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 Posted: Sat Feb 06, 2010 7:29 pm
|| CATALOGUE ||
01 ❀ PRP: Main Street
02 ❀ PRP: Tranquil Forest
03 ❀ PRP: Tea Leaves
04 ❀ PRP: Road Block
05 ❀ PRP: Bathtime Fun
06 ❀ Solo Battle
07 ❀ Solo Battle
08 ❀ Reflection
09 ❀ Solo Battle
10 ❀ PRP: Not So Bad After All
11 ❀ Solo Battle
12 ❀ PRP: Sewer Rat
13 ❀ PRP: Lullaby for a Stormy Night
14 ❀ PRP: Wait! What is THAT?
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Posted: Sun Feb 28, 2010 8:34 am
|| PRP: Main Street ||
The Mongol sat, bundled in fur in the center of his small yurt. His mother had wanted him to learn how to read and write and record his day-by-day interactions in a journal, but that was clearly not going to happen.
Bataar stared at the journal in his hands; it was of rough make-- the best his family had been able to afford. It was also completely and utterly useless in his opinion. He tossed it aside and considered his next mode of action; on one hand, he didn’t want to get beaten by his mother if she found out he hadn’t been writing, but on the other hand he didn’t feel as if he had the time(or the brainpower) to gain any useful level of literacy. Writing wasn’t about to occur here and he wasn’t about to doodle stick figures in order to depict his day.
The maroon Lunarian frowned, his eyes narrowing as he thought his situation through. The ‘Aha!’ moment soon came. Odval was a shaman, so obviously Tengri had gifted his mother with some form of magical powers. Maybe -- if he was lucky -- he could just inform Tengri, Odval, or the both of them of what happened every day. Bataar grinned, pleased with his idea although anyone with half a brain would have been able to tell that it was destined to fail.
“Mom!” Bat called(rather stupidly), taking it as a good sign when he heard the(it was actually completely random) wind rustle the leaves of a tree just outside his small tent. Tengri was on his side, right? So Odval was sure to hear him!
”Hey Mom, today I beat up a pipsqueak from the Legion.” The youth beamed, rather proud of himself(although the fight had clearly been a draw). ”You see, I was trying to go down the street but then there were a lot of people and this stupid-head ran right into me!” The Lunarian sent a few dodgy looks around his yurt, specifically choosing not to tell his mother about how he’d told Jianyu that his customs involved selling people who ran into Mongols such as himself into slavery. After all, he wasn’t sure if Odval could kill him long-distance(never mind that he wasn’t even talking to his poor mother).
He soon made it past his evident hesitation and went on to tell his mother of the rest of the day’s events. ”So then he takes out an arrow! Like, I didn‘t even have my bow! And so I decided to fight that dumb-face.” Bat threw a fist into his palm, savoring the heroic way in which he was about to describe himself in his fight with Jianyu.
”He missed me the first time he shot me but then he got my leg-- so I went and I punched him to the ground! Of course, Mom, I have to admit that I started feeling sorry for the pipsqueak. So then I left!” Bataar neglected to add that he’d been losing too much blood to continue or, or that the fight had clearly ended in a draw, or even that he’d gotten a scar on his leg(which he actually thought was pretty cool).
”I beat him so bad. And I‘ll do it again!”
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Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 7:01 am
|| PRP: Tranquil Forest ||
Bataar stretched out, grimacing as he hit the walls of his tiny yurt from both directions; it was evident that the Mongol was much too large for his living space. Today he'd been particularly angry but he couldn't figure out a way to vent that didn't involve dropkicking inanimate objects. He sighed, staring up at the ceiling of the dank little tent, curling up in order to preserve the integrity of the space.
It was then that he remembered it had been quite some time since he'd last spoken to his mother. In Bataar's mind, this was as close to a fatal mistake as it got. His mother probably wanted to kill him by now(not that she could even actually hear him)! "Uh, hey Mom. I've been meaning to tell you some things..." The maroon Lunarian frowned in uncertainty, wondering suspiciously if a lightning bolt or some other such thing would come directly down and result in fatality.
"I was enjoying the forest today but suddenly a bead hit me in the eye!" Bat pointed at his eye just for good measure. The experience had, after all, been rather horrific. He hardly ever injured his poor corneas!
"And it was a Legionnaire who did it! Typical." Bataar was, of course, aiming for brownie points from his mother. He'd be pleased if she felt sorry for him, after all; it was a secret joy of his to be coddled by Odval.
Bataar fell back into silence as he reflected on the situation he'd been caught up in. It certainly hadn't been what the barbarian might consider very fun. The Legionnaire had hardly even been amusing! What was the use in fighting if you were going to have someone so utterly boring on the other side? It just wasn't as entertaining to throw the punches from that standpoint.
He sighed and rolled around a bit, scattering a few of the rodents staying in his yurt. "So he was tryin' to act all high and mighty and tell me all this stuff but it didn't work on me!" The key to winning in the eyes of his mother had to be pride and bragging... right? Bat actually wasn't all that sure, but whatever worked. He hadn't been struck down by Tengri's lightning yet. The Mongol would take that as a good sign.
Besides, that Legionnaire had disgusted Bataar to the core. He hated that type the most! He suspected he'd been treated that way simply because he was poor, which was something he wasn't about to deny, but even this smelly boy's morals told him that that was absolutely wrong. "I don't like people who think they're better than me just because they like to take baths!" Obviously, the Noble had been rather traumatized, even if he wasn't willing to admit it.
"But don't worry, Mom. I'm going to kick that guy's a** sometime!" Bataar sounded absolutely determined to do as he claimed he would. It wasn't just for his mother that he was doing this anymore, after all. It was for the sake of his pride and now, he was sure, it was also because he was a Noble, through and through.
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Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 7:02 am
|| PRP: Tea Leaves ||
Bataar was curled up in his yurt toying with one of his many pet rats as he considered the day he'd had. It had certainly been interesting, to say the least. Prowling around in the teahouse evidently hadn't been the best idea in the world, but it had all worked out in the end. Besides, he'd met... her. Bat smiled stupidly as he recalled Kyung, whom he'd firmly decided was a female. It'd seemed like a logical decision at the time so he'd gone along with it and was sticking to it.
"Today I met a girl, Mom!" It was apparently time to begin his irregular 'meetings' with the mother of his that certainly wasn't around to hear. Bat grinned, placing the rat he'd been playing with atop his head before continuing on. "But you wouldn't like her. Her legs are very small." The boy paused a moment to make sure there would be no ill effects after telling his mother such a thing; luckily, nothing happened.
He considered his next words carefully as he thought idly back through his memories. He only wanted to choose the best things to tell Odval, for he was a prideful son. As he sorted through his mind, he carefully set the worst parts aside; mainly, that he had probably been the cause of Kyung's broken wrist. That was something that Odval wouldn't take kindly to if she ever found out, after all, and Bat was not about to risk his life in an attempt to brag about his heroism.
