Soresu
Well-Known Member
Malik Ibn Rashidan, Frame Runner in the Astral Vanguard, sighed as he leaned back in the bed, resting his back on the pillows provided by the medical staff on station. Closing his eyes, Malik was ready to fall asleep, but a sharp pain shot through his body, originating and ending all throughout his being and forcing his eyes open and making his hands clench into fists, teeth biting down hard on themselves.
As the pain subsided, he looked down at his hand and sighed, remembering exactly why he was on this station, and not with the rest of his wing.
"It isn't even like I've done anything to balance out my pathetic piloting. I should've just been a mechanist like my father said." The runner punched the nearby wall in frustration, eyes closed. "damn it, why am I such a failure?"
The sound coming from the next curtained off corner section was anything but subdued. A girlish giggle issuing from behind the curtain and then a man whispering before the sound of footfalls began to echo past. A nurse soon scooted by Malik's bed, a red blush on her face as red as a Maekardan sunset upon her cheeks. A sigh, one of contentment, if not outright confidence came from the male silhouette as it stepped forward, suddenly a man with a dusky complexion, shirtless, and overall roguish stature to his stance stood there looking off after the nurse. By the Saints its like I've hit the Jackpot, Bukor be praised!
The thought bounced about in his head as he turned about, a hand raking through his dark brown hair then when he heard Malik's less than enthusiastic words.
"Hey, kid." He began, looking at him now, and the slight indentation to the wall. "You know they're going to make you pay for that."
Malik looked up at the man, studying him briefly before looking back down at his hands. "That isn't anything new to me. All I do is break things. I got shot down on my first two sorties because of my inability to pilot, I broke the heart of the woman I feel in love with, and I broke my faith in myself. I've done nothing so far as a member of the vanguard except for failing..."
"Failing at love, failing at my duties, and failing even at becoming something my parents could be proud of."
The man just sighed, continuing to scratch the back of his head. "Sheesh kid." He said in a neutral tone. The stranger weighed his options at the moment he'd begun a repertoire' with him, and was listening to a story about a kid down on his luck.
A sob story. "You know, you wouldn't be the first to have problems like that. Ya'know?" He began, finding a chair, seating himself in it in an inverted style. "Seen a lot of that sort of thing in the Conflict."
"We aren't even in a conflict, and I'm still getting shot down." The runner sighed, continuing to stare at his hands. "I thought that just because my mother was a Frame Runner back in her day, and my brother ran off to join the rebels, that I would be able to become some kind of heroic invincible Ace Pilot. Instead, I've just been shot down two times because I'm an arrogant fool with no piloting ability whatsoever.
"I can't even work on my own Frame, the head mechanist of my wing hates me, partially because of my personality, and partially because I was in a relationship with one of her subordinates that she liked."
"I ment the Third Outer Conflict, kid." The stranger stated in an offhand remark before shaking his head. "So, let me get this straight." The man continued, a thoughtful look on his face. "You became a Runner because of your mother, wished to confront your brother, and wanted glory, and recognition." He arched an eyebrow. "Look." The man leaned forward, using his arms as a cushion for his chin as he went through all the information being fed to him right now.
"You're what, a rookie runner, Vayshirin ranked soldier? It's to be expected to crash and burn a few times before you get it right. Happens to everyone."
"For the most part, yes." Malik looked away, at the dent he left on the wall. "But none of my wing mates have gotten more kills then me, and haven't been shot down at all." Eyes focused on the dent he left, Malik studied it, observing every part of the depression.
"And my Marranr thinks that I'm just a hotheaded idiot who doesn't belong in Bahram Wing."
"So. You're more enthusiastic then most?" The man seemed to catch from the last comment.
"Being enthusiastic doesn't matter. My commander isn't enthusiastic about anything, but apparently he used to be an ace pilot in the last war." Malik stared at the dent in the wall, then looked up at the stranger. "You're lucky, You have experience with women. My commander, the ice statue that he is, has women hanging all over him. You just got done with a girl. The woman I fell in love with hates me, because I'm too stupid for her."
The man shook his head, letting out a small, exasperated sigh. "Kid, don't read into it too much or you'll end up on the bad end of a neural re-write. You're new to being a frame runner, you're enthusiastic about it. It likely got you shot down. Fact of the matter is, temper that enthusiasm and restrain it."
"Learn from your mistakes, really, it helps. Here you are, in this hospital bed, beating yourself up. Just sit there, and think how you messed up, and then think of how to improve. Find your faults, and try to compensate." He shrugged, looking towards the door the nurse had gone through.
