Got inspired from playing way too much Capcom vs SNK 2 and reading the SNK profiles of these characters ^^; This is my first entry to Fanfiction.net, so feedback would be really appreciated, and stuff.
Disclaimer: All characters copyright to their respective company, namely, SNK. Please don't sue, I'm *encouraging* people to worship the greatness of Fatal Fury and King of Fighters ^^;
Rock watched them, from the other side of the fence, play basketball in the school courtyard that afternoon. They were playing three on three, but without the third. The playing feild was just concrete with two hoops on each end and a plastic bench on each side. This wasn't exactly the place for luxury, as he himself was standing right next to the dumpster, and heard the wail of a police siren not far.
Nothing like spending the afternoon watching them play. Most of the people in those courtyards were pretty good, and Rock spend a lot of time watching them and trying to learn those moves and integrate it for his own playing time. But it looked like there couldn't be any playing that afternoon, as was the case of the missing sixt player. While they were arguing about who to choose as third, one of them saw him.
"Hey you," he called out. A lanky, dark skinned boy, with the ball in his hand came closer. "Can you play?"
He smiled humbly, then shrugged, "a bit...yeah."
"Well, I suppose you could do," he scratched his bald head and inspected the boy. "Just come over the other side and..."
"Thanks, but that's not necessary." He supressed his joy at being picked. While frequenting that place every day, the courts always had sufficient players that he ended up being a spectator. Now that one hadn't showed up in this group, it was finally his chance.
Like a cat, he crouched then sprang himself up the fence. The fence must've been about 20 feet high or so. Nothing major. With a gymnast's skill he landed there on his hands, and sommersaulted to the otherside, landing right side up. He brushed himself off and placed his red jacket on the bench. The amazed group were staring at him.
"Woah. He's playing on our side!"
"Yeah right," said the guy with the basketball. "We saw him first!"
He threw the ball at Rock, who grabbed it with both hands. "Let's play," he announced as he twirled the ball in his hands.
They had won. iNaturally/i. The rest had already left to hang out in another place while he was left behind. That match was quite a rush. To be able to use the techniques and movements he had practiced, but never had the oppertunity to use, was great. Even though the other team didn't appreciate it much, he thought to himself and laughed.
They had left behind a towel for use. Rock picked it up and wiped the sweat away from his forehead, plus pushing back the strands of blond hair that were out of place. As the towel rubbed through his neck, it made him realize just how much the heat had hit him. Finishing, he took up his jacket and left the same way he came in.
iMy name is Rock. Or that's what they call me anyway.../i
South Town has been my home all my life. I know that now this place is supposed to be called South Town-2, but it's still the same place as before. The greed, corruption and degredation, the very spirit of the original town, still lives on. It's impossible to go one full hour without the police siren, or gun shots, or a criminal protesting to arrest, or the occasional drunken fight, raging outside. There's one major difference between the two towns.
Geese Howard. I guess he could be called my 'dad', but I'll never allow anyone to say that, least of all myself. He never left me anything. The only concrete evidence I have of him is the few fighting techniques he taught me at a young age.
Parents never really were a huge part of my life. Mom died when I was young, I don't even remember the circumstances well enough. He passed away a few years later too. My freind Terry stayed with me all the time. "Raise" isn't a good word, though, because someone like Terry just isn't parental, really. We spent most of our times travelling, or hanging out with other kids. Terry is the kind of guy whose really popular with the younger kids, it's really cool.
I like basketball. Much more than the other sport I practice. In fighting, you were against a person. You struggled against them, and you either won or lost. Then you moved on and left. With basket, however, it's much more of a team effort. It took both team work and skill. The goal wasn't to beat anyone up either, but to just reach the goal. Jump high off the ground, away from the earth, and soar into the basket. The opponents weren't as much the goal as merely obstacles to be overcome.
With all the little kids around, I had to hold back a bit and could never really play in full extent. Which is why this afternoon was the coolest. To be able to play freely, naturally, like that was really fun. I hope it'll happen again in the future.
I'd better leave. It's almost time for dinner and Terry'll starve -or worse, he'll blow all our cash on fastfood- if I don't go the groceries and get back in time.
