Fortune Favors the Bold
The Long Patrol
Players: Praxi, Bran
With appearances by: Ciocan, Felicity, Baatar, & Adrian
Salamandastron: Training Room
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This is the training room for the hares of the long patrol. The walls
seem to have taken a severe beating, more than likely not from stray
arrows missing the archery targets. There are several of said archery
targets lining the west wall, each with small oak stands a good distance
off to hold arrows, hang a bracer, and rest a bow on. The targets are of
simple design: a large, tightly wrapped bale of hay with a coarse paper
target on the front. A wooden mannequin, in no better shape than the
walls, is in the northeastern corner of the room. Besides that, several
wooden practice swords sit in a small pile. On the eastern side of the
room is a small, makeshift wrestling arena consisting of two mattresses
tied together. Then on the southern side of the room is a fitness area,
assembled from several pull-up bars, and a nice padded area to do push up.
Narrow, cylindrical weights (both wooden and metal) are pushed up against
the wall, along with a few straight metal bars for them to be mounted on.
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Into the training room Praxi ushers two decidedly nervous leverets. She corrals at a swift clip, both paws working to keep them together and moving forward. The wooden mannequin lures them to the northeastern corner. The two young hares peer at each other, uncertainty clear, to which the doe promptly chides, "If you're to fight, you will learn to fight /properly/. No ear pulling, no pinching, and no /biting/ unless you intend to bite whatever it is cleanly /off/."
Or at least chew it into an unrecognizable lump. Bran is already inside the training room, knocking out push-ups in the padded area, that's been padded for people to knock out push-ups in. TRAINING. It's hard work, don't you know. The young buck is barely older than Praxi, from the look of his face, but he's managed to claw his way out of the recruit stage of life ahead of schedule and is now dwelling on the respected plane of Private. He watches with some level of interest as she herds the pair in, and apparently expects them to 'fight properly' with no proper instruction.
"B-bu-bu," one of the leverets babbles, face sagging with a frown, before he is cut short by Praxi. "No 'bu-bu-bu's! Do not force me to call upon Lord Ciocan. I have never spoken to him in my /life/ so I can only imagine how /annoyed/ he would be when brought with such /asinine squabbling/." She folds her arms and juts one foot, tapping the pipsqueak with a toe. "Go on, now. Put your arms up," she pauses to survey the room for example, finds none, then points to Bran. "Oi, over there- would you-" She motions to the scared leverets. "Would you mind aiding me in the development of this recruit in the art of 'How to Properly Land a Blow'?"
For his part, Bran has been biting his cheek for most of Praxi's tirade, trying to keep from sniggering on the pull-up bar. It's a learned skill, that military bearing. She calls on him, and he points to his own chest with his thumb in a 'who, me?' gesture, glancing around at the clearly empty area. "S'pose I could be bothahed," the buck allows, snatching up a roll of paw wrap and beginning to wrap it around his knuckles.
Praxi's chiding carries over into her assessment of Bran, whiskers twitching reproachfully when he deigns it necessary to wrap his hands. But she coolly and quickly switches her attention back to the pair, heralding the buck's approach with a wave. "You've got a /real/ private now to show you how it's done," she tells them, their terror beginning to melt as their eyes widen on Bran. "A private? 'as 'e evah killed a beast?" one pipes, to which the other answers, "'e doesn't look so tough. 'ow's 'e even /in/ the Patrol?" The doe shrugs.
Perhaps a more insecure buck would be bothered by the tiny daggers the leverets are pitching with aplomb at Bran's ego, but he shakes it off; mostly. Anyone who wants to punch solid wood with bare paws is welcome to, but the private isn't about that life and won't be bleeding everywhere just to impress some caretaker, pretty though she may be. His paws clench around the fabric. Alright, maybe he regrets it a little bit. Blithely ignoring the comments, he steps up to the mannequin, squaring with it, tapping it on the shoulder with an outstretch paw. "Armslength away," he instructs didactically, turning his body to the right. "Face 'im at an angle. Smallah tahget, bettah reach."
Praxi begins the task of positioning the two leverets as Bran instructs. She tucks her skirt under her knees as she places herself at level with the two and while attending to the first, she reaches out to push the other back. Not bothering to look, her paw lands on the small hare's face and she face-pushes him to an arm's length away from the other. She glances up at Bran once they're both ready. "All right, then, what's next?"
Oh, uh, they're going to fight each other? Bran looks on in amazement at Praxi's rough positioning of the pair, shoving faces and taking names. "Well, um," he mumbles, unsure if he is about to be implicated in accidental levericide, "Theah's a coupla basic punches. Hook, jab, an' uppahcut. Y' c'n do any of 'em with eithah paw, but th' forward is best f' y' hooks an' jabs, not much good f' uppahcuts." He curves his left fist in towards the face of the mannequin, letting it smack hard against the wood and managing to only wince slightly. "Hook." A quick straight with the left. "Jab." He steps in with his right foot, bring his fist up from his waist to strike under the wooden chin, his knuckles grating on up along the cheek. "Uppahcut."
