[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=sienna]Gilbert[/color] & [color=indianred]James[/color][/i][/b][/h1][/center] [center][color=dimgray][b]Location:[/b][/color] Ville au Camp 1943 [Color=sienna][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Soft Martial Arts [Color=indianred][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [s]Animal Empathy[/s] [/center][hr] James lay among the clover of the ground, staring up at the clouds far above. They were enchanting, wispy things, clouds. The new Paradox had not taken a good look at passing clouds since he was a child, and as such, he was pleasantly surprised to note that they in fact appeared in exact doubles, yet slowly the twins would come together even as the little details around him came into greater clarity then they were a mere moment ago. The unfortunate man blinked away forming tears and, upon suddenly remembering that he was going to require oxygen later on that day, painfully sucked in a lungful of sweet, precious air. [Color=sienna]"How many times does that make, James? Fifteen?"[/color] asked Gilbert, offering the newer Paradox a hand up. [Color=indianred]"Seventeen."[/color] he grunted, finally able to breathe with something akin to normality. [Color=indianred]"That is, 'less you wanna spot me a couple, huh?"[/color] Waving away James's obvious attempt to make his win/loss record slightly less embarrassing, he instead channeled the conversation to something more along the lines of education or training. [color=sienna]"Take a minute. Catch your breath. Now, think: How did I beat you? What happened?"[/color] [color=indianred]"What happened was, you a seven thousand year old [i]epic badass[/i] and I forgot everything I knew 'bout beatin' folks down a few months ago."[/color] Gilbert didn't phrase his question in a form that was sarcasm-proof, apparently, and had drawn a Paradox that spoke it fluently. [color=sienna]"Are you saying that, were you to have the knowledge of your previous lives, you would win?"[/color] Such an assumption was ludicrous at best, and James was wise enough to know it. [color=indianred]"Aw, [i]hells[/i] to the naw!"[/color] he returned, eyes widening at the prospect. It was not a matter of pride for James. He didn't feel that he had to prove anything. [color=indianred]"You 'member that part where I mention thousands of years an' 'Epic Badass'? Hmm? No sir - all I'm sayin' is, even if I know me some hard hittin' Bruce Leroy shit, I still ain't gonna stand toe-to-toe with someone like you. Not if'n I got options."[/color] A slight breeze ruffled the longish hair that peeked from beneath Gilbert's hat. He nodded slowly, seeming to understand what his new Paradox was getting at. He walked over to a nearby table and retrieved James's cowboy hat for him, handing it over with raised eyebrow. [color=sienna]"Tactics. Surprise attack. Inferior force defeating a superior one using intelligence and terrain advantage. I can respect that. Know where, when, and how to attack in such a way as to win without strenuous engagement."[/color] [color=indianred]"Yeah! That's goddamn [i]exactly[/i] what I'm talkin' 'bout! I can't 'member much from my Hog Huntin' days, but a phrase has stuck with me: 'You don't go runnin' after the hog. You make it come runnin' to [i]you[/i]."[/color] James seemed very proud of himself just then. Of course, he was also fairly certain that this was all a hypothetical conversation anyway. Not so, according to the Emendator. [color=sienna]"I accept."[/color] [color=indianred]"Wait, huh?"[/color] replied a confused and increasingly worried James. [color=sienna]"I accept. I will give you the remainder of the day and some of tomorrow morning to set up the grounds. And then, I will come after you."[/color] clarified Gilbert. [color=indianred]"Wait, huh?"[/color] James said again, not really asking a question so much as trying to figure out how all this went horribly awry so quickly. [color=indianred]"I didn't mean to -"[/color] James was cut off by the forceful yet highly optimistic vocalizations of The Hat. [color=sienna]"No, this is a [i]great[/i] idea! James, you have demonstrated a level of ambition and creativity that I rarely see in Paradoxes so young."[/color] He was laying it on extremely thick. [color=sienna]"I must admit, given the state in which you joined us I did not think you would surprise me in this way. Bravo, sir! Bravo!"[/color] The reluctant wereboar seemed to shrink a foot or two, his eyes widening and face contorting in such a way as to make one think he was about to vomit. In truth, it was within the realm of possibility. [color=indianred]"Um, Mr. Hat, sir? I don't think..."