1x1 -- Sarish and Stormy

[stormy tom]

~Name: James Percius Hunter
~Age: 25
~Physical: James is fit and lean. He can put on muscle when he works for it but he hasn't done that in some time. He's got thick dark hair that's always flopping in his eyes and forest green eyes.

~Brief personality: James isn't the nicest person on the block, but at least he's not the bully he used to be in his early years. He was pretty full of himself, and perhaps even a little delusional when he was a hockey player, because he was practically famous. Now he's just lost and lonely. He has trouble regulating his emotions.
~Likes: Anything he's good at (which used to be hockey), ducks (?)
~Dislikes: his own inability to do things he used to be able to do
~Skills: hand-eye coordination
~Flaws: stubborn as a bull (could be a good thing...), poor social skills (which isn't all his fault)

~Brief History: James was raised in a foster home and was never adopted because he was not a charming child at all. At school he was a bit of a bully. He moved out and lived on his own as soon as he could, and started hockey at a young age, proving a natural at the sport. He became team captain of his hockey team in the NHL. He was the best player, practically a star, but not liked very much by his team mates, nor any of the other players. During one game (his last), he was checked and landed roughly on the ice. His leg was broken in three places and he was forced to stop playing hockey.
With no friends and no family, James had to retreat to a solitary life and find low-impact sports to participate in when he was able to walk again. He walks with a limp now, and can't run very far. His legs can only endure a small amount of impact before it hurts too much.

Has an evil brother called Richard

[Sarish]

Name: Sarish Kunwar
Age: 26
Physical: Sarish is a thin, wiry individual of an average height. He has honey colored skin and soft blue eyes. He is bald and clean-shaven. He has a motley of pale scars crisscrossing his lower back. He wears the blue robes of a master.

Personality: Sarish is a fairly laid-back person, thanks to countless hours of meditation and his disposition. He likes nothing more than a calm day in which he can carry out his daily routine, though he is not opposed to newcomers to the dojo. He can be mischievous at times, but it is rarely something that he gets into real trouble for; he enjoys making ripples, not waves. Sarish can get along with practically anyone, as he hardly ever gets offended or riled up, though he loves to engage in some teasing banter. Though he often does not realize it, he can be quite selfless at times. He would vehemently disagree with you if you pointed that out to him, however. He is a great listener and can sit for hours on end listening to others talk. People fascinate him.
Likes: Calm days, nature, birds, people, listening to others, playing his erhu
Dislikes: People with no sense of humor, feeling weak
Other: He has claustrophobia and he can't swim

Abbreviated History: Sarish lived in a village near the mountain dojo until he was eight, where he was then taken in by the dojo because he caught the masters' eyes, and was taught by them. Through hard work and many sleepless nights he became a master-to the chagrin of most of his peers because of his mischievous nature that others deemed as a apprentice's trait-earlier than most because of his aptitude. A nasty fall when he was younger has left him with a few scars on his lower back and some mild back pain which makes him walk stiffly if he does not stretch frequently, with occasional bad episodes in which he is usually bed-bound. He is skilled at low-stress martial art forms, and is formidable with a bo staff. He can hold is own quite well during a spar, and it not to be taken lightly. He currently resides at the dojo and works more with passing travelers than with the monastery 's apprentices.

*Bonus* Dustin:

[stormy tom]

