Gegenji

They say that if there's a bunch of problems, it might be you. Sometimes, it really is just everyone else. Of course, it can still be funny. NIN: "Sorry guys, I'm a little rusty at Ninja." Me: "... How can you be rusty at a class that just came out?" Me: "I mean, I'm sure there's a reasonable way it CAN be, but I'm curious." ... He never answered. :<

Gran shot Avis a distrustful look from the safety of Steel's arms. He was no longer trying to escape the Roegadyn's arms, but seemed in no hurry to make up with the Midlander either. At best, he would keep an eye on her to ensure she didn't lunge at him suddenly for a taste of succulent behemoth bacon. Her tone seemed friendly enough, sure, but he had heard similar tones used by the very vendors that had passed him off to the latest patsy. While she complimented him on his knowledge of the common tongue, it was more a matter that he had equated certain sounds the bipeds had made to good and bad things. Play? Good. Stop? Bad. Supper? Good! Cage? Bad. The rest of it amounted to little more than a garbled mess that was far beyond the ken of a wee baby behemoth. As such, for all the words said to him, Gran continued to give Aven the ol' stink-eye. At the end of her praise, his response was a single, derisive snort. Such a gentleman. Though, the little piglet noted, the added height provided from his new position added a whole new vantage point to the strange world of Ul'dah. While he oft made quick, sharp glances the Hyur's way to make sure she wasn't trying anything funny, Gran shifted too and fro in Steel Wolf's arms to look about and snuffle at the air.

Gran's spastic flailing quelled a bit as he was pet, as soft words were spoken over his panicked squeals. This... this was different from before. Past incidents always lead to be shoved roughly back into his cage, banging from side to side as he was rushed back to the vendor what sold him. Safe. He didn't actually understand the word, but the tone with which the Roegadyn said it was comforting in its own right. It brought to mind resting at the foot of Chachanji's bed after a nice supper. The baby behemoth's heart still pounded nervously in his little chest, but he opened up his eyes at least. His met with hers, her soothing calm washing over him. Oh wait, nope, there's the lady what wanted to eat him. Nope, nope, nope. All the calm went out of the window again as Gran scrambled for Steel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to climb over her to get away from Avis.

Bahaha... Oh, I know that feeling all too well, too. But that's dealing with other people in general, I think. Happens to me all the time in just normal dungeons. "WHY IS THAT BLM PULLING THINGS?" "HAY BUDDY, THIS ISN'T FFXI, NINJAS DON'T TANK NO MORE." "ADLO AND STONESKIN DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN JUST STAND IN THE AOE." I'm sure you could make an entire thread about things MMO players yell at their screens while they play. Both about other players and the game itself.

I may not do it anymore, but there was a sort of visceral feeling of accomplishment when overcoming raid bosses in WoW. I didn't face it because of e-peen, I challenged it because I wanted to see what was beyond the normal. What few people actually got to see and participate in. That in and of itself was enticing to me. You bang your head against a wall, yes, if I may use your metaphor. And you do it often, oh so often. But when you break through, you're like the Kool-Aid Man - "OH YEAH!" You get tense and nervous as you realized you're gonna do it and when you DO... the euphoria is something else. The gear just makes the deal sweeter. You've accomplished what few have done AND you get some neat stuff on top of it. That was never really the problem with me, though. It was the guild politics. It was the people who used our guild as a stepping stone to get gear before bailing for a further-progressed guild. It was spats over inane nonsense between members and the audacity of others to demand more than their own fair share. I literally had a tank bail in the middle of a classic Molten Core run because he demanded he get one of the Thunderfury wraps if it dropped, "because he's main tank." It was the drama, it was the drama that burned me out of raiding, and makes me so tentative about starting up again. To that regard, I liked WoW's Looking for Raid. I like the Duty Finder. Sure, you will oft have to deal with jerks and idiots and elitists... but only for that fight, for that dungeon. You don't know these people, you don't NEED to know these people. Afterwards, you can say "well, that was obnoxious" if they were bad and then go back to yelling at mobs ten levels lower than you aggroing on you while you're trying to transport pumpkin bombs until you feel better. Or break out your Opo-opo and run around in Hide with it on your head, proclaiming you've perfected "hovermonkey technology." You're done with it, you've washed your hands clean... rather than have to deal with the fallout in guild chat and be left dreading trying again the next raid day. ... Holy crap that got lengthier and more visceral than I intended. Point stands, though. ... *breaks out Opo-opo minion*

The scarecrow was most pleased.

