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 Posted: Wed May 24, 2006 11:52 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 3:44 pm
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He'd managed to lose his mother again, if only for a short while on the godforsaken spit of land called Train.
Trying to sharpen your sword on a rock took a lot of concentration, more than you'd think.
Ya' had to find the right rock, with the right smooth, yet roughened surface. Then you had to carefully sharpen the blade of yer sword by 'rubbin' it against the stone at just the right angle lest y' destroy the sharpness.
'Tank had to try a little harder so he could keep as quiet as possible to avoid his mom's detection.
It was a small island afterall.
Now he could've headed to the main island, Station... but he liked being on his own, liked working with his sword, trying to get better and better, like Zoro.
Somethin' he couldna really do.
Not with some stupid dirk he'd inherited from his dad.
Some corpse that old man was now, at the bottom of Davey' Jones locker thanks to mom's crazy bird. But then again, the bird only listened to mom, so maybe she was crazy too.
J.Tank made a habit out of coverin' the lower half of his face- and often avoided thinking too deep on why, 'specially when he was training to be a better swordsman like Zoro, or sharpening his stupid dirk like he was now.
A large, god-awful ungainly bird swooped from between a few palm trees and landed on the stone he'd been using.
"stupid bird."
J' didna like to talk too much either, mom always berated him for being a mumbler a'cuz of it.
As for the bird... it had a face only his mom could love, obnoxiously big owl eyes, a hawks beak, a large, feathery body, a wingspan thrice that of an albatross, with the coloring of a black and purple sand gecko common around these beeches, and the brains of a pidgeon.
He was mom's messenger bird of love.
Within the oddly misplaced beak was a small, neon green post-it note, in large- and ridiculously messy scrawl was the following message of 'love'.
Quote: GET YOUR a** HOME NOW, I NEED TO COMB YOUR HAIR.
Tank ignored the bird for about fifteen minutes, continuing his business until the stupid creature started to shriek, like a siren or some sort of an alarm.
He sighed.
His life on this rock sucked.
Sucked a**.
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Posted: Thu Jun 08, 2006 10:02 pm
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He'd managed to escape her again... if barely.
She had been trying to give him a bath again; he was old enough to keep up with his own damn hygene- they were on an island fer ******** sake! Surrounded by water-!
The fact it was salt-water was completely beside the point.
J' could take care of his damn self!
Didna need his hair combed or to have help putting on his own boxers each morning.
So, here he was, at the completely opposite side of the pathetically small island... training. Since he didn't have a second sword, he had to practice with a crude wooden sword he'd carved out of a fallen piece of palm tree.
'Tank had tied some smooth flatstones all along the wooden blade of the makeshift sword to compensate the weight of his dirk. The stones had a tendency to fall out if he was either not quick enough, or precise in his executions of swordplay.
Given his method of the two-sword fighting style, it left little room for gaurding his bodily person. J. Tank had yet to master any particular technique in rectifying that rather large problem... there was in fact- little he could do to help with that.
His only solution was to avoid placing himself within that kind of danger.
So he had to be quick, precise, and merciless.
There could be no room for error if and when he encountered a worthy opponent.
Between a thrust and a dodge with an imaginary foe, he'd come up with a few methods he'd have to start putting into practice if he wanted to achieve the ultimate defense.
One his mother would more than enjoy helping him with.
J' needed speed, and precision... so he would start wearing weights on his arms and legs and within his clothes. He needed gravity to be heavier while he trained, over time, he would start adding more.
His mother would more than enjoy helping him adjust his clothes accordingly- if he suddenly believed he needed many inner pockets within all of his clothes... to hide all sorts of surprises.
Or some such trite.
For the second one, he'd have to increase his training regimen- moving the majority of his combat and technique training into the shallow waters after he'd placed enough weights all over his person; or as many as his body could carry without looking noticeable to the observant eye.
To achieve speed, he would need to be slow.
Slipping off his boots and socks, he sheathed both 'swords', wiped his sweating brow, and then set off to collect sizeable rocks and makeshift cords to begin his new training.
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Posted: Wed Jun 21, 2006 1:00 am
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It had been a few weeks.
His training had since progressed into a smooth, and fluid routine.
Unlike the first week... rocks slipping from carelessly sewn pockets to fall upon his unsuspecting feet, stepping on sand rays should he go too far out, getting trapped in a jellyfish forrest.
J' had been lucky to avoid the dreaded manofwar jellyfish.
Bloody lethal inconvieniances they were.
Naturally, the first week, he had to reconsider his gameplan, or thought that he had needed to. Afterall, his mother had been less than helpful as he'd originally thought. But once she saw just how determined he was, even after nearly slicing his achilles heel in two during a particularly gone-wrong training session... she'd finally come around.
...or straightened the bloody ******** up.
Whichever, it helped his progress- after he'd submitted to a three day reprieve which left him at his mother's tender mercies.
His eyes were still a little bloodshot and he often felt the telltale ache of an ulcer from those three, godfersaken days.
