Utena Tenjou (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
formerly_known_as_prince) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rakuen2011-02-09 06:56 am
formerly_known_as_prince) wrote in rakuen2011-02-09 06:56 am
Entry tags:
1st Petal: Physicalité
Characters: Utena and whoever
Format: prose
This log is: open
Location: gym
Summary: Utena's decided to start training for a rather direct and obvious way around using a Weapon
Warnings: -
A new duel game. Like the old one but with a few subtle differences. It was a remix, a mashup of her previous life and the lives of all her fellows who'd been dragged into this cloistered and poisonous shangri-la.
She remembered her first duel back at...wherever. She'd used a broom against the gleaming and vicious katana of the Machistador. She hadn't pulled a sword from anyone's chest that day, nor when she beat the Red Lesser Prince in their rematch. You couldn't bring an external weapon this time, but there had to be another way...
She flexed her right hand. Over the combatant's glove, she wore a silver ring embellished with a rose. The silver, she noticed, had become tarnished. She had a feeling that polishing it would not help.
Damage caused pain to the Weapon, yes. But one was not required to wield a weapon in Exaclan. The round was also considered over if the opposing Player was incapacitated.
(She'd had to look that word up in the dictionary)
Being knocked out was one form of incapacitation. It seemed a good enough plan. After all, there'd been enough rough and tumble in the old duel game. Heck, she'd managed to disarm her friend the Onion Princess without drawing a weapon.
With that in mind, early in the evening, she faced off against an old canvas bag. The sky was turning pink as she opened the books she'd brought with her: old manuals of "The Gentleman's Games of Boxing and Wrestling". The next day she was going to see if there were clubs for any such sports she could help with, but for the moment this seemed the best idea.
For a while she managed to stick to the form she was shown, precisely punching and tackling the bag. But as time went on, her technique deteriorated while conversely her power went up. She'd never been one for the precision of the Proud Panther fencing, or the Machistador's Kendo. She'd fought her way through the duel game on a kind of iron will. She needed to win in order to rescue the Rose Bride and that was that. It was what princes did: swung swords at men larger than them until their arms felt like clotted tubes of pain, went up against skilled swordsmen (and women, could not forget the Proud Panther, or herself) with nothing but pure gumption and a conviction in one's own rightness (not to mention the discreet help of the man behind it, though that wasn't present in the final duel). They ended up with scratches, welts, eggs on the sides of their heads, fingers that would not move. Righteousness was its own reward. And her friend's smile.
With those thoughts in mind, the bag began to fold rather impressively for a girl her build with each blow. Each time she lifted it, there was rattling from the chains.
She stayed at it for quite a long time, pushing herself. Eventually though she noticed another presence in the gym.
"Who's...there...?" She called towards the doorway. Backlit by the setting sun, she couldn't tell even if she'd known the person.
Her knuckles were starting to bleed. She'd forgotten to bring handwraps.
Format: prose
This log is: open
Location: gym
Summary: Utena's decided to start training for a rather direct and obvious way around using a Weapon
Warnings: -
A new duel game. Like the old one but with a few subtle differences. It was a remix, a mashup of her previous life and the lives of all her fellows who'd been dragged into this cloistered and poisonous shangri-la.
She remembered her first duel back at...wherever. She'd used a broom against the gleaming and vicious katana of the Machistador. She hadn't pulled a sword from anyone's chest that day, nor when she beat the Red Lesser Prince in their rematch. You couldn't bring an external weapon this time, but there had to be another way...
She flexed her right hand. Over the combatant's glove, she wore a silver ring embellished with a rose. The silver, she noticed, had become tarnished. She had a feeling that polishing it would not help.
Damage caused pain to the Weapon, yes. But one was not required to wield a weapon in Exaclan. The round was also considered over if the opposing Player was incapacitated.
(She'd had to look that word up in the dictionary)
Being knocked out was one form of incapacitation. It seemed a good enough plan. After all, there'd been enough rough and tumble in the old duel game. Heck, she'd managed to disarm her friend the Onion Princess without drawing a weapon.
With that in mind, early in the evening, she faced off against an old canvas bag. The sky was turning pink as she opened the books she'd brought with her: old manuals of "The Gentleman's Games of Boxing and Wrestling". The next day she was going to see if there were clubs for any such sports she could help with, but for the moment this seemed the best idea.
For a while she managed to stick to the form she was shown, precisely punching and tackling the bag. But as time went on, her technique deteriorated while conversely her power went up. She'd never been one for the precision of the Proud Panther fencing, or the Machistador's Kendo. She'd fought her way through the duel game on a kind of iron will. She needed to win in order to rescue the Rose Bride and that was that. It was what princes did: swung swords at men larger than them until their arms felt like clotted tubes of pain, went up against skilled swordsmen (and women, could not forget the Proud Panther, or herself) with nothing but pure gumption and a conviction in one's own rightness (not to mention the discreet help of the man behind it, though that wasn't present in the final duel). They ended up with scratches, welts, eggs on the sides of their heads, fingers that would not move. Righteousness was its own reward. And her friend's smile.
With those thoughts in mind, the bag began to fold rather impressively for a girl her build with each blow. Each time she lifted it, there was rattling from the chains.
She stayed at it for quite a long time, pushing herself. Eventually though she noticed another presence in the gym.
"Who's...there...?" She called towards the doorway. Backlit by the setting sun, she couldn't tell even if she'd known the person.
Her knuckles were starting to bleed. She'd forgotten to bring handwraps.
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"I- Oh, were you practicing in here already?" Lyra asked, tilting her head to one side as she walked in.
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"But...you're way too young to have to fight!"
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"Besides, if I don't fight, I'll lose tokens. And I don't fancy the idea of doing nothing about the memories I've lost either."
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Because when it comes to sheer, stupid determination and will, Lyra's pretty far up there.
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Just a hunch. She was on the lookout for mysterious benefactors and manipulators.
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Lyra was looking for lies, manipulations, and some hint at what whoever was behind this was actually after. A loose thread to tug on to unravel the whole mess. A way to disrupt things, to give everyone a chance to get out.
Then Lyra hit the punching bag, with surprising force for a girl of her age and build.
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"Well, good luck." She said over her shoulder as she left, sillhouetted by the setting sun. "I'm Utena by the way."
Good, Utena! You look kindof cool!
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