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 Posted: Thu Aug 11, 2011 9:02 am
|| CATALOGUE ||
01 ❀ PRP: The Morning After The Night Before
02 ❀ PRP: Free-Range Beetles
03 ❀ PRP: Anybody Home?
04 ❀ PRP: The Needle in the Haystack
05 ❀ PRP: It's Been A While
06 ❀ Solo Battle
07 ❀ PRP: Don't You Dare
08 ❀ PRP: The Guard Dog
09 ❀ PRP: A Little Drop of Poison
10 ❀ PRP: Poor Unfortunate Souls
11 ❀ PRP: Until It's Gone
12 ❀ Tenryujin Portrait
13 ❀
14 ❀
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Posted: Thu Aug 11, 2011 9:03 am
|| PRP: The Morning After The Night Before || Bataar examined his scars with a frown playing upon his lips, the ghost of incomprehension haunting his green eyes. Were they that bad? Certainly, he had not thought that Sara’s scars were so very terrible. Earlier in the day she had seemed to think that it was the end of the world, that the case was rather hopeless, but he hadn’t seen it that way. The Mongol had always had a very relaxed view on scars and to him, this one had been no different than so many others he’d seen, but she’d seemed to think it made her some kind of freak. In that situation, then, what the hell was he classified as?
He recalled finding the girl upon the forest floor with a grimace, aware that it was hardly natural for her to experience so much misery over something so small. Or had it been small? Sarangerel had mentioned that a friend had done it, in any case, and that was, quite possibly, what had actually scarred her. Bataar had never had to deal with serious pain dealt out from someone close to him-- not really. The concept was foreign as far as the man was concerned, and his expression grew grim as he mulled over it.
Once again, he lounged in a pile of fur and cushions, comfortable inside of his yurt upon a fairly cool night. There was more to consider than simple scars, right now. There was also the fact that Sara had wanted him to lead her to Odval for lessons, which was far more dangerous than any rogue friend. No one seemed to believe him when he explained his mother, in any case, and Bat had often been brushed off when exclaiming about one of Odval’s cruelties or other. She was formidable, most agreed, but there was no harm in that. Sara had seemed to think the same, despite her being a Legionnaire.
The situation had put the captain on edge, although he couldn’t exactly pinpoint a reason. He had led Sarangerel to his mother, after all, without too much protesting. Odval had even bothered to look pleased with the pupil she was now in charge of, perhaps because she’d come from Mongolian blood. Whatever the case, Bat didn’t feel as if it were appropriate to stop worrying just yet. That was because he saw it, often in little flashes. A look in Odval’s remaining eye as if she would like nothing better than to throttle the student whom she had taken on. He knew that look, but hardly wished to accept the implications that came with it. After all, his mother couldn’t possibly want to kill Sara-- even if she was a legionnaire, she was still a Mongol.
Bat felt a shiver run down his spine and frowned, squirming uncomfortably. His mother wouldn’t go that far. She had secrets which he knew she’d been dying to pass down, and finally this girl had come along. Even if Sara did know hardly anything about her roots, it was an opportunity that was not to be given up for the older woman. But all the same, Odval was unpredictable. The captain merely hoped that he’d been seeing wrong.
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Posted: Fri Aug 12, 2011 8:35 am
|| PRP: Free-Range Beetles || Bataar flopped down in his yurt, watching delightedly as the beetle he’d found earlier in the day crawled around his palm. It was the most interesting creature he had access to right now, and he was trying not to take it for granted. Not taking a beetle for granted, however, was much harder than it sounded. They just weren’t very serious creatures, and their cuteness could have been greatly improved in the captain’s opinion. He sighed, poking at its little horns in contentment as he relaxed, thinking that he really wouldn’t like to ever pit it against another beetle again. That was, in short, obvious animal cruelty.
