Duck, Right hook, straight punch, knee to the gut, finish it with a leg sweep and kick to the side. This was a rhythm that Rurik was very used to, his father had taught it to him after all, and it was the same rhythm that had put the man in front of him on the ground. He was a senior at Rurik's high school, and he'd misconceived one of Rurik's jokes as him making a pass at the older man's girlfriend. So, he'd thrown a punch at Rurik, and Rurik had responded in kind. This was why the gentleman was now lying, bruised, on the ground while Rurik turned to the man's girlfriend, saying "Sorry about that! I didn't mean to make it seem like I was hitting on you, I was just joking around y'know? Anyway, seeya later, your boyfriend'll be fine he'll just be a bit bruised."
With that, Rurik took off at a run, heading for his house half a mile away. Rurik couldn't drive yet, not back in Russia and not here, but he didn't mind. After all, running distance had it's advantages, didn't it? After 4 minutes at a light pace, Rurik arrived back at his house, and pulled out his phone. He'd thought that he had felt it vibrate during the run home but he hadn't been sure, though sure enough, he had a text message from Lyn. He hadn't ever really talked to her, so her offer of a camping trip was surprising to Rurik, but he'd accepted none the less. Opening the message, he cocked a smile and replied
Alright, I'll be sure to come along, I'll bring my Machete and my rifle, sound good?
With that, he locked the phone and slid it back into his pocket. He headed to his room to get the rifle ready, while contemplating what to make himself for supper. His aunt was away on a business trip, as per usual, so he was on his own. The good part about this was all he had to do was text her to say he was going, which he already had, and then go. Opening his rifle case, he pulled the weapon out and looked it over. A 30-30 bolt action rifle, whose model he'd never actually known. It'd been sent over with him from Russia, a parting gift from his father. Looking it over and finding it to be in good shape, he put it back in the case and grabbed the 4 5-round magazines he owned, putting them in with it. In his Duffel bag went a small box of 50 rounds, his sheathed machete, and a few extras. Namely a heavy jacket, it got cold at night, a dark-green Du-rag in case he lost the baseball cap he planned to wear, a few water bottles and a canteen. He laughed at himself slightly because he'd packed so light that the big duffel really hadn't been needed. He zipped it shut and then lay back on his bed, sighing to himself and yawning, wondering what may happen on this trip.