"As for the ladies, well, confidence man, confidence. They're like Snow Neesh, if the leader of the pack is weak, they'll pick it off, and someone else will take over. Charm also works. Helps to be well kempt to."
Malik listened to the man's words, and stared at the dent in the wall, realizing, that even though it looked to be a crater from this side, on the other side, it was really his fist having raised it into a mountain. "It really is annoying to hear me complain, isn't it?" The runner turned his head to the man, and smiled, forcing down the ever present pain and holding a hand out to him.
"A little, yes." The man said as he relaxed in the chair, watching Malik with an analytical eye.
"I don't like it either, sir. Malik Ibn Rashidan doesn't complain about stuff, he does something about it. I don't think you complain about things either, do you?" Malik asked.
The stranger shrugged. "I take the good with the bad, and the bad with the good. My coping mechanism. But. Complaining is a good outlet sometimes to get something off your chest. Just, you know." The man tapped a finger on an elbow as he stared at Malik.
"Don't make a habit of it. Maybe your commander would have a better impression of you."
"Maybe he will, maybe he won't. I'm here to be a soldier, not here to be a jewel of high society." Malik put gruffly.
"High Society is over rated." The man said with a wave of a hand. "Look, there is more to being a soldier then point, and shoot. You got your squad to think of as well. How will your skill impact them in the short, and long run. Been at this for awhile now, and I'll let you in on a little secret. One of the secrets to being a good soldier is to think, to think and feel when it comes to combat." To the man sitting across from Malik this was all fairly common knowledge.
"Meaning, while you may have the raw instinct to fight, if you don't temper that with some thought, you could get yourself killed, and others too. Same goes for talking to people. If you don't think before you speak, bad things usually happen."
Malik opened his mouth to speak, but closed it before blurting out something stupid. "Thinking does seem like a good idea. I can't just go rushing in with a hard head, then sit somewhere like this all depressed because I did something stupid."
"Nice to know you got the jist of it." The man said a little happy the kid in front of him was finally soaking in some of what he'd said.
"Don't you have a nurse to go chase after, Mr?" Malik responded, grinning at the strange man who never told him his name.
"Hm. Maybe. Maybe. But why settle for just one got a whole medical wing." He arched an eyebrow at the bedridden Malik. "Anyways, you, Mr.Vayshirin should rest up, and think on what I said, and what it is you're going to do about your situation. As for me. I have a station to patrol." The man wrung his hands together, a little smirk creeping up.
END>
As the pain subsided, he looked down at his hand and sighed, remembering exactly why he was on this station, and not with the rest of his wing.
"It isn't even like I've done anything to balance out my pathetic piloting. I should've just been a mechanist like my father said." The runner punched the nearby wall in frustration, eyes closed. "damn it, why am I such a failure?"
The sound coming from the next curtained off corner section was anything but subdued. A girlish giggle issuing from behind the curtain and then a man whispering before the sound of footfalls began to echo past. A nurse soon scooted by Malik's bed, a red blush on her face as red as a Maekardan sunset upon her cheeks. A sigh, one of contentment, if not outright confidence came from the male silhouette as it stepped forward, suddenly a man with a dusky complexion, shirtless, and overall roguish stature to his stance stood there looking off after the nurse. By the Saints its like I've hit the Jackpot, Bukor be praised!
The thought bounced about in his head as he turned about, a hand raking through his dark brown hair then when he heard Malik's less than enthusiastic words.
"Hey, kid." He began, looking at him now, and the slight indentation to the wall. "You know they're going to make you pay for that."
Malik looked up at the man, studying him briefly before looking back down at his hands. "That isn't anything new to me. All I do is break things. I got shot down on my first two sorties because of my inability to pilot, I broke the heart of the woman I feel in love with, and I broke my faith in myself. I've done nothing so far as a member of the vanguard except for failing..."
"Failing at love, failing at my duties, and failing even at becoming something my parents could be proud of."
The man just sighed, continuing to scratch the back of his head. "Sheesh kid." He said in a neutral tone. The stranger weighed his options at the moment he'd begun a repertoire' with him, and was listening to a story about a kid down on his luck.
A sob story. "You know, you wouldn't be the first to have problems like that. Ya'know?" He began, finding a chair, seating himself in it in an inverted style. "Seen a lot of that sort of thing in the Conflict."
"We aren't even in a conflict, and I'm still getting shot down." The runner sighed, continuing to stare at his hands. "I thought that just because my mother was a Frame Runner back in her day, and my brother ran off to join the rebels, that I would be able to become some kind of heroic invincible Ace Pilot. Instead, I've just been shot down two times because I'm an arrogant fool with no piloting ability whatsoever.