It was definitely not a hobby he was going to continue, even if Yue Lao wanted to. Speaking of Yue Lao, how the hell did she even know that he couldn’t read? The horror of the thought affected him fairly deeply as he considered it, feeling extremely embarrassed about his evident illiteracy. He had no idea that she actually didn’t know, or that she would hardly have cared in any case, but the thought was still mortifying. He glanced over to a book he’d found the other day, straining his eyes to try and read the cover(which was upside-down, unbeknownst to the Mongol). The impossibility of it caused him a deep frustration, and his face flushed as he considered his absolute inability to read.
That was, after all, why he had started their latest fight. One of many, but one that had definitely hit a sore spot for the Mongolian man. In the end, she hadn’t mentioned it again, but he was still beginning to feel way too insecure to deal with the situation properly. How could anyone properly respect him as the venerable Noble captain that he was if they knew he was unable to read? It was definitely a weakness, and one that he’d prefer to hide as he attempted to remedy it, but trying to read seemed to be of no help. The book was full of endless indecipherable symbols that looked as if they melted together at some points. If reading was this complicated, then what must it be like to write? Bat shuddered just considering the idea.
He paged through the novel carefully(it was still upside-down), trying to concentrate on the words upon the pages. Unfortunately, the black ink merely looked as if it had just started to snake around as opposed to staying still, which he knew wasn’t a good sign. He’d probably strained his eyes in the relative darkness of his yurt. In a sort of agonized fury, Bataar threw the novel from himself, looking pained. There weren’t even any pictures to give any sort of a hint as to what it was about. In short, this was going to be an impossible task to take on by himself. He was going to need help, and a lot of it.
The real question was whether or not Bataar Jaoret’s pride would allow him to learn what he desired.
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Posted: Mon Aug 15, 2011 6:46 pm
|| PRP: Anybody Home? || Bataar sat just inside of his yurt, idly toying with one of his plaits as he thought back to his encounter just earlier. Sarangerel had seemed in a much better state when he’d met her, for which he was glad. The Legionnaire was far too sweet to have to deal with such demons, and she was still only just a student. That was just how you survived in Lunaria-- you needed to recover. If you could manage that much, you could take care of yourself, and maybe stay alive in this midst of this terrible war. It was a question of what one could survive, and how. That was all.
The thought that Sara would graduate soon had also come as a great surprise to the Mongolian man. In his mind, she was still very young, and to see her as a soul conduit would be strange at this point. In any case, she hadn’t graduated yet, and there was still time. He didn’t have to feel enormously old just yet, especially when he actually considered the Legionnaire’s age-- he was merely acting aged, what with his battles and the fights. They were a lot closer in age than it seemed, but she would do better the longer she could manage to act young. Innocence, even slightly marred, was a great rarity here. In that, Sara held something precious.
What he didn’t know was that it wasn’t meant to last. How could it, in the middle of such a war? He leaned back as he thought and grimaced as a dull aching pain revealed itself yet again in his shoulder. Lightning had crashed very close to the yurt today, and just outside there was a blackened tree, or what had been a tree. It was the fault of the lightning that he’d ended up showing Sara his wound, and because of that he’d eventually fainted.
Stitches, after all, were not pleasant things. He would have to call upon the girl to remove them again, and hope that she would. Bat did, after all, look like a bit of a monster with the thread running under his skin in a disturbing-looking manner. His aversion to healers of all shapes and sizes had hardly been remedied by the treatment, although he was forced to suppose that his wound was doing a lot better now. Bataar sighed and looked away, still way too grossed-out for his own good when it came to the stitches.
That was one thing he hadn’t thought would be entirely necessary, after all, and it was hardly manly to swoon or pass out. That just wasn’t how it was done. The Mongol made a face, his green eyes narrowing for a brief moment. What was done was done, and there was no going back and changing it, so therefore there must really be no use in reflecting upon it. Stitches were not enlightening things, and he didn’t think he’d ever appreciate this particular set, no matter how much they’d end up helping him.
