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 Posted: Wed Feb 22, 2012 5:50 pm
Location: Route 43
Bright sun shone down on Muirín as he kicked through the tall grass. The light caught on everything, warming the earth and lighting the way between the trees, his path to his destination ahead, and where it didn't shine bright, it glowed softly and spilled over into the shadows created by the leafy canopy. The forest life buzzed and hummed with activity, probably due to the entirety of Route 43's population being nearly excited to be alive on such a gorgeous day as Muirín himself. Wind sighed on a soft course around, over, and against the boy, and it carried the green scent of this place's vitality to Muirín.
A beautiful late-spring day, if he'd ever seen one.
Though somewhere ahead lay his goal, Muirín meandered, in no hurry to reach it. He still had hours upon hours of glorious daylight left, and he intended to enjoy the day while he could. Mahogany Town lay far behind him by now, and with the last vestiges of civilization left behind for now, the natural world had purchase to exert its glory upon all it surrounded. He could feel the stalks of grass press against the fabric of his pants as he waded through them, strong, unbent markers of a path seldom-traveled. A perfectly serviceable, completely clear path lay somewhere far to his right, on the other side of a great many trees, but Muirín preferred this way. Here he could hear the gentle lapping of waves from a pond on his left as he walked, and the sun sent reflections to him along the way. How could he give up such a gorgeous experience?
And ahead lay a place he'd been meaning to approach for a long time, yet never had the chance: The Lake of Rage. He'd heard much of it, from many different people, stories telling of everything from its ferocity in the rain to its stunning beauty in the sunshine. Standing bodies of water always held a special place in Muirín's heart, and he made a point to visit every one he heard of. A quick dip into each generally marked the end of his time in an area, and he'd move on to the next before too long. He intended to do the same in the Lake of Rage, and sucks to those who said vicious gyarados lived beneath the surface.
Muirín slowed to a stop. He'd heard something, he was sure of it! He listened close, and without the sliding sound of his footfalls through the grass, the world grew next to silent. The pond, which had ended and given way to a new one a short distance away, lapped at its shore, and somewhere far off, wind rustled a few leaves. He'd almost thought he'd conjured the sound, when...
“What do I hear?” Muirín grinned and turned his ear towards the noise. “The sound of another person, I think! How glorious!”
And with this exclamation, he turned not just ear, but his course instead, towards the source of the noise. Nothing wrong with a little distraction, right? The Lake wasn't going anywhere!
So Muirín made his way along the path between the two ponds, a fresh spring in his step as he skipped off to investigate. The trees gave way, and between them, Muirín saw...
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Posted: Wed Mar 14, 2012 3:32 pm
Ruaidhrí stared the training dummy down. He stared a hole straight through it, into it, bored with his very being... and then struck out at the figure with a cry, his training sword unleashed with all the shedinja wrath he could muster. At which point the cheap sword rebounded off the surface and struck Rua in the face, startling him onto his a**. He lay in the grass, staring up at his makeshift dummy with a sigh. His skills were not improving. He sat up and looked at the 2nd training dummy, significantly less beaten up, to which he had attached some kind of brooch. "I am sorry, my dear, I have failed you yet again!" he lamented, dramatically. "But you, curr-- don't think you will evade me again! Next time I will slit you from throat to gut! Scoundrel!"
Something rustled in the grass. It shut Rua up instantly, and he sat there, as still as possible, his heart beating like a rabbit's: was someone standing there? He liked to come here to train, because it seemed like few enough ventured down this particular area near the Lake of Rage, but perhaps his good luck had finally ended. Maybe someone had merely gotten lost, and could use his help finding their way home? Rua smiled to himself, constructing this notion of someone in need of rescue, as he stood up.
"May I help you? Are you lost?" he asked, searching for the source of the sound he had heard. He might be shy, but if it was someone he could aid, naturally he would set aside that quietness and reach out the hand of charity. He waited quietly, enjoying the feel of the breeze against his back, as he waited.
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Posted: Wed Mar 14, 2012 7:55 pm
As Muirín sailed through that tiny sea of grass, as the last few waves and eddies formed by the gentle pulse of the wind parted before him, something rose against the gentle serenity of nature. Dramatic words and loud crashes that told him he hadn't missed the mark, that he had in fact stumbled upon another. The prospect of sharing this day, this glorious day, with a new acquaintance did excite Muirín so, and the excitement beat in his ears and thrummed in his chest. Already the quiet beauty of nature had lost its luster to him, some of the sheen leaving the grass and the breeze fell unnoticed against his face. He quickened his step, the Lake of Rage temporarily forgotten in the face of this new venture.
Muirín's lithe form forsook the graceful meanderings that had characterized his romp until now, and in their place rose the rather brutish thumps of deliberate tramping. His quarry must have heard the boy's approach, for the entire grove suddenly fell silent. Muirín took no noticed, so focused now upon the prospect of coming face-to-face with what he had now assured himself was a fellow adventurer. Through the final swatch of grass he passed, and came to a pause in the clearing to both adjust to the fresh sunlight that beat down unmitigated by the canopy of trees and to address the questions posed by the boy before him.