James was getting tired of sitting in the same arm chair, watching the same teams play on television, listening to the same songs on the radio, seeing the same people walk by on the street every day.
The past was done. He could never go back and undo what that player had done to him. It was the nature of the game, James told himself. It was a rough sport. Things happened. He knew the move had been deliberate, that the player had been trying to hurt him.
James sighed and stood up. It was time to go. Where? Anywhere.
It was that day everything changed. James gathered some changes of clothes and a few belongings into a backpack. He pulled on his socks, laced his running shoes, and zipped up his jacket. He tucked his wallet into his pocket and got into his car.
~
The travel agent looked him in the eyes, eyebrow lifted. "That's pretty vague, Mr. Hunter. 'Anywhere' is rough to work with. Any other specifications?"
James sighed and rubbed his face. "Cheap, recluse?"
"That I can work with. There's some great scenery in the Nepalese mountains. Might help clear your head. Give you a fresh start you're looking for. Lots of people find peace in the mountains." The agent started typing. James opened his mouth to say that mountains might not be a good idea since he didn't have the footing he used to have, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. the agent didn't give him a chance anyway.
Next thing he knew he was on a plane flying to Nepal.
~
The former NHL player sat in his hotel room, reading a pamphlet. There, a mountain trail. A well-reviewed tourist attraction. The guide had said something about it being a popular palace for people to come in search of new purpose and self-restoration.
"Some kind of bull to get people to come," James snorted, but something tugged at his heart. He put the pamphlet away. Maybe it was about time he stopped feeling self-pity. Even if it turned out to be a big tourist attraction, the fresh air would be good for him. Maybe a hike was what he needed to boost his self-confidence.
~
Maybe he'd picked the wrong hike to start.
The mountains started to get steep and rocky. James checked the map. He was sure he'd been following the trail...
Suddenly the ground under his good leg gave way and all his weight was dropped on his bad one, which was already starting to throb. James released the pamphlet as he tumbled down the ledge sideways, rolling down the embankment, then down another until a tree finally stopped him.
He cursed. Damn. He was lost for sure now... James rolled onto his back, severely winded, and stared up at the trees as the world stopped spinning.
I'm an idiot.

[Sarish]

Sarish awoke slowly, groggily, later than he usually did if the position of the sun through his tiny window was any indicator. The so-called-master lay still on his back for a moment, trying to recall the dream that was rapidly slipping from his mind and falling away like a piece of driftwood over a rushing waterfall. He struggled for a moment longer before ultimately giving up, a small sigh escaping his lips as he sat up carefully, stifling a yawn as he rubbed his dry eyes with the back of his hand. Sarish swung his legs over the side of his small cot, feet touching the cool wooden floor, the contact jolting him fully awake. Goodness, I never sleep in this late. I wonder if I'm getting sick. He thought idly as he rose and dressed in the dull blue robes of his status.

He padded from his room, a slight improvement from that of an apprentice as he didn't have to share it with anyone, and down the narrow hallway of bedchambers to the washroom, where he splashed water on his face from the leaky faucet. After a quick examination of clothes to make sure he had secured the robe properly he turned and went back in the hall. Judging from the relative silence of the dojo, Sarish could only assume that it was sometime before noon but after eight: The assigned meditation time for the apprentices.

Forgoing breakfast, Sarish instead opted to continue with his daily routine regardless of the many hours he had lost due to his oversleeping. He passed the many classrooms housed within the dojo and stopped by the grand front entrance, slipping on a pair of worn sandals before pushing one of the doors open and stepping into the gleaming sunlight. The young man took a deep breath of fresh mountain air, a smile finding its way easily onto his face as he looked up at the clear blue sky. Beautiful as always.

Sarish trotted unhurriedly down the many steps leading up to the dojo, turning right at the base of the staircase and onto the unpaved, uneven land that surrounded the grand structure. He took a leisurely pace as he examined his surroundings with an observant gaze, the general peacefulness of it all bolstering his good mood. While the apprentices and their masters had to participate in a mandatory group meditation, Sarish was free to meditate whenever and wherever he pleased as he had no apprentice. His favorite spot was underneath a maple tree that sported gnarled and twisted branches, and yet bore beautiful leaves in the summer. It was located right next to a somewhat treacherous looking slope that wound up and up and had a rough path carved into its flatter top. He had to be careful to sit with the tree's trunk between him and the cliff, as loose rocks would often fall randomly from its wall. He had learned that lesson quickly and painfully.

Settling down on the ground with his legs in the standard lotus position, Sarish gave another deep sigh as he allowed himself to drift off into his usual meditative state, mind clearing easily.

Sometime later a surprisingly violent cascade of rocks and debris sounded from the cliff, accompanied by a heavy thump at the end. Sarish startled, eyes flying open as he twisted around the spot the source of the painful sound that could not be produced by rocks: a person. A man. Did... Did he fall from the trail? Sarish thought as he glanced up to see the indent in the cliff face from where the soil had been pushed from. He quickly rose to his feet, robe falling into place as he strode over to the dark-haired man who was staring up at nothing.