Still, he had to keep some parts in. "So I saw her but then two thugs came up and they were definitely going to attack her!" He paused for the dramatic effect which he believed the gap of silence produced. Now it was certainly time to glorify himself. "So I ran and I saved her!" After must consideration he'd decided to try and leave out the rest, due to the fact that it was pretty hard to avoid telling all about the broken wrist his 'heroism' had resulted in.
Still, he had to figure out a good way to tell Odval that Kyung's father had hired him as a guard. That was sure to make her proud, if anything could. "So later we went to a restaurant and I caught a rat. He was very cute. He's on my head right now." The Mongol went off on a momentary tangent as he elaborated on his newest pet despite the fact that his own mother had always been a little creeped out by his rodent obsession.
He finally caught his train of thought again after having explained the color, special markings, and behavior of the animal to Odval. "So after that Kyung's father came in!" Bat exclaimed, grinning like an idiot at this point. He was proud of himself, so he was sure Odval would be, too! "And he hired me!" Bat sighed happily, finally relaxing back from his story. His situation had apparently changed for the better.
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Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 7:03 am
|| PRP: Road Block ||
Another day, another meeting, another story to proudly present to his mother. Reflection and explanation weren't things the Mongol particularly enjoyed, but he was willing to deal with them in order not to get beaten the minute he decided to visit home. He thought back to earlier in the morning, when he'd gotten a surprise of a wake-up call. He was still deeply in Asura's debt, he knew.
He scratched his head before starting up his little story. "So this morning a rat woke me up." This statement could leave no doubt in one's mind that Bat wasn't exactly the most intelligent creature on the face of the earth. Apparently, that had been a rather big event in the youth's mind. "So then, you know, I scolded it a little. But then I saw something nudging at my yurt! And I thought, it must be a rat trying to get in!" Bataar had believed the hypothesis to be a good one at the time, after all.
He recalled his surprise at meeting Asura and tried to bring some of that tone into his voice. "It was a girl, though. And-- can you believe it? --she said my yurt was in her way!" The Mongol took a moment to pout at his lack of understanding concerning property ownership and the uses of public property. He wondered idly just what his mother's expression would be like right now if he could see it as he was explaining to her. Would she be shocked, or would she have known?
He decided on the former before going along with the tale. "I was very hungry, anyway, and she had vegetables, so I couldn't help myself. I took a potato and started eating it-- raw." Bat was beginning to sound very serious at this point as he thought back to earlier in the morning. He had put himself in serious danger! Well, that was what he believed, at least, from what Asura had told him.
"But, Mom, she saved me! I'm alive because of that girl! I had no idea raw potatoes were poisonous." Bat declared, sounding very sober. It would have been terrible if someone as great as him had died by means of potato-poisoning, after all. He viewed his concern as extremely understandable, especially since he'd never realized Asura might not have been telling the complete truth.
He finished up his pensive moment in order to inform Odval about the rest of what had occurred that day. "So then my yurt got moved and I walked to the market with her! She even agreed to feed me." He cut himself off around the last part because his mother would have balked if she realized that he was freely accepting charity. He'd been really hungry, though! It was just too hard to try and eat his best rat friends in the world.
In any case, he was hoping to meet the farmer girl again. She didn't seem as mean as everyone else he'd met in the city so far did. Perhaps it was because she'd come from the outskirts, just as he had. He'd felt a sort of connection, in any case, and he was hoping that it meant Asura would agree to be his friend, as lame as that had to sound.
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Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 7:04 am
|| PRP: Bathtime Fun ||
This was one time where Bataar didn't know if he'd really be able to explain anything to Odval. Still, he was pretty certain his mother didn't know any of the strange city customs, so maybe he could make it sound just like that so he'd have the clear advantage. Plus he could always make himself the victim of his peers when he talked about it. They had, after all, told him how great spying at night in the bathouse was-- and it had definitely been pretty great, in Bat's opinion.
"You won't get it, Mom, because you've never been to the city, so just take it from someone who knows!" Bat could hardly have been considered someone who knew, however, because he was terribly lost and out of place here, anyway, but Odval didn't have to know about that part. "They have these places called bathouses, though, where everyone goes to take baths!" Bat knew he was probably starting to sound odd, because his mother knew full well he detested cleanliness and bathing. Still, he had a feeling he could get away with it... this time, at least.
He paused to consider his words before going on. "So I went because a few friends wanted me to." He didn't mention that the so-called friends were Legionnaires because Odval would've had a fit and he also didn't make a note of the fact that they were bullies, but the latter bit was more because he didn't realize it himself. He probably would have been rather upset had he known they'd tried to send him to scar him from life through making him see naked old women. Luckily for the Mongol, things hadn't exactly worked out in the other boys' favor.
"There was a pretty girl there!" He wasn't sure if his mother knew if the place was separated out by gender or not, but he hoped not. "Not that I saw anything." He added in a dodgy little mutter. He had managed to see quite a bit of Nilgün, in truth, but she hadn't even seemed to care. His mother definitely didn't need to know about all the bits and pieces on the side, though, so he refrained from saying another word about it.
So what else could he tell her without getting killed? "Oh! Well, I wasn't planning on taking a bath, but I sort of fell in." He didn't mention that Nilgün had 'accidentally' caused him to topple in. Still, he'd had to deal with quite a bit of injustice, getting his boots wet and everything! His manly stench had been greatly reduced, besides, which was very displeasing to the filthy Mongol.
Bat failed to mention the fact that he'd blatantly attempted to grope Nilgün and had failed miserably. He also didn't care to add in the part about the old lady walking in and discovering them. He couldn't have his mother aware of those itsy-bitsy details! "Well, at least after I took my bath she decided to have fun fighting with me, so I'm still not terribly clean." In the end, victory was still his.
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Posted: Fri Mar 12, 2010 1:40 pm
|| SOLO BATTLE ||
Bataar walked down the street, whistling in a manner that made it clear that he was as tone deaf as he was stupid. He hadn't really been paying attention to his surroundings, so he felt a little caught off-guard when he found himself in the district of the Imperial City that housed most of the bathing facilities. It always made the stinky Mongol a little nervous to walk through this area, and his expression began to grow somewhat dodgy.
It didn't help that many of the owners of the bathouses were out on the streets gossiping like the old ladies they were. Bat huffed incredulously as he dodged about the narrow street in a zig-zag motion, trying his hardest not to catch the attention of any of the nice-smelling ladies. His plan failed, however, when he ran right into one of them.
When he tried to run his ear was snatched by the woman, who was surprisingly strong for her age. "And what d'you think yer doin', sonny?" She growled, her voice gravelly. In truth, it looked as if the owner of the bathouse was about to gag due to Bat's powerful smell, but she managed to hold herself back. "Come for a bath? I'll give you one for free!"
