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Post by Peregrine Alexander on Aug 17, 2009 11:28:42 GMT -8
x x i walk the borderline that divides me somewhere in my mind
The prince ducked, spun around and gave Amri another one of his signature blows, which was another way of saying that he swung clumsily and wide. Then, he felt the boy’s fist connect with his jaw yet again, but he barely felt it, compared to the previous punches the stranger had given him. He had been hit so many times in the face today that it was a wonder his nose wasn’t broken.
Speaking of which, he really didn’t need to be hit again, so he took care to dodge every single blow the boy sent in his direction. He concentrated on sorting out his feet and on keeping his balance, all the time while keeping Amri occupied. It was a delicate balance and anything with the word “delicate” in it was probably going to be difficult for the prince to deal with, but he still doubted that the Arabic “warrior” would grow bored of trying to hit him. To Peregrine, fighting meant several things: politics, sports and games, dignity, status quo and survival, but for this man, he knew it meant something difficult. For this foreigner…it was his life and that was a sad thing, despite Peregrine’s intense dislike of him.
“Have…to…do…better…than…that.” Peregrine panted, narrowly avoiding another smoothly-aimed blow by his opponent. Backing up for a moment, he put his hands on his knees, leaning over. This dodging nimbly business…it was hard and he was conditioned for this type of thing. He wasn’t a dodge-every-single-hit-and-get-off-scot-free type of guy; he was a hit-and-take-the-hit type of guy, hence the reason he so often came home bloody and mud-drenched after a serious duel.
“Break my what?” He looked up, shocked and disgusted. So, the boy was about as ready to drop the topic as he was…how nice. Then he started to laugh, even though it wasn’t a hearty laugh, as he was still rather out of breath and rather dizzy. He then took to muttering some very offensive curses in the stranger’s direction. “d*** F****t,” He commented, “I have a lady0love, which is more than you can say, I’m sure.” He rolled his eyes and tossed his hair, imitating his cousin Peter, although Peregrine’s hair was considerably longer. “And it’s not an arranged marriage, I’ll have you know.” He added, as if confirming that he was able to get the girl without any help from his father.
“You want to fight?” he taunted, straightening up. No more breaking down simply because he didn’t feel like taking any more hits (his teeth were crooked enough as it was). Grinning slightly, he took a step back, his fists raised, making it clear that he wasn’t yet finished with the fight, nor was he running from it. He nearly fell over as he took his next step, wobbling like a drunken fool as he struggled to find his balance. Step by step, with increasing speed, he made his way down the hill until they were on an incline, then, without warning, he ran toward Amri, his fists raised, waiting to strike a blow.
Let him and try to fight on a hill.
my shadow is the only one that walks beside me my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
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word count: 565 listening to: gay or european? from legally blonde lyrics credit: boulevard of broken dreams by greenday mood: excellent, muse-ful notes: i'm hoping one or both of them can fall, roll down the hill and into the stream
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Post by Amri Amatzya on Aug 17, 2009 14:24:02 GMT -8
Had this boy really been trained to fight as he had implied? Actually, it was obvious that he had been trained to fight. Perhaps he even trained every day. But one thing Amri had learned was that training was no substitute for actual fighting. He trained himself only in specific physical challenges, like jumping high or running with weight on his back, but his skill in fist-fighting didn't come from training with a buddy, it came from beating up men twice his size when he was ten so he'd have something to eat, it came from being ambushed at three am while sleeping on the dock, it came from being back-stabbed over and over again....it came from real fighting, and not just fighting, but fighting for his life day in and day out. There was no rest. There was no calling time. There was no servant following after him to give him water and shade him. He was sure this boy could count the real fights he had been on in his hands, while Amri couldn't, and not just because he only knew five numbers. (Yes, five is one of the numbers he knows)
"You're quite the twitchy one, aren't you?" he commented as he drove him further and further back. How long was he just going to avoid his blows instead of manning up and fighting back? He was older than him, wasn't he? So he had no excuse. He had had plenty of time to get good. In fact, if he had used his time wisely, he could've even beaten him. But it seemed Amri was the only person in the world who truly cared about being the best, and about always searching for an even stronger opponent to test his skills.
"Lady-love? Let me guess, you're talking about a horse or something?" He grinned as he teased. It was true he didn't have one of his own, but that wasn't because none were willing, it was his own pickiness that had prevented him from even being kissed yet. Just being touched by someone he didn't like was enough to make him shudder. No one was allowed to come near him. He was not an 'easy' man, in fact, he was nearly untouchable. He was not swayed to do anything for a pretty face, in fact, the face didn't matter at all, not as much as the smile itself...
