http://thicker.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
thicker.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisalost2007-02-10 01:18 am
thicker.livejournal.com) wrote in paradisalost2007-02-10 01:18 am
[Log] Gaston and Ping.
Who: Gaston and Ping.
What: The match of the century. Two titans clash in a test of strength!
When: After this.
Where: Outside the castle somewhere.
Rating: PG-13. It's pretty gay.
Stepping out into the brave new world, Ping smirked as he set foot upon the soft blades of grass outside of the castle walls. Eyes immediately focusing upon the man in front of him, honing in on their prey. Surveying up his body type, he figured it was about the same as a weak little girl's, right down to the knobby knees. Something inside of him was boiling and bubbling, hating anything male within a 15 mile radius. I'll show them how manly I can be, Ping thought, I'll take down the Castle's biggest oaf. Rolling up his sleeve, Ping stepped out a bit further, walking a tad-bit bow-legged, towels and rags wrapped around his manly crotch area and thighs inside of his pants, so he looked full of lumps. Never the matter! "You." He grinned and sneered in a deepened voice, pointing out at the weak looking figure. "It's about time we've finally met, Gaston. Hah! I should have known you were compensating for your small size." Bringing a hand to his chin, he stroked it in mock-amusement. When he got no reply, he angrily stepped closer. "Don't make me hurt an answer out of you, you jerk!! Don't think you can just ignore me!" The figure turned to face him slowly, and Ping met his old and tired eyes with a ferocious glare.
"I'm just a random old man in the garden. You must be looking for that man over there." The man pointed and Ping's eyes followed his fingers, spotting a much..bigger man standing by a conveniently sized puddle of mud.
"..Wha-..." Ping's jaw dropped.
"Oh, that's just the scarecrow. I meant the guy next to it." The old man pointed a bit more to the left, and Ping saw an even larger man, with a cleft chin, high cheekbones, and a dazzling smile that spelled out 'I r asshole'.
Today was a perfect day for a hunt. Clear weather, quiet, with no strong winds. Unfortunately, Gaston had been unable to get hold of a gun since entering Paradisa, and he knew how ridiculous he'd look chasing wild animals around the castle. His reputation couldn't afford to be put on the line just yet.
Folding his arms and turning at the sound of distant voices, Gaston spotted a... strangely shaped figure talking to an old man. It seemed to be hunching, and its thighs were oddly out of proportion. Ping, Gaston thought, narrowing his eyes. Hah! He was just like he'd imagined, if a little shorter. Those bulging thigh muscles were the sign of a true warrior; the sign of Gaston's rival, and the only one capable of challenging his raw masculinity. He had to be beaten.
"PING!" Gaston yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. "IS THAT YOU?"
Ping froze up at his name being called. Gaston's voice bellowed like thunder, and Ping was sure he felt waves of testosterone carry around in the wind around him. Raising his hand and doing a little finger-wave, he grinned nervously. What am I doing!? That is not manly! Ping frowned, gripping his wrist with his other hand and shoving it back down at his side. "Sorry I'm late," Ping winked and took a few more steps forward, trying to puff out his chest. "I was dancing with your Mother."
....
Okay, so that insult felt only halfway right. He got the mother part down, but the other part didn't seem as...affective as he had hoped. I thought men always taunted each other by proclaiming they have spent intimate time with each other's mothers! But that felt so... Ping shook his head, not wanting to give his Rival the advantage of taking a glimpse inside of his mind. As he stepped forward a bit more, he sized Gaston up, hands on his hips, trying not to crouch forward and bearing the pain of his manly menstrual cramping.
Gaston tried hard not to let his anger at the insult show. So they were going to fight dirty, were they? Well, that was fine by him. He could throw around insults with the best of them.
"You wouldn't be the first one!" Gaston said and laughed, trying to play off the insult. He wouldn't let Ping win, not even the tiniest victory. He stuck out his chest, hoping that his bulging, manly pecs would intimidate Ping. Now that he was closer, the man's thighs looked... inhuman. Just what kind of soldier was he?
