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 Posted: Tue Jun 08, 2010 7:39 am
|| CATALOGUE ||
01 ❀ PRP: "C" Is For Cat
02 ❀ PRP: Size 0 Is Not Fat
03 ❀ Solo Battle
04 ❀ PRP: Um, A Little Help Here?
05 ❀ Reflection
06 ❀ Reflection
07 ❀ PRP: I've Got Your Back
08 ❀ PRP: Swimming is for Chumps
09 ❀ PRP: Ahhh! I thought you were a bear!
10 ❀ PRP: How I met your Mother
11 ❀ PRP: Gluelicker
12 ❀ PRP: Getting Caught by the Worst Lunarian Ever
13 ❀ PRP: Questions and Reflections
14 ❀ BATTLE: Bataar vs. Yue Lao
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Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2010 9:51 am
|| PRP: "C" Is For Cat ||
It honestly made him grimace to think of the day before, and Jianyu’s failed attempt at teaching. Also, he didn’t like to believe that he’d lost out on any degree of manliness by choosing to remain quite illiterate. Bat sat in his yurt, his face screwed up in concentration as he dealt with the issues flying around in his head. Jianyu had found his journal, the one he’d intended to give to his mother if his task of discussing things with her here failed. He had thought his drawings were rather impressive, but Jianyu had promised him something quite nice(and possibly shiny) if he gained so degree of literacy!
Clearly, it had all backfired. ”Ummm…” he had to get through this time without telling his mom directly about Jianyu, or she might place his head on a silver platter and serve him up for dinner. He didn’t much like the idea of being eaten by his mother, and so he promised himself he’d be extra careful today! Feeling quite light and bright and sparkling about this idea, he continued. ”Yesterday my girlfriend brought me lunch.” he bragged, acting as proud as he dared of his seeming relationship with Jianyu, whom he led Odval to believe was a female. Of course, this couldn’t have been further from the truth, but the truth was sometimes not really necessary, right?
Grinning, he went on. ”And she saw the super-awesome journal I’m keeping for you, Mom! It’s got a lot of accurate pictures in it, by the way. I think you’ll like it.” he stated, puffing out his chest proudly as he explained the journal with his artists’ soul. Actually, he rambled on for quite some time in order to describe a few of the pictures he’d drawn, and what effort he’d even decided to put into coloring part of them. From his descriptions, one might assume that these were major pieces of realism as opposed to simple and rather ugly stick figures.
Oh, yeah. His journal was definitely fantastic, but now he had to get onto the bad part—the part that he hadn’t particularly liked about the day. There was only one last bit of good around the corner. ”Lunch was good… besides the poisoned vegetables.” Many a time he had explained the horrors of the legionnaire’s vegetables, and he hardly realized he’d just hinted to his mother that he was dating a legionnaire, but then he wasn’t quite bright enough to recognize that fact. ”But then my girlfriend said I’d get something very nice if I learned how to read! By the way, it is a lie that learning how to read is a good and manly thing.” he stated, looking faintly indignant as he spoke.
Reading had not been worth the trouble. ”I did everything right, but Jia—my girlfriend said it was wrong! So I had to beat hi—her up!” Oh, yes, the Mongol was quite a brilliant creature indeed, and he’d hardly noticed that he’d once again nearly given himself completely away to Odval.
At least there were only so many ways she could kill him if she actually ever found out about it.
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Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2010 9:53 am
|| PRP: Size 0 Is Not Fat ||
Self-consciousness had taken over, and he was staring desperately at his stomach, trying to detect any ounce of fat that there might be in the area of his abdomen. It almost made tears come to his eyes when he suspected that his weight was simply too much. He had ended his diet abruptly at Jianyu’s house earlier in the day, and now he was regretting it(only because he wasn’t really starving to death at the moment). This level of bulk was simply too much to live with, and he knew it, even if he’d said he accepted that he wasn’t fat earlier. That just couldn’t be true. He must be fat! Jianyu wouldn’t have said so, otherwise.
And what if his mom knew how much his condition had deteriorated in the past few months? He shuddered to think what she might do if she came to visit and was confronted with his terrifying jelly rolls. That was why he had to gain the resolve to tell her now, and not have her find out for herself. Odval had to know that he had lost control, and that he loved food, and that he just couldn’t help himself. He was a good son, and all good sons had to admit the condition of their weight, obese or not! He couldn’t let her have a heart-attack on sight!
Oh, god. He was so sorry. But he had to take the plunge and say so. ”Mom… I think you should know that my weight and my eating habits have spiraled out of control lately.” he confessed, absolutely serious. It was hard to tell this to her, but he knew he had a problem! He simply had to admit it, and that was the hardest part. Now that that was over with, it might help to tell her just what measures he’d taken in order to prevent his astronomic weight gain(he could leave out the part about his last huge meal, he believed). ”It’s been a struggle, but I’ve gone on a diet where I don’t really eat anything.” he declared, his expression contorting with determination.