"No thanks, lady!" The Mongol replied, trying to remove her fingers from his ear and failing. She had an iron grip. "Pff. I am a great advantage for the Nobles with an odor such as this!" He added proudly, puffing his chest out. It hadn't occurred to him that the old lady might be a Legionnaire as opposed to a Noble, after all. He'd been too idiotic to consider that particular possibility.
The old woman's eyes narrowed as she listened to Bataar, and she reached out with one hand to deal a cruel little pinch to his cheek. "You're bathing today, like it or not, you filthy Noble! What makes you think a Legionnaire such as myself is going to deal with your stench on the streets of the city?!" She was beginning to get pretty angry, after all; this Noble's smell was almost too much to handle. She would go as far as to say he hadn't bathed in weeks.
If there was one thing he hated, it was bathing. Above all, cleanliness was the bane of Bataar's existence, plus it made no sense for someone who managed to get dirty as easily as he did."Don't even try, you old hag!" Bat didn't bother with being gentle as he forcefully pried her hand off of his ear.
The bathouse owner narrowed her eyes and proceeded to land a kick to Bataar's(previously injured) leg. Because of the arrow that had buried itself there the day he'd first fought with Jianyu, the pain was rather immense. He winced and groaned softly in pain before backhanding the lady; he didn't care if she was old. She was a Legionnaire and she wanted him to take a bath! That was definitely unacceptable.
"You little...!" The old woman looked horrified as she smacked Bat's face right back. "Take a bath, you idiot!" She screeched, trying to hold her breath to some extent. It was hard being this close to someone who smelled so very terrible. She really wanted to know who the parents of this boy were; they probably should have been arrested for raising such a son!
Bat growled as the smack hit his face, but he didn't looked all that affected by the hit. This old lady wasn't as weak as she looked, but she also didn't seem like she was any match for him."I am not little!" He objected, backhanding her on her other cheek. He didn't exactly want to punch her, after all... He'd only do that if he absolutely had to! An old lady wasn't worth his amazing punching skill.
"That is not what we're disputing! You smell terrible!" The Legionnaire attempted to claw at Bat's face, failing at that, but succeeding at grabbing his braids in order to pull at them and to try and direct him into her bathouse. An oaf such as this would only come if she could manage to force him.
"So what if I smell bad! I told you I'm not taking a bath!" Bat grabbed the two wizened hands that had hold of his braids and managed to pry them off; he'd been more than just a little horrified when she'd started dragging him in the direction of the bathouse. He couldn't let that happen! If he were to give in... all sorts of bad things would occur! That was what he told himself, at least.
"It's not that bad." The old woman huffed, reaching for Bat's shirt so she could try to drag him along by that, instead. She was going to try to get him into that bath no matter what! She pulled and tugged and yelled, but the oaf before her refused to budge. He seemed to have some very deep fear of bathing that made absolutely no sense to the owner of the bathouse.
Bataar had figured out by now that he could bide his time and just wait until the old woman ran out of time and energy before hitting her again and running off. She was a spry old thing and right now he wasn't too keen to run away, because he had a feeling she'd run right on after him. Bat had nightmares about baths. They were that bad; it didn't matter what this hag was trying to tell him! "Let go of my shirt!" Maybe, if he was lucky, she'd give up soon.
"Don't just assume I'm going to give up, sonny!" The old lady shook her fist, absolutely certain that she was on the side of justice here. Too bad for her there was no possible way that Bat was about to cooperate with her wishes. She'd failed to realize just how much the Mongol detested bathing.
He couldn't help it. It had just... happened. One minute she'd been yelling at him and the next... well, his fist kind of connected with her face. Bataar watched in surprise as the Legionnaire fell to the ground in a dead-faint and glanced around. Just about every bathouse owner on the street had come out to watch and now they were slowly advancing.
"Oh, s**t." was all the Mongol muttered before deciding to run for his life. Now he'd really have to remember to avoid this place. He watched, his eyes wide as one woman forcefully threw a wet towel at his face and managed to catch it, surprised at the weight it held. Wait a minute. Towels were dangerous?
The Mongol stared at his new weapon before rolling it up and holding it, having created a whip-like weapon for himself seeing as he had to fight his way out of this crowd of old ladies. "OUCH." He screeched as a bar of soap flew and hit his head. That was low. Almost as low as his next move, when he knocked the lady who'd thrown it at him over with the wet towel.
His situation was only complicated when a metal wash tub was chucked at him by two lovely ladies. He caught it and bowled them over with it, looking rather unsympathetic as he twisted and hit another lady in the face with his towel-whip. Some of the women who'd come out to try and attack him were starting to look faintly scared at this point. They apparently hadn't expected that he'd be fighting back with such enthusiasm.
"I. WILL. NOT. TAKE. A. BATH." Bataar made himself very clear as he picked up another wash tub and threw it, frisbee-like, at two ladies who'd just dragged out a crate of soap apparently trying to bruise him up by throwing quite a few at a time. Whatever the plan, it wasn't going to work now seeing as they were down on the ground screaming like imbeciles.
Apparently they hadn't been done with the sopping towels yet, either, because the next thing Bat knew, there was one around his neck. It only took two seconds for the Mongol to deduce that that was an absolutely terrible way to die before he twisted around and proceeded to punch the lady's face out. A few other women were beginning to dart hurriedly into their bathouses now, where Bataar would surely not follow. He wasn't about to face off with women who could push him right into the bath!
Keeping careful hold of his towel-whip, the Mongol began to run away from the scene of the fight. There was no doubt in his mind that, if he were ever to come back, he might just lose his life and end up drowning in one of the baths there. Still, his battle royale of sorts had ended in victory; he'd left a few evil ladies unconscious and had made the rest run away.
Bataar had evaded a bath for another day.
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Posted: Fri Mar 12, 2010 1:40 pm
|| SOLO BATTLE ||
For once, he knew exactly where he was. Bataar gazed around the marketplace, his eyes wide as he assessed the horrors before his eyes. Poison. Everywhere. The sheer volume of potatoes was enough to make any sane man want to run into a corner and hide. Asura had informed him that potatoes were poisonous, and he had taken to her advice as if it were religion itself. It didn’t matter that she’d claimed that cooked potatoes were quite alright-- these uncooked, inanimate beasts were providing Bat with some serious issues.
The maroon Lunarian stomped up to a vendor and stabbed a finger at the older man accusingly. He was a hero, and heroes looked out for society. "Just what do you think you're doing, trying to sell people this venom?!" Bat snatched a potato and waved it in the man's face, having felt bold enough to touch it. He should be okay so long as he didn't eat the thing.
He felt like quite the activist, although the old man clearly didn't seem to think so. "What are you doing with my potato, sonny?" The farmer grabbed the vegetable back, placing it carefully-- almost lovingly -- back on top of the pile of other potatoes that he'd set out earlier that morning. "You'd best run along, now." the man added, looking rather friendly.
