person man, person man, hit on the head with a frying pan

[jacksonian]

WHO: Mark and whoever
WHERE: Everywhere!! But mostly De Chima and Maurtia Falls
WHEN: Throughout November
WHAT: Catch-all for November with stuff. Hit me up!! Please!!! Open prompts below; PM me if you want something that isn't these things.
WARNINGS: Mark's life sucks; I'll edit this header if any particular suckiness comes up.


1. dog dog dog dog dog dog dog; De Chima/Maurtia Falls
[ In De Chima or in Maurtia Falls, you might find a rather strange sight: a small stocky man walking an enormous stocky dog. This is Mark walking his dog Captain, a scarred and warlike pit bull that pulls at the leash and constantly wags his tail. Mark's expression is still a forbidding glower, but Captain's doggy face is open and bright-eyed and happy; there's no one he doesn't want to make friends with.

And Mark, unfortunately, doesn't know good leash technique, and also (in spite of his own roundness) doesn't outweigh his dog by that much. And so when Captain wants to make friends, Mark is dragged along behind him. And that is why, if you're walking around, you might be approached by a dog trailing a very sour-looking little man who's hissing - ]

No, don't - stop - heel -

2. come make $$$$; Maurtia Falls
[ PKE, LLC, up in Maurtia Falls, is beyond luxurious. The office is appointed with a sort of brushed-steel-and-pine classiness, like it's furnished from the expensive part of Ikea; the receptionist out front is attractive and aloof, and people who are waiting get offered mineral water from glass bottles.

There are any number of reasons that you might have ended up here: you might have received an advertisement in the mail, or a random notification on your phone, or you might have seen the advertising that targets imPorts. All of this advertising will have offered help in investing, getting rich, or opening a new business - generous funding to get everyone a little bit wealthier.

Mark, sitting at his desk, smiles a smile that can generously be described as oily when you're shown in. And he purrs - ]

Please, sit down. Tell me about how you'd like to make money.

3. kicking some grass; De Chima
[ Mark doesn't like to practice where he can be seen. Definitely not. So when he's worked up and anxious, he goes out far away from his family, far away from the people who know him, out into the forests of De Chima. On the unlikely off-chance that your character happens to wander by, they'll be treated to a very strange sight: a small fat man vigorously practicing a judo kata, face miserable, before punching a tree. He turns as soon as he hears them, though, eyes flashing with anger as he snarls - ]

What the hell are you doing here? Go away.

4. fuck it; anywhere
[ Mark's eating ice cream. Come have ice cream. ]

Comments

[meancuisine]

[Neither the apology nor the grimace seem to strike him as unusual but he frowns at the question Mark eventually comes out with]

Don't know that that's the right word. I mean, yeah, they are, but that's a danger on its own. I ain't telling you to be proud, all right?

[He hesitates a second, trying to find the right words]

What I'm saying is, I never met a hitter who didn't move through the world like he knew what he was capable of. That's not pride, that's just... knowing you can take care of yourself.

[jacksonian]

I can't take care of myself.

[ He winces as soon as that comes out of his mouth, and shakes his head, and looks away, like he wants to deny that. But he continues on, miserably blunt. ]

It's never gotten me out of anything. [ Another shake of his head as he kicks at the ground under his feet. ] It's never helped me or anyone else. Maybe that's the difference. They actually helped people with it.

[meancuisine]

[Eliot just looks at him like he's grown another head. This is not really a worldview he's equipped to understand]

I - I'm not talking about helping people.

[All right, time to try this from another angle]

Let me ask you something: what do you think someone sees when they see you practicing?

[jacksonian]

[ He huffs out a dry and miserable laugh. ]

Some fat guy who's not all that good at this.

[ Which is...not very accurate. He is very good. His balance, the strength and control of his strikes, his range of movement - they're all remarkable, particularly considering his height. Granted, being out-of-shape is clearly throwing him off a bit - he's breathing hard - but he's still pretty clearly deadly. ]

[meancuisine]

I've seen a lot of "not all that good" in my time, all right? That's not what I'm looking at now.

[jacksonian]

[ Mark looks at Eliot, a little bit of skepticism and suspicion creeping over his face. He tugs uncertainly on the hem of his shirt, saying: ]

I...They told me that I had a long way to go. And that was before I got fat.