"So." Gaston uncrossed his arms and flexed his biceps slightly, trying to subtly draw attention to them and failing at the 'subtle' part. "How are we going to do this? I've never fought a dying man before."
"We shall start simultaneously at a countdown," Ping declared, doing a few stretches to try and shake off the pain of his cramps. "And remember, this is wrestling!! Meaning manly grappling and pressing together of the bodies!! There will be a pin count." Touching his toes, Ping began to think about things that he could not control. What if Gaston thinks I'm fat? He's a lot less chatty than I thought he would be. Is something wrong? Does he not want to be my rival anymore? He found another rival, I bet! A younger and more manly one!! What about my needs? Grabbing the sides of his face, he pulled quickly on his cheeks and slapped them a bit to get into battlemode, and try to look intimidating.
"I have but one question to ask you, Gaston." Ping laughed, bringing up both of his arms and bending them at the elbow (where else WOULD they bend?), flexing. "Now that you've entered the brothel of pain, would you rather spend a night with Jezebelle...?" Ping showed off his left fist, "..or Claudette?" He showed off his right one.
Without thinking Gaston ripped open the buttons of his shirt, exposing his hairy chest and grinning in a very smug manner. "No more chatter, Ping," he began, trying to sound as authoritative and serious as he could. He had no idea what the hell Ping was mentioning women for at such a crucial point. This wasn't about Belle, or this... "Jezebelle" or "Claudette". This was about two men coming together, half-naked in a pool of mud, to prove their manliness. "Prepare yourself for a serious beating."
He stared at Ping, sizing up his opponent and waiting for the countdown to begin.
If Ping had not been trained to be prepared to see anything on the battlefield, he would have recoiled in cowardice at the sheer manliness of it all. The chest seemed like an endless, enchanted forest of masculinity, engulfing everything in it's wake and glory. "The only thing I'm ready for is to take you down with me." Ping smoothed out his bun, intimidated by Gaston's pretty ponytail. "I hope you've got preperation, though. It's going to hurt, either way. However, it's best that you're at least equipped to deal with the expected TEN NINE EIGHT SEVEN SIX FIVE FOUR THREE TWO ONE" Ping shouted, jumping on Gaston like a little flying squirrel.
Surprise didn't even begin to cover it. Gaston was so shocked by the suddenness of Ping's attack that he was bowled over, falling back onto the grass with a heavy impact that knocked the wind out of him. It seemed that his size was already becoming a disadvantage.
Still, he wasn't one to be discouraged easily. Gaston recovered as quickly as he could and made a grab for Ping's arm, hoping to pin it behind his back and disable him. This shouldn't be a long fight, he thought, grinning maniacally.
"Ughn!" Ping grunted as they hit the floor, sensing Gaston's weight shift and feeling his hand grip his forearm. He shouldn't have let his emotions get the better of him so quickly, but it seemed he was helpless in that department at the moment. Supporting his weight on his free arm to push his (ACHING/SWOLLEN OW)chest off of the ground, Ping bended both of his legs upward at the knee, springing himself up in one risky attempt to try and lock his legs around Gaston's thick neck, strands of his hair matted in his face from the wet grass and mud. He did the little "Pfftt" thing trying to blow his bangs out of his face, all while focusing on taking out the mothership: Gaston's neck.
Ping seemed to be moving more quickly than he could react, and before Gaston had chance to respond his were already wrapping around his neck. Gaston grimaced. He could break leather belts with his neck muscles, but could he really break kneecaps? It seemed doubtful.
Struggling to overpower Ping, Gaston rolled them over so that he was lying on top of Ping with his face in his chest. He tried reaching to grab hold of Ping's leg, either one, hoping to pull him off before he began running out of air.
Shocked and suddenly feeling heated in the face, Ping found himself profoundly uncomfortable with this sudden turn of events. Legs brought to a much more compromising and higher position, he struggled to tighten his lock around Gaston's neck, now for the purpose of pulling it away from his chest rather than strangling the man. Frantic for a way to get out from underneath Gaston, as the man was much bigger than he and one wrong move could mean an unbreakable pin, Ping dug his hand into the ground, scooped up some mud, and shoved it at Gaston's face. Twisting and turning underneath Gaston, he tried to take this opportunity to writhe out from beneath him, not knowing he probably just awakend Gaston's man period.