Despite the lie about his diet being ongoing, he still had plans to continue it… maybe in a few months or so. He couldn’t tell her the part about Jianyu helping him out and feeding him, but he could possibly hint at it. After all, this was all the fault of the legionnaire! At least he’d had the good grace to point out Bataar’s problem, instead of simply enduring that. Bat had to admit that that was kind of brave, seeing as he’d denied it quite a lot at first. He used to be proud of his physique, after all! It was simply depressing to think of how he’d gone so terribly downhill.
”I was actually in a lot of denial to begin with, because my girlfriend pointed it out when we were fighting.” he sighed to himself, looking quite on the blue side(although he really was quite red in hue). He could work on improvement now, though, and that was the most important thing of all! ”I will definitely get my physique back!”
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Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2010 9:56 am
|| SOLO BATTLE ||
Bataar’s hair was filthy. In short, just the way he liked it. It was true that he enjoyed strutting around with the enormous rat’s nest atop his head, tangled and matted, painful to look at, let alone smell. There were times when even Yuudai couldn’t convince him to fix his hair, not even with an excess of cake. That was why it was like it was now. As he walked along the street, he watched many passerby wrinkle their noses, having gotten a whiff of something extremely unappetizing. If he had such a clear advantage on the streets of Lunaria, then he’d certainly be able to trump someone in a fight simply because of his long, matted hair. Clearly, he had nothing short of a trophy sitting upon his head.
He may have been lost again, but he liked to pretend that he was only out to show off his hair. It was, after all, an extremely attractive feature. The degree of manliness it added to Bataar was fantastic, and there was no way he was going to forget it today. As he’d been strutting along, he’d failed to notice that the facades of the buildings had been growing increasingly girlish in nature, and that there were many hair salons, spas, and boutiques about, exclusively for women. He was slow to realize that he was the only man present in the area, and paused for a moment, looking absolutely bewildered. How exactly had this happened? One moment he’d been in a dank and smelly alley, and the next he was in a place where no man dared trek.
He had to get out. ”Excuse me!” he shouted in the direction of a lady, his expression dark with desperation as he flagged her down. ”Could you, uhhh, tell me what direction the Noble Estates are in?” Bat looked rather hopeful as he addressed her, noting that she had a few outrageous bows and trinkets littered through her dark locks, along with enormous ringlets and impeccable bangs. Her hair, to him, was downright terrifying and he let her know as much, giving the mass of curls a long look of evident disdain.
His life might as well have ended then and there. “You’re a Noble? No wonder! You smell terrible! And look at that hair.” Her disdain was much greater than his own, and she looked as if she’d been quite intruded upon. Clearly, this woman was a legionnaire, and clearly, Bataar was the type of guy she hated the most: Noble, smelly, and obnoxious. Bravely, she reached out and snatched up a lock of his hair, her brows furrowed in concentration as she studied it. This would not do! It was a downright crime to walk around with such hair, so unkempt and filthy as it was. It kind of made her want to scream.
Bat had the good grace to look appalled at her comment, although his temper hadn’t been sparked just yet. ”Yeah, I do smell pretty bad.” he bragged, a charming grin finding its way onto his face. Even Yuudai had been unable to halt the smell that permeated his very aura to the core; it was practically the Mongol’s signature, and he would have been grieved to know that someday in the far future he might actually adopt the basic practices of hygiene. ”But could you answer my question?” He didn’t really have time to chit-chat with this lady, after all! He had to get down to business and find his way home, ideally. What he didn’t know as she took his hair into her hands was that a plan was brewing; one that the Mongolian man was sure to loathe.
He was about to get his hair done.
“Look, big guy, I can see you like to fight. How about we make a deal?” The woman smirked, confident in her abilities. As buff as Bataar might be, she had the upper-hand in that she was more than willing to fight dirty. She had absolutely no qualms about kicking him in the crotch, poking him in the eyes, or even giving his hair a good yank or two(although she honestly didn’t want to get her hands too dirty in the process). “You and I can fight—I hate Nobles like you, so I have good reason. If I win, you obey me for an entire hour, and let me do what I want. If you win, I give you directions.” There. Fair and square.
He did like to fight. She had him pegged there, but he wasn’t sure why she was asking, or even what she wanted to do in the(unlikely, he thought to himself) event that she might prevail. Besides, she was a stupid legionnaire, so if he won he could always claim victory on that point—and he needed directions. It was on. ”Ladies first.” he offered moronically, hardly realizing the mistake he’d just made.
He didn’t even really have time to register just where her foot was aimed before it made contact with his crotch. The pain was excruciating, and, after a little while, infuriating. That had definitely just happened in the middle of the damned street, and it had come from some legionnaire woman he didn’t even know. Now he was doubled over in pain, and she had started using her nails to scrape at his skin as she continued. She was hardly the courteous type in a fight, it seemed, despite the Mongolian man’s howls. He just needed a little bit of time and then maybe he’d be able to recover himself and actually fight back! Unfortunately for him, it didn’t look as if the hair stylist was planning on halting her barrage anytime soon.