[meancuisine]

They told you that, did they?

[His tone speaks volumes about what he thinks of they]

Now you tell me, would they have it easier or harder if they kept you thinking you weren't real good at what you do?

[jacksonian]

[ He hesitates a moment, and then admits: ]

Um...Easier. I guess.

[meancuisine]

Pretty good reason to lie to you. Now, how much reason do I have to lie to you? And don't say you're paying me, 'cause you know and I both know I could get other work.

[jacksonian]

None.

[ He hesitates, then admits one source of his uncertainty: ]

I haven't ever been in a...real fight. Only training.

[meancuisine]

[Just go and pull the rug out from Eliot again, why don't you]

You - seriously? Never?

[jacksonian]

[ He shakes his head, looking down at the ground. ]

Not really. No. I, uh...I came close a few times here. And one time I did get attacked, but it was by invisible dogs, so it's not like I could fight back. [ A helpless shrug sums up Mark's general feeling of this place is fucking insane. ] But no. Only training.

[meancuisine]

[Eliot runs a hand through his hair as he takes in that information. It does explain a lot about Mark's behaviour, now that he thinks about it]

All right.

[Deep breath, assimilate this into how he's going to deal with Mark going foward]

Okay, we can work with that. You do much sparring?

[jacksonian]

[ That, at least, draws some grim humor out of him: he gives a little huff of not-quite-laughter. ]

A minimum of an hour a day every day for the past four years. [ A beat - ] Except, uh, for once I got here. I stopped as soon as I got here.

[ He clears his throat, then, his humor supplanted for the moment with embarrassment. It's certainly obvious that he doesn't keep up with physical training. ]

[meancuisine]

[Four years, that's a useful number to know. He's regained his composure by now and sounds just as calm and confident as ever, apparently ignoring Mark's embarrassment]

Then let's start there. See where you're at.

[He falls into a defensive stance and gestures for Mark to come at him]

[jacksonian]

[ Mark's eyes dart up to Eliot's face, making sure that he means it. Then he nods and takes a breath and takes three unhurried, firm steps forward and meets him. His first move is a picture-perfect judo throw, grabbing Eliot, sweeping his leg and throwing him forward simultaneously; Mark's balance is absolute, his strength surprising, and his strategy inevitable. Of course his fighting style focuses on getting his opponent on the ground: he's far too short, after all, to fight someone when they're both vertical, but horizontal? Sure. ]

[meancuisine]

[Now this is Eliot's element, even if he's used to being the short one in any given fight. He goes with Mark's movements, working with them rather than resisting with the aim of putting himself into a better defensive position. And he stays on the defensive, doing his best not to let Mark put him into something he can't get out of but not fighting back especially hard either.]

[jacksonian]

[ Mark keeps at it for another few moments before pulling back and stepping away from the fight, panting just a little, saying - ]

You don't have to hold back.

[meancuisine]

[ meanwhile Eliot just looks energized ]

I'm not.

[ a pause ]

I mean, I ain't doing it to go easy on you. I'm trying to see something, all right?

[jacksonian]

[ See something? Well, that makes...sense. If it's just a test. At the same time, though, some corner of Mark's mind cries out in protest: what's the point of getting in a fight if you can't even get hit?

Anyway. ]

Okay. Then -

[ He takes another quick moment to catch his breath - damn, but getting fat has made this harder - and then steps in again with an elbow towards Eliot's gut. ]

[meancuisine]

[Eliot takes the hit with a loud exhalation, but it hardly seems to faze him - healing powers sure are handy. And he's still staying frustratingly on the defensive, until he can see Mark's tired enough that he's really starting to struggle. At that point he takes a few deliberate steps back]

All right, enough.

[At least Eliot's starting to look like he's had a bit of a workout]

[jacksonian]

[ Mark, meanwhile, is completely spent - breathless, exhausted, sweating, panting hard. Doesn't look wholly satisfied, though, for all of that. He drags the heel of his hand across his forehead and asks: ]

Well? What?

[meancuisine]

Yeah, I can work with that. You got good form.

[As if that's not high praise coming from him]