All he wanted now was to get these things out.
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 9:20 am
|| PRP: The Needle in the Haystack || Needles. He hated them.
What Bataar hated even more, however, was Huang-fu, who had been responsible for the needles buried in his bicep earlier. They were perhaps the most annoying weapons he’d come across in a long time, although what was even more distressing was that it was almost impossible to remove them on his own. The man rubbed his punctured arm with a grimace, his green eyes dulling with annoyance at the remembrance of the small spikes of pain. Who even used needles as a weapon? It wasn’t plausible. No one else liked the little spikes of doom, after all. That was entirely Huang-fu.
Perhaps the worst part was that Bat had not been able to take care of them by himself. Even if it was from Sarangerel, help was a humiliating thing to have to ask for considering his relative independence when it came to the vast majority of his wounds. That, and the fact that she’d been sleeping just moments before he’d come were slightly distressing. As a warrior, Bat liked to think of himself as fairly low-maintinence as opposed to high-strung. He’d taken care of the vast majority of his many scars himself, although it had not been easy. In short, he was unaccustomed to needing help, and was still cursing Huang for putting him in a situation where he did.
It hadn’t been right, in any case. A Noble captain going to a Legionnaire for help. That sort of thing was not meant to be at all natural. He’d known even as he’d headed to Sara’s ger that he was simply making trouble for the both of them. Even with that in mind, he’d eventually made it to the doorstep and knocked. She had wasted no time in taking him in, either, as if he really needed the help or the pity. He was a Noble, for godsake. All the same, it had felt right, and that was all he’d been concerned with once he’d had needles sticking out of him.
She had been kind, too. Too kind for her own good, no doubt. If she was waltzing around helping Bataar, there was no telling what other sorts of trouble the girl was getting into while he was away. Inexplicably, he was worried. The trouble that he must have been making aside, this might turn out to be a really big problem. It wouldn’t be good if Sarangerel was this nice to every injured person that strolled up to her door-- she’d even tried to offer him her bed.
In the end, he’d hardly felt dignified or manly as he should have. He’d even passed out-- again, although this time it was from the strange potion she’d fed him to erase the majority of the pain. It was an embarrassment but he wasn’t as concerned as he normally would be. He doubted Sara would spread that sort of thing around. It wasn’t like her. And so, concern aside, Bataar really was grateful. Anyone would be, getting needles extracted from their arm at last.
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 9:21 am
|| PRP: It's Been A While || It had indeed been a while. He had settled back into his yurt recently-- very recently. Leaving in the morning at least a good month or so ago(probably much longer) from Sara’s house without even the benefit of being able to write a note had not proven to be the most beneficial of things. They were friends, after all, and friends were supposed to tell each other whenever one of them had to go on any particular mission or something of the sort. That was just how it was supposed to work, Bataar recognized now. His departure must have seemed terribly abrupt and evidently rude to the Legionnaire he’d left behind, but Sara was good in that she took things in stride.
He had been happy more than once because of her calm demeanor, and that was no different now. Was it? For Sarangerel was now a soul conduit and had managed to graduate from the academy. Bat had to admit that he no longer knew exactly how he ought to treat the young woman-- obviously, she was not the same child she had been upon their first meeting, but just how much had she changed over the time they’d known each other? It seemed like every time he left he was having to worry about what might be there when he came back, and there were always less and less people. That was just how it was in the midst of a war such as this. Sara, however, was a sort of constant, even as she changed.
She had been worried, though. Clearly. Did he look so much as if he were on the verge of death? Bat would have liked to have thought that he appeared to be far more capable than he was as a Noble captain, but the soul conduit seemed to have perceived him quite differently. In her mind no one was safe, and Bat couldn’t say he blamed her. He’d lost too many friends to easily cope with over the years, and it was understandable that she’d been worried.