”OUCH! STOP IT!” he roared, grabbing her ankles in order to trip her so that they were both on the ground, fighting barbarically. He did as best as he could in the melee, finally getting in an important hit when his fist knocked into her breast. He grinned triumphantly, looking rather proud of his accomplishment. If there was one thing he’d learned throughout battling with women, it was that they hated being hit in the boobs. It was probably equivalent to kicking Bat in the balls, but he didn’t know that. All he knew was that with that particular move, he might be able to win.
His logic was all wrong, however, because just after that one move, the stylist screamed and her fist careened into his face, causing a nosebleed. All he had done was enrage her beyond belief, so that the fight was practically now over. It was becoming increasingly evident that she would be the victor, and when he missed another kick and got a foot slammed into his chest, he was all but incapacitated. Clearly, the legionnaire had been the victor here.
She stood, brushing off her dress and regarding him with faint amusement. “Come with me.” was all she said before trotting along the street, glancing back every few moments to make sure that a beaten and bedraggled Mongol was dragging his feet behind her. She strolled into a fancy-looking salon and waved at a woman, one of her co-workers. “I think he needs a few more curls, and maybe a bow.” She advised the other woman, smirking wildly. Bat watched miserably as they negotiated his makeover, although he didn’t exactly understand what was happening. He could understand hardly any of the jargon the ladies were using, and wasn’t privy to his fate until they had pushed him down into a chair to viciously scrub at his hair.
Both women pulled with a seeming fury, and Bataar had to object. ”Ouch! Stop! That hurts!” The Mongol wriggled uncomfortably, grimacing as sharp nails dug into his scalp and foaming shampoo found its way into his eyes, stinging like hell. The brush felt more like a weapon against the snags and snarls of his hair, and he was left shouting and roaring in pain even as they attempted to condition it. He had thought the pain would stop when they were done getting the tangles out, but he had been impressively wrong.
Impressively.
Now they were drying his hair with a towel, causing his already aching scalp still more pain as they attempted to get his thick locks as dry as they could. Bat’s hair took hours to dry in the first place, if not naturally, but now he was subjected to what felt like hours upon hours of a painful towel attack(it was probably minutes, really). He was filled with relief once they’d stopped, but he knew something was terribly wrong the moment they took out hot-irons. He didn’t see what those heated things and hair had alike, and he was convinced they were going to purposely tie him down and scald him, but instead they took another brush to his hair and started wrapping it around the burning instrument.
The agony of having his hair continually pulled was finally stopped about an hour later, and Bataar was allowed to stare, disoriented, into a mirror on the wall. What he saw was most unpleasant. There was an ungodly number of trinkets sprinkled throughout his hair; bows, fake butterflies, flowers. He also had ringlets that any woman on the street outside would kill for. His hair was perfect, but all he could do was whimper uncomprehendingly as the women prepared the makeup they wanted to put on his face.
Enough was enough, however, and the Mongol had soon made a break for it, careening out the door at an impressive speed as he attempted to get as far away from the salon as humanly possible.
Never again!
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Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2010 10:04 am
|| PRP: Um, A Little Help Here? ||
To think of his last encounter with Jianyu was embarrassing beyond belief. Bat actually wanted to keep his mind off of it, but was failing epicly, as he often did. It just wasn’t that easy to think of anything else! First, he had been attacked by vegetable farmers, and then, if that hadn’t been terrible enough, he’d been tied upside down to a tree and gagged with a damned poisonous potato! Those legionnaires were terribly cruel, what with four men against one, and Bat had lost miserably. But that wasn’t even the worst part of his day. No, the worst part was that Jianyu had come along. Or was that the worst part? No, Bataar reflected; that had led to the worst part!
Talking to Odval was going to be hard today, and he wasn’t sure what he should tell her. It was all so horrible, so vividly cruel and terrifying. He supposed he had to start with his fight against the vegetable farmers, because that was important, and it was brave. He enjoyed the idea of sounding brave, despite his loss, and so he began his tale. ”I went back for a rematch with the legionnaire farmers, mom.” he declared, his tone quiet and devastating all at once as he launched into an explanation about how sharp their pitchforks had been, how there had been four against one, how he’d knocked two down, and then how they’d mercilessly tortured him to the very end.
It was a bad story, he knew, but it was something he wanted to tell all the same. He planned on beating them someday, after all, even if that day was in the far future because of their sheer numbers. He didn’t care if he had to wait all the way until he was a captain! He would win against them in the end, and they would regret ever doing anything terrible to him. He carefully disregarded the fact that he’d been attempting to spy on them, because his mother didn’t need to know that he’d been being at all bothersome in the first place. In fact, he’d deliberately portrayed himself as a bullying victim. What he didn’t know was that Odval was sure to ridicule him for that.
