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Following the event that smacked the word 'guilty' on my forehead, I wish to start anew, as it were. Because [life > Internet] for most, motivations are lost, procrastination attacks, and somewhere among it all, the fun is left for a later date.

My date is now. I hereby challenge someone that will want to go the extra mile to ensure that we have fun in this place. [totally speaking like an oldbie now. >> ]

So yeah.

No one? -bumps-

:(

Aidan smiled at the tracks in front of him. Three deers. A child, a female, and a male. He could tell weight, size, and that the female had a slight limp. He also knew quite well these were not deer tracks, even if they did smell like it. Deer did not live in such a wasteland as he found himself. Cracked earth for miles around with only the slightest stunted shrubbery for a sigh of life. And it was cold. What little moisture in the air sucked into a light crunchy layer of frost.

His prey was far more devious then a simple animal, he was tracking the most elusive of all creatures, himself. Now one might think it folly to try and hunt yourself, but for Aidan it was something to pass the time. He had mastered tracking, and his stealth reached such a degree that he could not track himself. So much so that he dared to toy with himself, even if he did have knowledge of where he went. Little sense as that made, it was perfectly normal for Aidan. He was, after all, not quite right in the head.

Something peeked his attention and he vaguely scratched at the scar slanting across half his body. Something was coming. And by the appearance of the only constant in his hallucinations, it was rather dangerous. His more refined senses confirmed it, and a shift in the wind got rid of any doubt. He could smell that particular scent to anything with power .

A shake of the hand threw his hair, a smirk, and that golden eye picked up the rising sun's light. The eyepatched, shirtless smith got up, and walked towards what peaked his interest. Time for a little fun.

Indeed, college is evil. ._.

Spurts of sand burst from the ground and played with what little wind these blasted parts attracted, a breath of false life amidst the chilly atmosphere of early morning. The wide open sky above held within it the newborn brilliance of the rising sun, an infant shade of blue that would pretty soon mature and deepen until once again the whole of the above layer would display the azure lights of day-- and the scorching rays of the mighty Sun itself as it would shine on the world the same way it's done since the very beginning of time itself.

Hard steps made their way hastily across the barren grounds of the desolated plain, each movement being but a blink left behind of the traveler's visage. A pair of black leather boots continued to perpetually collect more of the dust that lay on them like a protective layer of sorts, their swift steps raising dirt in small clouds before settling back to the ground they belonged in. Their owner was a rather tall figure, though any more details that could be seen were currently covered under a thick, tattered gray garment that was as long as the humanoid itself. The blackened edges of the cloth flapped madly with the momentum of his stride, and only the matching black pants were revealed under the cloak: a slightly bulged hood covered the head, and a single stained bandage protruded from inside it, idly twitching as every now and then it would pick a stray wind and try to go play with it.

No features could be seen in the face, and the oscillating garment gave little base to actually discern some details about the figure in general: he was somewhat tall, approximately 6 feet in height, and the speed of his steps would probably give away his relatively light body build despite the thickness of the cloak he wore. He kept walking across the wasteland in quickened steps that seemed to turn into leaps, and yet his speed was only slightly above that of an ordinary person.

Into the distance he kept walking.

That would be when he got kicked in the head. There was no warning, no reason. Aidan foot simply came from the ether and smacked the figure in the head. The monk moved with the blow and with a slight acrobatic display, he was on his feet a few feet away.
"Care to dance?"
The red haired shirtless man's voice carried an undertone to it, much like two voice speaking in unison. The second being the sound of pure fire. It was obvious by the crazed look in his eye that he cared little of the answer to the question. His stance was arrogant. Casual, as if simply standing around at home.

*Whack!*

Not many beings could respond appropriately to a sneak attack like the one from the weird stranger just now, a movement that was almost too swift in its execution to be true. But as the cloaked figure had learned long ago, there exist beings in the universe whose very force of will can crack the very earth where they would stand -- or even the space where they flew or floated, depending on the situation and the battleground. Perhaps this fellow was one of them, akin to a lowly worm under its progress to a beautiful butterfly of sorts?

He definitely felt like he didn't want to fight. He had a place to go. And here was this most strange fellow asking something like 'Care to dance?' in a time and background like this.

Screw that.

-"Move." It wasn't a statement, a command or a plea. It was a simple word, left to the interpretation of the shirtless new companion. While there was indeed meaning behind the semi-hollow, male voice that burst from inside the cloak, a more rational individual would definitely note that something was amiss. Like how even a complete puzzle can crumble if a few fragments lay misplaced, or how to find the path inside a house of mirrors, there was something... not quite right about this cloaked figure that so intently wanted to travel.

His leather boots found their way on the cracked ground and around the redheaded man, all the way observing the man from the darkness of his hood. He didn't show any flinch from the kick he had just received: there was no grunt, no sigh, not even the recognition that such event had indeed taken place. Some distance was kept between the two thanks to the initial blow, and the traveler kept that distance as he semi-circled the smith and kept moving, all the while keeping him within his sights.

He really didn't feel like fighting. Even after such a blatant display by part of the eye-patched fellow, he would not waver in his no-violence determination. His steps were suddenly faster in execution, a direct result of this interference, and he simply kept moving.

Aidan did not move, he waited. Maybe this was a trick. No, not quite. It would seem this one did not feel like fighting at the moment. A smirk slowly creeped on face. If he did not want to play, then there were other ways he could be amusing.

The monk walked towards the figure, casually and quite calmly. He then turned around, and went in front of the figure. Still keeping pace with ease while walking backwards.
"You can't outrun me. Just so you know. So, who are ya? What's your name? Why do you were so much stuff? Are you ugly? Disfigured? Some sort of weird lookin' thing? Wearing a pink tutu with yellow polka dots with a big old picture of a blue jay on it? Do you have a weird clothing fetish? What are you doing out here? Where are you going? Do you like fire? Are you breathing? What the hypotenuse of a triangle formed out of the average male moose and female beaver tail to tail? How much wood could a squirrel force feed a woodchuck? Can fish talk? Does the blueness of the sky remind you of anything? Why are we here? Is there a god? If there is a god, could he create a sin so vile he could not forgive? If god made man in his image, what image did he use for the platapus? Did the chicken truly come before the egg or did the chicken come from the egg of a less evolved chicken that would technically not be considered a chicken? What's with the bandage? Is that why you have the hood? Were you in an accident? Were you burnt? How many feathers would it take to get a ton? Could it be possible to coordinate an artillery strike of pigeon dropping?"

On and on he questioned the grey cloaked man. He ran around his voice never stopping, only constantly fluctuating in intensity. Soon he begun poking and prodding the taller one. Somehow he managed to never actually halt or truly hinder the other, including the time he was perched atop his head asking about how different the world looked at that angle.