"...Your love of money blinds you!" Bataar declared, looking altogether horrified. How many innocents had already fallen victim to this old man's greed? Whatever the number, he looked as if he'd been selling these potatoes for an awfully long time. Bat despised him already. Why would he be so set on the deaths of so many? Obviously, this guy had extremely malign intent.
"What are you talkin' about?" The usually-patient old man grimaced, beginning to eye the Mongol as if he'd really lost his marbles. Clearly, this boy had a few issues.
"Your potatoes!" The maroon Lunarian's green eyes narrowed. "I know you know they're poison!" How could this guy act all nice and clueless when he was really just a cold-blooded killer? The Mongol was appalled. "You... you must be a Legionnaire, thinking you can kill a Noble such as myself with one of those monsters!" Bat regarded the inanimate objects as if they were fearsome creatures.
"...A Noble? Is that what this is about?" The farmer frowned and began to look rather irked. He was indeed a Legionnaire, and he could only assume that Bataar had come here specifically to harass him because, obviously, potatoes were not poisonous. "Look here, sonny, I don't want none of your trouble now, you hear me?" He shook his arthritic fist in the stinky youth's face.
"My trouble?!" The Mongol looked rather ruffled at the old man's suggestion. "You're the murderer here, not me!" he snorted, making an effort to look both threatening and formidable. Any respect for his elders that his mother had taught him flew out the window as he glared down at the vendor. This was downright intolerable! He had to stop this, and right away. And so, with that desperate thought in mind, Bataar decided to kick the farmer's vegetable stand full of potatoes right on its side, watching triumphantly as the produce spilled out into the street. "And don't you dare sell those ever again! I mean, that's messed up, man." He declared with sincerity. Little did he know that his encounter was far from over.
As he turned away, a potato smacked into his broad back. He pivoted, his emerald orbs appraising the Legionnaire who'd thrown the projectile. If the farmer hadn't been elderly, he would have probably thrown a punch at this point, but the ability eluded Bataar. There were some things that you just didn't do, even if you were a smelly Mongol.
"Pick up my potatoes." The farmer demanded with surprising authority. The brawny teenager before him was really trying his temper at this point. He refused to endure harassment from a Noble beast such as this. "You get over here right now, sonny, and pick up my darned potatoes!" He wasn't going to let Bataar get away until he cleaned up the mess he'd made and bothered to apologize. Hadn't this kid ever learned any manners?
"No way in hell!" Bataar was against cleaning things up in the first place, let alone those hazardous potatoes. "Clean 'em up yourself!" he shouted, failing to dodge another potato, which crashed into his chest, having been thrown surprisingly hard. "Geez, old man, stop throwing those!" He'd been being heroic here! He didn't deserve some Legionnaire farmer trying to attack him with potatoes. Plus, who used potatoes as physical weapons, anyway? That was just plain uncreative, but probably to be expected from an elderly farmer. Besides, he doubted the vegetables would leave many bruises, if any; little did he know that he was sure to wake up the next day with aches that potatoes alone would be responsible for.
"You rude little Noble!" The vendor cried, ignoring Bataar's substantial height and muscular physique in his generalization. He chucked another potato, looking unafraid. He'd been a fighter in his day, after all, but he didn't believe he needed brute strength in order to show this boy his place-- they were beginning to gather attention from many of the Legionnaire vendors the elderly farmer got along with. "I refuse to stop. How about you stop being a brat?" And with that, he threw another potato-- right at Bat's head.
The potato's collision with his head was admittedly painful. Hard-headed or not; it had been a direct hit. "OUCH!" the maroon Lunarian exclaimed, impulsively grabbing the vegetable off the ground and chucking it lightly at the farmer. It hit its mark without much power behind it, then bounced to the ground. It was evident that there had been absolutely no damage done, but Bat had morals enough not to full-out launch an attack on an elderly man. "I am not a brat."
"I gave you your chance!" the vendor declared, outraged, after he'd been hit with the potato. In his opinion, he'd given Bataar much more of a chance than the Mongol had ever deserved. Now he was promising himself that, before the end of the day, he'd get to see this Noble beaten to a pulp. He took a step closer to Bataar, aiming for a harder hit with the vegetable in his hand this time, although he grimaced as the brawny youth's full smell bowled into him. "You're putrid!" Having said that, he made his throw. What his opponent surely didn't know, was that that was the distraction; the old man put all his power behind driving a punch into the maroon Lunarian's sculpted abdomen, succeeding in knocking the air out of him.
Bat's eyes were locked on the potato the moment the farmer's fist hit his stomach. For a brief moment, he was filled with shock, but he quickly managed to recover himself. He angrily grabbed the farmer's fist, as if to prevent any further attacks coming from the old guy. He shouted a few angry, incoherent curses at the vendor, attracting even more attention from their gathering audience.
The elderly man let out a loud cry as Bataar snatched his fist, doing it less because it hurt and more because he was acting for the audience just near them. After all, how could some big, scary Mongol hurt a little old man? That was just cruel! "This Noble-- I think he wants to beat me!" The man declared, hiding the faintest hint of a smirk. Bataar was about to be met with his proper punishment, and this particular farmer wouldn't be too bothered if someone dealt it out in his stead.
"Hey! Let that poor old man go!" Bataar glanced around, wide-eyed, as another potato smacked into his back, having the good grace to grimace in horror as he registered that he was now surrounded by at least five burly, angry-looking vegetable farmers, all with potatoes in hand. They somehow looked like they knew how to give a good beating.
"Hey, wait a minute! You're all selling those poisonous potatoes!" This was a conspiracy! Bataar kept his hold on the old man, who was beginning to look openly smug about the whole situation. "Hey, old guy, all you have to do is stop selling potatoes and then I promise I'll spare you." Bat declared, trying to look somewhat gracious as he spoke to his now-captive.
Things didn't exactly work in his favor from that point.
Blocking potatoes, tomatoes, and the occasional cucumber, Bat had found himself in a bad situation immediately after he'd last talked to the farmer. He'd been pried away and the subsequently attacked by a boatload of potato-selling Legionnaires. Vegetables weren't supposed to cause bruises, but the Mongol could certainly tell that the large purple marks were sure to bloom on his tanned skin by the next morning.
The maroon Lunarian winced and grimaced, his green eyes momentarily flicking over to the wooden crate that the farmer had carried his vegetables in just that morning to the market. That would do the trick; it had to. Bat snatched the crate up and threw it at the burly men, feeling a faint satisfaction as he heard one of them cry out in pain, but he was ill-prepared when he started getting pummeled by fists as opposed to vegetables(which, now that he thought about it, had felt a whole lot softer). He fought back, but the few successful hits he managed to land were far outnumbered by those punches that drove into him. Before he knew it, he'd been knocked to the ground.
