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originally posted in:The New Dojo
11/26/2017 7:10:31 PM
38
[b][u]WHEB VS DIO[/u][/b]
Jason was constructed into the white canvas of an arena. As he looked around he spotted Marcus, who had just been constructed as well. Then, a holographic slot machine projected itself in the sky, and began to roll. It rolled images of a plan on concrete, and as the to foes stood where they were, the entire arena transformed into a massive airstrip. But that wasn’t just it, this airstrip was accompanied by two more, one on each side of it. There were massive hanger bays all around these strips, and there were planes stopped in these areas as well as on each of the runways.
Then, Haakon spoke.
“THREE! TWO! ONE! FIGHT!”
[spoiler] -Follow ALL official dojo guidelines
-Keep the beef you may develop with your foe to PM’s or contact one of the referees.
-What a ref say’s goes. We aren’t participating in the tourney so you guys can have fun. Please respect that.
-You are allowed 5 weapons in a fight which includes offensive weapons(EG:Grenades, mines etc). You can switch your load out between fights but not during.
-The max caliber of bullet permitted is the .50cal BMG.
-Be courteous and respect your foe. They are skilled fighters just like you. Never assume your attack lands unless it would hit no matter what, and take damage reasonably. Good fights are rewarded at the end of the tourney.
-Death to your foe is decided by your foe. When your opponent has submitted, CLEARLY SUBMITTED(they will make a spoiler stating their submission or have dialogue stating it), you may perform a fantastical fatality.
-Reply maximum is 60. In order to get things going the odd man out fights(the ones that hold the schedule back) will be shortened to 50.
-Have fun![/spoiler]
English
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[i]Jason gave the arena he would be fighting in a quick once-over, noting the airplanes and all that surrounded him and his opponent, as well as the towering hangars... then, his eyes fluttered back over to the person he'd be fighting, and he only cocked his head to the right, his confusion practically palpable. This couldn't be serious, could it?[/i] "Did they, uh... seriously put some guy from the 1900's up against someone from fuсkin' 2500-something? Oh, Christ, you poor sod..." [i]As far as the Russian's armaments went... they were impressive. He wore a full set of powered armour, the black ceramite plates looking murky and dull underneath the sunlight that they bathed in, while an ocean blue haze slowly traveled over it as he deactivated his energy shielding with a simple thought. The Barbuta-style helmet straightened itself, the black horns mounted on the sides of it catching a ray of sunshine, reflecting it sharply. On his lower back, by his tailbone, he held a chrome cylinder that was about a foot in length, clearly deactivated at the moment, the metal encasing reflecting the sunlight that fell on it. Above the deactivated weapon, he had a SPAS-12 along with a SCAR-H STD, both painted a matte black, each equipped with a simple red-dot sight in the event he'd have to aim. On his belt, he held six grenades, three on each side -- forest green fragmentation grenades and what seemed to be incendiary grenades.[/i] "Ay, lad," [i]His voice crackled through the air again, laced with a static undertone caused by the microphone that he automatically spoke through,[/i] "You just wanna have a drink or whatever? Some food? Don't think our fight will last long regardless."
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As Garin watched Jason appear on the screen, he jumped from his seat to cheer for him. "Oh fuсk, my semechki."
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[spoiler]kek[/spoiler]
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Clearly, compared to the Russian, Marcus...wasn’t exactly the best equipped to deal with a situation the way he did. He was wearing what clearly was an Australian uniform from World War I, an American M1 Carbine slung around his back. Grenades were both in his pocket and alongside his belt. “Yeah...I mean, honsetly, I didn’t even want to join this. Some damn monk forced me to; said it would ‘show me how powerful the threats on a planet are’.” He says, walking over to Jason.