That was it. Getting more and more enraged by their battle -- he was supposed to have WON by now! -- Gaston drew his lips back in an angry snarl, wiping the mud out of his eyes with one hand. "YOU!" he yelled, unable to see where Ping was. "I won't lose to you! Where are you so I can pummel you?!"
Getting the last of the mud out of his eyes -- though not off the rest of his face -- Gaston spotted Ping and launched himself at him, desperate to get this over with. He wouldn't lose. This was a matter of pride!
The towels wrapped around Ping's crotch were causing discomfort and embarrassment, as they were slowly folding together from all of the leg movements, making a large lump between his legs. Torn between the need to desperately readjust and-Ping couldn't even finish his thought before he was knocked backward, sliding across the muddy ground with such force it knocked half of the air out of his lungs. Bun coming loose as the back of his head became drenched in mud, he growled up at the man above him. He would not let Gaston win! He had his manhood to win back! Perhaps if he beat Gaston, everyone at Paradisa would stop saying what he dreaded so dearly. Wrapping his legs up around Gaston's back, he hooked his feet at the shoulders, crossing his forearms in front of his chest as if to say 'YOUR FACE IS NOT ALLOWED HERE'. "DIE." Ping shouted, but then felt a bit bad because he didn't want Gaston to die. "I MEAN, LOSE."
Letting out a strangled noise of frustration, Gaston kicked out at Ping. This couldn't go on forever. One of them had to win. And that person would be him.
"JUST GIVE UP, PING," Gaston shouted, his face turning pink from the exertion and his dark hair falling around his face as his hair tie fell into the mud. He glared down at his rival, biceps flexing with tension. "YOU CAN'T WIN AGAINST ME!"
Wincing at the kicking, Ping focused all of his inner, crimson tide womanly rage at Gaston's face. He figured quickly that even with a strong lock, he would not be able to flip them over in the position they were in, so he'd just have to control from the bottom. Forearms still crossed in front of his chest, Ping brought them forward in a quick and forceful motion, up against Gaston's chest to try and knock some wind out of him. Much to Ping's dismay, he felt it hardly being effective, as Gaston was too built at that area (Is Gaston's shirt still open, btw? Oh lovely).
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CANNOT DO." The inner feminist in Ping shouted back at Gaston. Still frantic at what to do, breathing unevenly, Ping stared up at Gaston in hopes that perhaps he could get him to yell and shout just a bit more while he devised a plan, eyeing a rock near them with interest. "WHY ARE YOU SO MANLY?" Ping shouted in feigned frustration, panting.
Gaston felt a wave of triumph rush over him. Ping seemed to be struggling, which meant only one thing: he was weakening.
Overcome with smug satisfaction, Gaston began to laugh. It was loud, unpleasant, and full of self-congratulation, but it felt too good to stop. "Because I've worked hard for it, Ping. You could learn from me. I'M GOING TO WIN!" he yelled in between laughs, stopping only to catch his breath and sweep some hair from his face. He had known it all along. Someone like Ping could never win against him, not with his physique. He didn't eat five dozen eggs a day for nothing, after all.
Grabbing one of Ping's arms and trying to twist it so that he would submit, Gaston laughed in triumph again. Victory was so close he could almost taste it.
Ping held back the urge to punch Gaston in the face, knowing that would make him open season for Gaston to pummel. Moving his free arm across Gaston's chest as he felt his arm grabbed, Ping locked his hand in a chopping position, bringing it swiftly to Gaston's shoulder's brachial plexus tie, then applied another quick chop at the radial nerve at his elbow. Hoping the pressure point hitting would numb his arm and avoid a painful injury, Ping tried to pull his other arm out of Gaston's grasp. Whether or not the attack was as strong as he had planned it, it might just buy him that second he needed to slip out of Gaston's grasp.