Amri raised his eyebrows as the boy started going down the hill. Was he trying to help him win? Didn't everyone know that he who had the upper ground also had the upper hand? Well fine, if he wanted to be stupid, then Amri wouldn't do anything to stop him. He just grinned as he started running towards him, and he did the same thing too, racing down at him with his hands in front. They smashed together, and Amri had thought this boy would be able to handle the sheer force of his weight and momentum, but evidently not for they both went tumbling down even as Amri still had a grip on the boy's shoulders. But about halfway down, he let go and shoved away so he could roll down on his own, but his feet still hit him every once in awhile.
Frigid shock hit him when he landed in the stream at the bottom. It hadn't been frozen, but it was the middle of winter, which meant it was just a few degrees away from being so. He shot up out of the water, not wanting to numb his limbs, but kept his right arm in a little longer to chill his wound, that would be good for it later on. Then he spun around and slicked his soaked bangs out of his eyes. He was soaked through entirely, and it was a good thing he had armor where he did for most of his clothing was white. Instinctively he wanted to curl up, but he resumed a fighting stance with a determined look in his eye, trying to ignore how cold it was.
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Post by Peregrine Alexander on Aug 19, 2009 10:36:42 GMT -8
x x i walk the borderline that divides me somewhere in my mind
“It’s called being uncoordinated,” Peregrine snapped, “it’s not something you can help…like stupidity.” He added, as a rather nasty afterthought. Normally, he was known to become rude to his opponents while in any fencing situation, especially if he already didn’t like them, but he spoke to the stranger with pure venom in his voice. It was not hared, oh no, not yet, but it was strong, intense dislike. Not only had the prince been unnerved by his perverted comments alluding to his homosexuality, (not Peregrine’s—Amri’s) but he was starting to like him less and less. He was usually polite and civil to strangers he met on the road, although he often adopted a wary mask of suspicion if they were armed, but when a stranger who was also clearly a foreigner leapt out of the bushes unexpectedly and announced the immediate death of Peregrine and company by his hand, the Scoailte tended to get irritated.
He rolled his eyes. “A horse? Only a man interested in laying other men would say such a thing.” He snorted, raising his fists once more. “How low. How disgusting. So it’s not only men that you’re interested in, is it?” He grinned, nearly losing his footing on a stray branch that might have fallen last year, or years ago and had lain there on the ground, being eaten up by the decomposing passage of time. “What else is on your list of attractive species? Cows? Sheep? Rabbits?” He scoffed, lightly, which was the closest thing he had done so far to exposing his princely heritage—arrogance could come from anyone, no matter what their lineage. “I’ll have you know she’s a human girl, my age. Fancy that, eh?”
Amri, the boy he had been fighting all this time, wasn’t much bigger than him. He was a few inches shorter and maybe a few pounds lighter and that was something, but they were still roughly the same size. Peregrine fancied the idea that they were rather evenly matched, too, however, seeing as the prince had been taking most of the blows straight in the face and it had been he who had been doing most of the falling, an argument against that would have been legitimate. He was doing something exceptionally risky on his part—scrambling down a slope, which probably had hidden rocks hidden under its faded, snow-ridden grass. He was wearing boots as well and anyone who has worn boots knows that they are fairly slippery. Then, when Peregrine’s “uncoordinated” nature was added to the equation, it became a recipe for disaster, not questions asked. Still, he was not at all expecting it when his opponent slammed into him with force unanticipated, at least, by the Scoailte prince. They tumbled over in a mess of fists and clothe, rolling down the hill. Peregrine felt Amri’s hands on his shoulders and wrenched his entire torso away. He would have added an indignant, “let me go”, to the mix, had he had the breath to spare, but as the circumstances stood, he barely had the time to hiss as he hit a hidden stone or protruding root.
These occasional knocks were nothing compared to the shock of the icy-cold water. Pain shot through Peregrine like an arrow that had pieced his flesh as he gasped for air, jerking uncontrollably as he lay prone in the water. After a moment, he hauled himself out of the water, forcing himself up on his elbows before rising up into a sort of crouching standing position. Shaking his dark hair, he didn’t even flinch as droplets of water hit him in the face. He climbed out, perching on top of a bolder, before, without warning, he launched himself at Amri. Thoroughly enraged with being thrust into the freezing cold water so unceremoniously, not to mention growing tired of the fight. His blows came fast and furious and he moved with vigor that he had not known he had possessed. This was no longer fun, this was no longer entertaining.
