>>63632695>Who: Civilian>Where:The Slums>Style: Grappling Orientated>Flavour: Precise and Technical>Motivation: Greater Goal>Quirks: Disciple>Tournament: FFFC>Role: Minor Character
I was raised on the mean streets of paxtown. There were the have's, the have nots and the have nothings. I was the latter. Never knew who my parents were, just like most of the street kids in the slum I called home. I was lucky though. Some old Japanese bastard took me under his wing. Told me he used to be some big shot Judo master back in the day, but needless to say he'd fallen on hard times. He tought me how to move, how to grapple, how to throw. Useful skills for a kid to have since there were a hell of a lot of sickos trying to grab us. Lord knows I got enough chances to practice. The old man insisted on teaching me groundwork as well, said that if they did take me to the mat I needed to know what to do.
Fast forward a few years now I'm the one getting old. I got pretty good in that time, not like I had anything else to do but practice and teach others. The street kids looked up to me, said I was something special. In a world without hope, I wanted to give them something before it was my turn to punch my clock, so I entered the tournament.
Just my luck, the first round was against the protagonist. I knew I was gonna lose, but that was always going to happen. Life isn't about winning, it's about how you cope when you get served a shit sandwitch and I'd had a lot of practice chewing on those. The kids were all watching me, I had to show them that we weren't people who could just be walked all over.
He came at me and my muscle memory kicked in. I landed a few nice throws but he saw through my style. Too meticulous. Then we were down on the mat and I lost to an armbar. He got it eventually, but I made the bastard work for it. We shook hands afterwards. He wasn't such a bad guy and I'd given him a few bruises that he wouln't soon forget.
That's my story. What's yours?