01-02-2010, 07:31 PM
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http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... s/truc.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-top:187px; background-position:top center; background-color:#F8BB4D; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#AB360D; line-height:15px;padding-bottom:10px;">o hai so i know we tots didn't discuss this so i won't be offended if you PM me like "wat no," but i figured contest aside, these two haven't actually had a legit thread together which is sort of weird. 
and we decided oocly they spar together, yes? so might as well act something out. i figured a likely theme for these two would be... he practises disarming her, she practises unarmed combat. leeet me know if you have other ideas/disagree and i will change this. 
;
and we decided oocly they spar together, yes? so might as well act something out. i figured a likely theme for these two would be... he practises disarming her, she practises unarmed combat. leeet me know if you have other ideas/disagree and i will change this. ;
@&#&$Anselm no longer saw it fit to perform compulsive exercises in his own den. Alacrity seemed to have taken to holing up there, perhaps driven inside by the biting winds and sub-freezing temperatures that were unheard of on the African savannah. Make no mistake--the typically introverted and aloof man had scarcely tired of her presence. He wasn't trying to get away from her as much he was trying to get away from himself. The painted dog was of a remarkably docile and well-mannered persuasion, and such rigorous exercises could only suggest one thing. Much as he "forgot to mention" his little drug business, he went out of his way so as not to appear obsessive with his own physical prowess in her presence. In his mind he wasn't hiding anything; he was just trying to remain as likeable as possible while they continued to grow closer. If she ever confronted him he wouldn't have it in him to deny anything or lie, but for the time being he was content to prolong the inevitable for as long as possible. Wasn't that all life was anyway?
@&#&$After his usual waking jaunt about the borders, he decided to head in the direction of D'Neville Mansion. In the warmer months it was easy to select a random tree branch for sit ups or pull ups, but as temperatures plummeted he could only guess the poor giants' limbs grew brittle with the cold. Strangely, for as much as he wouldn't want to fall to the ground on his head, he wouldn't want to deliberately harm one of the trees either. Away in the forest this may have seemed a laughable concern, but most of Inferni's territory was relatively barren. The plains were interspersed with a few odd maples, oaks, and birches, and he certainly appreciated the refuge they provided from the sun's burning summer rays. The old gate at the front of the mansion provided a perfect work out spot, anyway. He could climb up the barred structure and hook his legs over the top rail for sit-ups or simply jump and grab onto it for pull-ups. There was also enough random heavy shit on premises to toss around for more a more "cooperative" workout that didn't focus exclusively on just a couple muscle groups.
@&#&$Sometimes, he'd even run into his "niece" here. (Anselm was completely clueless regarding familial titles--but if he considered Gabriel his cousin and Kaena his aunt, then she might as well have been a niece. He mostly picked words that made the most sense in the context of whatever relationship he formed with the individual.) The sword training she'd taken an interest in intrigued him; although Anselm wasn't a huge fan of armed combat, he understood the necessity of such knowledge. Although he could effectively disarm knife-wielders or those swinging blunt objects, swords and spears--anything with reach that could do substantial damage--were completely different. Even now the tattooed male was more likely to flee from an opponent who utilised such powerful weapons than to stick around and find out just how nasty they could be. His weapon of choice for their spars turned out to be an old pitchfork, which he could use to block the swords' blows--but without tools with which to improvise, he would still be reasonably screwed.
@&#&$For now he did not immediately seek the red-eyed Lykoi out. Instead, he loitered around the gate for a moment before rubbing his hands together, jumping into the air, and grabbing on. The gate swung slightly and the rusty hinges creaked loudly in protest, but he paid this no mind. This was just an additional challenge to overcome--the movement certainly made the pull-ups a little more interesting and the noise was a distraction if nothing else. Once he was situated, he began to go through his usual repetitions.
mall-caps;font-weight:bold;text-align:right; border-top:1px solid #AB360D">SoSuWriMo +644
@&#&$After his usual waking jaunt about the borders, he decided to head in the direction of D'Neville Mansion. In the warmer months it was easy to select a random tree branch for sit ups or pull ups, but as temperatures plummeted he could only guess the poor giants' limbs grew brittle with the cold. Strangely, for as much as he wouldn't want to fall to the ground on his head, he wouldn't want to deliberately harm one of the trees either. Away in the forest this may have seemed a laughable concern, but most of Inferni's territory was relatively barren. The plains were interspersed with a few odd maples, oaks, and birches, and he certainly appreciated the refuge they provided from the sun's burning summer rays. The old gate at the front of the mansion provided a perfect work out spot, anyway. He could climb up the barred structure and hook his legs over the top rail for sit-ups or simply jump and grab onto it for pull-ups. There was also enough random heavy shit on premises to toss around for more a more "cooperative" workout that didn't focus exclusively on just a couple muscle groups.
@&#&$Sometimes, he'd even run into his "niece" here. (Anselm was completely clueless regarding familial titles--but if he considered Gabriel his cousin and Kaena his aunt, then she might as well have been a niece. He mostly picked words that made the most sense in the context of whatever relationship he formed with the individual.) The sword training she'd taken an interest in intrigued him; although Anselm wasn't a huge fan of armed combat, he understood the necessity of such knowledge. Although he could effectively disarm knife-wielders or those swinging blunt objects, swords and spears--anything with reach that could do substantial damage--were completely different. Even now the tattooed male was more likely to flee from an opponent who utilised such powerful weapons than to stick around and find out just how nasty they could be. His weapon of choice for their spars turned out to be an old pitchfork, which he could use to block the swords' blows--but without tools with which to improvise, he would still be reasonably screwed.
@&#&$For now he did not immediately seek the red-eyed Lykoi out. Instead, he loitered around the gate for a moment before rubbing his hands together, jumping into the air, and grabbing on. The gate swung slightly and the rusty hinges creaked loudly in protest, but he paid this no mind. This was just an additional challenge to overcome--the movement certainly made the pull-ups a little more interesting and the noise was a distraction if nothing else. Once he was situated, he began to go through his usual repetitions.
mall-caps;font-weight:bold;text-align:right; border-top:1px solid #AB360D">SoSuWriMo +644