While budget was tight, Rock smirked triumphantly at what he had gotten. It was good enough to have a nice dinner that night. Just as well- he was in the mood for a little extra cooking, he just hoped Terry would bear with him a bit while he practiced in that art. He had always prided in his ability to cook, coming without any formal lessons, and seeing everyone eat happily at what he had done was a great bonus too.
He passed near the alley where the school courtyard was. There were no lights on, something you'd expect in a school courtyard at night. He thought it was an electric problem when he heard, "that'll be twenty bucks a pop."
Of course, he rolled his eyes. Another thing you'd expect in a school courtyard at night- the echoing sound of drug dealing in under the cloak of darkness. Probably a new comer into the whole deal, because the big guys didn't go to such skimpy places.
"Yeah, man, sure," that voice sounded familiar. When a passing car came through the headlights caught side of inside the schoolyard. Rock saw it was the same guy who offered him to play that afternoon.
"Can we go already?" Another person in the game. Except this one was lighter, squeakier, and much much younger. So they got little kids dragged into this now, eh? If Terry had taught him anything, it was not to stand for that.
He placed the grocery bags on the side and leapt over the fence. His landing was soft enough not to catch the notice of the drug dealer. This wasn't the usual punk, though, but a classily dressed gentlemen in sunglassess and greased up hair. Probably a wanna be trying to copy the movies.
"Not interupting anything, am I?" Rock grinned as the three culprits yelped in surprise. "Oh, I guess I am. Sorry about that but..."
The buyers had already walked away, leaving only the sound of footsteps. The dealer was a different case. He took off his shades and charged with a punch. Slow, not without it's practice, but still not good enough. Rock managed to sidestep it and preformed a high kick on the open opponent.
"...you really should keep it down in here." He concluded. The dealer grunted and came in with another punch. Rock defended it, as he had done with the punches and kicks coming afterward. Tired of this little game, Rock kneed the man, and then preformed an uppercut.
The dealer fell on the ground unconscious. Rock wiped the blood from his hand and inspected the fallen victim. A small paper peered out from his front pocket. The kid picked it up and saw a scribbled list of names. The other buyers, most likely, Rock thought, this isn't just some run of the mill private dealer then.
Michaels, Robertsons, Kevins, all the name of the people who were caught up in this little game. The blue ink started running up, but the names were still visible enough to read. The inscription on top, however, caught his attention. He bit his lower lip and blinked, inspecting the name once, twice, to make sure it was a fluke. But he knew it was true when the ink, slightly dripping, spelt out the word "Howard".
Terry finished the last bite of his steak and wiped his mouth. Rock picked up the plate and placed the whole accessories in the bag marked 'To Wash'. When he returned to their campsite, Terry had already reclined in his sleeping bag.
"Sorry 'bout the wait," Rock said as he started unfolding his own bag.
"Hey, no problem," Terry replied, letting out a covered up burp. "Wasn't really that hungry in the first place."
"Sure you weren't," he smiled.
"I'm not that bad," the older man protested. "And if we get such classy food for waiting a few hours, then it's worth it."
"In your dreams," Rock laughed. "Unless you can concentrate all that wolf spirit to hunt down a more paying job."
"The wolf must never be used for unimportant matters!" Terry joked. "So...how was your day?"
"Pretty good." The sleeping bag unfolding, Rock lied down and stared at the sky. The crickets still chirping and the dying fire giving it's last desperate cackles. "Managed to play some street ball."
"Cool," Terry, who couldn't be seen, said. "Who won? As if I have to ask."
"Heh," Rock said. "Hey...Terry, I have to ask you something."
"Shoot."
"Were the Howards ever in the drug dealing business?" A naive question, sure, but he had to open up the topic somehow.
Terry coughed. "I don't know."
"Well, see, I was wondering. Because of such an impressive empire was built, they had to find the money isomwhere/i and..."
"They weren't that impressive. Now the Orochi, that was impressive. All the cult arrangement and connections."
Out of his backpack he took out the cap Terry had given him. It always slept by his side, having a huge sentimental value. Rock sighed. "Well, okay."
"Good night."
"'Night"
He looked up at the stars. From the outskirts of town they were much clearer without the floodlights and smog blocking the sky. The mauve firament with bright silver attachment to them, some were brighter than others. Rock said again, "hey Terry?"