The guy who looked like the leader of the farmers approached Bataar, his foot connecting with Bataar's side and causing an audible crack; the Mongol was pretty sure a rib or two had just been broken. "You stupid Noble! Don't you dare show your face here again!" It was clear that he hadn't been expecting the maroon Lunarian to latch onto his leg and pull him right over, where Bat engaged in a vicious wrestling match with the man.
They rolled around on the ground, Bataar's fist connecting with the man's nose, while the other Lunarian's knee met with the brawny teenager's stomach, completely winding him. Before he even realized it, the match was over, the farmer was getting up, and Bat was flat on his back in the middle of the dusty street.
And one of the farmers had a pitchfork, and a coil of rope.
"What the <********>, man?!"
About ten minutes later, Bat was tied to a tree. Upside down. There was no way in hell he was going to get anymore potato farmers angry-- not anytime soon, at least.
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Posted: Fri Mar 12, 2010 1:42 pm
|| REFLECTION ||
He was so tired. Beyond that, he was outside.
The man opened his jade-green eyes slowly, his lips forming into a grimace as he tried to shake away the last few cobwebs of sleep that had settled over him. There was no helping it, though, when not even the kiss of the cool morning air could force him into a completely conscious state.
Such exhaustion was rare for Bataar, and yet completely understandable given his situation. After all, it wasn’t every day that one’s mother decided to drop by, and he’d been given absolutely no forewarning. It wasn’t something he’d expected despite the fact that his graduation from the academy had been rapidly approaching; Odval had never exactly been a shining example of the supportive parent.
But she’d come, with a pathetic, shaggy pony trailing miserably behind her, his father’s old bow, a quiver of arrows, and furs with which to endure the winter. She’d also come screaming, raging, ready to give him a few black eyes he’d never forget. An “unacceptable lack of communication” had occurred, as she’d put it, as if he were expected to somehow figure out just how to speak with her despite their lack of proximity. Certainly, he was considered by many as thick-headed, but that wasn’t proof that Bat was utterly unintelligent; even he had enough wit about him to figure out that Odval’s demands were, at the very least, completely impractical.
Beyond that, Odval had arrived with news; something she felt indifferent about, but something that had the ability to hit Bataar right in the very pit of his stomach. Chuluun had not survived even to hear the news of his son’s graduation from the Academy. It was true that the Mongol had never been particularly attached to his distant father, but it was also true that the emotion welling up inside of him was not grief. It was rage.
Odval had been unaffected; pleased, even. Bataar wasn’t entirely certain how he’d even been born to such a woman, and it was something that frustrated him to no end. He was obedient, yes, loyal to the point of seeming slavish to the shaman, but that only meant he was guilty of not wanting a split lip. His rough-and-tumble exterior was a lie when it came to his mother; she was nothing short of a tyrant.
She was also in this exclusively for herself. Whatever benefit she got out of Bataar’s rise in the ranks, it was something important enough to warrant showing up.
Showing up and stealing his yurt. Kicking out his rats.
The Mongol fumed as he sat up, doing his best to disregard the cold stone beneath him as well as the subtle aches derived from sleeping on completely unpadded stone for an entire night. He knew as well as anyone that there was no use in taking this to heart; he’d graduated to the position of Fighter-- there were more important things now. That in itself had been a miracle!
He only hoped Odval wouldn’t prolong her stay for any reason.
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Posted: Sat Mar 13, 2010 3:13 am
|| SOLO BATTLE ||
The street was blanketed in a thick fog, caused by the steam of the many bathouses that lined it. An eerie quiet permeated the heavy air, although many patrons strolled about, some clean with damp hair and others looking for time to relax and bathe. Bataar stood in the middle of all of this, his eyes trained on a particular strip that was full of bathouses which he knew were run by legionnaires. This specific knowledge had come from a run-in once some time ago, when the cruel women had attempted to force him into bathing, and he’d spent many sleepless nights considering his opponents, who’d nearly gotten the better of him when he’d been but a student.
And now, through some cruel twist of events, he’d returned. Still, he fully planned on a rematch for quite some time now; it seemed only right now that he had a weapon that he should beat them properly. Using towels had been iffy, and he’d definitely run away, whether or not he liked to admit it. Still, those ladies had been rather terrifying, what with their buckets and sponges. He didn’t like them, and he certainly disliked the institutions that they ran. Bathouses were unnecessary to society, especially legionnaire-run ones! And that was why he was going to fix this, and destroy the establishments along the street.
Well, that was the plan.
His fingers absently brushed against his arrows, feeling the contrast of the smooth wood and the soft feathers. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to destroy an entire bathouse with just a bow, an arrow, and his muscles, but it was worth a try. To make the world a better place, he assured himself. Never mind that he was accepting regular baths from Yuudai in exchange for sustenance; that was different! That was an inn, after all. Not a bathouse. That meant that he wasn’t hypocritical in the slightest! Besides, he needed food. People didn’t need baths if they weren’t bribed for them.
And so here he was, walking slowly in the direction of the legionnaire-run establishment, one hand wrapped tightly around his bow and the other brushing against his arrows, perfectly ready to smoothly pull one out in order to shoot any enemies. He strolled into the bathouse, trying his best to act normal although many people were staring at him due to his sheer size as well as his terrible odor. Beyond that, he was clutching at his weapon quite conspicuously, and had quite a dodgy expression upon his face as he glanced around at the patrons of the bathouse.
“May I help you?” A woman addressed him, both of her eyebrows raised as she observed the beastly Mongolian man. Had she seem him before? He seemed… familiar. A little too familiar, now that she peered at him more carefully. She didn’t recall him bathing at her facility, and she couldn’t quite place her finger on the last time she’d seen him. What she didn’t realize was that he’d grown bulkier since the last time she’d seen him, and had gone from the rank of a student to a fighter.
”You! You’re the one who smacked me with a towel!” the Mongol declared, suddenly outraged, poising his bow and arrow at the legionnaire. It was surprising that he actually recognized her, considering the time that had passed since their last run-in. He watched as her eyes widened just a fraction, registering her recognition with a grim expression. Clearly, she knew it was time to fight.
But she failed to swing a punch. Instead, she started backing up, into the men’s bathing area, watching warily as Bataar followed after her. Once inside, she decided it would be prudent to alert the patrons of the bathouse of the situation. The woman screamed. Bataar jumped, looking disturbed by the action, failing to avoid the soaking wet sponge that was flung directly at his face. It smacked into him with a thud, causing water to stream down his face, which was now a lot cleaner than it had been before he’d been attacked. ”Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he cried, looking fearful as she picked up a towel to attack him. These bathouse ladies knew how to kill with their simple supplies, Bat was well aware.
And so the Mongol saw that he only had one option left. He jumped into the bath.