Time to finish this.
my shadow is the only one that walks beside me my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
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word count: 711 listening to: nothing, at the moment lyrics credit: boulevard of broken dreams by greenday mood: muse-ful, creative notes: none
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Post by Amri Amatzya on Aug 19, 2009 12:38:55 GMT -8
He could almost feel the fury radiating off the boy, a sweet nectar he had hungered for. It was not quite delicious as fear, but it was enough to let small spurts of pleasure unroll in his muscles. For many people, this kind of dislike was acidic poison, but no, to Amri, it was the delicate sake of the east, a refined, physical taste that would feed his own focus and clear his mind of all irrelevant thoughts. Or at least, it should've, but a stroke of rare, pure fear hit him. No, it was not because of his opponent. With a nervous hand, he reached under his sash and under his armor to the very top of his pants, where there was tucked an envelope. He sighed a breath of relief when he felt that it was dry. There was enough around it to shield it from the water.
It was then that the boy jumped on Amri. The mercenary was an extremely solid person, make no mistake, for his bare toes let him dig into the ground and he was pretty much one dig dense muscle, but it really depended on the surface. Hard dirt...good. Slippery rocks...what do you think? When rocks were wet, they were much more slippery, especially when said wetness was a stream that was flowing over them at that moment. Needless to say when he was launched at he slipped and fell precisely on his rear end. His tailbone had already been cracked for a few years so no further damage was done to that area of his body.
However he couldn't just sit there, for now the rather irritating boy was attacking him. Nothing out of the 'norm. He rolled his eyes as swerved his head to the right to avoid one blow and then grabbed his left forearm with his right hand. Although his right arm was still hurting, he was sure he had enough in it to keep at least one of the boy's arms at bay. He could hold it back for as long as he needed, but dammit...his butt was starting to get numb. It was rather uncomfortable, especially in a certain area. He really needed to wear more under his hakama, for he wasn't in the land of the burning sun anymore. Apparently he was in the land of nearly-frozen streams that were nearly freezing his balls off.
Again, he wondered just how much this boy had been trained. He kept on going for the face, when it would've been more worth it time to get his neck. Maybe he just wanted payback for his own bloodied-up face. Amri never wanted payback, he just wanted to win. And so, directly after avoiding another hit, He pulled himself up slightly and rammed his forehead slightly to get him in the chin. Hopefully he would be knocked back slightly and Amri could wrestle his way back up, but as he kicked out with his leg to try and further get the boy off him, he felt it hit something rough. He peered around the boy's side to see a tree root in the stream, and to his horror, his foot was caught in it. He tried wrenching to dislodge it, but it just wouldn't work. He cursed himself for being so hasty to get this boy off him, for he had had plenty of time. But this was not over yet. Everything else on him was fully functioning.
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Post by Peregrine Alexander on Aug 23, 2009 11:28:50 GMT -8
x x i walk the borderline that divides me somewhere in my mind
For a moment, it felt like he was being submerged the flames of hell, not freezing-cold water. Peregrine struggled as he tried his best to escape, but there was no getting away from the painful needles that all too soon turned from seemingly hot to terribly harsh and too real cold. It felt like tiny needles of ice were pricking him repetitively all over his skin and they were pricking him over and over in the same place, irritating the reddening skin to a place of intense pain. Couldn’t they leave him along already? He already had a formidable (and very stupid) enemy on his hands. Couldn’t the cold water leave him along for a few minutes? Still, he fought against it as he attacked his adversary. This mercenary, no, this boy was going down and he, Peregrine Alexander, Prince of Saor, would emerge victorious, the winner of their struggle. He did not fight to kill, not here, at least. He fought to win and win he would, even if it weakened him greatly over the course of the next few days.
Was he—? Yes he was. How dare he? The little worm, never mind that he wasn’t a very long worm, or at least he wouldn’t, if he had been born such a creature. He had grabbed the prince by the arm and the young Scoailte was having nothing of it. Jerking his arm with such force as reserved for only one of his cousins, Peter Alexander by name, he attempted desperately to rest his arm from Amri’s grip, but it was no use. The “little worm” had an iron grip that wiry Peregrine couldn’t break…not at this moment, anyway, but Peregrine was a determined and resourceful youth and he would, just as the stars shone in the Heavens every night, would return to remedy the matter, even if, by his actions, he might inspire a remedy or two for the stranger’s potentially injured arm; it would become injured when he finally separated himself from the scum of Sceith who had dared to challenge him to a duel in the first place. Of course, Peregrine’s arm most probably won’t be free of bruises, but he had conveniently overlooked that for the time being.
“Let…me…go!” He growled, still working to free his arm from the near iron-like grip the foreigner had on him. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud and even so, his utterance came out as more of a grunt, but he was too focused on other things to care, like the fact that he only had his right hand to swing with and that his other forearm, his left, was still in the fist of his enemy…or that fact that the cold water was rising and really starting to get to him, wetting through his boots and wool socks, sinking easily through his breeches and shirt. He had long since gotten rid of the cloak he had rode out with that morning, but the water would have soaked that too and it would have only weighed him down. He swung again at Amri, aiming to make his head go sideways into the rock they were backed up against. His strategy might work, his the mercenary’s head would only yield to his blow.
