HereComesTheSnow

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos Yeah, they essentially carry the force in a manner similar to a projectile to a range of about ten meters or so, effectively doing something similar to the usual “wind pressure feels like the punch or kick” trope. That’s the general idea I was going for, something to work with in the face of "i'm just gonna fucking throw things at this idiot kickboxer". So saying, if Ichiro’s IES can detect an attack of that nature— basically an invisible projectile with a very short travel time, I see no reason why it wouldn’t apply to this. Kasemchai sees it as extremely unlikely that Ichiro will be able to react for all the reasons he listed, but he doesn’t know squat about Ichiro’s ability.

Hope that helps.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

Through this process, I've rediscovered how little space I have to kick in my room. Let me know if the body kinetics or IES involved are unclear, and I'll happily try to explain better.

And yeah, Kasemchai had the usual "let's pick on the international transfer student" brigade roll his way in the first few weeks, but they usually scatter after the first foot sweep.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos

So there was something more to that bat.

The Nak Muay's eyes flashed as the crimson orb sailed through the air at remarkable speed straight towards him. As he suspected, the short man could generate brutal force at a full swing. He knew his body to be conditioned well. Even fantastically so. Compared to most of these students he could comfortably say he was made of iron, but there was no sense in betting on it in the face of anything moving with such velocity.

He stepped his lead foot outward, off to his left, the moment his opponent's bat made impact. That glowing orb didn't do anything weird that he could see besides responding as a solid—weird enough in and of itself.

So it was an AED after all, and one that seemed to produce its own projectiles. That changed the plan entirely— he wasn't nearly so safe as he thought out at long range. Not when his opponent could put projectiles downrange this fast. As a pugilist, projectile capability was one of the biggest advantages an opponent was supposed to have against him.

"Well, you misunderstand."

Supposed to.

The Thai's guard naturally raised as the fight had begun in earnest, and as he followed that step off the center line and out of the path of the orb, that outward-pointed right foot became a pivoting point once it returned to the earth, as he almost skipped through the motion like a pendulum— replacing the position of his lead as it rose into the air. With a twist of the hips to follow that prechambered rotation (the outward facing right foot), that lead leg lashed out into an inside low kick. A smooth, practiced motion borne of thousands of repetitions, just as his opponent's grand slam.

And for those paying attention in the audience, this was supposed to be utterly daft— the athlete was wholly out of range. Kasemchai was, by all appearances, kicking air.

And yet.

His IES flared, and for a moment, the transfer student was as Vajrapani.

The baseball player had powerful and accurate swings, by all means. From the smoothness of the motion, he could make a safe bet that this was indeed proper baseball form as well— but horrid for fighting. So long. So committed to raw power. So spread out. His hips had fully turned into the swing, and he had a proper kinetic chain, but he stood to swing a bat. Never in that stance's life did it encounter something that would attack it. Even karetaka, who liked to fight this long, were so much more mobile with their base— the sportsman had planted himself. Yes, it generated as much force as possible—

But it was also easy pickings. Far too easy.

Impossibly, the force of that inside leg kick reached far beyond the shin Kasemchai appeared to be striking air with— It was projected, with that full strength of impact, far enough to reach the sensitive inside of his opponent's left thigh. The baseball team member's front leg carried all of his weight, and he had twisted deep into it to cork out that fastball. The Thai doubted he would retract it in time, especially considering he had no reason to think the range of his kicks was any more than what they appeared. He doubted that this small man had ever conditioned his legs for impact that wasn't running. He doubted that he had taken any sort of kick to the thighs in his life— let alone from a Nak Muay. Even a reactive one with his lead leg was still a kick from him, who had been slamming rock-hard shins into bodies from the age of eight. His idea of "a hard kick" and that of the untrained were very different. Back at Sinbi this would be a bit much for their usually playful sparring, but at the stadiums in Bangkok he would need to throw this kick scores of times to change the expression on another fighter's face.

To the untrained? To those who had never tasted a kick in their lives? It may as well have been a lead pipe.

Kasemchai doubted this man was Lumpinee ready.

"I come from a fighting sport. And we are very dedicated to it."

As quickly as it had come, whether his projected strike had hit true to buckle the athlete's stance or by some miracle not, the Thai's lead leg returned to its stance as he coolly judged the outcome of their exchange. He could content himself with reading this man for a while, if this was all he would contend with out this far. He would move in closer when he was ready unless the situation demanded it sooner.

For now, I'll see if he measures up.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos Cool, thanks.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos Does Ichiro bat righty or lefty?

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

Is this rival enough

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos

"Baseball? Hmmm."

As he made a bit of a show of thinking about this offer, he took the time to appraise the man who had so readily approached him. Truth be told, he was a little surprised that a challenge would come through so quickly after he'd told himself to seek more out— Though, this wasn't a man looking for a fight so much as a recruitment drive.

Or so his words said.

Despite short stature, there was some fair cording on those arms that were all but strangling the rubber grip of that... off-putting bat of crimson metal. His feet were firmly planted— squared up and not looking to give any ground. He wasn't intimidated at all by their height difference, which was to be expected— a man like him almost certainly was used to standing up to taller people. But it was his eyes that spoke the most. Filling themselves with steel, with resolve, they told Kasemchai in no uncertain terms that he had something to prove.

So tense you are.

What did he trust more? The declaration or the tension?

His smile, unfaltering beneath the pressure of this short, loud boy, gave way to a cool baritone of surprisingly fluid Japanese.

"You look rather tough yourself, but I'll have to pass."

He had heard of many comparisons, often made to and by Farang from the English-speaking West, that a proper kick from a Nak Muay was like getting struck by one of those baseball bats— but he was fairly certain even that metaphor was in regards to the wooden ones. And that was as comparable as the two sports were.