”And to top it all off, Jianyu found me afterwards!” he moaned, staying away from mentioning his so-called ‘girlfriend’ for the time being. As far as Odval knew, Jianyu and the person he was dating were both completely different entities! Bataar explained, horrified, how Jianyu had laughed, and then how he’d finally untied Bataar just to let him fall on top of him! And then he came to explaining the fight, where he started to hesitate quite a lot. You see, he hardly wanted to admit his loss to the legionnaire, but it was somehow unavoidable. He just couldn’t help it! Besides, he’d won a lot against Jianyu in the past. Still, he was miserable knowing his loss. ”He only beat me because he fights extremely dirty, Mother!” Bat tried to defend himself, failing a little.
Jianyu had won fair and square. It was Bataar that had lost.
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Posted: Thu Sep 09, 2010 6:50 pm
|| REFLECTION ||
The captain gazed pensively out across the water, uncertain as to why he was here. A few seabirds fluttered and fussed about him, their irritating cries failing to reach his ears. There had always been something he’d found vaguely unsettling about the ocean, although he couldn’t quite say what. Perhaps it was the vast expanse of water unfolding out before him, or maybe it was the crashing waves, slamming against the sand of the shore again and again.
He’d been raised in the highlands, far from the water, his own Lunarian ancestry most likely tracing its way back to dragons more than fish, but the discomfort that seeing the ocean caused him was necessary. It cleared his mind to know that he was standing before such raw power, standing and waiting… for what? That was certainly the question of the hour, Bataar noted dryly, his green eyes tracing the crests of the waves.
He was a captain now; he’d made it, and yet it still felt as if something entirely integral was missing. Perhaps that was why he’d made his pilgrimage to the sea and was now standing on the damp sand of the beach. A raindrop landed on his upturned face, and then another—the gloomy sky was finally breaking, releasing its burden. The cold rain fell harder now, drenching the Mongolian man almost instantaneously as he stared out into the now-hazy expanse of water.
It was dedication he needed, and drive. He’d always been content with his place in society, just another Noble striving to kick some Legionnaire a**, but now he’d been forced to consider it—to come out to the ocean, and to come back aware. There was something he needed from this place, a part of his soul that was at a loss. He’d never been concerned about it before, but now the ugly question arose, shaming and grotesque.
What was his purpose?
Something that seemed obvious enough, but something that had plagued him for weeks now—it had tossed him into the throes of gloom, bringing sleepless nights along with it. His expression had increasingly grown drawn, his nature more introspective. For a man that had never once been reflective, it was a big change, one that he was entirely uncomfortable with.
Standing here now, though, he thought he understood. It was more of a gradual realization than an epiphany of any sort, but he knew it was effective. He had come this far to fight for what he believed in—to wage war against the Legionnaires. They were not—could not—be his friends, his companions.
The time had come to choose a side, and now it was no longer the difference between black and white. It was ethics, it was morals—it was all of that combined, forcing him to put his heart into one decision and one decision alone. There would be no going back from here, no capricious change in heart. He knew where he stood, and what he wanted.
Bataar Jaoret was a Noble.
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Posted: Sat May 21, 2011 9:47 pm
|| REFLECTION ||
Sometimes it feels like I can't win for losing.
The behemoth man slouched, his green eyes locked upon two children playing. If there was a description of some kind of "usual" Bataar, this was not it. He had lost three men yesterday in a skirmish-- three! Three lives pulling a vanishing act. It didn't help that he'd felt obligated to go around and inform their parents that morning. That was, in fact, what had made the entire experience so damned real. Grown men and women dissolving into tears before his unwelcome eyes.
One of the younger fighter's mothers had started screaming at the captain, convinced that it had to be entirely his fault and, in a way, she was right-- he was responsible for lives, and this time around he'd lost a few. The legionnaires had ambushed them and, although Bataar felt ill when he thought of it, they had only completely taken out one man from the other side. This was not the case of a life for a life, as it should have been.
And those children, laughing and running just in front of him-- they might become casualties of the war soon enough themselves. The tragedy struck the Mongolian man as surely as any arrow. His melancholy, it seemed, could only grow further from here. He had undergone a sobering experience and was left with a few more subtle changes to some integral part of him-- it was as if Bat's DNA altered just a little each time, and soon he might be unrecognizable. As if all of those small changes were snowballing and he was transforming into a man he'd never dreamed of becoming.
Who was he? Was he the sulky, angry figure who snapped at the children in front of him or was he just a bit shaken up? The children seemed convinced that he was the former, and ran away screaming almost as soon as they'd heard his voice sound. Admittedly, Bat felt like a child himself right now-- worst of all, he felt insecure, uncertain. Needless to say, he was unaccustomed to the feeling as he was generally impulsive and rash.
Was he himself going to have to face death? Would his mother cry or scream? Who else cared?