As if to only worsen matters, it then began to rain. It wasn’t sprinkling either, but pouring bucketfuls of water down on their heads, only adding to the small and steadily growing river around them. It didn’t matter or not if they had been completely soaked when they had fallen into the stream, the prince at least was wet through and at that moment, he looked anything but a prince; he looked more like a bedraggled rat. The water droplets, even though they fell with force and conviction, seemed to give Peregrine new strength, new power, new spunk a new and intensified will to battle Amri down, to win over him, to taunt him and to find out exactly who he thought it was to burst into Saor and challenge him, the crown prince, to a duel. Well, hopefully he was smart enough to learn from his past mistakes.
“Not looking so tough anymore, are we?” He jeered, dealing Amri another blow aimed at the head.
my shadow is the only one that walks beside me my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
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word count: 735 listening to: living la vida loca by ricky martin lyrics credit: boulevard of broken dreams by greenday mood: pretty good notes: last day of summer vacation...noooo. well, i guess i can't complain
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Post by Amri Amatzya on Aug 24, 2009 11:01:30 GMT -8
Amri rolled his eyes at this mere thing in front of him. He wasn't even worthy to be called an opponent in his head. And to think he thought he had actually been a challenge, as if. He had just been playing with him, like...like...like...like how Amri often played with people who thought they were strong. It would be a lie to say this boy was completely hopeless, or Amri would've grown bored and left, for, as he always said, he didn't bully weaklings, but it was definitely something he would laugh about later...preferably with a drink in hand, or perhaps one in both his hands, and another on the table, and someone close by for refills...
He dodged again, and it was all too easy. There was no variety to his types of punches, just one swing after the other. Did he ever learn? Wasn't the definition of insane doing the same thing and expecting different results? So it was decided, he was insane, or at least really, really stupid. Things you learned in a book were useless if you didn't first learn to defend yourself, or it all would be in vain. But Amri...he was determined that nothing would be in vain. He had nothing to lose, only a life that he had enjoyed. Though, in truth, he knew it was a crappy one, but he wasn't to blame for that, now was he?
When it began to rain, he growled deep within his throat. His bangs, which had previously been slicked away, now fell in front of his eyes again. he blinked, eyelashes managing to push them away slightly. There would be no point in reaching up with his hand to squeeze out the water and brush them away, for the rain would only soak them again and he'd be in the same predicament. He wasn't crazy, maybe twisted and unique, but never crazy. He knew what he was doing and he thought about it. He didn't attack blindly, nor did he engage someone without a strategy. So what if he couldn't even count the fingers on his hands, he knew what was important and he was not stupid, he was just selective when it came to things worth learning. In the long and short of it, intelligence didn't matter, only life and how you physically lived each day did.
"God dammit man," he muttered, growing thoroughly irritated, "Add a fucking twist! Move it! Swerve it! Change your target! Make me track it! Be sneaky! Be tricky! Do something different, please!" This was getting boring, and although the force behind the boys punches was stronger, he still was using the same strategy. If Amri was in his position right now, he probably would have grabbed his left hand and jammed it into his throat so that he wouldn't be able to think as well and then let go of his grip on his left arm. He could see the opening right there, but this boy was not taking it, or he was so focused on his face he hadn't even noticed it.
But hey, it was his loss that he hadn't notice Amri's free left hand, oh well, "Looking tough and being tough are two completely different things, pity you don't know that." He sneered, but it slowly evolved into a smirk. So what if was raining and the lower half of his body was going numb? Would he have lived this long if he wasn't used to things like that? He used his left hand at that moment to grab the boy's right boot and use it to flip him off of him, then he pushed off his his right hand and let go of the boy's arm. He then tried to scramble up, but his foot was still caught, so he scootched quickly on his rear end to the root, helped along by the current of the stream and put both his hands on his ankle and tried to wrench it out again, but the d*** root just wouldn't give. Rocks carried by the flow of the river had further enlodged him in, so he furiously grabbed them away and threw them back at the boy, hopefully distracting him. He kept himself half turned so his back wouldn't be completely open.
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Aug 29, 2009 17:24:20 GMT -8
Well, that had taken a while. Ceara was in a thoroughly horrible mood as she finally got back to where she'd been before, but sadly the two annoying men were no where in sight, so she couldn't exactly take her anger out on them, which she would have liked to do. She hadn't realized how far the horse had managed to drag her before stopping, probably because she'd been concentrating so hard on not letting go, and praying to whatever God was listening that she wouldn't be hurt seriously. She hadn't been seriously hurt, so it must have worked, but it had taken her much longer than she would have liked to get back here, to where she'd met the Prince. Though, she'd did think that might have something to do with her sprained ankle and the fact that she'd had to limp very slowly back here, keeping a tight grip on the Prince's horse's reins.