"You see, we do nothing for eachother— I've never played your game, and your game could teach me nothing of fighting. Not worth the time."

So, his weapon would dominate the middle range, but he was liable to swing wide and swing hard to really uncork his maximum power with each blow. At least, that seemed the personality he was dealing with. He didn't doubt anyone on the baseball team could swing hard enough to give him something to think about, if nothing else. That impact was more than something he could get away with ignoring. But he could use that power against him just as easily.

But he had grown up poor on the streets of Phuket. He had many times dealt with other boys swinging sticks around to gain an advantage, but that did not change the principles strategy was founded upon— He needed to simply minimize his time in that sphere of power around this baseball player. That was braindead simple to anyone like Kasemchai.

Assuming this turns into a battle, I'll want to keep to extremes. Too far for his swing, or too close for it. He's short...

I wonder how he would like the clinch? Unless he wrestled in his past life, that height will be his downfall. If he's no more cunning than just swinging for the fences, this will be all too easy.

"Unless of course, you're one of those clubs that doesn't let me have a say in the matter."

That pleasant smile widened almost imperceptibly as Kasemchai Sinbimuaythai's right leg twisted outwards by about 45 degrees, and now bore the majority of his weight with a subtle shift in the hips. His lead foot, now not directly beneath his center of gravity, was light on the ground beneath them— barely touching it with the ball of the foot and ready to kick at a moment's notice.

All he needed to complete his stance, if you were really a stickler about definitions, was raising his guard— but for Kasemchai's opinion, stance was all in the position and balance of weight. It was not so exaggerated as traditional and stereotypical Muay Thai, but the principles hadn't changed.

Ready to go.

Now then, what would Baseball Club do?

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

getting that first establishment of character voice is the worst

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

probably goes without saying, but i've got nothing set up with Kasemchai. if you wanna bug him, go right ahead

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

Everywhere I look, a weapon.

He chewed ponderously upon his sea bass, emerald eyes sliding across the mess of students that had elected to spend their lunch period outside, just as he had. There was a breeze from the coast that came through his particular spot— far chillier on his bronzed skin than he remembered, but that hint of salt in the air still served as a reminder of Phuket.

Curry rice followed the fried fish, a pleasant heat on his tongue to serve as a counterpart to the mild sweetness of coconut. It was definitely these moments, in eating the cooking his mother had taught him and awash with a pleasant maritime air, that Kasemchai thought of home. So far away, so different a land from here.

He heard shouting. Two second-years had evidently found themselves with only enough money to buy lunch for one, and they did not seem to be fond of one another. Commonplace enough— men their age would find any excuse to fight. Especially so in this school, where your fighting record meant social rank in the most tangible sense he was aware of— Higher Rank, Higher Privilege. One could draw a loose comparison to his own wheelhouse on that front.

The shouting gave way to the clash of metal on metal, as a mana-powered axe wreathed in flame crashed into the edge of a fulminated sword. Now curious, Kasemchai held his bento box a hint closer to his mouth as he turned his attention towards the fight in full. His bet was upon the larger of the two, wielder of the axe— he had a better weapon for his natural advantages. More weight, more reach, and from the looks of things a better ability to leverage them.

"I'm not letting you take my money, dammit! You could lose the weight!"

The Thai, thankfully between mouthfuls, allowed himself a derisive snort as he added another advantage to the list— In every sense of the word, the fat one would probably be hungrier, too.

But they were losing him now. Despite his chosen victor's redoubled efforts and crushing strength, and despite the surprising speed and quick eyes of the defendant, he saw nothing to be excited by. He knew how it would end— the moment one would be disarmed, they would surrender.

He returned to his lunch, head lolling against the trunk of the tree that was overshadowed by one of the monolithic halls of Shiroyama Academy. So different from home, indeed. Only the Universities of Bangkok could compare to a campus like this, and even there, he would wager that a good portion of the student body would show a key difference to his... peers.

A decisive clang.

A cheer from the crowd that surrounded.

The sound of coinage changing hands.

The triumphant air of one rank raising whilst another remained totally level, or perhaps even dropped.

Everywhere I look... They rely on these weapons. They are the lynchpin in a fight. Are these people nothing without them?

There had been no craft in either man's movements, no understanding of positioning, no generalship of the space. It was all mere action and reaction, no thought involved that he could discern. No evidence of understanding the underlying principles that governed all fights, be they those with weaponry, his own Muay Thai, or even something so exotic as the Sambo of the Russians to the far North— a place he already knew to be eternally too cold for him.

They would be dead in the water the moment their mana ran out.

That was 90% of the student body that he saw here. If this place was to humble him... It certainly was doing a poor job of it. His own rank was low at a simple 11, yes, but he didn't like the thought of wasting his time on the mindless ones here who lived and died by their AEDs— a feeling evidently mutual. He hadn't been on the receiving end of such challenges for a while— perhaps thanks to no club affiliation, perhaps thanks to no AED and that Japanese idea of honor, perhaps thanks to something else entirely. He could not say.

He had some idea that he would be in no search of combat as the outsider, but perhaps times had indeed changed.

Whatever the case may be, that girl from yesterday— a native to this land yet transfer like himself— she had the right idea at the end of it all. Taking the top spot was the end goal here. For him it would paint a picture of things to come. For her, and others with similar dreams...

He rose, meal now long finished.

Well, he didn't envy their positions, whatever those were. He didn't hate anyone who chased the same goals as he, but their reasons didn't matter at all. It was merely lamentable that they were born in his era.

"I guess it's time I got a little serious about that."

Stretching his arms over his head, the silver-haired Nak Muay was the picture of relaxation as he walked past the fuming defeated from the fight before, now totally forgotten.