Bat shook his head a little, as if to clear it, muttering to himself as he continued along the street. The usual Bataar really was out of town for now-- the word 'rhetorical' was a bit complicated for him.
Tomorrow the Noble would put on his facade, play his usual games, trap a few rats. Today, however, was a day for remembrance as well as contemplation as peculiar as it seemed regarding this particular Lunarian. It was time to consider his loved ones and how they'd sacrificed for him and how he'd sacrifice for them. The future burned bright with the prospect of death looming just before his eyes, Bat supposed, but he was wrong.
There was something worse than death ahead. Isn't that always the case?
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Posted: Sat Jul 30, 2011 7:48 am
|| PRP: I've Got Your Back || Bataar sat cross-legged in his yurt, rubbing his temples as he took the events of earlier that week into consideration. It had been a shock and, he supposed, a joy to see Jianyu again, and to be back on good terms, but it was hard to figure out where he ought to go next. His mission had largely failed as a result of the other man and the part of him that was defined only as a noble captain was reeling-- fuming, really. Beyond that, his men had been privy to his veritable loss of dignity during his battle with Jianyu, in which there’d been a draw. Frustration was not the name for this. It was something else entirely.
He had long since given up trying to tell his mother his problems and figured things out instead by carefully mumbling or muttering to himself, doing his best to gauge his current state of mind as best he could. Those sort of things were important when it came to being a captain after all, or so he’d been told. He did not doubt it. Being aware of oneself was integral to becoming a good leader. Bataar the brute was slowly vanishing, and in his place there had come a man that Bat wasn’t quite familiar with at this point. There was no telling what this one would do.
The Mongol shifted on his pile of furs and stared up at the ceiling of the yurt, heaving a sigh. ”So, anyway, back to Jianyu.” he commanded himself, his lips pulling down at the corners. What was there to say? They seemed to have reformed their friendship in no time, much to his surprise. He’d thought they were in a situation that could only remain unmended, and now desperately hoped that he was wrong. Jianyu was, after all, his best friend. He’d known the other man since they’d both been students at the academy and they’d been quarreling ever since. It was a sort of vague comfort to know that he was no longer alone as he’d been-- isolated.
For isolated was the word for his previous state. The Imperial City seemed to be writhing in constant turmoil and people he had once known seemed to have disappeared. Jianyu had been the only person he’d grown close to before hand and he was all but screwed if he refused their friendship at this point. Even if Jianyu did constantly kick the family jewels, they were friends and would remain so. That was just the way these sort of things worked, wasn’t it?
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Posted: Sat Jul 30, 2011 7:50 am
|| PRP: Swimming is for Chumps || Bataar pushed into his yurt with a look of evident displeasure plastered upon his face. He had clearly just been soaked to the bone and was looking very discontent about it all. Clearly he had some reflecting to do-- but mainly so that he’d win his fight with that monster Yue Lao next time! He flopped down, but not upon his furs-- the day was far too hot for that, even taking his soaked clothing into consideration. All he could say was that he wasn’t happy-- wasn’t at all pleased with what had gone down earlier at the fish market where he’d seen the creature he wanted to keep forever right before his eyes only to have it snatched from him by a creature--- so hideous, so pink... ”Well, okay, maybe not.” he admitted, grimacing.
All the same, today hadn’t been one of the happiest days in the man’s life. Having to deal with Yue Lao had been mentally exhausting, as far as he could see, and the heat was also responsible for any physical sort of death today. It was sweltering outside, and the inside of his yurt wasn’t much better. It wasn’t that the heat was so bad, but a fight in this heat? That was impossible. Which he’d only actually learned after he’d thrown the first punch. He considered it with another expressive grimace, wondering if Yue Lao was upset as he was about the draw they’d had.
In the end, these things didn’t matter but it sure as hell felt like they did right now when he was still about dead from the heat and his rush of fear from having fallen into the water, then followed by absolute mortification when he’d found out that it was actually only about five feet deep. That was the sort of thing that gnawed on the Mongol’s nerves and made him feel quite incapable where he knew he ought to be. ”Well, I know I’m better.” he guaranteed himself under his breath, his eyes scanning the rather intense mess that his yurt was currently. He’d have to do some cleaning before Odval tried to clean for herself, especially since she tended to throw away all his things.
And just the thought of that rat was enough to wound the man. He was aware in the very back of his mind that it was a monkey, but he still wanted it, especially as Odval now threatened to exile most, if not all, of his rats herself. Still, its owner hadn’t budged and even it had seemed rather mean in Bat’s opinion.
He sighed, supposing the loss was not so great after all. He’d have to move on, consider other things. He had a few ambushes that needed diagrams and such and he had yet to figure out exactly where his dinner was going to come from tonight. He would worry about that nasty Yue Lao and her nasty monkey later, he supposed, after he gained something in the way of sustenance and dried off. That would just have to work.
