iprotectyou | OOM: Kidlets

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OOM: Kidlets

Young Baze was never the most patient of people. That award belongs to his friend, Chirrut--or so Baze thinks. So when the elders of the Temple of the Kyber told him that he would be the one running the children's martial arts class, he balked.

"Hello," Baze says, entering the class where the children--ages anywhere from six years old to nine--are waiting for him. He steps lightly despite his massive bulk, and stands at the front of the lined up students. "My name is Baze Malbus, and I'll be teaching you today."

"Hello, teacher Baze," the students say in unison. Sort of. There are a few stragglers.

"It's time to learn how to breathe. First, make sure you're standing up straight," Baze says, clasping his hands behind him to keep from fidgeting. "Next, we'll draw a breath. Pretend you're sucking air in from the bottoms of your toes to the tops of your heads..."

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Striking Chirrut always feels like punching flesh-covered steel. Baze staggers back, recovers, and roars. He rushes at Chirrut, using his shoulder to barrel through towards Chirrut's chest.

Chirrut's feet leave the ground in a rush, along with all of the air in his lungs, but he refuses to give up quite so easily. He twines his legs around Baze's chest, stabilizing himself so he can pummel Baze's head with vicious elbow strikes.

All the while trying very hard not to think about the wall that he's sure is rushing up behind him. It lends a special vigor to his strikes.

Stars flood Baze's vision. Pain floods his head. He keeps running. The children scramble to get out of the way as Baze slams Chirrut into the wall, headbutting his chest to knock the air out of him once again.

With Chirrut pinned against the wall by Baze's shoulder, he takes the opportunity to slam his fists into his friend's ribs and sides.

Yup, that's the wall. He grunts with the force of impact, digging his heels in when the shock of it tries to rattle him loose. His ability to draw a decent breath is further compromised by the beating he takes.

So he returns the favor, snaking an arm around Baze's neck and tightening, forcing his forearm under Baze's chin.

Baze struggles for air as dizziness overwhelms him. His punches become less intense, less focused. He tilts his head back, gasping for air. Finally, he steps back from the wall, supporting Chirrut at the small of his back.

"I yield," he croaks, nearly dropping to one knee and swaying on his feet.

Chirrut instantly releases Baze, dropping his hold on throat and chest, reaching back for the wall to support himself as he pulls away. There is none of his usual fluid grace at the moment as he staggers, finally ending up using the wall to hold himself upright.

"Your close-quarter punching has improved." He notes, breathlessly.

Baze grunts. "I still lost," he says ruefully, rubbing his throat.

The stunned children seem to move as one, shifting on their feet and regarding Baze and Chirrut with wide eyes. A couple cautiously approach the pair near the walls. "Are you all right?" one asks, distraught, and Baze isn't sure if that question is directed towards him or Chirrut.

"Are you... Are you friends?" asks another, and Baze feels guilt run him through.

"Yes," he croaks. "Even though we don't look it at the moment, we are the best of friends."

"Who else would I trust so much?" Chirrut asks, his shrug learned by knowing the feel of Baze's. "This is as close as we both can come to true fighting without it being a real fight - I know he would stop if I asked for quarter, as I did for him." He pushes himself off the wall, and pats Baze's shoulder in passing as he heads for where he knows he left his bottle of water.

The kids still look disquieted. A couple of them rub their throats, and one of the younger ones looks like he's about to cry.

Baze gulps some air. "It's time to meditate," he wheezes, his throat still sore. "Think on what we've learned today. Breathe deep from your toes. Know how to punch, and kick. Next time we'll work on proper forms."

Baze drops to the floor gracefully, folding his legs over one another in the lotus position. He rests his hands in his lap and closes his eyes after making sure the children do the same.

Chirrut sucks down a fair amount of his water before making to join them again. Halfway there, however, he pauses, tilting his head curiously.

Then, on silent feet, he pads over to one of the open windows, and gently reaches through.

A few minutes and a bit more careful maneuvering later, he's dropping to the floor with considerably less grace than Baze, still awkward from what will be a spectacularly bruised chest.

