Post by Raisu Hanamura on Sept 6, 2015 14:30:19 GMT
(Thread PL: 19,579. Weights on. Weighted PL: 4,894.)
The sun broke over the Spinach Wastes. But Raisu Hanamura was already up and about. He’d been up for almost an hour now, or so he thought. It was hard to keep track of time, especially out here in the country. He’d slept well enough, for sleeping in his weights. The ground had been flat and nothing creepy nor crawly had climbed over him in his sleep. He still had all his things and all his limbs. He couldn’t complain. He stood above the fire pit he’d made the night before and bent down to rekindle it. He’d heat some of his food for breakfast. Sure, he could eat it cold, but why do that when he’d risen early and now had all the time in the world? With some effort, the ashes and remaining wood came to life again. He stood up and stretched, the various joints in his body cracking. It felt good, for the most part, but the occasional twinge of pain resounded in his wrists and ankles. Must be a side effect from the weights, he thought. And he was probably right. The idea of body weights actually being an auxiliary to martial arts wasn’t entirely well founded. Joint damage was something he was running the risk of. Well, maybe not. He wasn’t exactly a normal person. If he was, the risks would outweigh the rewards. But he couldn’t deny that they were certainly helping.
Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. He wouldn’t be far from a farm, No, this place was all about farming. It seemed as if you could barely walk in these wastes without stepping into a field or a livestock’s droppings. Not that Raisu had expected anything less when he’d arrived on the wastes. Everyone knew it was an agricultural heartland. Raisu bent back down to the fire. He set his bag beside him, carefully leaning it against his legs as to avoid it falling into the now burning pit. His hand disappeared inside the bag and a moment later, he drew out the dried meat he’d been saving for breakfast. Raisu lifted it to his nose. It smelled great, and his mouth began to water. He opened his mouth, ever so slightly. No, he thought. He shook his head. He’d heat it up first. Along with the jar of soup he’d been given the other day. He retrieved the jar from his bag, quickly turning the jar over, looking for cracks. All in-tact it seemed. He looked at the jar and then the fire. Something itched at his mind. And then it him. How was he going to heat this up? He had no pans, no bowls… Raisu had not planned for this. He opened the jar and the scent of soup hit him. Chicken soup, it seemed.
Raisu shrugged and dropped the dried meat in the jar. It sat there, just barely peeking above the broth. What now? He frowned and set the jar in the fire. Brilliant, he thought. A smile cracked at his lips. If only his mother could see him now, squatting over flames and trying to cook soup like some kind of vagrant. Ridiculous, really. He stood again, this time without the popping of his bones. He turned his eyes towards the horizon: flat as far as the eye could see. Beautiful, too. A shame that the Saiyans were coming. They’d surely ruin it, as their kind were likely to. As his kind were likely to. After all, he was a halfbreed. An heir to the blood of warmongers and murderers. A real shame, in his mind. And what a great way to start one’s morning, thinking of such topics. He should try and enjoy the Earth while he still could. It was a beautiful place. One he was proud to call home.
He watched the horizon for a few minutes, no real thoughts in his mind. It was just nice to take a moment and appreciate the world as it was. Who knows when something might descend from the sky and try to take it away from you. One needs to love what they have while they have it. Even if it might seem like it’s there forever, it’s not hard to remember that nothing is eternal. Especially when there are so many reminders about.
Raisu bent back down to the fire, and looked at his jar of soup. It was steaming now. Surely, it was ready to be eaten. But how to retrieve it without burning his hand? Another thing he’d not thought through. Raisu was truly at the top of his game today, it seemed. He looked to his bag, quickly taking it up and rummaging through it. His hands brushed against something soft, something cloth. He drew it out: a spare shirt. Thinking for once, he quickly removed his jacket, letting it drop to the ground and he stripped from his shirt, setting it carefully to the side. Raisu pulled the other shirt over his head. It smelled clean. At least cleaner than the one he was wearing. Reaching behind him, he pulled his jacket back on. He loved this jacket, really. It had served him well.
He took up his old t-shirt and carefully wrapped it around his one hand. So far so good, he thought. And quickly, he put his hand into the fire, wrapping the cloth-laden hand around the jar. If he moved too slowly, it would surely burn through the cloth, or worse, the cloth would catch fire from the flames. He felt an intense heat through the cloth, as the glass radiating with the heat of the fire. Thankfully, it didn’t burn through and scorch his skin. As quickly as he’d taken it up, he sat it in the dirt. Now, he’d let it cool.
He fell back on his backside as he waited for his soup to cool. What should he do with his day? He already knew the answer: train. People were coming to his home to cause death and destruction. What kind of man would he be if he just sat there and took it? Not the kind of man he wanted to be. He might not be the strongest, or even the bravest, but he still had a fire in him.
Raisu’s blood boiled at the thought of it all. In his anger, he reached for his soup, the glass burning at his hand. He didn’t particularly care, as he lifted it to his mouth and took a big swig of the soup. He coughed as something hit against the back of his throat and he began to choke: his dried meat. He set the jar aside and pulled the meat from his mouth, breathing heavily as he did. Raisu looked at the meat with disdain for just a moment and then he devoured it, his teeth tearing at it.
It was not long before he finished meal, and then he set to training. Push-ups, sit-ups, crunches. The whole variety of mundane exercise. His weights may have impeded him just a bit, but he burned through it. Raisu was a man on a mission. So focused on his single goal, he even forgot to suppress his ki, broadcasting his position to anyone who might be passing by. Not that he cared in the moment. He might even welcome it.