"Yup."
He didn't know why he was asking so many questions tonight. "What is my real name?"
"Huh?"
"I mean," he smiled weakly. "Rock's a cool name and all. But I can't really imagine a parent giving that name to her kid. It'd be like, naming their son a stone."
"I don't really know," Terry said, and feigned a yawn. "I'm a bit tired now. Let's talk tommorrow, shall we?"
"Right," Rock said and turned over.
i Well, I guess everyone wants to know their origins. A teen phase..or whatever./i
The flame had gone completely out and Terry was asleep, as evidenced by the snores. Rock couldn't get himself to sleep, so he got up and sat on his honda bike. Turning the handle almost mechnically and staring off into the night sky. Everything seemed so distant.
What was the matter? A "phase" could be rightly called, but not really. More like a calling. The fact of the matter was, for the past few weeks his thoughts were plagued by a lot of questions. About himself, his family connections, and how the wheel will turn next in his life. He tried to ask Terry about it, but he just pretended not to know anything, and changed the subject to some other exciting story that used to entertain Rock when he was younger.
He turned the handle faster then before, and tugged on his right glove a bit. Not that he could blame Terry, those sorts of questions couldn't be very comfortable for him too. He'd rather burry the past behind. Unfortunately, for Rock that wasn't an option. The answers, in the end, would have to be found by himself.
Rock looked at the paper. "Howards". That could be just some generic dealers trying to gain fame by using a name so prestegious in the crime ring, his rational mind said. The rest of him was still left in the murky depths. The "what-if" never left.
He tore the paper in hope that he could just leave this sort of thing behind. His mind still glued the paper together, and he could remember every single name on the list as if it were right in front of him. Except the "Howards" was written in much bigger.
So be it, then. He walked towards the now extinguished camp fire and tip toed over Terry. The instincts of a fighter didn't come to the older man so late at night. Rock went over to the jacket. He also saw the cap.
Starting up his ride, he adjusted the cap on tightly on his head and, with a frown of determination, he turned on the handle, this time producing noise, once, twice. The lights of the city could be seen a few miles away, and that was his destination now. He nodded, and headed back for the city.
Disclaimer: All characters copyright to their respective company, namely, SNK. Please don't sue, I'm *encouraging* people to worship the greatness of Fatal Fury and King of Fighters ^^;
Rock watched them, from the other side of the fence, play basketball in the school courtyard that afternoon. They were playing three on three, but without the third. The playing feild was just concrete with two hoops on each end and a plastic bench on each side. This wasn't exactly the place for luxury, as he himself was standing right next to the dumpster, and heard the wail of a police siren not far.
Nothing like spending the afternoon watching them play. Most of the people in those courtyards were pretty good, and Rock spend a lot of time watching them and trying to learn those moves and integrate it for his own playing time. But it looked like there couldn't be any playing that afternoon, as was the case of the missing sixt player. While they were arguing about who to choose as third, one of them saw him.
"Hey you," he called out. A lanky, dark skinned boy, with the ball in his hand came closer. "Can you play?"
He smiled humbly, then shrugged, "a bit...yeah."
"Well, I suppose you could do," he scratched his bald head and inspected the boy. "Just come over the other side and..."
"Thanks, but that's not necessary." He supressed his joy at being picked. While frequenting that place every day, the courts always had sufficient players that he ended up being a spectator. Now that one hadn't showed up in this group, it was finally his chance.
Like a cat, he crouched then sprang himself up the fence. The fence must've been about 20 feet high or so. Nothing major. With a gymnast's skill he landed there on his hands, and sommersaulted to the otherside, landing right side up. He brushed himself off and placed his red jacket on the bench. The amazed group were staring at him.
"Woah. He's playing on our side!"
"Yeah right," said the guy with the basketball. "We saw him first!"
He threw the ball at Rock, who grabbed it with both hands. "Let's play," he announced as he twirled the ball in his hands.
They had won. iNaturally/i. The rest had already left to hang out in another place while he was left behind. That match was quite a rush. To be able to use the techniques and movements he had practiced, but never had the oppertunity to use, was great. Even though the other team didn't appreciate it much, he thought to himself and laughed.