The muffled clatter of knuckle against wood steers the doe's ears away from its source. Somehow the sound is more unnerving than the idea of two leverets having a go at each other. "Keep your chins up," she minds them, "so that any uppercuts will land nice and solid beneath it." Praxi steps up and away and looks sideways to Bran, this time giving him a good head-to-toe gander. She creases her brow, squinting, as if struggling to illuminate some nebulous thought, but she soon disregards in favor of hastening the very first skirmish for these leverets. "Is there anything else they need to know?"
"Powah comes from y' hips," Bran adds, rotating his torso a bit to demonstrate. "Quick with y' front paw, since y' can't twist y' hips. Hard with y' back paw, since y' c'n." A pair of quick left jabs go at the mannequin's face, then a hard twisting hook across the eyes with his right. The buck gives his paw a little shake to get out the sting, then turns to shoot the leverets a doubtful glance. "Y' got all that? An' don't be afraid t' kick. Y' got legs f' a reason."
"Mu-mu-miss Praxi, is my da gonna be upset wif me for figh'in'?" peeps one of the leverets while he slowly builds the courage to move from the position she left him in. His posture is stiff and unnatural, and he can't seem to figure out on which foot to pivot and which paw to jab or to uppercut. "What happens if I accidentally kill 'em?" She clamps a paw over his shoulder, both to calm the hare and to shake off his rigidity. "/Don't you worry, now/. Your da doesn't need to be privy to everything in your life, and I don't think you are yet skilled enough to slay even a grasshopper at this point." The other leveret is ready to pop, hopping back and forth, testing kicks. A natural fighter! "Now, on the count of three, let's see you both give it /all/ you've got."
"Y'r da'll be upset if y' /don't/ fight," Bran counters with a verbal jab. He's busy unwinding the wrap from his paws to get back to his own business, his duty instructing the younger generation accomplished for the next few seasons. "Go on, then, hop to it like good lads an' do as she says."
The query-filled leveret puffs his cheeks at Bran then focuses his remaining attention on maintaining correct position. He tests a stiff hook, a jab, and then a horribly embellished uppercut; his partner is still hopping around, distracted, kicking the wall and the ground and invisible things. "Would you like to bet?" Praxi asks Bran from behind a paw, angling towards him. She slips a silver coin from her vest to demonstrate her seriousness.
Bran glances over and catches sight of the silver coin, an eyebrow raising. Gambling? From a maiden? ...she's cooler than he thought. "...Y'know who their folks are?" the buck finally allows, looking at each leveret in turn with a much more critical eye, trying to gauge their fighting abilities in the match to come based on their perfunctory practice moves.
"I think one's the colonel's," Praxi permits, but with a shrug. "I must admit that I am absolutely /terrible/ at all these ranks'n'names'n'faces." She motions to the pair, ponderously evaluating them. "We've the one who thinks a bit too much," she finally indicates, "and the one who doesn't think enough. I'd say they're about evenly matched. The winner might be determined just as well with a coin flip as it might with knowing their makers." She grins. "So, you in?" She leans forward to nudge one leveret at another. The hoppy one begins to close in and tentatively tests a punch as if still expecting to be reprimanded. But when he's not, he closes the distance, jabbing at the other's ear. "YYow! Not in the ea'ah!" it squeaks.
"Punchy," Bran decides, settling on a horse to back and a name to boot. "M'bet's on Punchy." Punchy, whatever his real name is, perks up at this and the outcry of his companion/opponent and swings a haymaker the leveret's jaw.
The strike lands fully across The Thinker's face and a stream of saliva spews from his maw. No blood is drawn despite the hare being utterly jarred; he staggers while maintaining his fixed position, weight teetering stiffly back and forth. His weight finally settles on his front foot, and as he shakes his ears out, he steps quickly forward and attempts, with little grace but infinite determination, an uppercut as payback. "I'm Praxi, by the way," says the doe.
"Bran," the buck replies, offering a painfully sore paw to the doe as Punchy stumbles back, then back in with a sloppy kick and a wild swing to the face. He likes the face shots, does Punchy. "Bran Fintan."
Baatar pokes his head into the room, he needs to do his daily sit ups and push ups after all, but first a quick peek to see whom is in the room before he comes inside.He then quietly slips in and heads over to where mats are, that have no other hares near them, and starts to do some sit ups first before he will go into push ups.
There it is! That thing she was trying to figure out earlier. Recognition sparks, and Praxi stares. "/Fintan/," she repeats, then slowly adds, "What a pleasure it is to meet you." She takes the offered paw with little else to say, grip firm as she shakes it. Meanwhile, the poking and punting between the two leverets continues, pace quickening now that they've warmed up. The doe does not elaborate, but rather returns her attention to the miniature brawl she's set in motion; it appears Punchy's energy is still high, and The Thinker's tolerance for pain outside ear-punching is a marvel. The Thinker's tolerance for a drawn out fight, however, is low: he disregards the earlier lesson and tries to barrel into the bouncy one. Praxi bites her lip.