As Ping's hand made contact with some sensitive nerves, Gaston cried out in a sound of manly pain. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" His arm seemed to be going numb, and he winced at the sensation. What exactly had Ping done? What kind of warrior was he?! Not realising he was releasing his grip on Ping, Gaston tried flexing his arm, unfamiliar with the sensation he was feeling.
Ever the opportunist, Ping rolled out from beneath Gaston and grabbed at one arm and one leg, straddling his back and planting his knees firmly on either side of Gaston, not wanting to slip from all of the mud. Panting and smirking triumphantly, he had to practically cling to his leg to keep it in place, turning it at the ankle and bending it inward, locking it with Gaston's own wrist and holding the two limbs desperately together. "ONE. TWO. THREE." Ping wanted to be fair and not speed up the counting, the lumpy, bulging of the towels pressing down against poor Gaston's back. "HAHAHAH FOUR."
What... what was that? Gaston was speechless, horrified by the sudden turning of the tables, but even more horrified by the... thing pressing into his back.
"Ping." Gaston's voice was strangely quiet, and there was no bragging tone to it whatsoever for the first time in years. "What's pressing into my back...?"
The answer seemed obvious, but Gaston didn't want to admit to himself that Ping, his rival, the only person who had ever beaten him at wrestling, could be... fruity. Ping, getting so excited over this match? Gaston couldn't think of anything to do but let out a strangled noise of horror.
"FIVE. SIX. SEVEN." Ping's smirk grew wide and manic, "EIGHT, NINE, TEN!! I WIN!!" Ping ignored Gaston's comments, cackling and releasing his limbs, standing on his back to flex and pose. "I AM EMPORER OF GASTONIA. I OWN YOU AND I SHALL SELL YOU ON THE MARKET FOR TWO DOLLARS. THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE WORTH TO ME." He yelled triumphantly, feeling so...womanly? MANLY. No, definitely manly. Face suddenly twisting up in pain, Ping clutched his stomach. "I..you're not even worth bragging over. You're a weak little girl." He said in a rushed voice, and began to walk away as fast as he could to go replentish his towel load, leaving a confused Gaston in the mud and feeling thoroughly satisfied with himself.
The random old man in the garden smiled with delight, a proud tear falling down his face.
What: The match of the century. Two titans clash in a test of strength!
When: After this.
Where: Outside the castle somewhere.
Rating: PG-13. It's pretty gay.
Stepping out into the brave new world, Ping smirked as he set foot upon the soft blades of grass outside of the castle walls. Eyes immediately focusing upon the man in front of him, honing in on their prey. Surveying up his body type, he figured it was about the same as a weak little girl's, right down to the knobby knees. Something inside of him was boiling and bubbling, hating anything male within a 15 mile radius. I'll show them how manly I can be, Ping thought, I'll take down the Castle's biggest oaf. Rolling up his sleeve, Ping stepped out a bit further, walking a tad-bit bow-legged, towels and rags wrapped around his manly crotch area and thighs inside of his pants, so he looked full of lumps. Never the matter! "You." He grinned and sneered in a deepened voice, pointing out at the weak looking figure. "It's about time we've finally met, Gaston. Hah! I should have known you were compensating for your small size." Bringing a hand to his chin, he stroked it in mock-amusement. When he got no reply, he angrily stepped closer. "Don't make me hurt an answer out of you, you jerk!! Don't think you can just ignore me!" The figure turned to face him slowly, and Ping met his old and tired eyes with a ferocious glare.
"I'm just a random old man in the garden. You must be looking for that man over there." The man pointed and Ping's eyes followed his fingers, spotting a much..bigger man standing by a conveniently sized puddle of mud.
"..Wha-..." Ping's jaw dropped.
"Oh, that's just the scarecrow. I meant the guy next to it." The old man pointed a bit more to the left, and Ping saw an even larger man, with a cleft chin, high cheekbones, and a dazzling smile that spelled out 'I r asshole'.
Today was a perfect day for a hunt. Clear weather, quiet, with no strong winds. Unfortunately, Gaston had been unable to get hold of a gun since entering Paradisa, and he knew how ridiculous he'd look chasing wild animals around the castle. His reputation couldn't afford to be put on the line just yet.