We obviously reproduce by budding.

Part of my private collection. Hanging above my bed. I hope Otto is in this collection. He's in mine. I mean, wait-- what?

I know that feeling. It happens to me all the time, especially when I'm in an "important" role like tank or healer (which is all the time as of late on FFXIV, maining SCH on my "main" and PLD here). Doubly so if something bad happens - someone drops or someone is suddenly dangerously low on health. I should record the crap I say to myself as I'm rushing to get that emergency Lustrate or two out on my main, haha. "Oh no you don't, OH NO YOU DON'T." Or the triumphant "The box... says no." when successful.

I echo this sentiment, albeit with less violent collisions. :thumbsup:

Feet. Feet everywhere. So many feet. Just as chaotic things seemed up on the level of the bipeds, it was an even more convoluted mess down at porcine-level. He ducked, he weaved, he pounced, he bounced. Gran skittered wildly to avoid both leg and the occasional swiping hand that emerged from the irate jumble of faces and torsos overhead. And the shouting, so much shouting. All of it angry, all of it reminiscent of the baby behemoth's life before Chachanji. He didn't want to be grabbed, he didn't want to be shoved back into that tiny cage, to be shoved back into that life. That drive - that fear - empowered him, gave strength to his little legs. It was that determination that nearly got him out of that upset crowd. "Nearly" being the key word. In front of him, the form of a female biped dropped down suddenly in front of him. He tried to dodge, to change direction sharply to avoid her. His wee feet failed him them, tangling up in each other as they all tried different things to escape the collision. The end result was the little porker tripping over himself, bouncing once against the cobblestones of the street, before slamming lengthwise into the woman's leg. With a squeak. Gran whined a bit from his proned position, kicking his little legs weakly from the shock. The voice of the woman garnered his attention, got his shiny little black eyes open and focused on her. He liked the fact that he heard the word "lunch." He didn't like the way she said it while looking at him. Gran flailed again, more energetically, trying to get back on his feet. And when he got scooped up in a pair of powerful arms, he flailed all the harder.

If Gran noticed the Roegadyn lady following behind him, he made no show of it. After all, there was already so many other things to check out on his spur-of-the-moment excursion! He was familiar enough with the Hourglass, the Quicksand, and the immediate grounds near them - along with Chacha's usual path for them from the tavern to the Gate of Nald - but everything else was new for the petite purple porker. Even just coming out door that led into the Ruby Exchange rather than the main entrance had bombarded him with a whole litany of new sights and sounds. Bipeds in bright colors bouncing and dancing about, bipeds hopping from stall to stall, bipeds huddling in shady spots to escape the heat. He had only seen such things either on the peripheral, or through the cramped conditions of his old prison. Now he was free to examine everything to the fullest, and little Gran was going to make the most of that! So, either oblivious or uncaring of Steel Wolf's watchful eye, the baby behemoth skittered to and fro from point of interest to point of interest. Each stop was marked by a snuffling of his nose and an lashing of his tail from side to side in obvious excitement and curiosity. Some bipeds tried to ignore him, others either moved away or tried to move him away with proddings of foot or cane, while the more belligerent (and possibly drunk) dared to attempt remove with a swift kick. It was only Gran's swift little feet that kept his purple hide from becoming a more black-and-blue affair. "Bloody nuisance! Git, git!" snarled one particularly sour Hyur, who seemed to be caught between the midday heat and the heated words of the Lalafellan merchant he was haggling with. The sharp kick that followed was only barely avoided, and sent the baby behemoth skittering sideways into a troupe of dancing Miqo'te. Yelps and squeals of alarm arose from both piglet and dancer alike as little Gran ducked and weaved between the quickly jumbling mass of limbs and tails. He scrambled to escape as the dancers sought to keep themselves from being tripped up, and stumbled into the irate crowd of seated observers. From the frying pan and into the fire, it seems. "'Ey! Someone snag that pig!" One of them shouted angrily, and then the crowd too became quite the dangerous place for the little porker to be.