"Are you alright, friend?" Sarish inquired worriedly, scanning him with his gaze in an attempt to find any serious injury on the stranger.

[stormy tom]

James shut his eyes, and when he opened them a person was standing over him. He scowled up at him. Was he okay? James did swift inventory, memory briefly flashing back about a year ago to his fateful day on the ice. He'd rolled onto his back just like he was now, waiting for everything to come into focus. He'd thought he was fine, until reality had come rushing back and smacked him in the face.
James waited for that moment, to hear some kind of cracked resonating in the distance, to feel lightning-like pain spasming through his left leg. It was like someone had taken a sledge hammer to it. Three times. Nothing came, just the sounds of the forest and blood rushing in his ears.
Embarrassed, James rolled sideways and stood, leaning on a tree as soon as he realised his leg needed a few minutes of rest before he could stand on it. He brushed himself, a little red in the face, dirt and twigs in his hair and all over his clothes. He smoothed out his black shirt and deep blue sweater, reaching down for the backpack that had been flung from his shoulders during his descent.
"Who the hell are you," he demanded. This guy... was totally clean shaven a new trend? Was he some kind of hippie tree-hugger? His robes looked pretty weird. Wait a second... "You're from the temple thingy aren't you," the former NHL player pieced together.
"And I'm fine, thanks for asking," James added briskly, annoyed that he'd fallen. What am I doing here? I didn't even really think about it... and hiking? Bad move, Hunter, bad move. Now he just had to figure out how to get back up... Pushing persistent locks of hair from his face, James started to stalk toward the cliff stubbornly, determined not to let this natural land formation defeat him, yet knowing somehow that he wasn't going to be able to get back up. At least not without help. Walking so far and on such difficult terrain had worn his leg out, and his tumble hadn't helped.
His limp was just about bearable, and he looked ready to fall over at any time. And to make maters worse.... there was a weird monk guy here, probably laughing himself silly on the inside at the moronic tourist.

[Sarish]

Sarish grew more worried as the man closed his eyes again, and he leaned closer to the injured person for a moment before he rolled over and stood up awkwardly. The master relaxed slightly, eyeing the stranger carefully for anything serious that he might have sustained now that he was upright. Apart from his stance, in which he seemed to be favoring his left leg, and the sticks and dirt covering his frame, he appeared relatively unharmed. This man is tough. I would have definitely broken something if I had fallen from that height.

The three short, curt sentences spoken to him gave Sarish a general understanding of who this person was: prideful, haughty, and most likely embarrassed. Oh, there was no doubt in his mind that this person was probably looking for the monastery he belonged to. Quite a few of their visitors were people like the man before him, demanding change be handed to them on a platter as quickly as possible, that the advice that the monks gave them be exactly what they wanted to hear. Oh, Sarish knew this kind of person. And he knew he had to be careful, or this man would turn tail and stalk away back to his problems, back to his agonies, back to his unfulfilling life. He would not wish that on anyone.

Sarish smiled kindly at the stranger. "My name is Sarish, and yes, I am one of the residents at the monastery." His voice faltered for a moment as he watched the man limp back to the cliff and stare at it like he was about to yell a challenge at it. "Are you certain you are not injured? Your leg appears to be in a bad way. Here, will you sit down, please?" He asked gently in accented English, his tone indicating that it was entirely the man's choice, that he was not forcing him to do anything he didn't want to. Sarish gestured to the trunk of the tree, hoping that the stranger would not try anything rash, and instead allow himself a break. He appeared ready to keel over if a small breeze touched him.