She blamed her bad mood on the pain she was in. Sure, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, but having a sprained ankle wasn't exactly pain free. Not only that, but her hands were slightly swollen and an ugly red colour. Not to mention the blood and sweat on them, which only caused the cuts on her hands to sting more. She had several other cuts from where rocks had been thrown up and had hit her, but in all she considered herself lucky. Of course, that didn't mean it didn't hurt, and with every limping step she swore out loud. "Now where the f*** are they?" She demanded to Peregrine's horse, as if she expected him to know. She stopped walking, raising her injured foot slightly off the ground to keep herself from putting weight on it. She was dreading the walk home, but at the moment she was seriously hoping that she never set eyes on the Prince on the annoying boy again.
She spotted a slight dip in the ground not to far from her, and she hesitated, glaring at the ground as she judged the distance to it. Finally she moved forward, limping still as she pulled Dogstar along with her. As she reached the dip in the ground, she realized that it was actually a ditch. And down in it was Peregrine and the stranger, fighting. Neither looked like they were in very good shape, and she noticed that both had lost their swords and were now fist fighting. She stared at them from above, fighting off the urge to yell at them for no real reason. They'd both probably just ignore her, and she didn't much feel like risking distracting the Prince, even for a few moments. No offense to his abilities or anything, but he seemed like the worst for wear of the two. She instead she just remained where she stood, leaning slightly on Dogstar as she watched them fight._________________________________________ Words: 509 Mood: Content but a little lonely =( Notes: To be honest, I haven't read most of your posts. I just assumed stuff, so sorry if I got stuff wrong, like if they are no longer in the ditch thing, or if Amri is actually worst off then Peregrine. Just felt I should reply, so that you guys remember her!~ =D [/size]
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Post by Peregrine Alexander on Aug 29, 2009 18:27:27 GMT -8
x x i walk the borderline that divides me somewhere in my mind
“You want something different, do you?” Peregrine bellowed, over the noise of the storm. “Wish granted.” And with that, he began to kick him forcefully. He thought he hit his shins a couple of times, but he was mainly going for his stomach. Of course, Amri would probably make something low out of this too, but Peregrine was too high on energy and too low on patience to entertain him.
“Indeed,” He nodded, feigning agreement, “I never claimed to be tough, did I? It’s a pity that you don’t know a warrior doesn’t have to be tough to be a good fighter.” He dealt the stranger one final punch/kick combination before he realized something. By some force, Amri was pinned to something and wasn’t moving much and therefore, Peregrine’s beating him up was not to the code. Of course, moments later, Peregrine was sent reeling backward off Amri, but he managed to catch himself before he fell. Recovering, he walked back through the water to face the stranger, running a hand through his wet hair. Resting one boot on a stock, he noted how enjoyable staring down at him.
“Guess I can’t hurt you now you’ve gotten yourself stuck, princess.” He said, shrugging and still grinning through the heavy rain. “So, I guess this means I win?” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “You see, my the code of chivalry, which I swore to upheld, I’m not permitted to attack the weak.”
my shadow is the only one that walks beside me my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
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word count: 250? listening to: call me a princess by disney (cut song from aladdin) lyrics credit: boulevard of broken dreams by greenday mood: hot, as in the temperature notes: better?
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Post by Amri Amatzya on Aug 31, 2009 20:13:23 GMT -8
A hard glare came onto his face as he removed his hands from his damned foot, looking up at the boy. Surprisingly it didn't bug him, but then again, he had always been used to people looking down on him, and the thought gave him a small spark of pleasure when he remembered that those people had always paid, no matter what. So he had nothing to worry about, but he didn't like the way the boy was speaking to him...like he'd won or something. Amri scoffed. He'd been in enough fights to know that this was not over, not while the majority of his body was still in use. He fought off more highly skilled people while worse off, so under no circumstances had he been beaten yet.
"However, you need to be tough if you want to live in the real world, and I bet this is the longest time you've ever spent in it, otherwise you wouldn't be acting so cocky." A chuckle came from his throat, rumbling, and not in his usual light-hearted way. He did not open his mouth and let more high-pitched, cheerful noises come out, he kept his eyes down and the tone dark, like the thunder clouds above. His eyes, so much like the ocean, were beginning to froth back and forth, furious waves rolling past. Oh, if he had known Amri, he would have been running now, for he was not the blue-eyed curse for nothing.