What was even more impressive, however, was the fact that they seemed to remain friends despite the large lapses of time over which they tended to meet. Even as they grew into the roles that their allegiances provided they hadn’t really parted badly. Until now. It was something that he’d had to call into question. All the same, it was normal for anyone to see that Sara was still too optimistic-- to happy just to expect that someone wasn’t going to come up behind her and kill her one day. It was that innocence that had worried, and that which had prompted their argument.
After all, how could a Noble captain and a Legionnaire soul conduit be good friends as they appeared to be? It was an impossibility that Bataar would prefer not to face, if he had the choice. All the same, this was war. They were going to have to face it, and they were going to have to deal with it and because of that they’d both been greatly upset-- of that, he had no doubt. But how could they possibly make it through this if they didn’t consider the consequences?
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Kayakurai generated a random number between
1 and 3 ...
1!
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Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2011 3:42 pm
|| SOLO BATTLE || It was a normal day as far as Bataar Jaoret was concerned. Nothing odd about today-- no. He was simply going to visit his mother in the Noble temple she had taken up residence in. A normal house would have made perfect sense, but Odval preferred somewhere were she could command people around. That was just far more to her tastes. The temple had, indeed, been having to deal with her but she’d mentioned that they seemed no worse for wear now that she’d moved in. It was true that things were moving along a lot better, and that much was a relief. The captain wouldn’t have wanted his mother wreaking havoc with the last name they both shared.
He’d found that lately a lot more people tended to respect him, or pay him deference. What he hadn’t realized was that that was Odval’s doing, too. Whether by direct threat or the more indirect idea that she was too formidable to have a son who wasn’t worth respecting, one might never know. There was, however, no question of the respect that Odval tried to command from as many fellow Nobles as she could-- and why shouldn’t she, in the position that she was in? The woman had everything to gain, but she also had everything to lose. That much was obvious. Her revenge against the Legionnaire forces was her passion.
In any case, here he was, trying to visit his mother as any dutiful son should, and he’d been told that she was busy-- busy with a patient. The noble captain sighed and strummed his fingers upon the ornate wood that made up the majority of the temple. Surely his mother could see him prior to any patient of hers. He was, after all, probably the best son in the whole entire world for being here in the first place. All the same, she’d kill him in he didn’t wait now, and keeping that in mind he strolled over to the fountain in the temple courtyard, sitting a few feet away from one of the invalids that occupied the space upon the lip of the fountain.
The young man looked fairly disinterested at first, but his gaze was increasingly landing upon the Mongol. At last, he blurted out “Captain?” to which Bataar looked around, realizing that it was one of his own men. “It’s me-- Seon Lee.” the fighter offered a weak grin. He looked as if he’d been cut up pretty badly and was probably lucky they hadn’t had to amputate one of his legs-- yet.
”Oh, hi, Seon.” the Noble spoke, scratching his head and doing his best to take the awkwardness of the situation in stride. He’d been wondering why he hadn’t seen the man on his last mission-- clearly, he’d been too injured to continue fighting, although the Mongol was fairly sure it hadn’t been on his watch. That, at least, was enough to make him feel better before the impending dread that always approached when Odval started coming anywhere near him, which she was doing now, walking briskly through the courtyard.
The woman paused for a moment upon sighting Seon Lee and(Bataar didn’t notice-- he really didn’t pride himself on noticing these things anyway) appeared to be straightening her top, as if it had been riding up or some such thing. In any case, it was now low-cut as could be. ”Bataar, I see you’ve met Seon Lee.” she said warmly, placing both hands on the fighter’s shoulders with the sweetest of smiles.
Bataar nodded, his confusion probably showing through rather easily as he tried to figure out why his mother was being so damned nice to the other Noble. Seon, for his part, was blushing a brilliant red, his eyes upon the ground as he muttered out a greeting to Bat’s mom. Still not suspicious, the captain said hello to Odval and nodded, explaining briefly that the other man had been in his company up until recently, when he must have gotten the wound he had now. Odval nodded gravely in response, making the air that much thicker with an unexplainable awkwardness as she-- was she rubbing his chest? Bat stared, appalled and far more confused than he’d been just a moment ago.