Folding his arms and turning at the sound of distant voices, Gaston spotted a... strangely shaped figure talking to an old man. It seemed to be hunching, and its thighs were oddly out of proportion. Ping, Gaston thought, narrowing his eyes. Hah! He was just like he'd imagined, if a little shorter. Those bulging thigh muscles were the sign of a true warrior; the sign of Gaston's rival, and the only one capable of challenging his raw masculinity. He had to be beaten.
"PING!" Gaston yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. "IS THAT YOU?"
Ping froze up at his name being called. Gaston's voice bellowed like thunder, and Ping was sure he felt waves of testosterone carry around in the wind around him. Raising his hand and doing a little finger-wave, he grinned nervously. What am I doing!? That is not manly! Ping frowned, gripping his wrist with his other hand and shoving it back down at his side. "Sorry I'm late," Ping winked and took a few more steps forward, trying to puff out his chest. "I was dancing with your Mother."
....
Okay, so that insult felt only halfway right. He got the mother part down, but the other part didn't seem as...affective as he had hoped. I thought men always taunted each other by proclaiming they have spent intimate time with each other's mothers! But that felt so... Ping shook his head, not wanting to give his Rival the advantage of taking a glimpse inside of his mind. As he stepped forward a bit more, he sized Gaston up, hands on his hips, trying not to crouch forward and bearing the pain of his manly menstrual cramping.
Gaston tried hard not to let his anger at the insult show. So they were going to fight dirty, were they? Well, that was fine by him. He could throw around insults with the best of them.
"You wouldn't be the first one!" Gaston said and laughed, trying to play off the insult. He wouldn't let Ping win, not even the tiniest victory. He stuck out his chest, hoping that his bulging, manly pecs would intimidate Ping. Now that he was closer, the man's thighs looked... inhuman. Just what kind of soldier was he?
"So." Gaston uncrossed his arms and flexed his biceps slightly, trying to subtly draw attention to them and failing at the 'subtle' part. "How are we going to do this? I've never fought a dying man before."
"We shall start simultaneously at a countdown," Ping declared, doing a few stretches to try and shake off the pain of his cramps. "And remember, this is wrestling!! Meaning manly grappling and pressing together of the bodies!! There will be a pin count." Touching his toes, Ping began to think about things that he could not control. What if Gaston thinks I'm fat? He's a lot less chatty than I thought he would be. Is something wrong? Does he not want to be my rival anymore? He found another rival, I bet! A younger and more manly one!! What about my needs? Grabbing the sides of his face, he pulled quickly on his cheeks and slapped them a bit to get into battlemode, and try to look intimidating.
"I have but one question to ask you, Gaston." Ping laughed, bringing up both of his arms and bending them at the elbow (where else WOULD they bend?), flexing. "Now that you've entered the brothel of pain, would you rather spend a night with Jezebelle...?" Ping showed off his left fist, "..or Claudette?" He showed off his right one.
Without thinking Gaston ripped open the buttons of his shirt, exposing his hairy chest and grinning in a very smug manner. "No more chatter, Ping," he began, trying to sound as authoritative and serious as he could. He had no idea what the hell Ping was mentioning women for at such a crucial point. This wasn't about Belle, or this... "Jezebelle" or "Claudette". This was about two men coming together, half-naked in a pool of mud, to prove their manliness. "Prepare yourself for a serious beating."
He stared at Ping, sizing up his opponent and waiting for the countdown to begin.
If Ping had not been trained to be prepared to see anything on the battlefield, he would have recoiled in cowardice at the sheer manliness of it all. The chest seemed like an endless, enchanted forest of masculinity, engulfing everything in it's wake and glory. "The only thing I'm ready for is to take you down with me." Ping smoothed out his bun, intimidated by Gaston's pretty ponytail. "I hope you've got preperation, though. It's going to hurt, either way. However, it's best that you're at least equipped to deal with the expected TEN NINE EIGHT SEVEN SIX FIVE FOUR THREE TWO ONE" Ping shouted, jumping on Gaston like a little flying squirrel.