He gave one last wrench with his foot, and heard a small crack. Thankfully, when he felt no pain, he realized that he had not sprained his ankle or something worse, no, he had broken part of the root. He didn't know for certain, but he thought that he just might be able to to stand up for a few seconds at least...oh how sweet this would be. With a smirk, he slowly pushed himself off the bottom of the stream, hopping slightly on his left foot. "I guess that means you won't be permitted to hit yourself on the head when you feel like it for thinking you've won." And with that, Amri reached out both of his hands to be placed firmly on his sides, lifted him off the ground, and with more than enough force, slammed him against the tree which was the owner of the root he was stuck in. The second he let go, he collapsed and got back to trying to get himself unstuck.
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Post by Peregrine Alexander on Sept 3, 2009 11:34:23 GMT -8
x x i walk the borderline that divides me somewhere in my mind
At first, Peregrine made no comment to his insults. He was too high on adrenaline, to caught up in the act of looking down on the boy, the only human (at least, he assumed the foreigner was human) who was shorter than him and managed to put up such a good fight. He felt so alive as the rain pounded down upon his head. Crossing his arms, he grinned even wider at the boy with those crooked teeth. They weren’t peasant, but they weren’t perfectly aligned either. It gave him character, which was already so fragile and fallible. It added to his personality, along with that lopsided, less-than-perfect grin he was displaying at that moment. The prince was so pomp right then, despite looking to be a mess.
“You’d like to one of those ‘real world’ people, wouldn’t you?” He taunted, still not moving from his rather imperial position. “I’ll wager you won’t be acting so humble if you had any idea of the true meaning of ‘pain.” This was not true, however, as Peregrine, who had experienced some pain, but he had been rather lucky to have escaped the majority of physical pain that he could have felt, given his occupation. Still, he did know what it felt like to have his heart broken, not over and over, but more than once, certainly. He knew what it felt like to have his emotions pilfered by the cruel sword of fate, but he was not about to bring those feelings up again.
The prince heard a sound, a small, cracking sound and he turned, just in time to see Amri standing up. Oh, d***. How” did Nancy-Boy manage that? Growling, Peregrine meant to rush forward, arms outstretched, to force him back into his tree-like prison, but he was too late. Moments later, he felt two very strong, firm hands attach themselves, like iron handcuffs, around his scrawny ribs and the next thing he knew, he was feeling through the air, for a minute. He felt pain erupt along his sides as he hauled himself to his feet, his back swiftly beginning to sting. That wasn’t fair, no, that didn’t count. Peregrine had possessed the vantage until moments ago and there was no way he was going to let Amri filch it as if it was nothing. Gaining speed, he stumbled across the small creek and grasped Amri by the shoulders, ignoring, for the time being, the slow, dull pain that was starting to kindle with new vigor in his ribs. Had he broken them? Was that even possible? Bloody hell, this did hurt.
Struggling up, he blinked, his world fuzzy all around him. His head, his ribs hurt and his world...it seemed to be swirling around him. His thoughts weren't coming as fast as they usually did, he couldn't think...he felt slow, groggily and he needed to sit down. Wait, why was he here again? Oh yes, that d*** mercenary. Putting one hand on the river bank and slowly turning his head with a hiss of pain, he looked at the stranger, not noticing the distance that the foreigner had managed to hurl him.
"Don't come here anymore." He grunted, his words rather slurred. Ah! He just needed to go away. He took a deep breath, then regretted it. "Just tell whichever of the bastards you work for that Peregrine Alexander...got you...end in the end."
With a heroic effort, he pulled himself off, casting Amri one last glance as he limped off.
my shadow is the only one that walks beside me my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
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word count: 494 listening to: kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep by no idea lyrics credit: boulevard of broken dreams by greenday mood: pretty good notes: none
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Sept 8, 2009 18:47:08 GMT -8
For the remainder of the fight, Ceara had just watched them, transfixed. They were both very good fighters, that much was obvious. She'd actually underestimated them before, so she was a little glad she hadn't had to fight either of them. Instead, watching had been fine. Watching people fight to her was like watching a musical dance to another, and it kept her completely entertained, considering she was able to actually watch and evaluate each move, not whine and mope over not being in the fight herself. Which is exactly what she'd been doing before, which was why she'd been so bored before having to go on that giant horse race. That hadn't been fun.
Finally she saw Amri grab Peregrine and literally throw him. As the Prince got back to his feet, he seemed to be in a lot of pain, though of course he seemed to be trying not to show it. She guessed that it was taking a lot of willpower to start walking- no, sorry, limping away, his head high despite the fact that his words had been slightly slurred. Ceara was suddenly certain that he was going to pass out any moment now, so making sure she had a tight grip on Dogstar's reins, she lifted her head and half walked half limped out to meet the Prince. She did her best not to let it show that her ankle hurt, but every time she put weight on it she would either flinch slightly or grimace. Still, she did her best to try and walk normally...though she failed, of course.