The sun broke over the Spinach Wastes. But Raisu Hanamura was already up and about. He’d been up for almost an hour now, or so he thought. It was hard to keep track of time, especially out here in the country. He’d slept well enough, for sleeping in his weights. The ground had been flat and nothing creepy nor crawly had climbed over him in his sleep. He still had all his things and all his limbs. He couldn’t complain. He stood above the fire pit he’d made the night before and bent down to rekindle it. He’d heat some of his food for breakfast. Sure, he could eat it cold, but why do that when he’d risen early and now had all the time in the world? With some effort, the ashes and remaining wood came to life again. He stood up and stretched, the various joints in his body cracking. It felt good, for the most part, but the occasional twinge of pain resounded in his wrists and ankles. Must be a side effect from the weights, he thought. And he was probably right. The idea of body weights actually being an auxiliary to martial arts wasn’t entirely well founded. Joint damage was something he was running the risk of. Well, maybe not. He wasn’t exactly a normal person. If he was, the risks would outweigh the rewards. But he couldn’t deny that they were certainly helping.
Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. He wouldn’t be far from a farm, No, this place was all about farming. It seemed as if you could barely walk in these wastes without stepping into a field or a livestock’s droppings. Not that Raisu had expected anything less when he’d arrived on the wastes. Everyone knew it was an agricultural heartland. Raisu bent back down to the fire. He set his bag beside him, carefully leaning it against his legs as to avoid it falling into the now burning pit. His hand disappeared inside the bag and a moment later, he drew out the dried meat he’d been saving for breakfast. Raisu lifted it to his nose. It smelled great, and his mouth began to water. He opened his mouth, ever so slightly. No, he thought. He shook his head. He’d heat it up first. Along with the jar of soup he’d been given the other day. He retrieved the jar from his bag, quickly turning the jar over, looking for cracks. All in-tact it seemed. He looked at the jar and then the fire. Something itched at his mind. And then it him. How was he going to heat this up? He had no pans, no bowls… Raisu had not planned for this. He opened the jar and the scent of soup hit him. Chicken soup, it seemed.
Raisu shrugged and dropped the dried meat in the jar. It sat there, just barely peeking above the broth. What now? He frowned and set the jar in the fire. Brilliant, he thought. A smile cracked at his lips. If only his mother could see him now, squatting over flames and trying to cook soup like some kind of vagrant. Ridiculous, really. He stood again, this time without the popping of his bones. He turned his eyes towards the horizon: flat as far as the eye could see. Beautiful, too. A shame that the Saiyans were coming. They’d surely ruin it, as their kind were likely to. As his kind were likely to. After all, he was a halfbreed. An heir to the blood of warmongers and murderers. A real shame, in his mind. And what a great way to start one’s morning, thinking of such topics. He should try and enjoy the Earth while he still could. It was a beautiful place. One he was proud to call home.
He watched the horizon for a few minutes, no real thoughts in his mind. It was just nice to take a moment and appreciate the world as it was. Who knows when something might descend from the sky and try to take it away from you. One needs to love what they have while they have it. Even if it might seem like it’s there forever, it’s not hard to remember that nothing is eternal. Especially when there are so many reminders about.
Raisu bent back down to the fire, and looked at his jar of soup. It was steaming now. Surely, it was ready to be eaten. But how to retrieve it without burning his hand? Another thing he’d not thought through. Raisu was truly at the top of his game today, it seemed. He looked to his bag, quickly taking it up and rummaging through it. His hands brushed against something soft, something cloth. He drew it out: a spare shirt. Thinking for once, he quickly removed his jacket, letting it drop to the ground and he stripped from his shirt, setting it carefully to the side. Raisu pulled the other shirt over his head. It smelled clean. At least cleaner than the one he was wearing. Reaching behind him, he pulled his jacket back on. He loved this jacket, really. It had served him well.
He took up his old t-shirt and carefully wrapped it around his one hand. So far so good, he thought. And quickly, he put his hand into the fire, wrapping the cloth-laden hand around the jar. If he moved too slowly, it would surely burn through the cloth, or worse, the cloth would catch fire from the flames. He felt an intense heat through the cloth, as the glass radiating with the heat of the fire. Thankfully, it didn’t burn through and scorch his skin. As quickly as he’d taken it up, he sat it in the dirt. Now, he’d let it cool.
He fell back on his backside as he waited for his soup to cool. What should he do with his day? He already knew the answer: train. People were coming to his home to cause death and destruction. What kind of man would he be if he just sat there and took it? Not the kind of man he wanted to be. He might not be the strongest, or even the bravest, but he still had a fire in him.
Raisu’s blood boiled at the thought of it all. In his anger, he reached for his soup, the glass burning at his hand. He didn’t particularly care, as he lifted it to his mouth and took a big swig of the soup. He coughed as something hit against the back of his throat and he began to choke: his dried meat. He set the jar aside and pulled the meat from his mouth, breathing heavily as he did. Raisu looked at the meat with disdain for just a moment and then he devoured it, his teeth tearing at it.
It was not long before he finished meal, and then he set to training. Push-ups, sit-ups, crunches. The whole variety of mundane exercise. His weights may have impeded him just a bit, but he burned through it. Raisu was a man on a mission. So focused on his single goal, he even forgot to suppress his ki, broadcasting his position to anyone who might be passing by. Not that he cared in the moment. He might even welcome it.