Whoa, I never even thought about the "lying about your age to seem more adult" angle. While on the one hand, I see Chacha as one that tries to be a good boy and not lie when he can haelp it... I can also see him pouting and going "I'M TOTALLY 19, YOU GUYS." Especially if he's been turned away many times before from doing things he wants - like helping people or learning how to be a hero - due to his age. It's a surprisingly fitting solution. :surprise:

I suppose, after all this back and forth, I should probably put my own thoughts on how I approach lore in RP. I may have hinted at it a bit here and there in earlier posts, but I figure it can't hurt to have a singular post that describes my feelings on it. I really like to follow the lore when possible, as should be obvious by my little panic about Chacha's Doman heritage. I may not know as much as someone like Sounsyy (or Anonymoose over on the official forums), but I try to keep things in proper standing with the world as it stands. However, I also like pushing the envelope when it comes to things that aren't so concrete. A particular fellow forum-goer I've been chatting back and forth with via PMs will know what I'm talking about here. I've shown an idea I've had to them and, while the lore doesn't outright say such things are impossible... it could still be taken as a bit of a stretch. And, ultimately, I think I worry most about the other participants/readers of my posts and RPs. If they're fine with it, and enjoy it, I think that takes a lot of the weight off my shoulders. It's when I start seeing those "what the heck are you doing!?"-style responses that I start to worry and question and turn on myself like a starving, self-hating Ouroboros.

Delayed double-post! So I've been having wee Chacha dork around both in game and on the forums for a little bit now. Having fun and makin' frands, but something has popped up that's been bothering me, and it actually got voiced in-game kinda last night during a spontaneous live RP. I currently have Chachanji set at 19 years of age, but I play him as quite childish and naive and all those delightfully goofy trademarks of youth. I explain some of it due to the fact that he was the youngest of his siblings, relatively spoiled beyond his training at the forge, and quite the daydreamer. Yet, I always find myself thinking that it still sorta meshes poorly with his set age. When one of the folks I RP'd with OOC'ly asked his age, it all kinda came to a head in my mind. I pushed it aside to focus on the RP at hand, but I've been wondering ever since. Should I age Chacha down, so as to be more fitting his childish nature? And if I do, how far do I go? I'm not trying to go for the whole "child prodigy" angle - far from it, in fact - and I still want him to be of an age where it's reasonable that he'd be able to do what he has in his background: learn his family's trade to a decent extent and, more importantly, leave his family in Doma and actually make the journey from there to Ul'dah on his own. I didn't think the concern was enough to warrant a whole new thread about age and its effects in Eorzea (though that might still be a fun line of discussion, lore-wise), so I figured I'd just ask here. Should I age Chacha down and, if so, by how much? I'm thinking from 19 to 16, maybe? 15?

Here today, Allagan tomorrow? (I couldn't help myself) Skimmed over everything here real quick, and the whole potential for magitek being reverse-engineered from Allagan stuff is pretty neat. All we've seen of it has been military-oriented (for obvious reason)... has there been any mentions in the lore of Allagan technology being reverse-engineered for something in the civilian sector? Medical supplies and procedures, that sort of thing?

TO INFINITY, AND BEYOND! ... there's something mesmerizing about these kinds of GIFs.

OOC And that's a wrap! Thanks to both Warren and Desair for playing along with me and little Chacha! I had a lot of fun, and I hope everyone that participated or just followed along enjoyed it! Now I just have to figger out how to lock this thing (Guidelines says there's a dropdown but I don't see one, what do?), and we'll be all set here. Thanks for reading!

The eagerness returned to Chachanji's face. "Y-yeah! That'd be great!" he stated with the nod. "I gotted all'a my errands done fer today, so I have plenty'a time ta learn th' thunder-mentals!" A snort from Gran interrupted his excited thoughts. The little behemoth shot his master a knowing look, then settled his head back down with a snuffle to enjoy this nice chocobo-wrought shade some more. "... Err... jus' as long as we're done a'fore Gran needs his supper." With that clarification made, the Lalafell padded his way over to his discarded shield. Strapping it back on to his arm, he turned back towards the Paladin and got into what he assumed was his basic fighting stance, ready for some pointers. "Akay, so what do?"