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Posted: Sat Jul 30, 2011 7:50 am
|| PRP: Ahhh! I thought you were a bear! || ”How hard is it to bathe in private?” Bat muttered to himself as he pushed into his yurt. Practically speaking, he was feeling a little on the embarrassed side. The Mongol grimaced, thinking to his random encounter earlier. Not only had he been exposed, but he’d been mistaken for a bear. Bears were fairly manly creatures, but it just didn’t do to be thought of as one. The captain rubbed his chin, thinking with quite a bit of wonder back upon the encounter. Despite the fact that it had been botched as hell and fairly unmanly he had to say it had been interesting.
Yes, interesting was definitely the right word for it. That was because he’d met Sarangerel, who was a fellow Mongol. It wasn’t every day he came into contact with someone of his own nationality and the happening had surprised him. In fact, Bat didn’t quite know how to describe or reflect upon the event. The very unlikeliness of it all made the day he’d experienced seem next to impossible. All the same, Sara had made it clear that she didn’t know the majority of Mongolian customs, or even the religion. His mother would be the one to take care of that, if she pleased. Odval would probably be interested enough in checking it out, at the very least.
Bataar scratched the back of his head, still unsure about how he was going to treat his new acquaintance. She seemed, in a word, harmless, but he never knew-- she was, after all, a legionnaire. He was friends with plenty of those, but now might be a good time to stop that, especially as he continued climbing the ranks in the noble army. He owed his side too much to not have to worry about who he was friends with. Still, he couldn’t shake the sense of security he felt around someone so thin and slight-- he’d be surprised if she could kill him, anyway. Legionnaire or not, Sarangerel looked far from deadly.
His superiors would not be pleased if they knew he was friendly with yet another legionnaire, but he supposed it couldn’t hurt too much. If she was any sort of a threat, his mother would be sure to take care of her in the midst of their lessons. Odval was extremely unlikely to cooperate completely with an aspiring legionnaire, after all. The man put the situation out of his mind and heaved a sigh as he sat down next to the bucket that he was supposed to do laundry in.
There was never any telling whom you could or could not trust, and he’d met his fair share of slimy nobles, too. He supposed he wouldn’t worry about it unless he met the girl again, especially since that was unlikely unless she tracked him down in order to find Odval which, thinking on it, she probably would. He’d just have to let his mother figure out Sarangerel and see if the fact that she was a Mongol would transcend the fact that she was also a legionnaire.
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Posted: Sat Jul 30, 2011 7:51 am
|| PRP: How I met your Mother || Bataar cast a look of uncertainty in the direction of the unconscious figure he’d placed down on a haphazard pile of furs inside of his yurt. It was the girl who’s allegiance he’d formerly been concerned about-- Sarangerel. Well, she’d come, apparently for some teaching from Odval who, to Bat’s surprise, had obliged. It had been unexpected, to say the least, coming from the fiery woman he claimed as his mother. She had accepted without objection and he thought he saw why only now. In her own special way she appeared to have been entertaining herself with her new pupil. That was just lovely, and he’d had to deal with the mess the Mongolian woman had left in her wake.
He’d woken up earlier from a fairly pleasant nap, heard a call for help, and had gone to investigate, having not suspected that it was his mother’s design. He’d found Sara in the woods, but something had been wrong. Apparently she’d been possessed by a most unpleasant spirit who had seemed determined to kill Bataar. A battle had commenced in which he’d done his best to defend himself without dealing a blow to her body during the possession. It hadn’t been pretty, to say the least, and it was something he didn’t think he ever wanted to experience again.
Beyond that, Bat wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a test for Sarangerel or himself. In any case, he doubted he’d look forward to fighting with any soul conduits again. Part of it was that when he did, it was hard to figure out exactly what was going on. Magic was a concept he didn’t grasp, obviously enough. Weapon magic, too, was not his strong suit. He would much rather have used his physical strength to his advantage as opposed to weaving words and power of any sort. If he’d been any good with magic, Odval would have trained him as best she could in order to make him into a decent asset, but as it was he was all brute strength and muscles.
The man heaved a sigh and wondered how long Sara was planning on being unconscious. He also wondered, a bit absently, if unconscious people required food and water. He’d been unconscious plenty of times before and he hadn’t required sustenance, so he supposed not. He was also hoping that the spirit had been completely purged when he’d attacked her-- he wasn’t looking forward to figuring out what to do if it hadn’t, after all.
Whatever the case, it was boring sitting here with someone who was acting so dead. ”Are you really asleep?” he asked, for the sake of asking it. He’d never been one to act the part of a nurse and was at a loss. He supposed he’d simply leave the girl alone-- who knew? Maybe she’d wake up while he was out and leave of her own volition. The thought cheered him slightly, especially since he was worried about what would happen if she had anything of the spirit still in her or, even worse, if he had to explain why he’d attacked. That just didn’t so too fun.
