actual shoujo hobo allen walker. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
debtor) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-01-06 11:14 pm
debtor) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-01-06 11:14 pm
Entry tags:
(open)
Date & Time: Early afternoon, January 7th.
Location: The Hold; training facilities.
Characters: Allen Walker (debtor) and YOU
Summary: Allen Walker levels up! Also another training facility log, if you feel like doing some training.
Warnings: PUNCHING INANIMATE OBJECTS and shounen. And training. And character death (the punching bag.)
[From opening until lunch (and oftentimes after lunch, sometimes until closing), six days a week (sometimes seven), some kid with white hair and a bizarre facial scar can be found in the Hold's gymnasium, kicking and punching various objects and performing series of acrobatic feats. Like many in Exsilium, he comes from a world where his training keeps him alive; here, it keeps him grounded. Gives him something to work towards and focus on, in a life that's become abruptly, and painfully, directionless.
For some time, he tried training in private with his weapon from home, but lately, he's begun splitting his attention between that and the weapon he'd received from the Initiative. A month ago, he'd picked the pair of armored gauntlets from the armory because they had appeared non-lethal, but they'd also appeared unwieldy. Which was fine, because he didn't think he'd really use them. But now that he is using them, he's finding they seem to somehow fit more comfortably with each passing day, and punches are thrown more easily.
Today, dressed in a black long sleeve shirt and sweatpants, with a leather glove over his left hand and a gauntlet on his right, he's focusing his attention on a punching bag, knocking it back with quick, powerful strikes. (For anyone who might notice these things, it's obvious that he's had a lot of practice, but it's also obvious that he hasn't had any actual formal training in any particular style of fighting. He's just kinda whaling on it.)
And then his right fist smacks into the bag and rips it right off its chains and sends it flying back into the opposite wall with a heavy, resounding crash. It bursts open upon impact, spilling its sandy innards all over the floor.]
Ah...
[Whoops.
Hopefully no one was standing in the way!]
--
[Or, alternately, you could run into him at any point during his training routine; or come by later and find a kid, possibly with sand in his hair and dusting his shirt, sitting cross-legged in the corner of the facilities, eating a sandwich and making a face at it. If you'd just like to chat.]
Location: The Hold; training facilities.
Characters: Allen Walker (
debtor) and YOUSummary: Allen Walker levels up! Also another training facility log, if you feel like doing some training.
Warnings: PUNCHING INANIMATE OBJECTS and shounen. And training. And character death (the punching bag.)
[From opening until lunch (and oftentimes after lunch, sometimes until closing), six days a week (sometimes seven), some kid with white hair and a bizarre facial scar can be found in the Hold's gymnasium, kicking and punching various objects and performing series of acrobatic feats. Like many in Exsilium, he comes from a world where his training keeps him alive; here, it keeps him grounded. Gives him something to work towards and focus on, in a life that's become abruptly, and painfully, directionless.
For some time, he tried training in private with his weapon from home, but lately, he's begun splitting his attention between that and the weapon he'd received from the Initiative. A month ago, he'd picked the pair of armored gauntlets from the armory because they had appeared non-lethal, but they'd also appeared unwieldy. Which was fine, because he didn't think he'd really use them. But now that he is using them, he's finding they seem to somehow fit more comfortably with each passing day, and punches are thrown more easily.
Today, dressed in a black long sleeve shirt and sweatpants, with a leather glove over his left hand and a gauntlet on his right, he's focusing his attention on a punching bag, knocking it back with quick, powerful strikes. (For anyone who might notice these things, it's obvious that he's had a lot of practice, but it's also obvious that he hasn't had any actual formal training in any particular style of fighting. He's just kinda whaling on it.)
And then his right fist smacks into the bag and rips it right off its chains and sends it flying back into the opposite wall with a heavy, resounding crash. It bursts open upon impact, spilling its sandy innards all over the floor.]
Ah...
[Whoops.
Hopefully no one was standing in the way!]
--
[Or, alternately, you could run into him at any point during his training routine; or come by later and find a kid, possibly with sand in his hair and dusting his shirt, sitting cross-legged in the corner of the facilities, eating a sandwich and making a face at it. If you'd just like to chat.]
no subject
Ah.
[Subtly. Stepping backwards, away from the scene of the crime.]