“Now, see, 'lost' is such a funny word.” Muirín said, launching immediately into conversation. “Being lost means you're unable to find your way, and my way is changing all the time! So no, not lost.”
Without even pausing for thought, Muirín's eyes wandered up and down the one who now stood before him, oblivious to how conspicuously he observed. He wandered all around his new compatriot, inspecting on a cursory level every aspect of this fellow's dress, his hair of an even more fiery shade than his own, and paid close attention to the wings as he came to a stop behind the lad. He'd make mention of those later. If he could remember. His thoughts fired faster than he could keep up with, and even as words bubbled up to the surface of his mouth and he felt the urge to oblige his new friend with a response, he wheeled on his heels.
“You CAN help me, though!” Muirín exclaimed, turning back to face the new boy almost as fast as he'd turned away. “You can tell me what you're up here; it looks like fun!” He'd never seen anything like the rough approximations of people that stood in this grove, and already he itched to understand them, and take part in whatever his new friend had been doing to make those noises. He didn't quite care WHAT it was, just that it was SOMETHING, and he looked expectantly for an answer.
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Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2012 7:26 pm
It was mostly Rua's halo that appeared first, above the soft grass. His vibrant hair was impossible to mistake amongst the sea of green, just like the boisterous stranger was difficult to miss once Rua laid eyes on him. He looked significantly younger, but perhaps it was all in the face. Either way, he was dressed in a way that made Rua think he must be royalty or something... far fancier than Rua's own beaten up armour. It was a new life for him, after all. Far away from the things he'd left behind. "I like that, then," Rua said, with a smile, after a long pause. He was trying to get over his shyness, and eventually he managed to take a step towards the vibrant young man, to extend his hand in greeting.
He rolled his other shoulder, as he had injured the muscle recently, and even extending his hand made the muscle twinge. He really should be more careful. His silver eyes remained fixed on the stranger's face, rather than rudely glance up and down the stranger. Who appeared to be... circling him, and examining him? Rua could feel himself sweat under his armour.
"Can I?" he asked, hopeful. "Oh! I was training," he said. And then he entered helpful-Rua mode, which was a lot like idiot-Rua mode, only instructional. "Here, come close! Like this!" Rua approached the young man, his shyness nearly evaporated by this point, and he picked up his sword, standing next to the stranger and putting the sword into his hands suddenly. "So you grip it like this," he started, adjusting his hands on the sword, "and then you need to brace yourself, and you need to picture your opponent's weak spot..." Rua trailed off, darted over to the training dummy and pointed to the throat, the neck, some vague other gestures here and there.
He beamed at the stranger excitedly, and while he had been shy at first, his smile now practically lit his face up.
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Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2012 8:28 pm
Muirín had scarcely stopped turning, the tail of his hair still swishing softly around his shoulder and his tasset still rustling with the swing of his hips, before he'd unabashedly begun examining his new friend again. For all of his bounciness, he lost much in the way of reading and perceiving other people, and he would probably never realize just how uncomfortable the shedinja boy had looked under his scrutiny. For some reason, this new person just seemed so beyond nerves, so beyond the emotions that plague the mind. Something about the shade of his eyes... Such a pretty color, one he'd never seen before. Or perhaps it was his armor, dented and worn but still holding strong, making him look invincible! Something in his novelty made this boy shine to Muirín, as the day had shone before him, and for the moment, Muirín wanted only to take him in.
Muirín let the hand hang in the air, unnoticed, before he finally perked up and realized what it was his new companion had it out for. Muirín beamed from ear to ear, shot to new heights of happiness that his new obsession might be willing to say 'hello', and extended his own hand in response. The handshake had always amused him, and he'd learned from the one that had raised him that the first handshake ever given always said the most. So he grabbed hold of the mutually offered hand and shook twice, then gave two healthy squeezes, and then stroked the boy's hand with his thumb whilst still locked in the grasp, before releasing with a laugh. He hadn't picked up on the injury, and there was no mercy in this shake.
“Like it? Good! No, wonderful!” Muirín exclaimed, excited to be able to share this with this boy whose name he still didn't know. “Keep it in mind, and don't ever let anyone else assign a destination for you!”
Muirín gave this statement some thought, and, after a moment, again exclaimed, “Wait... It sounds like I'm seeing you off with some life-lesson, but we haven't even started yet!” Babbling the whole time, he moved with the stranger, watching as he lifted the sword, an alien object of metal that he'd heard of many times over, but never seen once before this very moment. He'd swung sticks before, of course; everybody has at one point in their childhood. So when the stranger's sword had been dropped into his hand almost unceremoniously, Muirín wasn't lost, just inexperienced. The weight and the feel of it were so strange...
He gave it several shakes, before he cried, with a laugh, “Oh, I like this!” He looked long and hard at the training dummies, watching closely at the spots that the stranger indicated, and nodded in understanding.