As she walked towards Peregrine, she kept a wary eye on Amri, knowing that he was stuck but not completely trusting that root to hold him. If he got free before Peregrine had a chance to leave, would he insist on continuing the fight? The Prince was obviously in no condition for that. She wish that she'd had her sword with her, but remembering what had happened to it, she glared at Peregrine for a moment before turning her head to look somewhere else. He looked like he was going to pass out...surely she couldn't let him ride on the horse alone, could she? What if he pass out and fell off and got trampled to death? No matter how much she disliked Peregrine, he didn't deserve to die a death like that. She knew what she was going to have to do, though she wasn't at all happy about it. How was she supposed to ask Peregrine for a ride? No...she couldn't do that. It would hurt her pride to much. If he passed out and fell off...well, that was his own problem.
For a second she considered offering to tie Peregrine to the horse, but she wisely decided to stay quiet as she reached him. She just stared at him, her expression neither overly friendly nor overly unfriendly. "You owe me a sword. A good one, since I got your horse for you." She said, keeping her head high. She was well aware that her hands were bloody and she had a few cuts all over her from where rocks had hit her while being dragged, but she looked no where as near as bad at the Prince did, and she didn't want him to notice them. Maybe if she held her head high enough, and acted proud enough, he wouldn't notice...at least, that seemed to be her way of thinking as she stood there, watching him and offering him Dogstar's reins._________________________________________ Words: 617 Mood: Content and actually has some muse for Ceara <) Notes: Yes...I didn't wait. TOO BAD, MY TURN! xD [/size]
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Post by Amri Amatzya on Sept 9, 2009 17:58:16 GMT -8
"Pain? You? More than me? Don't be ridiculous." He knew physical pain inside and out, but that was hardly anything compared to what he was thinking about as he spoke those words. His hands gripped the letter at his waist, tied under his sash. But he would not give this boy the satisfaction of explaining his words, just like he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking what meager incident he had thought was enough to merit himself an expert on pain.
But at the crack that was sounded as he was thrown against the tree, a self-satisfied smile took a hold of his already arrogant face, though the tip of his eyebrow was raised slightly, only a hair's width, to show his displeasure that he had succeeded so easily. Lifting the boy was like nothing, and he had been too surprised by his sudden getting up. Perhaps he had learned a lesson in not just standing by your opponent even if it appeared they couldn't move...for they had a nasty habit of proving you wrong in the most painful ways. He snickered on the inside, even though his facial expression made it clear that it was precisely what he was thinking.
That eyebrow was raised higher when he said his name, though. Peregrine Alexander? The crown prince? Amri wasn't sure what to think first. Whether he was glad that he hadn't gotten the chance to kill him, angry that he now couldn't do so, or disappointed that this was probably the best the Scoalites would be able to muster. He was stuck in a tree and they still couldn't get him? How pathetic was that? Had everyone always been this weak? Or had he just grown too strong for anyone to pose a challenge? Or was he truly the best?
"I'm...stuck here, and you're running away, and you think you got me? Is this not your first language?" He couldn't help but pose the question, for although he wasn't a logical person, he couldn't really see the path that the prince had taken to reach that conclusion. Perhaps if Amri had been rendered unmovable by his doing, then that would have been something to brag about, but it was in fact Amri's own doing, and he was still cursing himself for it, for he preferred to go off with more flair.
That wasn't to say that he didn't want revenge on not being able to truly finish the prince off, even if he seemed only half there right now. He hadn't like...broken both his legs or something like that, or possibly his arms as well...that would've been nice. He grimaced and kicked at the root that was holding him in the frozen stream. His butt was becoming numb, which was rather uncomfortable. He would have to 'visit' the prince later to 'thank' him for the 'fun spar.' Oh yes. He smirked his trademark at his hands worked on tearing apart the root that held him captive.
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Post by Peregrine Alexander on Sept 26, 2009 20:23:27 GMT -8
x x i walk the borderline that divides me somewhere in my mind
"I'm knot runnin'," Peregrine grasped, his breath coming through his mouth with pain laced in every word. It hurt so much just to walk and breath, but that was nothing compared to the pain it cost him to talk. And besides that, he felt slow in his mind and it imagined it must be what getting drunk must feel like. "I bea' ya." He added, in another short-breathed gasp, before he turned away, without his trademark whipping his hair around as he turned to leave.
Oh, d*** it. He wasn't left to hobble home in warrior's painful price for dignity; the wench who thought she was God's gift to the world was holding Dogstar for him. Oh, great, what fun. Ugh, he wouldn't think too much about it now; his head hurt too much for that. This frightened him in an oddly detached way, for the prince had always been proud of his intellectual abilities: much too proud, apparently, for he had always valued his mind more than even his skills of war. But this didn't hit him just now, for he felt the jolt had wobbled his senses and his grip on his sanity.
