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Post by Tarro on Oct 28, 2023 14:15:07 GMT -5
Tarro was strolling through the capital of the saiyan territory. He decided to spend the day traveling around.
The thought-out architecture: the materials used to build in the most mundane store to the tall buildings and mansions of the Elites; the well laid-out roads and sidewalks with little mud for the rich to soak their shoes in; the few people walking the streets of the capital or flying through it, with most sticking to their houses or in important establishments, never to be seen by the common people; the many light posts at every corner, killing off any sight of darkness at night; the constant surveillance from city cameras or from the tall, thin buildings with round domes where the police is known to work from, but very rarely step out from; the lack of conflict and of poor people where they can be seen, mostly sticking to hardly perceivable alleyways and living under bridges due to the action of law enforcement; there were stores for everything you needed at every corner, stopping you from traveling far to get what you need done…
This was the Saiyan Capital, the most luxurious place in the saiyan territory whole. It’s easy to tell that most of the saiyans’ money is poured into this city for the Elite’s satisfaction.
The weathered soldier spat to his side at the thought.
He spent hours walking around with his arms in his pockets, minding his own business and getting a grasp on where everything was.
He had to admit the place was nice. It was hard not to, given how convenient it was and how quiet. That’s how he liked it, but before long he missed the lively environment of his home. Everyone knew everyone, and if someone wasn’t showing face, you just knocked on his door and reminded him he wasn’t one of these Elites; that they live right next to you and have nowhere else to hide.
By the time he got tired of walking and flying around, he decided to head on back home. Night had set but the streets were kept illuminated. He stuck to the ground. He wanted to give himself the time to think through everything he had seen. Among these thoughts were why those Elites were entitled to all those privileges when he knew the people in his town worked much harder and some were stronger, both physically and mentally. Some of them served with him and he knew from personal experience how remarkable some of them were, namely Fannal and Jagaimo. Another one was why they- he and his friends couldn’t replace those Elites when they had been of more help to the army and the race’s mission than them, who only know how to toss money around (paying for things to get done, not taking into consideration the work that has to be done and effort that has to be put) and get praised for it.
On his way out of the city, he ran into a commotion where a farmer was apologizing for something. He stopped to think whether to get any closer and ended up walking over. He then learned that the farmer had knocked over an Elite. After taking a better look, and with the man showing his long cape that dragged across the floor, he saw it was slightly stained with some dirt, nothing to make a fuss over. The cape was admittedly elegant: it was of a soft dark-red color with white pelt hairs at the bottom ends of it, the middle ends of it, as well as at the back of the neck area.
“I don’t have that much money to pay it back, my Lord!”
“You will clean it, give me all you have, and work as my slave, then.”
“W-what? That’s insane! You can’t make do that!” The farmer, who was in his early twenties, not much older than he was, was taken aback and afraid, but now on the defensive. Saiyan he was and no saiyan would settle for those insane demands the royal was making without a fight.
“Oh, no, but I can and I will. And if you keep talking and resisting I will punish you with death.” The noble’s jet-black, neatly-combed, smooth hair flowed with a passing gust. He took a few steps towards the farmer to peer inside his cart. After a dozen of seconds of inspecting it, he shook his head.
“This won’t do. You don’t have a thing to your name, do you?” the noble said, looking him up and down.
The farmer took a few, short steps back, raising his arms to his side and then shakily raising them to protect his face. Then, after gathering his wits, the lad ran forwards with a, “aaaH!” while rolling his right fist back.
With another gust of wind, the Elite was sent rocketing across the floor. The farmer hadn’t hit him and was at a loss at what had transpired.
Having had enough of the bickering, Tarro had taken a stand for the man. The soldier moved like the wind and struck before the royal had a chance to react. In the end, he didn’t know what hit him. He skid across the street, dirtying his cape even further and perhaps ripping it as he rolled on his back, landing his with his legs over his shoulders, with birds chirping over his head.
“Let’s roll!” he shouted out to the farmer as he swept in to carry the man’s cart.
Without questioning the order, the farmer took to flight outside of the city.
On their journey out, he would complain about having nowhere to sell his goods anymore, as he usually sold everything to the wealthy businesses in the city.
“You will have to make a living in your town,” Tarro said. “For now, let’s survive, yeah?”