"I can't even work on my own Frame, the head mechanist of my wing hates me, partially because of my personality, and partially because I was in a relationship with one of her subordinates that she liked."
"I ment the Third Outer Conflict, kid." The stranger stated in an offhand remark before shaking his head. "So, let me get this straight." The man continued, a thoughtful look on his face. "You became a Runner because of your mother, wished to confront your brother, and wanted glory, and recognition." He arched an eyebrow. "Look." The man leaned forward, using his arms as a cushion for his chin as he went through all the information being fed to him right now.
"You're what, a rookie runner, Vayshirin ranked soldier? It's to be expected to crash and burn a few times before you get it right. Happens to everyone."
"For the most part, yes." Malik looked away, at the dent he left on the wall. "But none of my wing mates have gotten more kills then me, and haven't been shot down at all." Eyes focused on the dent he left, Malik studied it, observing every part of the depression.
"And my Marranr thinks that I'm just a hotheaded idiot who doesn't belong in Bahram Wing."
"So. You're more enthusiastic then most?" The man seemed to catch from the last comment.
"Being enthusiastic doesn't matter. My commander isn't enthusiastic about anything, but apparently he used to be an ace pilot in the last war." Malik stared at the dent in the wall, then looked up at the stranger. "You're lucky, You have experience with women. My commander, the ice statue that he is, has women hanging all over him. You just got done with a girl. The woman I fell in love with hates me, because I'm too stupid for her."
The man shook his head, letting out a small, exasperated sigh. "Kid, don't read into it too much or you'll end up on the bad end of a neural re-write. You're new to being a frame runner, you're enthusiastic about it. It likely got you shot down. Fact of the matter is, temper that enthusiasm and restrain it."
"Learn from your mistakes, really, it helps. Here you are, in this hospital bed, beating yourself up. Just sit there, and think how you messed up, and then think of how to improve. Find your faults, and try to compensate." He shrugged, looking towards the door the nurse had gone through.
"As for the ladies, well, confidence man, confidence. They're like Snow Neesh, if the leader of the pack is weak, they'll pick it off, and someone else will take over. Charm also works. Helps to be well kempt to."
Malik listened to the man's words, and stared at the dent in the wall, realizing, that even though it looked to be a crater from this side, on the other side, it was really his fist having raised it into a mountain. "It really is annoying to hear me complain, isn't it?" The runner turned his head to the man, and smiled, forcing down the ever present pain and holding a hand out to him.
"A little, yes." The man said as he relaxed in the chair, watching Malik with an analytical eye.
"I don't like it either, sir. Malik Ibn Rashidan doesn't complain about stuff, he does something about it. I don't think you complain about things either, do you?" Malik asked.
The stranger shrugged. "I take the good with the bad, and the bad with the good. My coping mechanism. But. Complaining is a good outlet sometimes to get something off your chest. Just, you know." The man tapped a finger on an elbow as he stared at Malik.
"Don't make a habit of it. Maybe your commander would have a better impression of you."
"Maybe he will, maybe he won't. I'm here to be a soldier, not here to be a jewel of high society." Malik put gruffly.
"High Society is over rated." The man said with a wave of a hand. "Look, there is more to being a soldier then point, and shoot. You got your squad to think of as well. How will your skill impact them in the short, and long run. Been at this for awhile now, and I'll let you in on a little secret. One of the secrets to being a good soldier is to think, to think and feel when it comes to combat." To the man sitting across from Malik this was all fairly common knowledge.
"Meaning, while you may have the raw instinct to fight, if you don't temper that with some thought, you could get yourself killed, and others too. Same goes for talking to people. If you don't think before you speak, bad things usually happen."
Malik opened his mouth to speak, but closed it before blurting out something stupid. "Thinking does seem like a good idea. I can't just go rushing in with a hard head, then sit somewhere like this all depressed because I did something stupid."
"Nice to know you got the jist of it." The man said a little happy the kid in front of him was finally soaking in some of what he'd said.
"Don't you have a nurse to go chase after, Mr?" Malik responded, grinning at the strange man who never told him his name.
"Hm. Maybe. Maybe. But why settle for just one got a whole medical wing." He arched an eyebrow at the bedridden Malik. "Anyways, you, Mr.Vayshirin should rest up, and think on what I said, and what it is you're going to do about your situation. As for me. I have a station to patrol." The man wrung his hands together, a little smirk creeping up.
END>