The water swirling about his quite thoroughly soaked person still felt like near-dry cement, slowing his all-too-close-to-being-perfect executions of the Two-Sword fighting style.
Mother had been serious after that incident, she'd started to help him... when the mood struck her.
Which is why there were several well-read and worn volumes on the two-sword fighting style sitting in his room, two or three on the beech a few feet away.
He was tired.
He wanted to stop, his breaths were only getting less sufficient, and his arms and legs burned.
But he didn't stop.
J. Tank never did.
Nearly drowned three days back because he passed out during one of his little water training session.
No matter, he'd get a break soon enough... thus the reason for his doubly rough training.
A trip to the main island, tomorrow.
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Posted: Fri Jul 28, 2006 1:10 pm
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Group RP on the Main Island
After leaving Station and returning to Train Island...
The encounter at the docks wasn't the only disappointing situation J' had been subjected to on his trip to the mainland. He'd also caught hell at the blacksmiths since that stupid bird hadn't been sent intentionally to Gordo's... or so his mother later told him.
He didn't think he'd ever be able to show his face in that metalshop again without hearing those stupid giggles or laughing eyes.
J' couldn't wait to get off this bloody rock and out to open sea.
Away from his mother and the people at the blacksmiths... didn't his mother have any form of respect for his person? Clearly not since she'd sent that stupid creature to Gordo with one of her care packages; each one never failing to be stranger than the last.
Unfortunately every single one had a fifty fifty chance of carrying the most humiliating item just for him.
...a spare change of underpants personally enscribed with 'Mother loves you bunches- kiss kiss' on the front of them.
Gods he wanted off this rock.
And what the hell had been with giving Gordo half a straw, three inches of string, and twelve paperclips anyway? His mother had to be insane, well and truly- about the only thing she was good for was fueling his growing need to leave. Which came in handy when he was seconds from calling off his strict training regimen at the crack a** of dawn in freezing cold salt water.
Other than the embarassing carepackage fiasco, (in which he tossed the entire thing into the fire, only permitting the workers to keep the tine of cookies) he got right down to business. He'd carefully serveyed every long and short sword so far created- including some still in the making, and came up sorely lacking. It was during the time his dirk was getting sharpened(something he could've done just as well himself but Gordo had some stipulations about letting children near dangerous tools) -that J.Tank had been perusing the discount bin full of long-swords that he managed to find a half-way passable one.
Nevermind the fact it was as tall as he was.
It was a plain, flat broadsword of foreign design that many swordsmen and women had found little interest in despite the supposed popularity of the type overseas. Gordo had tried to mimic the style and most likely failed in his endeavor, thus the discount rubbish barrel 'Tank had found it in.
He bought it along with it's half-assed scabbard which he later patched up when he got back home.
It was heavy, and near impossible to lift with all the weights he wore, but after a period of time when he was able to wield it adequately- he began to weight the weapon down too.
J' needed to be fast, and this was the only way he knew how to achieve the speeds he required. |
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Posted: Sat Dec 16, 2006 3:08 am
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Posted: Sun Sep 02, 2007 9:27 pm
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Quite simply, defeat at the hands of a girl was not acceptable. He should've been better than that by now. By far superior in speed and skill compared to some simple tomboy girl who did nothing but run around in dirty boots!
"I!" J' shouted, bringing his swords down into the growing waves while he twisted his feet to slide his body into the next stance.
He was tired, and his mother was shouting at him from the shallows to come in, for some reason or another. J could not hear her past the growing waves, nor did he care to. He needed to focus on what he was doing just as much as he needed to concentrate on his breaths, otherwise he would drown and be tossed from his already precarious position between the shallows and the deep.
"Will!" he yelled, snapping his mouth closed to keep from being drowned.
Another forceful slash across the horizon near-parted the waters as he turned, feet sliding, arms raising to block a frontal assault. His body soon followed the pattern, finishing one move, one stance while making the preliminary adjustments to ease fluidly into the next.
"Not!" another word, another breath, and still he was not done.
J. Tank would not be done for quite some time, this failure today was not acceptable. Nor would one like it ever be in the future; because there was no room for failure, not with his plans. He could not afford it... nor would he allow it.
"Fail!" he hollered again, his voice growing hoarse despite the water that rushed into it if he were not fast enough to close his mouth.
It had begun raining in earnest now, if only to compete with the growing waves that gave J' more water than they did air. His lungs were on fire from the insufficient amount of air. They burned and throbbed in time with his muscles, pleading and begging for rest that he would not give.
"AGAIN!" he screamed when he could not shout.
When his stances slackened or his swords wavered- J' repeated them, raising his swords a touch higher, putting more force into the movements until they were completed with perfect accuracy. If he faltered, then he grit his teeth and did it again, and again, and again until he got it right before moving on.
J. Tank was not done for the day. And he would not be done until he was satisfied with his performance.
He was not yet satisfied. |
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