Things Can Always Get Worse - Traverse Town [COMPLETE]

[ehrgeiz_king]

He seemed to be having quite the misadventures here in Traverse Town. The exploding house, lacking money for food, the waterway collapsing, reminisces about Seifer, catching a god damned cold… He wasn’t bitter, he wasn’t. Or so he told himself

Comments

[recalcitrantly]

Of coarse it had to be noted that Ansem had quite a bit to do with Hollow Bastion going down. The fact that he created heartless, summoned them and plunged the world into perpetual darkness while consuming peoples hearts probably had a lot to do with the world going under. Now. Was it really the drunk people who were very fun when sloshed and did Ansem’s bidding despite being tipsy? Or was it those SeeD bitches who were always whining and crying that “wah my gunblade” broke or “wah we don’t have rocket launchers” or “wah we’re out of fucking hot dogs again”. No. It was the winy bastards SeeD who had driven that man fruitier than a One-winged pineapple.

Of coarse, the impact forced his head to jerk to the side with quite a force. Well what had spawned that little outburst? It may have caused him to break form a little, in the fact he had to slam his chair on all fours to keep from going flat on the floor. He sat for a couple seconds, eventually bringing a hand to his cheek and rubbing down to his chin. Instead of immediate backlash at the man, Reno yawned.

Yes, he yawned.

“You know, hot dog kid.” He stood up and stretched like he had just gotten up from a long nap, “I saw this girl on the gummi ship I was on. She had a really nice set, if you get my drift.” He paused, getting a nice smirk on his face while he nodded, “When you see wonders of nature like that, you just gotta touch them. We ll, anyway, she hit me, too,” Reno raised his tone, “Harder than THAT.” Since this was making him more sober by the second it was getting rather tiresome. No. No one liked a really “sober” Reno. Because sober Reno was a violent batshit crazy bastard-well, not really. But he didn’t have anything against outright tackling blonde little bitch SeeD’s to the floor of a tavern. Which was exactly what he did [or attempted to do.]

This kid was gonna pay.

[ehrgeiz_king]

It said a lot about the intellect of the military. Obviously this was how Ansem had succeeded in the first place. The little Turks just didn't have the brains to realize, "Hey, the people we deliver to the king keep disappearing!" Had they realized something as simple as that, many of the experiments would have gone unfinished. But no, they continued giving the man his live samples. SeeD at the very least was able to realize, "Hey, something funny's going on!" But sadly, because of the way the military kept helping the man's cause, not much could be done about it. And surely a little harmless whining was far less irritating than idiotic drunken endeavors.

Now. Considering the situation, Reno was without a doubt full of shit. Granted, he hadn't hit too hard, but he had years of experience in martial arts, and it only took a grand total of three pounds of pressure to break a nose. Luckily for the little punk, he hadn't aimed for that area. Otherwise his face would be smashed in. Further, if the punch was so god damned weak, he wouldn't be bothered to tackle him. So the comment was disregarded completely.

Now, what he should do in this situation was obvious. He should have faced the attack at a fourty-five degree angle, fists raised, elbows close to his body, chin tucked in, and feet shoulder-width apart. That way, he could minimize the impact, and organs and soft tissue areas would be protected. With his feet planted firmly and soulder-width apart and his kness slightly bent, he was much more likely to retain his balance, and in the case he was knocked over, he would land on the large muscles groups of his upper body (such as the back) to minimize the impact of the blow, and his limbs would be curled in as not to injure them. He could then use the force of the blow to shoulder roll forward into a standing position to knock the man over. He'd then have the upper hand, and could commence pummeling the shit out of him.

However, his mind came up with a much more brilliant plan, and it sounded a little something like screw that.

The little punk thought he was going to tackle him, huh? Well then. He wasn't going to loose the ball. As Reno launched himself, Zell launched himself also, and they ended up in a heap of limbs right on top of the coffee table, which promptly gave way to their weight. He delivered a good few punches, and by that time, the owner had come running out to see what the commotion was.

"Both of you, stop it!" he shouted angrily, but his comments went ignored.

He could by all means suffer any consequences involved with touching two men preoccupied with beating the living shit out of each other.

[recalcitrantly]

There was something to be said as far as personal gain in the fact that they were doing their job. Hell, as long as they weren’t getting sent out after each other there wasn’t anything to worry about. They got free booze and they got room and board. Who the hell cared about disappearing kids? Maybe they were finally getting sick of all the idiocy that leaked over from that other branch and got the smarts to end their lives there. Who cared? They got shiny guns, and they got to point them at people without getting bitched at. It was the awesomest thing ever.