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Posted: Tue Aug 02, 2011 10:22 am
|| PRP: Gluelicker || The stamps on his cheek and forehead had been harder to get off than Bat had bargained for. He’d managed, but not without a lot of rubbing and scratching, making the skin beneath the stamps and nearby rather red and irritated-looking. Luckily, the Mongol didn’t keep a mirror on his person or in his yurt, so that little problem with physical appearance wasn’t likely to bother him anytime soon. What was likely to bother him was the lining of his stomach, which felt burnt and still hurt from the day before when he’d fallen rather unconscious. He vaguely recalled something about poison, but he’d made it back to his yurt and seemed to be alive, so he wasn’t entirely sure what that fiasco had been about.
The captain rubbed his flat abdomen and frowned-- ever since breakfast eating had turned into a bit of a problem. Food hurt, but he was fairly sure he’d be alright in a day or two. Besides, he could always get Yue Lao back for feeding him the spicy noodles and putting stamps on him and... well, he supposed she’d beat him at the stamp fight, so maybe it was better not to bring that sort of thing up later. Bataar was an admitted sore loser and didn’t like to dwell on any of his failures for too long an amount of time, but he was still thinking back to the stamps and what a terrible hobby they had ended up making. If Yue Lao continued with those, he didn’t think their friendship would really last too very long.
Stamps, as far as he’d learned, were nasty, girly slips of adhesive paper that one had to lick. The whole idea of it was extremely unnatural, especially for someone who couldn’t read or write, like Bataar. The only items he’d ever received with stamps upon them were letters, which were depressing in and of themselves because there was no hope of Bat ever deciphering the tiny letters littering the vast expanse of paper. Letters were nasty and... well, he was a loser, wasn’t he? ”I can’t believe it.” the man whined, looking crestfallen to say the least. Even thoughts of his illiteracy couldn’t complete distract him from the loss.
He’d just have to chin up and be happy that he and Yue Lao hadn’t killed each other or anything. Their fights were, in general, boring affairs with quite a lot of dialogue while he was trying to avoid the sting of her meteor hammer. There was no way they could ever manage hand-to-hand combat, either-- not with Bat’s size, anyway. Besides, pulling out his sword and dealing out decapitation was also a no-no. Dead people tended to be surprisingly boring(unless you were a soul conduit, he guessed) and he thought that he and Yue Lao might even possess a tenuous sort of friendship.
In any case, Bataar was not the stamp-king and probably never would be. ”Too feminine!” he huffed, expelling his thoughts regarding the matter. He would have to be better in some other hobby.
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Posted: Tue Aug 02, 2011 1:57 pm
|| PRP: Getting Caught by the Worst Lunarian Ever || There was one person in the world that Bataar detested above all others. A legionnaire who’s guts he absolutely could not stand. The Mongolian man huffed and puffed, feeling angry even now after Huang-Fu had departed. During a brief stay in Kyung’s courtyard he’d met the other man and now felt rather determined to kill him, if he could. It was rare that Bat rather into anyone so very insolent as Huang, even if they were a legionnaire. There was just no telling with the so-called assassin and, beyond that, he’d clearly been raping various people in Kyung’s household.
It was enough to make Bataar seriously cross. The man’s lips twisted as he sat on the ground, polishing his sword so that it shone. Next time he saw Huang, he’d just have to behead him or something-- the thought was, in any case, extremely satisfying to the Mongol. Decapitation was a great thing in general, but maybe it was too painless for nasty little friend. No-- maybe he’d kill him slowly! Listen to him grovel or something. It brought a smile to Bat’s lips just thinking about it. He wasn’t the violent or sadistic type, but Huang tended to inspire these feelings within him. Their first encounter had been annoying enough, and now this!
Who could possibly blame Bat for his determination to end the fighter’s life? He thought it sounded downright reasonable. Maybe Kyung would also pay him a little extra for getting rid of the pest that had been plaguing the estate. Besides, Bat thought, he didn’t like assassins, whether noble or legionnaire. There was just something about sneaking up and killing someone with their back turned the the captain deplored. He thought people should go down in a face-to-face fight if they had to.
It was important to Bataar that someone ought to get a chance to pick up their weapon and fight back. The best man truly ought to win in a fight, as far as he could see, and people should be, for the most part, evenly matched. There was just something so important about that concept that the man desired to hold onto. That was probably the majority of the reason he hated Huang-fu, but there was also the fact that the guy was absolutely annoying with his talk of killing and accusations at Bat when it came to his count of legionnaire kills.
Whatever the case, Bat doubted that this fight would be their last. If he were to run into the young man again he’d be sure to pummel him as best he could. Who knew? Success seemed pretty likely if Huang wanted a fair fight, anyway. Bataar would just have to watch his back, really, and make sure that the fighter wasn’t going to try and sneak up on him and kill him from behind. The only comfort he had was that if it was by poison, he stood a decent chance partially due to his body mass.