It was surprising that his life hadn’t ended then and there as he collided with the water, looking track of his bow as well as his sheath of arrows. The water was hot, nearly scalding, and he was soon soaked through. He shed some of his extra fur, which he’d been using before to keep himself warm, and broke the surface of the water to gasp for air. Unfortunately, the owner of the bathouse was still there, and she had her employees assembled, ready to kill the Mongol. Bataar gaped and ducked back down in the water, staying down for only a short time before coming back up again, revealing a complete inability to hold his breath underwater.
His eyes flitted around as he desperately splashed around, searching for his lost weapons in the steaming waters, but his search was to no avail. He was absolutely weaponless; clearly, Bataar would have to improvise. His eyes landed on a wooden bucket, and he saw his chance. Upon an impulse decision, he clambered out of the bath and shot towards the bucket, snatching it up and bowling it towards his enemies. ”Take that, you dumbfaces!” Unfortunately, the legionnaires were almost completely unaffected by the move.
Actually, he could have almost sworn that he’d given them a weapon to use against him. A wimper escaped from the man’s lips as he watched an attendant pick up the bucket and advance in his direction. ”I didn’t mean—I… I just came for a bath!” he struggled to make up a decent excuse, his green eyes wide with terror. He was clearly outnumbered, not to mention completely out of his element. He lashed out at the attendant, punching him square in the jaw and observing the blood that trickled from the legionnaire’s mouth with some satisfaction. Perhaps he wasn’t completely screwed.
Then again, maybe he was.
“You’re going down. And getting a bath.” Clearly, this guy had been present the last time he’d had his little conflict; he knew the Mongol was fearful of bathing. Bataar stared, his mouth agape as the other man finally stood but a few feet from him. Before he knew what was happening, the wooden bucket had been cracked over his head, breaking the skin and nearly knocking him out in the process. The Mongol stumbled back, gingerly placing a hand to his head, grimacing as he came into contact with the warm liquid that was surely his own blood.
”I don’t even have a weapon!” he objected, ignoring the fact that he’d come in with a weapon raised himself against the unarmed legionnaires. Clearly, these men and women recognized that he’d done just that, and failed to take pity on Bataar. The fight had suddenly spiraled out of the Mongol’s control, and he knew it. There was only one option, now: Run.
He certainly tried, but hands closed on his arms, vice-like. He was no match for them anymore, besides. He’d lost an impressive amount of blood after being hit over the head, and was beginning to feel light-headed. He was weaker than he’d been before, certainly, and was beginning to feel rather panicked. He faintly sensed that he was being dragged, and only realized just what was happening after he’d been unclothed and placed back into the bath. The woman in charge of the bathouse knew that nothing would give him greater pain than being cleaned from head to toe—and without even the promise of food, afterwards! The mere idea was absolutely painful to the Mongol.
”Lemme go!” he begged deliriously, clawing at the attendants as they began to roughly scrub him clean. He’d actually been planning on getting really filthy in order to go to Yuudai for extra food, but clearly his plan had backfired terribly. He could have sworn they were aiming to scrape his very skin off, although they were probably just cleaning off the dirt. Soon they began to scrub his hair, pulling out the knots and tangles roughly, causing Bat to cry out weakly as he dealt with the ordeal. He also noted absently that the legionnaires happened to be taking their sweet time torturing him, finally choosing to bandage his head in order to staunch the now-sluggish bleeding they’d caused.
They then set him out on the street, upright but barely conscious, and amazingly clean and well-scented. He had lost, and he had gotten badly injured in the process. This time, he had definitely failed, and he hadn’t even managed to run away! There was no way he was ever going to allow himself to end up here again. Bathing was just too terrible a fate(especially, he noted, when one wasn’t fed for consenting).
He was getting worse and worse at avoiding bathing.
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Posted: Tue Apr 20, 2010 5:46 pm
|| PRP: Not So Bad After All ||
The man sat in his yurt, feeling a little on the over-sized side when it came to the small structure, but remaining comfortable all the same what with his pet rats poking about and his pile of furs as soft as ever. He suspected it was time to address his mother again, to tell her just what it was like to be a fighter, perhaps, or to explain his latest meeting with Jianyu, where he’d gained victory in battle. He liked that idea best, seeing as he did enjoy boasting about his triumphs in battle, and his mother was sure to be proud of him, he suspected.
”Hey, mom,” he started out by greeting the absent woman casually, grinning lazily. ”Earlier, I met Jianyu on the hill, and I think he was happy because he’s gay for me, you know. And even though he’s a legionnaire, I think he’s my buddy.” the Mongolian man rambled, looking rather pleased with himself as he continued on with his conversation; his assumptions that Odval was omniscient and, perhaps loving on occasion were allowing him this kind of open speech with her, as scary as she was in person. Besides, she was sure to like her son a lot better if she was aware of just how amazing he could be!
He hesitated, considering his next words as he pored over the events earlier that day. ”It was really cold today…” he mumbled, twiddling his thumbs and silently considering the cloak that Jianyu had given him—he was wearing it at this very moment, and he rubbed the soft cloth gently, feeling faintly confused by whatever odd feeling was trapped hopelessly within his chest. He wouldn’t tell Odval about the cloak; beyond the fact that she despised accepting charity, Jianyu was a legionnaire and therefore someone she probably didn’t want Bat associating with in the first place. He supposed this was an acceptable idea, considering it from her position, but it was frustrating all the same. He considered Jianyu to be his friend.
He flushed a little, recalling his kiss to the cheek that he’d gifted Jianyu with, feeling a little regret. It wasn’t that it had been terrible of him to do it or anything, but now he was experiencing confusion that he rarely had to deal with. There was an odd sort of fluttering within his chest at the thought of the other man that he didn’t want to admit to, because it felt like something that others might consider wrong. He simply didn’t realize that he was attracted to the other fighter, and so was grappling with his feelings around the situation. It was almost too much to face.
But he had to continue, Surely Odval would wonder why he was pausing, and might suspect something! He stuttered a little as he launched into a brief explanation of the fight. ”I totally kicked his a**!” he assured Odval, feeling a little more callous than usual as he went about telling his mother about the different moves he had used to gain victory, leaving out the parts where Jianyu had managed to gain an advantage over him.
He could save these sentimental oddities to deal with on another day.
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Posted: Wed Apr 28, 2010 3:40 am
|| SOLO BATTLE ||
The farmer’s market was bustling with activity, loud with the clamor of bargaining and selling, as well as advertising. One man stood in the middle of it all, his eyes searching as he observed vegetable stalls owned by the legionnaires especially. He was a spy, specifically for the Nobles, he assured himself, although his superiors probably hadn’t meant for him to spy on simple vegetable farmers while he was supposed to be gathering useful enemy intel. He knew they were evil, however, and that they were planning on poisoning each and every one of the Nobles in the Imperial City with their blasphemous veggies. The Mongol studiously ignored the fact that the majority of their customers were obviously legionnaires.