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"Ha! Fuсking monks... they're just as bad as clerics and preachers." [i]The sci-fi super Sue slowly shook his head with a mechanical chuckle, his right hand moving over to the fashionable cloth satchel on his left hip, the cord of which hung around his neck, going across his chest and back both. He slipped his hand into it, reaching around for a few moments, before he slowly pulled his hand back out... Following within his grasp was a clear bottle of glass, filled with an equally as clear liquid, the Russian label noting it as vodka or whatever -- at least, that was one of the words imprinted on it, the others undecipherable unless Marcus just so happened to speak Russian. Jason quickly slipped his left hand into the bag, grabbing two small shot glasses from it.[/i] "Hope ya don't mind vodka... Got some rum in there, too, if you'd prefer."
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“Look, I haven’t exactly had much beyond crackers and rations since the Allies dropped me here...I’d take some form of beer over anything.” He says, sitting in front of Jason. “And don’t worry; I could maybe just shoot myself or something to end it, if I want to.” He says, pointing to the Carbine and Grenades.
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Edited by Nibber Schipper: 11/26/2017 8:27:33 PM"You make a fair point," [i]Jason responded, popping the cap on his vodka off with one of the chinks on his armour -- beneath his helmet, somewhere. Quickly, he poured the vodka into both of his glasses, passing one over to Marcus, after.[/i] "Name's Jason, by the way." [i]He lazily squatted down on the floor as well, placing his shot glass and bottle of booze down to his right. Both of his hands disappeared into his magic satchel, pulling out a car battery, a toaster oven, and a plastic package filled with marinated chicken tenders -- the type you just heat up. Seemed he held all kinds of shit in that bag of his. In a few moments, the Russian had the toaster oven powered on and was baking himself four chicken tendies, the machine humming lightly. Soon after, his helmet came off, nonchalantly sat aside.[/i]
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“Thanks, mate.” He replies, drinking his vodka. “Y’know, It has been too long since anyone’s been friendly to me. Name’s Mark. Marcus Cambria, Part Of the Australian military during the war.” He tells Jason.
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[i]The vodka had a very strong taste, bitter and biting, the alcohol in it practically tangible... and yet, it was strangely good, tasty, and simply wonderful -- even if it could probably melt rust. In the meantime, Jason carefully watched the chicken tenders, absentmindedly glancing at Marcus every now and then.[/i] "Yeah, no problem, and... don't worry; may as well share a drink with you, eh? You're so outclassed it actually feels like some sick joke... no offense, by the way. Also, war? I assume World War 1 because of the uniform, but the gun wasn't used until WW2, if I'm right..."
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“I think so. Guys on our end; Americans, and the Aussies; decided to make some sort of machine that’ll try to get as many soldiers out of Earth while them Germans tried to conquer the world; I was their test subject. As for the gun, they found out some way to get materials from the US over here.” Marcus explained, drinking his...well, drink. “What’s your story?”
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"Huh, interesting..." [i]He didn't answer Mark's question for a little bit, taking the moment to stay silent as he thought, getting himself and his new friend two pure white, plastic throwaway plates, handing one to the Australian.[/i] "As for my story, uh... it's a long one, so I'll just give you a quick summary. Basically, I was born like seventy years ago in Russia - Moscow, to be exact - while everything was going to shit. Had a decent childhood, went to a military academy, humanity got into a war with fuсking space bugs out of all things, I got thrown into said war when I was sixteen." [i]He paused again, letting his words sink in while he threw his vodka down the gullet, absentmindedly refilling the glass after.[/i] "Got fuсked up bad on my first op to go find out what happened to a research station off on some godforsaken planet -- it had gone dark, went dead silent, all that. Me and I [i]think[/i] five others got there, everyone got brutally slaughtered, I had to crawl out missing an arm and a leg. Was out of business for a few months, got fitted with some prosthesis, was then thrown back into the fray. Skip a few years, the first war was won. Yay. Got promoted to sergeant I think, got transferred into a heavy division with power armour, big giant guns, all that business. Few more years, got into a second bug war. Killed some more insects like the glorified pest control we were, later won that war as well and completely crushed the pesky bugs, so we got into a period of peace. I got married, bunch of kids, wife, PTSD, few pets, all that. Skip like... sixteen years, I wake up in some hole out in space, some ship called the Bloodwrath or whatever. Bad place, filled with maniacs, Daemons, and other shit. Eventually got out with my twin brother, then arrived here. Leave a good while after arriving, went to different places. Won an interdimensional tournament, helped win a war, killed some shit, blah blah blah, whole bunch of stuff. Now here I am again... Thinks that's everything."