They had left behind a towel for use. Rock picked it up and wiped the sweat away from his forehead, plus pushing back the strands of blond hair that were out of place. As the towel rubbed through his neck, it made him realize just how much the heat had hit him. Finishing, he took up his jacket and left the same way he came in.
iMy name is Rock. Or that's what they call me anyway.../i
South Town has been my home all my life. I know that now this place is supposed to be called South Town-2, but it's still the same place as before. The greed, corruption and degredation, the very spirit of the original town, still lives on. It's impossible to go one full hour without the police siren, or gun shots, or a criminal protesting to arrest, or the occasional drunken fight, raging outside. There's one major difference between the two towns.
Geese Howard. I guess he could be called my 'dad', but I'll never allow anyone to say that, least of all myself. He never left me anything. The only concrete evidence I have of him is the few fighting techniques he taught me at a young age.
Parents never really were a huge part of my life. Mom died when I was young, I don't even remember the circumstances well enough. He passed away a few years later too. My freind Terry stayed with me all the time. "Raise" isn't a good word, though, because someone like Terry just isn't parental, really. We spent most of our times travelling, or hanging out with other kids. Terry is the kind of guy whose really popular with the younger kids, it's really cool.
I like basketball. Much more than the other sport I practice. In fighting, you were against a person. You struggled against them, and you either won or lost. Then you moved on and left. With basket, however, it's much more of a team effort. It took both team work and skill. The goal wasn't to beat anyone up either, but to just reach the goal. Jump high off the ground, away from the earth, and soar into the basket. The opponents weren't as much the goal as merely obstacles to be overcome.
With all the little kids around, I had to hold back a bit and could never really play in full extent. Which is why this afternoon was the coolest. To be able to play freely, naturally, like that was really fun. I hope it'll happen again in the future.
I'd better leave. It's almost time for dinner and Terry'll starve -or worse, he'll blow all our cash on fastfood- if I don't go the groceries and get back in time.
While budget was tight, Rock smirked triumphantly at what he had gotten. It was good enough to have a nice dinner that night. Just as well- he was in the mood for a little extra cooking, he just hoped Terry would bear with him a bit while he practiced in that art. He had always prided in his ability to cook, coming without any formal lessons, and seeing everyone eat happily at what he had done was a great bonus too.
He passed near the alley where the school courtyard was. There were no lights on, something you'd expect in a school courtyard at night. He thought it was an electric problem when he heard, "that'll be twenty bucks a pop."
Of course, he rolled his eyes. Another thing you'd expect in a school courtyard at night- the echoing sound of drug dealing in under the cloak of darkness. Probably a new comer into the whole deal, because the big guys didn't go to such skimpy places.
"Yeah, man, sure," that voice sounded familiar. When a passing car came through the headlights caught side of inside the schoolyard. Rock saw it was the same guy who offered him to play that afternoon.
"Can we go already?" Another person in the game. Except this one was lighter, squeakier, and much much younger. So they got little kids dragged into this now, eh? If Terry had taught him anything, it was not to stand for that.
He placed the grocery bags on the side and leapt over the fence. His landing was soft enough not to catch the notice of the drug dealer. This wasn't the usual punk, though, but a classily dressed gentlemen in sunglassess and greased up hair. Probably a wanna be trying to copy the movies.
"Not interupting anything, am I?" Rock grinned as the three culprits yelped in surprise. "Oh, I guess I am. Sorry about that but..."
The buyers had already walked away, leaving only the sound of footsteps. The dealer was a different case. He took off his shades and charged with a punch. Slow, not without it's practice, but still not good enough. Rock managed to sidestep it and preformed a high kick on the open opponent.
"...you really should keep it down in here." He concluded. The dealer grunted and came in with another punch. Rock defended it, as he had done with the punches and kicks coming afterward. Tired of this little game, Rock kneed the man, and then preformed an uppercut.
The dealer fell on the ground unconscious. Rock wiped the blood from his hand and inspected the fallen victim. A small paper peered out from his front pocket. The kid picked it up and saw a scribbled list of names. The other buyers, most likely, Rock thought, this isn't just some run of the mill private dealer then.