Actually, the clamor had died down to some extent around the area Bataar was spying from. He’d holed up in one of the areas just between the vegetable stalls and was standing conspicuously, holding tightly onto his bow with an arrow in his other hand, ready to shoot any legionnaire who wanted to readily kill a Noble. What he didn’t know, though, was just how obvious his presence was, and that he was scaring away many of the legionnaires’ customers. Beyond that, he was making them angry, and they were chatting amongst themselves, beginning to realize that Bat had certainly been around the market before; wasn’t he that Noble that they’d tied upside down to a tree when he’d tried to attack some old guy? Yes, that was him!
Despite the fact that he was supposed to be spying, it appeared that the maroon Lunarian really didn’t notice that everyone else saw him and walking talking about him with odd looks on their face. He also didn’t know that they were trying to figure out just which course of action to take with him; should they tie him upside down to another tree or give him a chance and tell him to just get the hell away? Either course of action would have offended the Mongolian into trying to fight, however, which was what they didn’t know. Their only worry was that he’d somehow manage to hurt someone if they actually did decide to be violent; his muscle mass was more pronounced than the last time he’d been to the market and been beaten, and he had a weapon this time. The farmers had pitchforks, yes; but was it even worth the trouble?
They decided that it wasn’t. One man strolled over to Bataar, then, clearly not harboring any violent intent against the fighter. “Could you please leave?” the man asked reasonably. “You’re scaring away our customers.” What he didn’t know was that he should have come over armed with a pitchfork or a crate or something of the sort, because he had just offended the Mongolian man beyond belief.
”You want me to leave?” Bataar demanded hotly, the color rising in his cheeks as he assessed the farmer. The man didn’t have any weapons, but he did look rather burly; Bat’s muscles were certainly bigger, but this guy could clearly put up a fight. ”I refuse! You’re just trying to poison Nobles with your vegetables—and your potatoes, especially! You’re sick!” he declared, making an absolute scene in the middle of the street. The farmer looked confused, and a little afraid of what was to come, which was probably practical seeing as Bataar was clutching his weapons and even looked dangerous without them.
Clearly, he was not planning on leaving. Worse yet, he was planning on a fight. ”You guys may have won a fight against me once, but now I’m stronger and I have a weapon.” he grinned, motioning to the bow and arrow he was holding. That had been a bad idea, however, mainly because bragging about his weapon only increased the attention focused on the long-distance bow. Before he realized exactly what was happening, it was snatched from him along with his arrows and he was left weaponless, only able to rely on his hand-to-hand combat and wrestling skills. Now he was the one who needed to worry about the weapons, because while his bow had been thrown aside, many of the farmers were arming themselves with pitchforks. And with one man against a group of four or five with sharp metal pitchforks, it didn’t matter how many muscles he’d developed!
Bataar decided it was long past time to negotiate. ”C’mon now, guys. Wait! Why don’t we talk this over? You have problems, I have problems… let’s resolve our issues in words, okay?” This unprecedented statement coming from Bat was surprising, but it was also ignored by every one of the farmers. They’d been considering beating him up in the first place, and now he’d given them every excuse to try out their farming tools as actual weapons—again. Whatever the case, he disliked his predicament. He loved a good fight, but this, it seemed, would be less of a good fight and more of a ganging up of scary legionnaire farmers, looking rather rabid with pitchforks in hand.
Not only that, but it seemed that an audience of little legionnaire kiddies had lined up and armed themselves with potatoes(the horror!) along with various vegetables. There was no way they were going to talk this one over, no matter what the Mongol did. He was a Noble, and a pesky one at that, and they were a group of legionnaires who were sick of his harassment and so-called “spying.” What mattered the most wasn’t even the last run-in for these men; it was the fact that Bataar had been studiously scaring away their business, with many customers choosing to go along to different stalls just to avoid the formidable-looking muscular beast that was prowling about.
Bataar knew he was in serious trouble the moment the first potato slammed into his face. ”That stupid little kid can throw!” he cried in outrage, holding his cheek and slowly backing up, his eyes concentrating on the pitchforks that were being actively brandished in his direction. Well, he could honestly say that he regretted his decision to come here, despite his desire for a rematch. He’d kind of expected to only be quarreling with one farmer; now that it was four or so, with evil little kids as back up, he’d certainly changed his mind.
It didn’t look like there was anything he could do to change things, however, and so Bataar did something very stupid. He stepped forward and kicked one of the men’s legs, watching triumphantly as he fell over. He then snatched up his pitchfork and held it threateningly towards the other three farmers, who each looked faintly perturbed. The Mongol swung, smirking darkly as the makeshift weapon connected with the side of another farmer, who was knocked to the ground from the blow. Vegetables subsequently smashed into the beastly man, but he felt as if he were on a roll.
What he didn’t expect was for one of the two standing farmers to slam his pitchfork into his shoulder. Bat immediately grabbed the injury, dropping his pitchfork and crying out in indignation as he registered the damage done. There was no way he was punching with that arm, let alone holding any sort of weapon. He’d be surprised if there weren’t any fractures on his collarbone or shoulder at this point. His only option seemed to be escape, although that did not bode well, especially seeing as he was surrounded. The two farmers he’d managed to knock down were slowly rising from the ground, looking as pissed off as ever.
Oops. ”Hey, uh, sorry, man. That was an accident.” Bat held his hands up in a sort of surrender, addressing one of the farmers that he’d clearly(very purposely) knocked down. “Yeah, right!” the man replied angrily, swinging at the Mongol with what Bataar had to admit was a very, very hard fist square in his chest. Realizing his situation, the Mongol allowed himself to be knocked down, and placed his arms over his head to protect his already-dim brain from the stab of a pitchfork. He didn’t think they’d kill him.
Numerous hits and kicks connected with the Mongol, and he felt extremely bruised up by the time the men picked him back up, carrying him to the area that they dubbed his “favorite tree.” He struggled, kicking, clawing, pulling hair, but to no avail. The heavy-handed farmers kept him in check as they waited for one of their number to locate a coil of rope. Unfortunately for Bataar, he was going to be strung up upside down on a tree yet again, set to be an example until someone took pity on him and untied him in order to take him down.
”You guys are so mean!” the Noble fighter whimpered, staring at the men who were now joyfully cracking jokes with each other. That was about when they decided to gag him—with a potato! Of all the terrible things for the farmers to have done, this was surely the worst. Beyond the fact that the veggie was extremely unappetizing, Bat also happened to know that it was poisonous.
He only hoped he wouldn’t die before someone found him here and let him down.
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Posted: Wed Apr 28, 2010 3:41 am
|| PRP: Sewer Rat ||
Bataar twiddled his thumbs listlessly, and flung himself upon the pile of his furs, yawning loudly as he considered his next report to his mother, Odval. There was a lot to explain, and still more to hide, and he was finding that he was having to think more and more in order to carry out these meets with the dragon-like lady whom he imagined as omniscient, all-seeing, all-hearing. Never mind that if she was able to see everything, she wouldn’t need an oaf such as himself to explain his life, but he liked to imagine that Odval could, if only because it kept the Mongol in line. He grimaced as he considered telling her about his last few meetings with Jianyu, for she would surely react with utter outrage; that was just the way his mother was. He simply hoped she was far enough away.
