[center][h2]Ming[/h2][/center] [i]THWACK[/i] A spray of blood splattered from the punch. Ming’s head snapped back, toppling the woman over and onto the ground with a limp thud. Her eyes watered as her hand quickly rose to cup her bleeding nose. She squirmed in pain, “Snap! Snap! Snap!” “Get up!” Batbayaar held his fighting stance, feet and shoulders square and fists raise defensively. “Snappin’ I think you broke it,” Ming swore, rolling to her side, her eyes closing in pain as she accidentally put the pressure on one of her bruised ribs. She was dressed in baggy shorts and a close fitting vest, same as Batbayaar. Her monochrome skin was blushed blue and black all over, with irritated scrapes on every joint. The unforgiving hardness of the tiled barracks courtyard showed no mercy every time she had collapsed to it. “Hm?” Batbayaar lowered his fists and looked down at the bleeding woman, his mountain of a frame towering over her. The scholar rubbed his chin, “That’s enough training for today, then. Go get yourself fixed up.” “That’s it?” Ming limped back up to her feet, “You break a woman’s nose and that’s all you have to say?” She held her nose, blood trickling from between her fingers. “I broke a general’s nose,” Batbayaar corrected, “And I’ll do it again if you don’t learn to be more defensive. The Hermian martial arts is not about mindless assault, you should know this.” He folded his anvil-like hands over his lap, “Am I to be dismissed, General?” “For the day,” Ming looked away from the man, shame in her glance. “Then are we to spar again soon?” Batbayaar arched a brow. “I’ll send word to the Academy,” Ming waved her free hand, dried blood caked on her palm. Batbayaar dipped his head silently, backing up until he was at a reasonable distance and then turning to walk out on the tiled road out of the courtyard. A speckle of blood dripped to the tiles below and Ming sighed. With a certain walk between a disappointed gait and a limp, Ming meandered over to the largest building in the military quarter, the main barracks. The tall stone building was wider than it was deep and thankfully for Ming, it was the location of the only ‘hospital’ in the city. Of course the couple of dedicated medicine men and women that worked there were more attuned to setting bones and delivering babies, but ever since Ming had started the training program with her prospective soldiers, they had quickly adjusted to learning how to fix new, more unusual ailments. Using her back, Ming pushed through the massive doors that barricaded the building from the training courtyard. With a loud slam, the doors closed behind her, cutting her hearing off from the grunts and warcries of the training soldiers and bringing a ring to her ears. The interior was cold, it was always cold. She’d wrap an arm around her if she could, but as it stood, she was stuck walking through the halls shivering madly while she held her bleeding nose -- not exactly the image of a grand general or promised warrior. She hated that, and she had a feeling a few of her soldiers hated it too. Sure, someone could have challenged her to the generalship, and it was likely Batbayaar himself would have, if he wasn’t already chosen as a scholar for the Hermian Academy, but no one did. She was shorter, young, compact. She had a boyish figure, if not a toned one, but an unmatchingly large ambition and pool of confidence -- two things she thought would aid her in her new job, but as it stood (again) -- she found herself still lacking. “Why did Wenbo even agree to this,” She wondered to herself, a question she had asked to herself every night since she was hired. It wasn’t ungrateful, she was very glad to have the position, but it still struck her as odd that it went through so easily. She turned a corner, the hallway opening up into a large room that was a flood of sunlight, large shuttered windows painting the room in it. Empty beds lined the walls and a single woman stood by a cauldron, moving a paste along the inside of it with a large stick. “Zhou,” Ming called out, the woman stopping and turning around. “General Ming!” She tipped their head briefly before letting go of the turning stick and hurrying over, snatching a wad of cloth on the way. She pulled Ming’s hand away, the small general not resisting the aggressive treatment. Zhou furrowed their brow and frowned, dabbing the cloth under Ming’s nose, the general’s porcelain face