call some cute honey over here? That's the only people you could win against. Ha HAH! Give some of us a hell of a show, you know!" Mr. Marshall segues into hyena-like laughter.
"Wish I could be in that good of a mood when... when you got kids missing, maybe even..."
"And weren't you the one who said to Roy, 'tell the teachers I'm going to bring them all back here?'" He just won't leave that point alone, will he.
Howard sighs, gives up the shouting match, and marches over to pick back up that toolbox in defeat in order to return to work. Mr. Rust hates his co-workers. He hates them like no other.
"Remember you got to get it up by morning! Chop chop!"
"Yeah, I know! I know. God damn it, I know! Shut up."
"You know you got in trouble for the way you've talked to some of the other teachers bef--"
"I'M WORKING!!" Howard clears his throat again as he strains it with the shouting, kneeling before the unworkable pile again. "I need to... need to concentrate. Okay?"
"Suuuuure. Well, good night, sleep well." Mr. Marshall ducks back into the building to continue to do whatever it is that is not what he is supposed to be doing but is getting away with because he has seniority.
Howard sighs again. Yeah, good night, he's hardly going to get any sleep if he actually does get this thing fixed. He looks up to the building. It'd be easy. His contract is about up. He could just walk in, say he's done... go home.
He grunts. No. He doesn't have the guts. What the hell would his dad say? And everyone else at home. He wouldn't hear the end of it. C'mon. Surely, he can get this thing fixed tonight, get it up and running by the morning...
Spoilers: he doesn't.

Log created on 20:44:01 03/03/2009 by Vyle, and last modified on 12:24:02 03/05/2009.