Surprise didn't even begin to cover it. Gaston was so shocked by the suddenness of Ping's attack that he was bowled over, falling back onto the grass with a heavy impact that knocked the wind out of him. It seemed that his size was already becoming a disadvantage.
Still, he wasn't one to be discouraged easily. Gaston recovered as quickly as he could and made a grab for Ping's arm, hoping to pin it behind his back and disable him. This shouldn't be a long fight, he thought, grinning maniacally.
"Ughn!" Ping grunted as they hit the floor, sensing Gaston's weight shift and feeling his hand grip his forearm. He shouldn't have let his emotions get the better of him so quickly, but it seemed he was helpless in that department at the moment. Supporting his weight on his free arm to push his (ACHING/SWOLLEN OW)chest off of the ground, Ping bended both of his legs upward at the knee, springing himself up in one risky attempt to try and lock his legs around Gaston's thick neck, strands of his hair matted in his face from the wet grass and mud. He did the little "Pfftt" thing trying to blow his bangs out of his face, all while focusing on taking out the mothership: Gaston's neck.
Ping seemed to be moving more quickly than he could react, and before Gaston had chance to respond his were already wrapping around his neck. Gaston grimaced. He could break leather belts with his neck muscles, but could he really break kneecaps? It seemed doubtful.
Struggling to overpower Ping, Gaston rolled them over so that he was lying on top of Ping with his face in his chest. He tried reaching to grab hold of Ping's leg, either one, hoping to pull him off before he began running out of air.
Shocked and suddenly feeling heated in the face, Ping found himself profoundly uncomfortable with this sudden turn of events. Legs brought to a much more compromising and higher position, he struggled to tighten his lock around Gaston's neck, now for the purpose of pulling it away from his chest rather than strangling the man. Frantic for a way to get out from underneath Gaston, as the man was much bigger than he and one wrong move could mean an unbreakable pin, Ping dug his hand into the ground, scooped up some mud, and shoved it at Gaston's face. Twisting and turning underneath Gaston, he tried to take this opportunity to writhe out from beneath him, not knowing he probably just awakend Gaston's man period.
That was it. Getting more and more enraged by their battle -- he was supposed to have WON by now! -- Gaston drew his lips back in an angry snarl, wiping the mud out of his eyes with one hand. "YOU!" he yelled, unable to see where Ping was. "I won't lose to you! Where are you so I can pummel you?!"
Getting the last of the mud out of his eyes -- though not off the rest of his face -- Gaston spotted Ping and launched himself at him, desperate to get this over with. He wouldn't lose. This was a matter of pride!
The towels wrapped around Ping's crotch were causing discomfort and embarrassment, as they were slowly folding together from all of the leg movements, making a large lump between his legs. Torn between the need to desperately readjust and-Ping couldn't even finish his thought before he was knocked backward, sliding across the muddy ground with such force it knocked half of the air out of his lungs. Bun coming loose as the back of his head became drenched in mud, he growled up at the man above him. He would not let Gaston win! He had his manhood to win back! Perhaps if he beat Gaston, everyone at Paradisa would stop saying what he dreaded so dearly. Wrapping his legs up around Gaston's back, he hooked his feet at the shoulders, crossing his forearms in front of his chest as if to say 'YOUR FACE IS NOT ALLOWED HERE'. "DIE." Ping shouted, but then felt a bit bad because he didn't want Gaston to die. "I MEAN, LOSE."
Letting out a strangled noise of frustration, Gaston kicked out at Ping. This couldn't go on forever. One of them had to win. And that person would be him.
"JUST GIVE UP, PING," Gaston shouted, his face turning pink from the exertion and his dark hair falling around his face as his hair tie fell into the mud. He glared down at his rival, biceps flexing with tension. "YOU CAN'T WIN AGAINST ME!"
Wincing at the kicking, Ping focused all of his inner, crimson tide womanly rage at Gaston's face. He figured quickly that even with a strong lock, he would not be able to flip them over in the position they were in, so he'd just have to control from the bottom. Forearms still crossed in front of his chest, Ping brought them forward in a quick and forceful motion, up against Gaston's chest to try and knock some wind out of him. Much to Ping's dismay, he felt it hardly being effective, as Gaston was too built at that area (Is Gaston's shirt still open, btw? Oh lovely).