"I... I could teach you sumthin'!?" Chachanji seemed much more thrilled about the idea of helping a Paladin out more than anything else. He didn't even bother wondering if that might just be buttering him up or a continued attempt to cheer him up. Just the thought of that made him all giddy inside and that was pretty visible on the little Lalafell's face. That eager, almost-ready-to-bounce-around pose he had used before didn't hurt either. The idea of a big ol' gathering of folks who fight each other sounded really exciting, too... at first. The added comments about guys who hurt people just to hurt them and the need for healers on-hand kind of soured his mood. It also brought back to mind Chachanji's quite recent concerns about having hurt Warren. He was lucky in this case; the Paladin was willingly training him and his armor had deflected the boy's wild attack. Out at this gathering, though, it would be completely different. "That fightin' thing sounds neat 'n all..." he started, poking his index fingers into each other bashfully. "But... I'm still learnin' how ta sword, as ya can rightly tell. I think somethin' like that is a bit outside me reach right now." He gave a nervous chuckle. "I mean... there's th' fact that I could get beat up real bad, too. 'n... 'n there's th' chance I could hurt someone else real bad too. I know ya said there'd be healin's 'n stuff there but... I'd still feel real bad. I want ta beat up bad guys, not jus' people." His expression turned a bit more thoughtful. "Also, I dun want people hurt or dyin'... so shouldn't I be a'feared o' it?" He folded his little arms over his chest. "'n them bugs're just mean."

"Y-yeah... that's what Papa always said 'bout th' armor he makes," Chachanji admitted, though it didn't cheer him up as much as Warren might've thought. All those statements his father had made had been about Gegenji-crafted gear, and those greaves didn't the have the familiar trademarks inherent in his family's smithing style. In fact, looking at them, it seemed they had been... reforged from something far older. Or perhaps refurbished? Chachanji wasn't entirely certain; he had seen repairs done and even done some himself, and noted some of the basic signs of casual maintenance, but there was something... different lurking deeper within those greaves. Maybe he was just over-thinking it, but his musings definitely helped quell his worries about whether or not he had actually injured Warren. The Highlander's declaration pulled the young Lalafell's mind back from his remembered lectures from home. He looked a bit confused at first, replaying the statement back in his mind to register it. Once that was done, though, he seemed to perk up some more, clambering back to his feet. "O-oh yeah?" he countered, shakily trying to sound heroic as he pounded lightly on his breastplate. "I... I'll face ya anytime, ser Warren!" Just as quickly as he had stared up at the Hyur, he dropped his gaze again towards the ground. Bashfully, he scratched at the back of his head, wondering if he had overdone it. His ego deflated some, he added a much softer: "Y'know... If'n ya don't mind..."

Herding cats. That sounds slanderous. I've run plenty of dungeons just fine with Miqo'te, ST included. :cactuar:

Even joking about bed rest got a worried whine out of Chachanji, his lower lip wibbling a bit. He just wanted to show that he had what it took to be a hero, that he could totally learn how to sword for when it might be needed. He didn't mean to actually hurt Warren; the Paladin had gone out of his way to help him, too! What was heroic about hurting someone like that? He only half-heard the Highlander's comments and suggestions, lost in his own self-denigration as he was. The praise helped cheer him up a bit, since he was able to link that to Warren not being mad at him. Still pouting a bit at the end of the spiel, there was only one real thing Chacha needed to know for certain: "Are... are ya sure yer okay?"

Chachanji just lay there for a bit, breathing hard as the adrenaline coursed through his body. His violet eyes stared skyward, not seeing the smiling face of Warren leaning over him. It was only the Hyur's words that snapped the Lalafell out of his daze, and the green-haired lad slowly sat up. "I... I did it..." he breathed, still seeming to stare off at something in the distance that wasn't there. He gazed over his shoulder at the towering form of the Highlander, the realization still slowly setting in his mind. An awkward little smile crept across his features. "Ha... haha... I did it! I did it!" He didn't care that his shield had gotten flung off somewheres. He didn't mind that his wild swing had ultimately amounted to nothing. He just knew that his blade had clanged off something that wasn't just Warren's shield. And it was the best feeling. "Yeah... Yeah! I toldja I'd hitcha!" he proclaimed proudly, waggling a finger the Highlander's way. That shaking finger slowed soon enough, though, as the rush slowly drained away. Soon he was on his feet again, crouching next to Warren's leg and eye-ing it nervously. All that vim and vigor had almost immediately been replaced with worry and concern. "Um... um... I-I didn't hurtcha, did I?" He looked up at the Paladin from his hunched over postion, eyes that had just moments ago been lit with determination and then revelry were now pleading.