What he didn’t know was that his mother was a cougar, and since her arrival at the temple she’d been targeting a more-than-willing Seon Lee. It would have been easy enough to tell, but it was one assumption Bataar would really prefer not to make regarding his mother. If an arrow hadn’t flown through the air at that instant, flying in the direction of Seon, he wouldn’t even have given the idea of it a second thought. It was a little hurtful to assume that Odval considered the fighter as another son or some such thing, but that would have to do.
The man’s sword was out in a flash, and the arrow was easily deflected. He stared, perceiving a Legionnaire fighter stalking towards the three of them through the courtyard. He didn’t understand-- really, he didn’t. All of these random attacks by Legionnaires were beginning to get on his nerves, which he was about to mention when his mother spoke.
”Bataar, kill him. Seon and I are going inside to wait for you.” the shaman declared imperiously, helping up her “patient” and dragging him in the general direction of the infirmary as Bataar prevented one or the other of them from getting hit by damned arrows. He approached the Legionnaire once they’d left, offering up a flat glare.
”What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, but the man only looked as if he were about to facepalm. He had, after all, nearly gotten his target: Odval Jaoret’s supposed lover, who was, by the way, way too young for her. The fighter thought someone just a little bit older, maybe like himself, was far more deserving of such a privilege, but we will neglect to go into that for the time being, mainly because it’s really creepy for Bataar. In any case, the Legionnaire clearly didn’t feel any real need to explain himself beyond general complaint.
“You got in my way.” he growled, readying another arrow and shooting it in Bat’s direction, grinning when it grazed the large man’s cheek. Clearly, he had the advantage here with his long-distance weaponry and he wasn’t about to neglect it. It was time for this captain to go down, and perhaps he’d even get to his targets in the meantime. Odval was, after all, considered a direct threat to the vast majority of the Legionnaires, mainly because of her fame in being rather manipulative and cruel. If this was her son, then he already had an advantage. Surely she’d try to save him?
The fighter however, was wrong, much to both his and Bataar’s confusion. Back-up was not sent for, and Bat was expected to do all of this on his own. The man sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand before aiming his sword directly at the Legionnaire and only managing to get away with a cut that could be considered a scrape at best. The other man looked greatly encouraged by this turn of events, as if it was quite possibly better than he could even have planned for. It was a one-on-one, yes, but the long-distance weapon was far more convenient in this scenario, and the fighter also considered himself to be a lot more agile.
It was probably a combination of those reasons, then, that caused his arrow to bury itself into Bataar’s collarbone, sticking out as a painful-looking angle. The Noble collapsed against the lip of the fountain, simply glad that he’d found himself in a temple during this particular battle. The Legionnaire, on the other hand, was darting away, savoring his victory. No doubt he’d brag extensively that he’d damaged Odval Jaoret’s son to a great extent, even if he’d just scraped by with the win. In any case, he’d left behind a deeply confused Mongol who still wanted to know why either Seon Lee or his mother had been targeted.
His confusion would endure, however, as Odval came out and briskly tended him, explaining that she and Seon were merely very good friends and that that was normal among people who were actually mature, unlike her son who clearly couldn’t even win a simple fight. He was forced to endure one attempted strangulation and two smacks as punishment, although Bat didn’t look terribly concerned. He was too use to the beatings that his mother was capable of dealing out to really lament.
He had resolved to leave as quickly as possible, however, once his wound had been taken care of. His mother would not be receiving anymore surprise visits out of him-- not if she was going to end up giving him a beating, anyway. ”And she didn’t even wrap this right.” he huffed, his eyes straying down to his new wound. That was Odval, for you.