The door opens again but seems to be blocked on the other side by something very broad and copper coloured. And then Ciocan ducks his head and moves into the hustle, bustle and noise of the training room. The badger lord pauses in the door way and looks around the chamber at everyone presence with an appraising eye.
Baatar has gotten use to the very tall badger, so he still does his sit ups and push ups. He tries to do a one pawed push up and fails badly as he falls on his nose, he sits up and rubs his now sore nose and frowns, well no one pawed push ups like he has seen others do, no not yet till he fels he is ready for those as he will just stick with two pawed push ups like he was doing before.
Bran returns her stare, bright blue eyes one of the few things that set him apart from his brother a few seasons ago. "...You know m' brothah, Dagda, don'tcha," the buck observes, nodding knowingly. It's a common reaction around the mountain, after all. Then Ciocan comes in and the private spares a few moments to gape at his size before snapping out a quick salute. "Aftahnoon, sah!" Punchy reels back, Thinker wrapped around his torso, and tumbles to the ground. Baatar gets a glance. "Recruit, on y' feet," the higher-ranking buck hisses.
Ciocan raises a paw, "Please, there is no need to interupt peoples exercise, I was merely looking to see if this room is suitable for my own work out..." his ears brush the ceiling and he looks up, "I can see I will have to practice outside or in my bedroom."
Baatar frowns, he had stopped, but he does slowly stand up and nods to the badger, "Hallo sur."
"Not me, my sister," Praxi corrects. "Your sibling is nothing short of fortune's grace to the seasons if my sister is to be believed." She chuckles before catching sight of Ciocan. His presence stifles her mockery and she steps in front of the two leverets, one foot dipping back in futile attempt to keep them apart. As they tire, the scrappiness comes out, and Punchy pops his forehead right between The Thinker's eyes. Dazzled, The Thinker's hold weakens and Punchy knees him square in the gut. The little hare crumples, crying. "Ahem! Shhh, /quiet now/, shhh. SHH. Shh."
What's this? Punchy is victorious! The Thinker is down for the count! Bran sidles a bit closer to Praxi, leaning sideways to whisper in her willowy ear. "Looks like I win," he murmurs with a wink and a grin. Her comment about his brother earns him a short, barking laugh. "Wha', Dag? 'e's just a big mumma's boy," the private explains, shaking his head. "Th' does eat it up, though. 'e nevah noticed till Sersi." The room has filled to capacity, in his opinion, and his eyes stray towards the entryway. "Nice meetin' you, Praxi, an' I'll trouble y' f' tha' coin next time we meet." With another grinning wink, he's away.
Adrian wanders into the Training room, deciding to squeeze in a workout during his free time. As soon as he enters, though, the private sights the Badger Lord and throws an immediate salute. "Hello, sah. Lovely day for some exercise, wot? As my great uncle Leonidas used to say, "Nevah skip ya exercise, wot, if ya do, ya die.' Jolly fellow he was, always seein' the bright side of death."
Ciocan smiles at the Leveret's that are fighting and shakes his head, "You little ones should listen to your elders. You'll never learn to fight well if you expend all your energy through emotion. You must attack with skill and calm minds or you will learn nothing at all." He steps out of the way to let Bran pass and smiles at Baatar, "Hello again Recruit, please continue with your work out and Miss... Praxi is it? And oh Adrian, how nice to see you as well. I was going to work out but well... this room is a bit too small for me."
Felicity opens the door and peeks into the noisy room. She's just come back from a patrol, and she can't for the life of her find a commanding officer to report to. It doesn't help that this Mountain is so stinkin' huge. The auburn furred, blue-eyed Private wrinkles her nose and sighs. She gulps when she sees the badger, but she really needs to make her report, and so weaves her way across the room. Her longer-than-average limbs and shorter than average ears make her stand out in the crowd.
Beneath her pale fur, Praxi has turned bright red. It is due in part to stifling her reaction to Bran's brutal dissection of his own brother and her sister as well as Ciocan's mild regard for the leverets and herself. "Aha! Ahaaa, ahem, /greetings/," she manages to squeeze out, nodding and choking down her cackles. "Ahem, aha. Lord Ciocan, do excuse me! I am simply astonished to hear you speak my name. It is an honor, Lord; I am indeed Praxi, caretaker of the mountain. Please do pardon me, ahem!" She kneels down to pat the poor beaten leveret and trying to quell his cries, she says, "Chin up! Recruits do /not/ cry from a mere scuffle. Next time you'll do better. Listen to this fine badger!" She bows to the Lord of Salamandastron, then tucks her paws around the pair of leverets. "Come along, we ought to get you both some tuck." She smiles sweetly and ducks from the room, easily wrangling the exhausted leverets.
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