111 Ashan, 724
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'It is as though I am a bird whose wings have been clipped; flayed from her body by dirty hands. I am sitting idly, inspecting all those who seem to be able to fly around me. I look at them with envy, but I can do nothing but watch, for I cannot fly. What is a bird’s purpose if she cannot fly? What is my purpose as someone confined to a planet that is dying?' Those were the words Kotton had uttered to himself before partaking in a spontaneous brawl he had in no way been equipped to handle. They were words of prose, words of inspiration, though they would undoubtedly be lost in the purple and green bruises and crimson and scarlet bloodshed...
Kotton had been taking Spirit for a walk. It was just a harmless stroll through downtown Scalvoris, though in hindsight, he did admit he should have been paying more attention to where the imaginary lines had divided one part of the island from another. He had unknowingly ventured into Almund, a still questionably nasty part of the island. But let's forget that this was a apart of the island that valued direct attention from heads of law enforcement. This aside, Spirit was more than eager to investigate new territory, so who was Kotton to deny her wish?
They had passed the liquor store, the blacksmith, and the kindly old woman who likely sold forged paintings because she was piss-all at creating her own, until they met a building painted in with a colour that reminded the young man of beetle dung. The windows were cracked, the doors were set off their hinges, and suddenly there was a man with an eyepatch crossing their path. Was the young man quick to judge? No, he wasn't. As a firm believer in not assuming anything of anyone without any proper evidence, he held no opinion. Burt maybe he should have. Maybe he should have been more suspicious and a little more dubious of the intentions of someone who wore an eyepatch. But he hadn't been, so the incorrectly assumed colligable eyepatch man that had crossed paths with him had turned irrevocably into an intimidating and malicious fellow.
Almund shouldn’t be based on first impressions. Sure, most of the buildings were crafted from old and decommissioned ships. Sure, the city held an unmissable dark past. And sure, it used to be one of the most dangerous places in Idalos to live. But it had character, didn't it? Kotton liked to think that this piece of history mattered. So he tried to ignore the stink of the stagnant water where the Mer people chose to live and attempted to accept that this was where law enforcement, education and all civil and military decisions were made. Still, it didn’t help encourage his optimism toward the township, when, as had been already said, a blimey eye-patched man confronted him! Eyepatch or no, this particular encounter did nothing to help the city find a name other than 'raise your arms or be violated'.
There was confrontation, yes, and it was confrontation to which Kotton tried his best to pacify. There was also altercation, yes, altercation to which Kotton tried his best to calm or ultimately avoid. But during his attempt, there was only frustration. Unfortunately, his half blind opponent really wanted to become master of his canine, Spirit. For what reason? Kotton wasn't sure. All he was certain of was that his posession of his companion was not up for grabs and neither was his decision to lose to such a filthy, stinky, one-eyed vagrant. She was already in the hands of a competent and loving owner.
Still, Kotton had originally chosen the path of reason. But it had done nothing to make complacent of a villainous man. In fact, all logic had flown over his head like a paper projectile. And his head was bald, so there was at least two centimetres or less compared to the other guy who maintained a thick head of luscious locks.
There was a left hook and a right, and it was all offered by the one-eyed man. Kotton had to drop his grasp of his lead so he could utilise both hands during this impromptu fight. He recalled the instructions of his combat tutor, Stanz. 'Always keep your guard up and always make sure you are protected, he recalled him saying. So he did exactly that. Intellection dictated that his centre was the most important part to defend- stomach, heart, liver and all- but what else? He was thinking about next moving to cover his face, but he couldn't. His dominant hand was already covering an entire ecosystem of existence and his other hand was stationed directly in front of his person, ready to attack if expected of him.
Coincidentally, he had been blessed with insight before the first attack the man made against him. Kotton crossed his arms, both the one that held a defensive position and the one that awaited with purpose of offence. His arms formed an X directly above his forehead. This was certainly a new technique, but one created from the cumulation of knowledge he had extrapolated from his combat instructor. However, that was where his knowledge and experience in battle came to an end. The man with the eye patch quickly rebuked his attack with an attack of his own- a direct punch to Kotton’s nose.
So, yeah, that’s where he was today.
He had run away from the fight, knowing very well that he was outmatched, choosing to flee to what he valued as safety.