Odval the cougar.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 5:24 pm
|| PRP: Don't You Dare || He wasn’t sure that his visit had been the best of ideas, but then again he wasn’t sure of very much anymore, anyway. He’d had to get back on speaking terms with Sara, though. She was one of his few friends, Legionnaire or not, and he hadn’t wanted to lose that. He was just happy now that he hadn’t walked away, and that he’d entered into Sara’s ger despite feeling quite like an intruder. She’d even had food ready, which had provided a good enough dinner for the Mongol. Indeed, things seemed as if they were quite back to normal for a good few moments in which the tension between them had disappeared. They were concerned for each other’s safety, which was certainly a significant bond considering their allegiances.
But, in truth, part of the reason he’d gone to make things up with the soul conduit was because he was worried. Because she was Odval’s student, the Nobles had wanted to keep an eye on her, and he wasn’t sure how much. He’d actually been fairly satisfied that he’d been worrying for no reason and that she was safe, too. Unease had soon filled the atmosphere however, and the entrance of a would-be assassin had ended any wishful thinking on Bataar’s part. From there, he had merely acted on instinct, but whatever his instinct was telling him seemed to be extremely dangerous.
If his gut thought that he ought to kill a Noble in order to protect a Legionnaire-- well, that was a problem. That was a really, really big problem. The Mongolian man tiredly rubbed his eyes, having briefly come to his yurt to settle down following the ordeals which had seemed to come, one right after the other. He hadn’t even been thinking. It had been more impulse than anything to try and protect Sara, and even then she’d nearly lost too much blood for her own good. The thoughts that had been coursing through his mind at the time were unexplainable, and he didn’t want to think any more of them.
His mother would have been ashamed.
In any case, it had taken action to remedy the situation, especially once Sarangerel had a dagger buried very near to her collarbone. The wound had been fairly deep, but luckily not deadly. He had dealt with it as she’d told him to, although even now he could not help but wince or grimace at the thought of burning the wound shut. He knew it to be painful, not from experience but from the volume of men on whom it often had to be performed following battles or skirmishes. However painful, it had worked, and Sara had ended up alright.
“Alright” was, however, a term to be used very loosely concerning the situation. Bataar was more worried than he’d ever had reason to be by now. If one of the Nobles were to send out another assassin there was no way that Sara could really protect herself all that much-- she was wounded now, anyway. He was just going to have to finish what he’d started, although he had yet to find out that any of this was the fault of his mother.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 5:26 pm
|| PRP: The Guard Dog || It was normal to try and protect your friends as best you could, especially if you had very few. That was where one’s loyalties should certainly lay, in Bataar’s opinion. That was why he had gone to stand guard at Sara’s ger, a paranoid light very likely coloring his eyes. Bat was taking no chances following the attack of the assassin, nor was he willing to take the situation at all lightly. He didn’t trust Sara to protect herself, after all, and had decided that it would be better if he, Bataar Jaoret, took charge. The fact of the matter was that Sarangerel was almost too sneaky to be endured, and that she’d ended up sitting outside with him, anyway.
She’d brought him a blanket and some tea, though, so it was impossible to really complain. Any company on such a night was appreciated, even if it was from the person he was supposed to be protecting. It had been warming in more ways than one, and Bataar found that he was actually glad of it. There was, after all, something so enlightening about small-talk in the early hours of the morning that enthralled the behemoth of a man. He could honestly say that he’d even felt a tad on the enlightened side when speaking to Sara.
After all, he had made one damned good joke about being married to his job, in essence. It had been ruined by Sara’s spilling tea all over herself, but it had been a bit of a glorified moment for Bat. Clearly, she’d fallen for it at first, even if she hadn’t seemed at all pleased by it. Following that he supposed that she had indeed attacked him, when he was supposed to be the glorified guard or protector. Their friendship was definitely a strange one, but Bataar rarely got away with normal friendships. If he wanted a worse example of a messed-up pair, he and Jianyu probably would have taken the cake.