[stormy tom]

James swivelled, just about toppling. Tough? Oh yes. To a fault. There was a scowl practically chiselled into features that would be handsome if he could just relax and breathe.
"James," he growled, stalking past the bald man to the tree. "And thanks, no need to remind me." But he did as suggested and sat down heavily, stretching out his bad leg and rolling up his trousers. There was a long scar down the front of his shin, and smaller ones indicating where pins had been inserted both above and below his knee, and near the ankle. The surface between his knee and his foot should have smooth, but there were bumps where the breaks had been and where the plates had been screwed in.
His leg looked just the same as it always did: screwed up. Wrong. Especially now when his emotions were flaring. He was angry and embarrassed, not to mention resentful. "I shouldn't have come here, I'm just proving the truth to myself," he muttered, mostly to himself and barely loud enough to be heard by others.
But like always, James came to the slow realisation that he was acting like a child. He tugged his trouser leg back down and caught his breath, finally taking in his surroundings fully and trying to breathe a little more slowly. Trying to think. There was a smart brain up there somewhere. James was a lot sharper than he acted. It was apparent in his eyes to a very observant person, since his eyes were generally swirling with tiredness, among other things. He was a lot sharper than he'd ever been treated, too.
"Don't worry about me, baldy, go ahead and head back up to your meditation or whatever you guys get up to. I'll be fine." I'll find some way of getting back to the path. Or maybe I'll just stay here and have a nap. I don't really care, I just want to go home.
That was the part of his brain that reacted without premeditation. Some other part of his brain, a part less used (or at least less consulted), was steadily churning away in the background, telling him he was supposed to be here, that this was a good plan. Better than sitting at home watching recordings of his last game over and over again, or swimming laps with old people in the slow lane.
He gave himself a minute or two before standing up again, using the tree for balance as he tested his weight. I'll never make it back like this. Not before nightfall anyway. Downhill was always harder, since it put more pressure on the wrong places. James winced as he evenly distributed his weight across both legs. He was tired. So tired... tired of feeling like there was a ball and chain attached to his leg everywhere he went, physically and metaphorically. Tired of being the slowest, the weakest, unimportant and unskilled. Forgotten. Tired of being alone.
Wow, the first person to actually care, he thought sarcastically as he looked up at the monk with eyes now less aggressive and more exhausted. Then same sentence returned as he looked into the man's kind, inquiring, sincere eyes. Wow... he actually cares...
James blinked his eyes open again and shook his head clear. He was truly exhausted, despite being a fit man. That hike had put a lot of strain on his bad leg, especially since the only pressure he'd been putting on it at all was a short walk around the grocery store every couple of days, sometimes a stroll to the park a block away. Swimming was barely any trouble for his leg.
But this... he'd really bitten off a huge bite this time.

[Sarish]

Ah, a name to the face: James. I'm not sure we've had a "James" at the monastery yet. Sarish mused silently. He watched, relieved, as James stalked over to the tree, more or less slumping against it. The master's breath caught in his throat as the man leaned down, rolling up his pant leg to reveal the bumpy and scarred surface. Ah. No wonder he is so bitter. That must cause him a lot of pain. How did he even traverse the path as far as he did? Sarish glanced back up at the cliff before leveling his eye on James again. This one's a fighter. I'll have my work cut out for me.

The thought startled Sarish. Who said that this man will stay? He might flee down the mountain as soon as he recovers. Even if he did stay, I might not work with him. The traveler usually gets to take his pick of a master nowadays.

The monk was drawn back to the situation at hand when he heard mumbling, catching the very tail end of it: "...proving the truth to myself." Sarish grimaced. Not only was the man weary of what he probably called a disability, he had let the wound fester and take root in his mind. The monk thought back to when he had fallen down a different cliff face when he was younger, staring up at the blue, blue sky with pain lancing through his lower back. He remembered the rage he had felt, the indignation at the unfairness of it all, the realization that he'd probably have to walk with the pain for the rest of his life. He remembered becoming bitter, snapping at anyone who came too close or tried to help, spending most of his days alone because he couldn't play with the other village children. Those days were so long ago, and while he now labeled his behavior back then as childish and pessimisstic, he could understand this man before him. Though his pain had probably never been nearly as bad as what James must be feeling right now.

Sarish couldn't help but grin at the baldy remark. He's still got spirit; that's good. While the so-called-master would usually poke fun at someone for such an observation, he restrained himself quickly. James was obviously exhausted and his patience was probably worn thin; antagonizing him wouldn't help anyone. I'll remember this if he decides to stay, though. For some reason, Sarish found himself wanting James to stay, though he wasn't sure why.