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CANNOT DO." The inner feminist in Ping shouted back at Gaston. Still frantic at what to do, breathing unevenly, Ping stared up at Gaston in hopes that perhaps he could get him to yell and shout just a bit more while he devised a plan, eyeing a rock near them with interest. "WHY ARE YOU SO MANLY?" Ping shouted in feigned frustration, panting.
Gaston felt a wave of triumph rush over him. Ping seemed to be struggling, which meant only one thing: he was weakening.
Overcome with smug satisfaction, Gaston began to laugh. It was loud, unpleasant, and full of self-congratulation, but it felt too good to stop. "Because I've worked hard for it, Ping. You could learn from me. I'M GOING TO WIN!" he yelled in between laughs, stopping only to catch his breath and sweep some hair from his face. He had known it all along. Someone like Ping could never win against him, not with his physique. He didn't eat five dozen eggs a day for nothing, after all.
Grabbing one of Ping's arms and trying to twist it so that he would submit, Gaston laughed in triumph again. Victory was so close he could almost taste it.
Ping held back the urge to punch Gaston in the face, knowing that would make him open season for Gaston to pummel. Moving his free arm across Gaston's chest as he felt his arm grabbed, Ping locked his hand in a chopping position, bringing it swiftly to Gaston's shoulder's brachial plexus tie, then applied another quick chop at the radial nerve at his elbow. Hoping the pressure point hitting would numb his arm and avoid a painful injury, Ping tried to pull his other arm out of Gaston's grasp. Whether or not the attack was as strong as he had planned it, it might just buy him that second he needed to slip out of Gaston's grasp.
As Ping's hand made contact with some sensitive nerves, Gaston cried out in a sound of manly pain. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" His arm seemed to be going numb, and he winced at the sensation. What exactly had Ping done? What kind of warrior was he?! Not realising he was releasing his grip on Ping, Gaston tried flexing his arm, unfamiliar with the sensation he was feeling.
Ever the opportunist, Ping rolled out from beneath Gaston and grabbed at one arm and one leg, straddling his back and planting his knees firmly on either side of Gaston, not wanting to slip from all of the mud. Panting and smirking triumphantly, he had to practically cling to his leg to keep it in place, turning it at the ankle and bending it inward, locking it with Gaston's own wrist and holding the two limbs desperately together. "ONE. TWO. THREE." Ping wanted to be fair and not speed up the counting, the lumpy, bulging of the towels pressing down against poor Gaston's back. "HAHAHAH FOUR."
What... what was that? Gaston was speechless, horrified by the sudden turning of the tables, but even more horrified by the... thing pressing into his back.
"Ping." Gaston's voice was strangely quiet, and there was no bragging tone to it whatsoever for the first time in years. "What's pressing into my back...?"
The answer seemed obvious, but Gaston didn't want to admit to himself that Ping, his rival, the only person who had ever beaten him at wrestling, could be... fruity. Ping, getting so excited over this match? Gaston couldn't think of anything to do but let out a strangled noise of horror.
"FIVE. SIX. SEVEN." Ping's smirk grew wide and manic, "EIGHT, NINE, TEN!! I WIN!!" Ping ignored Gaston's comments, cackling and releasing his limbs, standing on his back to flex and pose. "I AM EMPORER OF GASTONIA. I OWN YOU AND I SHALL SELL YOU ON THE MARKET FOR TWO DOLLARS. THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE WORTH TO ME." He yelled triumphantly, feeling so...womanly? MANLY. No, definitely manly. Face suddenly twisting up in pain, Ping clutched his stomach. "I..you're not even worth bragging over. You're a weak little girl." He said in a rushed voice, and began to walk away as fast as he could to go replentish his towel load, leaving a confused Gaston in the mud and feeling thoroughly satisfied with himself.
The random old man in the garden smiled with delight, a proud tear falling down his face.