The bridge of his nose was still painful to the touch but otherwise fine despite the occasional throbbing. He had learnt from his time as a medic that throbbing was due to the pulsing of blood vessels against an injury, but he made sure to check his notes once he had returned home. Now that he was secure within private walls, the tension confined in his shoulders began to release.
The young man tilted his head towards the ceiling. This was a tactic he had learnt as a child from his adoptive father. This technique was supposed to slow the bleeding of a bloody nose and keep the blood in one place so that it could dry within the nostril rather than continue to spurt out indefinitely. He had brought up this technique to a coworker, a nurse with more experience than he had, but they had interestingly enough proven his proposed technique as wrong. Apparently, you were supposed to tilt your head forward slightly, pinch the bridge of your nose and wait anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes. When Kotton had asked why, the nurse explained that it was best for the blood to clot near where the artery burst so as to allow the body enough time to repair itself. So, whilst his notes were right in terms of what throbbing is, he had to quickly rectify his technique to help slow the bleeding coming from his nostrils.
Kotton’s head ached, which was no surprise after what he had just been through, but it was still an unnatural pulse of agony that made him want to tear his face off. His legs hurt. In fact, they felt tight and abused with muscles stretched far beyond their limits. He hadn't run like he had since he was a child. Nonetheless he was grateful that he had spent those many seasons playing hide and seek with imaginary friends, because when you play with imaginary friends, it is extremely hard to run away and hide fast enough.
He knew that he would be sore in the morning, but he wished with all his might he wouldn’t. After his nose had stopped bleeding, he nearly cut his fingertips on the notes that stated the explanation for soreness and how to prevent it. Soreness, apparently, could only be prevented (and potentially reversed) with adequate hydration. Worick’s signature was next to the statement as if signifying its accuracy. The man chugged and chugged- long and hard. But with all that water there came an unappreciated feeling and that feeling was the need to urinate. The toilet would be viewed only as a blessing in disguise until he relieved himself. Otherwise, count it a devil to be mistrusted.
There was no doubt in his mind that his nose would be bruised and still swollen tomorrow morning. He accepted this still under the impression that he had done right by protecting the ownership of his dog, Spirit. He wouldn’t need to go to work until after a few days anyway, so he hoped that would be enough time for him to heal.
Once he had finished reassuring his doubts, Kotton took a moment to clear his head. There had been a lot flying around up there. He watched as Spirit trotted over to the couch and laid waste to the cushion, her tail curling against her fluffy body until it ultimately hid her face. She looked so gorgeous with her beautiful crystal blue eyes and varying markings of her hide. He wondered if Eustoria, a talented artist he had met whilst returning his family friend/aunt/companion’s horse to the local stables, would have taken an interest in drawing her. He could practically see it: her soft strokes, gentle dots and long and meticulous outlines. He could practically even hear her rude comments for him to 'get out of the way' or 'adjust her so she's more facing me'. To this day he envied that woman. He really needed to get back into drawing and not just of trees and leaves and other arbitrary shapes, but actual drawing, where someone could clearly make out what he wanted portray to his audience.
His mind was wandering. This was not what he wanted it to do. He wanted it to find an indoor voice to refer to, maybe even a whisper, if it couldn’t altogether shut up completely. But since he had had difficulty in the past his mind become entirely silent, he decided to practise a new form of meditation. It was something he had read in a textbook he had looked over during one of the many times he had scoured the public library.
The book had described manta meditation and it was all about repeating a specific verse of self-affirmation. Each time he became distracted, he was to draw his focus back to the mantra. This was a form of mindfulness he initially thought would be easy for him since it didn't seem to be too strict. But meditation was a tricky thing and it was also very much based on person, thereby the person who chose to use it. Distraction was likely, so he shouldn’t worry, or at least that’s what the book had said. So he shook his arms, rolled back his shoulders, popped a squat, and closed his eyes. But not before choosing what he would repeat to himself to help him clear his mind.
“You awe kind.”
Yes, that was good.
“You awe smawt.”
That was a brilliant addition.
“You awe impowtant.”
And there he had his mantra.
He decided there were no edits or revisions to be made.