The thought-out architecture: the materials used to build in the most mundane store to the tall buildings and mansions of the Elites; the well laid-out roads and sidewalks with little mud for the rich to soak their shoes in; the few people walking the streets of the capital or flying through it, with most sticking to their houses or in important establishments, never to be seen by the common people; the many light posts at every corner, killing off any sight of darkness at night; the constant surveillance from city cameras or from the tall, thin buildings with round domes where the police is known to work from, but very rarely step out from; the lack of conflict and of poor people where they can be seen, mostly sticking to hardly perceivable alleyways and living under bridges due to the action of law enforcement; there were stores for everything you needed at every corner, stopping you from traveling far to get what you need done…
This was the Saiyan Capital, the most luxurious place in the saiyan territory whole. It’s easy to tell that most of the saiyans’ money is poured into this city for the Elite’s satisfaction.
The weathered soldier spat to his side at the thought.
He spent hours walking around with his arms in his pockets, minding his own business and getting a grasp on where everything was.
He had to admit the place was nice. It was hard not to, given how convenient it was and how quiet. That’s how he liked it, but before long he missed the lively environment of his home. Everyone knew everyone, and if someone wasn’t showing face, you just knocked on his door and reminded him he wasn’t one of these Elites; that they live right next to you and have nowhere else to hide.
By the time he got tired of walking and flying around, he decided to head on back home. Night had set but the streets were kept illuminated. He stuck to the ground. He wanted to give himself the time to think through everything he had seen. Among these thoughts were why those Elites were entitled to all those privileges when he knew the people in his town worked much harder and some were stronger, both physically and mentally. Some of them served with him and he knew from personal experience how remarkable some of them were, namely Fannal and Jagaimo. Another one was why they- he and his friends couldn’t replace those Elites when they had been of more help to the army and the race’s mission than them, who only know how to toss money around (paying for things to get done, not taking into consideration the work that has to be done and effort that has to be put) and get praised for it.
On his way out of the city, he ran into a commotion where a farmer was apologizing for something. He stopped to think whether to get any closer and ended up walking over. He then learned that the farmer had knocked over an Elite. After taking a better look, and with the man showing his long cape that dragged across the floor, he saw it was slightly stained with some dirt, nothing to make a fuss over. The cape was admittedly elegant: it was of a soft dark-red color with white pelt hairs at the bottom ends of it, the middle ends of it, as well as at the back of the neck area.
“I don’t have that much money to pay it back, my Lord!”
“You will clean it, give me all you have, and work as my slave, then.”
“W-what? That’s insane! You can’t make do that!” The farmer, who was in his early twenties, not much older than he was, was taken aback and afraid, but now on the defensive. Saiyan he was and no saiyan would settle for those insane demands the royal was making without a fight.
“Oh, no, but I can and I will. And if you keep talking and resisting I will punish you with death.” The noble’s jet-black, neatly-combed, smooth hair flowed with a passing gust. He took a few steps towards the farmer to peer inside his cart. After a dozen of seconds of inspecting it, he shook his head.
“This won’t do. You don’t have a thing to your name, do you?” the noble said, looking him up and down.
The farmer took a few, short steps back, raising his arms to his side and then shakily raising them to protect his face. Then, after gathering his wits, the lad ran forwards with a, “aaaH!” while rolling his right fist back.
With another gust of wind, the Elite was sent rocketing across the floor. The farmer hadn’t hit him and was at a loss at what had transpired.
Having had enough of the bickering, Tarro had taken a stand for the man. The soldier moved like the wind and struck before the royal had a chance to react. In the end, he didn’t know what hit him. He skid across the street, dirtying his cape even further and perhaps ripping it as he rolled on his back, landing his with his legs over his shoulders, with birds chirping over his head.
“Let’s roll!” he shouted out to the farmer as he swept in to carry the man’s cart.
Without questioning the order, the farmer took to flight outside of the city.
On their journey out, he would complain about having nowhere to sell his goods anymore, as he usually sold everything to the wealthy businesses in the city.
“You will have to make a living in your town,” Tarro said. “For now, let’s survive, yeah?”
Items: scouter, armor lining
KP: 6/6
MP: 0/6
HP: 0/260%
WC: 974