covered in wadding blood. “What in K’nell’s good name happened?” Zhou fussed as she held the strip of cloth tight under Ming’s nostrils. “I was sparring with Batbayaar.” “Batbayaar?” Zhour slanted her brow, “General if I may?” “Speak freely,” Ming tilted her head, Zhou’s hand grabbing her jaw as she moved her patients face around, observing the wound. “Don’t you think it would be wise to choose a... well a smaller opponent?” Ming made a face that was quickly erased by Zhou’s prodding, “I will accept nothing but perfection, it is important that I know what I’m doing.” “Hard to do much with a broken nose,” Zhou frowned and let go, putting Ming’s fingers over the gauzing cloth. Ming gulped as Zhou reached for two wooden pipes, each half a finger in diameter. “I have to realign, Batbayaar did a good one on you.” “Should I sit?” Ming nasaled. “I recommend it.” Ming plopped down onto one of the beds, the sudden release from her legs causing a numbing buzz in her joints. Her back curved as she slouched, exhaustion leaking from her bones. Her strange reprise didn’t last long. Zhou put a firm hand on her shoulder and sat her up right. “Now,” Zhou squinted, leaning in close, tongue bit in concentration, “Just.” She pulled the blood soaked cloth away, “Don’t move.” She slowly inserted one of the rods into Ming’s left nostril, “Slow breaths through your mouth... easy.” Ming’s heart began to pound in her chest, eyes scanning Zhou’s narrowing eyes for any sign of mercy. “General Ming,” Zhou’s hand fell from the rod and rubbed against the jagged edge of the general’s nose. “Speak freely.” Ming gulped. “Do you see the splotches painted on the wall across from you?” Ming tore her eyes away from the procedure, finding the charcoal drawn dots that covered the wall in all different sizes. “How many do you think there are?” “Well- SNAP! AH!” A rough hand held Ming’s face still as she swore, Zhou wearing a scowl, but the left side of Ming’s nose pushed back into place correctly. Zhou wiped the blood that drizzled out from the nostril, holding a cloth to her nose after removing the rod. Tears welled in Ming’s eyes, not from much other than nasal irritation. “Your other nostril,” Zhou started, causing a thump of anxiety in Ming’s chest. The doctor hummed as she turned Ming’s face away from her, “It looks like it will heal just fine. Expect some swelling and try not to touch it.” Ming let out a slow relieved breath. For some reason, a doctor’s visit and bag of pain was harder to swallow for her than the much larger and much more numerous pouches of hurt delivered in a sparring session. Zhou stepped away, leaving Ming to hold her bandage in place, “So what are your plans, General?” Zhou idled as she returned to her pot of paste. “Training, get more recruits,” Ming shrugged, “But it is difficult, there are so many dreamers.” “I can see how that would be an issue,” Zhou agreed, not looking from her paste. “I do have an idea, an edict if you will I want to pass by Lord Wenbo.” Ming removed the cloth and looked at the saturation of red before putting it back on. “Oh yeah?” Zhou looked over. “I’m thinking I could create a temporary force,” Ming nodded slowly, cautious of her nose, “A rotation of citizens depending on the day of the week to supplement our full time soldiers. That way we are not overworking our dedicated and aren’t shorthanded when we need a little extra. It should keep our populace in shape, as well.” Zhou let out a single snort of a laugh and Ming narrowed her eyes, “Something wrong?” “I’m sorry, General,” She turned and bowed her head low, “I was just thinking what I would look like as a soldier.” Ming hummed, drowning out Zhou’s plea to disregard her comment, “You raise a point, Zhou.” “Oh?” Zhou looked up from her bow. “We can’t possibly pull specialized citizens from their tasks for this,” Ming folded one arm over her chest, supporting her other elbow, “I’ll draft what jobs I feel we can pull from before I present it to Lord Wenbo.” “General Ming?” “Speak freely.” “If it keeps you from Batbayaar’s fists for a few weeks, I would support it even if I didn’t think it was a clever idea.” Ming smiled for the first time that day, “Thank you, Zhou.” “General,” Zhou tilted her head. [hider=Summary] Ming gets her ass kicked and then gets her ass fixed. Reveals a plan for a cycle system of conscription among lesser jobs to fight the lack of recruits and low population size. [/hider]