He repeated this mantra aloud several times, found it to be not as challenging to stay focused in terms of saying the same thing over and over again. There were only a few hiccups on this meditative journey, actually, before he felt a sentient entity of calmness. Once he established this appropriate state of calm, he opened his eyes and decided to move on.
It was time to unpack the belongings he had brought with him on his walk with his dog, Spirit.
Kotton had been taking Spirit for a walk. It was just a harmless stroll through downtown Scalvoris, though in hindsight, he did admit he should have been paying more attention to where the imaginary lines had divided one part of the island from another. He had unknowingly ventured into Almund, a still questionably nasty part of the island. But let's forget that this was a apart of the island that valued direct attention from heads of law enforcement. This aside, Spirit was more than eager to investigate new territory, so who was Kotton to deny her wish?
They had passed the liquor store, the blacksmith, and the kindly old woman who likely sold forged paintings because she was piss-all at creating her own, until they met a building painted in with a colour that reminded the young man of beetle dung. The windows were cracked, the doors were set off their hinges, and suddenly there was a man with an eyepatch crossing their path. Was the young man quick to judge? No, he wasn't. As a firm believer in not assuming anything of anyone without any proper evidence, he held no opinion. Burt maybe he should have. Maybe he should have been more suspicious and a little more dubious of the intentions of someone who wore an eyepatch. But he hadn't been, so the incorrectly assumed colligable eyepatch man that had crossed paths with him had turned irrevocably into an intimidating and malicious fellow.
Almund shouldn’t be based on first impressions. Sure, most of the buildings were crafted from old and decommissioned ships. Sure, the city held an unmissable dark past. And sure, it used to be one of the most dangerous places in Idalos to live. But it had character, didn't it? Kotton liked to think that this piece of history mattered. So he tried to ignore the stink of the stagnant water where the Mer people chose to live and attempted to accept that this was where law enforcement, education and all civil and military decisions were made. Still, it didn’t help encourage his optimism toward the township, when, as had been already said, a blimey eye-patched man confronted him! Eyepatch or no, this particular encounter did nothing to help the city find a name other than 'raise your arms or be violated'.
There was confrontation, yes, and it was confrontation to which Kotton tried his best to pacify. There was also altercation, yes, altercation to which Kotton tried his best to calm or ultimately avoid. But during his attempt, there was only frustration. Unfortunately, his half blind opponent really wanted to become master of his canine, Spirit. For what reason? Kotton wasn't sure. All he was certain of was that his posession of his companion was not up for grabs and neither was his decision to lose to such a filthy, stinky, one-eyed vagrant. She was already in the hands of a competent and loving owner.
Still, Kotton had originally chosen the path of reason. But it had done nothing to make complacent of a villainous man. In fact, all logic had flown over his head like a paper projectile. And his head was bald, so there was at least two centimetres or less compared to the other guy who maintained a thick head of luscious locks.
There was a left hook and a right, and it was all offered by the one-eyed man. Kotton had to drop his grasp of his lead so he could utilise both hands during this impromptu fight. He recalled the instructions of his combat tutor, Stanz. 'Always keep your guard up and always make sure you are protected, he recalled him saying. So he did exactly that. Intellection dictated that his centre was the most important part to defend- stomach, heart, liver and all- but what else? He was thinking about next moving to cover his face, but he couldn't. His dominant hand was already covering an entire ecosystem of existence and his other hand was stationed directly in front of his person, ready to attack if expected of him.
Coincidentally, he had been blessed with insight before the first attack the man made against him. Kotton crossed his arms, both the one that held a defensive position and the one that awaited with purpose of offence. His arms formed an X directly above his forehead. This was certainly a new technique, but one created from the cumulation of knowledge he had extrapolated from his combat instructor. However, that was where his knowledge and experience in battle came to an end. The man with the eye patch quickly rebuked his attack with an attack of his own- a direct punch to Kotton’s nose.
So, yeah, that’s where he was today.
He had run away from the fight, knowing very well that he was outmatched, choosing to flee to what he valued as safety.
The bridge of his nose was still painful to the touch but otherwise fine despite the occasional throbbing. He had learnt from his time as a medic that throbbing was due to the pulsing of blood vessels against an injury, but he made sure to check his notes once he had returned home. Now that he was secure within private walls, the tension confined in his shoulders began to release.