His mind was set. ”I am going to beat him again and again.” the captain growled.
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Posted: Tue Aug 09, 2011 9:04 pm
|| PRP: Questions and Reflections || Bataar was feeling mentally exhausted at the moment, about ready to sleep for a very long time. Odval still had not shown up in order to explain herself and his nerves were wearing thin. The more he thought about the situation, the more confused he grew. He was still in the process of sharpening his sword after Sara had gone to sleep and, as he saw it, this was a fairly good opportunity for brooding. He didn’t think the student had been very happy upon realizing what she’d done, and he knew it was Odval’s fault. Even if his mother did work that way, it was fairly inappropriate. He didn’t understand why she was so obsessed with her students suffering.
Beyond that, he found he was starting to worry more and more than Odval had ulterior motives for accepting Sara as her student. As paranoid as it may have seemed, that was one of his chief concerns. His mother could be surprisingly nasty when she wasn’t being so stern and he hoped she didn’t have any particular reason to hurt anyone currently, because she was more than capable of doing so. Odval dealt out pain like nurses dealt out medicine-- she was really quite dangerous, when he considered it.
Then again, his fears could easily be unfounded. Being suspicious of his mother simply came natural to Bataar-- he knew the way the woman tended to work, and that was something that usually made him fairly nervous in her presence. If she wanted something, she would get it, no matter what the cost. Her determination was admirable but her means were deplorable. Odval was a selfish woman: this much her son could hardly deny. He just hoped her aim wasn’t to utterly destroy her new pupil, because he knew he’d end up having to deal with it. Besides, he felt as if he and Sarangerel might actually be turning into friends, if slowly. He didn’t want to feel any sense of betrayal because of his mother.
And he’d been reluctant to explain what had happened earlier-- it was almost a shame that Sara hadn’t lost her memory of the events of two days earlier. They’d been bad-- not something a student ought to deal with by any means. Odval didn’t seem to be holding back any simply because Sara was innocent, or still a student. The initiation had been brutal and the worst part was he was certain his mother had intended it, especially since she hadn’t show her face since.
The Mongolian man carefully put away his sword after he’d finished sharpening it and took the sheath off his back in order to get ready for some sleep. Maybe that would even help him clear his mind a little bit-- he sure as hell needed it, especially since Odval seemed determined to drive him insane with her new games. In the morning he’d have to make an effort to get back to normal in order to continue on with both his life and his position in the army. He couldn’t let his mother get in the way of that.
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Posted: Wed Aug 10, 2011 2:44 am
|| BATTLE: Bataar vs. Yue Lao || Bataar returned home with aching feet, his lips drawn in a tight line. Earlier, the day had been very nice indeed. He’d been enjoying himself strolling through the market, thinking of nothing in particular. He was beginning to think that these things were never really meant to last-- nice days, that was. The weather had been glorious, sunny, and not particularly hot and the Mongol had been enjoying himself. Why, he could have danced for the pleasantness of those few treasured moments. But, as mentioned before, it hadn’t lasted. Not long at all, really. The man found himself grumbling irritably as he sat down on his usual pile of furs in order to brood(looking far more confused than mysterious).
The problem had all started when a potato had bounced unceremoniously off of his head. It was his least favorite vegetable in all the world and he had grown quite irate when he realized that he must have been targeted. When he was a student he’d believed potatoes were poisonous and although he’d recovered from that by this point, he still wasn’t at all fond of the starchy rocks. Beyond that, he hate a pronounced hate for any and all farmers(mostly legionnaires, honestly) and dreaded what they may have done to their vegetables-- poisoning nobles, no doubt!
In any case, he’d immediately spotted the person whom he believed was the culprit: Yue Lao. There was no reason not to suspect her, even if she did have her back turned, although now he supposed he’d been very rash about all of it. He just didn’t see why anyone else would have reason to throw a potato at his face. So he’d thrown it back, done some yelling, confused the hell out of the fighter and... well, that was just how things had worked out. It had seemed practical at the time, anyway. He hadn’t even been looking at the blasted monkey. The monkey hadn’t seemed at all relevant to the situation as far as he’d been concerned. This was a battle, and he was planning on winning this time!
Whatever the case, he and Yue Lao had managed to exchange a few blows, although they hadn’t done much damage to each other and she’d continued to deny ever throwing the potato in the first place. He brushed the furs beneath him as he considered it, his face twisted into a decidedly sour expression as he continued to think about the monkey. Because, in the end, they’d figured it out. It had been Mr. Princess all along and Bataar had chased him through the streets of the Imperial City, never quite catching up with the creature, as frustrating as it was.
The captain glared at the ceiling of his yurt, hoping that the next time he saw Yue Lao’s pet he’d have a chance to get his revenge upon the creature. How, he wasn’t quite sure yet, but he had a feeling he could probably manage. There was more than one way to exact revenge, in any case, so he could figure it out if he didn’t forget or anything.
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