"Wha'?" He paused, for a moment, as he attempted to mount Dogstar from the ground. He had the Thoroughbred's reins grasped firmly in one hand, but he failed in his attempt to pull himself up onto the horse's back and he fell back dangerously. "Right..." He muttered, trying to comprehend and just managing that. His ribs were burning like fire by now and breathing and speaking Amri, as he had been doing before was mere child's play in the arena of pain compared what his sides felt like now. He doubled over, gasping desperately as he realized he was still holding his sword in his right hand. Oh, right, that was part of the problem. He sheathed it, sliding it into its scabbard uncertainly.
"The sword." He repeated, a bit distractedly. "Get up in the saddle behind me, then."
my shadow is the only one that walks beside me my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
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word count: 362 listening to: declaration of love by celion dion lyrics credit: boulevard of broken dreams by greenday mood: getting tired notes: yes, this took forever
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Post by Ceara Mindelan on Sept 27, 2009 11:17:49 GMT -8
Ceara frowned at Peregrine as she watched him, honestly a little worried though she didn't show it. She didn't like him, she shouldn't be at all worried about him, but he was acting like he was about to keel over and die. Or...at least pass out, which would be equally as bad. Either one would result in her having to take him, an injured (or dead) prince, back home, with her being the only culprit in sight. That wouldn't be the best of things, now would it? Would they give her a chance to explain what had happened, and would they then believe her? She had her doubts. Still, she just watched as Peregrine struggled with walking, and things like that.
She also watched as he struggled to get up onto his horse, her frown only deepening as he fell back down. It was a little pathetic, but it wasn't like she could blame him. He'd just been fighting with that guy for who knows how long, and the guy honestly seemed pretty strong if he'd been able to literally throw Peregrine, who did not appear all that light. Seeing him struggle, she moved forward, grabbing onto his hips as he hoisted himself up part way and then giving him more of a boost so that he could actually get his leg up and over the horse's back. She doubted he'd appreciate the help, but they would have been there forever otherwise.
As he finally made it over, she felt relieved when he told her to get up behind him. Now, not only would she have to limp all the way back home, which would have seriously hurt, but she could make sure he didn't fall off and get trampled now. Plus she'd get a sword, which would make her feel less defenseless. That was always a good thing. She nodded and put her uninjured foot into the stirrup and hoisted herself up rather easily, swinging her leg up and over the horse so that she sat behind him. She hesitated a moment, realizing she'd have to hold on around his waist. She really didn't want to have to do that...but falling off the horse was a much worse alternative, so with a sigh she wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're not going to pass out on me, are you?" She asked, waiting for him to get going._________________________________________ Words: 422 Mood: Not bad Notes: Yes, it did, but that's okay. [/size]
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Post by Peregrine Alexander on Oct 15, 2009 10:00:10 GMT -8
x x i walk the borderline that divides me somewhere in my mind
Briefly, Peregrine put a hand on his forehead, feeling his head swimming uncomfortably. Ugh, it had been ages since he had a fight like this. Scratch that, he didn’t think he had ever had a skirmish quite like this. Certainly, he and Peter had fought like wild animals physically when they were younger, but they had never fought for life and death. Not that the prince had been wanting to the kill the foreigner, however; he just wanted him out of Saor. That, or in Saor’s securest dungeon. He was, without a doubt, a dangerous and able fighter, but Peregrine knew that he could never trust him, even if he came a swore an oath of fealty to his father in front of the idiot Scoailte nobles.
He felt someone, although it took him a minute or two to connect the dots and realize it was Ceara Mindelan, half-lifting him into the saddle. He thrust his boot into the saddle and hauled himself up with a groan of pain, settling into his seat only after he paused to pant heavily. His ribs felt like they were on fire and every breath he took hurt him. Shutting his lips against the pain, least he whimper or show another sign of weakness, he picked up his reins, gritting his teeth as Mindelan pulled herself on behind him. Then, without warning, there was pressure put upon his ribs and he yelped in pain, twisted violently away from her touch.
“Try my shoulders.” He orders, after he had gotten his breath back. “Ribs…injured.”
Putting Dogstar into a trot, he hissed in pain and, thinking better of it, brought his horse back to a walk and turned him toward the castle. As much as he wanted to faint, he knew he mustn’t, for it would be embarrassing, not to mention it would make him look like a complete hypocrite. Here he had just fought a formidable fighter and won. He was not about to fall into unconsciousness just because of injured ribs.
“My name is Peregrine Alexander,” He rasped, noting how painful it was to draw breath even to speak, “I am the best rider in Saor to anyone’s knowledge. I am not about to faint.”
my shadow is the only one that walks beside me my shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
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word count: 389 listening to: that's a woman by celtic thuner lyrics credit: boulevard of broken dreams by greenday mood: pretty good notes: none
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