Ribbit goes the center of the room, loud in the calm silence.

Ribbit, the frog croaks, and Baze cracks open one eye. Ribbit. Ribbit, ribbit.

A titter breaks out in the room. The children shift in their positions. One of them is bold enough to crawl on her hands and knees towards Chirrut, inspecting his prize.

She crouches near him, and reaches a gentle hand out to tap his shoulder. "Can I see?" she whispers, loud in the quiet room.

Cautiously he opens his hands, revealing a brilliant green and gold tree frog, its wide eyes nearly as pale as Chirrut's.

"Would you like to hold him?"

The girl squeals, holding her hands to her face. The other students abandon their poses, and drift toward Chirrut and the new arrival. "Yes, please!" the girl says, making grabby hands for the slimy animal.

Baze chuckles, shaking his head. Trust Chirrut to make things lighthearted again.

"Ahh, what did teacher Baze say about your breathing?" Chirrut shields the tiny creature from over-eager hands, raising an eyebrow (another gesture he has stolen, whole-cloth).

"But that's just for fighting!" One of the boys huffs from the back of the pack.

"Not necessarily," Baze says, resting his hands on his knees. "Centering yourself with breathing exercises is good to do before and after fighting, as well as in your daily life."

He stands, abandoning the meditative practice, seeing as all the children have as well. Ribbit, goes the frog, and the girl who first grabbed at it sits back on her haunches.

"Please?" she says. "Please, teacher Chirrut? Can I hold him?"

"Well? Are you centered?" He asks in return. The girl stares at him, judging his stubbornness on this in comparison to her own, and thumps back onto the mat, crossing her legs almost sulkily. Chirrut doesn't wait for her fidgeting to cease, as will be expected further along. Instead, once she's managed to take a deep breath, he presents her with his prize.

"Hold him gently - he has allowed us to take him from his daily life for a time, and we must honor that gift."

"Oooh," the girl says, stroking the top of the frog's tiny head with her thumbs as she cradles him close to her chest. "Thank you!"

The other students surround the girl. "My turn next!" one says.

"No, pick me!" says another.

Baze wanders over to Chirrut and the children, getting a good look at the animal as he approaches. He watches for a little while as the kids crowd around the girl in the center, and then sits on Chirrut's shoulders, ruffling his cropped hair.

Edited 2017-04-04 08:14 (UTC)

Chirrut pulls a face to hide the grimace of strained muscles. He braces his hands against Baze's knees, supposedly to help support the weight more evenly, but also to covertly pinch the inside of his knee fiercely.

"Do you think I've kept us out of trouble?"

"Ow," Baze says, managing not to jerk his knee and whap Chirrut in the head with it. "No, if anything you've brought more. The elders will never let me teach this class again."

Chirrut, who was privy to Baze's reluctance to teach this class in the first place, laughs at his mournful tone.

He only laughs harder when one of the smaller boy pats at Baze's knee worriedly and asks,
"You're not coming back, teacher Baze?"

Baze smiles down at the boy and claps a meaty hand on his tiny shoulder. "I will if the elders let me," he says honestly, his eyes twinkling as he looks the boy over. He taps his nose, the universal gesture of secret-keeping. "Don't worry. If you won't tell them what happened here today, I won't either."

This idea seems to catch on fairly rapidly, Chirrut is pleased to note. After the frog has been petted by enough little hands, he rescues the creature the next time it comes within reach, cupping back between his palms. There is a disappointed chorus of voices around him.

"The frog only came for a visit - perhaps you may see him again one day."

"Class dismissed," Baze says, standing from Chirrut's shoulders so he can put the frog away. "Remember what we learned today. I look forward to our next class."

The students file out, some of them waving goodbye. After the last child is gone, Baze sits down on the ground, stretching his legs out. "I hope they don't have nightmares."

Once the frog is returned, Chirrut pads back to the practice mat and does his best impression of a throw rug, groaning.

"They will. You left a dent in the wall." He grouses, somewhat inaccurately.

"You helped," Baze says, scooting within range of Chirrut to nudge his side with a foot. "Oh, my aching head. I bet I have bruises."

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