Reno’s methods often included a simple concept called: tit for tat. For example, if some platinum haired bitched attacked him and forced him to break, say, Rude’s glasses somehow and slightly overpower him, then he would get back equally. By.. Exploding the street they were driving on with a couple packs of dynamite for example. This same concept was kept when punks clocked him in the face and wouldn’t give him a goddamned drink. It was only just.

Going and breaking a table by mere dog-pile wasn’t a very fun thing [though it did involve breaking things..]. Reno responded with an off, and many flailing appendages, grabbing, punching, pulling, whatever happened to belong to the brat hotdog kid.“You god damned pile of blonde-“ She managed to wriggle away from the in-pieces table and kid.

...But as the owner was called out, he glared that guy a good one. With a snappy wave of his hand he disregarded anything some old fogie had to say, “Stay out of something that’s not your business, pops.” Not having a weapon sucked a vast amount of ass. So Reno did what Reno did best-improvised in the way that would get him kicked out! His green eyes darted about, and picked up something that seemed like it would work as a weapon-one of the wooden chairs. Reno also excelled in not fighting very fairly.

This was rather fun.

[ehrgeiz_king]

And that was the military for you: a bunch of drunken frat kids. Ansem didn't need mind-control or brain-washing, not when when he had a bunch of drunk children to do his bidding. There was no army quite like an army of smashed ADD little brats. Of course they were too complacent to care about the consequences of following orders blindly; they got shiny objects! It wasn't in their brain capacity to deny themselves the wholesome goodness of the shiny objects.

He struggled with the redhead, punching, kicking, doing whatever was necessary. Anything that had semblance to methods learned in his combat training refused to manifest in his head, all rational thought being burned to pieces by the flames of anger. That in itself was something of an accomplishment, as in any other situation like this such methods came automatically, perhaps even subconsciously.

But now, a new set of rules were pulling at his instincts, and they were by far more unorthodox. So he was about to get his head smashed in by a chair? Well, that wasn't cool. So he quickly procured another chair and threw at the one Reno held, as hard as he could. He then grabbed a leg from what had once been a table.

It was hammer time.

He moved forward to strike with the weapon of opportunity, but before he could, the general area was suddenly very wet.

Wait. Was that... vodka?!

He turned to find the owner glaring at them. "Don't make me get the matches!" the old man threatened. "You're both. Banned. For. Life." There was a hissing quality to it as it escaped his clenched teeth.

Well, whatever. This little escapade had gone way out of hand anyway. He dropped the makeshift club, and without even bothering to check if Reno was still going to fight or not, he up and left.

His room sounded pretty nice about now.

[recalcitrantly]

Shiny things were good. Shiny things were very good. Probably not around military organizations that gave children liquor as well as guns topping it off with distracting them with shiny objects. Yes, quite a wonder that the Hollow Bastion army hadn’t been the worlds own undoing, but alas beside the entire point. Bringing up shiny objects while referencing a defense to Zell probably wasn’t a good idea to begin with.

It was so NOT hammer time.

The chair that the brat had threw caused for the Turk to make a face, and duck just in case the brat had a good aim for some unexpected good quality. Alas, no, as the chair went right over his head and slammed into the bar counter opposite of him accompanied by the sweet sound of glass breaking. “That idiot.” He grumbled-suspecting that glass was not a good sound to be heard breaking if he were hear to get a drink. It wasn’t very long after that he got as draped with that sweet nectar of life as the other kid. “HEY.” No open mouth trying to get some good while it was being poured on him [didn’t he have a dream like this once? No. Uh.]

MATCH. Tch. If Reno had a list, that bartender dude would have just made it. The former Turk present wet vodka smelling redhead was very very pissed off. Soon as he turned back ready to take it all out on that blonde-Reno noticed a certain lack of a certain blonde. “That little bitch,.” He spouted, completely and utterly miffed. One look at the stool he still had, shrugged, and threw it over his shoulder since it was useless now. “HEY!” Running to the gate, Reno peered around the corner to see where that puny SeeD ran off.

Okay. Then. If he was going to be a complete asshole and not finish fighting, then it was time for a few signature Turk strategies: primarily, follow him to wherever he went, wait until he wasn’t there, trash the place or steal what he could, and sign his work with a business card. It was less than dynamite, but work with what he had, eh?

"...But first." Since Reno was now banned for life, He worked his way to the counter, swiped a bottle of whatever he saw first, in this case gin, Held the bottle up high right to where the owner could see it, and walked out.

Banned. Psh.