@King Cosmos Does Ichiro bat righty or lefty?
HereComesTheSnow Member
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STATUS: Just ran a stale yellow. Nobody on this website is doing it like me, sticking it to the man like me, blazing a trail against tyranny like me. the only thing revolutionary about you is your rhetoric 22 days ago
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Just ran a stale yellow. Nobody on this website is doing it like me, sticking it to the man like me, blazing a trail against tyranny like me. the only thing revolutionary about you is your rhetoric
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Is this rival enough
@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?
"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?
getting that first establishment of character voice is the worst
probably goes without saying, but i've got nothing set up with Kasemchai. if you wanna bug him, go right ahead
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.
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.
ah yes, back to that old haunt
"how do start character"
"how do start character"
Let's hope we never meet anything with acid blood.
we’ll keep the spears for that one, let him leak for a bit
And I bet all of their shins still feel pain
I feel like a Boxing or MMA club would definitely fit Kasemchai the best, but I’ll leave it open in case any player-to-player recruitment is done. I assume there’s a good chance the former exists already, they’re a pretty common archetype for these things. All comes down to how things shake out in-game.
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