“Right, so this is... A weapon, then? What with me aiming at the weak spots?” Muirín spoke not with vindication or any hint of an opinion either way on the matter, just the curiosity of someone realizing the gravity of what they held. “I'm going to kill the fake person there?” He paused to look down upon the blade, at how it caught the sunlight and gleamed. “This, I can do.”
With that, he again brandished the weapon, flourished mightily, and struck out towards that dummy... and completely misjudged the distance of the swing, missing the dummy completely. The force of the swing his corded muscles had given swung him in a half-circle; fortunately, he had the presence of mind to hold tight to the blade.
“That didn't seem right. I didn't even make any noise like you did.”
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2012 7:14 am
The young man had very nice hair, this much was true. Ruaidhrí watched it catch in the light like it was gold, and sighed inwardly. Look at the way his armour shone, too! It was probably only ceremonial... but still, to look so new, so full of life.
Ruaidhrí had basically spent ages within a tome of a cave, unmoving, craving light and sound. He struggled, at best, with the notion of being truly alive again-- but he did so love the sights of the world.
Regardless, it was making him extremely uncomfortable that the young man kept staring at him so. "My name is Ruaidhrí, in case I didn't mention it," he added. Sometimes he got kind of distracted, and forgot that detail. It was also slightly weirding him out that the young man stroked his thumb across Rua's hand when they shook hands. That was a new style. Rua was used to the slightly militant firm-grasp-shake-let-go style of handshake. Looked like this man put his signature on just about everything he did. Rua thought about his advice for a while."Even if they assigned me a destination, I would probably just get lost." Which wasn't wholly true; with a map, he could navigate just fine. Left to his own devices, he wandered erratically wherever. Never let Rua pick which fork in the road to take.
"Oh, of course. My sword," he said, "The tool of a hero!" He tried to smile openly, but felt heavy in his heart. He didn't know if he was even capable of being a hero, yet. His fighting style, raw as it was, had flourish in it; completely unlike Rua's determined strikes and single-minded focus. Rua beamed, as the man missed the training dummy. Good, he wasn't some kind of secret perfect assassin; that would have been disappointing, given his armour was definitely in a better state than Rua's crumbling set.
He approached the young man to borrow the sword back. "Watch me, maybe it will help? It's definitely important to keep the enemy's distance in mind!" Rua took a deep breath, minded his footwork, and slashed upwards at the dummy's chest, carving a neat burst-straw line. Finally, he did something right!
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2012 11:27 am
Muirín gave up the sword without a word, and immediately rocked back and sat in the grass to watch Rua with scrutiny, now observing every detail of his form, his footwork, his swing, how he gripped the sword. The first time he had gone without any knowledge, had struck out without the slightest inclination of what he was doing, for the sake of knowing how it felt to do it wrong. He very rarely got anything right on the first try. He wanted not in the realm of analysis, though, and now that he knew how NOT to swing a sword, he could commence teaching himself by searching Rua's motions with a grin and fascinated eyes.
“We're well met, then, Ruaidhrí! I am called Muirín, when called anything at all, and it is a pleasure to meet you!” Muirín called, when he realized he hadn't given his own response. His own name was such a strange thing, and he so rarely needed it, that he almost forgot that he had one from time to time.
“There you go with that word again... 'lost.' Pfeh.” Muirín gave a snort, almost as if he didn't like the taste of the word. He really hated hearing it, and disliked the entire meaning of the word, the very nature of it.
“First order of business, if we're going to start traveling together, Rua,” Muirín began, “Can I call you Rua? I'm going to call you Rua. First order of business is doing away with 'lost'. Lost doesn't exist, alright?” Muirín had picked up upon the sadness in the shedinja's voice, the lamentation hiding just beneath the word 'hero', so he decided, all at once, that Rua was to become his partner in adventure, at least for a time, and spoke as if this was an already-decided fact.
“Do you like the way that sounds, though? Let's go on an adventure, you and me, let's discover something new. Something tells me you need a change of pace, and I'd love to have you along with me for a time!” Muirín thought for a moment, then started when he laid eyes upon the sword again, remembering just what had been happening before he'd dropped such a proposition upon Rua.
“Oh! But I'm distracting you, aren't I. Please, show me how this sword-swinging is done!”
Muirín laughed and clapped at the results, exclaiming, “Now that's more like it!!” His congratulation was brief, however, as impatience built up in his chest. The shedinja still held much of his attention, still shone with the mystery of novelty, but he wanted to make a neat line like his new friend had just once, just to know that he could... “I think... I think I see what to do, now. If I could just...” Trailing off, he jumped back to his feet, borrowed the blade back, tentatively. Once he had it back in his hand, though, he turned to the dummy, and closed his eyes. For a moment, his scattered, racing thoughts quieted themselves, and stillness washed over Muirín. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, like he'd seen Rua doing... And all at once his eyes were open, his mind was sharp and focused as the tip of the sword, and he took three bounding steps before striking out with a cry. This time, his aim was true, and he felt the blade connect with the wood, carving a straight line of his own, at a downward angle steeply crossed with Rua's own.
“That... that felt better. That was better, correct?”
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