Something definitely hadn’t been quite right with the girl, however, and Bat had noted it. Even now, he assumed that it was probably her painkillers making her head a little on the hazy side but he supposed it could also have been the added shock from the assassin’s attack. If he’d been the soul conduit he probably still would have been distressed, too. It wasn’t every day you realized someone thought you were special enough to assassinate, after all, and he still had yet to determine whose fault it was. It certainly hadn’t been official.
Whatever the case, he’d eventually made sure that she went to sleep. The night was cold, after all, and the last thing he needed was for her to catch some obscure illness by sitting outside with him the entire night. Bat would do his best from here on out to try and guard the Legionnaire he’d decided to become friends with, even if it wasn’t entirely accepted. No one else had to know, after all. They didn’t have to show off that they were friends. Maybe, if they were lucky, everything would be alright.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 5:28 pm
|| PRP: A Little Drop of Poison || Bataar Jaoret’s mother was a monster. There was no denying it now, even for the famed momma’s boy.
He had decided to act the part of his paranoid self for one last night before assuming that another assassin would not be sent. The sunset had been lovely, and he’d been settling in for a night of relatively simple dozing beside Sarangerel’s ger when he’d heard it-- her wolf had been howling. Not the most normal behavior coming from such a creature while it was indoors. Beyond that, he’d definitely heard something shattering; there was no question about that. It was not another assassin, however. This time had been something entirely different.
Before he’d really known what was happening, and just after his confirmation that no one else was inside the ger, Sara revealed what he’d refused to accept-- that Odval had poisoned her. Spirits could lie, couldn’t they? Even now, just thinking about it practically put him into a state of shock. He had thought that just because Sara was Mongolian they’d be fine, and that the fact that she was a Legionnaire didn’t mean much to Odval in the face of her shamanistic traditions, but apparently Bat had been wrong. Really wrong. He’d underestimated his mother’s ability to toy with people, and to make their lives truly miserable.
For a few golden moments, he had done his best to assume that the soul conduit was crazy. That she was merely ill, and that she needed to sleep. Delirium wasn’t such a far-fetched idea, after all, and Sara had seemed upset enough to fall into the category. He’d had so many good arguments against the accusation, but in the end hers had been better. He was certain that she’d confessed far more than she’d meant to, as well. They were, apparently, better friends than they’d formerly assumed. In the end he hadn’t known what else to do beyond trying to comfort the girl to the best of his abilities. Odval had gotten the best of both of them, even if the reasoning didn’t seem entirely valid.
Why, they had even ended on a strangely light-hearted note when it became more than a little evident that Sara wasn’t going to die. Without considering the implications, he’d kissed her and from there things had seemed to go swimmingly enough. The Mongol was not one for the overanalyzation of physical affection and so was not really concerned about this move on his part. It had felt right, and so he’d committed himself to it. It was as simple as that.
Sarangerel would be alive and well come the next day, and he’d deal with his mother following the confirmation of that. Odval could wait considering all that he’d been through that night, which he reasoned about with himself even as he lounged upon a pile of cushions within Sara’s ger. He had no idea that his mother would aim for some great type of vengeance against the two of them, or that she might even find out about their briefly-exchanged affections. There was never any telling, but hindsight would forever remain 20/20.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 5:31 pm
|| PRP: Poor Unfortunate Souls || The shriek that had woken him up earlier that day was unlike any he had ever heard, before or since. There had been no denying from the start that it had been Odval’s, and it had been horrible. His mother’s reaction upon realizing that her student wasn’t dead had been worthy of many shudders to come. Never before had he felt such fear or such anger towards the woman who had stormed into the ger that morning. It was unreasonable-- really unreasonable. The captain was generally quite indulgent and even rather defensive of his mother at times, but this time what she’d done had been unforgivable in his opinion.
