brb changing my subs to DameDame
HereComesTheSnow Member
dehydration expert
STATUS: they should let me into the presidential debates as like a stage hazard. i should be like the negligent drivers in onett, plowing into whichever seniors don't heed the warning that i'm coming 11 days ago
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11 days ago
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they should let me into the presidential debates as like a stage hazard. i should be like the negligent drivers in onett, plowing into whichever seniors don't heed the warning that i'm coming
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1 mo ago
frantically flipping through my notebook as i realize i'm late for my monthly bit. bomb. bomb. caesium capsule meets stomach lining. bomb. murder confession. bomb. need new material before they bomb m
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3 mos ago
Never stop creating. Never stop improving. Live life fully, honestly, and the mystical adventure never ends. Thank you, Sensei. I think I'll train tomorrow.
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5 mos ago
My dreams are getting weird. They usually involve sterile lighting and a bunch of guys in labcoats discussing sedative dosages around me and getting really scared when i try to go to the bathroom lol
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6 mos ago
i consume enough energy drink i changed my zodiac sign, i'm more taurine than any motherfucker born in April and i killed eleven people in that applebees two miles down the road
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Most Recent Posts
@Bartimaeus Well, class is in session.
@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.
Hope that helps.
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.
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.
@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.
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.
@King Cosmos Cool, thanks.
@King Cosmos Does Ichiro bat righty or lefty?
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
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