The monk watched as James stood up, exhaustion evident in the way he carried himself. There was no way that the man could make his way out of the monastery and onto the path, as the main trail either lead straight up the cliff that he had just tumbled from, or down to the base of the mountain. Which meant that he would have to stay at the monastery for at least one night, unless James was feeling particularly suicidal. It's my job to be the kind host, then. The steps up to the monastery would be tricky to conquer, however. Sarish had a plan, but he had to make sure that James was more comfortable first.

Folding his legs, Sarish sank down into the lotus position, the gentle smile still present on his face. If he could get James to rest for a bit, maybe find out what his intentions were, then he could probably convince him to stay the night without too much hassle. He just had to be careful. "Well, Mr. James," he began, unable to resist himself a just a little quip. "Why don't we rest awhile? You appear to be unharmed, but the fall must have been taxing nonetheless. Besides, it's a beautiful day." Sarish reasoned, tipping his head back to gaze at the crimson colored leaves of the maple tree dancing gently in the cool mountain wind.

[stormy tom]

James watched the monk. This guy was clearly sizing him up. He'd been sized up before, many times. During games, mostly... well, back in the good days.
Finally the monk spoke again. James snorted like a bull, through both nostrils. With tired (but still a little angry) reluctance he dropped his bag and plopped back down a couple of feet in front of Saris, arms folded across his chest.
The Canadian looked absolutely seething, but eventually grew tired of glaring at the same leaf. He looked over at the monk, who appeared much more comfortable and frankly very tranquil. James could use a little tranquility.... so he tugged in both legs and tried to mimic Sarish's position. No... not like that...
I can't even sit like a proper person, James growled internally, growing frustrated again. He'd grown irritable and impatient since the accident... probably part of the reason he could never seem to accomplish much. Some of the barriers he was putting up on his own, without realising...
Was that sympathy? There was some sort of recognition in Sarish's eyes when James had the courage to meet them. Maybe it was just familiarity... of course, the monk had probably seen his type before. James wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed that he was so unoriginal or grateful to have someone familiar with his situation here.
But it wasn't just familiarity... it was personal. James frowned. He unfolded his legs. They weren't folded correctly and it was cutting off the circulation.
"So, you ah, like sitting like that?" James tapped his knees with strong fingers. "Centering your chi or something?"
He paused, green eyes narrowing a little. "When are you going to let me go, baldy." Not that he had anywhere to be... nobody would know he was gone. There was no one to miss him or notice him missing. He was practically a ghost, a forgotten legend. Maybe legend was stretching it but he'd been on every television in Canada that season... scoring over and over again. Skating had come so naturally to him.
And here he was in the mountains, stuck because his stupid leg...

[Sarish]

Sarish's grin grew ever wider as James sat down in front of him. It appeared that James might not be as combative as he originally thought. Or, at least, maybe when he was near to falling down he was more inclined to listen.

The monk watched as James' expression morphed from one of rage to something more neutral, and then from concentration to frustration as he gave up on trying to mimic Sarish's posture. The master watched the proceedings with surprise; he didn't think that James would attempt something that a baldy monk normally did. Most travelers were very opposed to their traditions. Or, at least, in the beginning they were.

He also noticed how observant James appeared to be, watching how his forest green eyes flicked over the monk's posture and glanced up to meet his gaze for a moment before frowning and moving his gaze elsewhere. Curious. This man was obviously intelligent, even though his harsh words suggested otherwise.

"Yes, I do enjoy sitting in the lotus position. It's quite relaxing, though I suppose it is used for centering your chi, if you believe in that. And please, don't agonize over not quite being able to get into the pose. It took me almost a year to finally twist my legs in such an unnatural way," Sarish assured truthfully. The hold-up had mostly been because his back had been stiff and healing for most of those months, but he didn't deem that important enough to relay. The monk unfolded his legs and stretched them out before him, reclining with his hands braced on the ground behind him, in a very modern American pose. He hoped that his relaxed form would put James at ease. He noticed passively that his back didn't twinge at the movement, even though it normally would at the slightest movement after spending a few hours meditating.

"You're free to leave whenever you'd like, Mr. James. However, I thought you might benefit from some rest first. Are you planning to make the trek back to the mountain path this evening?" Sarish asked conversationally, glancing up at the sky to check the sun's position (it was around five in the afternoon) before settling his gaze on James once more.