Michaels, Robertsons, Kevins, all the name of the people who were caught up in this little game. The blue ink started running up, but the names were still visible enough to read. The inscription on top, however, caught his attention. He bit his lower lip and blinked, inspecting the name once, twice, to make sure it was a fluke. But he knew it was true when the ink, slightly dripping, spelt out the word "Howard".
Terry finished the last bite of his steak and wiped his mouth. Rock picked up the plate and placed the whole accessories in the bag marked 'To Wash'. When he returned to their campsite, Terry had already reclined in his sleeping bag.
"Sorry 'bout the wait," Rock said as he started unfolding his own bag.
"Hey, no problem," Terry replied, letting out a covered up burp. "Wasn't really that hungry in the first place."
"Sure you weren't," he smiled.
"I'm not that bad," the older man protested. "And if we get such classy food for waiting a few hours, then it's worth it."
"In your dreams," Rock laughed. "Unless you can concentrate all that wolf spirit to hunt down a more paying job."
"The wolf must never be used for unimportant matters!" Terry joked. "So...how was your day?"
"Pretty good." The sleeping bag unfolding, Rock lied down and stared at the sky. The crickets still chirping and the dying fire giving it's last desperate cackles. "Managed to play some street ball."
"Cool," Terry, who couldn't be seen, said. "Who won? As if I have to ask."
"Heh," Rock said. "Hey...Terry, I have to ask you something."
"Shoot."
"Were the Howards ever in the drug dealing business?" A naive question, sure, but he had to open up the topic somehow.
Terry coughed. "I don't know."
"Well, see, I was wondering. Because of such an impressive empire was built, they had to find the money isomwhere/i and..."
"They weren't that impressive. Now the Orochi, that was impressive. All the cult arrangement and connections."
Out of his backpack he took out the cap Terry had given him. It always slept by his side, having a huge sentimental value. Rock sighed. "Well, okay."
"Good night."
"'Night"
He looked up at the stars. From the outskirts of town they were much clearer without the floodlights and smog blocking the sky. The mauve firament with bright silver attachment to them, some were brighter than others. Rock said again, "hey Terry?"
"Yup."
He didn't know why he was asking so many questions tonight. "What is my real name?"
"Huh?"
"I mean," he smiled weakly. "Rock's a cool name and all. But I can't really imagine a parent giving that name to her kid. It'd be like, naming their son a stone."
"I don't really know," Terry said, and feigned a yawn. "I'm a bit tired now. Let's talk tommorrow, shall we?"
"Right," Rock said and turned over.
i Well, I guess everyone wants to know their origins. A teen phase..or whatever./i
The flame had gone completely out and Terry was asleep, as evidenced by the snores. Rock couldn't get himself to sleep, so he got up and sat on his honda bike. Turning the handle almost mechnically and staring off into the night sky. Everything seemed so distant.
What was the matter? A "phase" could be rightly called, but not really. More like a calling. The fact of the matter was, for the past few weeks his thoughts were plagued by a lot of questions. About himself, his family connections, and how the wheel will turn next in his life. He tried to ask Terry about it, but he just pretended not to know anything, and changed the subject to some other exciting story that used to entertain Rock when he was younger.
He turned the handle faster then before, and tugged on his right glove a bit. Not that he could blame Terry, those sorts of questions couldn't be very comfortable for him too. He'd rather burry the past behind. Unfortunately, for Rock that wasn't an option. The answers, in the end, would have to be found by himself.
Rock looked at the paper. "Howards". That could be just some generic dealers trying to gain fame by using a name so prestegious in the crime ring, his rational mind said. The rest of him was still left in the murky depths. The "what-if" never left.
He tore the paper in hope that he could just leave this sort of thing behind. His mind still glued the paper together, and he could remember every single name on the list as if it were right in front of him. Except the "Howards" was written in much bigger.
So be it, then. He walked towards the now extinguished camp fire and tip toed over Terry. The instincts of a fighter didn't come to the older man so late at night. Rock went over to the jacket. He also saw the cap.
Starting up his ride, he adjusted the cap on tightly on his head and, with a frown of determination, he turned on the handle, this time producing noise, once, twice. The lights of the city could be seen a few miles away, and that was his destination now. He nodded, and headed back for the city.