Poisoning one of his best friends was not the way to win his heart. Acting completely insane was also a deal-breaker for Bat, who had been struggling quite a lot with dealing with Odval lately. When she wasn’t yelling at him or attempting to kill him it seemed like she was ignoring him, which was frustrating in and of itself. As much as he really did love the woman, he was no longer certain about how to deal with her. It was as if she was trying to force him to choose between herself or Sarangerel and he did not want to answer to that. Just the thought of trying to explain himself there to either of them was horrifying enough.
In the end, he knew she’d tried to kill Sara a total of three times. He only hoped she would stop, perhaps thinking it was divine intervention of sorts. Besides, it was more her style to slowly make everyone around her miserable as opposed to just going for the kill. Maybe this would suit Odval even better, despite her evident horror. Bataar frowned and took a moment to rub his face while heaving a rather immense sigh. His shoulders were tight with stress as he thought back upon the morning and how it had been handled. Odval had finally left, leaving he and Sara alone.
Naturally-- as naturally as could be expected --they had resorted to affection, mostly out of relief. His mother had, after all, clearly gone and was probably marching away. What they hadn’t counted on was that she’d come back. And oh, had she come back. Before he’d known what was happening her hand had been wrapped around his wrist in an iron grip and he was being dragged out of the ger, without really even being able to say goodbye to Sara.
From there, it had pretty much been a vicious tirade of sorts. Odval had never suspected that her son would “lower” himself that far and proposed something of a rehabilitation in an outpost in the north. Why not, she’d asked, saying that she’d already mentioned it to his superiors, any way. She declared that she’d return tomorrow to update her son, and had left with what might almost be considered a cheerful air. Perhaps she was just glad that she’d caught all of this on time to try and stop it.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 5:31 pm
|| PRP: Until It's Gone || Packing was tiring, to say the least. Trying to organize one’s entire yurt and packing at the same time was, therefore, quite a task. He’d have to be more than prepared, however. Earlier in the day he had chopped a great deal of wood, which he would have upon his return that winter to use-- this was because Bataar was going to the northern outpost that his mother seemed to think was absolutely perfect for him. He’d be there three months in total and, as such, he would have to ready things for when he returned mainly because living in a tent made of animal skins during the winter didn’t always tend to be the easiest of things.
He now sat in the middle of it all, rubbing his temples. In just about fifteen minutes he’d have to depart in order to meet up with the group he’d be traveling with. He would at least have something to occupy his mind, however, mostly due to Sarangerel’s visit about an hour earlier. She hadn’t wanted him to go, which was understandable given the circumstances. Odval had arranged this just to try and tear them apart, although Bataar found the north to be very agreeable no matter what. All the same, it had been upsetting to realize that his mother’s plan might actually turn out to be effective.
Bat felt quite bad now, too, for the generally aloof manner with which he’d treated Sarangerel. His behavior was probably not easily forgivable, to say the least. He’d been packing the whole time, trying to keep busy and trying to keep his mind off of the situation at hand. Three months in the north could either be an extremely long time, or a very short time. There was never any telling, and it always depended upon whatever he had to busy himself with. In any case, Sara had made quite a candid request, which had been that he think-- really think --about the way in which their relationship was developing and how he felt about it.
Even if he wasn’t one to be terribly insightful, Bat understood. Sara had been hurt before, and by another Noble at that. It was no wonder that she was reluctant to do anything quickly, and he completely understood. He himself was still preoccupied with the risks involved given their differing alliances and would quite prefer not to dwell upon any of it, although it was becoming increasingly obvious that he’d have to.
And now they were parting for at least three months’ time, until the winter. It was a shocking thought, and one that brought very little relief with it, but it might actually be good if they had this time. Bat wasn’t sure, and neither was Sara. That much was clear, and maybe further clarification would come along with more in the way of insight and reflection. It was a dangerous plan, but a plan nonetheless and Bataar would go along with it. His mother’s plan might be thwarted, after all.
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Posted: Sun Jul 07, 2013 6:14 pm
 Perhaps the mighty Tenryujin requires a revival.
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