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Sobs could be heard in the crowd as the two had their discussion. The two thought they heard the man over the mic sob as well but it was suddenly cut short. The mic was likely muted. [spoiler]closed lol[/spoiler]
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[i][b]YOOOO I REMEMBER THAT SHIT[/b][/i]
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“Huh...” He told him, drinking away his vodka and motioning for another. “I remember one battle. Took place somewhere in Greece. Our men were being slaughtered; marching up the cliff. We were the distraction while the British and Italians used their navies to bomb their capital...let’s just say a lot of them died and we didn’t even get anywhere close to where we needed to be. I was lucky enough to even get back home.” He states, swinging another round.
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[i]Jason was quick to refill Marcus' glass, handling the bottle of vodka with care, making sure not to accidentally break it or drop it, or whatever. After, he set the bottle back down, popping the toaster oven open, swiftly pulling the four chicken tenders out with his gloved hands, plopping two on the Aussie's plate and two on his own.[/i] "Sounds pretty bad," [i]He simply replied, getting both himself and his new friends some plastic throwaway cutlery, both a knife and a fork... so that they could actually effectively eat.[/i] "But, hey, at least you made it back, eh? Both World Wars were an absolute slaughter, to be honest... humans aren't really the nicest, heh."
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“Yeah...and you seem to have learned a lot. I mean, your people went to space; my people still have monarchies...well, minus the United States, mate, but still...just the shit that humans went through...f*****g ay, mate.” Was his response, eating and gobbling the first tender.
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[i]Jason grinned as he started eating his first tender, thoughtfully chewing on the first bite as he readied his response, brain cranking up as he tried to remember his history lessons. He nodded slowly, rolling his shoulders as he swallowed.[/i] "Aye, yeah, definitely... but, to be fair, pal, there's a good 1500 years between your time period and mine, give or take. Humans advance damn fast."
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“So...it’s 2500 in this place? Or did you just come from the year 2500?” He asked, clearly curious about the fact that he’d be 1519 years old in the eyes of Jason.
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"I came from a different place," [i]Jason said rather simply at first, before elaborating rather quickly.[/i] "An alternate dimension, I suppose -- something of the sort, anyway. Either way, I've no idea what year it is here..."
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“Huh...same. Germans, Ottos...they were winning against us Allies. Ottos were teaming up with the Mongols to clear China out.” He states, going for the second tender.
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"But now, you're here, and you're probably stuck, too. Probably a good thing, too, because you'd probably be living under some oppressive regime if not... or be dead." [i]Jason shrugged, finishing up his first tender with a few big, eager bites, only to wash it down with a shot of vodka, a good sigh of delight coming from him after. He nodded to himself, deeply enjoying his food, his drink, and his company... even if he was supposed to shoot said company.[/i]
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“Yeah...and I guess this is a place of sharpening your skills from your dimension, Huh?” He asked, swinging a drink of vodka into his system.
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"Yeah, basically -- kinda. I came back both for this tournament and for a few people I consider friends, I suppose. Plus, it's a decently nice place... and I don't really have anywhere else to go... Oh well."
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“Same. Just trying to get used to all the shit that’s going on around this place. Damn soldiers with advanced blasters, some medieval group somehow taking over the village, LITERAL dragon-humans and aliens....I can’t wrap my head around all that, man.”