Where to start? ”I was taking a nap in the alley, mom, when Jianyu found me.” he began, pursing his lips as he thought back to the situation he’d gotten himself caught up in. He’d simply been lost again, hadn’t he, and then he’d been playing around with those adorable little rats that always seemed to frequent the alleyways of the Imperial City. ”Actually, he woke me up, and that pissed me off.” Bat continued, smiling at the fact that his mother would probably be happy if he acted like he wasn’t too much of a friend of the other man. Still, he wasn’t sure she’d be blissful about his next few revelations; they were surprising, even for him. ”He made me take… a bath.” Bataar grimaced at the memory of having to endure one of his greatest fears all over again; why was is that everyone was obsessed with getting him clean?
It was on to the next subject, or he might faint with the horror that the very thought of bathing entailed. ”But… well, then I caught a cold and he took care of me.” he tried to be steady with his explanations, although he wasn’t so sure about a few of them himself. He didn’t add in any mention of the attraction they’d both dealt with. Odval certainly didn’t want him being friends with a legionnaire, let alone in any sort of… relationship. The Mongolian man dwelled on this for far too long, and finally came out of his reverie when a rat skittered over his chest. He could leave out the part about Jianyu being his girlfriend, as well as the part where he’d believed that Jianyu just might have raped him.
Those weren’t things a mother could be proud of, after all, right? Still, he had to reveal something of the truth, even if it wasn’t the entire explanation. ”I also have a girlfriend, mom.” he added, trying his best to act secretive about it. So long as Odval didn’t know it was Jianyu, the fact would certainly only make her son seem manlier and more valiant in her eyes. ”But it’s a secret who it is!” he added quickly, beginning to look and feel a bit on the dodgy side.
There was no need to add that his girlfriend was actually a guy.
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 3:24 am
|| PRP: Lullaby for a Stormy Night ||
Bat had opened the entrance to his yurt and was gazing listlessly out into the night as he considered how he ought to address his mother now. To tell the truth, the Mongol was quite tired of trying to keep Odval informed, especially since she never replied! Still, it seemed as if there was no helping it, especially because she’d be sure to try and beat him senseless if he didn’t keep up his communications. He did not much like being beaten, especially by she who was more of a beast than a woman(in his mind). What he did not know, however, was that all of his efforts were to no real avail. Shaman as she was, there was no way Odval could hear him.
There was no use in delaying. ”Hi, Mom, it’s me again.” he stated flatly, twirling around one of his braids as he considered which information to tell, and which to keep secret. ”The other day I was lost again.” Bat admitted, starting his tale, thinking back to the terrible state he’d been in when he’d finally slid down against the wall in the alley, just before a storm was set to shatter the sky. ”Anyway, I got tried, and I was hungry, and I couldn’t find my yurt!” he mumbled, less than proud of the piteous state he’d been in. He hadn’t minded wallowing in his own filth or anything, but being hungry just seemed wildly inappropriate to the man.
And when he’d been there, that was when his savior had come, wasn’t it? Someone Odval might not mind, due to the fact that he, too, was a Noble! ”So Yuudai came and fed me and took me to his inn.” Bataar hardly realized just how fragmented his story was this time around, nor did he care overmuch. He figured his mother was good at interpreting what he meant, in any case. He simply wasn’t the most informational Mongol out there. ”And then he told me he’d give me breakfast if I took a bath!” Thinking back on it now, he didn’t suppose it had been a very good decision on his part, but at the time it had seemed more than worth it, although the very thought of bathing made him tremble. It was such a very distasteful habit that all the other Lunarians were into! He could hardly stand it!
He paused briefly as he pointed out to himself just what he’d done for a simple breakfast, but he soon moved on to the other details. ”It was terrible.” he confided, his green eyes narrowing. There was no other way to portray such a horrifying hygienic experience as that one! It may have gotten him food in the long run, but the pain he had undergone had been far from necessary. ”I even passed out!” Bat exclaimed, lying through his teeth. The truth of the matter was that he’d fallen asleep while Yuudai had been in the process of washing his hair. That was just another convenient fact he left out, although who knew whether or not he’d warped things in his mind to make it seem that way even to himself or not.
Breakfast had been good, at least.
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Posted: Tue Jun 08, 2010 7:27 am
|| PRP: Wait! What is THAT? ||
Bataar was flopped over his many furs, gazing at the ceiling of his yurt as he made the executive decision that he ought to get in touch with Odval. He had better explain something of his latest encounter, or she’d know to spy on him and look for anything he was doing wrong. And in her opinion, he was sure he was doing many things wrong. Dating Jianyu, for one, although he’d done a good job of keeping his scary mother a secret of sorts when it came to their relationship. All he knew was that it was probably smarter not to tell Odval that he’d woken up with Jianyu in an inn the morning after they’d gotten extremely drunk.
He also suspected rape, but that was an entirely different story.
”I went to Yuudai’s inn the other day…” Not mentioning Jianyu was a good choice, although it was almost certain that he would soon slip up in his explanation. Jianyu had too much to do with everything. The tattoo was also better left unmentioned, and so he struggled with what information to tell, and what to keep to himself. Obviously, Odval might notice a tattoo over time, and while that was worrisome, he didn’t want to die before he had a chance to explain himself. He didn’t want lightning to hit his yurt again! There was no way that would be fair.
And so he considered his words carefully(this was Bat’s most strenuous thinking exercise, as always). ”And I took another bath! But Jianyu was there.” Oops. He hadn’t meant to add in Jianyu’s name. He was almost certain his mother would now be suspicious of just how close he was to a legionnaire of all people. Odval did not believe in being friendly between sides, after all. In her opinion, a legionnaire and a noble ought to have nothing to do with each other! Bataar was expected to share his mother’s opinion on all matters, and so was quite upset with himself that he’d so blatantly slipped up.
He couldn’t let it matter anymore, however. ”Of course, I don’t think Jianyu and Yuudai like each other very much.” he grinned, thinking back to their heated argument with amusement. He’d almost wished it had gone to blows, but he supposed he could survive since it hadn’t. Even if he were dating Jianyu, and Yuudai was his friend, he still derived quite a lot of happiness from a good brawl.
Besides, now he got to make a show of his strength! ”So since they were fighting, I decided to throw both of them in the bath at the same time!” Oh, yes. Only a truly manly man could throw two people in a bath at the same time. He had been the real victor in whatever fight had been occurring, if only because he’d eventually lost his temper. As funny as it was now, it hadn’t been too amusing at the time it had happened.
He grabbed a rat, petting it gently and delighting in its filth. ”The only bad thing is, Mom, I think I’m way too clean nowadays!”
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