Gran was right upset when his little victory dance was interrupted by a sneak attack from the crafty Victory! He gave another irate squeal as he stumbled to regain his footing, though ultimately tumbled onto his side. He kicked and flailed and spazzed about with a litany of what could only be the piglet-version of unchecked swearing. After a couple good, solid kicked with all four little legs, though, he was back on his feet. And he was fightin' mad!
Chachanji, on the other hand, was a bit more nervous about his chosen opponent. He was of two minds on it, really. On the one hand, this was a freaking Paladin! While utterly awesome, was he sure that he could even land a blow on the well-armored Highlander? Success only led to his next concern: his father had oft boasted on the quality of the family's craft, so what if he actually ended up hurting Warren? Sure, he knew some minor healing magicks thanks to his brother, but it still wasn't very heroic to hurt a friend!
Still, Warren looked quite sure of what he was doing. And, as a Paladin, he should easily be able to repel the little Lalafell's attack. So, at best, Chacha might show some talent but be carefully parried at the end. At worst, he makes a fool of himself and shows his utter incompetence at handling a blade. The Gegenji child found himself suddenly hoping for the former.
"O-okay, um..." he stuttered, sliding his indigo blade from its sheath and prepping his little bronze shield. "... Here goes!"
He paused for just a moment in his awkward little battle stance, if it could even be called that. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to center himself, and opened those violet orbs again. His whole tiny Lalafellan body tensed.
"Eyaaaaaah!" came Chachanji's little war-cry as he rushed the much taller Hyur. There was no form, no finesse to his charge; he was literally doing little more than running forward with his shield at his side and his sword over his head as if he meant to squash an errant spider with it. Adding to that was the fact that he charged just like he had with the hornet - with eyes closed and face scrunched in determination.
As if moving in tandem with his master, Gran too charged the much larger Victory after a brief pawing at the air with his tiny front legs. Unlike the Lalafell, however, his glistening black eyes were dead-set on his towering target. He closed the gap with his own squealing war-cry, which mingled with Chachanji's.
The two both also made their attack in surprising synergy. As Chachanji swung with all his little might blindly at Warren's upper thighs, Gran finally broke gaze with Victory to bring his fledgling horns to bear. The entire scene was almost poetic, if not rather silly-looking.
Chachanji, on the other hand, was a bit more nervous about his chosen opponent. He was of two minds on it, really. On the one hand, this was a freaking Paladin! While utterly awesome, was he sure that he could even land a blow on the well-armored Highlander? Success only led to his next concern: his father had oft boasted on the quality of the family's craft, so what if he actually ended up hurting Warren? Sure, he knew some minor healing magicks thanks to his brother, but it still wasn't very heroic to hurt a friend!
Still, Warren looked quite sure of what he was doing. And, as a Paladin, he should easily be able to repel the little Lalafell's attack. So, at best, Chacha might show some talent but be carefully parried at the end. At worst, he makes a fool of himself and shows his utter incompetence at handling a blade. The Gegenji child found himself suddenly hoping for the former.
"O-okay, um..." he stuttered, sliding his indigo blade from its sheath and prepping his little bronze shield. "... Here goes!"
He paused for just a moment in his awkward little battle stance, if it could even be called that. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to center himself, and opened those violet orbs again. His whole tiny Lalafellan body tensed.
"Eyaaaaaah!" came Chachanji's little war-cry as he rushed the much taller Hyur. There was no form, no finesse to his charge; he was literally doing little more than running forward with his shield at his side and his sword over his head as if he meant to squash an errant spider with it. Adding to that was the fact that he charged just like he had with the hornet - with eyes closed and face scrunched in determination.
As if moving in tandem with his master, Gran too charged the much larger Victory after a brief pawing at the air with his tiny front legs. Unlike the Lalafell, however, his glistening black eyes were dead-set on his towering target. He closed the gap with his own squealing war-cry, which mingled with Chachanji's.
The two both also made their attack in surprising synergy. As Chachanji swung with all his little might blindly at Warren's upper thighs, Gran finally broke gaze with Victory to bring his fledgling horns to bear. The entire scene was almost poetic, if not rather silly-looking.