The young man tilted his head towards the ceiling. This was a tactic he had learnt as a child from his adoptive father. This technique was supposed to slow the bleeding of a bloody nose and keep the blood in one place so that it could dry within the nostril rather than continue to spurt out indefinitely. He had brought up this technique to a coworker, a nurse with more experience than he had, but they had interestingly enough proven his proposed technique as wrong. Apparently, you were supposed to tilt your head forward slightly, pinch the bridge of your nose and wait anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes. When Kotton had asked why, the nurse explained that it was best for the blood to clot near where the artery burst so as to allow the body enough time to repair itself. So, whilst his notes were right in terms of what throbbing is, he had to quickly rectify his technique to help slow the bleeding coming from his nostrils.
Kotton’s head ached, which was no surprise after what he had just been through, but it was still an unnatural pulse of agony that made him want to tear his face off. His legs hurt. In fact, they felt tight and abused with muscles stretched far beyond their limits. He hadn't run like he had since he was a child. Nonetheless he was grateful that he had spent those many seasons playing hide and seek with imaginary friends, because when you play with imaginary friends, it is extremely hard to run away and hide fast enough.
He knew that he would be sore in the morning, but he wished with all his might he wouldn’t. After his nose had stopped bleeding, he nearly cut his fingertips on the notes that stated the explanation for soreness and how to prevent it. Soreness, apparently, could only be prevented (and potentially reversed) with adequate hydration. Worick’s signature was next to the statement as if signifying its accuracy. The man chugged and chugged- long and hard. But with all that water there came an unappreciated feeling and that feeling was the need to urinate. The toilet would be viewed only as a blessing in disguise until he relieved himself. Otherwise, count it a devil to be mistrusted.
There was no doubt in his mind that his nose would be bruised and still swollen tomorrow morning. He accepted this still under the impression that he had done right by protecting the ownership of his dog, Spirit. He wouldn’t need to go to work until after a few days anyway, so he hoped that would be enough time for him to heal.
Once he had finished reassuring his doubts, Kotton took a moment to clear his head. There had been a lot flying around up there. He watched as Spirit trotted over to the couch and laid waste to the cushion, her tail curling against her fluffy body until it ultimately hid her face. She looked so gorgeous with her beautiful crystal blue eyes and varying markings of her hide. He wondered if Eustoria, a talented artist he had met whilst returning his family friend/aunt/companion’s horse to the local stables, would have taken an interest in drawing her. He could practically see it: her soft strokes, gentle dots and long and meticulous outlines. He could practically even hear her rude comments for him to 'get out of the way' or 'adjust her so she's more facing me'. To this day he envied that woman. He really needed to get back into drawing and not just of trees and leaves and other arbitrary shapes, but actual drawing, where someone could clearly make out what he wanted portray to his audience.
His mind was wandering. This was not what he wanted it to do. He wanted it to find an indoor voice to refer to, maybe even a whisper, if it couldn’t altogether shut up completely. But since he had had difficulty in the past his mind become entirely silent, he decided to practise a new form of meditation. It was something he had read in a textbook he had looked over during one of the many times he had scoured the public library.
The book had described manta meditation and it was all about repeating a specific verse of self-affirmation. Each time he became distracted, he was to draw his focus back to the mantra. This was a form of mindfulness he initially thought would be easy for him since it didn't seem to be too strict. But meditation was a tricky thing and it was also very much based on person, thereby the person who chose to use it. Distraction was likely, so he shouldn’t worry, or at least that’s what the book had said. So he shook his arms, rolled back his shoulders, popped a squat, and closed his eyes. But not before choosing what he would repeat to himself to help him clear his mind.
“You awe kind.”
Yes, that was good.
“You awe smawt.”
That was a brilliant addition.
“You awe impowtant.”
And there he had his mantra.
He decided there were no edits or revisions to be made.
He repeated this mantra aloud several times, found it to be not as challenging to stay focused in terms of saying the same thing over and over again. There were only a few hiccups on this meditative journey, actually, before he felt a sentient entity of calmness. Once he established this appropriate state of calm, he opened his eyes and decided to move on.
It was time to unpack the belongings he had brought with him on his walk with his dog, Spirit.