[/color] [color=sienna]"Absolutely!"[/color] Gilbert interrupted, undaunted by the obvious discomfort he was putting James through. [color=sienna]"There must be rules! First, nothing [i]directly lethal[/i]. You use deadly force, and I use deadly force. Agreed? Second, there must be a clear, decisive win here. I need you to lay a hand on me. Clear, open-palm connection. Just do it once, signifying that you have penetrated my defenses. Whether it actually hurts me is of lesser importance. Finally, I will come after you. If I get you before you get me, something ...unpleasant... will happen. [i]Very[/i]."[/color] He let the mood hang in the air for a moment. [color=sienna]"Good. The other Emendators and Paradoxes are out training, so the grounds are ours. I shall stay in my room until tomorrow. You make the most of your time."[/color] Finally able to get an intelligent thought out, James blurted out, [color=indianred]"An' what if I win? What do I get if I win?"[/color] It was a fair question. [color=sienna]"You've had your eye on one of my knives for a while, right? The Bowie/Seax hybrid? How about that?"[/color] Smiling, James recovered some more of his wits, giving the counteroffer of, [color=indianred]"How 'bout that spiffy, black blade sword y'all got little bit ago? That's some hardcore shit right there, yessir!"[/color] Gilbert was not amused in the slightest. [color=sienna]"[i]A knife[/i], James. Don't turn this into a joke. Any of the blades I have personally summoned or created here on premises. Including the hybrid we discussed. Understood?"[/color] James dipped his head a little, realizing that he was close to pissing off an immortal. The consequences could be dire. [color=indianred]"Yeah. Understood, Mr. Hat, sir."[/color] He rubbed his hands together, simultaneously trying to avoid tomorrow somehow and yet plotting strategy as if anxiously awaiting his opportunity to cross swords with Gilgamesh, the Eternal Warrior. [color=sienna]"Then, excepting our nightly festivities, I shall see you tomorrow. Best of luck."[/color] The expression left on the face of the usually optimistic Mr. Grady left nothing to interpretation. He was certain he was going to get his ass kicked. [hr] The sun rose upon a laboring James, taking to his plans as best he could considering the fact that his [i]plans[/i], such as they were, seemed to lack what the New Agers of his time period referred to as "organic flowthrough". From the Main House to the Kitchen House, and a couple points beyond, the ebon-skinned Wereboar sought to ready the field of battle with that which he would require to claim victory over a man who was, quite possibly, the most dangerous combatant in the history of civilized humankind. He had a plan, you see. A plan so secretive and daring, yet so amazingly, utterly simple that it was bound to work. It had to. It was ingenious in its seeming stupidity that Gilbert would never see it coming. All he had to do was touch the palm of his hand to the imposing Emendator, and he won. James [i]had[/i] this. It was in the bag. Gilbert awoke later than he generally did. It was a special day, of course, but so long as everybody was off doing other things he would use the opportunity to sleep in. It was rare that he be treated to a lack of spoilers in the day's events, and so long as he consciously tried not to process the recent history of the location, he might be able to maintain surprise at whatever James was going to throw his way. Well, first things first: To the Kitchen House to make himself a decent kettle of tea, wait for it to cool every so slightly, and then consume the entire kettle himself. Secondly: Go hunt James. Ironically, if he had a truffle hog it would have been so much easier. Stepping out of the front door, Gil strode confidently from the deck of the main building and into the fuller light of the day. He almost didn't catch what happened next. James had perched himself precariously upon the floor above, hanging onto the guard rail, he was tentatively reaching out his hand, attempting to use his newfound gift of Animal Empathy to communicate with the squirrels of Ville au Camp, telling them to provide a distraction. Or maybe just one of them. He could command the rest like a diminutive general. Unfortunately, he didn't get but the faintest of instinctive feedback before losing even that entirely. His opportunity was literally beginning to walk away, so James gave into his desperation and, hoping that his risk was calculable as acceptable, jumped. It was a wild, swinging leap from the balcony, his arms flailing and teeth bared, the fledgling Paradox screaming a wild battlecry of [color=indianred]"[i]CRACKA!!![/i]"[/color] as he rode gravity's solid embrace downward. The decidedly not pale of complexion Emendator, could see this coming a mile off. At the last possible instant, he turned and swiftly snatched James from the air. The act stopped his downward inertia, but Gilbert still took the occasion to turn him end over end and slam him into the ground, driving the air from his lungs. As James struggled to breathe, Gilbert admonished his actions. [Color=sienna]"That was a poor attempt, James. You could have previously injured yourself. It was badky planned and I expected much better of you. I am going to have my morning tea. When I am done, I expect something much better from you. Do you understand?"[/color] From the ground, James gave a hearty thumbs up. Okay, better. He was working toward something. Just open palm grab the man, and he won. The squirrels weren't any help at all, then again he was so very new to this ability, maybe it was best not to make an attempt during what amounted to test time. It was for the best. But anything that could help him against the likes of Gil? Maybe the risk was worth it. When Gilbert disappeared into the Kitchen House, James sprung up and got to work. He had already prepared the building blocks for his next gambit, now was simply a matter of setting it up and playing a waiting game. Deciding to take the risk, he attempted to enlist the aid of his squirrel commandos again. In hindsight, it might not have been the best idea ever. The Hat emerged from the Kitchen House to what appeared to be abandoned grounds. James was nowhere in sight. The air itself seemed stilled somehow. Yet oddly, in the middle of the clearing between the building and the Oak, there sat a stool, upon which was a plate of waffles. Hot, buttery, syrupy waffles that looked like they were cooked by a grade schooler with a shaky hand. [Color=sienna]"James?"[/color] called Gil, [color=sienna]"This is pathetic. This is really beneath the both of us, James. I has hoped you were better than this. If such an obvio..."[/color] The Emendator's critique of the awfully staged trap was silenced by a curious noise coming from the side of the Kitchen House. It was the sound of a man going through immense stress and strain, possibly losing some sort of internal struggle. Curious, even worried about what that might mean, Gilbert cautiously stepped around the building. James was there. He was holding his head in his hands and was crouched down, mumbling frenzied but otherwise unintelligible ramblings. Nearby, a couple of squirrels dashed about, doing that which squirrels might in the morning. Another seemed curious in the goings on of the humans of the former plantation. James kept looking to the small animals as speaking as if insane. [color=indianred]"Naw, you don't! I done said naw you don't! Nuh uh. Stop it! You ain't tellin' me what's up, I'm tellin' you, that's why! God damn you, General Fuzzy! Get out my head! [i]Get out my head[/i]! No! Stop shootin' them squirrelly freak beams in my [i]brain[/i]"[/color] Curiosity from Gilbert turned to worry. He had heard of James's budding Empathy ability, but this was not the proper application of it. It would not be the first time that a Paradox was unable to control their abilities, often putting themselves and others in serious peril. Cautiously, he approached. To hell with the test, James might actually be in danger here, and he did not wish to be responsible for a recently ressurected werehog with the brain of a squirrel. James barely seemed to notice his approach, slobbering and snarling and making little in the way of sense. The mental overload of a villain named General Fuzzy was of paramount, if garbled discussion. Gilbert stepped closer to James, unsure of what do do next but at this time fully willing to stomp a tree rodent to death if it meant saving James. The instant Gilbert's eyes went to the squirrels, James went into action. It seemed like slow motion to him, watching his hand travel in a fluid arc, and the last nanosecond of understanding from The Hat as somehow, impossibly, every piece of James's hand made connection with Gilbert's face with a loud snapping sound. Amazement washed over James, followed by elation. He couldn't help himself. [color=indianred]"[i]GOTCHA BITCH[/i]!"[/color] He cried out, before realizing the implications of his actions. [color=indianred]"...oh my gentle Jesus..."[/color] he whispered, just before running like hell to lock himself inside of his room.